Wycaan Master: Book 02 - The First Decree
Page 28
Then Rhoddan jumped up and turned to a dwarf with a horn.
“Blow your horn. Sound the alarm.” He drew his sword. “To me,” he cried and, sword held aloft, he stoically walked out of the castle to meet the enemy.
The horrifying cries were amplified by the clash of thousands of dwarves and humans. Rus’ik Armsgarten led his troops into wave after wave of enemy soldiers where, at first, they held their own. But, as the tunnels were widened for the cave trolls and more seasoned human soldiers, the dwarves of Hothengold began to retreat.
A long horn blast signaled for the dwarves to retreat inside the walls of the palace. The King, himself, led out a chosen regiment that momentarily pushed the Tarlach’s forces back, allowing most of his dwarves to enter inside the palace before its iron gates clapped shut. The echo of the iron smashing onto the rock grounds reverberated off the rock walls and sent shivers of finality down the dwarves’ spines.
“What now?” Rhoddan asked as a healer from Clan Zu’Reising dressed his wounds.
“We try and hold on for as long as we can,” Rothendir replied. She sat next to him with a nasty gash across her forehead and down her cheek. “We hope that Ballendir beats the army out there and returns in time.”
“Do you think it’s possible?”
The elderly dwarf leader looked at him and, for a moment, her expression told the truth. But she rallied. “There is always hope, young elf. And as long as there is hope, we are not beaten.”
There was a lull in the fighting with the gates now closed. Rhoddan stood and went to the walls. A massive army was assembling in front of them, and trolls were busy leveling the houses to allow room for siege engines.
“High King of the Dwarves,” a voice boomed suddenly. “You have six hours to bury your dead for they fought valiantly as have all your people. There’s no shame in your actions. But take that time to consider surrendering Hothengold to the Empire. The Emperor is generous and compassionate. He will give mercy to those who deserve it.”
No response was given.
Rus’ik Armsgarten called for the war council to meet, and the Great Hall filled with dwarves. Rhoddan had not specifically been invited, but he entered alongside Rothendir without anyone questioning his presence. In fact, many dwarves packed the great hall, though they left a respectful distance around the large stone table for the delegates. When all members of the war council were in attendance, Armsgarten stood up to address them. Though he was clearly wounded and exhausted, he held himself erect and his deep voice carried for all to hear.
“My friends. I’ll not try to suggest that the situation is good. But this keep and the surrounding walls were built for just such a situation. We have water and food supplies. Many fine warriors stand among us determined to defend our walls.
“Our objective remains: to hold out for as long as there is a dwarf who can still raise his axe. I’m confident that Ballendir’s soldiers will succeed, but I don’t know if there will be enough time for them to regroup and return here in time.
“In the meantime, it falls to us to kill as many of the enemy as possible, so that when Ballendir’s forces engage them, their chances will be better served by our sacrifices.”
Rhoddan looked around the room. The dwarves who sat here were bruised, bloodied, and battered. Yet fire still burned in their eyes. They accepted their destiny with dignity, and Rhoddan felt a surge of emotion.
Without planning, he stood and looked at Rus’ik Armsgarten.
“What is it, Rhoddan, elf-friend of the Wycaan? You have fought valiantly and inspired our troops with your own courage. Your reaction when Tarlach’s army came through the hole was critical. You have earned the right to speak.”
Rhoddan swallowed hard, not sure what he wanted to say. “I’m much younger than any of you and not as skilled at underground combat. In my short life, I have faced too many battles, and fought alongside the finest elves and humans of the freedom fighters in Odessiya.”
He paused and sighed. “I . . . I just wanted you to know . . . that I’m proud to fight alongside such courageous dwarves. If we are to die here, well . . . I die in the company of great warriors. It’s what I always wanted.”
He sat down. Ruffminsk, the big, red-bearded dwarf from Clan Dan Zu’Ulster, raised his bloodstained, battle-scarred axe. His presence around the table meant that Dugenminsk, their clan leader, was either wounded or dead.
