Visigothic_The Barbarians Of Midgard

by Jay P Newcomb

  Chapter XI

  The Battle of Bloody Glade

  From the Skald’s Tale:

  The long summer would soon become fall and with that would come rain. The land would turn to mud and mire, which always gives way to the snows of winter. Our Ancestor Kings knew that they must fight and win a great victory now before the cold set in. Here and now, said they, in this land of prairie grass, the Slaughter-Wolves must be defeated! Just as we in our age have faced down the Beast Kings of Romulus, the Great Army of the Dwarves marched on that day for to smote the foul-breathed Goblin host!

  K ing Togrobeg and Lords Kroki and Azgar led the Army of the Dwarf Lords south to strike at the Goblin Host before it could join the forces of Korgan-Tal.

  “Oh, it shall be sweet revenge for our fallen children! Oh how they shall cry as their sullen heads be stricken from their foul necks! Come, oh ye Dwarves, for the day of Goblin Doom is nigh at hand!” shouted King Togrobeg to his soldiers. The Dwarve’s cheering became as it were, the drone of a dull roar, echoeing across the fair land.

  Away they did ride in clouds of dust, obscuring the blueness of Midgard’s crystal sky.

  General Zorkan pressed his forces ever northward, hoping to join forces with his allies as soon as possible. The Goblins had been on day after day of forced marching and needed rest badly.

  “General Zorkan, this one thinks that the men must rest. We cannot continue at this pace, my Lord. They are fatigued and we have many stragglers falling behind,” warned Commandant Vlach. His voice almost sounded like a hiss when he spoke.

  General Zorkan replied, “This one thinks that we must press onward, Commandant Vlach, if we are to keep to the timetable. The Storm Troopers seem to have no problem with the pace! Only your Regular Army and the Dagger Militia are unable to keep up!”

  “But, my Lord, this one thinks that if we are not fit to fight, what good will it do? This one thinks that we must slow down and regather our strength, or it is all for naught.”

  “Very well, Commandant Vlach, this one agrees that we will stop here. Have the trumpeteers sound the halt! Send riders to the rear to bring up the stragglers and have all units deploy in defensive positions!”

  “By your command, my Lord,” replied Commandant Vlach.

  The Dwarves were positioning themselves ten miles north of the Goblin Army. The advanced reconnaissance patrols of Zorkan’s forces had been annihilated. King Togrobeg called his war council to a meeting. As always, his healer and Priestess, Skadi, was present, as well as his Royal Thanes, Durin and Dvalin, Austri and Vestri being back in Thorstadt to guard his mother and sister.

  “Your Majesty,” began General Kroki, “the scouts report that the Goblin ranks are strung out for several miles. There appears to be a large number of stragglers and the Goblins have halted for the day. We may have an opportunity here. If we march on tonight, we can strike Zorkan before he can consolidate his ranks.”

  Lord Azgar then said, “Aye, Your Majesty, we know this ground well and that bloody Zorkan does not. The place in which he now finds himself is bad. He is in a flat valley two miles or so wide, into which numerous draws feed. It is a risk, but we can divide our forces. Half will circle to the west of the enemy position, and attack down three different draws. Then our main body will attack from the north after the enemy is fully engaged and trying to repel the western attack. What say you, my King?”

  King Togrobeg nodded his head and stroked his beard and moustache. He thought for a bit, nodding his head every now and again. Four or five times he let out a small grunt and, thinking aloud he would say, “Aye, yes, Ummm? Aye.” Then he took a drink of dark brown ale and replied, “Aye, Me Lords, ’tis a good plan. You’re right about this ground and us knowing it. We all hunted here. The land is rich indeed, which is why the alliance wants it all for themselves. But I want to add a further diversion for the Goblin beasties. I want a small patrol on ponies to scout south of the Goblin Army and make sure that this is all we’re up against, and to let us know how spread out the companies of Goblin Infantry are and the status of their Dagger Militia. I must know that, brothers. Send out another patrol. As well before the attack, I want that patrol to set fire to the grass. Blow horns and make a noise like there be a whole column of horsemen on their arses. This will draw attention away and allow the three western columns to hit the Goblin Beasties hard up their bloody jacksies! Make sure we get the trebuchets into position on the hills north and west. We’ll scorch them with sacks of flaming oil tar!” The King held up his pitcher of beer as the others did and drank a toast. “Let everyone remember what we are fighting for; amidst the chaos, every one of us remembers what they are killing and dying for: the peace and safety of home and friends. Give us victory on the morrow, oh Spirit of Heaven!” cried the king.

