by Tiger Hebert
“What in the hells is that?” cried out one of the soldiers.
“Ogres,” answered Melgrim soberly.
“We only have a few shots with the bolas, so we need to make them count,” advised Ogron. “Once you secure the bola, make sure to signal to the riders and get out of the way!”
“May God be with us,” prayed a human before he fired another arrow, felling the last remaining goatman.
Reluctantly, Melgrim responded by saying, “We can use all the help we can get, no matter where it comes from.”
The ogres pulled the giant wooden structure closer to the walls as they moved past the smoldering remains of the artillery that was destroyed by the barrels. The height of the siege engine rivaled that of the ogres themselves, at eight or nine yards tall. The engine itself was like two giant wheels. Long rigid catapult arms were fixed around central hubs, and they both rotated on a shared axis. Two massive chutes were positioned to both the left and the right of the backside of the wheel. It was at that point that the cadence of the drums changed again, as the tempo increased. The percussion reverberated off the rocky walls. At the urging of the drums, the taskmasters broke the chains free from the siege engine, loosing the ogres.
One of the ogres let out a bone-chilling howl as the others lumbered forward. Their strides were slow, but they covered large amounts of ground with each step, dragging the heavy chains in their wake. Crossing over the battlefield, the corpses of the fallen were crushed beneath their bare feet. Arrows and bolts ripped through the air, descending upon the slate-colored creatures. As the iron and stone arrowheads stung their skin, the ogres became frenzied. Awful howls of pain and rage filled the early evening air. They charged toward the walls with increasing speed as more arrows bit at their hides.
“Fire the scorpions,” commanded Melgrim as he let another arrow fly.
The plume of dark feathers seemed to vanish as the arrow spiraled away. The twisting blades of the iron arrowhead blurred time and distance, and then it was done. The arrow found its mark. The first ogre’s head jerked back, his momentum arrested, and the massive beast came crashing down onto the field of the fallen. There was no struggle, no protest. The ogre lay lifeless, an arrow buried deep in one eye socket. And then there were six.
The ballistae fired the makeshift iron bolas. The first shot was flawless. The bola hit the creature’s neck, the weighted ends whipped around him, and wrapped him up. The second bola hit its target also, but lower, around the abdomen. Once each ogre was entangled by the bolas, the commands were given to the hrall drivers. The riders urged their powerful beasts up the road, away from the battle. The ropes were pulled tight, but they held fast. The unprepared ogres were dragged away defenselessly. The first crashed headlong into the wall before the rope snapped, and was met with a host of spears that sprung out from the murder holes in the wall. The two ogres crashed to the ground, first one then the other.
One of the other ogres did manage to reach the gate, though, despite the barrage of attacks. He began pounding on the metal gate as he tried to break down the barricade. The arrows and spears did little to slow his assault on the door, and the other three ogres charged ahead toward the wall. The second round of bolas was fired upon the charging monsters. The first bola hit but failed to wrap around the ogre’s chest. He was sent stumbling, but it didn’t take long for him to regain his balance. The second bola hurtled straight for another ogre, but to everyone’s surprise, he caught it! Sheer momentum from snatching the whirling dervish out of the air spun the ogre in a circle. Once he regained his balance, he wound up and hurled the iron weapon right back at the wall.
Men and orc alike tried to scramble out of the way, but it all happened too fast. The incredible force of the ogre’s throw sent the iron missile crashing through the upper portion of the wall. Stone, mortar, iron, wood, man, and orc were thrown in different directions from the impact site. Melgrim manage to dive away from the impact, but he was pelted with the debris.
“Fire mangonels!” screamed the captain.
Within seconds the artillerymen lit their munitions, pulling the firing levers. The arms whipped forward, launching their fiery cocktails over the wall. The splashing barrage of liquid flames was a true firestorm descending upon the field of battle. The ember sap scorched everything it touched, including the ogres, but in their frenzied terror, they battered the wall with their bodies. Their screams of agony were piercing, their rage reckless.
