by Rutger Krenn
“Peace,” said Kenrik, to intervene. “I shall find another lunch, even if I have to settle for hard biscuits and water. But it doesn’t matter. We have more important things to discuss.”
Arandur approached at that moment.
“I am here, O Duke. I see also that you are making friends with the Axeman. He’s a charming fellow, is he not?”
“That he certainly is, and I have special plans for him.”
The Axeman smirked as he looked at Arandur. “Don’t pay much attention to the old fellow. He comes across all prim and proper but we’ve crossed paths a few times before. He’s not always like that. I have to say though that he’s helped me out of some tight fixes.”
“So I have,” agreed Arandur, “but you have mostly put me into them in return. And I’ve often had to pay your bill for food and drink at an inn to boot.”
Barad pretended to look hurt. “A man’s got to eat and drink you know. Otherwise he just shrivels up and goes hollow inside.”
“I see I have chosen my man well,” said Kenrik. “He who has Wizards for friends has luck on his side, or so the saying goes.”
He looked around him at the battlements. “It appears as though the attack is at last failing. We have beaten them off once more, but they will come again. We need to stall for time. This then, is what I propose.”
The Axeman bent forward and paid attention as the Duke spoke. He offered no comments now, no byplay, but seemed a man who listened carefully and considered all that he heard and weighed it to a nicety in his mind.
When Kenrik finished speaking Barad leaned back and then stood with grace and ease. More grace than a man that size normally possessed.
He smiled grimly. “I think we should put that plan into action. It seems the best game so far and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”
Mecklem looked on. The sheen of perspiration showed clearly on his pale face.
“Better you than me,” he whispered to himself, but his comments were heard by many there. None contradicted him however.
Chapter 13
Kenrik watched the seething mass of Goblins in the valley. They had been repelled but were preparing for another assault. Cadrafer, Barad and Arandur were with him.
He allowed himself a cautious smile. He was pleased with his plan and if it worked it would gain a little time, and just as importantly, increase morale. These were the most precious things in the world at the moment.
He waited. Things must be set in motion only at the last minute. “We must be careful,” he said to the others. “To start too soon robs us of time and starting too late risks the attack building more momentum than we can stop.”
The war drums beat louder and the crashing of sword against shield grew more ferocious. Messengers ran rapidly to the Turgil’s command hill and then back to the Goblin lines.
“The time draws close,” said Cadrafer softly, not taking his eyes from the field.
“It does, and the sooner we begin this the better,” said Barad. “I’ve never been a man of patience.”
He winked at Arandur behind Cadrafer’s back. “It’s my only fault.”
The Captain of the Guard turned to the Axeman. “Actually, that’s not true. You have a great many faults. So many of them that I’ve lost count. In fact, I don’t think there are even names for some of them.”
Kenrik felt his tension ease and understood the Axeman’s bantering was his way to keep calm. Nothing relieved stress as well as humor.
“Thanks very much,” said Barad. “First you give me a mission intended to kill me, and then you insult me as well. You’re a charming lad.”
“A man should face such a trial with a good conscience,” said Cadrafer. “He should know right from wrong and forgive himself for past misdemeanors – so long as he commits to improving himself. I’m actually helping you find serenity within your soul.”
Arandur stirred. “The time is nigh.”
Silence descended among the little group and it seemed as though the noise of the Goblin horde grew louder still.
Suddenly, Kenrik knew the moment had arrived and signaled Arandur to speak. He knew Wizardry would be used to augment his companion’s voice so that it would carry to all the Goblin host. He knew what would happen but was still unprepared for the power that reverberated in Arandur’s words.
“Listen!” the Wizard commanded, stepping forward and raising his staff. “Harken to my words, O horde of the Shadow and dwellers in the dark. Hear me!”
The host of Goblins quietened a little and milled restlessly on the field.
“You have ears with which to hear and eyes with which to see. Understand this: we defy you!”
A hush fell over the Goblin army. The beating of sword against shield stopped and even the incessant thrumming of the war drums faltered before starting again.
A soldier came to stand next to Arandur and as planned he raised high the Eagle Banner of Aren Daleth. The Northmen felt proud as they saw the emblem of their homeland fluttering free in the air.
Contempt dripped from each word that Arandur spoke. His part in the plan was to anger the enemy.
“Hear me, O dross of the world. Hear me, you who prefer to hide your faces beneath the earth and look not at the sun. Hear me, O black hearted one, who stays upon the hill and relies on thralls to accomplish your work. Are there any among you who can fight? Are there no leaders among you who can speak, or are you all slow of mind?”
There was a commotion as lesser soldiers scurried out of the way of a larger and fiercer Goblin. This was one of their veteran’s, tougher and more cunning than his brethren and his harsh voice rose up out of their ranks.
“We hear you, old man,” said the Goblin captain, “We can fight. You’ll only be dust and ashes by the time we’re finished! Dust and ashes beneath our boots!”
The Goblin army roared its approval. The captain spat on the ground and drew his scimitar and shook it. “With this, old man, I’ll carve your head from your neck and stick it atop the battlements for the crows to eat. That’s how we deal with your kind!”
