by Bruce Leslie
The Lump smiled at the men. “What kind of help you got for me, smithy?” He stopped running and lumbered forward at a more casual pace.
The smith patted Kinnad on the shoulder. “The boy told me where you took off to, and I had a pretty good idea why.” He waved a hand toward the cart. “I figured if you are going to attack the Baron, you ought to do it with some proper weapons.” The man grunted. “Something better than whatever sticks your wild-men could pull off the trees.”
The Lump and his colleagues now stood only a few paces from the smith. They exchanged curious glances, then looked at the cart.
Meena asked, “You brought us weapons?”
The smith nodded. “Yes, I’ve made you some.” He looked at the crowd of Hill-Folk farther down the path. “Though I’ve got to admit, I didn’t expect so many of you.” He shrugged. “I only made about twenty or so.”
Kinnad beckoned to Meena. “You want to have a look?” He grabbed one corner of the tarp and pulled it back.
The cart contained a stack of thick, wooden rods with black, iron axe-heads attached. The wood looked freshly hewn and sturdy, and the iron was honed into fine edges.
The smith shook his head. “I didn’t have the time or resources to make proper halberds, but these old style long-axes worked good enough back in the great war.”
Meena looked at the weapons and furrowed her brow. “Why did you do this?”
“It’s wonderful and all,” added the Lump. “But, why would you want to help us?”
“I serve the King,” answered the smith. “I ain’t never been a friend to no traitor.” He pointed at the Lump. “If you’re aiming to fight that turn-cloak Eugene, then I’m going to help!” His hand fell to his side. “I ain’t as young as I used to be, so swinging my hammer in battle won’t likely help near as much as swinging it at my forge.” He nodded toward his apprentice. “I’d send Kinnad with you, but it looks to me like you’ve already got plenty of fighters.”
Meena smiled and nodded. “Your gift is both generous and appreciated, I will not forget your kindness.”
The smith grunted. “Like I said, I’m just helping you on account of that’s what the King would want.” He scratched his head. “I’ll be getting back to my shop now. It’s hidden away because those ungrateful footmen who done forgot where their halberds came from are looking for me.” He held his hands wide. “I’ll be making more weapons just in case you need them. I can even put some mail together if the fight drags on.”
“My goal is to end this quickly,” said Meena. “A prolonged siege would undermine my aim.” She tilted her head. “But it is comforting to know I have a friend with your skill.”
“I’ll send Kinnad to check on you at Galliston, just the same.” The smith turned toward the cart and finished removing the tarp. “He can tell you what I have, and you can let him know what you need.”
“Thank you, again,” said Meena.
The smith gave his head a shake. “Putting the traitor in irons is the only thanks I need.” He paused, then added, “Luna be with you.”
Kind leaned against the cart. “I’ll be speaking with you soon.”
Meena turned and called down the path. “Grumpet, Wooly, come join us!”
The two former chiefs trotted down the path as requested. When they arrived by the cart they stood in silence and waited for Meena’s instruction.
Meena glanced at One-Eye, then looked at Grumpet and Wooly. “Make certain the axes get spread evenly, an equal number to each of the three former clans. As their onetime chiefs, you will know who is most capable and deserving amongst your respective folk.”
The three men each nodded their understanding, then called out names in quick succession. As the names were called, a flurry of patchwork garb scrambled around the cart and, in a matter of a few heartbeats, claimed all the axes.
Kinnad slapped the side of the empty cart. “It should be a lot easier to pull now.” He nodded at the Lump. “Be sure and thump them good for me.”
The Lump flashed a broad grin. “We’ll thump them good, all right, but we’re doing it for our chief.”
Kinnad returned the big man’s grin. “Fine enough by me.”
With those words, the smith and his apprentice wandered off, going down the path in the direction opposite Galliston.