The humans and orcs scrambled to get the wounded survivors out of harm’s way. Then in the midst of chaos, the ogres’ howls fell silent, and the pounding of their chains and fists upon the walls ceased. Both human and orc cheered as the burning remains of the ogres finally fell to the ground.
Defeating the ogres was a major victory; one that they had expected would secure their fate. They were wrong. In the distance, massive wooden wheels began to spin. At first the siege engine moved very slowly, then it began to hum as the wheels gained momentum. Heavy iron balls began to jump off the spinning wheels at frightening speeds. The call to retreat was too late, and the hail of iron started crashing through the battlements. Iron hammered the stone bulwark, dashing the rocks to bits.
“Fall back, fall back!” shouted Melgrim as he dodged the flying rocks.
The soldiers that remained atop the walls scrambled out of the way. Those that didn’t make it were sent flying from the force of the impacts. The thundering echoes were overwhelming. As iron separated rock and mortar, dozens of soldiers were lost in the debris. The center section of the wall, which housed the iron door, was whittled away chunk by chunk. Stone exploded, sending fragments in every direction.
Theros and Ogron scrambled to help evacuate the wounded, but the siege engines barrage was just too much; it continuously pounded the wall. The keystone at the top of the iron door crumbled under the force of the iron storm, and the impenetrable door gave way and fell inward under the relentless assault. Like many others, Ugluk did not escape the shadow of the falling door. Many others, both orc and human, were lost as the outer wall came down.
Melgrim stood motionless as his soldiers retreated to the next gate. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched the iron continue to rip through their defenses. The center of what was once a mighty fortification was now reduced to rubble. He hardly heard the screams of his people or the echoing blast of the war horns. The Baalim charged the fallen gate, and he just stood and stared in shock. He paid no attention to the shouting, locked into a daze, until he was shaken back to awareness. He looked at the huge gray hand that was on his shoulder. He followed the muscled arm to the shoulder, up to the face covered in gray mortar dust. But he recognized the eyes. The bright blue eyes were so deep, so familiar. He awoke from his trance.
“Friend, we must make it beyond the gate!” cried the hulking orc.
“Go!” shouted the captain as he regained his composure.
Theros and Melgrim were the last ones to depart from the crumbling ruins. Shadow carried Melgrim up the winding incline without delay. Theros followed closely behind on his hrall. The forces of Storm Vale made their way quickly toward the second gate, but the Minotaur were not far behind. Their only hope was to put the wall between them and their pursuers.
The second gate was not nearly as large or as heavily defensed as the outer one. The fortification itself provided less of a tactical advantage, but there was one benefit. Unlike the outer gate, the roadway before this wall was not flat or level. Rather it was situated at the top of a long straight climb, meaning that the advancing army would face a distinct disadvantage due to the terrain.
Beyond size, there was an architectural difference between the two. The first wall was replete with murder holes; the long narrow slits were just large enough for the defenders to deploy their spears, as the ogres had learned all too well. This wall was completely lacking this feature. Instead, it had four long smoothly carved chutes on the outside of the walls. They were very steep, almost dropping straight down to the bottom. They looked like fou
r slides, but these chutes had one purpose—weapons deployment.
As the whole company finally made it inside the walls, the iron door was raised and locked down. The battlements atop the wall were manned by both orc and human. Daylight was fading, and newly lit torches lined the wall top. Now this fortification could not hold as many soldiers at wall top for a few reasons. First, it was much smaller, and not only in height; it was perhaps only half the width of the outer wall. Secondly, there were several caches of wooden barrels full of ember sap along much of the top of the wall. The hope was that what they lacked in man power; they would more than make up for in raw firepower.
The orange sun slowly sank into the pink skies beyond the western peaks, and darkness descended on the scene. The prattle of the soldiers ended abruptly when the rattle of hooves reached the defenses. The Minotaur army came into view once more as it started rounding the final turn before the wall, and once the beasts had the wall in their sights, they began to run. Black and red banners snapped in the cold mountain wind. Their number was beyond measure.
