Rise of Dachwald (Boxed Set, Books 1 through 2)

by Lawlis, Daniel

  “Tell me,” Tristan said, “what exactly does this instrument do?”

  Feiklen smiled evilly. “Oh, you will really like this.” He picked up a large steel spike that was razor sharp towards the end. The bottom portion had threads on it, allowing it to be screwed into the sockets. Feiklen took the spike—at least fifteen feet long—and began screwing it into a socket. It didn’t take but a few seconds for Tristan to realize the lethal use of this device. Excited by the death that it could wreak, he quickly dropped his role of overseer, picked up a spike, and began screwing it into a socket with all the glee of a six-year-old assembling a new toy. Feiklen assisted him, and after about ten minutes, they had screwed in fifteen long spikes along the twenty-foot-wide, steel, T-shaped rod.

  While Feiklen and Tristan had been working together on creating this lethal device, the sound of loud chopping had echoed throughout the forest. It was noisy, but Tristan was confident no one was close enough to hear it except for them. Besides, he had Moscorian pickets posted in a circular formation, about ten miles in diameter, approximately one per mile. While he knew that neither the Sodorfian regulars nor the Dachwaldian emissaries and their bodyguards would be here until tomorrow afternoon, there was always the possibility a stray hunter or traveler might venture through the area. Their minutes would be numbered as soon as a Moscorian spotted them.

  As soon as Feiklen and Tristan finished screwing in the last spikes, the chopping ceased. A large crash followed. The tree had been cut down. Feiklen and Tristan went to inspect it.

  “This will do,” said Tristan; “now, cut it at the ends and make the cut smooth and clean. If it’s not even, it’ll be hard to stick the spikes into. Cut it so its length is a hundred feet.”

  “Yes, master,” the three Moscorians who had cut down the tree responded. They set to work immediately. The forest was so thick that when the tree fell, it had initially not been able to hit the ground. It got stuck on numerous branches during its fall, even though its immense mass and heavy weight had snapped in half most of the branches in its way, and the tree remained at about a forty-five degree angle. A dozen or so Moscorians began yanking and pulling on the tree, tying ropes to it and pulling with all their strength. Some of the other Moscorians climbed up into the trees whose branches were keeping the tree upright and began sawing away. Within about ten or fifteen minutes, the Moscorians managed to get the tree all the way down to the ground. They then quickly set about sawing off its branches. Having done so, they measured one hundred feet of the tree, using a thin string wrapped around a cylindrically shaped piece of wood, with a diameter sufficient for one thousand feet of this string to be wound around it without slipping off. Every foot was marked with a stroke of red paint, every half-foot with a stroke of black paint. In between the black strokes were tiny blue markings to demarcate inches.

  They began sawing. Strong as they were, it was backbreaking work, and they had to stop and take turns with the heavy saw about every ten minutes so they could keep up a brisk pace. It took about thirty minutes of sweaty, backbreaking work to saw through the ten-foot-thick tree, but they achieved a clean cut. Seeing that they were done, Tristan ordered them to bring it down to the path. To carry this huge tree was going to take strength and plenty of it. All the Moscorians except the pickets came to assist.

  To carry the tree they used a special tool: a thick leather strap, which could be adjusted to a length of anywhere from fifteen to thirty feet, with steel handles on either side. Using about thirty-five of them, they laid each on the ground, perpendicular to the tree, and then began pushing the tree with all of their might onto the middle of the straps. Due to the absence of branches and the nearly unhuman strength of the Moscorians, it only took them about a minute of pushing to roll the tree into the correct spot. Now came the hardest part—picking it up and carrying it to the path.

  They each grabbed one of the steel handles attached to their end of the thick leather strap. The seventy Moscorians counted to three, and then simultaneously lifted with all of their might. The tree was lifted, but the Moscorians were certainly using every ounce of strength they had.

  “Forward!!” they shouted in unison. As they pushed ahead, the other Moscorians worked to clear room for them. Finally, after about ten minutes of straining, they managed to get the tree to the middle of the path.

