Disenchanted

by Kroese, Robert

“Attacked?” Boric asked. “By whom? Who would traverse the Wastes of Preel or the Vast Desert to attack you?”

  Brand sighed. “The combined armies of the Six Kingdoms of Dis.”

  Episode Six

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Boric stood on the balcony of the room at the top of Kra’al Brandskelt looking across the valley toward the small watchtower guarding the Salarat Pass. Beyond the pass, extending as far as Boric could see into the Wastes of Preel, was what looked like an undulating sea flecked with tiny colorful dots — the banners of the Six Kingdoms of Dis. There was the yellow-and-black banner of the desert kingdom of Quirin; the red banner of Blinsk; the golden banner of Avaress; the green-and-blue banner of Peraltia; the silver banner of Skaal; and right up in front, the blue-and-white banner of Ytrisk. Somewhere down there was that treacherous coward Yoric. The Six Kingdoms of Dis, which never agreed on anything, had combined their armies to wage war on Brand.

  “I can’t believe that Yoric has aligned himself with the Skaal,” said Boric. “They’ve been our mortal enemies for decades.”

  Brand replied, “My spies tell me that just after your death Yoric received ambassadors from Skaal and Avaress who convinced him of the threat of my new kingdom. He signed a truce with Skaal declaring peace between the two kingdoms until the supposed threat of Brandsveid is dealt with. I’m sure they’ll be back at each other’s throats once I’m dead.”

  “But why send their armies here to kill you?” asked Boric. “I mean, I obviously have my own reasons for wanting to kill you, but what do the rulers of the Six Kingdoms have against you? I thought you said noblemen in most of the kingdoms had bought mirrors from you.”

  “Oh, yes, individually they are all big fans of our work. They love to be able to spy on their neighbors and communicate with their troops over long distances. But they aren’t so big on their neighbors being able to better spy on them and communicate with their troops over long distances. They feel that they are shelling out a lot of money for no net gain.”

  “Hmm,” said Boric. “Perhaps they have a point.”

  “Absolutely,” said Brand. “They pay good money for an advantage over their rivals but they get nowhere, because their rivals are paying for the same advantage. But that’s the problem with running a kingdom in Dis, Boric, as you well know. When you’re constantly at war or under the threat of war with all your neighbors, every gain is someone else’s loss. That’s not the fault of the mirrors; it’s the fault of the idiotic way the kingdoms are run. I mean, look at those armies, Boric! Imagine if such a spirit of unity could be invoked for peace! But no, the only thing they can agree on is that my enterprise needs to be destroyed.”

  “I don’t buy it,” said Boric. “They sent their armies marching across the Wastes because they think they’re paying too much for their mirrors?”

  “Oh, no,” Brand said. “I mean, that’s part of it. But mostly it’s just fear.”

  “Of your goblin army?”

  Brand laughed. “No. My goblin army is no threat and they know it. What they are afraid of is the change that the mirrors will bring — the change they’re already bringing. You see, merchants are different from kings. Merchants thrive on information — what their customers want, how much they want, how much they’re willing to pay for it, how much is left in the warehouse, what the weather is like where they are headed, and on and on. Merchants can use the mirrors to run their business better and make more money than they did before — and yes, some of that is at the expense of other merchants, but not all of it. Merchants can actually create value, whereas kings can only steal it.”

  Boric wasn’t following. “What do you mean, create value?”

  “It’s complicated,” said Brand. “You kings tend to think in terms of gold. Gold coming in is good. Gold going out is bad. But the reality is much more complicated than that. Like these mirrors, for example. You might trade a thousand gold pieces for a pair of our mirrors and be happy you did it, because you need the mirrors more than you need the gold. But I’m happy too because I need the gold more than I need the mirrors. So in a sense, we both end up with more than we started out with. Just by trading one thing for another, we’ve created value. And the chief benefactor of the value that’s being created in Dis is the merchants.”

  It was clear that Boric still didn’t get it.