“What is the plan?” Ogron asked the captain.
Melgrim pointed to the barrels and said, “We will set the casks on fire, then we will start rolling them out once they get close enough. Hopefully we can slow their advance and inflict heavy losses to their army. Our archers will fire upon the middle ranks. We will reserve the use of the scorpions and mangonels for close quarters.”
“Even if we are efficient in their use, we will not hold this defense long against that army,” declared Theros.
“I know,” agreed Melgrim. “Once we have exhausted our munitions for our siege weapons, we will retreat to the third gate.”
“But that’s Storm Vale proper,” remarked one of his lieutenants fearfully.
Understanding the lieutenant’s point, he acknowledged his concern. “You are right, Dennen. We have soldiers positioned to defend the third gate, but it is time to clear the city. Issue the command for everyone that cannot take up arms to flee to the harbor, including the king. Make haste, Lieutenant,” commanded the captain.
The lieutenant climbed onto his horse and darted up the winding road toward the city.
With a puzzled look, Theros quizzed the human, “This is the second mention you have made of a harbor.”
“Ah, yes. The Portfalls River runs against the back of Storm Vale. From there the river plunges thousands of feet into the port, hence the name,” explained Melgrim.
“Is there another road that would take us down to the harbor?” asked Ogron.
“No way, it is straight down,” replied Melgrim.
“Then how do we get down to the port?” asked the two orcs, sharing their confusion.
“Elevators,” answered the captain with a smile.
“What are elevators?” questioned Ogron.
“They are large platforms that are raised and lowered by chains and ropes,” said Melgrim. “I’ll show you if we live that long.”
The conversation ended as they climbed the stone steps to the top of the wall. They watched in anticipation as the horde drew closer. There were no more goatmen or ogres, and there was no more siege engine, but there were Minotaur, and many of them. It was hard to even guess how many because there appeared to be no end to their ranks. An evil chorus of ghastly howls in the growing darkness announced their approach.
“Barrels to the ready! Hold it, hold it…” shouted Melgrim to his soldiers.
At his command, they slopped ember sap over the barrels that lay sideways in the chutes. Once the Minotaur were in range, he gave the order.
“Fire the barrels!” commanded Melgrim.
The soldiers touched the torches to the barrels, and the sap took to the flame rapidly as it tried to devour the barrels. Then with a shove of a booted foot, each barrel was sent rolling its way down the long carved stone chute. The barrels spun with great speed as they shot down the sloping road. Some of the Minotaur leapt over the barrels, but there was not much that they could do to avoid them. Upon impact, the barrels burst open, and the ember sap spilled out, immediately turning to flames. The burning sludge splashed everywhere. Even those that tried to stop before reaching the flames were just pushed into the fire by the massive forces that marched behind them, and if the flames didn’t get them, the fumes did.
Once the first ranks of the creatures were bathed in flames, Melgrim gave the archers the command to pepper the crowd. Bolts and arrows descended upon the bottlenecked formation. Those that were trapped in that range were helpless, and they were utterly destroyed. Each person on the wall fired dozens of times, letting the arcing shots rain down upon the enemy. The Minotaur recognized their dilemma, and they began to charge through the arrow fire and the flames. The creatures raced forward with their great axes, rapidly closing the gap between them and the wall, only to be met by another round of burning barrels.
Patches of flame filled the roadway, and the scent of burning hair filled the night air.
The legion of beasts pressed on, despite their losses. They marched right into the maw of madness. They pressed the attack. The archers just couldn’t fire fast enough, and the barrels would soon be gone. It was time for phase two.
“Captain, our time is short,” growled Theros as the twine of his recurve bow snapped violently once more, hurling a fatal arrow into the neck of a charging bull.
“Fire the mangonels and scorpions!” hollered Melgrim as he fired an arrow of his own.
