He stood up from the grass and moved slowly forward like the morning mist. For someone his size, Tuvallis could move incredibly silently. He had honed his ability to move silently during the fifteen years he spent hunting and tracking. When he was only four paces away from the orcs he leveled the crossbow and fired into the broad back of the beast on the right. He knew at this range that the powerful bolt would pierce any armor the orc wore. The crossbow made a subtle click followed by a thud as the bolt hammered into the creature, slamming it forward face first into the ground. The beast on the left stood up trying to figure out why his friend had fallen over, not fully registering the sound he heard from the crossbow. The orc didn’t even turn around and Tuvallis capitalized on that. He dropped the crossbow and in one great leap he landed upon the lone orc, ramming his blade into the side of its neck, severing its artery. The orc gurgled incoherently and Tuvallis tripped it, slamming it face first into the ground. He then rammed his razor sharp knife into the base of the orc’s skull and into its brain, instantly stopping its frantic spasms.
Tuvallis found only one other guard on the northern side of the perimeter and he dispatched him easily. They only needed a small gap in the perimeter and he had just created that. Within moments Tuvallis had rejoined the group. “It’s done,” he said. Seli smiled back at him obviously reassured that he had succeeded without incident.
Hadrick nodded. “Well done,” he whispered, “see if you can get Hagar to stay back. He is too big and as we near them he could be seen. Tell him to join us once the fighting begins.”
Tuvallis scooted five paces to the left and crouched down next to Hagar’s giant form. He inhaled the pungent odor of the ogrillion, that of a wild animal, not so unpleasant to one who had lived years in the wilderness, but nevertheless wafting the hint of danger. Hagar had removed his beautiful cuirass and he now wore nothing but his furs. Most of his torso was bare but he did not seem to be affected in the least by the chilly morning air. Tuvallis put his finger to his lip, signaling for Hagar to be silent. He spoke, using his hands as well, in order to make sure the ogrillion understood. He wasn’t sure if he was just good at it, or if Hagar was beginning to understand some of the words, but it seemed as if the beast was beginning to more quickly understand what people were saying to him. “Stay here,” Tuvallis whispered, tapping the ground. “No crawl,” he continued as he used his fingers to try to mimic a person crawling while he was negatively shaking his head. Then he used two of his knives and crossed them silently like a mini swordfight. “When fighting starts, get up and charge and kill as many as you can,” Tuvallis whispered, pantomiming the action with his knives. The ogrillion’s response was his brutish smile. Tuvallis smiled back and tapped the big beast’s giant hand. “Be careful,” he added as he scooted away from the ogrillion.
The hundred warriors crept slowly forward. Tuvallis cringed every time one of the dwarves stepped on a twig or stumbled against a stone, compromising the silence of their approach. They were not as suitable to this type of mission, but he knew that once the fighting began they would be invaluable. Dwarves did not live as long as elves, but compared to a human lifespan theirs was long indeed. A dwarf, if blessed with old age, could live to be three or four hundred years old. And the primary activities of a dwarf were eating, drinking, mining precious stones and metals, making weapons, and fighting. A lifetime of hard work and combat, combined with their natural constitution and physical strength, made them some of the deadliest warriors one could face.
They stopped within fifty paces of the enemy camp. Hundreds of fires were scattered over the grassy land, some smoldering and others burning brightly with fresh logs. Most of the enemy lay in the open near the fires but there were some crudely erected tents near the center of the camp, probably the home of the war leaders. Few of the creatures were still up, but they could spot a few of them wandering about, probably to relieve themselves in the woods or grab some left-over food from the night’s dinner.
Everyone was tense, sweaty hands gripping swords, axes, and war hammers. They waited patiently for the signal, eager to quell the nervous fluttering’s in their stomachs that always seemed to precede battle. They had only moments to wait before a streak of orange fire flashed into the night sky.
