by D. M. Murray
Kalfinar walked up behind and clasped his shoulder.
“Then fight with me, Father,” he whispered.
Harruld turned to him and smiled. “Aye.” He stepped away, placing his eyepiece against Kalfinar’s chest. “By the way, you’d best take a look at the bay,” Harruld added, stretching his arms above his head as the clerk approached and placed a quilted undershirt over his head. “It looks like the raiders have broken through. They’ve taken the docks.”
“We’ve ships still in the bay,” Kalfinar said, scanning the water in the distance with the eyepiece. “It looks like there’s a ship about to offload marine guards. With a bit of luck, the units dispatched to the dock quarter can repel them.”
“I’m leading a support battalion down to the docks,” Merkham interjected. “We’ll ride down any of the creatures we find and cut our way through them. Once we get to the walls, we’ll be able to lay down some more fire on them. Hopefully the marines can do the rest.”
“Good,” Harruld said, straining as the clerk dropped his chainmail over his head, links jingling as they fell around hips. “Subath, you and I will lead towards the east gate. Kal and Broden, you’re with us. Let’s give old Grunnxe a bit of a sting, eh?”
*
“Are the rams finished?” Grunnxe stormed towards the work party as they hurried to finish the battering rams. “And the ladders, are they ready? I’d like to get in and take this city before noon.” Grunnxe stood before the frightened soldiers a fuming monster of lust, ravenous for the taste of blood.
The Master God urged him forward all the time. “You must hurry, you must strike now while they lie undefended, unprotected. Attack them!”
“Your Highness, we should be finished in the next half hour,” one soldier spoke up, shrinking to a shadow of a man as he uttered the words under the intense glare of the old king.
“I heard that half an hour ago.” Grunnxe’s voice was calm, but his hand went to his sword, resting on the pommel.
The soldier who spoke up squirmed as his fellow workers stepped away from him.
Grunnxe stepped up to the man, snarling in his face, “If that ram is not charging towards those unprotected gates in the next ten minutes with you at the front, I will personally rip out your heart with my bare hands and shove it up your fucking arse!” As he spoke, Grunnxe’s voice rose from calm to a spit-flinging shriek of pure fury.
The soldiers redoubled their efforts with the spokesman working feverishly, urging the others on. Grunnxe grinned at the improved effort and turned around. The Priestess was staring.
“What are you looking at, you fucking sexless ghost of a god?” He stormed up to the Priestess. “Take that fucking hood down so I can see your face when I speak to you.” Grunnxe charged down on the Priestess and ripped the hood back, revealing the grey and sickly flesh, sunken red eyes and a lumpy bald head crowned with wisps of thin white hair.
“The Priestess is your servant to command, and will obey, or she will be obliterated.”
The Priestess stared back at Grunnxe with pure hate in her eyes. “As my king commands it.”
“Good,” Grunnxe grumbled as he walked off and faced the gates of Carte, “because I’d hate to have to cut your head off, just as I would with those cockless bastards I call soldiers.” He turned and stared hard at the Priestess. “I’d truly hate to.”
“It will come to that before the end.”
The Master God’s words filled Grunnxe with pleasure. He was soon to reclaim his people’s empire and he would drink his vengeance with the blood of his enemies. He stared back at the gates of Carte. There were few guards visible on the battlements. It appeared all of his plans had come together; the city lay broken, the Free Provinces in ruins.
He tipped back his head, outstretched his arms, and released a huge roar into the dusky light of early night. “Harruld, come and meet me as a man! Bring your little boy with you! Solansia has come to claim you. It has come to claim you all in the name of the Master God, Balzath!”
“Patience, child,” the voice spoke to Grunnxe. “Thy vengeance can wait. I send my servants for a greater prize.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Kalfinar stood atop the lowest level of the High Command battlements. Before him were the gathered ranks of the Free Provinces command, all eyes fixed on him as he stood alongside the remaining senior staff and his father, the governor of Carte. He scanned across the massive courtyard, looking at the massed warriors.