The Goblin army roared even louder this time and yelled out insults at the Northmen. The soldiers remained silent and waited for Arandur’s reply.
“Here you then, O noble men of the north, defenders of Thromdar?” said the Wizard. “Here how your enemy boasts of the killing of an old man? You have naught to fear from cravens such as they!”
Arandur signaled to Barad with a small gesture and the Axeman stepped forward.
“Cowards!” The Axeman yelled in echo of Arandur’s taunt, and the Wizard imbued his voice with power so that it too carried across the seething horde.
“You’re right,” said Barad. “They are the dross of the world. Hiders in the shadows and slinkers in the night. They can’t fight like men!”
“Do you hear that, O creatures of the night?” said Arandur tauntingly. “Do you see this warrior, O crawlers in the dark? He is but one of our men. He defies you. He calls you cowards. Mark well his words for they are true!”
The Goblin army was on the verge of charging. They had been whipped into frenzy and longed to assault the castle. Kenrik sensed this was the most perilous moment and if Arandur misspoke all could yet go wrong.
“Well,” said Arandur more softly. “I see the ugly one has lost his voice. Can you speak still, O hideous one? Or has the power of this axeman stilled your voice and filled your limbs with fear?”
“I can speak, old man. I will speak to you later, when I cut off your head, and the head of this boaster that pipes with your voice. Maybe I’ll also cut off his beard and use it to fill up the gaps in the front of my boots. My toes have felt the cold lately. Maybe I like his axe too, and will take it from him soon!”
“Mayhap!” Barad said and laughed. The sound of his mirth rolled over the Goblin host as the rumble of thunder.
“Mayhap that is easy to say when you stand there in safety, and no doubt you will say to your ugly brethren when next you flee from the battlements t
hat you couldn’t find me in the throng. Or would you dare to meet me now, before these witnesses. These valiant men of the north and the scuttling curs around you. Then we shall see if your arms are strong or if only your mouth is big!”
“Come down then, axeman, and I will meet you. My feet are cold, but I feel them warming already!” The Goblins jeered at the Northmen but Kenrik let out his held breath. The moment of greatest danger had come and past. They wouldn’t charge now.
“Come forward then,” said Arandur, “and Barad shall meet you. He shall go alone, and so must you. Our word is given that no arrow shall be fired. You shall be safe. Safe from us, but not from the Axeman.”
The Goblin didn’t reply. He spat once more and shared some crude remark with his fellows before striding out toward the once green field between the army and the castle. Barad left Arandur’s side and walked down to the gate.
The moments passed in silence. Both the Goblins and the defenders were still and they all looked on with anticipation to see how this would end. The axeman was feared among the Goblins, and yet the captain who came forth was far larger than most Goblins and as tall as Barad but even wider across the shoulders. His arms were longer, unnaturally long for his body, but they rippled with muscle. He looked a ferocious warrior, no doubt a veteran of many fights with his own kind, feared and hated by them, and thus made a captain. He would be cunning also, smarter than most of his brethren, and more vicious also.
Barad walked out of the gates and they were quickly closed behind him. When Kenrik heard the hollow clang he wondered if the Axeman would ever see the inside of the castle again.
Barad seemed to study his opponent as he walked out into the field. The Goblin was waiting for him. He wore heavy iron-shod boots and a jerkin of thick leather over which was hung a chain mail shirt. His carried a mace, far heavier than anything Kenrik had seen a man wield with any skill and yet he held it in his long, gnarly arms with apparent ease. Studded leather armguards protected his forearms. Upon his head was a helm of beaten metal that didn’t appear to fit properly and was dented in many places. There was the look of cruelty that all his race bore, but there was more than that. There was intelligence and cunning as well. He would be a crafty fighter.
Barad took a firm grip of his axe and smiled as he came to a stop.
“Ha!” said the Goblin. “Your beard looks thick and full. It’ll warm my boots nicely!”
“Come and claim it then,” said Barad. “I’ve a sudden longing to see your face close up. When I lop off your head I’ll compare it to your rear and see which is better looking!”
The Goblin spat onto the ground near the Axeman’s feet and they closed without further speech. They came close to striking distance and began to circle one another, testing their nerve and studying how each moved.
The Goblin twirled the huge mace lightly in his hands. He wove circles and figure eights in the air as he stepped, sometimes feinting as though he were about to close the gap and attack.
Barad held his axe before his chest. It only swayed slightly with his movements and he thereby preserved his strength. The advantage was with the Goblin’s tactic, Kenrik knew, because the mace in motion could be transformed into an attack of both speed and momentum.
But Barad was no novice fighter. He knew the disadvantages of the Goblin’s tactic too, and just when the mace began to arc away from him he launched a swift attack. He thrust straight forward with the spike at the end of the axe between its two blades. It was an unexpected stabbing motion and the sharp point struck home, but only barely. The Goblin leaped back with extraordinary reflexes and the Axeman, wary of committing himself too far, held back.
