Pure of Heart (the New Age Saga Book 2)

by Timothy A. Ray

  He flexed in his armor and drew his sword. The enemy was reacting to their raid and he knew they were about to receive their vengeance.

  Roland ran at his side as he took the steps to the outer wall and the heights above. His dwarven commander was where he’d left him, eyes watching the battlefield, orders being barked without looking to see if they were carried out.

  Bendor noticed their presence and eyed them warily. “Well Laddie, hineri t was worth it.”

  “None of their siege engines are intact, if the reports are right,” he told the dwarf, as he looked out upon the charred city before them.

  “Guid,” Bendor nodded, then turned to one of his runners. “Oors, however, ur. Order th’ trebuchets an’ ballistae tae begin ance th’ enemy is within range. Teel General McKnight tae concentrate oan th’ center, try tae drife them back.”

  The runner nodded and went to relay his orders.

  “Nae ‘at it’ll make much ay a dent,” his general muttered.

  Roland had taken a spot adjacent to theirs and was watching as well; his mind trying to work out if the cavalry would be needed or if they’d have to remain useless within the inner ward.

  The horizon was shimmering with movement and the beating of drums increased slowly as the enemy army approached. He could hear their roars as like thunder in the distance and briefly wondered how long they’d be able to hold such a force at bay.

  “Archers at th’ ready!” Bendor hollered. “An' teel th' gutties tae keep them weel stocked, cannae hae them runnin' it ay ammo! Ah want soldiers ready tae converge oan enemy ladders, order th' first legion stationed alang th' dyke, th' third held in reserve tae fill in whaur needed! Let’s drife them back lads an' teach them th' errur ay their ways!”

  He took up the roar of his countrymen, taking the shield fastened to his back off and slinging it on his arm. His blood was pumping, the armor heavy, but not as much as the responsibility he felt for all those that served him. He must not fail; they must push them back.

  “Whit ur ye daein’ laddie?” Bendor asked him from his stool, giving him a determined look. “Yoo’re nae stayin' haur. Gie up in 'at tower an' watch fur weaknesses, order reserves tae reinforce whaur needed.”

  “I’m not leaving,” he told his general firmly. “I will not run and hide while people under my command fight in my name. My place is here.”

  Bendor growled and stepped forward, the stool making it almost so they’d see eye to eye. “Ye ur th' kin', yer place is in th' rear, leadin' yer fowk. Yer life is worth mair than onie ay oors. We’ve tint a body kin' thes week, Ah don’t intend tae lose anither.”

  “You’ll have to have me removed yourself. I’m not leaving,” he stated flatly, despite the valid argument being pushed upon him. He was not going to run and hide. His men needed to see him by their side, fighting along with them. It would boost the morale and give them an edge otherwise denied by his absence.

  Windel appeared next to him, dressed in platemail, and a pair of short swords in his hands. “I’ll watch his back,” the aide told the dwarven general, who refused to acknowledge his presence. “That’s what I was trained for.”

  Bendor growled again, then took a flask from a pouch on his waist and took a long drink. His eyes were intense; his lips pursed. He looked like he was going to argue further, but then tilted the flask his way in an offering to join in.

  He snatched it and took a quick swig before the dwarf could reconsider. “Ugh, why the hell do you dwarves enjoy this Grog so much? Tastes like horse’s ass.”

  “Been eatin’ a lot ay ‘at, hae ye?” the dwarf laughed, taking the flask back. Then the short man took another long drink before pocketing it away. “Ne'er said ye humans hud onie taste.”

  “Well, if we make it through this, I’ll share a barrel with you back in the castle,” he told his commander with a smile, then winced as the first of the arrows began to fly around him.

  The sounds of the artillery firing thundered and he watched as the horde marched into view. They trampled the remains of the burnt city, unhindered by the smoking ruins. Whips could be heard in the distance, their taskmasters forcing the creature’s forward. Overhead flew one or two gargoyles, inspecting their troops and whipping any that were not keeping up with their comrades. The red orc was not to be seen and was probably doing what he had been bid; commanding from the rear.

