by JW Webb
“Of course you are,” Barin grinned back and hoisted the girl up so she could look over other men’s heads.
“You really are a giant,” Sorrel giggled and whooped.
“Well, bigger than most here, though not a giant. I came across a few of those in my young days and I cannot recommend their company. How fares the Duchess?” Barin placed Sorrel gently on the parapet floor as though she were a fragile vase.
“Oh, she is good. Brave, and so is Mistress Zukei.”
“Mistress Zukei is something else entirely.” Barin looked across and saw the two aforementioned women approaching them along the battlements. It was oddly quiet and still on the walls. A strange lull in what had been—and would soon be again—a chaotic, exhausting couple of days.
Though not for Barin—he hadn’t needed to heft his axe once. But certainly for the enemy, who lay in piles at the foot of the walls, skewered by arrow, boiled by oil, and crushed by rock.
“Why doesn’t the bad king attack?” Sorrel could just make out King Haal by his size and the winged iron crowned helm he wore. The king still sat his horse cursing and swearing in the midst of his tribe.
“I thought you were the messenger.” Barin waved as Shallan saw him and added purpose to her stride.
“Oh, that. Duchess says there’s fighting somewhere beyond the nasty king. She says someone is on our side, and she seems very happy—that’s it.”
“Well and good, and maybe that’s why King Haal’s hesitating. I too noticed his son departing a while back.” Barin refused to mention his archfoe’s name lest his growl scare the girl. Sorrel knew nothing of the blood feud betwixt Barin and Daan Redhand.
As Barin waited for Shallan and Zukei to join them, he cast his canny gaze at the enemy milling and shouting like a rising wave of steel, three hundred yards beyond the walls. Ten siege towers, ballistae, and other contraptions were now lined up in haphazard order. Barin smiled wryly. This was going to be a big day. Then he too heard the distant clash of steel and yelling and had cause to wonder who was fighting out there.
“It’s Corin!” Shallan said as she let him greet her with a hug. “He’s out there, Barin—this I know. Call it intuition.” Zukei stood behind her, frowning down at Sorrel who winked back. “Cheeky mare,” Zukei said to the girl who giggled in response.
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Barin nodded, though he doubted Corin was out there. But then who? And what the bloody hell did they hope to achieve—biting like flies on the hide of a boar as big as Leeth? A puzzle, but a pleasing one; any aid was sorely needed.
Barin turned to look north along the wall. Over there were stationed the two surviving sons of Duke Tomais, Tolemon and Danail. Ralian was there too, having left Barin’s side minutes earlier to see how the north end fared.
They waited as clouds hung low over the Gap of Leeth and started spilling fresh snow from their midst. Far away, the clash of steel rose and fell but it was impossible to see what was going on.
Suddenly, Ralian yelled across at them. He’d left Tolemon and Danail and was making back toward where Barin and the others stood looking for movement to the southwest.
“It’s riders moving at speed!” Barin and Shallan saw where Ralian was pointing and then spotted a large group of horsemen racing toward the gates from the far side of the Gap. They had scant time to wonder on it because King Haal chose that very moment to attack in full ferocity.
Horns hooted, Leethmen slammed swords against shields, ballistae loaded, cranked and then and swung their loads, sending cart size stones hard against them. Meanwhile, the creaking siege towers rolled and wobbled like sinister wooden effigies toward the city walls.
King Haal swung his double-headed axe in one hand and sword in the other. He made his horse rear on its hind legs, as did the small group of horsemen surrounding him. Then the vast countless number of foot warriors, spearmen, axe men, and archers loped and howled like wolverines toward the gates.
King Haal yelled for his guard to form a wedge and make straight for the gates and barbican, beneath the walls on which Barin, Shallan, and the others waited. Stones flew high overhead, some crashed along the walls, spilling men like ants, as they dented and broke off parts of the crenulations. The siege towers rumbled close, and those manning them hurled hooks and slung ladders across, the defenders hacking and yelling to break ladder and unhinge hook.
Three got close enough for the first warriors to spill from their platforms and leap down upon the battlements near where Tolemon and Danail stood.
“They’re breaching!” Ralian yelled across at his men up there. “Hold the wall!”
