Realms of War a-12

by Paul S. Kemp

  "He'll be back," said Purdun. "With reinforcements from Tethyr."

  "We will be lucky if he returns from Tethyr with his life," replied the half-dragon crusader, tossing the bit of stone down the archer's platform, "let alone reinforcements."

  "He will return," repeated Purdun. He looked back over the wall. "We must hold out until he does."

  "Do we have any other choice?"

  Purdun shook his head. "None that I can see."

  They had been at war with the goblin tribes for nearly a year. The surrounding villages of Furrowsrich and Saarlik had fallen tendays before. The battles in Duhlnarim had swayed back and forth for months, only to end up here at the gates to the hold-the last refuge inside a broken, nearly beaten land.

  Outside, as far as the eye could see, the two groups swarmed, converging on the hills in front of Zerith Hold. Those goblins with deep yellow flesh were from the High Peaks. They gener shy;ally moved on foot and were particularly good at hiding and laying ambushes. One on one, the beasts were little more than a nuisance. But by the hundreds-and thousands-they were a real danger, as the ongoing war had proved.

  Though the High Peaks goblins were problematic, it was the Kuldin Peaks goblins that caused Lord Purdun more concern. They were more organized, were generally larger, and rode atop the backs of worgs-four-legged beasts that resembled huge, ferocious wolves. The goblin and its mount together were nearly a match for a single soldier, and the pairs outnumbered the denizens of Zerith Hold nearly thirty to one.

  "Lord Purdun," shouted Lieutenant Beetlestone, his normal youthful enthusiasm replaced by dire seriousness. "They're forming up!"

  Purdun looked out to where Beetlestone pointed. Sure enough, there in the middle of the swirling, chaotic mass of goblins, order had broken out. A large group had formed loose ranks, and they charged now for the walls of the hold.

  "They've got trees!" warned the lieutenant.

  Lord Purdun ran down the wall, bracing his men for another attack.

  "Archers to the wall. Ready the oil," he ordered. "Take out the leaders. Don't let them inside." He stopped at the end of the defenses, pulling an arrow tight to his bowstring. "This is your home you're fighting for. I don't need to tell you what happens if Zerith Hold falls."

  The goblin horde grew as it drew nearer to the walls. They had toppled some of the hundred-year-old trees from the dense wilderness surrounding Duhlnarim and carried them over their heads. The goblins had tried the trick once before. They would brace the tree, a rudimentary ladder, against the side of the hold and try to scramble up the side to get over the wall.

  The result of their last attempt could be seen below. Two broken stumps lay scattered and burned, one on the ground, another in the moat. The attempt had proven unsuccess shy;ful, but they were trying it again-and with twice as many trees.

  "Fire!" shouted Purdun, and he released his arrow.

  The wall rumbled with the hum of bowstrings. Huge swaths of goblins were pinned to the ground by the volley. But those who held the trees were mostly sheltered from the assault-the arrows glancing off or sticking deep into the ancient wood.

  "You there, on the end of the wall," shouted Purdun. "Concentrate your fire on that group there. Wait until they lift the tree. When they're uncovered, give em the Hells." He turned to the crusaders and guardsmen beside him. "You men, focus your fire over there, on the group with the second tree. Hold your shot until you hear my order."

  The men nodded or grumbled their agreement.

  The trees grew nearer, and the men pulled their bow shy;strings tight.

  "Wait for it."

  The tree rose, reaching up for the top of the wall and revealing beneath the goblins who held it aloft.

  "Fire!"

  Arrows rained down again, puncturing the goblins' soft bodies. They fell over, dead on impact, slumping to the ground like blades of grass under a huge foot. The tree grew unbalanced as fewer hands steadied it. It swayed sideways, then toppled over as they lost control. It rolled as it dropped to the ground, crushing the yellow-skinned gob shy;lins underneath it and exposing those who had previously enjoyed its cover.

  A cheer went up from the wall as the tree fell. The goblins scrambled around beside their makeshift ladder, trying to lift it back into place, but the archers on the wall picked them to pieces.

  "They're coming!" came a shout, followed by two huge thuds and the sound of wood splintering.