Meena’s assembled forces, with their new weapons, resumed their march toward the castle and its hostages. A fair distance before the city, they took to the forest, hoping to avoid alerting any travelers or patrols to the large number of Hill-Folk approaching the capital. Once Wooly proclaimed he could smell the stink of Galley-Town, the newly assembled army halted.
During their travel through the woods, Meena recruited some special help from the beasts in the wild. Four goats that had likely escaped their pen now accompanied the group, along with three rough looking badgers sporting long claws made for digging. The bevy of birds assembled at Blue-Feet Hill followed on wing, and now settled in the trees waiting to be again called. No bears could be found this close to the city, but there were a half-dozen stags and a pack of wild hounds.
One-Eye shuffled up to Meena and asked, “So, what’s the plan, chief?”
“We need to strike quickly, we have surprise to our advantage,” answered Meena. “I breached the gate once before, but I had three bears.”
One-Eye curled his lips into an enthusiastic snarl. “But now you’ve got four score of the orneriest folk these towny-fools have ever seen.”
“And we need to keep our numbers hidden until we have an avenue of attack,” said Meena. “We don’t want a pitched battle outside the city like we had last Spring.”
The Lump wrinkled his forehead. “So, what are you saying we do?”
Meena pointed her staff at the Lump. “You can lead the goats down to the gate.”
The Lump opened his eyes wide. “I can?”
“Yes.” Meena gave her head a sharp nod. “The goats can ram the gate until it opens, or at least open the small door set into it.”
“It’s a wicket,” said Flynn.
“What’s a wicket?” asked the Lump.
“The small door within the gate,” answered Flynn.
“Regardless of what it’s called,” said Meena, “I need you to take the goats down there, Lump.”
The Lump rubbed his bearded chin. “I’m sure they’ll know who I am.”
“Yes, they will.” Meena leaned against her staff. “If they open the door, or the wicket if you prefer, you and the goats should try to keep it open.” She looked over her shoulder, toward the castle, then back to the Lump. “They’ll likely try to take you hostage, they probably won’t kill you.”
“They probably won’t?” shouted the Lump. “What if they do try to kill me?”
“Don’t let them,” answered Meena, the hint of a smirk on her face.
“Thank you for the advice,” said the Lump. “I’m not sure I could’ve figured that out on my own.”
Meena raised an eyebrow. “The goats will help you if needed, and so will the birds.” She waved a hand skyward. “The birds will also interfere with any watchers on the wall before our main force strikes.”
“And when will that be, chief?” asked One-Eye.
“Once we have an opening,” answered Meena. “We will charge from the forest, all at once, as quickly and loudly as we can. With any luck, the footmen will rout without a confrontation.” Her mouth became a hard line. “We need to get to my parents as soon as we can, before the Baron can do any harm to them to dissuade our charge.”
The Lump asked, “And what if they don’t rout?”
“Then we fight.” Meena gripped her staff in both hands and held it across her body. “The Hill-Folk are equal parts brave and strong. If we engage the footmen, we don’t even have to beat them, just keep their attention long enough for me and a few of the animals to find and rescue my parents.”
Flynn took a step forward and gripped the bow slung across his chest. “I’m going with you.”
Meena nodded. “Fine, an extra pair of eyes can help me search the cells.”
The Lump chuckled and held his hands up by his shoulders. “If I ain’t dead yet, I’m going with you, too.” He pointed a thick finger. “You drug me out of my stable and into this mess almost a year ago, I’m not letting you finish this without me.”
“You won’t be dead,” said Meena. “Furthermore, you are either very good or very lucking at fighting, I’ll be happy to have you along.” She turned her attention to the three clan chiefs. “One-Eye, Wooly, Grumpet, you must lead the Hill-Folk, give these footmen all the fight they can handle. I’ve seen the Hill-Folk battle before, and I’ve seen the same from the footmen. I have no doubts who is better. Despite what sort of arms and armor the Gallisians have, the Hill-Folk have heart.”
One-Eye bared his teeth and squinted. “That, and about three hundred years of festering bitterness. This has been a long time coming, if you ask me.”
