The orc has already cleansed his blade and it shines in the light of the rising sun. He looks upon the bodies sadly.
Suddenly I remember what Nathaniel had said. In every battle there is someone that does not return.
“I wonder if they had family,” I think aloud. Ullrog looks at me as I speak. “If they had a wife or son waiting at home for them.”
He nods. “Or brother,” he says. There’s a moment of silence and then he speaks again. “Not evil,” he says quietly, looking back at the persons lying lifeless on the ground.
Again it takes me a moment to figure out what he means. “I wonder as well,” I say. “Were they evil at heart? Did they agree with Titus… or are they fighting against their will?”
Ullrog shakes his head and looks up at the sunrise which has turned a nasty shade of red, matching the pools beneath the bodies. The sand is stained.
Seige of Nur’tokh
We do not bury the bodies. The desert will do that for us, over time. And time is too precious now.
“There it is,” somebody finally says a few days later. “About time.”
The walls are the color of the sand and some soldiers have a hard time spotting the city against the horizon of dunes, despite the height of the sandstone structures. As we near, I observe a titanic castle built in the very center, higher than the walls with sheer sides like cliffs.
“How are we getting in?” I ask Jarl Hralfar.
“Have you looked at our armament of siege weapons?” he returns.
“Only in passing. A few catapults and ladders?”
“Ten of each,” he says. “And one battering ram. Nur’tokh is a tough nut to break open, but we can do it. The doors are strong but we can crush them. I do not expect the ladders to be entirely successful but they will help to distract their forces while we attack the gate.”
“Sounds like you already have a plan,” I observe.
“This is the oldest plan in the book,” he replies. “Hit them hard and send them running.”
We make camp about a half mile away from their gate, at the tail end of a long canyon. An enormous stone cliff juts from the sand like a dagger thrown into a table, and the army takes shelter in its shade. Similar rock formations cluster the city and the lake. “When do we strike?” I ask.
“We are tired,” Hralfar replies. “We will rest tonight and attack them with everything we’ve got when the sun rises.”
There’s not long to wait. Only a few hours later the sun sets and the army sleeps soundly, though there are many watchmen set about the perimeter.
How many will I kill tomorrow? I think. Will I make it out alive?
Everybody else seems to be thinking the same thing, but for Aela and Ullrog. Ullrog is quiet and contemplative as always. Tonight he sharpens his enormous serrated blade with a stone from his pack. The stone is shaped oddly so that it is easy to grip, and it bears a rune that I do not recognize.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
He runs it along his blade again with a loud ringing noise and stops. He studies the rune on the stone as if even he doesn’t know what it means. “Dura,” he says ominously. “Death.” The torchlight shines off of the sharp edge and he resumes whetting the blade.
“Are you afraid?” Aela asks Nathaniel.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m afraid. Are you?”
“No,” she replies.
He looks at her and furrows his brow curiously. “Why not?”
“I have nothing to fear,” she says quietly. She notices my gaze and then looks away quickly.
Percival sits next to Ullrog, watching the orc sharpen his blade. Then he picks up his own sword and examines the edge. His normally clean-shaven face has become stubbly. James points this out and Percival smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I got lazy.”
Jericho battles invisible opponents by the tent. His black hair has gotten longer and he’s beginning to look a little unkempt.
“Are you winning?” Nathaniel asks.
“Of course,” Jericho says. “Every time.”
“Remember what we agreed on,” James says. “We have each others’ backs. All of us.”
We each nod our agreement and James looks at me. “We stick together.”
I repeat him with a slight smile.
The next morning Hralfar stands at the head of the army with his fist raised. As soon as he clenches it, the catapults begin their assault and the first regiment of troops moves forward, the battering ram lumbering slowly in the middle. A couple of ladders move forward with them, pulled by oxen.
The main problem with the catapults is that they are not accurate. However, every hit brings down at least part of some structure or another.