That shout was all he got time for, as King Haal, surrounded by a forest of spearmen yelled up at them, and to Haal’s right the ranks parted to reveal sweating thralls heaving a tree-long ram from their shoulders. The warriors’ shields protected them as best they could as the thralls commenced swinging the ram to and fro hard into the gates.
Ralian ordered oil be tossed down, and many thralls screamed in agony as the burning liquid ate their flesh, but more replaced them, and the gates started to buckle with the violent impact.
“I need to be down there!” Barin thundered. Cogga, Taic, and Sveyn had appeared, and they hastily followed Barin down from the walls into the barbican below. Shallan and Zukei made to follow.
“Stay!” Barin told Shallan with a backward glance. “Your arrows will be more use here,” he pleaded her listen and then glanced at Zukei. “Look after her!” Barin said, and then vanished from the walls. Shallan watched him go as a wash of raw emotion flooded her nerves. Again she was at Calprissa, Rael’s pirates bearing down upon her. Grim-faced, Shallan nocked an arrow to her bow and reached down over the battlements.
She let fly at a spearman, piercing his throat, then another and another, with Zukei loosing shafts alongside. Shallan let the thralls be, suspecting most came from her own country. Meanwhile Ralian paced along the walls, yelling orders and despatching men to where the siege towers were spilling Leethmen onto the walls.
“We are going to die.” A small voice turned Shallan’s head, and she saw Sorrel standing behind her, Zukei’s dagger in her grubby hand.
“No, Sorrel,” Shallan told her seriously. “I will protect you, and Zukei will protect us both. We are three ladies against the storm and we will withstand it!”
“I hope so,” said Sorrel, not entirely convinced. “I love you, Duchess—you’re the best!”
“And I love you too! Be brave little one!” Just then, a grinding, scraping crash announced the gates caving in, followed by whoops and snarls as the Leethmen crashed inside the barbican, Barin and company waiting as reception.
King Haal looked up at the walls laughing. He windmilled his axe in crazy circles and yelled up at the defenders. King Haal’s joy was short lived. Shallan’s shaft pierced his left eye, killing him instantly and pitching him from his horse.
***
Daan Redhand hewed and hacked, sending men’s limbs and heads in every direction. He had no idea who these warriors were, but that didn’t matter, for the berserkergang was upon him bidding him kill and kill and kill!
Beside the prince, his finest fighters carved a hole in the Ptarnian defence, for the strangely armoured short-legged warriors were no match for these giant, savage axe men. From his horse, Kolo Muzen saw the carnage and shouted to his officers to send more men to aid the stranded warriors.
At one point, Redhand was surrounded, but his rage and massive strength broke through and again he rained carnage down on the Ptarnians. That fight lasted half the day, with neither side proved the victor. Ptarnian arrows and spears gored countless Leethmen, who in return cut swathes through the Ptarnian army, leaving corpses strewn every which where.
***
Olen smiled as he urged his horse at full gallop toward the city walls. The enemy was in disarray, with two-thirds of Haal’s army now engaging with the Ptarnians two miles to the east. The remaining third was spilling toward the city, and Olen cou
ld see they had just managed to breach the main gates.
Corin saw that too and spurred Thunder straight for those gates, Clouter whirling circles as he rode.
“Bastards!” Corin yelled, “I’m coming!” Beside them were Greggan of the Wolves and Arami of the Anchai, whilst behind their greater force was led by Halfdan of Point Keep and the other Rorshai leaders.
The gap closed as the Rorshai and Halfdan’s Wolves thundered toward the horde, baying like beasts outside the city. Leethmen turned too late to see riders thundering down upon them. A spearman leaped at Corin, but Clouter sent him flying, and beside him an axe man screamed as Olen’s scimitar skewered him through an eye.
The combined horse attack stove into the rear of the Leeth army like an iron spike shattering a frozen lake. Warriors turned and gaped, only to be sliced and punctured, hewed and gored open, or else trampled under hoof. Panic filled their ranks as Leethmen tried to come to terms with what was happening.
