The Dragon Hammer (Wulf's Saga Book 1)

by Tony Daniel

  But there were always more of them. And reinforcements were charging out of the town. Two thousand warriors of the mark, most of the Bear Valley recruits. Five thousand Sandhaveners.

  Numbers began to matter.

  It took a while, but the Sandhaveners finally got organized behind a wall of shields. They moved forward together and started to push back the attackers. The Alerdalan Wood got closer and closer when Wulf glanced over his shoulder. Keiler had abandoned the rise where they’d been watching the battle. Now they were getting backed up against the tree line.

  It was a fighting retreat, but it was a retreat.

  Earl Keiler moved his horse up beside Wulf. “I wish we had reserves, but we don’t. Now would be the time to throw them in.”

  The earl sounded almost apologetic.

  “It’s not over yet,” Wulf replied.

  Keiler started to answer, but began to cough, and the fit lasted a long time. The scrofula was getting worse. Blood spattered from his mouth and dripped down the hair of his chin. He finally straightened. “We’ll have to make a stand against the woods,” the earl said. “If they push us into the trees, they can hunt us down one by one.”

  Keiler led a group of leaders he’d picked back toward the woods at a trot. Wulf followed. When they got there, the earl spread out these troops along the edge of the woods. “You have to stop them. You have to turn our own if they break, boys!” he shouted.

  They waited for the battle to come to them.

  They didn’t have long to wait.

  The Sandhaveners were attacking in tight boxes of eight or ten men, each two men deep. They were taking no prisoners. They were slaughtering any Tier or men they caught.

  And pushing the rest back. Farther back.

  “It’s going to get desperate pretty soon, Lord Wulf,” the old bear shouted at him.

  “Seems so,” Wulf shouted back.

  “We cannot be pushed into the woods.”

  “I know.” Wulf smiled. “Are you going to let me fight?”

  “Draw your sword.”

  Wulf pulled the bear sword from its scabbard and got ready.

  The front line got closer and closer. Troops were shouting. They cried in pain as they were stabbed or slashed, going down.

  Something dripped on Wulf’s nose. Was his head bleeding? Another splash. More and more.

  The rain was here. Thunder rumbled. The rain grew heavier.

  “Curse it all!” Wulf shouted.

  Nagel, on his shoulder, shook out her wings.

  I’m not going to die wet and beaten. I’m not going to run through the forest being hunted.

  A cluster of Sandhaveners broke through the lines. They headed toward Wulf and Keiler.

  He pointed his sword at the advancing soldiers. He kicked his horse into movement and charged forward to meet the oncoming men.

  The rain did not let up. For a moment Wulf thought it might hide his approach.

  But the Sandhaveners saw him and were ready.

  This is it, Wulf thought.

  He saw her face.

  Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Willowy. Skinny.

  Beautiful to him because of who she was.

  Saeunn.

  It wouldn’t be a bad thought to go out on.

  When Wulf was twenty paces from their line, the Sandhaveners seemed to cringe back.

  They look terrified.

  Did I do that?

  But then, an eyeblink before he reached them, a cloud of arrows flew over his head and into the enemy. Many fell. An eyeblink later Wulf trampled through the rest with his horse. Another cloud of arrows flew over his head. More Sandhaveners fell.

  Then he heard a roar of wild joy coming from the crusty, ancient Earl Keiler.

  “The gnomes are here! The gnomes! By Sturmer, now we’ll see some fighting!”

  Chapter Forty-Seven:

  The Victory

  Grer was standing in the rain on the spot where he’d killed the man when the bell cord dropped and hit him on top of his head. He looked up and saw Rainer’s face barely poking out from the belfry cupola. Rainer had thrown down the cut end of the bell rope. It was a three-twist hemp rope, and the end was already starting to fray. Grer tied his tool bag to it. He gave the rope a tug.

  Seemed tight.