“Men and women of the Free Provinces,” Kalfinar’s voice boomed across the courtyard. “We are gathered here this night faced with a great foe before us. We stand at the edge of a great darkness.” Kalfinar’s heart thundered in his chest as he spoke. He scanned the ranks and saw every spectrum of human emotion. “We face enemies within our walls and enemies beyond. What we do not face are enemies within our hearts. My brothers and sisters, children of the Free Provinces, take courage in those who stand by you. Take strength from their arm, take strength from mine, and together we can hold back the tide. Together, we shall fall onto this plain of darkness and repel the enemy. We reject Grunnxe and his ways. We reject this evil he brings before us, and we reject the fear he would see diminish our bold hearts!” Kalfinar stared across the silent ranks, pride flaring within his heart. “We need only hold them off a while and Dajda will wake, calling forth a flood of power so pure it will wash clean this evil. Together, we will steel our hearts and stem this dark tide. For our people out there, for our brothers and sisters, when we break out of these doors, no matter what we face, spirit or man, have no fear. Ride out with me, brothers and sisters, in the name of Carte, in the name of the Free Provinces, and in the name of Dajda!”
The roar erupted like an explosion, rising high into the night sky, filling their hearts with a power and urge so strong that many shook with it.
Kalfinar turned around to his gathered commanders, Harruld, Broden, Subath, and Merkham. “Well, what do you think?” he asked them.
Subath winked. “Well, if that doesn’t get them hard, then I don’t know what will.”
Broden broke into laughter, followed by the others.
“Gentlemen,” Harruld interrupted in a sombre tone, “let’s go to war.”
*
The drawbridge slammed down with an almighty crash and the doors of the gate swung open. Merkham’s units to charged out of the High Command and into the city. The foremost horse-borne officers led the way with infantry sprinting behind them, ready to pick off any of the creatures bowled over by the charging horses.
The stream of soldiers pouring out of the High Command was continuous; rank after rank, hundreds and thousands.
Kalfinar rode out with Harruld, Subath, and Broden by his side, their horses clearing the drawbridge and thundering through the snowy, cobbled streets. Their horses’ breath smoked from their noses in the cold air. They hammered down the streets, passing by blazing fires as buildings burned, the air choked with smoke. They charged for the east gate of the outer walls of Carte to face the gathered forces and meet them in battle.
“If any of the creatures come at us, mow them down. Steer the hooves to their heads!” Broden roared.
They crashed through the streets, those mounted acting as the vanguard and smashing creatures that sprinted howling from side streets and alleys, being sent clattering to the ground before being dispatched by the onrushing troops.
Kalfinar steered his horse into the pair of creatures that screamed down the street towards them, smashing them to the ground where they were ground beneath by the following horses.
*
Hal screamed orders down the line of the battlement, “Keep them off the walls!”
The troops below them charged with rams to the gate whilst others approaching carried huge ladders to mount the battlements. The archers released their arrows, felling as many as they could, but the numbers were immense. There were floods of black-clad men, screaming wild battle cries that made the blood chill in the veins.
“Pitch!” Hal screamed to troops heating the fire liquid in large cauldrons. “Have it ready. They’re coming!”
The rams flowed across the ground before the gates like giant ballistae missiles. The men steering them were protected from the rain of arrows by shields and wet hides interlinked above their heads. They thundered into the face of the doors on the east gate of the outer walls of Carte, but the gates were strong and the blow caused little harm.
“Pitch!” Hal roared and the pitch rained down over the ram.
Men dropped screaming as boiling oil clung and burned them.
“Fire!”
Arrows of flame shot from the gatehouse, sticking into the hides and shields above. Flames burst to life and spread onto the clothes of any so unfortunate as to be soaked or splashed by the pitch. The ram dropped and lay wreathed in flames.