The arm of the mini catapult jerked forward, delivering its iron payload into the crowded roadway. The firing arm of the scorpions jumped forward in similar fashion, throwing the massive bolts over the wall. The iron balls crashed down, pounding hooves and horns to the ground, but the bolts landed to lesser effect. They had taken out hundreds, but the horrible creatures swarmed the wall.
“Fall back!” screamed Melgrim. “To Storm Vale! Fall back!”
The mixed army began their retreat further up the winding roadway just as the first few beasts scaled the top of the wall. At the sight, Ogron chose to charge the beasts instead of retreating. He knocked the first beast from the wall, sending him tumbling, but the second bull was bearing down on him. The massive axe came at him from above. Ogron was able to stop the attack with the top of his axe, but he was knocked to the stone floor by the power of the blow. The beast pressed downward with his giant axe as he tried to kill the orc, but his body was riddled with a flurry of arrows. Ogron was able to kick the beast away and jump down from the wall. Another beast gave chase and leapt after him, but right as he was about to land, Theros’ massive hammer smashed into the middle of his hairy chest. The dull thud of the crushing blow was sickening. While the beast writhed in pain as it fought for air, the two brothers dashed away. Minotaur began to scale the wall again. Once the wall was breeched, they opened the iron door, opening the floodgates. As the enemy army drew closer, the orc brothers climbed onto the only remaining hrall and urged the animal away. The powerful creature fled the scene with remarkable speed.
Back up in the city of Storm Vale, the streets were busy, but they were emptying quickly. Man, woman and child rushed out of sight to the northern end of the city. Only a detachment of twenty or so soldiers remained in garrison at the gates when the soldiers retreated into the city.
“Seal the gate behind us,” barked the captain to the men garrisoned in the gatehouse.
The men jumped to action, quickly operating the mechanism that would close the door once everyone was safely inside the city. The gatehouse and walls that closed off Storm Vale from the rest of the world were quite impressive in both size and structure, but they just could not match forces with this demon horde. The defenses would let them stand tall against five to one odds, even ten to one odds, but this was something far greater than that. Melgrim knew that if they continued fighting to defend this city, they would die in it.
“Okay, men, listen up. We only have a few minutes before the Minotaur army is beating on this door. It is imperative that once the g
ate is swarmed, we hastily retreat to the port. Because once the gate fails, we won’t stand a chance,” instructed Melgrim.
The collective force of Storm Vale, both orc and human, nodded in silent acknowledgement, and they scurried to take up arms. The gatehouse and its walls formed a natural alleyway that would require the enemy forces to crowd into the narrows before they could siege the gate, and the walls of the gatehouse towered a good fifty feet over the alleyway.
“If they want this city, they will have to survive death row,” replied one of the soldiers with enthusiasm.
“Make no mistake. We will lose the city, but I will take every damned bull I can before that,” cried Melgrim bitterly.
Just as he finished speaking, the sea of Minotaur flooded into view as they charged forward. The battery of archers fired at will upon the encroaching army. Dozens of Minotaur were stopped dead in their tracks by the hail of arrows. Then Melgrim and his soldiers noticed a change in their adversary. Many of the bulls now carried tall rectangular shields in one hand and long one-handed war hammers in the other. Only a few of the unarmored berserker bulls remained, but these armored troops fearlessly marched through the storm of arrows. The arrows and bolts couldn’t pierce their hardened armor or shields, and they marched right into the gatehouse narrows.
As the most of the arrows simply ricocheted off them, the beasts moved toward the iron doors. Some began to frantically pound their hammers on the iron doors; others strapped their shields on their backs and started to scale the walls. The defenders tried to pick off the climbers, but it quickly turned into a losing effort. Fortunately for the captain, the signal came quickly.
“Captain Melgrim, the lifts are cleared. Make your way there now!” shouted the frantic sentry as he dashed through the emptied streets.
The captain was forced to heed the call and issue the command for retreat. Those that had remained in defense of the city scrambled down the stairs away from the wall as they dashed through the streets of Storm Vale proper.