Mortalis dw-4

by Robert Salvatore

  From the expression on Bruinhelde's face, Midalis wasn't sure that the man agreed with the ranger's assessment. But the powerful barbarian leader did nod slightly and did present his flagon to Midalis for a clap of mugs. Liam started to add his, but Bruinhelde wilted him with a glare.

  "Have we?" Midalis asked bluntly.

  Bruinhelde looked at him curiously, then turned to Andacanavar. "Met as friends," Midalis clarified. "For so many years, our two peoples have had little contact, and rarely has that contact been on friendly terms."

  "And you place the blame for this on my people? " Bruinhelde, obviously an easily agitated fellow, roared in reply; and all the Alpinadoran warriors bristled, and poor Liam seemed as if he would simply melt away.

  But Midalis kept his eyes firmly on the imposing Bruinhelde. "Blame?" he asked with a chuckle. "I would not presume to blame anyone-likely, there is enough of that to go around, and each of the disastrous meetings would have to be judged on its own circumstance. But, no," he continued as Bruinhelde's look softened somewhat, "I seek not to place blame, nor to take blame upon my own shoulders, but rather to accept that which has happened and hope to learn from it, that it never happens again. Good Bruinhelde, if the invasion by the minions of the demon dactyl brings a new understanding and alliance to our peoples, then there is a bright edge to the dark cloud. Far too long have we skirmished, to the detriment of both our peoples. Let this night of Hengorot"-Bruinhelde and the others were obviously caught off guard that Midalis knew their name for the mead hall celebration-"forge a new bond between us, one for benefit and common good." As he finished, he held his mug aloft.

  A long and uncomfortable moment slipped past, with Bruinhelde glancing once at Andacanavar, then fixing his stare on Midalis. Another moment slipped by, the mead hall perfectly silent, every man holding his breath waiting for Bruinhelde's answer.

  He clapped his flagon hard against Midalis'. "We could not have picked a better common foe than the smelly goblins!" He roared, and so, too, did every man in the hall, a thunderous battle cry, full of excitement, full of rage. The sheer enthusiasm and volume of that barbarian war cry weakened Liam's knees, and when Prince Midalis looked at his companion he knew that Liam was thinking the same thing as he: they were glad that the Alpinadorans were on their side!

  Though he had to go to rally his troops for the morning's battle, Prince Midalis did not leave the mead hall early that night. Nor was he able to escape until after Bruinhelde had poured a dozen flagons of drink down his throat.

  "I'm not sure we're better with 'em as friends or enemies," Liam remarked as the two made their way through the forest, each man as groggy and drunk as his companion. "Oh, but me head's to hurt tomorrow, before any goblin even clunks me with its club."

  "They'll all awaken with sore heads and tongues of cloth," Midalis agreed. "Likely, it will only make them more fierce."

  The mere thought sent a shudder along Liam's spine.

  Midalis stopped then and stood with a curious expression upon his face.

  "What's it about, then? " Liam asked. Midalis held his hand up, motioning for the man to wait. A sensation had washed over him, much like the night before, a silent, spiritual cry for help. Abbot Agronguerre, he knew, using the hematite gemstone to reach out to him. It was a subtle call, nothing distinct, an imparting of emotion, of need, and nothing more. Midalis concentrated with all his willpower, trying to reciprocate the call, hoping that Agronguerre, who was floating spiritually about him, would sense his reply. "In the morning," he said aloud, for he was unsure of how the gemstone magic worked, unsure of whether the abbot could physically hear him in his spiritual form. "We will come on against the goblins in the morning."

  "As we already said," a confused Liam answered, and again, Midalis held up his hand for the man to wait. But the sensation passed, the connection broke, and the Prince could only hope that his friend in the abbey had heard.

  "It was Agronguerre," he explained to Liam. "He came to me again." Liam held up his hands, seeming unnerved. "The magic again? " he asked, and Midalis nodded. "What're ye thinkin' our new barbarian friends'11 think o' them monks and their magic?" he asked, for it was common knowledge among the Vanguardsmen that, while the monks considered the magical gemstones the gifts of God, the Alpinadorans mistrusted the powers completely, even spoke of the monkish magic as the work of Fennerloki, the god of their pantheon representing the powers of evil.

