A large Ogre holding a staff standing near the western edge of the ramp, who had stopped ten yards from the bottom, bore the feathers and tattoos marking him as a shaman. Having seen the devastation of Melizar’s spell, he called out orders in the Adami tongue.
“Don’t stand there staring, dogs, and waiting for him to freeze you too. Take down the mage, now!”
Most of the humanoids in front of Melizar were more afraid of him than their Ogre shaman and decided to split to the east and west in pursuit of less deadly targets. Two Orcs and one Hobgoblin, however, heeded the orders of the Ogre and rushed Melizar. They bore him to the ground with an Orc holding each arm and the Hobgoblin’s weight on his midsection.
The Hobgoblin drew a wicked looking-dagger from his belt and prepared to plunge it fully into Melizar’s chest. Suddenly, a crossbow quarrel ripped through the Hobgoblin’s neck, piercing the jugular veins on both sides as it passed through. The Hobgoblin stopped for a moment with a look of surprise and confusion on its face as its neck poured forth a double-fountain of its dark and viscous lifeblood. As it turned to see from where its deathblow had come, it lost its balance and fell from its place atop Melizar.
His Orc companions hardly had time to wonder what had happened to their squad leader as quarrels skewered the temple of the Orc holding Melizar’s right arm, and another pierced the left eye of the one holding his left. In a moment, Melizar was free of the clinging bodies of his former captors and back on his feet. He shot a glance toward Thatcher who gave him a quick nod and turned his attention back to the onrushing hoard of goblinoid bandits.
Two more Ogres, apparently commanding the goblinoid hoard, paused slightly farther up the ramp than their shaman did. Ogres were related to the Orcs and Hobgoblins but were much larger with some reaching over seven feet tall. They, like their smaller cousins, were servants of their Ayabim god, the ruthless and cruel Shafik. At the sight of the two huge goblinoid commanders, Melizar saw the resolve in the faces of the caravaneers start to waver. Then, from the rear of the caravan came the sound of thundering hooves pounding westward toward the ramp. Xyer Garan was charging into battle with his lance lowered and his face filled with hatred and determination. Surely, one of the Ogres at least was about to meet his end.
The cheer that erupted from the troopers and mercenaries engaging the southern slope at the sight and sound of Captain Garan riding in full gallop and fury to the forefront of the fray, was cut short. They all watched in confusion as the huge Cyrian swerved away from the ramp and gallop past the mouth of the incline where the Ogres stood. The Cyrian knight was making a beeline for the front of the caravan with his lance leveled directly at Captain Gideon.
So great was the speed of Garan’s charging courser, and so unexpected the suddenness of his betrayal, Gideon hardly had a moment to react. To ward himself from the point of Garan’s lance he tried to raise the shield on his left arm, which he had been using to fend off the attacks of the onrushing Orcs. His reaction was not quick enough to fully counter the blow, and Xyer’s lance caught his shield near the top left corner and shattered it with the lance point continuing forward into Gideon’s left shoulder. Garan’s lance also shattered from the impact, but a huge section near the point pierced and rested protruding from Gideon’s shoulder. Gideon was hurled violently to the ground by the body of the massive warhorse slamming into him as it galloped past.
Garan pulled hard on the reins to bring the warhorse to a stop and turn him for another blow. Between the Orcs scrambling to escape the charge of the massive beast and the sudden and unexpected maneuver demanded of it by its master, the huge stallion, further borne off balance by the weight of its heavy plate barding and oversized rider, lost its footing and tumbled to the ground. His fall threw Garan ten yards beyond where Gideon had fallen. This put him halfway between the fallen paladin and Sable, their Fenratu scout. Sable had returned from her advanced position and was currently fighting with sword and shield surrounded by a circle of Orcs to the southwest of where Garan was scrambling to his feet.
Gideon lay on the ground trying to gather his wits and will to rise when a sound that was half scream, half growl came from the area in front of the ramp. Arreya, who had been spearing and slicing Orcs who decided to take a second shot at grappling Melizar, had just witnessed Xyer’s betrayal. She forgot any thoughts of defending the mage and was at full sprint headed straight for Xyer Garan.