  Projectiles hit the goblin columns in the forefront of the advancing horde and he could see entire swatches of the enemy being crushed. But those gaps were only momentarily visible as the dead were quickly marched over and replaced. Such disregard for their fallen comrades showed the nature of the enemy they were fighting and it gave him pause.

  Once again arrows flew, but the targets they rained down upon were quickly masked by those around them, and the endless ocean refused to ripple in response. There were just too many to be effective; yet they had no choice, lest they give into the death promised them.

  That he would not allow.

  He reached behind his right shoulder and drew his bow from its quiver. Unwrapping the cord, he pulled it tight and put it into place. Then he drew an arrow and stepped between the merlons, sighting in on the advancing enemy. Letting loose, he watched his arrow sore overhead, then falling to pierce a goblin near the front of the advance. He smiled with satisfaction as the creature fell dead, but it was wiped away when the goblin behind stepped over the corpse and took the creature’s place.

  He kept firing with his fellow archers, praying to make some impact on the enemy forces, but felt little hope it was making a difference.

  “Roland, Ah want cavalry tae exit th' eastern gate an' sweep athwart their flanks. Try tae lure some ay them aff,” Bendor commanded the tall veteran.

  Eager to get into the fight, Roland bowed and sprinted down the steps.

  “Why don’t they attack all four gates, make us defend in multiple places at once?” he asked, though he feared the answer.

  As expected, Bendor grimly stated, “overwhelmin' numbers laddie. They hink tae overrin us quickly an' end thes by sheer weecht ay their army. Runner! Teel McKnight tae focus th' eastern artillery oan their left flenk!”

  A soldier snapped too and took off in a sprint, dodging the archers firing at the approaching enemy, who had just reached the trenches before the castle. They were in range for more focused shots and John reached for the quiver that had been placed by his leg and drew another arrow. He sighted once more and nailed a goblin just as it was cresting the ridge of the first trench. It sprawled forward, sliding along the dirt, another body falling down on top of it.

  Enemy archers had begun firing at the walls and he saw quite a few soar overhead. There were screams from behind him and the first casualties on their side had been lost.

  “Water bearers watch fur fires!” Bendor hollered over his shoulder as flaming arrows streaked across the sky.

  Over the last trench marched a large group of orcs. Shields were raised over their heads and he knew what it was they were protecting. “Ram!” he told his comrade, knowing that his arrows were useless in deterring the approaching enemy, but firing at them anyways.

  “Hot oil ready!” Bendor bellowed to his left at the soldiers boiling cauldrons just above the drawbridge. How were they were planning to get across the moat in order to hit the thick drawbridge?

  To his horror, he quickly got his answer.

  Goblins slithered forth in packs, drawing the corpses of their fallen comrades between them. He sighted on a pair of them and fired quickly upon the exposed creatures. But as one fell, three more swept forward and picked up the fresh corpse to carry along with the first. The bodies were then thrown into the moat before the front wall, their own bodies adding to the pile as their archers picked them off.

  The shielded orcs had halted as one, waiting patiently as more bodies were thrown into the bloodied moat before them. Ladders had begun to appear from amongst the enemy ranks and they were slowly rising towards the outer wall.

  “Dri
ve those goblins back!” he commanded the nearest archers as Bendor hollered for the first legion to gather where they would land. He sighted on the goblins dragging corpses forward, but it was a losing battle, as any he killed just added to growing bridge of the dead. What was the answer? To stop killing them?

  “Oil ower th’ side!” Bendor hollered at the men to their left, and as another cauldron was placed on the small fire pit, the first was dumped on the pile of corpses below. “Archers, lecht it up!”

  Flaming arrows flew into the now oiled carcasses and it blazed to life with a gigantic roar and intense heat; blasting his face like a furnace. The smell of charred flesh began to rise; the stench making him gag. However, the enemy response was to throw more bodies on the infernal, adding to the fuel, but also partially smothering the flames.

  It had grown large enough that the orcs felt confident stepping forward once more. Shields unmoved, they began their sure steps over the flaming corpses, ignoring the heat raging around their legs.