“Well said, young elf. If I die, my only regret will be that I never got to fight alongside other noble elves such as the Wycaan, Ilana, and yourself, and that I never lived to see the reformation of the Alliance.”
Other dwarves nodded in agreement and then fell into silence. Ilana rose to her feet.
“You are wrong, Ruffminsk. This battle has been fought with dwarves, elves, and humans side-by-side. You rue never seeing the formation of the Alliance, but it’s you, Ruffminsk and all of you,” she swept her arm around the hall, “who created the very Alliance itself. It’s here; we are the Alliance. You did not bear witness to history. You all have made history.”
Rus’ik Armsgarten slammed the base of his axe handle on the stone table and roared. “Then let us give history itself a mighty tale that will pass on from generation to generation and be told for ten thousand years!”
A mighty cheer went up that echoed through the great cavern. It reached the ears of the human, dwarf and pictorian regiments. It reached the ears of General Tarlach.
Alliance! Alliance! Alliance!
SIXTY SEVEN
Seanchai and Shayth loped silently together toward the Fog Marshes of Oblinzt. The original plan was for Seanchai and Shayth to be at the head of the fleeing resistance, and now the detour with the pictorians had diverted them from the chase. Enemy troops could be in front and behind them.
They moved with caution through a narrow area, and Seanchai’s acute hearing picked up some scuffling around a blind bend. He signaled to Shayth, and they both slid to the closest wall, silently drawing their weapons. Seanchai went first, crouching as he edged around the corner.
He stopped and stood up. “It’s okay, Shayth. We have no chance against such noble warriors.”
Ballendir was sitting cross-legged on a flat rock, nonchalantly picking some dirt from under a fingernail with his knife. Sellia stood a few yards above him, her bow ready, but not taut.
“Nice to see a couple of cute guys out for a stroll,” she said, and Seanchai couldn’t help but feel a thrill at her words.
“Nice of them to turn up, yeh mean,” Ballendir added. “I think they just got winded, Sellia. Now are yeh boys ready to start fighting?”
Seanchai couldn’t help himself, and he gave the dwarf a strong hug. When he looked up at Sellia, she poked the tip of her bow into his chest. “This is strictly business, you big chump. I’ve only waited for you this long because he’s the boss.” She nodded at Ballendir.
Come on,” said Ballendir. “I don’t want to be late for the party.”
Several dwarves materialized out of the shadows, and the group began a gradual downhill jog. Sellia trotted alongside Seanchai. “You okay?” she asked quietly. Seanchai nodded and Sellia squeezed his shoulder. “She’s tough, Seanchai. She’s a survivor.”
A half hour later, there was a sudden drop in temperature. Seanchai looked over at Ballendir.
“We’re close,” the dwarf said. “Everyone spread out. Be prepared.”
Even as the words came out of Ballendir’s mouth, Seanchai wheeled round. “Horses,” he hissed, and the company faded into the shadows. But Seanchai knelt to the ground and then stared at Sellia to get her input. “It’s just one horse,” he said, confused.
Sellia bent down and listened for a few moments. “One horse, but there are others on foot.”
Seanchai and Sellia dissolved into the shadows with the others. Minutes later, a horse galloped up. Sellia had an arrow ready, but Seanchai stopped her.
“A dwarf,” he whispered to Ballendir.
“Being chased by humans
and pictorians on foot,” Sellia said, and shot an arrow.
It sailed by the dwarf and wounded a pictorian who grunted, yanked the arrow out and threw it to the ground, before continuing.
“Shoot the humans!” Seanchai cried, and Shayth and Sellia began taking them down in rapid succession. Seanchai ran out past the horse. Two pictorians fell swiftly to his Win Dao swords.
Another heaved up a heavy javelin and, as he launched it, Seanchai raised his palm. The spear left the pictorian’s hand and dropped to the ground, where he stared at it in disbelief. It was the last sight he ever saw as a second blast of Seanchai’s energy sent him careening into his friend behind him. Both fell and were swiftly dispatched by Seanchai’s double blades.
