Within the stables, he found Khalem Shadar already mounted along with six other men.
“Hurry!” the Hadoner shouted. “We will escort you.”
Jaerd leaped over the rump of an already saddled steed and kicked his feet into the stirrups. He put spur to horse, and they galloped out the wide front entrance. Both gates stood open, and Jaerd led the charge out to the defile, hundreds of others cheering them from the walls.
Once he cleared the front gate, Jaerd saw a group of blue-cloaked men riding ahead, already turning out of the defile and onto the hilly plain. He also noticed the red trim on those cloaks. A wolfhound, hardly shorter than the horses, loped along behind them.
Khalem Shadar pulled in beside him. “For a big man, Magus Britt was quick out the gate.”
Jaerd nodded in agreement. “Then we must catch up.” He spurred his horse again, slapping its withers with the reins.
Out on the plain, the ground rolled in the last few hills of the Dragon’s Feet. They gradually leveled out toward the Norvus River. Pushing the horse and his companions, he rode hard over the recently emptied grain fields, until he crested a tall rise overlooking the river about a mile away.
Magus Britt and his four companions galloped down the far side, not two hundred yards ahead of Jaerd and his men. Brawny ripped the dirt with his claws alongside them. On the far banks of the Norvus River, a cluster of steel and blue clad cavalry struggled to cross. Shapes buzzed about them.
“By the Waters!” Jaerd reached into a belt pouch and pulled out the spyglass his father had given him years before. He held the brass device up to one eye. A curved, bat-like wing passed across his field of vision. He tried to follow it, but another orange and brown striped beast with hard horn and claws passed in front of it. The creature swooped down and tore a man from his saddle, sending his horse tumbling. The monster ripped the soldier in half, before tossing the pieces to the ground and climbing for altitude. “Dragons! Dragons assail them!”
Jaerd put his glass away and untied the curved horsebow attached to his saddle. Putting spurs to his mount, he held the bow in one hand, his reins in the other. They charged over the ground, as the lead soldiers of Boris’ detachment splashed out onto the near riverbank.
Moments later, the first flash of lightning shot out from the mages. It danced about the wings of a green and red beast that dared to swoop upon the fleeing men. Hundreds of Bluecloaks now churned their way across the shallow water, leaving a wide brown smear in the snow on the banks. More lightning flew from the mages. A blue-white bolt leaped from one dragon to the other. A massive boulder shot up from the riverbank to crash into a maroon beast with cobalt ridges. It tumbled to the ground with the rock. The other dragons veered away, pounding their wings to gain air.
The mile passed quickly beneath galloping hooves. Jaerd picked out Earl Boris at the head of his men, with Lord Gael of the elves close behind. Hundreds more horsemen dashed by, some barely clinging to their blown mounts. The rumble of the cavalry left a heavy cloud of dust in its wake. Brawny dashed among them, herding the loose horses toward Highspur’s gate. The wolfhound’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for a particular beast.
Glancing at Khalem, Jaerd signaled toward Magus Britt and his men. “We’ll give the mages cover and follow them in!”
The Hadoner nodded, and whistled to his warriors. They galloped in a wide arc to circle behind the mages. Jaerd signaled Magus Britt, and the Battlemage nodded from the saddle in return, his face set in the fierce knot of battle.
At the top of the ridgeline, Jaerd reined in his horse and scanned the horizon with his spyglass. He saw black dots receding into a gray distance. However, under the pallid sky a haze of dust drifted into the air. The hoof-churned track in the snow led directly toward the murky cloud. It grew larger, spreading along a strip of the horizon. Jaerd could not tell what it was, but the dragons flew directly for it.
He lowered the glass and looked at Khalem. “We should get back to the fortress. Now!”
Once inside, the front gates slammed shut behind Jaerd and Khalem, the crank of chains lowering the portcullises rattling within. Jaerd rode up the slope, scattered with dismounting, battered Bluecloaks – men tired and gray of face. Brawny glanced furtively among the returning soldiers, his steps nervous and quick. An occasional whine slipped from his throat. The officers and those with the most grievous wounds passed through the towering inner wall. Jaerd and Khalem followed.