22: Castle
The Lump walked out onto the wide, dirt road to the castle with four, scruffy goats beside him, a pair at each flank. He looked at the black, curved horns atop the animals’ long, haggard faces and wondered how Willie was doing. The big man hoped the surly goat and its slightly more docile companion were well. Unfortunately, when he fled from Bleuderry he had no time to see to them. The Lump scratched his head and made a mental note that The Crone’s Keep would be his first stop once he returned to Aardland, if for no other reason than to check the goats he was suddenly ashamed he’d abandoned.
The strange party of man and goats quietly plodded toward the castle in a most casual manner, until an abrupt change in disposition overtook the goats. Once the big fellow and his unusual attendants were within thirty or so paces of the castle wall’s gate, the goats charged. The horned beasts didn’t wait for any command from the Lump, they simply ran forward, clearly aware of their assigned duty.
The Lump wasn’t sure what to do as the goats sped away from him, so, lacking any better ideas, he loped after them. He ran as quickly as he could, but failed to match swiftness with the four legged creatures in a sprint. His teeth clenched and his nostrils flared as he struggled to keep pace.
Within the span of a few heartbeats, the goats crashed into the gate in rapid succession. They lowered their heads and slammed the base of their horns into the heavy wood that stood between them and the castle. Four loud cracks rang through the air and startled all within earshot. The sequence of smashes sounded akin to the hooves of an oversized horse galloping across a wooden bridge.
The Lump slowed as he caught up to the living battering rams… well, goats, not rams, actually. He heard confused shouts from guards on the other side of the gate, as if roused from a prolonged span of uneventful duty.
“What in the name of Luna is that?” asked one startled voice. “You better check the spy hole, an oxcart may have lost its driver.”
The wooden slat at eye level on the gate’s wicket slid open. A pair of eyes soon occupied the opening, and granted one of the guards a view of the rampaging, horned beasts.
The peering guard shouted, “It’s a quartet of mad goats!” The onlooking eyes grew a bit larger as the guard pressed his face against the hole. The man strained to better see the strange attack.
The goats rammed the gate again, and again, hammering away with no concern for the guards on the other side of the barrier, or their heads, for that matter.
The onlooking guard drew back a short distance and spied the Lump. “Man! You there! Get your louse-infested livestock under control before we drag you to the dungeon!”
The Lump spread his hands wide. “I’d like to, but they aren’t exactly mine.”
The goats reared back, one at a time, and crashed into the gate again. The Lump wondered how long the iron-headed animals could keep this up before they flopped over from all the pounding to their noggins. He was certain they could have a greater effect if they targeted the inset wicket gate, but he had no clue how best to communicate that concept to the wiry-haired creatures.
The guard watching through the slat asked, “If they’re not yours, why were you chasing after them?”
The Lump shrugged. “They just followed me here. When they took to running, I figured something must be chasing us.” He held up a thick finger and raised an eyebrow. “There was a dragon here not too long ago, after all.” His voice was almost at a shout to be heard over the repeated crashing of the goats.
The eyes behind the rectangular opening shot wide and the surrounding skin seemed to pale a shade. “I know you! You’re the Dragonblinder!”
The goats crashed into the gate again, this time they sent splinters flying. For the love of honey-baked bread, doesn’t that hurt? thought the Lump.
“It’s the Dragonblinder!” The eyes peering through the hole glanced aside. “Come on! Now! We need to collect him!”
A second voice, from the peering guard’s unseen cohort, shouted, “And we ought to slaughter those Luna-forsaken goats!”
“You don’t need to collect me,” said the Lump, feeling pressure grow in his chest. “I just came to speak with Baron Eugene.”
“You want to speak with the Baron?” asked the guard peering through the gate. “But he’s—”
“You can’t speak with him!” interrupted the other guard. “Don’t move, we’re coming out to collect you!”