The ladders were lifted towards the walls, their slow and steady advance hampered only when archers found their marks and dropped lifting raiders. Soldiers stood by the walls, primed and ready, some terrified, tears welling and fingers shaking. Sword arms flexed and encouraging words were whispered, but the ladders kept coming.
The first of the ladders crashed against the top of the battlements. Defenders sprang into action, forked spears being used to push the ladders backwards or shoved to the side, clattering off stone as they tumbled to the ground. Arrows whizzed and whipped past defenders as they tried to clear the ladders, but there were too many and too few defenders.
One by one, Solansian troops flowed over the walls and onto the battlements, engaging the outnumbered defenders.
*
Kalfinar’s horse pounded down the final mile of the city towards the outer walls. The creatures came at them steadily, but the horses saw they posed little threat when approached head-on, being cast aside to be dispatched or ground into the snow and cobbles by the steel-shod hooves of the cavalry behind. The soldiers on foot fared the worst, succumbing to bites or being separated from the protection of their troop mates.
“Quicker! They’re on the battlements!” Kalfinar shouted as the top of the battlement above the eastern gate came into view. “Come on, come on!” He whipped at his horse, thrashing it to go faster. Olmat, I’m sorry old friend, but you must die. You must die. Die, damn it. It broke his heart to wish it, but if they were to stand any chance at all, the old man had to die soon.
*
“What in the cold night is that?” Hal asked as a legion of iridescent beings approached the walls. “That’s not normal…”
As they approached closer to the wall, the fire of the battering rams illuminated them further and Hal saw their true form. He hadn’t noticed, such was his terror, he had pissed himself. He also didn’t notice, such was the intense fear that gripped him, the sword point that punched through his chest.
*
The guardsman’s body slid off the raider’s sword and flopped onto its back. The raider smirked when he noticed that the dead man had pissed himself. He stepped up towards the gate wheel and began turning.
*
“No!” Kalfinar screamed as he saw the gate of Carte split open. A strange light, a mix of fire and shimmering colours, appeared from behind the opening doors.
The mounted party pulled up their horses and leapt from their saddles at the wall of the battlement beside the eastern gate. Kalfinar bounded up the steps towards the gatehouse, clearing them two steps at a time. He glanced up ahead and saw a raider leap down from the battlement onto the steps, sword drawn and ready to engage him. Kalfinar dropped his shoulder and ducked the blow, returning with a heavy side slash, opening the man from hip to belly, and sending him crashing onto the ground several metres below.
Broden, Harruld, Subath, and dozens more flooded up the battlements after him.
“Behind you, Kal!” Harruld cried out, warning him of another attacker approaching from the second tier of the battlements.
The raider leapt down to engage, landing behind Kalfinar, but falling straight into Harruld’s sword thrust. The raider fell backwards and grabbed Harruld’s surcoat, hauling the governor to the stairs he had just ascended.
Harruld shoved the dying man over the side of the steps, but lost his balance and crashed his knee against the corner of stone, causing a backlog of defenders trying to follow their chief marshal.
Kalfinar reached the top of the battlement and found dozens of Solansian raiders dispatching the final guardsmen.
“On your own,” one of the raiders growled, approaching Kalfinar with menace.
“Kal!” Broden roared from behind. “Hold on!”
Kalfinar scanned the eyes of the raiders around him and pulled free his battle-hatchet. Got to get to the gatehouse.
The raiders snapped into attack, two coming at Kalfinar at once, one jabbing a spear and the other coming in close with a crashing blow from his heavy axe. Kalfinar dodged the spear thrust and bent under the axe, spinning around and slamming his hatchet head into the back of the axeman’s knee. He folded to the ground, knees crashing onto stonework as he squealed.
The spearman thrust again. Kalfinar dodged, but not so much to avoid it. The spearhead jabbed into his surcoat, tearing a hole and ripping free several rings of his chainmail.