“…once they killed Gaeric we were at their mercy.” Earl Boris breathed steadily, and sipped from a fresh canteen. The elf lord Gael stood beside him in grim silence. “We were only three leagues from the Norvus River at the time.”
Boris shook his head, turning away the healer who offered his services. The man then turned to Magus Britt, who stared at his blackened fingers.
“You discharged quite a bit of power out there, Magus.” The doctor took hold of the Battlemage’s fingers. “Let me heal them before they blister.”
Britt relented, and in a few seconds, he appraised his healed hands. The doctor departed to examine others who had returned.
Patting the mage on his stout shoulder, Earl Boris grimaced. “Sergeant Hall lies out there with Gaeric. We were unable to keep the bodies of the dead once the dragons came upon us.” He drew again upon the canteen. “However, Captain Vonstrass, Magus Stanton, and Doctor Forstra made it safely back, as did almost seven hundred of our men.”
Lord Marshal Magdon joined them with an aide at his shoulder. Earl Boris offered a formal salute. “My Lord Marshal. I must inform you of the dire situation our fortress faces.” Boris scanned the officers gathered around him. Jaerd saw the somber expression the earl wore and knew in his sinking gut what must be coming. “I do not exaggerate when I say this host shook the ground with its passing. Attempts to count them could only be made at a distance. Those counts were incomplete, because we could not see the end of their horde.”
Murmurs passed through the assembled commanders. General Vahn of the Free City men stood with his mouth gaping open. Jaerd heard Khalem Shadar draw in a sharp breath.
Marshal Magdon stroked his sword hilt. “What estimate can you make of their number, My Lord Earl?”
Boris worked his jaw, as if unwilling to divulge the number. At last, he looked directly at the marshal. “At least one hundred and fifty thousand.”
Exclamations of fear and disbelief shot from most of those gathered around. Lord Marshal Magdon rubbed his temples, and General Vahn swore to each of the five Aspects in turn. Magus Britt stood solid and calm, his bushy eyebrows drawing together.
“What’s more,” Earl Boris said, “Gael and his scouts counted at least six different clan banners.” He looked at Magus Britt, who lifted one craggy eyebrow. “Only Mammoth Clan was missing.”
The Lord Marshal coughed, hacking up yellowish phlegm, which he spat upon the stone flags. “How far behind you are they?”
Turning his eyes northward, even though he could see nothing but the lofty wall and towers, Earl Boris folded his arms. “They pressed us hard. I would say that their vanguard will reach the Norvus before nightfall.”
Jaerd slapped a fist into his hand. “Then we must get messages off to Gavanor and the Free Cities. We must warn the southern lands of this new horde massing on our doorstep.” He looked toward the flow of men gathering upon the walls. “We must send for relief.”
Lord Marshal Magdon nodded and shifted his blue cloak about him. “Captain Westar is correct.” His gaze focused on Jaerd. “In the meantime, we will see to the defenses of this fortress. You will have command of the forward wall, Captain.”
The marshal looked at Earl Boris and Darve Northtower, his face taking on a practiced aura of command. “The dwarves hold the inner gate, while Bluecloaks man its towers and walls.” He lifted his thin finger toward the bulky structure above the caves. “I will command the bastion.”
&n
bsp; Magus Britt nudged Boris while eyeing Jaerd. “Captain Westar came up with an excellent new use for my enhanced Quickfire. Most of the mages will man the inner wall.” He nodded toward Gael. “As will your elves. We’ll need their bows up here.” The Battlemage forestalled Boris’ question. “I will explain all to you once you have eaten and rested.” Looking at Gael, Magus Britt narrowed his gaze. “We have at least a few hours, correct?”
“Sundown,” the elf lord replied, his one eye tracing to the north.
Jaerd ran his bare hand over the rough stone battlement, still warm from the sun now setting at the mouth of the defile. The solidity of the stone gave him courage. He knew how many centuries it had stood against that which came. It will probably be this stone’s last fight. Spirits of Water, I hope this works.