The soldiers move with shields raised over their heads to block arrows incoming from the walls. Slowly the ram rumbles forward until it reaches the gate; then tens of men cling onto ropes attached to the back of the ram and pull with all their might. The ram rises slowly and then falls as they release the ropes, slamming into the great gates of Nur’tokh.
The ladders operate using technology similar to the ones used by our enemy at Nringnar’s Deep in Terrace. Ballistae shoot ropes to the top of the wall, and our troops pull to hoist ladders to the top. The process is a little slow, and their archers are able to take down too many soldiers before the first ladders reach the crenellations.
As soon as the first ladders touch down, Hralfar blows the warhorn. Then everybody charges forward.
Each of the other ladders is hoisted in a similar way and soldiers climb up to the top of the wall to press the fight; their archers are forced to focus on the impending threat on the wall rather than the one steadily breaking down the gate.
The catapults continue to fire, but in controlled areas so we don’t hit our own ladders by accident. One shot smashes straight through a tower and the whole structure crumbles to the earth far below. Rubble lines the walls and some shots take off crenellations or men with them.
Ullrog looks up at the crenellations anxiously and grips the hilt of his sheathed sword. His armor gleams in the hot sun and he licks his fangs hungrily.
We start up one of the ladders as a group. Ullrog charges up first, bounding up the rungs like an animal. I follow him, and the others follow me.
The archers are preoccupied with the soldiers already present on the wall, and so there are few arrows fired at us. The few missiles that actually get to the ladder are not accurate, shot off without much time for aiming.
I hear a thud and glance back to see Percival staring wide-eyed at an arrow embedded in his shield.
The walls seem much higher from the top. I hazard a guess that they must be thirty or forty feet.
A soldier at the top begins to hack at the ropes and an archer takes aim at Ullrog. I can hear the orc panting like a wolf as he leaps up the ladder.
The archer fires and Ullrog hurdles to the side, grabbing the side and rolling underneath. He continues up the ladder by climbing on the bottom, and then throws himself to the upright side of the ladder as he reaches the top. As he clears the crenellation he unsheathes his sword and slashes across two soldiers and stabs another. I reach the top as he cuts down an archer.
My hammer flies from its leather holster on my back and I whip it around to slam an enemy over the edge of the wall. I drive the spike into another and throw him into an archer just drawing his bow to fire at Ullrog. Though the archer was cut down, Ullrog rolls as if to dodge the un-shot arrow and slices another enemy.
Percival arrives with Jericho and each of them immediately engages a Tygnar soldier. Aela arrives just after James, and Nathaniel brings up the rear. His hammer sits on his back and he pulls his strung bow from his shoulder. He nocks an arrow from the quiver on his belt and fires into a soldier.
There’s a boom as the battering ram hits the gates.
Soldiers of our regiment follow behind us and the wall quickly becomes full of our troops. A catapult shot hits the wall below and to the right of our position, shaking
the entire structure. Bits of sandstone explode into the city in great chunks, causing even more destruction.
“Should we see if we can open the gate?” asks Nathaniel.
“There is no need,” I reply. The ram booms against the gate once again. “But what we can do is distract their attackers.”
They follow me across the wall towards the crenellations above the gate. Any enemy soldiers brave enough to stand up to us are cut down, some of them thrown from the wall.
Most of them are archers. They look over the edge of the wall shooting arrows at the men hefting the battering ram. Most times, once they realize we are there, it is much too late.
Several of them are not able to even draw their sword.
A cry is shouted among them and suddenly their bows are pointed at us. A throwing knife leaves my hand and one drops dead. Before I can hit another, three already lie dead on the ground, each with an oddly-shaped axe sticking out of his head or chest.
Ullrog springs forward, draws two of the axes from the bodies, and throws them again. Two more men drop to the stone floor of the wall. Another falls when an arrow sprouts from his chest, tribute of my brother Nathaniel. Three of them drop their bows and try to run when they see Ullrog. It only gains them a few seconds.