  Grer pulled himself up the rope with his hands until he was above the shrubbery. Then he put his feet against the cathedral and began walking his way up. Twice the sandstone grit rolled under the soles of his new boots and his feet slid off. He slammed into the side of the cathedral. Even with his forge-made muscles, climbing up the belltower was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

  When he pulled himself over the balustrade and into the belfry, he was breathing in gasps. His arms felt as if they’d been beaten like a rug.

  “How was it down there?” Rainer asked.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Pull up the tools!”

  Rainer nodded. He began to quickly lift the bag of tools toward them. “So, how are we going to do this?”

  “Rainer, have you even looked to see if it’s in there?”

  Rainer shook head. “No. I mean, what if it’s not?”

  “Okay. I’m going to need you to tilt the bell so I can get to it,” Grer said. “Grab that bell wheel and turn the yoke. It’s yon iron wheel you cut the rope from.”

  Rainer turned it. Nothing happened.

  “Put your back into it, man,” Grer said.

  Rainer strained harder and slowly spun the bell wheel, which turned the yoke the bell was attached to. The bell gave a low clanking sound as the clapper came to rest against the inside of the bell.

  Grer pulled the wheel-lock lever. The stopper clicked into place.

  “All right, I think you can let go now,” he said to Rainer.

  The Elder Bell was on its side.

  Grer had a look.

  What a beautiful piece of iron, Grer thought.

  The clapper was attached to a staple. The staple bar was likely held in by a cotter pin, and that would be the first thing to remove if he was going to take the bell apart.

  The interior was different from the outside. It was polished, and it seemed to shine from its own light. The clapper—

  “How do you like that?” Grer said.

  “What?” asked Rainer, his voice trembling.

  “Well,” said Grer, “looks like somebody put a hammer in this bell.”

  The gnomes charged out of the woods almost as fast as their arrows flew. There were hundreds. They moved like a living carpet, low to the ground. It was a carpet that bristled with sharp and pointy weapons.

  Some rode kalter ponies, but most were on foot. They moved at the pace of a fast-walking man. They didn’t speed up and they didn’t slow down—even when they hit the Sandhavener lines.

  The Sandhaven soldiers were taken by surprise. They didn’t lower their shields, and the gnomes swept under them, stabbing at the joints between greaves and cuirasses. Slicing upward to cut the arteries that led from groins to legs.

  Men fell screaming, clutching at their private parts. And when they did, more gnomes were on them, stabbing, hacking, and killing. Some they ganged up on and drowned in rain puddles.

  The gnome forces did not stop coming out of the woods for a long time.

  There must be thousands of them, Wulf thought. Had the whole village of Glockendorf been converted to soldiers?

  Looking closer, Wulf saw that this was maybe true. The gnome women fought alongside their men.

  The rain slackened.

  The clumps of Sandhaveners that had been pushing ahead broke first. These men rushed into the ranks of their advancing countrymen. Panic started to spread back through the ranks.

  Wulf could see it happening. The shields falling out of place as this man or another turned to run. The line was unable to join back together, leaving big gaps that the mark’s forces charged into and split apart like a wedge.

  The gnomes kept marching. They were like a living organism, like
a deadly ant swarm. They were so small it didn’t seem they could do much good. They couldn’t individually. But when they fought together, they were unstoppable. They overtook the enemy who had broken and fled and hunted each down individually. Men collapsed into the mud and died.

  Behind the gnomes came the human and Tier forces of the mark. They marched forward raggedly, but holding together. It was enough.

  We are winning, Wulf thought. We have to. If we don’t, we’ll be dead.

  We’re going to break their bones, cut their throats and make them bleed.

  We’re going to take back Raukenrose.

  Raukenrose. My family.

  Saeunn.

  Wulf spurred his horse. He had his sword out, ready.

  He was scared. He was repulsed by the death and the waste of people’s lives.

  But charging into danger, not away from it? That was a good thing.

  Fighting like a madman when the stakes were life and death? It felt right.

  Blood and bones, he thought. I expected that. But I didn’t expect to like war.

  I do.