A slow rumble crawled up the approach to Highspur. The heavy haze of dust that Jaerd had seen on the plain that morning now hung over the rocky walls of the defile. It rose above the corner of the Dragon’s Feet that hid the Norvus River from Jaerd’s view. A loud, growling bark met it from the peak of the inner gate towers. I would swear that dog knows Hall didn’t come back. I wish I had him down here.
Behind Jaerd, a shout rang out, and a soldier came running down. The Bluecloak hurried up the stairs to Jaerd and offered a quick salute and a piece of paper. Jaerd noticed a gray cast to the man’s face, even in the direct rays of the setting sun.
With the dragon-spangled blue banners snapping about him, he took a deep breath. Opening the folded letter, he scanned it quickly.
Enemy larger than original estimate. Rearguard still crossing Norvus. Trolls, dragons, and siege engines identified. Proceed with original plan if feasible.
He crumpled the note and tossed it into an iron-wrought fire pit, stoked high against the coming night. The dry parchment curled and blackened in a flash of red flame. His heart felt as if it burned with the note in a fire stoked by fear. “Lieutenant!”
Kent Varlan jumped to his side with a salute. “Sir!”
Nodding to the young man, Jaerd pointed down along the wall. “I want you to make a final pass of the turrets. Make certain every scorpion crew knows to concentrate on the biggest things first.”
The lieutenant gulped, but nodded. “Yes, sir!” He dashed down the stairs.
Jaerd looked at the men operating the two catapults placed upon the gatehouse, the only large weapons on the front wall. He gave the soldiers a confident nod while warming his hands over the fire.
The boom of a large horn, a haunting, single note, resounded up the vale toward them. With it came a billows blast to the flame of fear burning inside Jaerd. He heard the loud roar of thousands and thousands of voices following it, filled with the hatred and rage of centuries of oppression. Far behind the roar, the fat, orange sun dipped into the purple haze of a distant sea. Its dying rays cast the defile into a crimson glow, as if blood already coated the rocks. Down in the vale below, pinpricks of red light popped through the dust. Thousands more appeared, as torches and campfires lit up the hills of the Dragon’s Feet.
Jaerd leaned once more against the stone of the battlement, his heart turning to ash. The masonry felt colder and less substantial as he watched the fires spread into the coming night. I never imagined this. I never believed this could be real. Now, here it is, stretching before me. By the Waters, why did I agree to come here?
“Steady hearts, men!” Pounding out the flames of fear, Jaerd lifted his voice above the rumble of the orcish horde. “These walls have thrown back greater hosts than this.” He grabbed a torch from the barrel, dipped it into the fire pit, and raised it on high, waving it about. “We are all that stands between the peace-loving nations of our homelands and the chaos that barks at us from the darkness. Do not let your fear overcome you! Embrace it! Feed from it! And cast it back at our enemies along with our steel!”
Jaerd joined the brave shouts ringing up from the gate tower and along the wall. He spied Lieutenant Varlan, who stalked among the defenders, taking up the huzzahs and passing them along. Soon the inner gate echoed the cheers as well. Their cries tumbled down the ravine, muting out much of the orcish noise clambering in his ears.
A thrill rippled through Jaerd, fortifying the seedlings of his courage. They rose from the ashes in his heart. The men around him fed off it, and soon shouts of “Bring them on!” and “They’ll smash upon this wall!” echoed down the line.
Then the slow, tortuous creak of heavy wheels reached him from the ravine, followed by shouts of anger and bellows of pain. Fires moved in the darkened passage. Soon, Jaerd picked out heavy catapults, and the bulky, misshapen figures that pulled them. Orcs snapped long whips over the creatures’ heads while they heaved their burdens forward.
Jaerd laid his torch along the edge of the fire pit and leaned out over the battlement. “So those are trolls...and to think Tallen killed one.” He exchanged glances with the corporal next to him. “Guess I’ll just have to one up my little brother today, eh?”
Two heavy thumps sounded behind Jaerd. He looked up to see a pair of faint yellow sparks tumbling through the sky overhead. The thumps sounded again, and two more sparks flew, this time from further to his sides. As the first two projectiles crashed into the oncoming enemy, they exploded in a burst of green-orange flame. The fire flowed like water, covering both the siege engines and the creatures that pulled them. Blood-curdling screams of agony and rage echoed toward the defenders. The smell of caustic chemicals and burning flesh seared Jaerd’s nose.
