by Markus Heitz
Téndalor realized that the dorón ashont had managed to acquaint themselves with the island’s catapult mechanisms. They sent showers of arrows down on the älfar, killing dozens.
The älfar were forced to retreat. The division manned by slaves in disguise was long gone. His dying eyes took in the sight of the bridge to Ishím Voróo, still standing vertical. No one could cross. “In the name of Fadhasi, I curse you—” he gasped.
The dorón ashont hurled him away.
Téndalor followed a high arc. For a moment the flight was peaceful, then he splashed down in the defense moat and he realized that, for the first time in many hundreds of divisions of unendingness, an enemy foot had touched the soil of his homeland.
And he would not be in any position to prevent Dsôn’s defilement.
Tark Draan (Girdlegard), Gray Mountains,
4371st division of unendingness (5199th solar cycle),
early winter.
Have I been here before? Simin had only been able to penetrate the complex tunnel systems of the Gray Mountains because the älfar had put some idiot orcs on watch. He had only needed to use a smidgeon of magic to escape the orcs’ sharp eyes. But now he was wandering fruitlessly through the underground passages.
The magus had been struck by the orcs’ build: the ones he had seen here were broader and taller than the local version. They would present quite a challenge to the soldiers of Girdlegard.
How do I go about finding a mist-demon in an underground kingdom when I have absolutely no idea how big the place is? The dwarves might have permitted travelers to pass through, but had never given away their secrets and had certainly never made a map he knew of.
Simin’s only hope was to find some clue as to the whereabouts of this demon and follow a trail.
Have I been this way before? He looked carefully at the junction he had arrived at. No. There were dwarf runes scratched on the wall, but other symbols had been painted over the top in yellow. Simin supposed the new markings were intended to help the occupying force find its way around. For him, it was getting more and more like finding his way through an ant heap.
He was despondent and very alone.
You’ll have to think of something! He looked down the separate tunnels. Perhaps this way?
He had found out that the various creatures were kept strictly isolated from each other. The main contingent of the army was already in Girdlegard proper, but many small units had remained behind to secure the conquered territory in the mountains.
He had quickly lost all sense of how time was passing. He rested whenever he felt tired and carried on his search as soon as he woke.
In many of the deeper-lying areas of the old dwarf kingdom the temperatures were nice and warm. He would not die of cold and he would not starve to death because he stole food along the way. Most of it was tolerable enough—a kind of ground meal that he mixed with water. He had not touched the dried meat.
You know what? I have been here before. He stopped, hearing steps coming toward him.
Swiftly he started to climb the wall, pulling himself up by handholds in the carvings. He found a cleft in the rock he was able to squeeze into and hide.
Before long a whole division of human soldiers marched past. They had weapons and knapsacks and their furs had a fresh layer of snow on the shoulders.
More returnees. Simin had already noticed some of the tribes going back to their homeland. He understood enough of what they were saying to work out that a lot of them had not exactly volunteered of their own free will. More and more of these groups were sloping off, disappointed by what they had seen of Girdlegard. This group looks like they’re doing the same thing.
Simin waited until they were far enough away before he crept out of his hiding place.
He wiped the dirt off his hands. I’ve been cleaner. And I know I’ve smelled better before now. But he realized that the scent of soap would instantly give him away.
He sighed. I’ve taken on far too much. I’m never going to find the demon like this.
The humans did not seem to be talking about the demon at all, he could not understand what the orcs were saying and he did not dare grab someone and force the truth out of them. Too dangerous.
He jogged on, thinking about his next course of action. He remembered that the dwarves had told Famenia about “undead” creatures at the Stone Gateway. I must make my way there.
Simin had reached a further junction. But how do I know where north is?
There was nothing for it but to guess. He took the passage to the right and from then on, he chose the way that led up rather than along or down, hoping to check the position of the sun at some point. When the air felt chilly he took this as an indication that he was near the surface.