Ahead, Corin saw King Haal’s wedge surging through the gates, and he urged Thunder cut across to reach the centre of his foes. Beside him, Greggan nocked arrow to bow and loosed with the Rorshai. “Impressive shooting,” Arami yelled in Greggan’s ear, “not half bad for a foreigner!”
“We Wolves are multi-taskers!” Greggan grinned back at him and loosed another arrow. They reached the gates just in time to see King Haal fall from his horse, a sight that filled their veins with fire and found them crashing headlong into the dead king’s panicked wedge.
***
The gate buckled inwards and exploded, and seconds later Leethmen spilled inside like drunken wasps falling from a nest. Barin leaped toward them, Taic to his left and Cogga and Sveyn at his right.
With them was Danail of Vangaris, who had left his elder brother on the wall in his hunger to avenge Vorreti. And behind them were a tight knot of Ralian’s toughest fighters, all more than hungry to face the enemy head-on at last.
Barin roared as he hewed out with Wyrmfang, slicing heads from necks and arms from shoulders. Beside him, his companions fought like bears in cages, but the Leethmen kept coming until their sweaty hides forced down upon the defenders, leaving them no choice but to give ground.
For half an hour Barin held the Barbican. A terrible fight that, with neither side aware of what was occurring outside. At last, he yelled to his men to flee back to the city behind where Ralian had posted a hundred archers, just waiting on Barin’s order.
Barin crashed through the inner gate, his men and Ralian’s surviving men running behind him.
“They’re here!” Barin shouted at the archers and dived sideways, just as the first Leethmen appeared and screamed as the shower of shafts fell upon them.
***
Shallan felt an icy calm as the king of Leeth fell from his horse to lie crow-meat on the blooded ground. Beside her, Zukei whooped praise, and little Sorrel clapped her hands in awe. Shallan didn’t notice them. Her eyes were on the approaching riders even now ploughing into the unsuspecting rear of Haal’s confused bodyguard.
It was there that she saw him. Her lover, Corin an Fol. And as if he heard her silent call he paused in his slaying to look up and the walls and see her standing there. Shallan heard his voice like a wind in the distance.
“Stay alive—I am coming!”
***
King Haal’s bodyguard were caught like bugs in a jar between Ralian’s archers and the Rorshai and Wolf riders now attacking from outside the barbican. Corin reached the gates just as the archers had the surviving Leethmen racing back into the barbican, where he and Olen and the others fell upon them until all were slain.
Behind, Lord Halfdan’s remaining Wolves and the Rorshai army tore into the chaotic mess that was all that remained of King Haal’s vast horde. Three miles south, Daan Redhand stood over the broken mangled body of Kolo Muzen, his mouth frothing and his long sword pitted and stained. Redhand was exhausted, the rage finally having left him.
From a small hillock at the south of the Gap, Redhand was witness to his father’s fall, or at least the inevitability of it. He gathered the thousand or so men still living and without a word bid them carry all they could and withdraw hastily from the Gap of Leeth.
Time to go home, thought Daan smiling slightly. His father had lost but Redhand saw things differently. Here was opportunity. Because when he reached Grimhold, Daan Redhand would announce himself the new King of Leeth. Redhand’s smile widened; the game wasn’t over but had only just begun.
They stamped on and slew the last of the Ptarnian army on their way to the woods and the vastness of Leeth beyond. As for Pashel Akaz’s army, not a soul survived, and no word reached Emperor Callanz or his father of the utter failure and destruction of King Akamates’ second army.
***
Hagan watched as the dark bolt studded the gloomy sky—Gribble off to report to one of his bosses. “Little shit,” Hagan spat, as he gutted a Ptarnian pike man. He’d tried to get to Corin, but there was no chance as the total carnage had erupted throughout the entire Gap.
Hagan had to hand it to his old comrade turned enemy. Corin an Fol knew how to raise a rumpus. It was all Hagan could do to cut his way back to the mountains and lie low again. From that point, he observed the final slaughter of Haal’s horde turning on itself, Redhand’s warriors attacking his father’s in disarray and madness, whilst the rest still battled with what was left of the Ptarnian army.
What a bloody mess!