  “Never mind,” said Brand. “Suffice it to say that merchants are becoming more wealthy and powerful in Dis. Part of that is the mirrors, but the process has been going on for some time. Because the kings believe that there can’t be winners without losers, they feel threatened by the rise of the merchants, and they attribute that rise to me. They think that they can hold onto power a little longer by wiping me out. And they’re probably right. If they destroy my operation here, confiscate all the mirrors, make it illegal for the merchants to possess them…they could set back progress in Dis for a long time. Keep people poor, send the excess population off to die in pointless wars, keep all the wealth for themselves…but then, I know you understand how that works.”

  Boric did understand. And up until two and a half weeks ago, he had been one of the prime instigators. He had always told himself it was because there was no better way, that this was just how things were. But of course it was convenient for him to think so, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t like he had ever tried to find a better way. The one time a really great idea had been presented to him — Milah’s mirrors — he had rejected it out of hand. How much better off might Ytrisk be now if he had backed her up rather than sending her away? Boric had been far more concerned with his own comfort than with the good of his citizens. How many men had died so that he could have the Warmest Coat in Ytrisk? There was no doubt in Boric’s mind that if he hadn’t been killed that day, he would right now be leading the Ytriskian army against Brand.

  Truth be told, he still kind of wanted to kill Brand. It was his fault that Boric was a wraith, even if the creation of the Seven Blades of Brakboorn had been an accident. But maybe if Brand remained alive, he’d be able to find a way to break the curse of the Blades. That is, assuming he actually wanted to.

  “So what happens when you die?” asked Boric. “Do you become a wraith as well?”

  Brand shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. My scouts say the last of the Ytriskian and Skaal regiments will arrive tomorrow. I suspect the attack will begin not long after.”

  “If you become a wraith, I suppose you’ll be a bit more motivated to break the enchantment,” said Boric.

  “At first, I suppose,” replied Brand. “But as you know, the motivations of the living tend to fade after a few years as a wraith. The other wraiths, who died years before you, are just shadows of their former selves. They do nothing that I don’t specifically order them to do. They no longer have any wills of their own.”

  “Years?” Boric asked. “You think it will take that long?”

  “I have no idea, Boric! I know you don’t believe me, but I’ve been trying to solve the riddle of the curse since Loren showed up here ten years ago. How much longer will it take after the kings of Dis destroy my workroom and slaughter my craftsmen? Who knows? A hundred years? A thousand? We’ll all just be shadows by then, envying the merciful fates of Milah and Leto.”

  Boric winced at the thought. Leto, having received word of the pending invasion, had returned to Brandsveid and was now overseeing the castle fortifications. Boric had observed him for some time and concluded that Milah was right: Leto possessed a rare gift of being able to assess a situation and see exactly how to address it. Leto had commandeered the elves and dwarves from the workroom and put them to work distributing precisely organized caches of weapons around the castle, including pots of oil that could be heated on portable stoves to be thrown onto attackers below, as well as buttressing gates with steel bars and making dozens of other preparations. It was too bad it was all for naught: there was no way Kra’al Brandskelt could repel a full assault by the combined armies of the Six Kingdoms. L
eto, Milah, Brand, and everyone else in the castle would be captured or killed.

  And Brand was right: as bad as his situation was now, it would only be made worse by the death of Brand and the taking of Kra’al Brandskelt. The workroom would be destroyed and the craftsmen killed or scattered. Most likely, once the kings had secured a monopoly over the mirrors, they would outlaw any further research into the properties of zelaznium — dooming Boric to be a wraith forever. And if Brand stood by and allowed Milah and Leto to die, after everything he had learned, then he truly was a monster.

  “That’s not going to happen,” said Boric.

  “What do you mean?” asked Brand. “We can’t withstand an assault by the Six Armies.”

  “Maybe not,” said Boric. “But we’re going to give it a shot. I need schematics of the castle, a map of Brandsveid, and a list of all your tactical units and their commanders.”

  “What are you planning to do?” asked Brand.