She could run faster than any horse and had closed the gap between them almost before the Cyrian traitor regained his feet. She was already airborne when Garan realized there was an incoming attack. With unexpected reflexes for a man of his size, he pivoted just as Arreya’s spear ripped through the shoulder joint in his plate armor and lodged itself into his upper right arm.
As he spun and fell, he reached up with his left hand and grabbed the loincloth around the waist of the flying Zaffir chats-enash. Using her own momentum, added to the momentum of his spinning fall and the incredible strength of his arm, he propelled her much further than she had expected to go. So great was his strength added to her leap that she flew crashing into the circle of Orcs surrounding Sable. The Fenratu scout used her shield as a brace, and the graceful Zafirr turned impossibly in midair to hit the shield feet-first. Using her legs to slow her momentum and performing a twisting flourish, Arreya landed back-to-back with Sable, with both scouts still standing and ready for battle.
“That was some impressive acrobatics, kitty-cat,” remarked Sable. “I hope you are as quick with that dagger as you are with your feet.”
“Quicker,” replied Arreya, “and I hope your bite is as sharp as your bark. From the looks of the new friends you seem to have made, we are going to need as much fang and claw as we can muster. Let’s show Goldain the true meaning of fighting like cats and dogs!”
This drew a toothy grin from the Fenratu as they both began to hack and slash the circle of Orcs surrounding them.
Gideon still lay critically wounded on the ground halfway between the splintered remains of wagon two and the bottom of the stony ramp up the southern slope. Great cheers went up from the Durgak to the north as the two Nephilim fell beneath the unceasing onslaught of berserker axes and knives. Having cleared the northern slopes, whatever Durgak remained would now be charging their way to join the rest of the caravan facing the goblinoid hoard.
Thatcher sprinted to his fallen captain and took a knee beside him.
“Captain, are you all right?”
“I don’t think so, lad. Garan skewered me thoroughly. I cannot regain my feet.”
“Don’t worry, captain. As long as there is breath in my body, no enemy will draw close to you. I pledge that with my life.”
Gideon was too weak to answer, but laid a feeble hand on the boy’s leg. He had trusted the youth’s plan, now he would have to trust the boy to defend his life. The young rogue had dumped another set of bolts into his repeating crossbow but held his shots for Xyer Garan or anyone else that attempted to approach the wounded paladin.
Goldain, who had been engaged at the foot of the ramp when Garan’s treachery manifested, saw Arreya’s attack fail. He watched as the wounded Cyrian plucked her spear from his upper arm and toss it aside. Xyer Garan had now drawn his massive two-handed sword and was advancing toward Gideon.
Thatcher looked nervous as Garan dropped the visor on his helmet to help shield his eyes from the deadly quarrels of the rogue guarding their fallen captain. Goldain was not at all sure that Thatcher’s bolts could pierce the impressive mail armor protecting the traitor Garan. Fortunately, the boy would never have to find out. With a thundering battle cry that brought a momentary pause to the melee all around him, Goldain charged forward with his own oversized blade to engage the Cyrian.
Jeslyn watched as Bardrick left her to her own devices as soon as the charge started, just as Goldain had predicted. The mercenary was engaged in happily engaged with his axe and buckler hacking and slashing away at the Orcs headed in the direction of their disabled wagon.
His zeal in carving a swath through the approaching enemies, combined with Jeslyn’s well-placed arrows here and there picking off stragglers, had kept her relatively free from immediate danger so far. Her arrows were running low though, and Bardrick was getting farther and farther from the wagon. Reyas, the trooper Goldain ordered to watch out for her, had been faithfully standing guard by her but not actively engaging the enemy.
“Reyas, go. I will be fine. We are outnumbered, and they need your sword.”
“Prince Goldain ordered me not to leave you alone,” replied the faithful man-at-arms.
