Rutkins’ body exploded so fully and so grotesquely that even those closest to the savage scene were not sure of the exact point of impact. A cloud of blood and bones filled the air, and what was left of Rutkins’ body went flying thirty feet backwards and crashed into a soldier on a horse, knocking him off with so much force he broke his neck in the process.
Kihlgun then resumed his ghastly giggle and went charging into the fleeing Sodorfians, knocking them to and fro with all the glee of a wild animal ending a week of unwanted fasting by charging into the fortuitous arrival of a large herd of succulent animals.
Tristan had observed the entire slaughter from atop a large tree. He was ecstatic at the success of his soldiers.
(now the City of Sodorf, with a measly ten thousand outnumbered, outclassed soldiers is the only thing left to be dealt with)
And this was true. From a strictly tactical point of view, the best thing to do would be to immediately send all forty thousand Vechengschaft and the Moscorians, surround the City of Sodorf, cut it off from reinforcements and supplies, and wipe it off the face of the earth. But there was more to this than tactics. More to this than just victory. This was personal. Very personal. The Moscorians needed to first be allowed to indulge themselves. After all, they had waited a coon’s age to redeem the humiliating defeat that they had suffered at the hands of the Knights of Sodorf at Dachwaldendomel. They had to be rewarded.
“Master,” Feiklen said, “the Moscorians have fought well for you. We desire revenge; let us have Seihdun.”
“You have indeed fought hard,” Tristan responded. “I will indulge you. You may have the rest of the day to do as you please with Seihdun . . . but, after that, you must immediately send your forces south in large flanking movements to quickly surround the City of Sodorf. Your soldiers have earned this revenge, but don’t let them forget that this is only a brief period of indulgence. Afterwards, they must regain discipline and prepare to take the City of Sodorf. Is that understood?”
“Yes, master.”
“Then . . . Seihdun awaits you,” Tristan said, a smile curling across his lips.
Feiklen immediately went and told his bloodthirsty Moscorians the good news. They were ecstatic. Knowing that the Vechengschaft was quickly becoming more and more like them, they had to be very careful not to let any of the Vechengschaft know exactly what they were up to. Lest they become quite jealous.
Chapter 12
Pitkins was absolutely dumbfounded as he sat atop of one of the many tall trees surrounding the battlefield. He had expected the Dachwaldians to at least suffer several thousand casualties, if not more, in spite of their great numerical superiority. It was simply unheard of for ten thousand men to be taken out without them first shedding quite a bit of their opponents’ blood. But he had never seen anything like the fishing mace before. He was awestruck by the sheer range of its lethality.
(an army well-trained with this weapon would be virtually undefeatable)
He sensed Istus growing anxious towards the end of the battle, so he whispered to him that he had seen what he had needed to see, and Istus then flew away. Although he didn’t tell Pitkins immediately, Istus had seen Tristan flying on top of another pholung, which then perched high in one of the trees to watch his army slaughter the Sodorfians. Istus was nervous throughout the whole battle that Tristan would notice him and Pitkins high in the tree and then order other pholungs to come and surround them, or perhaps order archers to unleash a volley of arrows onto them.
They were wasting no time now. His wings beating the air as fast as they possibly could, Istus raced towards Sogolia carrying what he knew for sure was Sodorf’s only hope. The sun shone brightly. It would take them several days of hard flying to reach Sogolia, but that was fine with Pitkins. Pitkins needed the little time he had to try and frantically think of some way to counter this horrible, yet ingenious weapon that the Dachwaldians wielded.
