“Then what would be her end game?” Rule asked. “It makes no sense to me. She must know that the other realms will band together.”
“It worries me,” Toulereau admitted. “Perhaps that is her plan. War, for the sake of war!”
Bitters shook his head side to side. “Surely that cannot be the case.”
Toulereau shrugged.
“I have heard that they wage war for the sport; it only serves the Lord of the Underworld.” Rule swore under his breath. “The master of the deep can collect the souls and is content no matter who wins.”
Rule downed his entire mug of mead in a single gulp and poured himself another.
“Can we beat her?” Bitters asked, raising his brows and knitting them together.
Toulereau rubbed his chin and contemplated. “Only if she acts alone. If there are others…”
He left the comment hanging in the air.
“Do we know if she works alone?” Rule asked as he tore off a chunk of bread that D’Arron had brought in a basket. She had swooped in and dropped it on the table without a word and exited just as fast.
Rule took a bite and a smile spread to his face.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” said Toulereau, with a grin.
Rule nodded. “Good enough that I may give up this warder oath, take up farming and marry the girl.” He leaned in. “She is easy on the eyes too.”
D’Arron heard the comment from the kitchen and blushed. Rule was a rugged looking man with broad shoulders and large hands. She let her imagination run wild.
“Back to your question,” Toulereau redirected. “I know she doesn’t work alone. A man had visited this town before I arrived and poisoned the fields. I do not know if he is a dark mage or not, but he has at least some control of the black arts.”
He shook his finger at the men, “Realize that the master she serves is greedy, he will not give her the power she seeks cheaply. She will have to pay in lives…many lives.”
“How do we go about defeating her if she controls the power of the dark lord?”
“We will need the help of the wizards,” Toulereau quietly said.
“How many can they send us?” Bitters asked.
“We have two…” Toulereau said.
“Yes, but can they send more?”
His question was met with an uncomfortable silence.
“I doubt we will get more.”
Rule’s face went blank.
“I know what you are thinking,” the elf said, “…but I do not know if there are more yet alive in this world. The Keep was recently attacked by demons.”
Rule muttered under his breath, “Then we are doomed.”
“It would seem so…” Toulereau agreed. “I will need to call upon the Tala’fein, my brother and Ironfist. They may not be enough…”
“The king of the dwarfs?”
The elf nodded. “I do not know if they will answer. They still lick their wounds from the days of Ror and hide underground. Ironfist and his clan only surface to sell their wares and to trade for supplies they cannot make themselves. My brother, well, he paid a high price at Ror and lost his wife and son. He will be reluctant to join another crusade to stop the dark ones.”
“What do you require of us?” Bitters asked as he took one of the small loaves of bread, cracked it in half and pressed it to his nose, breathing in deeply.
“In the near future I may need to move these people to my castle. We will need help protecting them from the catomen and wolven.”
Rule looked at Bitters. “We can do that.”
Toulereau’s face drew tight. “There are also beasts that roam my castle, skidders, and possessed men. They will need to be…purged.”
Bitter’s jaw dropped open a bit. “Can the mage help? The undead do not kill easily.”
Toulereau nodded. “His powers are still developing, but he possesses enough talent to do the job.”
“Have you asked him,” Rule wondered.
“Moving to the castle was his idea,” the elf replied.
“He knows the battle ahead and yet he agrees…” Rule said, indicating his approval.
“He is a good man. His heart is in the right place.” Toulereau said, as a smile spread across his face. “We are lucky to have him battle on our side.”
Rule pulled out his large knife and cut off a thick slab of cheese. He poked it with the tip of the knife and placed it in the center of a slice of bread and folded it in half. His mouth watered in anticipation. Perhaps he would give up this loner’s life and settle down, he thought to himself.
“You mentioned another mage,” Bitters said.
“I did,” Toulereau answered, “but he is not a warrior. His magic is that of the dream world.”
Rules brows shot up. “That is rare, is it not?”
Toulereau nodded as he ripped off a large piece of dried sausage and wrapped it in a slice of bread. “He has not yet mastered his gift.”
Rule took another bite. “I have not seen a Traveler before. I had heard there has not been one in many centuries. Since when has the Keep sent out wizards who are so young in their craft?”
“It is a long story,” Toulereau said, with sadness in his voice. “When they arrived, they didn’t know that they were untrained in the arts. There was clever deception involved, mayhap by this same dark wizard. The details don’t matter. What matters is that they are trying to master their skills now that they have become aware.”
Bitter’s nodded and took another drink from his mug. Toulereau cut off a thick wedge of butter and added it to the bread.
“Do we leave tonight?” Rule asked as he wiped the crumbs from his mouth.
Toulereau looked him in the eye. “I’m not sure that it will matter much one day or two. Castle Jonovan will not fall easily. The battle will wage on for months. We do need to get eyes on the battle to judge its progress, but I would rather do that after we have everyone safe in the castle.”
The two warders nodded their understanding.
Toulereau reasoned. “I think that you two should team up with Dra’kor and Sheila and make a trip to my castle. Take a couple men along to help clean the grounds. Brag can get you what you need.”
