Fortress of the Forgotten: Book One of the Swordmaster Series

by Rutger Krenn

  The chant continued and the words flowed without beginning or end. All the while the beating of the drums grew louder and faster. The stamping of boots became harder until a cloud of dust rose above the horde and dimmed the faltering sun. The menacing shadow on the hill darkened and the very air grew chill around the defenders on the wall.

  Kenrik watched his men and saw unnatural fear gnawing at them. This was the work of the Turgil about which Arandur had warned, and thus was he, the leader of the Northmen, tested. It was his responsibility to kindle the fighting spirit of the men but how could he counter this?

  He waited. The time to act must come soon. The frenzy of the Goblins was reaching its peak and soon they would race to the battlements and the storming of the fortress would commence. Even as their zeal was nearing its peak the morale of the defenders was at its lowest ebb. He must do something soon or Arandur would be forced to act prematurely. The Wizard’s strength needed to be preserved though for the hour when it was most needed. The defenders must resist until the enemy used a power beyond mortal endurance.

  The Duke walked to his personal guards and took from them the banner of Aren Daleth. He then mounted the stronger fortifications above the gates, standing to his full towering height and raised the banner high. It rippled in the breeze and gleamed in the westering rays of the sun. Its background was a vivid blue, the royal color of Aren Daleth, and depicted upon it with heavy gold thread was an eagle, wings outstretched and showing one eye. This was crafted from a single red jewel and looked upon the horde with a cool stare.

  The vehemence of the chanting wavered as the Goblins followed the Duke’s movements, unsure of what was happening. Then they were left in no doubt. His voice rang loud and clear and he realized that Arandur was using subtle power to carry it further.

  “Cowards!” he called insultingly. “Blood shall be spilled, but it will be your own!”

  He raised the banner higher and tauntingly waved it in their faces as though it were a target they could never reach.

  “Never will you sully this banner!” he yelled and the defenders cheered as they saw their leader defy the enemy and hold up the flag under which they served.

  “The Eagle of the North shall never be taken!” he thundered and the soldiers echoed his words in a war cry.

  The Eagle of the North! The Eagle of the North!

  Their hearts chagrined and their goal set for them the Goblins charged. The defenders’ minds were lightened and the pride of their county came back to them. They roared as the Goblins came on and the blood flowed fiercely once more in their veins.

  Kenrik was pleased. In one move he had broken the spell of the Turgil, increased the morale of his own troops and set the enemy in motion before they were ready. For now the majority of Goblins streamed toward the gate towers and the banner he held instead of spreading themselves along the wall. They stumbled and fell within the press and fought amongst themselves for space to throw their ladders toward him. Thus would they more easily be defeated by hindering and slowing themselves as the Northmen unleashed a hail of arrows and missiles upon their concentrated numbers.

  He smiled grimly as he watched but kept his mind aware for anything that the Turgil might attempt. The battle being fought was man against Goblin but sooner or later a challenge would be issued that only Arandur could answer.

  The hordes rushed toward him. They screamed their hatred and waved their curved swords as they came. He watched with coolness as the first wave of arrows struck home, unable to miss a target in the mass of bodies that surged toward the wall. The charge turned to confusion and tumult as countless Goblins died and fell, tripping and slowing their comrades. Yet, even though wave after wave of arrows thinned their ranks, they still came on.

  They reached the battlements and now large stones were thrown over the rampart in addition to the barrage of arrows. Many piles of rock and heavy debris had been made ready for just this purpose. As the enemy tried to climb the ladders and ropes they were slain from above by these missiles or the falling of their dead who dragged them down as they went.

  On came the Goblins and the first now reached the battlements. Hand to hand fighting broke out and blood splashed once more over the stone ramparts but the defenders were ready for them and their pride, flowing hotly within their veins, drove them to fight with a fury stronger than their enemy. These men fought to defend their homes and their wives. They were all that stood between the Goblins and the women and children of Aren Daleth. They cut the attackers down swiftly and it was not necessary for Kenrik to utilize any of the few reserves available.