There would be no battle cries or screaming during this charge. Everyone stood up and ran silently, hunched over, towards the enemy camp, in an approach eerie in its silence. Within moments they had arrived at the perimeter of the camp, their silver weapons descending ruthlessly upon their sleeping victims. Then the screaming began. Hundreds died in the first few moments of the attack. Hundreds more perished as the enemy awoke, struggling to stand, while futilely trying to figure out what was happening before they came face to face with Free Legion steel and dwarven metal.
Twenty seconds into the attack fifty or more of the enemy warriors from the interior of the camp had managed to arm themselves and came at their attackers with no semblance of control or organization. It was a free for all as hastily armed orcs and goblins attacked them from the darkness.
By this time Hagar had leaped over the bodies of the orcs that had fallen during the first few seconds of the attack. He landed near one of their campfires and kicked his massive foot into the center of it, throwing burning logs and embers into the faces of four attacking orcs. The beasts howled and covered their eyes, opening them just in time to see the terrifying image of the giant ogrillion’s spiked mace flying through the air. It struck the first orc in the side, and the force of Hagar's swing along with the weight of the mace propelled the weapon through all four orcs, shattering bone, ripping flesh, and scattering their bodies into the air. Roaring in defiance, he strode forward, swinging the mace in great arcs of destruction. The scene was awesome and horrific at the same time. Orcs and goblins alike had little chance of avoiding the tree-size weapon that tossed their crushed bodies left and right, throwing them into their comrades.
Seli and Tuvallis had remained next to each other, their steel swords flashing as they parried the clumsy orc weapons and sliced through enemy flesh. Tuvallis yanked his sword from the chest of a dying orc and scanned his surroundings. The darkness was slowly giving way to the morning light and what was black was now gray. He could now see hundreds of enemy warriors coming at them from the interior of the camp. More importantly he could see the massive heads and shoulders of five ogres lumbering towards them. “Sound the horn, Graggis,” Tuvallis muttered to himself. It was time to retreat as the enemy's numbers would soon overwhelm them. Besides that, they needed time to retreat back to the gate. The pounding of the ogres' huge feet grew louder, shaking the ground as the beasts drew near.
Durgen appeared next to him with ten grim looking dwarves. “Finally, something worth fightin'!” he growled, winking at Tuvallis. The ogres, attired in a motley combination of leather, furs, and mismatched metal armor, carried crudely made war hammers and long thick swords as big as a man.
“We need to be retreatin' or they will catch us out in the open!” Tuvallis yelled over the din of battle. As if Graggis heard him, the horn to retreat sounded in the distance. “Let’s go!” Tuvallis yelled as he gripped Seli’s arm and pushed her back toward the garrison. But the ogres had picked up speed and would be upon them in moments. He quickly decided to remain with the dwarves to halt their advance and give the others a head start back to the safety of the high stone wall.
Seconds later the ogres' giant weapons were sweeping towards them threatening to swat them away as if they were flies. But dwarves were experts at fighting giants, and their diminutive size enabled them to duck and dodge the deadly attacks from above.
Tuvallis narrowly dodged the swing of a huge war hammer; the head of it was the size of his torso. He jumped backwards just in time, feeling the displaced air from the swinging weapon swoosh by him. Then Hagar was there, his great mace glowing in the morning grayness as its wicked head slammed into the ogre’s thigh, crushing it and puncturing the flesh in five different spots. The ogre roa
red in pain and fell to one knee. Hagar roared back, yanked his weapon free, and swung the mace like a logger splitting logs straight down on its head. Tuvallis looked away as blood and brains splattered everyone within five paces.
“Go!” Hagar roared, his legs spread wide protectively, both hands gripping the huge mace. Tuvallis needed no further urging as waves of enemy warriors poured towards them.
One unfortunate dwarf was not quick enough, and an ogre's broad blade sliced through his hip, nearly cutting him in half. Yet two of the massive beasts were down, their legs broken and shattered, while the five remaining dwarves, including Durgen, were slowly backing up, trying to disengage from the fight.
Hagar charged forward, crashing into an ogre who was busy trying to deflect the dangerous blows of the dwarves. The force of Hagar's charge sent the beast tumbling into the ogre near him, freeing up the dwarves.