He caught a sudden whiff of cooking.
Something smelled delicious, like a meat broth. Simin’s stomach rumbled. I hope it’s suitable for humans, whatever it is.
After climbing some stairs he came to a door that was not completely shut. The aroma was irresistible.
Simin crept forward, hearing voices behind the door conversing in a language he did not understand. When he glanced inside the bright room he was utterly horrified.
It was an old smithy. Bones were simmering in a foaming grayish liquid in buckets originally intended for molten metal. Skins of various sizes spanned the glowing forge to dry out. Millstones meant for grinding soft rock were producing coarse bone meal and the tiny white pebbles were then poured into sacks. Simin could imagine whose bones were being processed.
Ye gods! Simin felt sick. What are they doing with the dwarf corpses? This is worse than disgusting! Unforgivable!
There were elf-like creatures in long leather aprons in the workshop, holding and examining the bones in their gloved hands; others were working at long tables, cutting up hair and lengths of beard. Two of them were stirring a red substance in little pots.
Dried blood? Simin did not really want to know what the dyes had been fashioned from. This is a workshop of death.
He could not stand the sight any longer. He turned and ran away, the nausea nearly getting the better of him.
He would never be able to eat goulash again in all his life.
CHAPTER XIII
None doubted the nostàroi.
None that saw them ride into battle.
The älfar troops revered their commanders and would have followed them through Tark Draan to subjugate even the next empire.
Oh, älfar! If only you could have seen Caphalor and Sinthoras!
Oh, Constellations! If you had only kept faith with them!
Oh, Comets! If only you had not left the path!
And so winter arrived.
Excerpt from the epic poem The Heroes of Tark Draan
composed by Carmondai, master of word and image
Tark Draan (Girdlegard), far to the southeast of the Gray Mountains,
4371st division of unendingness (5199th solar cycle),
late autumn.
Doghosh of Ligard ran to where the enemy’s nearest siege ladder was being placed against the walls. He hardly noticed the pain from his wounded right forearm, so great was the exertion of the moment. “Bring your poles over here! Push the ladder away and send them to their deaths!” Steadily repetitive thumps came from the battering ram currently attacking the gate.
He watched four young boys attempt to push the ladder away from the battlements, but they were not strong enough; the ladder was securely anchored at the base, and the combined weight of the metal shield and the orcs on the rungs made their task impossible. “Sir, we can’t do it!” came the frightened cries.
“I’m coming right over!”
Doghosh muttered a curse. The picture was the same all along the second defense wall: men, women, boys and girls were all doing their utmost to defend the town. They sweated and struggled with heavy stones, which were toppled over the parapet onto the beasts attacking tirelessly from below; they fought for breath as they shoved ladders aw
ay, or repelled individual invaders with a courage born of desperation. Their own dead and wounded lay ignored at their feet. There was simply no time. Every hand was needed to fend off the fifth wave of attack, or to douse the fires breaking out in the narrow streets where orc firebrands had lodged in thatch.
Ye gods, let it get dark soon! If the enemy pull back for the night we can get some respite. Doghosh reached the four boys just as an orc heaved itself over the top of the battlements and loosed a bolt from a small crossbow, hitting the first boy in the belly. The other three kept up their vain attempts to thrust the ladder away.
“To Tion with you!” Doghosh slammed his mace straight into the orc’s face, but the spike lodged under the helmet’s nosepiece, forcing him to let go of the handle. He kicked the orc in the chest with his armored boot.
The orc staggered back with a roar and plunged backward over the parapet. The next orc’s face appeared around the edge of the ladder-shield.
“Is there no end to your numbers?” Doghosh took a run up and leaped, his feet crashing onto the topmost rung. By adding his own weight to the boys’ muscle he had pushed the ladder away—while he was still on it.
The orcs stared up, open-mouthed. One of them hurled a sword in his direction, but missed.
