by Pedro Urvi
Two mornings before, another cloud of dust had blotted the horizon: not as big as the first one, but something which turned out to be utterly devastating for the defenders’ morale. The Invincibles of the Ice, the elite troops of King Thoran, had been sent to the war camp. No less than ten thousand men, the most dreaded heavy infantry in the entire continent. Seeing them arrive, among the cries of their compatriots, Gerart had consulted with Urien:
“Here are the ten thousand more men we were expecting, just as you foretold, Counselor.”
“It saddens me to be right in this case, my young Prince, but it’s as I feared. In fact it’s even worse than I’d anticipated. They’ve sent the Invincibles of the Ice. These are their elite force, and each one equals three of our soldiers, if not more.”
“They’re as good as that?”
“That’s right, my Prince, they’re as good as that.”
“My father has sent five thousand men more, the reserve. That’s all we have: fifteen thousand in all.”
“There are forty thousand of them, but in practical terms that means sixty thousand. We don’t have much chance of holding out.”
“What do you suggest we do, Counselor?”
“Send officers to recruit in the cities and villages of the neighboring counties. It will help if we can manage to bring in a few thousand men more to form a militia.”
“Good idea!”
They had managed to recruit five thousand peasants and farmers, who were now exercising with the rest of the men in the daily training routine. Gerart was happy with his officers, who had responded well; the soldiers trained daily and worked without rest. The moat behind the gate was now finished and the large earthen jars of oil had been set all along the wall, which had itself been reinforced and strengthened at several strategic points. The wells had been secured and were being watched constantly. The troops’ discipline was good, they were ready for the siege. All that was needed was to know when it would begin.
Unfortunately it was not long before that question was answered.
Above the battlements, Lomar stretched his neck, strained his vision and cried:
“There they are, your Highness, they’re coming…”
Gerart began to notice that the cloud of dust on the horizon was gradually coming closer. At first he could not make out what was making that enormous disturbance, but after a while he saw what it was and his heart froze, as if an ice giant had clutched it.
The siege machines were finally arriving.
As the cloud drew nearer the Norghanian camp, Gerart could see that there were hundreds of carts and freight horses pulling catapults, ballistae, battering rams and the dreaded siege towers.
“By the Light, they’re huge!” Lomar cried in dismay.
“They certainly are,” Gerart said, very worried.
He watched the gigantic siege towers as they were dragged on, built of wood, reinforced with steel. The structures were more than six stories high and must have measured more than sixty feet tall and thirty feet wide. They were absolutely colossal, and crushed the spirits of the men on the battlements who now, in masse, watched the unstoppable advance of the death machines. Until that moment the danger had seemed unreal, present but distant. Now they were all aware that death was coming, inexorably.
Urien stood beside Gerart and said:
“They’ll attack at dawn. We must get ready.”
“Can we stand up to these siege machines?”
“Tomorrow we’ll know, my Prince.”
Nobody in the fortress slept that night. All rested in a state of tension, and nervousness filled the air like an electric storm in summer. Hearts beat faster, men waited for the arrival of dawn and with it the attack of the men of the snow. Gerart went down to the dungeons where the two conceited noblemen were still held, and offered them a simple deal: they would serve under his command for Rogdon or he would have them executed right there and then. The two Generals, seeing the young Prince so determined and ready to cut their throats, accepted immediately.
Gerart reinstated them in their positions and functions, and gave Count Helmar the command of the defense of the wall’s eastern sector and Count Longor the western sector. Lomar would command the defense of the gate, while Gerart would go to those points where reinforcement was needed, which unfortunately they expected to be many.
With the first light of dawn a Norghanian herald rode to the gate of the great wall.
“I have a message from my lord his Majesty King Thoran of Norghana for the commander of this fortress!”
Gerart made his way through the men and stood on top of the Gate. He looked down at the Norghanian herald.
“I am the commander! Prince Gerart, son of King Solin of Rogdon. What is this message?”
“My lord wishes you to know that if you surrender the fortress and turn yourself in of your own free will, he will pardon your life. Otherwise, he’ll take the fortress and leave no survivors.”
“Tell your King that Rogdon will never surrender this fortress, and that if he tries to take it he’ll be declaring war between our nations. Also assure your King that we’ll kill each and every one of his men in this pass if he dares to attack us.”
The herald tugged at his horse’s reins and galloped away to his camp.
Everyone awaited the Norghanian reply with suppressed nervousness.
It did not take long.
The siege machines began to move, advancing slowly towards the walls, pulled by hundreds of men and horses.
Gerart turned to the right and shouted:
“Eastern section! Ready?”
“Ready, Sire!” was Count Helmar’s reply as he moved among his men giving orders.
“Western section! Ready?”
“Ready, Sire!” was Count Longor’s reply as he encouraged his men.
“Lomar?” he asked his friend.
“Always, your Highness!”
“Urien, go back to the Great Tower and direct maneuvers from there. Nothing must happen to you. I need you.”
“Be very careful, your Highness. Remember that if you fall, so do all of us.”