  The attack faltered and the last Goblin was thrown clear of the battlements. The survivors, fleeing back toward their ranks, were followed mercilessly by deadly flights of long Northmen arrows.

  Kenrik once more waved the banner high and laughed with sheer joy. The words he spoke weren’t so much for the Goblins but for his own men.

  “Run, you dogs!” He laughed at the backs of the fleeing enemy. “Run and lick your master’s boots! But he will not be happy to see you!”

  The men at the walls cheered him as he gave the flag back to his guards and wondered among the soldiers. Here and there he comforted a wounded defender who was waiting to be carried by stretcher to the hospice in the castle. With others he joked or shook their hands and congratulated them for a job well done.

  Barad laughed loud and free and leaned on his wicked looking axe.

  “I’ve watched you fight,” said Kenrik, “and you wield that axe to marvelous effect. I didn’t realize until now how large it is. How can you swing a thing like that? Isn’t it too heavy?”

  “Heavy?” repeated Barad. “It’s not overly heavy. I‘ve been swinging an axe since I was knee high. It’s nothing to me, though others seem to have trouble lifting it. Besides, whenever I start to feel tired I rest it on a Goblin’s neck. They don’t take the weight very long for some reason, but it gives me a brief respite!”

  The men nearby laughed and Kenrik nodded thoughtfully.

  “Well, I may have a job for you later. Sometime tomorrow I’ll come by and see you.”

  “I’ll be here,” said the Axeman.

  Cadrafer came up behind him and his green eyes danced. “Unless some Goblin puts a sly knife in your back while you’re lugging that tree feller around.”

  “That’s possible, lad,” said Barad turning, “but not too likely. No enemy can stab me in the back while you’re hiding behind me!”

  The soldiers laughed and Kenrik grinned broadly. How well did Cadrafer know this man, he wondered. It seemed as though they were long time friends and must have met in Lonrak years ago. He walked back to the castle with his captain and explained the plan that was beginning to form in his mind. It may perhaps buy them some of the time they needed.

  The Goblins did not attack again that day. They had been lashed into frenzy and then outsmarted as they attacked. They could not be so easily driven into a fury again, at least not today, and they had lost many of the ladders and ropes which were needed to scale the walls. Many others were being fashioned quickly but there was a shortage of suitable timber as trees had to be felled on the higher slopes of the valley and brought down toward Thromdar.

  The night passed without event. Nothing happened and the darkness swallowed up the Goblins. All that could be heard was the occasional distant murmur of guttural tongues and only the vague movement of hulking forms around campfires could be seen.

  Kenrik didn’t sleep well. He was tired from the battle and the emotional strain of putting on a brave face in front of his men. It wasn’t easy to show joy or hope when deep inside he felt none of those things. He knew he’d been lucky. Things had gone the Northmen’s way. They had inflicted heavy losses on the enemy and suffered relatively few themselves, but another day like that couldn’t be counted on. The same trick with the flag wouldn’t work a second time. The Goblins would be more controlled tomorrow. They would be disciplined and would attack all the battlements equally,
searching out the weakest spot amongst the defenders.

  He needed a different plan for tomorrow and his thoughts turned to the Axeman. Rarely had he seen such a man. He was not overly tall, but the width across his shoulders was amazing and the strength of his arms prodigious. He swung the axe as though it were a toy and moved with a speed and a grace that would be more fitting among dancers than warriors. Such were his thoughts as he hovered near, then finally fell, into the oblivion of sleep.

  He woke some hours later. It was well before dawn but he knew he would not sleep again. He didn’t fear a night attack by the Goblins, at least not at the moment, but he thought he would take a look over the battlements.

  Dawn was only a hint in the sky when he came to the Wizard’s waiting spot upon the battlements and he found Arandur sitting still as a statue but wide awake.

  “Did you sleep at all?” he asked.

  “I’m an old man,” said Arandur, glancing at him and shaking his head. “Frail and old, but I can get by with only a little sleep.”