Durgen took advantage of the reprieve and yelled for them to retreat. “Run!” he screamed, just as he slammed his glittering axe into the knee of a beast that had been momentarily distracted by its falling comrades. The magical blade bit deep and the ogre hopped backwards on one leg, roaring in agony. Hagar’s glowing mace flashed over Durgen’s head, crashing into the chest of another ogre, and sending four spikes into its lungs. Durgen pivoted and grabbed a nearby comrade, forcing them both backwards away from the deadly ogrillion. Hagar’s mace swung left and right, nearly as fast as a man could swing a short sword. Ogre weapons and bones alike shattered, and within moments there was no one else nearby to fight, except, that is, for the hundreds of orcs and goblins that were almost upon them. Hagar growled, turned away from the enemy, and retreated with the others back to the garrison.
Durgen and the five remaining dwarves were running as fast as their little legs would carry them towards the open gate of the garrison. Two hundred bowmen lined the battlements with arrows nocked ready to cover their retreat. Graggis and Hadrick’s men sprinted across the grasslands as several thousand enemy warriors pursued them. Hagar was the last of them, but his great strides quickly widened the gap between himself and the enemy. The ogrillion easily caught up with Durgen and the other dwarves.
They began funneling through the thick gate but their increasing numbers soon created a bottleneck at the opening. As the enemy came within range, the archers sent a barrage of deadly missiles towards the enemy. Orcs and goblins fell as the arrows slammed into them. But their superior numbers allowed them to keep coming and it was obvious to any onlooker that they would overtake the men before they had all made it through the gate.
Hagar caught up with the mass of men as they frantically pushed their way into the opening. Graggis was in the back and he saw their predicament as clear as day, and instinctively screamed over the din of the chaos. “Men, form up with me! We need a sword wall!” Instantly Finarthian soldiers and Free Legion warriors that were stuck in the back turned and linked up with Graggis. Hagar, as well, turned in front of Graggis and planted his thick legs in a wide stance. Gripping the long handled mace with both hands he raised it above his head, roaring a thunderous battle cry while Graggis and twenty other men fanned out from him, protecting the entrance so the rest of the men could get through.
Arrows continued to slam into the enemy but still they came. “We have to shut the gate!” Sar-gathos yelled to General Ruthalis. “We can't risk letting the orcs through!” If they made it through the gate, it would be over. Sar-gathos had several spells in mind to destroy the enemy, but he was afraid of hurting the men as well.
“Not yet,” Ruthalis said tensely as he looked down upon the scene.
As the army of orcs crashed into the wall of men, Hagar began swinging his glowing mace back and forth, hurling any creatures unlucky enough to be caught in its path, into the air, their broken corpses crashing to the ground in a bloody heap. The men did not have shields so they relied on each other to guard their flanks. But the sheer weight of the enemy's numbers forced them inexorably backwards towards the gate. Though several men in the shield wall had fallen, each second they held off the enemy allowed more men to rush through the open gate to safety.
But now the enemy was so close that Ruthalis could not hold the gate open any longer. “Shut the gate!” he screamed. Instantly the reinforced metal and wood gate began to close as the men at the rear frantically pushed forward.
“Go!” Hagar yelled as he glanced back at the closing gate. “I hold!”
Arrows continued to rain down from above, killing scores of orcs, but failing to halt the strength of their assault. Graggis, momentarily free from fighting, saw the gate slowly closing behind him. “Retreat!” he screamed. “The gate is closing!” Hagar’s great mace swung back and forth like a farmer's scythe giving the men just enough time to turn and jump through the narrowing gap of the closing gate. Graggis glanced once more at Hagar who was pivoting back and forth with incredible speed for someone his size, blocking the gap in the gatehouse with his massive size and the powerful arcs of his mace. With just seconds to spare, Graggis then jumped through the gate as it slammed shut behind him. The massive wood and steel beam fell heavily into place, shutting the gate to the enemy, and to Hagar.