  "We start the fightin' and the monks loose a fireball from their stone walls, and then Bruinhelde and his boys turn against us and pull St. Belfour down around Agronguerre," Liam reasoned.

  Midalis blew a sigh as he considered the words, but then shook his head. "The ranger, Andacanavar, knows of the magic," he explained. "And so Andacanavar will warn Bruinhelde and the others. They know that we march against goblins besieging the abbey, and yet they join with us anyway."

  "Andacanavar," Liam echoed with obvious respect. The Prince did not sleep at all the rest of that night. He had seen battle many times in the last months, but always against smaller groups of monsters and always upon a field of his own choosing. This time, he had a large portion of his total army with him, more than three hundred men, and all of the monks in Vanguard were bottled up in St. Belfour. If the goblins won this day, the results for the region would be devastating-it was possible that those remaining men and women here would have to retreat to Pireth Vanguard, perhaps even board the few ships there and sail south across the gulf, surrendering the region altogether.

  With the dawn, all weariness left the Prince, and the surge of excitement he found in organizing his soldiers erased his sore head from the night before. "None to be seen," Liam O'Blythe reported a short while later. "Not a barbarian in the area, by what our scouts're sayin'. Not even their campground."

  Midalis stared out into the forest. "Are they sure? "

  "Can't find them," Liam confirmed sourly. "Might be that they changed their minds and went away."

  "Or that they're preparing an attack from a concealed position," Midalis said hopefully.

  "And are we to wait? "

  Midalis spent a long while considering that. Should he wait for Andacanavar and Bruinhelde? Or should he trust them, and begin the attack now, before the sun had climbed into the sky, as he and Andacanavar had discussed? He recalled Abbot Agronguerre's spiritual plea and knew that those within the abbey were going hungry this day. He and his men had to go against the goblins soon or lose the abbey, but with so much at stake…

  "We go," he said firmly.

  "We'll be outmatched if Andacanavar-"

  "We go," Midalis said again. He flattened the parchment map of the region, which lay on the small table in his tent. Midalis had trained in tactics with the Allheart Brigade during his days in Ursal, had learned to recognize his strengths and his enemies' weaknesses. He knew that his men could outfight goblins two to one-more than that if they could bring their horses into play. But the numbers today were far less favorable than that.

  Midalis studied the map, focusing on the clear area around the abbey and on the rocky, forested hills to its west. At the least, he and his men had to get some supplies into the abbey.

  The Prince nodded his head, settling on a plan. He called together all of his commanders, and within the hour, the Vanguard army was on the move.

  "He heard yer call, did he?" the nervous young Brother Haney asked Agronguerre, joining the old abbot in St. Belfour's bell tower, which afforded them a view of the area. The rain had stopped, the stars fading away as the eastern horizon began to lighten with the coming dawn, but the air had turned much colder, leaving an icy glaze on the grass and trees.

  Abbot Agronguerre stared out past the goblin campfires. He understood the depth of the disaster here; they were out of food, already with growling bellies, and they needed Midalis to come on in force. But Agronguerre knew well the limits of the Prince's army and knew that, even if Midalis attacked with every available soldier, the odds were against them. Even worse, Ag
ronguerre couldn't honestly answer Brother Haney, for he simply did not know.

  "We must pray," he replied, and he turned to regard the young man, barely into his twenties. Brother Haney shook his head. "They must," he insisted. "If they do not-"

  "If they do not, then we shall find our way out of St. Belfour with the fall of night," Agronguerre replied.

  Brother Haney nodded, obviously taking some strength from the determination in Agronguerre's voice.

  But they both knew the truth of their desperate situation, both knew that this time, it seemed, the goblins had won.

  "They're keeping it quiet, then," Liam O'Blythe remarked to Prince Midalis shortly before the dawn. They sat on their horses on the wooded trail behind St. Belfour, all the forest about them deathly silent. The scouts had just returned, though, with news that the goblins were beneath the shady boughs, in great numbers.