  Turning around, Purdun's blood ran cold. Two trees had gone down under their concentrated fire, but the other two had hit home. They rested against the outside of Zerith Hold, a line of goblins climbing through their branches on their way up.

  "Pour the oil!" ordered Purdun.

  Four huge men made their way down the platform. They carried between them a thick log, from which hung an iron caldron bubbling over with animal fat, tree sap, and oil. They moved carefully, for the caldron had been hanging over an open fire. One misstep and they would be scorched on the slick metal-or worse, under a flood of scalding, sticky oil.

  The goblins charged up the side of the trees, quickly drawing closer to the top of the wall.

  "Hurry," shouted Purdun.

  The caldron arrived just as the first goblin topped the tree.

  Dropping his bow, Purdun pulled his long sword out of its scabbard, cutting the yellow-skinned vermin in two with his draw. Stepping up on the crenellation, he took down two more goblins, knocking them off the tree to their death far below.

  "Pour it," he shouted, jumping back down to the archer's platform.

  The four men lifted the log and tipped the caldron over the side. The melted fat and oil oozed out over the stone and down the side of the tree. A gush of foul broth splashed over the climbing goblins, blistering their flesh, cooking them alive. Their skin sizzled as the oil and pitch stuck to their bodies, and half a dozen goblins toppled away from the wall.

  Purdun grabbed a lit torch from a nearby sconce and tossed it onto the toppled tree. The oil ignited, catching slowly at first, but then erupting into a huge blue flame.

  As the flame followed the oil trail down the trunk of the tree, forcing the goblins to abandon their climb to the top, a second cheer went up along the wall.

  But the celebration was cut short by the sound of swords clashing and men dying.

  Goblins had reached the top of the second tree, and they poured over the crenellation onto the platform. The first few to reach the top had been cut to shreds, but their numbers quickly became overwhelming. Guardsmen thrashed about, goblins hanging from their shoulders and backs. Crusaders engaged three and four of the invaders at a time, cutting them down as quickly as they could. But they kept coming, flooding over faster than they could be killed.

  A roar filled Purdun's ears as Jivam Tammsel bounded into the fray. With each swipe of his hand, he killed a goblin. With each step he took, another fell from the wall. With each breath, he bit down on another of the invaders, tearing its flesh from its bones.

  The men rallied behind the half-elf, half-steel dragon, drawing strength and courage from the crusader's raw anger and power.

  The goblins seemed to sense the shift in the tide of the battle. They began to scatter, running down the platform, dropping their weapons and looking for places to hide. Crusaders and guardsmen chased them down, cutting the goblins to pieces as they stopped to cower in the corners or against the stone.

  Tammsel cut through three more goblins before taking a huge step and leaping over the edge of the wall. His broad shoulders disappeared from view, then the sound of goblins dying drifted over the crenellation.

  Landing firmly on the leaning tree, he let out a second roar-right in the face of the oncoming invaders. A few had the courage to face the half-steel dragon, and they were rewarded with a quick, painful death, their bodies torn apart by claw, tooth, or sword.

  "Throw me a rope," shouted Tammsel, bashing aside goblins as he made his way farther down the tree.

  Lord Purdun obliged, finding a coiled pile o
f woven hemp wrapped in one of the battle boxes on the back of the archer's platform. Twisting the end into a quick knot, the crusader twirled the rope over his head and let it fly.

  Tammsel grabbed the flying rope out of the air. He was about a quarter of the way down, and he dived in, disappearing among the thick branches and needles, dragging the rope with him. A moment later, he came out the other side, the rope wrapped around the trunk of the tree.

  Tying it securely, Tammsel dashed back up to the wall. Behind him, the goblins filled the vacated space, not quite sure what to make of the rope. A few stopped to pick at it, but the rest clamored on, for the inside of Zerith Hold.

  Leaping over the wall, Tammsel grabbed the other end of the rope and ran down the platform.

  "Pull with me," he shouted.

  Lord Purdun wrapped the rope around his arm and leaned back. "You men there," he ordered, "grab hold. We're going to pull the tree sideways and free it from the wall."