“I won’t fall, but my place is here, leading. The men must see me lead the defense, or else morale will crumble.”
At scarcely four hundred paces from the walls the catapults took their positions. Gerart counted nearly a hundred, of different sizes, and about twenty auxiliary ballistae. Behind them four immense siege towers waited their turn. Operating the siege weapons were hundreds of Norghanians, with thousands of soldiers behind them forming a choppy sea of red and white. The forty thousand men waited, ready to go into action.
The picture the defenders witnessed was terrifying. Fear hovered over the walls of the fortress like a bird of ill omen.
The sound of a horn filled the valley, and at its signal the catapults fired huge blocks of rock which rained down on the defenders of the battlements. ¡The impact of rock on rock was devastating and the sound deafening. Soldiers and parts of the battlements were thrown aside in the lethal shower of granite. Great blocks of rock burst against the merlons and the wall. Death in the shape of explosions of rock reached the brave soldiers, who could do nothing to prevent the murderous bombardment. The nightmare of rock and stones extended along the entire wall. Suddenly the attack stopped, and the terrified defenders helped to carry away the wounded while a tense silence fell over the valley.
Gerart looked out at the enemy lines.
“They’re re-loading, Sire,” Lomar told him, “They’re bringing huge rocks in carts, and they’re going to load them on the catapults.”
“It makes no sense to expose ourselves. Tell the men to abandon the walls, all except those on guard.”
“Yes, Sire.”
At his order the Rogdonian soldiers retreated in orderly fashion inside the fortress, out of reach of the crushing catapults and ballistae.
The devastating attack was renewed. Granite and rock fell from the sky, hitting walls and battlements mercilessly. The
attack went on all through the morning, punishing the regal walls. Great parts of the battlements were completely razed, and two towers had collapsed towards the pass, carrying with them the soldiers in them. Despite everything, the wall stood without a crack, stoically bearing the granite impacts. At last, with the sun at its highest, the rain of rocks stopped.
Gerart climbed up to the gate with Lomar, followed closely by his six Royal Swords.
“What do you think, Lomar?”
“I think they’ve run out of rocks for today.”
“Certainly it can’t be easy breaking and moving those enormous missiles.”
“Now is the moment when the red and white tide will beat the blue cliff with all its strength.”
“You are a poet, Lomar,” Gerart said with a smile.
“Thank you, your Highness,” Lomar said and smiled back.
“Soldier!” Gerart said to a young man beside him. “Have a message sent urgently to King Solin. Norghana has attacked. War has been declared.”
“At your command, your Highness!” the young man said, and ran down from the battlements.
“Archers, to the walls!” Gerart ordered.
The whole length of the wall filled up with men in blue and silver, bows at the ready. The infantry waited below to be called to the walls in their turn.
The northerners howled like wild wolves, thousands of throats roaring in anticipation of victory filled the valley, reaching the ears of the tense defenders. An immense red and white tide began to advance towards the wall. A tide of death and destruction.
The archers waited tensely for the first line to come within shooting range, ruthlessly suppressing the terror this spectacle on the plains inspired in them. But no-one took a step back.
The two Rogdonian Generals, one at either end, raised their hands. Lomar, in the center, did the same.
The Norghanians kept coming with deafening cries. The tramping of thousands of boots was like an earthquake tearing the ground at the foot of the walls. They came within two hundred paces, but the order to fire was not given. Under the winged helmets Gerart could now see the blond hair, golden beards and broad shoulders of tall, tough-looking men in full scaled armor, carrying round shields of wood reinforced with steel together with swords and axes.
Behind them the four gigantic siege towers were being pushed by nearly a thousand men. In the middle of the red tide came two huge covered battering rams. The whole valley looked like an endless sea of soldiers.
It was a terrifying scene.
The first enemy line reached a point a hundred and fifty paces from the wall.
Both Generals and Lomar lowered their arms as a signal to attack.
Thousands of arrows rained on the first lines. Hundreds of them fell, pierced by those arrows. Volley followed volley in a steady rhythm against the men attacking the walls. Men fell, but their brothers in arms stepped over them and kept coming undaunted. Lomar and Gerart shot arrow after arrow, as fast as it was humanly possible.
The Norghanians, following an order, lifted their round shields all at once. Each man was carrying one, and in a moment the whole valley became a sea of eyes. Thousands of wood and iron eyes were raised to protect the invading army from the Rogdonian arrows. These fell on the sea of shields which had now been formed over the heads of the enemy. The northerners still fell, pierced by the arrows, but far fewer now that the arrows bounced off the shields.
Finally, they reached the foot of the wall, amid a din of booming and crashing.
The defenders went on sending thousands of arrows against the red tide, causing many losses, but not enough to stop the advance. Now they had to defend the walls.
General Longor raised his hand and made a sign. The archers in his section moved back to let the infantry through. In the blink of an eye the ends of the dreaded assault ladders, as well as countless grappling hooks with ropes, threatened the entire length of the wall. Gerart ran to General Longor’s side, followed by the six Royal Swords. The General’s men were in position, ready and waiting to see the first winged helmets appear over the battlements.