  “Time to switch,” said Pitgon, a middle-ranking Moscorian, with a smile on his face. Seventy Moscorians replaced the previous seventy and began carrying the tree, which weighed thousands of pounds, down the path. They struggled with their burden but managed to carry it about fifty feet before they were replaced by another seventy fresh Moscorians. This process continued for the next hour, by which time they had carried the tree about a quarter of a mile down the path from where it had been cut.

  “Now,” Tristan said, “we must turn this harmless clump of wood into a real weapon.” He and Feiklen carried the T-shaped object with all of the razor-sharp spikes jutting out of it towards the tree, and then Pitgon and another Moscorian grabbed opposite sides and held it directly in front of the tree. The bottom of the T was sharp and designed to be hammered into wood. Directly on top of the T, there was a round, thick portion of steel onto which one could hammer away without breaking the device.

  “Hammer!” Feiklen called out. It was superfluous. Kihlgun stood there, his eyes gleaming, his palms growing sweaty with anticipation, holding his behemoth battle hammer in his hands. Kihlgun came forward. Feiklen and Pitgon nervously held opposite sides of the device, dreading the reverberations that would soon travel throughout the steel upon receiving the earthquake-like blows from Kihlgun’s hammer.

  WHAAAAAAAMMMMMM!!!!

  Feiklen and Pitgon held tight, first against the gust of wind that came from the hammer, and then against the painful vibrations bouncing and ricocheting throughout the steel delivering what seemed to be bolts of lightning to Feiklen’s and Pitgon’s hands. Five more strokes, and the device fit snugly into the tree.

  “Now, we must arm the front of the tree,” Tristan said. They could have just as easily equipped the front with the exact same kind of device, but Tristan’s mind would never have been satisfied with such repetitiveness.

  “Let’s put a death triangle on the front,” he said. And smiled.

  Kihlgun pounded the base of the razor-sharp triangle into this end of the tree with the same vigor and enthusiasm with which he had pounded in the spiked contraption, but Feiklen and Pitgon asked for replacements to hold the device, both claiming important business that had to be attended to elsewhere, something about checking their longbows to make sure they were properly strung. Once the metallic base was secure, Tristan personally assembled the rest of the triangle.

  “Now,” Tristan said, “comes the hard part. We have to raise this spear to at least five hundred feet. The first thing we have to do is construct a device up in the trees onto which a rope can be attached so that we can raise the spear. Once we pull the spear to the correct height, we need a steel cradle to hold it.”

  A team of Moscorian engineers quickly stepped forward to begin the task. They put on gloves with spikes protruding therefrom to enhance their grip. The bottom portion of their boots was fitted with slots into which climbing spikes were inserted. About 150 Moscorian engineers climbed up dozens of trees on each side of the path well over five hundred feet tall, wearing backpacks filled with tools. Once they were slightly above five hundred feet, they got to work. Within an hour, they had placed a thick piece of steel that stretched all the way across the path far below and then put a large pulley in the center. About two hours later, the majority of the steel cradle was complete. Two hundred pieces of steel, all ten inches in diameter, would hold the large weapon in place. However, the large pieces of steel faced downwards for now; they couldn’t be raised and fastened until the tree had been lifted to the appropriate elevation. The ends of each piece had a large steel circle one foot in diameter.

  Siggins, one of the most agile Moscorians carr
ied a 1,500-foot-long rope up one of the trees and climbed out onto the large steel beam. Although a fearless climber in general, he couldn’t help shaking slightly as he looked down. His fellow Moscorians looked like a team of black ants foraging for food below him. As he reached the pulley, he threw his end of the rope over it, which had a large stone attached to it, the weight of which pulled it all the way to the ground, looping the rope nicely over the pulley.

  While the Moscorian engineers had been working away like dogs in the trees above, the Moscorians below had been working diligently on a handle to attach the rope to the tree. Kihlgun pounded a U-shaped piece of steel into the tree. The Moscorians on the ground took their end of the rope and wrapped it around the U-shaped handle, tying it into an intricate knot. The rope was about ten inches thick and was more than strong enough to hold the spear. Great manpower was going to be needed, however, so the majority of the Moscorians came down from the trees to help pull it up.