  Midalis looked back over his line of riders, each horse sporting bulging saddlebags. They had to get to the abbey wall, at least, and heave the supplies in to the monks and common folk trapped within. And so they would, Midalis understood, but he knew, too, that getting back away from the abbey would prove no easy task.

  "How long are ye planning to stay and fight? " Liam asked him, apparently reading his thoughts.

  "We rush the northeastern corner," Midalis explained, pointing in that direction. St. Belfour was situated with its northern wall near a wooded hillock. That hillock, unfortunately, was thick with goblins, but Midalis believed that he and his riders could get past them to reach the abbey. The other three sides of the rectangular stone structure faced open fields, thirty yards of cleared ground in every direction. Beyond those fields loomed more thick woodlands-thick with brush and trees and goblins. While the Eelds offered Midalis and his men the best advantage, using their horses to trample enemies and within easy magical support from the monks, he understood that they'd have a difficult time if a retreat became necessary, scrambling their ranks back into the thick brush helter-skelter, with goblins coming at them from every angle, separating them and pulling them down. The Vanguardsmen had survived the war by picking their battlefields carefully; this was one the Prince did not see as promising.

  But they had to go, had to get the supplies to their starving kinsmen.

  "The fight will come to us quickly, I believe," Midalis remarked, "pursuit following our line and goblins rushing from the brush on all sides."

  "How many might them monks be killin'? "

  Midalis shrugged; he knew not the extent of Abbot Agronguerre's magical resources, though he understood that they would not be significant for long. "If we can get to the wall and away without a fight, then that is our best course," the Prince said. Several men around him, grim-faced warriors thirsty for goblin blood, groaned. "Let winter break the siege-if the monks are supplied they might hold out until the first deep snows," Midalis explained.

  "Too many goblins," Liam agreed, speaking to the others.

  "Ah, but they'll be on us afore we get near to the wall," one man in the ranks behind remarked, and Midalis noted that there was indeed a hopeful tone to his voice. In truth, the Prince could not argue the assessment.

  "Then we fight them as hard as we can, and for as long as we can," he replied. "Our valor and the magic thrown from the abbey walls may scatter them quickly to the forest, where we can hunt the smaller bands down one by one and eliminate them."

  He spoke with conviction, but the seasoned men of his fighting force understood the truth of the situation, and so did Midalis. The goblins would indeed come at them, and hard, and the ugly little creatures wouldn't be quick to retreat. Midalis and his men had one other gambit: The Prince had sent his archers around to the south with orders to hold their shots until the situation turned grim, then to concentrate their fire on the weakest section of the goblin line, hoping to give the riders a breakout route.

  It was a plan of retreat and of loss, of salvage and surely not of victory.

  "Comes the dawn," Liam remarked, looking to the east, where the red curve of the sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon.

  Midalis shared a grim look and a strong handshake with his dear friend, and he led on, slowly down the trail at first, but gaining speed with each loping stride.

  In the bell tower of St. Belfour, Abbot Agronguerre breathed a profound sigh of relief when he heard the cries, "Riders to the south," and turned to see the dark shapes moving along the path toward the back corner of the abbey.

  "Catchers to the rear corner!" the old abbot cried to Brother Haney, and then he hustled, huffing and puffing, toward the front wall, for he knew that Midalis and his brave men would soon need his assistance.

  He heard the cries and shrieks echoing through the forested hillock, heard his own men crying out, predictably, "Goblins!"

  Abbot Agronguerre resisted the urge to rush toward the back wall and offer magical support there. Prince Midalis and his riders would simply have to outrun the pursuit!

  Agronguerre was inside then, scrambling down the spiral stairs. He met Brother Haney on the lower landing, then they ran through the tunnel that brought them to the parapet along the front wall. Several monks were already there, as they had been ordered, holding gemstones-the few graphite stones within St. Belfour-and peering out, pointing to the thick forest beyond. Agronguerre joined their ranks and produced his own stones, serpentine and ruby, while Brother Haney did likewise, taking the most potent graphite stone of all the abbey's inventory from his pouch.

  Cheers arose inside the abbey courtyard behind them as Midalis and his men swooped past the rear corner, slowing only enough to toss saddlebags up to eager hands.