  “I may not know much about economics,” said Boric, “but I know how to make the taking of Kra’al Brandskelt a lot more expensive.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  There aren’t many meetings more awkward than one between a man who has been dead for more than two weeks and the son he never knew he had. There was no time to stand on ceremony, however — whatever ceremony might have applied in this instance. Boric needed Leto’s help to prepare the troops and Kra’al Brandskelt for the attack. Brand and Leto had taken some precautionary measures before the current crisis, of course, but they needed a more specific tactical plan if they were going to survive the onslaught of the Six Armies. Boric had an idea for such a plan, and if it were correctly implemented he put the odds of its success at about fifty-fifty. Failure would result in complete and utter defeat and most likely the deaths of Brand, Leto, and Milah. He left that part out when he explained the plan.

  Leto accepted his responsibilities with good humor; Milah had evidently informed him that Boric hadn’t intentionally abandoned him nor knowingly allowed Leto’s grandmother to be exiled. In any case, Leto didn’t seem to be the sort to allow personal grudges to get in the way of what needed to be done. He understood that Boric knew more about warfare than anyone else in Kra’al Brandskelt and he did what Boric asked him to do, only occasionally challenging him on points where his own expertise was greater than Boric’s.

  The other wraiths who had been pursuing Boric had returned from the west, but none of them were much help with the preparations. It pained Boric to see once-mighty kings reduced to a purely servile role, but the wraiths simply didn’t have enough humanity left in them to think independently. Corbet, one of the longest dead, was the worst off: he hovered near Brand almost constantly, just waiting to be given some task to perform, but the others weren’t much better. Loren of Avaress — the one who had been mauled by a boar — tended to hang out in dark corners of the castle moping and scaring the living daylights out of the servants until he was ordered to do something more constructive. Garamond of Peraltia and Djibalti of Quirin spent their days roaming the castle grounds, skewering mice and other vermin with their enchanted swords, which at least kept them out of trouble. Skerritt of Blinsk, who had died three years before Boric, was evidently still considered the “new guy” by the other wraiths; he hung around Boric like a puppy starved for affection, occasionally handing him random objects like a candlestick or spool of yarn in an attempt to anticipate Boric’s needs. Boric finally sent him on a quest to retrieve half a dozen objects that he highly doubted could be found anywhere in Kra’al Brandskelt, and Skerritt stunned him by returning two hours later bearing a soapstone figurine of an elephant, a raven’s claw, a bag of pumpkin seeds, a beaver trap, and a pineapple. Fortunately by this time Boric’s preparations were all but complete.

  The attack started two days after their preparations began, just before dawn. The kings knew that goblins and ogres saw better at night than by day, and they were determined to take full advantage of the daylight. Brand’s forces were vastly outnumbered but they possessed one big advantage: the ring of nearly impenetrable mountains around Brandsveid. There was only one place an army could get through: Salarat Pass. The narrowest point of this pass was blocked by a massive gate built of pine timbers and reinforced with steel bands. Overlooking the gate on each side were twin guard towers the goblins called the Fangs of Salarat.

  The assault began, as expected, with the huge battering ram that the army had been assembling for two days on the plain. It consisted of a wooden frame from which a massive pine timber was suspended by chains. The frame was covered with animal skins that had been drenched with water to protect the assembly from fire or arrows from above. The head of the ram was encased in a steel cap, and steel bands encircled the rest of the shaft every few feet. Boric could only imagine what it was like to drag that thing across the Wastes of Preel; it had to weigh four tons. Boric had watched as men struggled all night to pull the huge contraption into place, its large wooden wheels being of little use on the rocky, uneven ground. Mercifully, most of the men didn’t have to struggle long: they were constantly being skewered by goblin archers hiding in the rocks above and being replaced by fresh recruits from behind. By the time the ram was at the gate, Salarat Pass was slick with the blood of men whose bodies had been dragged back to the plain. Presumably the bodies would have been left to rot had they not been an obstacle to advancing forces.