“Bardrick is doing great at keeping their attention,” answered Jeslyn, “and I am more than capable of picking off any that get past him. If it gets too hairy I will run back to Kylor and Duncan, I promise. You need to get in there now though. We need every sword we’ve got fighting if we are going to get out of this.”
Jeslyn sounded braver than she was, and her statement about needing every sword was true enough. Reyas looked torn between his orders to protect her and the plight of his dying comrades engaging the hoard of goblinoids facing them.
“I’m not certain this is the right thing to do, Jeslyn, but if we live through this, I will take whatever consequences come from it. I’ve never disobeyed an order before, but I guess there is a first time for everything.”
With that, Reyas charged forward into the fray.
The betrayal of Garan had shocked them all, but most were too far away and too busy with the enemies all around them to do much about it. Jeslyn surveyed the battlefield and saw that Goldain was moving to engage the traitor. Right now, though, Jeslyn had her own worries. Suddenly, she spotted another figure rushing forward from the rear of the caravan. Cookie, his meat cleaver in hand, was charging in to help Bardrick. The trooper was outnumbered three to one at the moment and could use the help. The hairs on the back of Jeslyn’s neck stood up as she watched Cookie’s charge. Something was not right.
There were Orcs moving to flank Bardrick to the left and right in addition to the three he was already fighting with against. Targets were in no short supply, but Cookie was charging at Bardrick’s back. Jeslyn had but a moment to make a choice and take a shot. If she went with her instinct, she might be killing an ally with no good reason. The only real confirmation, though, would be to see if Cookie did indeed strike Bardrick as she feared he was about to do.
This was no time for over analysis. She raised her bow and just before Cookie’s cleaver descended on the back of Bardrick’s head, Jeslyn’s arrow planted itself firmly between the filthy cook’s shoulder blades. He let out a scream of pain and spun around to look behind him. Bardrick, who had just dispatched the last of the Orcs engaging him, spun around in surprise. As the pair pirouetted almost looking like a synchronized dance, Jeslyn let fly a second emerald-colored arrow that struck under Cookie’s raised chin and pierced his brain. He fell dead on the spot still clinging to the cleaver in his hand.
The look of shock overwhelmed Bardrick’s face as this second traitor reared his head in the company. He looked even more amazed that the skinny, freckle-faced blonde kid, who he had so quickly dismissed, had just saved his life. Jeslyn called out to him in answer to his stunned look.
“Don’t worry, Bardrick, this is why Goldain asked me to babysit you.”
The young warrior’s face quickly twisted into a sheepish smile and with a wink and a nod he turned away from Jeslyn and waded once again into the fray.
It was at that moment Jeslyn noticed the long-forgotten bard, still clinging to the reins of the horses and sitting on the remains of their shattered wagon, beginning to sing. Bard songs were a type of koach or natural magic. It was similar in strength and nature to the powers wielded by druids, but its focus was on manipulating, expanding, and improving or impeding the mental state of the hearers. Talented bards had the ability to twist multiple melodies together into a powerful song, which could have beneficial effects on one’s allies while impeding one’s enemies. The Rajiki had a few bards among the tribes. They were known as Spiritsingers by the Rajiki.
The caravaneers had all experienced the power of a single bard song, which had lulled them into relaxation while driving them at much improved speeds on their march toward Stonehold from Aton-Ri. The song pouring forth from Rarib now, however, was truly a bard twist. There was a bold and strong song stirring up feelings of courage and strength in the hearts of the caravaneers. Mixed in was a second melody, grim and foreboding, that worked to shake the already faltering morale of the goblinoid raiders.
Between the berserkers who joined the fray on the southern ramp after their felling of the Nephilim and this new powerful bardsong driving them on while crushing the spirits of their enemies, a new hope for victory swept through the caravaneers. Despite the overwhelming numbers against them, the was turning in favor of the heroes. Many of the Orcs raiders and even the Hobgoblin sergeants looked as though they might break and flee at any moment.