  "Eyes ahead!" Brother Haney scolded another of the front wall contingent, as the errant monk turned to view the scene. "Keep watch on the forest, to the true enemy we know will come forth."

  "Goblin!" another monk at the wall yelled, pointing to the thicket across the field and to the right. The young brother lifted his hand and gemstone, as if preparing to loose a stroke of lightning, but Abbot Agronguerre quickly brought his hand to the younger man's arm, bringing it down.

  "Let them swoop out in full," the abbot explained, understanding the limitations of their magic and knowing that they had to make use of the stones for emotional as much as physical effect. "When the goblins charge out in force, and before the battle is joined, we hit them quickly and hard. Let us see if they have the stomach for the fight."

  The lead riders came around the southeastern corner then, across the front of the abbey, with Prince Midalis and Liam O'Blythe leading the charge.

  The Prince slowed enough to share a salute with Abbot Agronguerre and a smile.

  And then the goblins came on-a hundred goblins, a thousand goblinsswarming from every shadow.

  In a matter of a few seconds, Midalis understood the dire trouble. Goblins rushed from the south and west, ringing the field in deep ranks; and more goblins came behind them, charging down the hillock, blocking the trail and throwing spears at the trailing riders of the Prince's line.

  Then came the barrage, boom, boom, boom! of lightning strokes flashing out from the abbey's walls, dropping lines of goblins, and then another flash from Abbot Agronguerre, a line of fire spurting forth from his serpentine-shielded hand, to immolate the largest goblin as it barked orders to its ugly kin. Shrouded in fire, the creature's commands became highpitched squeals and it ran wildly, flapping its arms. The abbot wasted no time, shifting the flow of flames to engulf the next creature in line.

  But for all the sudden shock-the fast-flashing, brutal, and thundering retort-very few goblins went down and stayed down. After the initial moment of terror, in which half the goblin force turned as if to flee, the creatures came to understand the truth-that a dozen well-placed archers could have done as much damage-and quickly tightened their ring.

  Another report thundered out from the abbey walls as Midalis pulled his ranks into a tighter defensive formation, boom, boom, boom! as Agronguerre sent forth
another line of flame, but again to minimal real damage. And even Midalis noticed that those lightning bolts didn't thunder quite as loudly.

  The call came up that the last of his line, with goblins on their tails, had delivered their saddlebags, and the Prince and his men formed a tight wedge and charged into the closing goblin ranks. And from the abbey walls came another volley, this one of arrows and quarrels, and the goblins scattered before the charging horses.

  And those goblins behind, trying to catch up, got hit from behind, as Midalis' archers slipped over the back of the hillock, replacing the charging monsters.

  "Break to the back!" came the cry, and the Prince swung the wedge around-swords slashing, spears stabbing, hooves trampling-thinking to flee back along the trail.

  Or did they even have to flee? Prince Midalis wondered, for if they could destroy the goblin pursuit, opening the way back around the hillock, they could make a stand on the field, slaughtering many; and as long as they didn't allow the goblins to flank them they could retreat if necessary.

  Midalis brought his men back around the southeastern corner. Many of the goblins in pursuit, having a wall of horses suddenly turned back against them, skidded to a stop and whirled to retreat.

  Right into a wall of arrows.

  Cheers rent the air from Midalis' men, the monks with their magic and bows joining in from the abbey walls. The goblin ranks along the eastern wall of St. Belfour quickly thinned.

  And for a moment, just a moment, the Prince and his men thought the day was theirs.

  A scream from atop the hill showed them the truth: another goblin force had swung around the back of the hill, pressing the archers. Now those men came running down, stumbling and sliding, some crashing headlong into trees or tearing through brush. Before Midalis could react, the crucial high ground was lost. Now he and his horsemen worked furiously to scatter those goblins who remained by the side of the abbey, so that the archers could join them.

  More thunderous reports issued from in front, and those were followed by a host of screams and fierce goblin war cries. When Midalis glanced back over his shoulder at the abbey's wall, he was dismayed, for many, many spears and arrows arced over the front wall or flew away into the air, a tremendous barrage.