Two humans had turned and ran away. Seanchai thought to chase them, but let them go, hoping they would bring Tarlach’s army with them and away from Hothengold.
He turned to the others, who were all around the dwarf they had just rescued. Ballendir turned to Seanchai.
“Nicely done,” he said, though Seanchai heard concern in his voice.
“What is it?” Seanchai asked.
“Shayth was right. General Tarlach is attacking Hothengold. He has a huge army there: all the dwarves, the cave trolls, and more humans.”
The messenger wiped his beard on his sleeve. “They blew out the entrances. They have been infiltrating and laying explosives for days. When we collapsed the north side, they came in from the south.
The company began to talk among themselves, but the messenger interrupted. “There’s more,” he said. “Tarlach has sent troops after you – maybe a hundred humans. He’s hoping they’ll keep you busy while he focuses on the assault of Hothengold.”
“Why?” Seanchai kicked a stone in frustration. “Why won’t he come after me and Shayth? He must know we’re here.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Shayth replied. “He doesn’t need to. He knows you’ll come back to the capital.”
“How does he know that we’ll . . .” Seanchai trailed off into thought. “Ilana,” he gasped.
Shayth agreed. “As long as Ilana is holed up there, he knows you’ll come to him.”
“How does he know . . .”
“There’s no time for that now,” Ballendir snapped and turned to two of his dwarves. “Go into the marshes and find out how many dwarves we have here. We meet at the first staging.” He glared at Seanchai. “All of us.”
“Ballendir,” Seanchai pleaded.
“Once I know how many dwarves I have here, I’ll decide who returns and when.”
“But Hothengold could fall,” Seanchai objected.
“We’ll fight at the first staging, Seanchai. With you and Shayth, we can kill most of the humans. Then we’ll leave a token force, dwarves who know the marshes. They’ll lead the humans around and pick them off. The rest of us will head back with yeh.”
Seanchai shook his head. “I think–”
“Yeh swore to fight under mah command,” Ballendir boomed. “I don’t need yeh to think right now.”
“But Ilana is–”
“So are a few thousand of mah people. So are mah clan and my King. Do yeh think I don’t want to run back? But I’ll not expose our troops to fight above ground like that. We’ll be of no use to Hothengold if we’re dead.”
Seanchai glared at Ballendir, his chest heaving, but Sellia firmly took his arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s do this quickly,” and she led Seanchai into the Fog Marshes of Oblinzt.
SIXTY EIGHT
General Tarlach paced along the platform erected against the main south wall of the giant cavern, watching the city of Hothengold being systematically cleared through the middle. Everything was being demolished to create a straight, wide path to the walls of the palace keep.
The army’s siege machines were being assembled inside the mountain – Tarlach’s experts had warned not to risk enlarging the hole they had made. He didn’t want to collapse the mountain altogether – not yet. He would raze Hothengold to the ground from inside, but he needed Shayth and the elf, dead or alive. He was now convinced his family’s lives depended on it.
The general watched as more troops were called in to help assemble the siege engines and clear the roads. They had been working non-stop now for two days and he was anxious to begin the attack. His soldiers growing fatigue could prove costly, but he had enough troops to ensure victory.
He knew that Shayth and the elf were not here. He had pulled back troops from General Shiftan’s chase when he had realized this. He wanted them to return to Hothengold. He wanted to time it so that victory was at hand, but not complete. If he already held Hothengold, they might not come with such a small force. He had to allow them to think they could make a difference.
This morning he had received news that dwarf troops were at a basin of marshes and that the battle there would be slow due to a thick fog in the area. He had withdrawn his pictorians so they could lead the charge against Hothengold together with the cave trolls to give his soldiers a short respite before they joined the fray.