  Archers dropped their bows. Guardsmen sheathed their swords. All of them chipped in to pull the tree away from the hold.

  "One, two, three, heave!" shouted Tammsel.

  The men added their strength to that of the two crusaders, one after another grabbing hold of the rope. They lined up along the platform, pulling the tree toward the south end of the wall, hoping to dislodge it.

  All the while the goblins continued their climb.

  "Pull!"

  The men groaned as they struggled against the hundred-year-old tree. It was thick and heavy, and it was wedged hard against the stone wall.

  "Harder!" shouted Purdun.

  The tree lurched a few feet, shaking loose a handful of goblins.

  "Again!"

  The goblin climbers reached the top of the tree and dropped inside. Swarms more approached the top, and behind them, a hundred others. Gone were the deep green needles of the ancient tree-replaced by a sea of yellow, sloshing up the crude bridge.

  "If you want to live to see another day, then pull, damn you!" shouted Lord Purdun.

  The rope creaked under the strain. The men gasped and wailed, giving everything they had, pulling with all of their might. Purdun's knuckles grew white, his face red, his legs wobbling from the strain.

  There was a deep, hollow grinding sound, and the men all fell backward, the rope going slack as the tree tore loose. They could hear the goblins scream as they plummeted to the ground.

  Then the rope went taut again as the falling tree continued on.

  "Let go! Let go!" shouted Tammsel.

  The men did as ordered, releasing their grip on the rope and letting it slide away.

  The rope slithered down the platform, picking up speed as it went. Its tail whipped back and forth, snapping and tearing at the flesh of the guardsmen and crusaders as it sailed past.

  A coil at the end wrapped itself around a soldier's leg, binding then dragging him along. The poor man let out a shout of surprise, then he was gone, pulled over the side by the weight of the ancient tree crashing to the ground.

  Lord Purdun got to his feet, charging into the thirty or so goblins who had managed to make it to the platform before their crude ladder was pulled sideways. His sword and bow lying somewhere on the ground, he had little choice but to fight with his fists.

  Balling up one hand, he punched the first goblin he encoun shy;tered right in his crooked, pointy nose. The little yellow beast squealed as it was knocked backward onto its rump.

  "Sword!" shouted Tammsel.

  Lord Purdun turned around to see a polished steel long sword flying through the air. Grabbing it out of the sky, he turned back to slash down two more goblins-one on each side of him.

  The other crusaders and guardsmen had gotten themselves up off the floor and were wading into the fray as well. The half-steel dragon joined in, and they pushed the invaders back. Step by step they cleared the archer's platform, tossing the bodies over the side and into the moat as they went.

  When the final goblin had been dispatched, Purdun dropped to one knee to catch his breath. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and brushed his sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes with his other.

  Tammsel handed him a sheepskin full of water.

  Purdun nodded his thanks as he looked up at his long shy;time friend. They had been in a lot of fights together. Most of them had involved defending then-Baron Valon Morkann from the Duke of Dusk and the agents of Tethyr. The cru shy;saders had stopped four attempts on Valon's life. They had kept him around long enough to see him become king of the newest nation in Faerыn-Erlkazar.

  Now here they were, defending their new country from deep inside its borders.

  Purdun poured the cool liquid over his face and into his mouth. It mixed with the dirt and perspiration, turning it salty.

  "Do you think we'll ever see the end to the fighting in Erlkazar?" he asked, handing the skin back to Tammsel.

  The half-steel dragon shrugged. "Maybe not in our lifetime." He took a drink of water. "It's hard starting a new country, and the Baron Valon-"

  "He's King Valon now," corrected Purdun.

  "Ah, yes," replied Tammsel, "I've called him 'baron' for so long, I still haven't taught myself to make the change."

  "Just don't let him hear you say that."

  Tammsel smiled. "He hasn't had the title even a year. I suspect he sometimes makes the mistake himself."

  "They're coming over the back wall!" shouted a messenger in the courtyard.

  Lord Purdun jumped to his feet and grabbed Tammsel by the arm. "Come on."