Could we perhaps block the blows from this frightful weapon with tightly packed shields? he asked himself, thinking of his Nikorians. At first this seemed somewhat plausible. He pictured his Nikorians marching in a tightly packed square formation towards the fishing-mace-wielding Dachwaldians. He reckoned that if his Nikorians were carrying shields whose length was equal to or greater than the height of their own bodies, this would quite possibly protect them from frontal assaults, but there was still the issue of overhead attacks. Although he had not observed such attacks in the battle he just witnessed, he also kept in mind that there really had not been any need for them. After all, the Dachwaldians had not gone up against anyone well protected by tall shields. Judging by the intelligence he had observed in their strategies thus far, it was only logical that if the Dachwaldians came up against an army that had six-foot shields tightly packed next to each other that they would then begin to swing their fishing maces in an overhead arc, causing the steel ball to simply go over the Nikorians’ shields and smash right into their helmets. The Nikorians could always counter this, however, by having every row except the front row hold their shields firmly above their heads. The problem with this, however, was that to hold that kind of formation the mass of men would have to march very, very slowly, or otherwise they would lose their formation.
(and chaos might break out)
Also, the spikes on the steel balls might hook the shieds and pull them away, exposing the soldiers to the next volley. Furthermore, such a turtle-like defensive posture could only be maintained for relatively brief periods. Also, its only purpose was defensive. No army could attack while completely encased in shields. The Nikorian army, if it was going to liberate the Sodorfians and fight to prevent them from being annihilated, had to be offensive, not defensive. If the Nikorians fought defensively, the Vechengschaft and Moscorians could deploy just enough men to keep the Nikorians at a distance, all the while smashing the City of Sodorf and putting all of her inhabitants to the sword.
(including Donive)
If the Dachwaldians succeeded in destroying the City of Sodorf, Donive would almost certainly be killed, along with her entire family; all the Sodorfian nobles and the rest of the population would be put to death; and all of Sodorf’s military would be gone. The country would be decimated. No, the Nikorians were going to have to be aggressive. Very aggressive.
Over the next several days, Istus and Pitkins remained nearly completely silent. This wasn’t due to boredom. Pitkins’ mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour. Trying to think of the solution to this menacing new weapon.
He felt an anxiety unlike any he had ever before felt in his life. Even when he had lost his wife and children to Metinvurian assassins he had not experienced such distress. At least in that case, as horrible and painful as it had been, it had happened suddenly, and by the time he found out about it, it was all said and done with. There was absolutely nothing he could do to save them. Revenge he could—and did—take, but it could not bring his family back. This time, however, he had the chance to prevent a similar tragedy from happening. While in many ways the presence of hope made this better than the situation with his slain wife and children, hope put all the more stress on him. Not a second of the day went by as he and Istus flew west-southwest towards Sogolia at full speed that he didn’t think about the fishing mace and how to counter it. Even while he slept, he dreamed about it. By the second-to-last day of their journey, he was beginning to nearly panic.
(you HAVE to think of a counter!!)
That night, he lay on his back, thinking. Unhappy thoughts.
Perhaps there is nothing I can do. Tristan and his engineers sat around in the shadows for centuries devising the most ingenious weapons possible so that they could easily conquer Sodorf—what makes me think I can invent a counter to such a weapon in a matter of days?
He fell into despair. And due to his exhaustion, he also fell into a deep sleep. But although he was sleeping, his mind was still completely preoccupied with the issue of the fishing mace. Fishing maces were everywhere. Smashing his bones. Ba
shing his brains in. His army, his brave, elite Nikorians were being cut to ribbons by the merciless fishing mace. They tried desperately to charge the Dachwaldians and get within striking range so that they could employ their expertise with the halberd, sword, and other weapons . . . but the Dachwaldians just kept falling back. Always keeping the Nikorians within striking range. Always pounding them. Always hitting them. Always killing them. They tried to ignore the merciless blows, but no one could sustain more than two.
Suddenly, he saw Donive. He was lying in bed with her.
“It’s in you. It’s in you,” she said. “You can figure out how to stop it. You can. Dig deeper. Dig much deeper.”
His dream became darker. Much darker. Donive turned to her side. Something must have grabbed her attention. Through the window came five Moscorians. Five armor-clad, helmeted Moscorians.