  “You may be old,” said Kenrik, “but frail is another thing altogether.”

  “Perhaps,” murmured the Wizard.

  The two of them looked out into the night without speaking for a while. The dark sky was greying and the stars losing their frosty glitter. It would have been peaceful in other circumstances.

  “Do you really think we have a chance?” Kenrik asked at length, his voice barely a whisper in the night. “Tell me what you believe,” he said, “and know that it won’t make any difference to my actions. I’ll not fight with less commitment, or lead the soldiers with less resolution, should you think Thromdar will fall.”

  “I will tell you truly, O Duke. I do not know the answer. Yet I know this. I have seen many battles as have you. Have you observed how some men are stricken down grievously and manage to survive while others with lesser wounds succumb?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen that. It’s always been a mystery to me. Fate is hard to untangle. I suppose if you’re unlucky you’ll die. If you’re lucky, you’ll live. No man can predict who’ll survive the battle and who won’t.”

  “That is true,” said Arandur. “There is an element of luck, fate, or destiny; call it what you will, involved in life and death. It is the same with nations as it is with men. I have seen scattered peoples rise into empires and I have then seen those same nations fall to ruin. I have watched leaders bring a civilization together from bickering tribes and seen their hopes wither and fail of their promise. As I said, I am an old man. Very old, but sometimes even I’m surprised.”

  “That is all very true,” said Kenrik, “but I’m not sure that you’ve really answered my question.”

  Arandur glanced at him keenly. “Have I not? That is something that old men do. They talk and talk but sometimes forget the question that was asked of them. Very well then. Let us go back to what I said before. Two soldiers, one dreadfully wounded who lives, and another with less severe wounds who dies. Luck, you would say. Well, that is true to a point, but there is something else as well. There is something in the spirit of the one that fights. He fights against all odds. He doesn’t give up. The other, well, he has lost his will to live. It is sometimes easier to die than to survive. As it is with men so too can it be with nations. And armies also. I tell you truly, should we struggle with every fiber of our being, should we resist despair, should we defy the Goblins and he who commands them, then I say that we might survive just long enough for Talon and Arell to bring back the army. But of course, they have their own problems. They struggle just as hard as we. Therefore I will not lie to you. It is not likely that success will eventuate, and yet it may, if we strive hard enough. For that reason alone I have hope, for I know Talon and Arell will fight with all they have, just as will all the men on the battlements. To defy your enemy is to have reason to live.”

  “Well,” said Kenrik, “We shall each of us try to be like your soldier. Mortally wounded, we shall defy death. And if we don’t survive, at least many of the enemy will perish with us.”

  “So shall it be,” said the Wizard. “Yet death is not the only enemy of mankind.”

  They were silent once more and looked out into the rising of the day. The Goblins were visible now and overnight had replenished their supply of timber so that many ladders were prepared for the onslaught to come.

  “I must go and see Cadrafer now,” said Kenrik. “We have much to plan for the day.”

  “Farewell for now,” said Arandur. “And remember, you are important above all other men. Guard yourself well for you are the key to men’s morale and the holding of the fortress. The Turgil knows that as much as I.”

  “I will,” said Kenrik

  So saying he walked away and went in search of Cadrafer. He knew he had been given a warning. He would be targeted and his life was in utmost peril. Strangely, it filled him with no fear at all. He thought back about the other things that were said as well. Was Arandur trying to tell him something? What he had said about soldiers and nations could apply to him also. Had he lost the spirit to live? Could he truly fight without it and draw out the siege as long as possible? Could he somehow regain the will to live that had disappeared when Alanya died, not only to fulfil his responsibilities but to live for life itself?

  The attack came soon after dawn. The soldiers were ready for them. There was no chanting this time, just the recommencement of the pounding of war drums. They beat a noisome message into the air, and the beating of the drums matched the loping strides of the Goblins as they came for the castle once more.