  They were insane!

  “Mair hot oil laddies!” Bendor ordered. An arrow flew near his head and he was forced to duck behind the merlons for protection. “Teel th' gatehooses tae focus oan drivin' those orcs back!”

  Oil splashed across the shields of the orcs below, most of it splashing into the moat on the sides. Though intended to drench the attackers wielding the ram, it instead slid off, only partially dripping through provided gaps. There was an earth-shattering thump as the ram was slammed into their gate.

  “Runner! Teel General Cox tae hae his men ready!” Bendor hollered. The infantry general had pikemen stationed just behind the gates, ready to defend should the attackers break the drawbridge and portcullis.

  Then something staggering happened. The oil that had spread along the moat had caught fire from the flaming goblin corpses and the increased infernal snaked up towards the orcs above; cooking them from below.

  One of the shields fell away, as its bearer fell sideways into the moat, engulfed in flames. Cheers rose from his men and the archers took advantage of the gap to shoot a couple more free of the battering ram. The soldiers manning the oil did not need to be told what to do next; they poured another cauldron over the side, adding fuel to the already roaring fire.

  Grimly, he inhaled the black smoke of burnt flesh and watched as the orcs below were completely engulfed; tendrils of flame throwing sparks into the sky, the ram sliding free and rolling into the moat at their sides. Shields dropped and the orcs made one last ditch effort to save their lives by diving into the water to quench the flames.

  A ladder struck on his right and he focused on the ascending goblins instead. Though they fell many, the number of attackers rising towards them was an endless sea of evil. Archers shifted sideways from the ladder, continuing to fire on those climbing towards them, as soldiers stepped forward to meet the oncoming horde.

  He put his bow down and drew his sword once more. A holler from his left pulled his attention and movement caught his eye in the distance; the cavalry had begun strafing the army’s flank. Howls of rage erupted from below and part of the enemy army shifted east in their direction.

  He couldn’t think on that at the moment; the goblins were on the walls!

  Stepping towards the nearest ladder, he was next to his men as the first vile creature leapt onto the battlements. It was quickly dispatched and thrown back over the side, hopefully taking some of its comrades with it. His shield was impacted by enemy arrows and he held it high as he cleaved the next attacker with a downward swipe, another soldier piercing the goblin’s torso with a quick thrust.

  “Runner! Third division tae reinforce th' left dyke!” Bendor bellowed behind him, as he fought off the next pair of attackers.

  Sweat was dripping into his eye, his arm strained from the constant firing, and now parrying attacks with his sword. His shield suddenly thundered him sideways as a goblin leapt from the ladder to the merlons on his left, and came at him with an axe. He brought his arm down, then thrust the shield outward, knocking the creature back. A soldier stepped from behind him and dispatched the enemy. Backing up a bit, he allowed a less decreased field of sight, watching for attacks on multiple sides now.

  There was a loud crack from beyond the wall and the goblin that had been about to jump at them fell swiftly out of sight. “My Lord!” one of the soldiers jerked his way. “The ladder snapped with their weight!”

  “Don’t stand there gawking; go help the others!” he snapped at the man, who’s brief look of victory was wiped away. The other soldiers around him were already rushing along the battlements west; sweeping towards their battling commanders beyond.

  He turned back to the dwarven general, resting his throbbing arm for a moment and catching his breath.

  “Longer th’ ladder, less weecht it can hauld afair snappin’,” Bendor smiled at him, watching the scrambling enemy army. The waves had shifted away from the gatehouse for a moment, offering the defenders free reign on picking off their targets.

  The rear of the army appeared to be flooding east, probably chasing the strafing cavalry. Enemy horse roared into view and added their own cavalry to the pursuit. In nervous anticipation, he wished Roland’s men luck and turned to an approaching runner.

  “Sire!” the man yelled, drawing Bendor’s attention as well.