“Wait until they’re on top,” shouted Longor to his men. “The more there are on the ladders and ropes when we cut them, the more will die when they fall.”
Gerart looked at him and understood.
He stood at his side, and they waited.
Above the great gate Lomar too was waiting with the infantry. At the far end he could see the last of General Helmar’s archers changing position, while ladders and grappling hooks filled the eastern section of the wall.
The Rogdonian soldiers waited in an uneasy calm, firm and brave.
Death was climbing their walls, and soon it would be upon them.
Threads of Destiny
Sleep was beginning to take over his mind. Komir could not understand why this feeling, which he was struggling unsuccessfully against, was overwhelming him. It was as if a heavy cloak of drowsiness was coming over him. It was the middle of the afternoon and Ikzuge, the Sun Goddess, was shining in all her summer splendor. Her comforting light bathed the busy streets of the city, as if smiling on the tiny ants that ran back and forth across the cobblestones. Komir was aware that he was not tired and that the modest meal he had just enjoyed could not be the reason for this irresistible drowsiness. For a moment he thought he was turning into a black mountain bear with the hibernating season approaching.
He shook his head, trying to drive away that annoying feeling; he did not want to sleep. On the contrary, he wanted to stay awake. He had not yearned for sleep for a long time, he had no desire to be caught up in nightmares. Not since that fateful day… Sleeping meant dreaming, and his dreams were plagued by nightmares. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep and re-live the terrifying scenes of his parents’ murder. Time was going by, but those images of pain were still like a festering wound. The nightmares were so vivid that his soul died a little every troubled night. His spirit would never be the same; those events had marked his soul for life.
No, he did not want to sleep. Every night, in vain, he fought a battle to avoid falling into those horrifying dreams, but he failed, just as on that day when he had been unable to save his parents. This would go on tormenting him till the day he died. Komir tried to turn this pain into energy that would help drive him on, help him to face any dangerous situation he met on his way to his final goal: to find those responsible for the death of his parents and make them pay for that suffering a thousand times over
Cursed sleep! Leave me alone, I don’t want to sleep!
He tried to get up from the bed, but his body would not respond to his mind’s commands. He slumped back and his head came to rest on the cozy woolen blanket, so soft, so warm… And the sleep he wanted to avoid took him, enfolding him in darkness. A distant voice reached his ears, calling his name again and again from far away: Komir… Komir… Komir… The voice sounded so distant, and he was so tired. He tried to look in the direction of the voice, but all he could see was night, dark and impenetrable. Komir… Komir… Komir… the voice repeated tirelessly, but he could not identify it or place it. Little by little the distant voice became more audible. Now he could hear it more clearly, it was getting closer. Komir… Komir… Komir…
His body ached. He was feeling pain, intangible but real, as if he were being assailed by hundreds of shifting cramps. He could not find the reason for that intense, penetrating pain or where it was coming from. He tried to open his eyes again, but a powerful light blinded him. When he recovered, he began to make out the shape of a huge opening in the rock where the white light was shining through. The image was beginning to take shape. Komir knew that place, those mountains… that cave…
It was Amtoko’s cave!
He looked to his left and saw the great black panther watching him out of her cat’s eyes.
A rough voice he recognized at once said:
“You’re answering my call at last, young Norriel. I’ve been trying to communicate with you for several da
ys now, but I couldn’t get our blood bond to make contact.”
Komir turned in the direction of the voice and found himself before the old Silver Witch. She was sitting beside the fire inside the gloomy cave that was her home. She was talking to him, but he was still dazed, unable to focus. He was there but he really was not, he could not see himself, his body. But it felt as if he were really in Amtoko’s cave at that moment.
“What’s going on, Amtoko, am I really here?” he asked her in confusion, with the pain he felt still tormenting his body.
“Yes and no, my dear young man. You’re here because I’ve summoned you, but only your spirit, your being, your consciousness, so to speak. Your body is in Ocorum, sleeping peacefully.”
“I don’t understand, what’s happening?”
“I needed to talk to you urgently, and I used our blood bond to communicate with you. But I can only do so through trance. If you don’t relax and open your mind, I can’t establish a link. But there’s something in your mind which eludes me when you sleep, blocks me. I should be able to make contact, but for some reason you reject me.”
“It’s the nightmares,” muttered Komir.
“Nightmares? What nightmares?”
“I don’t like talking about them, let it be. What do you want of me, Amtoko? What have you summoned me for?”
“It’s all right, Komir, if you don’t’ wish to tell me about what’s disturbing your rest and torturing your nights, I’ll respect that. But this is going to make our meetings more difficult. I summoned you because I detected some worrying movements in the spider’s-web being woven around your person. Dangerous movements that you must be aware of and be ready to face. That is, if you want to survive, of course…”
“Excuse my rudeness, Amtoko, I didn’t really mean it. This has caught me by surprise, and I didn’t know what to think. Can you make it disappear, this pain that’s killing me?”