As Hagan let his gaze take in the entire Gap, he saw the Rorshai riders fall upon the rear of Haal’s core warriors, snapping their wedge as axe cleaves log. Hagan stowed his spyglass and mounted his horse, urging the beast back down to the Gap.
He wasn’t sure about what he was planning. Risky, and he might get skewered. But if Hagan pulled it off, he’d do both his ego and Rael Hakkenon a huge favour. More importantly, such a bold deed would wound Corin an Fol more than any blade could. And that, thought Hagan, was worth any risk.
As Hagan approached the city, he dismounted and swiftly stripped a Ptarnian corpse of its grey cloak and hood. Garbed thus he waited for dusk and then led the beast towards the gates. The gate guards were all drunk, and no one minded Hagan as he stole inside the city, a crafty smile on his face.
Clouter clutched between his palms, Corin yelled like a maniac and crashed through the inner door. Ralian, seeing this was no Leethman, yelled to the archers to stop. Corin ignored them as he leaped from Thunder’s back and made like a man possessed for the steps leading up to the battlements where Shallan stood yelling too.
Behind Corin, Olen dismounted and bid the others do the same. Greggan hailed Ralian, whom he recognised from some distant tavern meeting in Kelthara.
Shallan dropped her bow as she saw Corin’s long shanks taking the steps two at a time. Zukei and the girl called out to her as she sped along the walls and, and gaining the steps, half-ran and half-stumbled until, halfway down the walls she fell into the arms of her lover.
“I told you I’d come,” Corin said, as he kissed her long and hard.
“I never doubted you, my love,” Shallan wept, whilst above Sorrel pulled a face and Zukei scratched her head.
“Who the fuck is that?” Sorrel had picked up some bad words from Zukei.
“Dunno,” Zukei curled her lip. “But he looks like big trouble.”
End of Part Two
Part Three | Sword and Spear
Chapter 27
Runes and Ruins
Dark birds circled overhead as he took the narrow broken stairs two at a time. The wind shrilled in his ears and the damp cold gnawed at his knuckles, whilst his feet were blocks of ice.
Zallerak ignored the discomfort. It meant nothing to him who had lived a thousand lifetimes, and those last thousand years as exile and mere shadow of his former self.
Below, the weird bent spike of Ulan Valek’s only standing tower pointed toward him like an accusing finger.
This was an evil place. He recalled the last time he’d venture
d here, during the height of that age-long war against the Dog People. Zallerak’s race had been victorious then. This time? Zallerak tightened his mouth and hastened his step. He wouldn’t presume to guess. Wariness and cunning would keep him alive until he found what he sought, and with spell runes destroyed it. The black spear, Golganak. Morak’s masterpiece—a spike so evil it drained the souls of those whom it slew.
With the spear intact, Morak was still a threat, and his people the Urgolais were capable of destroying everything Zallerak had worked to achieve. Morak’s subtle mind utilised weak mortals to carry out his purposes, just as he had all that time ago.
The apocalyptic war between the Golden Ones and the Urgolais had all but destroyed both peoples. Zallerak knew of a few of his race still living, three in the east and one, Feroda (who harboured a grudge against him) dwelt close to the Fallowheld.
Another such one had moved to Gol and built a castle in the extreme south of that land, but Zallerak assumed that one had perished when that continent sank beneath the waves.
He suspected a few more dwelt south of the equator in uncharted lands. He’d never been down there, though he’d travelled to most other parts of Ansu. Now, as he approached the creeping ruins, Zallerak funnelled his thoughts into tight concentration. He stopped a mile before the city, hearing men’s hushed voices somewhere below.
***
Captain Surtez led his men down towards the dead city. They were terrified, and he didn’t blame them. But Surtez wasn’t scared; he had been chosen from twenty captains for this task, a high honour bestowed upon him by Pashel Akaz himself. Their task was to seek and retrieve the mysterious black spear and return it to Ptarni and their Emperor, Callanz.
King Akamates knew nothing about this mission. Surtez knew he had been chosen partly because he was a “new man,” the name given to those who followed Callanz and schemed against the old king, his father. Surtez was ambitious. He knew if he could pull this thing off his fortune would be made, and his high position in court secure for life.