He wanted to capture the King. It would be as important a signal as destroying the capital to both the dwarves and the Emperor. He would break the King quickly, he was sure of that.
“General Tarlach, sir. The officers are assembled,” a soldier said, snapping to attention and saluting.
“Thank you,” Tarlach said. He took one last look at the siege engines and then turned around.
The command tent was situated just outside the mountainside. A hasty model of the city had been assembled as they continued to receive better intelligence. General Shiftan, though still limping, was ready to brief on the attack. It would begin at dawn and, by darkness, the city would fall.
Tarlach watched his friend give orders to their officers. There were three pictorian officers, including the replacement for Umnesilk, who had not been seen since he had engaged the enemy on the way to the marshes. If he had encountered the elf, the first boar might have bested him. But a strong instinct told Tarlach that the Wycaan still lived.
“General Tarlach,” General Shiftan said. “Would you like to add anything?”
Tarlach walked slowly to the model. He turned and faced his officers. One of them had his shield strapped across his back. Tarlach gestured to it. “May I?”
He took the man’s shield and examined the strong, thick metal. Then he swung round and obliterated the model of Hothengold. There was a muted gasp from around the room as they all stared at the flattened model.
Tarlach returned the shield to the stunned soldier and then faced his officers calmly. “Have I made myself clear?” he asked.
The officers, released from their spell, let out a cheer that carried through the camp.
When all had quieted down, General Tarlach cried out, “Then let the battle of Hothengold begin!”
General Tarlach watched the siege engines hurl rocks, and then firebombs, at the fortress walls, though the lack of wood in the dwarf city made flames less effective.
The dwarves also had catapults and burned four siege engines in quick succession.
“Impressive,” General Shiftan said from alongside him. “They’re proving tough little fighters.”
“Have you fought any of them hand-to-hand?” Tarlach asked, not looking round.
“I have. They match our human soldiers’ skill with their perseverance, but they’re no match for the pictorians.”
“You didn’t mention how they fare against the dwarves under our command.”
Shiftan smiled. “I think they do particularly well because they hate them so. The idea that dwarf would raise axe against another dwarf like this has them frothing.”
“Are you worried at all?” Tarlach asked, after glancing round to see that no one else was within earshot.
“No,” his friend replied. “But it’ll be tough hand-to-hand. They’re worthy opponents. And . . .” his voice trailed off.
“And what?” Tarlach turned to look at him.
“You don’t approve of my refusal to send reinforcements to those marshes?”
“I don’t.” Shiftan was one of only a few who would dare to question Tarlach’s decisions, but he had earned that right. “They could succeed and return here too quickly.”
“And we’ll have conquered the city,” Tarlach replied. “I need to be the one to face the Wycaan, and have my best troops and pictorians to take care of Shayth if I can’t. We need to trap them where they cannot escape and take them down.”
“Did the Emperor not express his desire to take them alive?”
“Only if possible, but either way, he wants it to end here. I’m beginning to doubt they can be taken alive, but I’ll try if the opportunity arises.”
He got up and took a deep breath. “I’m going to take the pictorians and cave trolls in at the head. When I’m gone, send in our troops. Once the walls are breached, the dwarf regiments are to spearhead the attack.”
With that, General Tarlach strode away, calling to the cave trolls, who pounded forward in front of him. He resisted the urge to look behind him. He could hear the three units of pictorians marching behind. As they came within arrow range of a wide area of smashed palace walls, he drew his huge broadsword, raised it high, and cried: “Charge!”
SIXTY NINE
Seanchai peered through the ground-hugging fog. This was an amazing setting. As far as he could see, there was a crisscross of hidden paths bordered by deep muddy pools. He wondered how big the area was.
The fog was constantly changing. One moment it was wispy and thin, and the next, thick and soupy. He was glad for his sharp elf hearing here, discovering approaching soldiers and discerning how many they were, long before the soldiers were aware of their presence. He was grouped with Shayth, Ballendir, and an old dwarf who clearly knew the marsh very well.