  “Aye! Hear-hear!” replied all the Dwarves in the King’s tent. There must have been twelve Dwarf Lords including Priestess Skadi and they all cheered and roared and some butted heads.

  The patrol crossed the shallow stream and headed south and east to skirt around the Goblin Army. In all, there were two hundred of them, led by the best Cavalry Officer in the Dwarven Army, Lord Commander Alesander. Much hinged on whether or not Alesander could successfully divert Goblin attention to the south. They must go undetected for all of this to succeed. Their fellow Dwarves gave them no resounding shouts or applause, for General Kroki had placed the entire Army under light and noise discipline. There would be no campfires or horn calls. Silence would be their shield and the night their armour.

  The Goblin Army, at least those who had kept up with the main body, pitched camp and set up a parameter guard around the area. They were sore, exhausted and tired and morale was low. Their officers were cruel and the rations were bad. Many had no will to fight and wondered why their King had become involved with the humans in the first place. It didn’t help the cause at all when, as the straggling infantrymen came in, General Zorkan ordered the execution of twenty junior-grade officers for failing to keep their platoons moving as fast as had been ordered. They were crucified for all to see. Goblin anger seethed and mutiny was in the air. All it would take would be a spark, and the kindling would blaze.

  Not long after sunset, Lord Commander Alesander’s Cavalrymen encountered a Goblin Scouting party. They happened upon each other by surprise and the clash was instantaneous!

  “Dwarven scum, die!” hissed the pale Goblin commander!

  Both Dwarves and Goblins were mounted upon swift steeds! They charged each other with swords flashing and spears flying, sword upon sword as blows were struck! A Goblin leaped from the back of his horse upon Lord Commander Alesander and the two crashed to the ground, kicking, stabbing and gouging! The fanged creature bit into the shoulder of Alesander, who then drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed the vile creature through an eye! The creature went limp and dead and Alesander leaped to his feet, yanking the dagger from out of the Goblin’s putrid skull, from whence came a sickening sheen of foul Goblin blood!

  “Let not one creature escape alive to warn Zorkan!” shouted Alesander. The rest of his men were locked in mortal combat against their implacable foes! The same foe which had ruthlessly slain their children!

  Lord Commander Alesander’s horse was still there, running in circles around the battlefield, neighing and whinnying for her master. The pony was a beauty. She was dark and coloured greyish black. Soon at his side was the mare, seeing her friend so beloved, not wishing his soul to depart her in untimely demise. Leaping upon her back, Lord Alesander, long dark hair flowing behind his head in waves tossed by wind and battle, turned to see his old friend Durin saying in a shout, “Here, brother-in-law, ya might need this.” Durin tossed Alesander’s sword to him, and the Dwarven Cavalry Commander reached out with an outstretched arm, grasping the airborne weapon tightly by the hilt.

  The Goblins have never been known for their skill as horsemen, and were no match for the Dwarves. The only exception to that was the Horse Mounted Storm Troopers. None of th
ese Goblins here were Storm Troopers, but were Dagger Militia, armed with weapons of bronze. The Dwarves slew them as they began their retreat and the ground was made foul by their blood and severed limbs. Alas, though, many Dwarves were wounded and some even killed. Though, in death, they knew for whom they were fighting! They knew it was to avenge their murdered babies and wives and to protect those yet alive from the foul stench of domination and servitude under the boot heel of the forces of Darkness and the demonic Slaughter-Wolves of the Scythian Empire! We sing of their brave deeds and their souls go to Valhalla, the halls of the honoured dead.