He looked to the two catapult teams on the tower roof. Their sergeants held a torch to the payload until the fuse lit, then nodded in readiness. He sliced the air with his hand.
“Launch!”
The catapults heaved against their grounding chains, hurling the round pots full of enhanced Quickfire at the oncoming enemy. Explosions rocked the night, illuminating the walls and ravine with a flash of green light. The pot metal ripped apart, shredding the enemy with molten chunks of slag.
Screams of pain and death erupted again from the orcs and the trolls they drove. Their black catapults stopped moving forward, and a cheer rose from Jaerd’s men. The worst thing about the enemy entering your range is that it usually means you are within theirs.
Jaerd ducked against the battlement. “Cover!”
Two dozen hollow thumps sounded in the night. The gate tower lit with the red light of burning pitch. Fiery balls rocketed toward the walls of Highspur. Just before they crashed into the defensive line, over half of them stopped in midair then hurtled back at the enemy. Only a few crashed into the battlements, taking out soldiers with each of them.
A cry lifted from the defenders. “The mages!”
Jaerd looked at the red-trimmed Bluecloak just a few yards away. The man’s hands lifted in the air, and his eyes focused on the siege engines. Jaerd gave the mage a sharp nod. “Well done, Stanton.”
The orc crews scrambled each time the trebuchets within the four inner towers launched, desperate to avoid the Quickfire. Shorter ranged catapults worked from the interior wall, pumping fiery death upon the orcs. Jaerd’s own two crews scrambled to reload the buckets of their machines. He signaled the sergeants.
“Launch at will, gentlemen.” The weapons heaved again, and the green inferno of death brightened within the vale. Those enemy engines still operable loaded and launched again and again, while the Bluecloak Battlemages held many of the orc missiles at bay. Magus Stanton stopped two balls of fire that would likely have found Jaerd and his men, forcing them to tumble back down the slope.
The exchange continued for several rounds, and with each launch, fewer orc weapons successfully fired. Jaerd noticed the strain on Stanton’s face increase with every attack. More and more of the enemy missiles crashed into the forward wall, and Magus Stanton winced. “It is easier when they are not so close together.”
Jaerd waved to his crew sergeants. “Concentrate on t
hat cluster over there where their weapons are still firing.”
The catapults launched toward the southern edge of the ravine, decimating the weapons. Jaerd smiled at the sound of orcs and trolls screaming. Some pulled what engines they could back out of range, and another volley of fire chased them down the defile.
Shouts of victory soared up from the walls. Elf, dwarf, Bluecloak, and Hadoner alike lifted voices and spears into the fire lit night. Jaerd clapped his men upon their shoulders, nodding and raising his fist as well, the fear in his heart little more than glowing embers.
A harsh blast from a sonorous horn cut short their moment of joy. An ocean roar of angry voices drowned out the southerners’ cheers. With a heave of torches and glittering metal, a host of the enemy surged up the defile.
Jaerd cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ready!”
Fire flew down from the inner towers, both magical and mundane. The enemy died, but more rushed over and around their burning comrades. Hundreds of gargantuan trolls charged over the scattered remnants of broken siege engines, carrying bulky iron ladders.
Leaning back, Jaerd grabbed one of his runners. “Tell Varlan and the scorpion commanders to focus on the trolls!” He shoved the young man down the stairs and waved to his men. “Target the ladders and the trolls!”
Yard-long shafts flew out from the turrets on the walls, punching through armor and burying themselves in heavy hide. Some of the trolls fell, dropping their ladders and tripping their fellows. More followed, and Jaerd knew the fire and missiles could not stop them all. His hand rubbed Shar’leen’s hilt, and the fear in his heart rekindled.
The clank of iron on stone rang across the battlefield as the ladders clattered against the wall. Orcs and trolls swarmed up to meet the plate-armored Bluecloaks at the top. The defenders pushed ladders away with hooked bills and pikes, only to see them lifted back into place again. The fire from the inner wall moved back to the horde’s rear to avoid harming Jaerd and his men while they fought off the assault.
A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) Page 37