  Jager had never believed that all was lost. But there was no denying the treeline was getting closer and his men were getting tired. He done a lot to keep them going. Making sure water was brought up. Getting a whole rank of buffalo men—ones that hadn’t cut and run, but had fought like furies—to send up a huge chorus of bellows for encouragement. And killing more humans than he’d ever seen in his life before this day.

  At the moment, he was dealing with a Sandhavener officer. The Sandhavener was double Jager’s size. The fight was brutal. Jager parried a blow with a buckler he’d picked up moments ago from another man he’d killed. Then Jager struck with his feline speed and ripped out the Sandhavener’s left groin. When the man fell, Jager leaped on top of him and put a sword through the gap in the man’s helmet. He pushed through until he struck the metal on the helmet’s back side.

  Something as small as Jager and almost as quick ran up to his right. Jager glanced over. It was a gnome. Another was on his left. The two pushed past in an organized unit, flowing around him like a stream around a rock, and were soon cutting into the Sandhaveners in front of him.

  Jager stood up and worked his way over to Knudsson. The bear man was fighting nearby, but Jager pulled him back from the line.

  “Them gnomes move like a bloody wind from Helheim,” Knudsson said. “Almost pity the Haveners.”

  “Yep,” Jager said. “Give me a boost.”

  He climbed back up and balanced on the bear man’s shoulders. Over the heads of the soldiers in front of him, Jager saw—

  By Sturmer, if that ain’t the town wall, Jager thought. We’re no more than fifty paces from it.

  Then something more disturbing. A fully armored Sandhavener on a horse also in plate was pushing through the line directly in front of him and Knudsson.

  “Trouble on the way,” Jager said.

  “Wish I had my bow and a bodkin-headed shaft,” Knudsson said. “I’d take ’im down at this range even through steel.”

  The horseman headed straight for them. Jager considered. The armor was slowing the horse. There was an exposed spot on the breast above either leg.

  “Think you can handle the animal?” he asked the bear man.

  “Reckon so.”

  Knudsson readied his spear. Just before the horseman reached them, he kicked in his heels and speeded the horse. He lowered his weapon, a halberd.

  Knudsson ducked and thrust his spear at the horse. Jager pounced. The halberd passed between them without striking.

  Jager crashed into the horseman. The man was driven back in his saddle, but did not fall. He did drop his halberd. But this also freed up his fist. He smashed a steel-reinforced glove into Jager’s face. The man’s knuckles partly caught the side of Jager’s helm, but the rest of his fist connected with Jager’s cheek, smashing it into the bobcat man’s teeth. Blood filled Jager’s mouth.

  Jager drew back his sword, but the man reached for him with his other hand and grabbed him around the neck. He started to choke Jager, shaking him back and forth. Jager gagged on his own blood. He felt his windpipe closing down. He reached for his neck with his free hand and tried to pry away the choke hold. No good.

  Then the man let out a cry of surprise and lurched sideways, taking Jager with him. Knudsson had brought the horse down. Jager twisted as he fell and the man’s hand came loose from Jager’s neck. But the Sandhavener was quick, too. He landed with crushing weight on top of Jager. The bobcat man howled in pain. He still had hold of his sword somehow, and he desperately tried to position it to stab into the man’s side. Made the thrust.

  And it glanced off armor.

  The man sat up. Now he got two hands around Jager’s neck. He squeezed. Jager struggled furiously, but the world started to go dark.

  Suddenly, the squeezing lessened. Jager looked up at something strange. A long tongue seemed to have stuck out from the Sandhavener’s mouth. A pointed tongue. Then Jager realized it was the tip of a dagger. Someone had run the man’s head through from the rear. Which was no mean feat, because the man wore a full helmet with a grima noseguard.

  The tongue slid back in, the dagger was withdrawn. The Sandhavener fell to the side. Jager looked up to see a human, a young man. He wore a green and blue jerkin over a gray linen shirt. Jager recognized him immediately. He’d seen him while the human had passed among the troops at Bear Hall.

  It was Lord Wulf von Dunstig.

  The nobleman looked down at his knife.

  “Good steel my smith forged,” he said. “Right through the back of the helm.”