  The battle ended swiftly and the Goblin Cavalrymen met their fate. Lord Commander Alesander only hoped that they had managed to kill or capture the entire unit. Escapees would return and report the episode to Goblin High Command and the element of surprise that the Dwarven Army needed would be lost.

  “My Lord, we have taken five prisoners,” stated Durin, as several Dwarves came up with the foul little monsters, tied together in a string and hobbled with ropes. One of the creatures seemed to be an officer. He wore not only light armour, but a gold tunic as well. His helmet was golden as well and was much like those worn by the warriors of the Hellene City of Sparta. It had a long nose-guard and was crowned by a great red crest resembling a brush.

  “Remove his helmet, Durin. Let us see what he has to say,” stated Alesander.

  Durin nodded to a soldier, who quickly removed it forcefully from the Goblin's head.

  “Who are you and what mission were you given?” demanded Lord Commander Alesander from the Goblin.

  “This one asks, who wants to know?” sneered the Goblin with a hiss in his voice.

  “I ask the questions here, Goblin!” replied Alesander. “If you want not to suffer much pain, you will tell us what we want to know!”

  It was then that Durin removed a whip from the saddle of his horse, and cracked it hard over the Goblin officer’s head. “Talk, you murdering baby killer!” shouted Durin.

  “Very well, Master Dwarf, this one is Commandant Vlach, 2nd General of the Army of the Kingdom of the Goblins. Would thou know this one’s mission, Master Dwarf? This one’s mission was personal reconnaissance! This one will say no more, Master Dwarf! Therefore you will take this one to King Togrobeg at once!”

  “Seems we caught us a big fish this time, men,” laughed Durin, who then cracked his whip over Commandant Vlach’s head once more for good measure. Afterwards the Dwarves were heard mumbling in humor about the way the Goblin spoke, in that he always refered to himself as ‘this one.’

  There was much laughter, and Lord Commander Alesander said, “Take Vlach and the rest of these stinking wretches to base camp with an escort of two squads!” With that, the prisoners were taken away and the Dwarf Cavalrymen continued their mission.

  Night had fallen but the moon was bright and it was as if one could reach out and touch the stars. Queen Gwynnalyn looked out from her window at the night sky, wondering where her beloved husband, best friend and king were at this very moment. She felt her tummy with one hand, which was beginning to swell larger as the days went by, as she was filling with their growing child, who was destined to be the hope of all freedom-loving people in this great land. She missed her beloved hunter much and longed herself to be there on the field of combat. At that moment, Sigmund approached and with him was his adopted baby sister Lilia. She held the hand of the young Lord, her new big brother. In her other hand was a cloth doll that the Queen Mother Gerda had made for her. Lilia was no longer clad in ragged dresses and barefoot, but wore a fine green dress, given to her by Momma Gerda. This was the same dress that Gwynnalyn herself had worn when she was five.

  “My Queen, are you having a baby? Is the Klapperstork coming?” asked Lilia.

  The Queen turned from looking at the stars and smiled at Lilia. “Yes, Lilia. The Klapperstork will come.”

  “Really good, really good!” replied an excited Lilia.

  When Gwynnalyn had picked her up, Lilia hugged the Queen and kissed her on the cheek and Gwynnalyn said to her, “You are part of our family now, Wish Maiden. You will never be alone again.” The Queen kissed Lilia softly on her forehead. Lilia jumped up on little Lord Sigmund’s back and he walked out of his sister’s chambers playing horse-back with the tiny girl, who laughed for joy.

  Meanwhile, back at the main Gomerian camp, King Sigurd sat alone in the door of his tent, looking up at the same sky as his beloved Gwynnalyn. He wondered how she was doing and his heart longed for his beloved wife, Queen of his heart.

  Lord Volsung approached and then sat down on a stool next to his oon-in-law. “I can see that your mind is far away, Sire. You are troubled this night?”

  The King looked into the fire in front of them as if he were seeking a vision for a long moment before he replied, “Yes, Father-in-law, my thoughts are on your daughter, my beloved wife, this night. My mind rests upon her and our baby. I need time to think about something pleasant, for this war weighs heavily on my soul, Lord Volsung.”