Then they begin loosing arrows.
Percival’s shield serves him well. With every thud, an arrow embeds itself into the woodwork. James takes cover behind him for the first volley, and then charges out with his sword swinging.
I duck and use one of the bodies as cover. The sound of arrows penetrating flesh is sickening, but I am glad the flesh is not my own.
Impossibly, Ullrog’s armor seems to be deflecting arrows. Some of them miss, but one ricochets off his shoulder and zings into the sky.
Blood drips off of the crenellations. Pools are forming beneath the bodies. My hammer is turning crimson and my armor is splattered.
I slam one of them in the back and snag another to throw him off the side; as he tumbles, he accidentally catches one of his comrades and both go over the side.
Percival blocks a blow with his shield, and then bashes as his enemy’s sword comes down. The soldier falls back in surprise, and then Percival knocks him across the face with the steel binding on his shield. The soldier falls unconscious. In the same movement, Percival spins and slashes across the chest of another, and then stabs the gut of yet another.
Ullrog holds his bestial blade with one hand and one of his throwing axes in the other. He spins like a tornado, using both weapons as tools of destruction. Soldiers fall on every side of him. As he finishes the spin, almost like an incredible barbaric dance, he throws the axe into a soldier’s chest.
He stabs his blade clear through one of them, and then throws him off into another with a slash. Then he turns and simply kicks another off the edge into the city.
A boulder smashes the wall dangerously close to us, releasing a sharp spray of sandstone bits.
“We’ve almost got them,” I mutter. A tremendous crash further emphasizes my statement.
Our warhorn blows again, followed by a roar from our army. From our position we cannot see the gate, but we know that we have now entered the city.
Tygnar blows its warhorn and many of the soldiers turn and run. “Follow them,” I command. “We go deeper into the city.”
We charge into the nearest tower, kill the guards that remain, and run down the spiral staircase where we exit a wooden door and find ourselves on the street.
“Push them back to the castle!” I command, slamming a soldier in the chest.
“Dragonhammer!” one of them cries. Nathaniel’s arrow puts him on the ground.
“No trolls so far,” I note quietly. “That’s a good sign.”
We stick to the wall and try to make our way to the gate to reunite with our main force. I take down a soldier with a solid slam in the shoulder, spin to avoid a slash from a hostile sword, and in the same motion, pull a knife from my belt and throw it. Nathaniel’s attacker falls lifeless with the blade sticking out of his back. I take out my own attacker with a quick blow to the head.
Aela moves swiftly. She dodges every blow and hits so quickly that her opponents take a moment to realize they’re dead. Her swords fly in a flurry of blows no soldier can withstand.
Nathaniel draws his hammer as we get into streets that force close quarters combat. He blocks a blow with the shaft and rams the head into the gut of his attacker, and then drops him with a final blow.
Ullrog’s jagged blade tears through even the toughest of armors. Nobody stands against him for more than a few seconds before their flesh and armor rips beneath his beastly weapon. More than one man simply freezes at the sight of him, and is hardly able to do more than yell before the orc cuts him down.
A crash echoes throughout the city as a watchtower crumbles under the force of a catapulted boulder, only a few streets away.
We turn a corner and the main gate comes into sight, with our soldiers flooding into the failing city. I hear the clang of steel on steel, the yells of men victorious and defeated alike. Always.
As one, they run for the castle of Nur’tokh.
Blood runs in the gutters of the streets. Men lie tossed to the side over and around each other, unmoving. I’d rather not dwell on the details surrounding their bodies.
The city is well-organized. Smaller buildings lie on the outside of the city, and as we approach the castle, the buildings get larger. The main road leads us all the way from the gate of the city to the portcullis of the castle, but there is still a fight to be had before we reach it.
Archers have been positioned atop the houses along the main road, and they take many of our soldiers by surprise. Even after we are aware of their presence, many more fall underneath their arrows.