Just as well, Kenrik realized, for the mace came back into play with stunning speed and swung sideways at the axe as it was being withdrawn. There was a bone-numbing clash as the heavy mace made contact and Barad’s weapon was nearly wrenched from his hands.
Then the Goblin was on him. The mace flashed through the air with ease as though his opponent were only wielding a light sabre. Barad parried and deflected, all the time walking backward at varying angles to deflect the brunt of the attack.
The Goblin, at last showing some sign of weariness, faltered and his heavy mace swung a little too low and Barad’s axe swept out. The blades were as sharp as a razor and more deadly. They whispered death in the air near the neck of the Goblin but he turned a little and brought his mace up to deflect the blow.
The opponents circled again. They were both breathing heavily and sweat dripped from Barad’s face and filmed his body. Kenrik saw him glance at a dark stain spreading on his thigh where he had been nicked. One of the spikes on the mace must have grazed his leg.
The Goblin, sensing Barad’s momentary distraction, attacked again. This time the Axeman wasn’t quite quick enough to deflect as he’d done before and was forced to block, power against power. The tremendous bodyweight and strength of the Goblin was behind the mace as the two weapons collided and the impact rocked him to his heels. His wrists must have nearly been broken and he had trouble holding the axe in a protective position before him as he continued to retreat.
High up on the battlements all the Northmen watched the spectacle with held breaths. Here was a fight as they had never seen before. Two opponents, both with weapons that were beyond the strength of most men to use, and yet they moved with a catlike grace and a speed that defied the eye to follow their movements.
“Can he win?” whispered Cadrafer, barely daring to voice his question aloud.
“They seem almost perfectly matched,” said Kenrik, not taking his eyes away from the life and death struggle playing out below. “But win or lose he’s given us more time, though I fear I’ve sent him to his death.”
A gasp went up from the soldiers on the battlements as Barad tripped and the Goblin’s huge mace seemed to crash a glancing blow against head and shoulder. The Axeman staggered and fell, but as he hit the ground he rolled, coming up again with astonishing speed.
It was barley in time. The Goblin captain, sensing victory, came at him now with all the ferociousness and strength he could muster. Even from the battlements Kenrik could see the stain of blood spreading over Barad’s face and seeping along the fabric of his sleeves.
The Axeman retreated. Time and time again the mace nearly took his life, but his footing slowly became surer and he regained his balance. Even so, his opponent was wearing him down. He now had very little strength left.
The Goblin army roared as their champion struck once more, this time on the Axeman’s other thigh. It was only a nick again, but the Goblins, and the men on the battlements, knew the fight couldn’t last much longer.
The Goblin captain raised his mace once more and brought it hurtling down like a thunderbolt at the Axeman. Barad leaned to the side and the blow barely missed him. Even as it passed him by his double-bladed axe sliced out and forwards, as though it weighed no more than a feather, and struck towards the Goblin’s neck.
The Goblin pulled back but in his moment of apparent victory he had become careless and committed too much with his stroke. For a split second it seemed as though he would retreat far enough and the blade struck home with full force, a sharp edge cleaving through fat, muscle and bone.
The Goblin’s head fell to the ground and the body toppled moments later. The fight was ended and Barad was the victor. A cheer went up from the battlements such as had never been heard before in Thromdar and the Goblin army groaned.
“Quick man!” yelled the Duke to Barad far below. “The gates!” But the Axeman either couldn’t hear him or couldn’t act.
Barad obviously had barely enough strength to stand. He would know the danger of staying on the field but it seemed he could do nothing about it. Should the Goblin army come for him, they would kill him before he could return to the safety of the castle.
The gates opened and three men were preparing to run out and bring him back but he raised his hand and stopped them. Kenrik understood what was happening. To
show signs of weakness in front of the Goblins was to invite them to charge.
He seemed to summon the last of his fading strength from some inner reserve and with seeming contempt turned his back on the horde and began walking toward the castle. He walked slowly, one deliberate step after another, and all the while Kenrik heard the ululations of the Goblins and felt their raged begin to grow.
On he walked, and the hearts of the defenders were in their mouths. They saw a restlessness begin among the Goblins and some took a few halting steps forward, but they were few and had not the courage to approach the castle by themselves.
The Axeman eventually came to the gates and passed beneath their shadow. They closed after him, and only then, once the Goblins could no longer see, did he collapse to the ground as his legs gave out. The three men looked at his wounded shoulder and the blood that had poured out on his armor. They exchanged grim looks with each other and picked him up to carry to the hospice.
Atop the battlements Kenrik looked down at the Goblin encampment. Time would tell whether Barad lived or died, but it was time itself that the Axeman had bought them. Was it right to have asked a man to risk his life for them? They were all risking their lives yet what Barad had done was of a higher order. He had gone out there to deliberately face an opponent, and when he was done, there was the risk of the entire Goblin army tearing him to pieces. No one could be ordered to face that. It was something they could only choose to do. One man could choose to die to save a nation, but could the nation expect it of him?
The Goblins were superstitious and their champion had been defeated, seemingly by an invincible warrior who was struck deathblows, and yet lived to walk away from the contest. The omens were not good and now they must do something to turn that situation around.