  The soldiers were waiting for them. The archers welcomed them with volley after volley of black fletched arrows. The Duke, Cadrafer and his guard now stood behind the soldiers manning the northern end of the wall. Mecklem was with them and his hand fidgeted with the leather and jewel studded hilted of his sword. The leather was damp with sweat and a fine film of perspiration shone on his face.

  “They come,” said Kenrik.

  “They come,” answered Cadrafer, “and let us hope we can repel them.”

  There was no more talk after that. It was now the time for swords and death. The first of the Goblins had reached the battements and the sound of steel against steel rung out all along their length.

  At first those who reached the top of the ramparts did so in small numbers. Here and there a group of Goblins engaged the defenders and they fought and were beaten back. Then another group would gain the ramparts elsewhere and would be repulsed in their turn. So it continued for half an hour, then an hour. The numbers of Goblins seemed endless and they continued their rush without ceasing. The men defending the walls became exhausted but the Goblins were always fresh.

  “Send the reserves to the middle section,” ordered Kenrik. “The fighting has slowed there. Let the current defenders fall back and the reserves take their place. We shall swap them around with another group after they’ve rested.”

  “Maybe we should just send the reserves in and not pull anyone,” said Mecklem. “We need them all to drive away the Goblins. They’re not going to give up the attack this time.”

  “No, they don’t intend to,” said the Duke. “But how long can our men fight without rest? Tiredness is their enemy also. A weary man cannot prevail against strong foes.”

  Mecklem didn’t have an answer to that so he remained silent and Kenrik ignored him. “Cadrafer,” he said.

  “Yes, my Lord?”

  “I think it’s time to fetch Barad, if he yet lives. Also, I want him well rested. After you’ve found and sent him here get him some food and drink, something good even if it’s my own. And find Arandur and ask him to come here also, please.”

  “Of course,” said Cadrafer and he hastened away.

  “What are you going to do?” Asked Mecklem. “What use will the Axeman be? I think he’s a bit simple. He enjoys the fighting as though it were a game and tomorrow the Goblins will pack up and go home.”

  “He appears a man of simple tastes, I’ll grant,�
� said Kenrik. “But he’s not stupid. I suspect there’s a lot that goes on in his mind that doesn’t reach his mouth. That is the opposite of many, who speak first and think later. He’s the sort of man I need right now. A born fighter.”

  It didn’t take long before Barad walked toward him. He was whistling as he came, a merry tune that seemed to belong to another time and place than this. If he was aware of the blood and gore that spattered his black vest he showed no sign of it. The great double-bladed axe was lifted up and carried on his shoulder as a woodcutter might return from a hard morning’s work for lunch with his wife.

  “Barad,” said the Duke. “I’m glad you’re still around. It seems as though the Goblins are no match for you.”

  “Ha!” laughed the Axeman. “They’re no match, but they’re amusing to play with nonetheless. They seem to be avoiding me this morning though. I have to go looking for them and when they see me they run away.”

  “Well then,” said Kenrik. “I have a proposition for you. First of all though, you’ll need some rest and some food.”

  “Rest and food sound good for a little while. Then I had better go play again.”

  The broad chested man sat himself down cross-legged on the stone floor of the rampart while Cadrafer gave him a flask of apple cider and a large chunk of bread spread with butter and honey.

  “Mmm,” Barad said between huge bites. “This is nice! Better than the hard biscuits and water I’ve had more often than not lately.

  “It should be good,” said Mecklem disdainfully. “It was the Duke’s very own lunch.”

  “Well,” said the Axeman pleasantly, “’Tis certainly good, and I would have happily shared it with him, except that it’s really rather small for a man such as myself. Barely touched the sides on the way down.”

  As he spoke he took a huge swig from the flask of cider. He burped nonchalantly in Mecklem’s direction and the lord reddened swiftly. Before he could say anything the Axeman spoke again. “Sorry about that laddie. No need to get all worked up. We’re friends here. Today at least, while the Goblins are about.” He said the last with a slightly different tone and none there misunderstood his meaning. If Mecklem wanted a fight, he could have one.