  Before the runner could relay his message, howls erupted from the enemy horde, and he jerked his head to the right. Silver armored horsemen thundered around the eastern wall riding straight into the stretched enemy lines. Roland’s cavalry had drawn them far enough out that those streaming in-between were not prepared for this newest attack on their forces. Swords flashed in the afternoon light as the riders ploughed through the enemy ranks, bellows of a familiar language sweeping over the outraged cries of the goblins.

  Out of breath, the runner stood by their side, watching the new massacre unfold. “Word from General Brasten, knights bearing the colors of Forlorn seen riding towards the enemy!”

  “Nae jobby, laddie,” Bendor muttered with joy as he watched the attacker’s lines begin to break. The scope of the new threat broke the morale of the enemy army as they began streaming away in fear. The whips of the gargoyles did little to rally the fleeing goblins and orcs and they were forced to sound a withdrawal.

  Men along the battlements cheered at the sound, their brief victory thundering across the castle grounds. He felt a wave of relief hit as he watched the elven knights chase down the enemy; driving them further away. To the left rode Roland’s cavalry, swinging around and joining their new brothers in arms in driving a wedge forward.

  “At bludy rockit,” Bendor growled, staring at their horsemen sweeping forward.

  He squinted and saw that the rider leading the charge was wearing armor similar to his generals, and realized that Roland had personally seen to the orders he’d been given.

  His dwarven general glowered up at him. “Baith ay ye ur gonnae gezz a heart lat at afair thes is dain. Ye refused tae lae an' noo 'at damn divit is it thaur insteid ay commandin' th' remainder ay his men tae join in! Runner!” Bendor hollered, startling the man standing right next to him. “Order McKnight tae concentrate oan th' stragglers, 'en cease altogether when it ay range. Nae use wastin' ammunition.”

  As the man rushed off, he turned to another awaiting soldier, “tell General Cox he’s to lower the drawbridge and clear that moat. I want it emptied of those corpses and the fire contained! And get that damn ram out of there, no use leaving it to be picked back up again.”

  “Yes Sir!” the man bowed, then ran behind them and down the stairs.

  He could hear the great machines begin to churn and the drawbridge lowered moments later. “You don’t think they’ll regroup and renew their attack?” he asked, slipping his shield onto his back and sheathing his sword.

  “Nae until they ken fur sure hoo mony reinforcements jist arrived tae aid us. They’ll hae tae ref'rm an' bide,” Bendor told him with satisfaction, watching as the riders broke off p
ursuit and began a measured march towards the awaiting drawbridge. “Archers! Forage fur weapons an’ usable ammunition!” he ordered the gawking men around them. “We’re gonnae need everythin’ we can gie!”

  He couldn’t help but smile; they had survived the first wave.

  “Don’t gang thinkin' canty thooghts yit, laddie, thes is jist beginnin'. 'Main 'en, let’s gang meit uir new arrivals,” the dwarf scolded him, gruffly lurching off the stool and heading for the stone stairs to the gatehouse below.

  He took one more moment to watch as the enemy retreated.

  Bendor was right, it was just the beginning, and the enemy had plenty more to sacrifice in further attacks. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel a little hope as he watched the elves riding their way, the standard whipping in the wind.

  Forlorn had answered their call!

  Chapter 3

  Reprieve

  I

  Dusk was upon them as Tristan packed his armor into his saddlebags, preparing to camp for the night. Having regrouped with the others upon reaching the base of Saspe’s Peak, they had quickly mounted up and began their journey south. Melissa had taken Merlin’s horse and ridden near the front of their group, largely keeping to herself. It was understood that they could come under attack at any moment, so most of the journey had been in silence, everyone tense, eyes and ears searching for any evidence that the enemy was near.

  They had broken from the forest an hour earlier; the large peak looming to the north, yet distant enough that it gave some impression of distance between them and the enemy horde that constantly seemed to be right on their heels.

  Token was busy building a fire to prepare dinner and he watched as the others set about finding fuel for the sparking flames.

  A howl erupted in the distance and he forced a smile. Kylee had disappeared shortly after their descent, rushing off to enjoy her reunion with her wolf companion. Now he watched as they trotted into view, her white hair flopping behind her in the fading twilight.