  Lord Wulf sheathed the dagger. On his other side was a sword, also hanging in a scabbard.

  Funny the nobleman had used the dagger instead of the sword, Jager thought. He must think it the better weapon.

  The lord reached out a hand to help Jager up. Jager took it.

  Knudsson was nearby working his spear out of the horse. It had gone in deep. Lord Wulf’s own horse was standing patiently to the rear of them toward the woods.

  Jager stood beside his lord. He came about to the height of Lord Wulf’s navel.

  They gazed toward the fighting several paces in front of them.

  “We’re winning,” the young lord said.

  “That we are, m’lord,” Jager replied. “Thanks to them gnomes.”

  “And to you for holding on so long, Captain.”

  “My boys fought hard,” Jager replied. “And we’re still fighting.”

  Lord Wulf nodded.

  Knudsson gave a loud grunt and pulled his spear completely free of the horse. It was still alive and faintly struggling. The bear man put a boot on the horse’s neck. This was hard for the bear man. He had been a stable hand in Brullen, and practically worshipped the horses he cared for there. He killed the horse with a quick thrust through the eye, looking away at the last moment so he didn’t have to see the horse’s death throes.

  “Our left flank has reached the wall,” Lord Wulf said. He pointed to a spot Jager wasn’t tall enough to see. “I want to cut off that gate.” He pointed to their right. Jager could see the eastern guardhouse standing tall above the heads of the fighting men.

  “We have to keep them from escaping through the gate. Herd them together.”

  Jager considered. “Yep, m’lord. It’ll take some doing, but we can.” He turned to Knudsson. “Let’s wheel ’em left, Odis. Push for the wall on the right.”

  Knudsson nodded. “All right, Captain,” he said. “We’ll make it so they don’t have nowheres to go.”

  “You stay here and just watch us do it, m’lord,” Jager said. “You should tend to your horse there.”

  Lord Wulf shook his head. “My horse can take care of itself,” he said. He shot Jager a savage smile and pointed toward the fighting with his sword. “That’s where I belong. And that’s where I’m going.” In that moment Jager believed he would follow this boy lord anywhere, even into the pit of Helheim. �
�Now let’s finish this, Captain.”

  Jager nodded, and Lord Wulf charged toward the fight.

  Jager raised his own sword and followed his liege lord back into the scrum of battle.

  Chapter Forty-Eight:

  The Sorrow

  “I need Ravenelle.”

  I never thought I’d hear myself say it, Wulf thought, she’s been so prickly for so long. But I’ve got to find her before we go in.

  Now it was not bear men who were hemming him in. There was a new set of guards in tow. They were four centaurs armed with deadly looking longbows. Wulf rode back to the supply wagons, looking for Ravenelle. Instead he saw Ursel nursing a beaver man’s shoulder wound.

  She motioned for him to stay on his horse. “We’ll talk later, m’lord,” she said. “I’m a bit busy right now.”

  “I understand,” said Wulf. “Have you seen the princess?”

  “She was with the ambulances when I last saw her. The body carts.”

  “She’s not—”

  “No, she’s alive. She was helping sort out the living.”

  Wulf breathed a sigh of relief. He had to ask several of the teamsters, but he finally got pointed in the right direction. He rode to the north.

  He came to the train of ambulance wagons and rode along it. There were a lot of dead Tier. Flies were already settling on the bodies in a cloud, and the smell, like raw meat in a butcher shop, was very strong.

  He found Ravenelle about halfway down the line of wagons. She was walking beside one of the wagons with bodies in it as it moved along at a slow pace. A horse, the one Ravenelle had ridden to Bear Hall, was tied to the rear of the wagon and was plodding behind.

  Ravenelle saw Wulf and his bear men, and motioned to the driver to hold up.

  Wulf was about to speak sharply to her about going off by herself when she might be needed very soon inside the township. But he saw sadness on her face. He climbed down from his horse and stood beside her. The centaurs kept back, but scanned the nearby country. Their bows were strung. Archers didn’t string their bows unless they thought they might use them. Carrying them around strung tight at all times ruined the bow wood.