  The great warrior replied, “Yes, my son, the crown of a king is a heavy thing to wear. Few can bear and still be men of truth and honour. It is the rare king that does not become a tyrant. It is the rare king that does not become filled with the vanity of power and even rarer still that there is a king who is faithful to his Queen, taking only one wife. On this you show my daughter great honour, Sigurd. Our ancestor Gomer created the Council of Ealdormen, so that the King rules by law and not the whims of his vanity. It is the rare king that is called ‘Good’. You are the King that is rare, my son. It is the rare man that could tame my daughter and you have done so,” laughed Volsung.

  At that final saying, Sigurd turned his gaze from the fire and replied, “Tame Gwynnalyn? You must be joking, father, for no man can tame her; nor would I want her tame. She is beloved of my soul; wild and free. None can hold her Spirit captive, father. On the contrary, it is she who has captured me, holding my heart in chains of love and my feet in shackles of romance. Dare I say that she is the best friend that I ever had and I will love her until the last breath escapes my dying body, for I am smitten by the sorcery of her love”

  At that moment the King looked up into the night sky and saw a falling star, the very same one that the Queen saw from her window back in Thorstadt, their souls speaking one to another across the time and distance of the great prairie of Midgard.

  King Togrobeg set his forces into motion and the Dwarf Army began crossing the river, carrying out their plan of attack. The trebuchets were moved across the shallow ford, pulled by teams of oxen. Just then a dispatch rider came in and reported to General Kroki. “Sir, Lord Commander Alesander sends word. They have crushed a Goblin Cavalry force scouting this way. We have brought prisoners and one of them is the 2nd General of the Goblin Army.”

  General Kroki was very happy to hear that bit of news. “It is amazing indeed. I wonder why Commandant Vlach was leading such a mission? Bring him to us.”

  The Goblin Commandant was soon standing in front of General Kroki and High Dwarf Lord Azgar. The King refused to lower himself and give audience to the Goblin officer.

  “What say you, creature?” demanded Master Azgar. “How is it that a High Lord such as you is leading a Goblin horse troop? Not a good idea when facing us!”

  Vlach looked at his captors and replied, “This one knows that a good general is in need of good information, Master Dwarf. Sometimes he must see for himself when those around him are, shall we say, less than competent.”

  General Kroki replied, “All well and good, but it seems you met your match, Commandant Vlach. You got to see your enemy a lot closer than what you planned. Tell us the disposition of your Army!”

  The Goblin hissed and laughed. “This one will tell you their disposition, Dwarf! They have a very mean disposition!”

  The Dwarves around him grew angry and one of them struck the Goblin with a back-hand slap.

  “You want to see a mean disposition. Vlach? How about we
turn you over to the widowers amongst the Dwarf soldiers, whose families you butchered!” declared Master Azgar.

  “We don’t have time for this now,” declared General Kroki. “Take this filth away and keep it secured so as it doesn’t escape! Keep him well-nigh apart from the other prisoners! Do not assault it either, lest we lower our standards to his! Away with the beast! We’ll interrogate him later,” ordered an angry Master Azgar.

  Vlach was shackled in irons to be taken back to Thorstadt and held there in the dungeon until his fate could be decided.

  All through the night the Dwarves moved their forces into position. At dawn the last of the stragglers among the Goblin forces arrived and immediately ten of their junior officers were crucified as punishment! It was then that Lord Commander Alesander’s forces discovered that the Goblin supply train was still moving forward. There were nearly 500 wagons and carts, guarded by a battalion of Dagger Militia. The creatures making up the Dagger Militia were all conscripts who had been drafted to fight and were not as well trained as was the professional Army. This Dagger Militia had been the worst of the stragglers.

  As the first signs of dawn began to appear in the eastern sky, the Dwarf Cavalrymen assembled in a forest of creek bottom trees. “I cannot believe this, men. Thor and Wotan have handed the Goblin supply train over to us! It is guarded by Dagger Militia armed with bronze. These creatures are pathetic and stupid,” chuckled Lord Commander Alesander.