“Who is Sheila?” Rule asked hesitantly. He didn’t trust women when it came to battle.
“She is my father’s daughter. She is a battle elf.”
Rules eyes brightened. He knew of the prowess of the female battle elves. She would be an asset. Rule found it curious that Toulereau didn’t call her his sister.
“Will you be joining us?” Bitters enquired.
Toulereau didn’t answer immediately. He knew that he should, but wasn’t sure he would be able to slaughter men he had trusted. “I do not know. There is still much to be done here in the way of preparation and none that I fully trust to carry out the task. I will join you as soon as possible.”
“I would ask that you join us,” Rule demanded.
Toulereau knew that it would be best. The sadness showed on his face as he nodded his acquiescence.
Rule and Bitters stood. “We will go see Brag and this wizard you called Dra’kor. I think we should plan on leaving tomorrow.”
Toulereau watched them as they opened the door of the inn and stepped outside.
Bitters and Rule walked down the street. People moved out of their way and averted their eyes. They were both big men, standing well over six feet tall each, but that wasn’t what caused men and women alike to rush to the sides of the street. It was their eyes, cold, hard and unyielding. They had a certain look about them that spoke of the damage they would inflict if crossed. These men wore scars and walked with a swagger that shouted for others to take care.
Bitters saw the two taverns. “My throat is a bit dry.”
“Is it now?” Rule sarcastically asked.
“It truly is,” he answered in mock sincerity.
Within seconds, he spied the girls. They saw the men walking down the street and rushed out to meet them. They pulled th
eir skirts high and showed their shapely legs and danced in circles around the two strangers. The women of the town looked on with disgust, throwing their noses high in the air and whispering in tones that held meaning even if the words were muffled.
The girls ignored their comments; they were tipsy, pleasantly numb, and it wasn’t even noon. They played with their hair and gabbed their tits, playing to the men, trying to lure them into their tents.
A smile spread across Bitter’s face. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said to Rule with a wink. He changed his direction and headed straight for the brunette with the tight blue dress on. She had long pigtails and deep red lips.
“I can’t turn down a comely wench with fire in her eyes!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“It’s not her eyes you’re interested in, I’d wager.” Rule said, smiling and shaking his head.
He watched his friend make a beeline in the girl’s direction. He snorted. Whatever gal he picked was in for one halla of a ride.
Bitters changed his mind at the last second and grabbed the buxom blond by the ass with his large hand and squeezed. The brunette’s face went stiff, but Bitters didn’t notice. As he walked, his other was waving over his shoulder at Rule. The blonde licked her lips, removed his hand and led him into her tent. She smiled and winked at her stone-faced friend as she pulled the tent flap closed.
One of the other girls, the one with foreign features and jet black hair pouted and called after him. “When you’re through with her, you come back here and let me show you what a real woman can do.”
Bitters looked out the tent flap, his shirt already off, and blew her a kiss. He may just have to take her up on her offer.
“What about you?” the petite young lass asked Rule. “You looking for a little companionship?”
“Is that what you are offering?”
The girl hefted her skirt high enough that Rule got a good look at her smile. “Finest wares in town!”
Rule eyed her cream colored skin and cracked a rare grin. “Maybe later. I have some business to attend first.”
The girl laughed and pulled her blouse aside displaying a firm well-rounded breast. “I always say pleasure before business.”
“Do you now?”
She nodded. “Just ask for Treo. I’ll make you forget all your troubles.”
Rule doubted it, but he nodded anyway and continued across the street, having spotted the apothecary sign.
Siege
Benjamin Bartholomew Biggles, dressed in forest-green pants and wearing a brown and green cloak, worked his way silently along the ridge on the opposite side of the valley from where Jonovan castle was already under attack. He grabbed the rim of his hat and pulled it down low over his eyes, and was careful about where he placed his feet as he moved slowly closer, searching for a better view of the melee. He settled on hiding in a hollow behind a large fitzer evergreen, and slowly spread the boughs with his hands before staring out. Even from this distance he could clearly see Killoroy’s men maneuvering. His eyes were wide with amazement as he watched the battle unfold. The cloak he wore would make him hard to see; his hiding spot was in the shadows, comfortable and well-obscured. At this distance, far across the valley, he doubted that he could be spotted—however he took the necessary precautions just the same.
He had an unobstructed view of the rows of archers hiding in the rocks above the castle. They had already figured out that nobody was shooting arrows in their directions, and had visibly relaxed. Biggles could see them walking about freely in the open, as though they hadn’t a care in the world. The soldiers on the ground, hiding behind thick wooden shields, marched their way toward the moat, pushing the war machines built by their lord’s carpenters. Arrows fell around them, but seldom scored a direct hit. Once in a while an arrow caught a leg of someone who had been careless and wandered too close to the edge of the shields. Those whom were injured were quickly shuffled into the center, and out the backside of the engines. They were eventually dragged out of harm’s way, to the edge of the woods, by large men.
As best he could tell, the drawbridge was up and secured. The large siege engines were being rolled into place, one by one. The moat was wide; wider than most, and fed by both a river and natural springs. It had been dug by hundreds of men over the course of several decades and stood as the ultimate deterrent to attack. At better than forty foot across and deeper than a two story house, it would take years to fill with rock and debris. Of course they could fill it with dead bodies of the thousands who would perish if they tried to build a bridge to span its sides.