  Tristan stood back and used Glisphin to push upwards on the tree without actually touching it. This upward push significantly reduced the weight the Moscorians had to lift, but the spear remained immensely heavy. Over two hundred Moscorians grabbed the rope and were pulling with all of their might, looking like a group of hardworking slaves. The short spikes on the bottoms of their boots helped them keep from sliding.

  “HEAVE HO!!” the Moscorians shouted in unison. The spear began to rise into the air slowly, gravity trying desperately to keep it on the ground, where it belonged. After about thirty minutes of sweaty, backbreaking work, not to mention plenty of cursing, the spear had been raised to the correct elevation. The Moscorians were on the verge of collapse. Veins bulged from their necks; sweat covered their bodies. Each looked like a boxer after twelve tough rounds against the reigning champion.

  “Raise the steel rods!!” Tristan shouted to the Moscorians still in the trees. Lifting with all their might, the Moscorians in the trees raised the steel pieces so that the circular portions on the ends thereof overlapped perfectly. The cradle was in position. It just needed one more piece put in it.

  Tristan shot upwards with the steel rod clutched tightly in both hands. Rain and wind whipped his face as he flew quickly up into the air. Once he got to the overlapping steel holes, he immediately began shoving the long steel pole through the circular openings. This took about two minutes, and by the time he was done he was sweating profusely.

  “FINISHED!! YOU CAN RELEASE THE ROPE!!” he shouted to the hapless Moscorians below. They let go even before the word “FINISHED” had completely exited Tristan’s mouth, hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes. The spear, which had been hanging slightly more than five hundred feet in the air dropped a few inches, and, to all of their relief, the steel cradle held it firmly in place. It would nap for now.

  Lastly, the Moscorians set to work building a horizontal track in the trees to enable the spear to not merely swing downwards but to travel horizontally mere inches above the ground before reaching the end of the track, which would send it flying up into the air until gravity demanded it come back down. This was a difficult task but seemed light compared to the Herculean tasks they had just completed.

  Chapter 24

  Lixen and his eight bodyguards galloped full speed along the path to Castle Dachwald. The spider horses sensed the urgency of their riders. Some unnerving growls from the horses forced the riders to stop, briefly rest the horses, and feed them some of their oats to avoid becoming lunch themselves, but aside from that they galloped at nearly full speed all the way back to the castle. The guards were on the lookout for the emissaries and their bodyguards, so as soon as they appeared on the horizon, the guards immediately opened the castle doors.

  “LIXEN HAS RETURNED!” shouted one of the guards, and a soldier quickly went to alert King Duchenwald. The king quickly summoned the senators.

  As Lixen entered the senate chamber, all eyes were on him, inspecting every square inch of his face, trying to determine whether he brought good news or bad news.

  “Well,” said King Duchenwald, “how did it go? Did you manage to work together successfully with the Sodorfians? Did you find the perpetrators? Were they all brought to justice? Come, speak!”

  “King Duchenwald . . . senators . . . it is with great trepidation that I bring this news to you. At this point, we . . . we just don’t know exactly what happened. We—”

  “Well, that’s not overly surprising,” said King Duchenwald, interrupting. “I mean, it might take a few more days to track down these varmints and bring them to justice. How much longer do you think it will be before the joint team of Dachwaldian and Sodorfian trackers bring these vandals to justice?”

  “Good King, at this point, we will be lucky if the Sodorfians do not wage total war against us!”

  “WHAT IS THIS YOU SAY!!?” yelled King Duchenwald, rising from his chair, veins bulging out of his fat, bull-like neck. “I told you and Sifindel to go over there to make peace and to negotiate, not to cause problems and agitate things!”

  “Your Majesty, let me explain. Everything was going well; I swear to the gods by it. Sifindel, the ten bodyguards, and I all made it safely to the City of Sodorf. We were all very nervous we would not even be granted an audience. Instead, all the nobles were quite generous. They listened and showed sympathy and concern. They even sent five hundred Sodorfian regulars and twenty-five trackers to accompany us back to the border. The Sodorfian nobles instructed the Sodorfian trackers to cross into our lands and take a look at the damage. In the event they discovered we had suffered serious damage and the perpetrators’ tracks led into Sodorf, they had full permission from the nobles to authorize some of the Vechengschaft to cross into Sodorf, as well as some Dachwaldian trackers. Then, the Sodorfian and Dachwaldian trackers would work together to trace the tracks to the perpetrators. Then, the Vechengschaft and the Sodorfian regulars could fight side by side against the vandals. The survivors would be handed over to us for punishment, and the Sodorfian nobles fully intended to help us with our upcoming comestible shortage. However, just when we were within miles of the Sodorfian-Dachwaldian border . . . .” He paused, struggling for the right words.