Kalfinar grabbed the shaft, hauled the spearman towards him with one hand, and slammed his sword into the man’s neck with the other. The spearman gurgled and fell over onto the writhing axeman.
More raiders ran to engage him. Kalfinar stabbed at the injured axeman, twisting and freeing his blade before turning and running from the pursuing raiders on the battlement.
Gatehouse. Got to shut the gate.
*
Harruld and Broden mounted the battlement and engaged the raiders with quick sharp blows, dispatching the men as Subath and further defenders flooded onto the top tier of the battlements.
“Gatehouse!” cried Harruld and he charged forward with Broden, crashing into the wheel room.
Kalfinar was close to being overwhelmed by five raiders protecting the man opening the gate. Kalfinar was being battered back into a corner of the room, furthest away from Broden and Harruld as they entered. It left the man at the wheel exposed.
Broden closed the distance between them, lopping the man’s head free before even one of the raiders could turn. He didn’t break a stride as he re-joined Harruld in slashing at the surprised raiders in a furious flurry of blows, cutting them down to nothing.
“Shut the gate!” Kalfinar roared as screams of terrified men and horses sounded from below the gatehouse.
More defenders back peddled into the wheel room, pressed by raiders attempting to take the small room.
“Help me!” Broden cried as he used all of his strength to turn the gate wheel, resistance coming from the press of raiders below.
Harruld and Kalfinar joined him and strained at the wheel. The three men, veins bulging in their heads, forced the wheel around with all of their might, slamming the gate shut with a crunch.
Harruld risked a quick glance out an arrow slit. A legion of beasts milled outside the gatehouse, screaming and roaring. Some clambered up ladders with clumsy limbs while others attempted to climb the stonework of the walls, talons finding purchase between blocks.
Harruld’s blood chilled at the sight and sound of them. He glanced beyond the milling masses, and beheld the sight of the Solansian forces, thousands strong. At the front sat one man apart from the others, a ragged scar down through one eye. A scar that Harruld had made. Grunnxe, the old king reborn.
“He’s here,” Harruld grumbled. “He lives.”
“Well he won’t live for fucking long if he comes near me,” shouted Kalfinar. “Come on!” He roared as he left the gatehouse to the care of others, bursting out of the stone building and back onto the battlements to engage raiders.
Broden and Harruld ran out, battle cries loud as they cut into the masses of raiders clambering over the walls.
Harruld kicked out as the black-clad man clambered over the ba
ttlement, sending him screaming to the ground with a thud. He slashed at the attackers as they spilled over the battlements.
*
Kalfinar kicked one raider off the battlement and slashed at the back of another. The man yelped and collapsed. The next face to appear at the top of a ladder received Kalfinar’s sword point before he moved on to the next raider.
The big man held two axes and spun them in some act of bravado before Kalfinar blocked the blow from the left hand and then, with a rapid stroke, severed the right hand. The shock left the raider immobilised. His head soon went the way of the hand.
*
Broden blocked the sword with his own blade and kicked the man’s balls. He grabbed the gap between the raider’s cuirass and neck and slammed the cross-guard of his sword into the man’s face, once, twice, three times. Blood bubbled out of the man’s nose and lips.
Broden tossed him from the battlement and slashed at an onrushing raider, cleaving him open across the belly. The man whooped and fell onto his knees, stalling the advance of a comrade who soon fell in similar fashion.
*
Subath couldn’t help but laugh. The raider had made a long, wet fart as he collapsed, his chest opened from a sweeping blow.
“Right, which one of you salt-mining fuckers is next?” He strode to where Broden was punching the life out of a raider.
A Solansian head popped into view to Subath’s right. With a casual flick of the sword, he sent the man’s head flying in a slow, elegant arc.
“Can’t be having that,” Subath grumbled and hauled the ladder off to the side, sending it and those climbing crashing to the ground. “Next?” He strode forward to the next raider, laughing at the memory of the fart.