  The two crusaders ran down the steps, through the courtyard, and directly into the center of Zerith Hold. The interior was quiet and unoccupied. The grand halls and ornately appointed dining rooms had been left as they were before the goblin army had reached the gates. It felt odd, seeing the tables set for dinner and the tapestries neatly hanging on the walls, while outside a war raged.

  Through the reception areas, Purdun and Tammsel ran for the other end of the hold, toward the armory and barracks. The doors to all the officers' quarters were open with no one inside. The sound of fighting echoed down the stone hallway as they closed in on the back gate.

  Through the stables, the two men burst out into the mustering grounds. One of their fellow crusaders, Rysodyl Boughstrong-the most muscular elf Purdun had ever encountered-was leading the defense. He had a sword in each hand, and pointed one at an oncoming goblin, then lopped its head off with the other.

  The mustering grounds were used exclusively by Lord Purdun's army. Mounted units gathered there before heading out on patrols. It had been added onto Zerith Hold when it became clear that the army was going to outgrow the two-hundred-year-old keep's existing barracks.

  The gate was heavily guarded, but the wall wasn't as high there as it was at the portcullis off the main court shy;yard, or the rest of the hold. The original, higher wall was where the stables emptied out and was a fallback point in case the mustering grounds were overrun-and that time was at hand.

  Goblins rolled over the wall at two points, dropping down in front of the blades of the troops waiting below. So far, they hadn't managed to get more than a few of their number over at any one time, and Boughstrong had the situation well in hand. He stood beside the other men, slicing up the goblins one at a time as they came.

  "How are they getting over the wall?" shouted Purdun, his voice competing with the squealing of a dying goblin. "The tree ladders again?"

  Boughstrong shook his head. "No. They're forming goblin pyramids, kneeling atop each other's backs to let others climb over. It's not happening everywhere yet, but only because the main force hasn't figured out they can get in this way."

  "How many are out there?"

  "Maybe a hundred. Half are stacked up on top of one another," replied the elf. "I can handle this. I'll send a runner if we need-"

  Boughstrong's words were cut short as he was knocked to the ground by a four-legged black beast.

  "Worgs!" came the cry.

  But i
t was too late. Boughstrong already had one atop his chest.

  Purdun swung down on the rider-a red-skinned Kuldin Peaks goblin. His sword was intercepted by the worg, its teeth biting down on the blade with a clang.

  Purdun pulled back, slipping the sword out of the beast's jaws and cutting a huge gash in its foul gums as he did. The creature yelped and snapped its teeth, but the crusader dodged away, just barely getting out from under its fangs as they clamped down.

  With a hiss, Tammsel leaped on the worg, wrapping his arms around the mount's neck and tackling it to the ground. The rider was thrown from its back, as the half-steel dragon and the filthy beast rolled across the dusty flagstones. The worg howled, its teeth making a loud snapping each time it tried to bite into the man on its back.

  Purdun quickly dispatched the downed goblin, cutting its body in two with a mighty cleave. Then he helped Boughstrong to his feet.

  "Ready to fight?"

  The elf nodded and picked up his swords.

  Three more worgs bounded over the wall, leaping over the crusaders' heads deeper into the mustering grounds.

  Purdun and Boughstrong turned to face them. The man and the elf had their backs to the outer wall. The worgs' leap had put them close to the open doors to Zerith Hold-closer than Purdun and Boughstrong. Nothing stood between the invaders and the undefended inside of the hold.

  "We can't let them get inside," shouted Purdun, and he flung himself at the first rider.

  The soldiers at the wall followed his lead, spreading out around the worgs.

  On the ground, Tammsel continued to wrestle. Fur flew, and blood splashed. They traded claw blows and snapped at each other's throats. It was a fight to the death, two primal forces struggling for survival.

  Boughstrong swept around to the right of Purdun to circle behind the closest worg rider. The move confused the hulking mount, because it snapped at the air, first toward one crusader and then the other. The goblin on its back tried to control it, but it was no use; the beast, not the rider, was in charge.

  The worg lunged at Boughstrong, and Purdun slashed its tail from behind. The creature let out a yelp and spun around, growling. But that's all it had time for. The elf's flanking move had worked, and he came down on the beast with his blades, severing both hind legs.