The goats slammed into the gate again. Four sizable divots formed in the old, thick wood from their repeated crashing. Though they were doing a fair enough job of scuffing up the gate, the Lump couldn’t imagine they could ever knock it open.
The eyes watching through the gate narrowed. “So help me, I will see those goats on a spit before the day is over!”
The Lump gripped the hilt on his small sword and drew it from its loop. He held the blade even with his chest and crouched to defend himself.
The small, inset door within the gate swung open and two guards rushed out with their halberds lowered. Their eyes locked on the big man they called Dragonblinder.
One goat lowered its head and smashed into the leading guard before the man reached the Lump.
The guard stumbled sideways and swung his halberd wide.
The Lump lunged forward and grabbed the halberd’s shaft with his left hand. His right hand smashed his sword’s hilt into the guard’s face.
The guard released his grip on the halberd and crumbled to the ground.
The Lump tossed the halberd to the side of the road and spun to face his other adversary.
The second guard charged with his halberd held low, aiming to spear a goat.
The Lump leaped forward and slashed his small blade, knocking the halberd aside before it could plunge into one of his beastly companions.
The guard snarled and chopped the biting edge of his halberd at the Lump in an angry arc.
The Lump raised his sword in time to parry the strike. His shoulder vibrated from the impact of the weapons.
A goat opened its maw wide and chomped onto the guard’s leg, below the man’s drape of black chain-mail.
The guard groaned in pain and swung his halberd down at the animal latched onto him.
The goat twisted around to dodge the strike, but did not relinquish its grip on the guard.
The Lump darted through the open wicket, and three goats followed. One horned beast remained behind, its teeth clamped to the fleshy part of a guard’s lower leg
The first guard, who still lay in the dirt, regained his wits and climbed back to his feet. He stumbled across the road to reclaim his discarded halberd.
The second guard, with a goat attached to his leg, smashed the butt of his weapon down on the animal’s back.
The goat released its grip on the second guard and bleated in pain. Its rear legs quivered from the shock of the blow.
The Lump pressed his back against the heavy beam that barred the city gate and lifted. He called out, hoping his voice would carry to the nearby woods. “The gate’s coming open! Now
might be a good time to make your charge!” The big man groaned against the weight of the wooden beam, but he felt it rise clear of the latch.
The first guard rushed through the wicket and twisted to face the Lump.
The Lump jerked his sword up and stepped forward. He heard the beam behind him tumble free of the gate. It thudded loudly when it crashed to the ground.
The first guard thrust his halberd forward as the second guard attempted to pull the inset wicket closed. The three goats inside the castle wall battered against the smaller door to keep it ajar.
The Lump jumped aside and dodged the halberd’s thrust. The weapon’s spike dug into the thick wood of the gate.
The guard grimaced and pulled his halberd free.
The Lump lowered his shoulder, turned, and jumped, throwing all his weight against the gate. He knocked the heavy gate open half an arm’s length. Through this gap, he saw what happened on the other side of the wall.
The Lump, both guards, and all four goats stopped moving to watch the spectacle unfold in the road.
A score of soldiers clad in patchwork garb and wielding long-axes poured out of the trees. They shrieked war cries at the top of their lungs and had bloodlust in their eyes. Behind the axe-men, three times their number bounced out of the forest swinging crude cudgels with equal bloodlust, but triple the noise.
The two guards dropped their halberds and ran toward the castle.
The Lump chased after them with his sword raised. He needed to tackle them, or find some other way to stop them from warning the Baron, as well as the unknown number of soldiers inside, about the ambush. His boots pounded against the ground in relentless, rapid beats. Unencumbered by mail and fueled by urgency, he closed the distance between himself and his targets. The big man stretched his arm out to grab the nearest footman when both guards disappeared into a storm of black feathers.
A cluster of ravens descended on the fleeing guards, digging their yellow talons into the mail over the men’s torsos. The guards flailed about hopelessly and let out a storm of fearful wails.