“Ahh!” she screamed, standing up, wrapping the blanket around her to protect her modesty. “Pitkins, do something quick. Do SOMETHING QUIIICK!!”
“By Kasani, I will!” he said and moved forward . . . but he didn’t move forward. He only thought he had. He was stuck. He wasn’t going anywhere. No, sir. He was immobile. He was covered with steel chains.
“Ohh, Pitkins!!” she screamed, looking at him accusatively. Looking at Pitkins, the Big Failure who was going to let her down once again. Then . . . suddenly, it hit him. Hit him hard. Hit him like a brick falling off a thousand-foot-tall castle and landing right on top of his head. He had dug, by Kasani, he had dug deeper, and he had found treasure, he had found how he was going to kill those Dachwaldian, war-mongering bastards who had already taken so much from him. The knowledge, this new, breathing entity, was POWERFUL; he felt like he could climb a tree in seconds, take on a bear with his bare hands . . . he could, he could . . . break chains.
A smile crept across his face. And a smile crept across Donive’s face also. She knew he had done a good job. She had said dig, and by Kasani, that was what he had done. Flexing his right bicep and bringing his right arm down hard he snapped the chain holding it, and then another one, and then another one, as if they had all just been a bunch of spider webs all along . . . mental spider webs preventing him from digging deeper. But he had dug; he had the answer. He picked up a chair, ripped off one of the chair legs, and hurled it at one of the iron-clad monsters invading his room . . . Donive’s room . . . their room with such force that it smashed right through the monster’s chest and went flying through the wall and out into Kasani knows where. He then lunged towards another ironclad monster. The monster slashed at him with his sword. He caught the blade in the air with his bare hands and bent it, bent it into a knot, and then he picked up the Moscorian with his left hand and hit him in the stomach so hard with his right hand that his hand went right into his stomach. He pulled the monster’s intestines out and then threw him out the window. Donive was smiling, Donive knew everything was alright, Donive knew that Pitkins was going to protect her, and Pitkins knew that . . . he was awake.
He was breathing hard, the dream still flashing through his mind with all the clarity of a play one has just seen minutes earlier. Donive had made him wake up. Donive didn’t want him to forget the treasure. The treasure
(that I dug DEEP for)
And he wouldn’t. He had seen a vision just before awaking, and it was still in his mind. He now knew how he was going to counter the fishing mace. And with that assurance, he went back to sleep. Deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 13
“Why have we heard no news?!” Fritzer thundered. He and all of the nobles were in the temple, and the mood was dark. About a week ago they had received the message from General Fuhdor stating that he was going into Dachwald to begin offensive action against the Dachwaldians. Although at first they had been optimistic, given the large size of his army and the rigorous training his soldiers had undergone over the last six months, they were now growing worried. They had expected to get daily reports on the situation, but there had been nothing but silence. All the nobles could do was guess. Most saw no reason to interpret the lack of communication in anything but the most pessimistic manner. It seemed like General Fuhdor would certainly send them messages if he could, so the lack thereof could only be interpreted as meaning he was unable to. And if he was unable to, that likely meant that he and his army were in serious trouble. On the other hand, however, some nobles thought that perhaps General Fuhdor had had astounding success and that was actually the problem: having grown so full of confidence and pride, he had decided he did not even need to keep the nobles informed. Perhaps he was too busy chasing down the last of the Vechengschaft rascals and didn’t want to lose any of his momentum. That was how the optimists thought. There was no way to know for sure . . . that is, until the meeting was suddenly interrupted by a loud shout.
“RIDER APPROACHING! RIDER APPROACHING!” the nobles heard someone shouting outside the temple.
Fritzer dashed outside. Heading towards the temple, galloping at a frantic pace, and wearing a look of fear and utter terror on his face stronger than any Fritzer had ever seen in his life, with the sole exception perhaps of the Sodorfian who survived the Dachwaldian ambush near the border, was a Sodorfian scout.