Doghosh was carried farther and farther away from the battlements, swaying as he tried to retain his balance. He finally managed to leap back onto the walkway.
Not a grain of sand too soon: the ladder reached tipping point and fell with its cargo of orcs, slamming into their own besieging troops on the ground.
Endrawolt grabbed Doghosh by the leather cuirass to steady him. “You are urgently needed here, commander,” he said sourly while the defenders applauded him for his stunt. “In the future, please leave stuff like that to the acrobats.”
“I promise. I mean, I swear I will.” Doghosh ducked to avoid a salvo of incoming arrows and sprang up onto the parapet to inspect the scene.
Nothing had changed: a throng of orcs at the base of the wall were climbing over their fallen comrades, ramming more ladders into the soil and climbing up. At the same time the battering ram was getting the better of the wooden gates. It was a toss-up as to which of the enemy would get in first.
“What can we do?” muttered Doghosh. His vision blurred and the enemy became one dark green mass, their screams and yells merged to a monotone punctuated by the thuds of the battering ram. Bizarre music. “We may have killed a few thousand, but there are thousands more coming at us.”
Endrawolt stood speechless at his side, shaking his head.
Because they had not been able to send out messengers, there was no hope of rescue, but surrender was not an option. The monsters would surely massacre the population. Or do worse. There was no mercy to be had from enemies such as these. No question of decent treatment for women and children.
I need a miracle, you gods! You must stand by us, even if the dwarves have let us down! Doghosh took a deep breath.
The splinter of wood and screeches of triumph accompanied the final thud of the battering ram.
“They’re through!” Endrawolt exclaimed with a curse. “Fall back to the last wall, Commander?”
“Yes. Sound the retreat.” Doghosh glanced up at the sun, setting now. But the night would still be a long time coming. “Are the cauldrons heated?”
“Yes.”
“Then call everyone back in.” Doghosh planned to swamp the orcs with boiling excrement and hot urine. He had already ordered the lead to be taken out of all the windows and the gold of the wealthy to be collected and melted down to pour on the attackers’ heads. The choice of substance was immaterial. Gold, lead, shit—the only thing that matters is, can it kill? I never thought they would keep up these onslaughts, wave after wave. “Leave—”
His words were drowned by a bugle signal announcing that friends were coming to their aid.
“What?” Doghosh and Endrawolt looked around to see where help could be coming from.
A double row of heavy cavalry with lowered lances thundered toward Sonnenhag, breaking through the hindmost orc ranks. A second double row followed, weapons still held vertical. Banners fluttered in the wind: the runes they bore had not been fashioned by human hand.
“Elves!” exclaimed Doghosh. A warm wave of relief flooded his body. “It’s elves!” he shouted, slamming his clenched fist up into the air above his head. The men on the walkway yelled with glee and the orcs screamed in horror. He gave the order to repel the orcs at their walls. “Drive the beasts back into the lances of the elves!”
“Armored cavalry from the Golden Plain, I think,” said Endrawolt. “The princess must have sent them! It looks like there’s about 800, maybe even 1,000.”
“That’s plenty!” Doghosh felt a surge of optimism. “We’ll wipe out this scum and then we’ll find out where they’re from. Then we can send word out to the whole of Girdlegard.” Fired with renewed energy he paced along the walkway encouraging the defenders, helping out where necessary and keeping an eye on how the elves’ battle was going.
The elves were sweeping mercilessly through the ranks of the orcs. It was wonderful to behold.
The lances they wield must be reinforced in some way, otherwise they would not withstand the impact. The elf cavalry met little resistance and stormed through the enemy’s undisciplined stragglers, dispensing death generously. Suddenly the orc catapults were burning, and with that the hitherto constant stream of arrows and spears ceased.
There were no more beasts on their siege ladders; they had all turned to face the greater danger. The town’s defenders rejoiced at the unexpected arrival of allies.