One trains his bow and arrow on me. Acting rapidly, I tackle Nathaniel into the nearest side alley.
“What the dingflies?” he spits as we get up.
The others had followed my lead and now stand with me in the alley, safe from enemy arrows. Ullrog does not wait for us, however. He sheathes his sword and picks up a barrel in each arm, nods at me, and turns back towards the street.
The orc spins once, and releases a barrel. It soars through the air, and before the archer can realize what is happening, it has hit him square in the chest. The second flies likewise, but hits two archers that had decided to share the same housetop.
Nathaniel draws his bow and leaps onto a crate, and pulls himself to the roof of a building. Shortly, the archer that had occupied the roof is thrown off to the alley below. An arrow zings from Nathaniel’s bow and an archer falls dead on the other side of the road.
I follow Ullrog back out onto the street, and the others follow suit. Nathaniel sits on his housetop, picking off their archers.
Ullrog parries a blow and kills his next opponent. He passes a side-alley and four of them leap at him from the shadows.
He spins away from one blow, using the momentum to rip his sword across the soldier’s chest. The spin continues and he pulls the same maneuver on another, twirls the sword from the hands of the third, and finally impales the fourth. The third makes to run, but Ullrog clouts him over the head and he falls. With a growl the orc takes his sword from the body of his fallen opponent and strides forward.
A soldier tries to run past me towards Percival, but my hammer clotheslines him and he hits the ground hard. He doesn’t get up. Another charging at me is stopped dead when I ram him in the chest with my hammer, the spike penetrating his breastplate. He gasps and rolls to the side to lie still.
Jericho absorbs a few blows on his shield and then hacks his war axe into the neck of his attacker. He turns to block another strike, but as he lashes out with his axe, his foe knocks it to the side and Jericho steps back in surprise.
My warhammer swings in and bashes across the soldier’s helm, and he falls.
“I thought I was gone there,” says Jericho, taking my outstretched hand.
“I
got your back,” I reply as I pull him up.
The archers, or what’s left of them, focus on Nathaniel. He drops and lies flat. While they are looking for him, I throw one of my knives and Ullrog throws one of his axes. Both hit their mark.
Percival blocks a blow with his shield, and then lunges into the gut of his enemy. He turns to face the next only to have the soldier fall to the side. Nathaniel stands in his place, hefting his warhammer.
Then a roar.
I turn to face the troll that has risen between us and the gate of the castle. Tygnar soldiers run inside the open gates, but the troll bats aside our soldiers like flies.
About time, I think.
One of the soldiers charges me as I run forward towards the troll. He tries to block my strike, but he did not anticipate the power I would bring; his weapon flies out of the way, and with another blow he is dead on the ground.
I look back to the troll, only to find someone else has beaten me to him.
“Little orc,” the troll growls, resting its enormous barbaric mace on the ground. “I smash you. This be fun.”
“Yehr shorokhni bür shakhor!” Ullrog thunders.
The troll swings widely and Ullrog ducks. The orc’s sword swings up at the troll’s chest, but is met halfway by the beast’s mace. The weapons clang apart and Ullrog rolls to the side as the mace smashes into the ground, bits of rock flying into the air. His blade swings once again towards the beast, but the troll reacts just in time to fling his mace at the impending sword.
Ullrog takes advantage of the time it takes for the troll to recover. The orc darts in close and slashes at the knee of the beast and the troll roars, flinging his mace towards his attacker. Ullrog rolls back and charges again, this time aiming his strike at the unarmored upper thigh. With another bellow the troll drops to its knees, and then with one powerful swipe, Ullrog cleaves the neck in two.
The troll’s head gurgles as it falls from the flailing body and thumps to the ground at Ullrog’s feet. Black blood erupts from the neck and the body slowly keels over, crashing to the ground in a pool of gore.
Dragonhammer: Volume II Page 9