“THE DACHWALDIANS ARE COMING!! THE DACHWALDIANS ARE COMING!! CLOSE THE CITY GATES NOWWWW!!!!”
Fritzer’s heart skipped a beat, and then nearly stopped beating entirely. A bolt of pain flew through his chest like a knife thrust. DONIVE!! WHERE IS SHE?! he asked himself. Then, to his terror, he realized that while Patsrona had come into the city that day to shop, Donive had stayed home. “NOOOOO!!!!” he shouted in horror; “I MUST GO GET DONIVE AND BRING HER TO SAFETY!”
“Fritzer, you must get a hold of yourself!!” Bundor said sharply; “Others may also have loved ones outside the protection of the city walls! You’re in charge right now; you must think of the city as a whole, not just of your daughter!!”
Fritzer knew he was right. Fighting desperately against all of his paternal instincts, he forced himself to try to forget about Donive for a brief moment so that he could make the safety of the city as a whole his first priority.
“SOUND THE WARNING BELL!!” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Bundor replied, and went running back inside the temple to do just that. Wanting to see for himself what they were going to be up against, Fritzer scampered up one of the ladders to the top of one of the towers. What he saw chilled his blood. All around them he saw thousands upon thousands of warriors in black armor.
“CLOSE THE MAIN GATE! PREPARE THE ARCHERS! PREPARE THE TREBUCHETS!!” Fritzer shouted out at the Sodorfian regulars.
It was a gorgeous day; the sun was shining brightly. Standing atop a nearby hill, Tristan thought to himself, This is my finest hour! If I live to see this city crushed and its inhabitants put to the sword, I can die a happy man.
Then, his happy thoughts were suddenly interrupted.
“FIRE!!” it sounded like he heard someone inside the city say. The City of Sodorf was located in the center of a large valley surrounded by large hills on all sides. His soldiers had been setting up positions around the city at what he had thought was a safe range, as far as Sodorfian trebuchets and mangonels were concerned.
WHOOSHH, WHOOSHH, WHOOSHH!! To his horror, suddenly he saw hundreds of flaming stones being hurled at his men. He was shocked to see that the Sodorfians were firing so quickly. He figured it would be a while before they managed to load and properly position any trebuchets or mangonels. Little did he know that Fritzer had insisted on hundreds of trebuchets and mangonels being ready at all times, positioned strategically around the city, with plenty of ammunition next to each one. At first Tristan was confident his soldiers were at a safe distance from the city, but he was unaware that while completely stagnant in all other areas of military technology, the Sodorfians had succeeded in increasing the range of their mangonels and trebuchets.
Greatly.
BOOM!! BOOM!! BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!! Flaming stones went flying
into his troops, smashing many into pieces and setting many others on fire.
“FALL BACK, YOU IDIOTS, OR I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF!!” Tristan screamed furiously at his army, with the righteous anger of a parent shouting at a foolish child walking across a busy street. This unexpected burst of firepower from the city had caught the Dachwaldians off guard. It had killed about two thousand Vechengschaft soldiers.
You’ll pay for that! Tristan thought to himself as he looked down at the city with hatred and fury in his eyes. We’ll just have to see if you like my flaming missiles as much as General Fuhdor did!!
Summoning Feiklen and General Sivingdon to him, he immediately began reprimanding them, even though he was to blame just as much as they were.
“We cannot allow such carelessness!! The war is not over yet, and even if it were, there are still other wars to be fought!! How are we going to fight them if we allow ourselves to get outsmarted by the likes of Sodorfians?!” he yelled angrily.
Before they could even answer, he said, “I want everyone to fall back at least several hundred yards, and then I want deep shafts dug into the ground immediately, just like the ones by Arbeitplatz. Trebuchets and mangonels are not going to enable us to take this city. These bloody Sodorfians have better range with their trebuchets than we do with ours! However, they certainly have no idea of the power we can harness and the mayhem we can wreak with our new missiles!” he said, smiling wildly.
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