“Keep up the barrage of stones!” Doghosh shouted as the attack on the town diminished. All-merciful gods and Elria in particular, bless you! “Don’t let up now!”
When the orcs noticed the danger at their backs and saw that they had already lost thousands of their troops, they scurried together at the foot of the walls, directly under the hail of rocks and missiles from the town, attempting to present a united front to the elves.
Doghosh called for a heavy-duty wagon shaft to use as a lever and beckoned some men over to him. “Right! The orcs wanted to shelter up here. Let’s send the battlements down as a gift, then they don’t need to make the effort of coming to us!”
Before the orcs had fully regrouped, around 500 elves had assembled in a long line, and were charging the enemy, horse pressed tight against horse, lances at the ready.
The air filled with loud crashes and thuds. “Down with the parapets now! All of them!” Doghosh shouted. “Push!”
As the second wave of elves followed the first, bringing yet more mayhem and destruction to the orcs, the top ring of the defense walls crashed down on the unsuspecting enemy beneath them.
Endrawolt congratulated Doghosh with a slap on his shoulder. “That’ll see them off! Look! By all the gods, look! The green-skinned plague! They’re beginning to run!”
Doghosh leaned over the broken wall and wept with joy: orcs were running in all directions, chucking off their armor to be able to get away faster. Small groups of elves set after them, mowing the fleeing soldiers down. Only a handful escaped with their lives.
Doghosh gave the order to push the stilled battering ram away and get the gate open. “Our warriors must go out and finish off any of the wounded orcs. I want justice for my town.”
Endrawolt nodded and grinned maliciously. “It will be a pleasure.” He strode off.
In the light of the setting sun the elves rode back from all directions, most having lost their lances.
They approached Sonnenhag in a loose formation, their horses splashed liberally with enemy blood. Many of their warriors were on foot, having lost their mounts in battle. Their losses were within reason; Doghosh could see dead elves among the heaps of slaughtered orcs.
Fine figures! Doghosh realized he would never be able to express adequate thanks to the neighboring elf sovereign, Princess Veïnsa, for the help his town had
been given.
He raced down the steps to greet their friends at the gate and sent a messenger to announce to the townspeople that they had been rescued. A grin stole over his face. They won’t enjoy spending the night in a town that stinks of boiled shit and simmered piss.
He wondered how to deal with the heaps of orc cadavers. To burn that number of corpses he would need timber from an entire forest. Could they just dig an enormous pit and shovel the orcs in? Or cart them down to the river, maybe? He rather liked that last idea. The bodies would be carried down to Ido on the current. His country and the Ido realm had been at loggerheads for ages. A splendid warning to our dear neighbors. Yes, that would be the thing.
The first of the elves had ridden up. They entered through the gate amid the cheers of townspeople standing on the old walls. They were a splendid sight, ablaze with grace and nobility.
Their leader, a brown-haired elf with two long swords attached to his saddle, approached Doghosh and inclined his head. Orc blood trickled off the armor elf and rider bore and there were traces, too, on his face. “Greetings, human. You are the leader of the bold band of men who stood firm against the orc army?”
“I am Doghosh of Ligard, commander of the town guard for Sonnenhag,” he said and indicated Endrawolt, who was issuing orders at the gate. “That man is my deputy . . . You are warriors from the Golden Plain?”
“That is so. We come from a battle raging not far from here. We have been keeping an eye out for these beasts so that we may destroy them. Will you permit us to rest in your town?”
“Of course! You are most welcome.”
The elf gave his troops instructions to ride into the town while he remained with Doghosh and examined the state of the walls. “Your citadel would have fallen if we had not arrived in the nick of time. Why were the orcs so keen on taking this town? Surely they would have done better to bypass you and occupy the hinterland?”
“Not at all. Our town is strategically important, a vital crossing-point for several trade routes. It has been growing, cycle for cycle. It’s only garrisoned in times of war, which is why we had such difficulty when the orcs attacked.”