  “Yes, go on; speak up!” King Duchenwald prompted him.

  “Well, there was an attack.”

  “An attack?! An attack by whom?”

  “We don’t know exactly. Arrows started flying out of nowhere. Two of the royal bodyguards were killed within seconds. The other eight bodyguards formed a protective circle around Sifindel and me and escorted us to safety. At first, I thought that surely the Sodorfians had laid a trap for us. However, Tulgug managed to look back as we were fleeing, and he attested he saw Sodorfians being shot with arrows and apparently being killed on some kind of large trap. Unless there is some third party at work, which is highly unlikely, what the evidence does suggest is that perhaps some of General Sivingdon’s men were just a little bit too anxious for action, and they decided to take matters into their own hands!”

  Then he paused. “But why they would also shoot at us . . . I don’t know. Perhaps they intended to kill all me, Sifindel, and all of our bodyguards so that it would be assumed the Sodorfians killed us.”

  “This is egregious! Horrible!” yelled King Duchenwald. “Here we were, on the verge of getting full cooperation from the Sodorfians, and now this?! They’re going to think we led them into a trap! Not having seen the damage that truly has been done to our farms, they’ll assume it was all a pack of lies! They’re going to think we want war! We’ll be lucky if we don’t all die from famine! Believe me, Lixen, you can tell General Sivingdon that there will be an investigation. I want everyone that was anywhere near the border questioned. This is scandalous! Lixen, the senators and I are going to have to discuss what measures to take as a result of this horrible turn of events. Go—have refreshments and rest; when we have decided what we are going to do, you will be summoned.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He bowed politely to the king and to the
senators and then exited the room.

  As soon as he left, the senate erupted into debate like a series of large volcanic explosions. Even if there were an investigation, and even if it were discovered that Vechengschaft hotheads had been responsible for this, and even if, in that event, the hotheads were punished severely, even executed, how would they ever be able to convince the Sodorfians they had not planned an ambush? They feared if they even attempted to make contact with the Sodorfians now, the Dachwaldian emissaries would probably be killed on the spot. Furthermore, they realized there was also a strong possibility the Sodorfians themselves might be planning an attack now in retaliation for what likely appeared to them a well-planned ambush. The senators debated on and on. They realized that for the first time in their lives that hardship just might reach their doorstep.

  The best initial step they could think of was forming an investigative committee to question the Vechengschaft and see if there was any evidence some of them had crossed the border and ambushed the Sodorfians. They took a vote and decided to go ahead and set up the committee. King Duchenwald called Lixen back into the room and gave him his instructions.

  Chapter 25

  “This is outrageous!” shouted Fritzer. All of the Sodorfian nobles huddled around the gore-covered, frightened-to-death young Sodorfian soldier nodded their heads in consent. “They once again wish to enslave us!” Fritzer said. “Just like in the Seven Years War! The next Dachwaldian who even sets foot into our country must be killed on the spot!” he added.

  “Fritzer,” Bundor said, “the evidence certainly does seem to show this was an ambush laid by the Dachwaldians. I don’t question that. But let’s not be overly swift to shed blood. Let’s send warriors to go and check out the site of this ambush and look at the evidence. Then, they can come back and tell us their conclusion. If they conclude it was a Dachwaldian ambush, then I’m in agreement with you: We will have to look to our defenses, and we will have to ready ourselves for a possible attack. Possibly an imminent one. However, regarding your desire that the next Dachwaldian who even sets foot into our country be killed, I say this is too hasty. Let’s give anyone that comes from Dachwald into our country one warning to turn around and go back the way he came, at top-speed, and that if he returns he will be killed.”