  Boric had been watching from the eastern tower, but as the ram approached the gate he retreated across the valley floor to Kra’al Brandskelt. It wasn’t the ram he feared, but rather the approaching daylight. As he strode across the valley, he heard the booming of the ram striking the gate echoing from the mountains. He had planned as well as he could; now it was up to the goblins manning the Fangs to hold the army at the gate. He disappeared into the castle as the first rays of morning pierced the horizon.

  Boric received reports of the status of the assault throughout the day. By midmorning, the ram had splintered the gate. By noon, a small force of armored Avaressian knights had broken through the breach and was massacred in short order by goblins waiting inside. Meanwhile, men with axes and pry bars continued to work on the gates, trying to widen the breach. This was evidently the job given to the more expendable of the troops: the average lifespan of a member of the demolition crew was about forty-five seconds — and that included the walk to the gate.

  Inside the gate waited a ring of several thousand of the most disciplined goblins Brand’s army had to offer. They were still goblins, of course, so there was little question that they would rout and run to the hills if the battle started to turn against them, but as long as the odds were in their favor, they made for a formidable fighting force. Several hundred yards behind them stood the bulk of the goblin army, forming a barrier in front of Kra’al Brandskelt. This last line of defense backed right up against the moat surrounding the castle, partly because the ground sloped upward toward the castle and Boric wanted the advancing humans to see the full goblin army on display — but also partly because it gave the goblins no place to run. If the human armies got past the defensive line at the gate, these goblins would be forced to fight to the last man. He hoped it didn’t come to that.

  Several times it nearly did. The breach in the gate had been widened enough that it was impossible for the goblin archers to stop all the soldiers pouring through, which meant that the goblins inside were forced to fight pitched battles. Wave after wave of human soldiers poured in, and each time they were slaughtered or beaten back by the goblins. By late afternoon, the goblins were exhausted and Boric had to order them relieved by a less disciplined unit from the main force. Boric was all but certain that the goblins would rout, but they were eager to prove themselves and more than a little enthusiastic about the idea of finally having a chance to kill some humans, and the line held. Just after sundown, three sharp notes were sounded from a horn atop Kra’al Brandskelt. The goblins turned and ran.

  The human armies, momentarily startled at the s
udden retreat, nevertheless pressed onward, thousands of men pouring through the gap, moving at double-time in the dim light toward the goblin army awaiting them in front of Kra’al Brandskelt. Except the army wasn’t there.

  The first hundred or so men plunged headlong into the moat, and it was only the agonized screams of those who somehow survived that finally halted the advance. Mass confusion ensued. Where had the goblin army gone?

  In point of fact, most of the goblin army had been gone for some time. Only the first few rows of the army had been composed of actual goblins, and these had fled into the hills as soon as the horn sounded. The human force, composed of regiments from Quirin, Skaal, and Peraltia, faced an army of helmets on pikes. The remainder of the human army waited outside the gates, not wanting to send their whole force in at once. Word that it was a trap spread rapidly through the ranks, but the human commanders inside Brandsveid insisted on carrying the plan through to completion. Engineers were sent forward with a folding bridge that could be thrown over the moat and soldiers ran across it, encountering no resistance. A smaller ram, composed only of a pine timber with metal handles affixed to it, was carried across the bridge, and the men set about breaking down the gate to the castle.

  Meanwhile, the dozen ogres that were in Brand’s employ began throwing stones and fallen trees down from the hills on either side of the Fangs, crushing anyone unlucky enough to be underneath. Half of the human army — the Avaressian, Blinskian, and Ytriskian contingents — retreated to the plain while the other half waited nervously inside. Soon the pass was hopelessly blocked: men could still crawl through the debris one by one — and those who tried were quickly put down by goblin archers — but a mass retreat from within was impossible.

  The humans inside the gate, nearly blind in the gathering darkness, were now beset by a horrendous cacophony of wailing from the hills around them. The sound, echoing off the mountainside, seemed to come from everywhere at once. Many of the men panicked, pushing forward onto the bridge and knocking several dozen into the moat. The crush of men at the gate made it impossible to maneuver the ram, so there was no escape, even into the castle.