Duncan Silvermane was one hero whose mind was not focused on cleaving Orcs or the turning tide of the battle. He had seen Xyer’s attack on Gideon, and immediately sprinted toward the front of the caravan as fast as his stumpy legs would carry him. The only thing on his mind was getting to his fallen captain.
Only half-aware of the ensuing melee between him and the fallen paladin, Duncan absent-mindedly swatted away Orc blades with his buckler as he ran but did not pause to launch a return blow with his war hammer. His determined charge almost earned him a crossbow bolt in the face. Thatcher had been keeping one eye on the horde at the ramp and the other on the battle raging between Goldain and Xyer Garan. When the young thief caught Duncan’s approach out of the corner of his eye, he spun and leveled his crossbow to meet the new challenger charging toward him.
Duncan was grateful that the lad demonstrated trained self-control and paused his firing long enough to identify his target and realize it was Duncan.
“Be careful where you point that thing, lad. I’m coming to help not hurt. You don’t want to kill the only healer, do ya?”
Even in the direst circumstances, Duncan’s sense of humor poured out with his natural inclination to bring light to the darkness. Thatcher smiled and returned his focus to the fray and to the duel between the mighty warriors as Duncan pulled his talith over his head and began to speak to Gideon.
“It is a deep and vicious injury, Captain. I am going to have to remove the lance tip before I can use any healing oth on the wound. It’s going to bleed a lot, and it’s going to hurt even more. Steel yourself for I will have to act fast. There is not much time.”
“There is always time enough for prayer, my brother,” Gideon answered. “Sing a prayer for me from the Book of Songs before you begin. There are many songs of battle there and of victory. Sing a prayer for me, Duncan, and then use your gifts and knowledge, and let the will of the One Lord be done, be it my life or my death.”
Gideon’s eyes seemed unable to focus. Duncan knew the pain in the paladin’s shoulder must be intense, but the priest sensed his captain’s heart was wounded even deeper as he realized any hope of redemption for Xyer Garan was gone. Goldain or Xyer would die in this battle. Once a Qarahni warrior was filled with the lust of battle and the fury at betrayal, Duncan knew there was nothing that would stay the northerner’s hand. Gideon closed his eyes and his face bore the marks of praise and joy as Duncan began to sing one of the great songs of the One Lord and of victory.
Duncan had no time to pull out his Great Book of Writings, but the Durgak loved song and most high priests had committed the entire Book of Songs to memory. He was far from being that well-versed in his studies, but he did recall one of his favorite songs. Given Gideon’s grave condition, perhaps the paladin would forgive him for only singing the last half of this particular hymn.
The One Lord looks out from heaven
He sees every human being
From the place where He lives He watches
Everyone living on Chadash
He who
fashioned the hearts of them all
And understands all they do
A king is not saved by the size of his army
A strong man not delivered by his great strength
To rely on a horse for safety is vain
Nor does its great power assure escape
But the One Lord's eyes watch over those who fear Him
Over those who wait for his grace
To rescue them from death
And keep them alive in famine
We are waiting for the One Lord
He is our help and shield.
For in Him our hearts rejoice
Because we trust in His holy name
May Your mercy, O One Lord, be over us
Because we put our hope in You
A smile overtook the face of the Parynlander. Duncan knew that look; it was the look of peace coming from a heart that knew the destiny that awaited it—dwelling with the One Lord forever once this life had passed. Duncan had no plans of letting his comrade pass into that peace just yet, however.
“Lad,” Duncan said to Thatcher, “put down that pea-shooter and help me hold him. When I pull out this lance point, he is going to likely lash out without realizing what he is doing. I can’t rightly heal him if he knocks me unconscious. I will kneel on his wounded arm to brace it for the extraction. You sit on his good arm and try to keep him still enough for me to start the oth. If it were Goldain, you might only serve as a weapon in his hand to bludgeon me with, but I think Captain Gideon has lost enough blood to be weak enough for the two of us to handle.”
The rogue scowled at the Durgak’s comment about his size, but nonetheless set his crossbow down and sat on Gideon’s right arm while Duncan knelt on his left.
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