The draw bridge was heavy oak, and clad in metal sheet that was held in place with large nails driven in place by thick armed carpenters using heavy sledgehammers. Arrows and rocks bounced harmlessly away, falling into the deep icy water.
He saw the shiny reflections of the metal clad shutters that Jonovan had erected over the windows and doors of the stone buildings inside the keep. He also noticed that long sections of the streets were covered as well with thick logs and iron clad planks, which allowed the soldiers to move freely beneath, even though the castle was being pummeled with flaming arrows. From all appearances, life seemed to be going on within the walls of the castle in spite of the army and ruckus outside.
He removed the looking glass from his pack and held it to his eye while he rotated the lens. The image jumped into focus. He saw the animals, cows, horses and sheep, under the dirt covered lean-to that he assumed used to be the stable. It ran from one side of the battlement to the other. He could see that it had been shored up with additional timbers and that the roof had been layered with dirt. The cows chewed on straw as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
The chickens still wandered free in the yard, although every once in a while a stray boulder or arrow caught one of the creatures. It was pure luck if anything got hit at the distance from which either the archers or the catapults were from the yard. Even the best marksman he knew couldn’t hit a chicken at two hundred yards. The whole idea of a siege was to wear the enemy down and instill fear. Fear of the inevitable. Basically, either the army outside froze to death in the winter and gave up, or those inside the castle would suffer the same fate. It came down to food, water and fuel. Oh, and sometimes disease.
Benjamin saw a man under a large shield rush out and grab the dead bird, stuff it into a sack and then drag it to another building where he could see cooks in waiting with large pots. There would be a lot of soup made and served by the end of the siege, whichever path it took. Soup and bread became the staples for survival.
Benjamin sat back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was going to be a very warm day. He replaced his hat and lifted the lens back to his eye and pointed it at the enemy. He saw men shouting orders and could almost see the expressions on their faces, however the image was blurry. What he didn’t expect to see, was Hastings on a horse directing an army of soldiers, if you could call them that. They looked like they were made of mud! Hastings was recognizable because of his sword and shield. The sword was a broad sword that dragged on the ground when he walked, and hung well below the horse’s belly. Few were the number of men who possessed the strength to use the two-handed beast in battle. Hastings could wield it for hours without tiring.
The mud soldiers pounded their swords on their shields. Arrows shot from within the castle sunk into their bodies and then fell to the ground, having little effect. Benjamin had never seen anything like them. If they ever got inside the castle, they would surely slaughter everything. The only thing that seemed to be stopping them was the moat. He watched as they slid back into the ground and then appeared a few feet away, rising from the dirt. Already, the soldiers at the tops of the wall of the castle had stopped wasting their bolts on them. They shot only when a human target made themselves vulnerable.
Benjamin spent the entire day drawing in his book and counting. One-hundred and sixty-two archers that he could see. He made a mark for each, just the way he had been taught. Anot
her fifty-three horses in reserve. He made careful notes and drew pictures of the scene before him; Toulereau would want to know all the details. He supposed that if he missed one or two, it would still be all right, but being off by five or ten, well…that would be just carelessness.
The large siege engines that almost reached to the top of the castle walls were now rolled into place. On a lesser castle, they would have been above the walls and provided a place for both invaders and archers to hide and attack. Here, they were shy of the top of the castle by many spans of arms. They were also not able to get close enough to the walls to lower their planks. Most motes were a scant ten or fifteen feet wide, but not around this castle.
Biggles smiled. Unless they could quickly build a strong enough bridge, those towers would be of little use. Biggles fully expected that the castle would pepper them with flaming arrows and pitch-balls once night fell. He would be surprised if they were this close to the castle come morning. For all he knew, they might just be piles of burnt sticks by morning. It would be a sight to see; too bad he had to return so quickly and would miss the fun. He drew them in detail nonetheless.
The giant wood structures had been assembled somewhere down the road over the course of many days. Key components had been made elsewhere, probably Killoroy’s blacksmith shops, but the rest had been constructed from freshly cut and adzed timber. Once assembled, they had been pulled by oxen to the edge of the battle field and then pushed by the hands of hundreds of men until they were just out of reach of the archers. They stood like tall buildings on either side of the road that led to the castle. The road held a battering ram that was as large around as a man was tall and over a hundred feet long. It would take close to a hundred men to make use of it. The iron covered tip, in the shape of a snakes head swung from thick ropes. Shrouds covered either side, where men could work the ram without fear of becoming human pincushions from arrow fire from above.
So far, only two trebuchets had been brought into place. They had used the buckets to lob several large stones at the castle, but they had done little damage to the granite walls; the boulders falling far short of the height needed to do any damage. They just didn’t have the arch they needed to clear the walls. He could see that the engineers were busy making adjustments, trying to get the projectiles to sail over the walls, into the town and inner keep. Biggles suspected that the field was too short and that they would need to cut down many trees in order to move the buckets back where they could be used more effectively.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 43