“Where is Hagar?” Tuvallis yelled amidst the chaos. He saw the gate shut with no sign of the ogrillion. Seli, standing nearby, also frantically searched for the beast’s towering form.
“I don’t see him,” she said fearfully.
Tuvallis pushed through the throng of men to the gate and found Graggis. “Where is Hagar?” Tuvallis asked the burly warrior.
Graggis’s face was a mask of despair. “Out there,” he replied grimly. “He stayed to cover our retreat.”
Tuvallis growled and ran for the stairs that led to the battlements on top of the gatehouse. He took the stairs three at a time and within seconds he was looking down from the garrison wall. Archers continued to fire arrow after arrow into the enemy as they stormed the wall and fought to break through the ogrillion’s defenses. Whenever an orc raised his sword or readied his bow, archers from above targeted him, turning the beast into a pin cushion. But the archers could not target them all and some of their weapons found their mark on Hagar’s flesh.
As he stood alone, blocking the entrance to the gate, his weapon flared with bright white light, crushing any who came too near. As bodies piled up around him, still he fought on. Tuvallis noticed several arrows protruding from Hagar’s flesh and red streaks lined his arms and legs where he had been wounded. But nothing seemed to slow the indomitable ogrillion who showed no signs of tiring. If anything, the strength and speed with which he swung his mace seemed to actually increase, as countless orcs literally flew through the air, many of them crashing into their comrades.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” General Ruthalis said as he and Tuvallis stood watching in fascinated horror.
“We must do something!” Tuvallis said frantically.
“What?” the general asked helplessly. “We cannot open that gate.”
Just then, a deafening roar shattered the cacophony of battle. Everyone looked up into the receding darkness towards the sound. It was dawn and soon the morning sun would bathe the horizon with light. Already its amber glow was pushing back the darkness of night. They heard the roar again, this time closer, very close. But they still could see nothing in the night sky.
Then they heard a great rhythmic rush of air followed by a third roar, so incredibly loud that everyone froze, even the orcs below, and stared up at the shadowy form descending upon them.
“Dragon!” Sar-gathos yelled.
But it was too late. Kil-Kannon, the Demon Dragon, streaked from the darkness and let loose a massive cloud of scalding hot steam.
“Stay behind me!” Sar-gathos bellowed as the stone in his staff flared a bright green. Everyone near the wizard, including Tuvallis and General Ruthalis, jumped behind the Ekahal just as the beast’s hot breath covered them in a blanket of death. Agonizing screams and the odor of sizzling flesh assaulted Tuvallis's
senses, but no heat penetrated the translucent shield created by the wizard.
As the giant beast flew across the entire length of the wall unleashing its deadly attack, its black skin flashed with crackling streaks of red and orange energy. Searing steam poured over the defenders all along the wall, a white cloud so hot that men cooked inside their armor. Hundreds died instantly while still more perished as they plunged off the wall frantically trying to evade its lethal breath.
After one sweep from Kil-Kannon the garrison wall lay deserted by the living. All that remained were the smoking bodies of the dead and the poor tortured souls who wished they were dead, crawling and moaning in pain as their skin bubbled and flaked off under their armor. The dragon's breath had created a strange sort of heat. There were no flames because it wasn't fire. It was super-heated steam capable of instantly cooking flesh without burning clothes or lighting anything on fire. Hundreds had perished in that one attack.
Luckily for Hagar, great clouds of the steam rolled off the wall hitting those below, though the impact of the vapor was much less than the poor souls on the wall had suffered. But it was enough to cause panic among the orcs as the scalding heat forced them back from the gate.
The cloud of steam had also slammed into Hagar, singing his exposed skin. But it was not enough to severely damage his thick leather-like hide. He could barely see as the hot mist drifted around him. All he knew for certain was that for the moment he was not being attacked. He looked back at the gate and saw no way through it. So he did the only thing he could do, run down the length of the wall, away from the attackers, towards the river’s edge.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 03 - Glimmer in the Shadow Page 26