Veegal's Wall

by Adam McCullough

  Chapter 7

  “So much for victory,” Hadrenn said in disgust as he Dredrik and Wikkid surveyed the damage from atop the inn. The village burned. Luckily the villagers had thought to build a firebreak between the structures of the village and the inner wall. Early estimates were only a few homes, stables, and the blacksmith shop had survived. Among the most important structures lost were both Grain silos and the smoke house. They may have won the battle but the village was lost without those resources to get them through the winter.

  “Few victories truly are,” Wikkid countered, “where force of arms is concerned. There is always a price.”

  “Eertu is beside himself with grief and is refusing to speak or be consoled. He locked himself in his room. Eitreen has him patched up as best she can and believes he’ll be alright, but I’m not sure he will recover in spirit. Back home if a warrior lost a limb in combat it is seen as a badge of honor, a story to tell all the pretty lasses around the camp fires and in the beer halls.”

  Dredrik shook his head. “It is not the same for a magician. It is akin to you or I having our eyes plucked from his skull. We lose an arm we have another. We may be less effective at things but we still function. Eertu cannot cast and magic is at the heart of what he is. His spirit is crushed. Feels he no longer has anything to offer. But he is wrong.”

  “Aye,” Wikkid agreed. “But can he be convinced of that?”

  “I will see what I can do after the worst of the wounded have been attended and I’m satisfied we have enough on their feet to stand a proper watch.”

  “What is the tally now?” Hadrenn asked.

  “Last count Vessa relayed was nearly thirty dead and twice that many wounded. It is believed that nearly a third the wounded will not survive the night.”

  “What will the people do now?”

  “The remaining elders have already ordered all to make ready to leave for Veegal’s wall. Some of us will have to go with them as escorts. Obviously the attack was aimed at us, more specifically at Eertu. Vessa had a chat with her former associate before removing her head. Seems this is not their old contract but a new hit put out so chances are the caravan will be assaulted in an attempt to get at us. There may be wondering raiding parties around as well taking advantage of the chaos. It will be a long slow dangerous march. I considered sending them through Denthar, the home Baron Eilik, see how many they could take in but I see no real refuge this side of the Wall against things to come.”

  “Could not help but notice you said some of us,” Wikkid said.

  “Assuming I can get Eertu motivated we have to send a party to the Black Roses stronghold. Without the information Eertu believes he has tracked down all may be lost anyway. I was thinking me, Vessa, and Eertu. If Eertu truly is the target they may have a way to track him. With any luck the three of us will lure Mareth and whatever support he still has away from these people.”

  “You’re thinking wrong,” Wikkid said. “Your place is with these people heading straight for Veegal’s Wall. You’re a leader, and that’s what these people need. Besides most of the royal army commanders see you as one of their own. Whoever is currently in charge of the Wall‘s defenses will listen to you with the backing of field commanders we‘ve served with. Also relations between dwarves and men are far from healed. There is a good chance I would be completely ignored.” Dredrik started to protest but Wikkid cut him off. “Consider this another lesson I have yet to teach you.”

  “Which is?”

  “The delegation of duty, you still believe it’s up to you to personally solve the problems of the world. That was all well and good when our problems were on a much smaller scale. You gotta let the rest of us do our share and trust that it will be done.”

  “Very well then, Hadrenn you will go with Eertu and Vessa.” Dredrik smiled at Wikkid. “And I have already considered that they need a leader. The Galnathians look up to you as their general now.”

  “Fair enough, now attend to Eertu, Hadrenn and I will see to getting the watch sorted.”

  . . . . .

  Dredrik found Eertu where Hadrenn said he would be. One candle flickering on a small end table cast the room in a somber glow not too unlike the light cast by the burning structures beyond the inner wall. Eertu sat immobile on the room’s only chair in the darkest corner. The warlock was a sickly pale color looking more dead than alive. A blood soaked rag covered the stump of Eertu’s right arm. A bowl of soup sat on the floor nearby untouched. A pang of guilt ripped at Dredrik about what had to be done. Eertu deserved time to recover but they simply did not have it.

  “You best eat that. Food is about to become scarce and you need your strength.”

  “You eat it then. It’s your strength that will be needed now. I am nothing anymore.” Eertu continued to cast his stare downwards.

  Dredrik sat on the bed. Weariness began flooding over him as the soft mattress gave way under his weight. “When you came to us, you told me you have always been judged by what you are not who you are. Ran off by those afraid of what you could do not ever bothering to learn your character. Now is your chance to prove to the world who you really are.” Eertu’s eyes met Dredrik’s. “It is easy to be brave and bold marching straight into hell when you’re powerful and sure of yourself. It takes real courage to do what has to be done when you’re weak and scared with your entire world collapsing around you.”

  “And what is it you would have me do. Spew harsh language at our enemies? Perhaps threaten them with a good bashing from my nub?”

  “I was thinking along different lines. Force of arms alone cannot win this. We need, I need you to take Hadrenn and Vessa, go to the Black Rose stronghold and obtain that information. Without it there is nothing to stop them from turning us all against ourselves allowing them to march unimpeded across the western half of the kingdom. I know we do not plan on hanging around, but what happens when Calington falls. Think we’ll be safe and secure on our island?”

  “I suppose not,” Eertu conceded.

  “Your mind is your biggest asset, Eertu. You know and understand things the rest of us could never fathom. You sense things that go unnoticed by us mere mortals. All I know is war craft, that is the limit of my abilities, and that simply is not enough this time.”

  “It is not all you know, Dredrik.” Eertu slowly reached with his good arm and retrieved the now cold bowl of soup. “You know people. You learn who they are and what they need which allows you to choose your friends and comrades well. All of which makes you a better leader. Those are your greatest assets. I will go, leave me so that I may eat and rest. Tell Vessa and Hadrenn I’ll be ready to leave early in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Eertu. I cannot pretend to know how much it is that you have lost, but you have already proven your character to me. I’ll see to it that your horses are ready and provisions packed by the time you wake.” With that Dredrik left to get things in motion.”

  . . . . .

  Eertu was true to his word. Before the sun had even begun its ascent the warlock was up inspecting the horses and provisions Dredrik had secured. Though unable to cast, Eertu was not completely powerless. The same magic that allowed him to hurl death from a distance had many other benefits, one of them being recuperation of body. It would not re-grow his hand but the shock was gone and he was no longer weak of blood loss. Dredrik had been outside waiting on him, obviously having not slept, and Eertu guessed looked far worse off than he did.”

  “The rest of us will stay in Galnath one more night,” Dredrik had been telling the party as they mounted up and made ready to leave. “Give the people today to gather their things and bury the dead. You three try not to do anything terribly stupid. I want to see all of you at Veegal’s Wall.”

  “I promise to behave dad,” Hadrenn mocked.

  “Right,” Vessa said, “I’ll keep him in line.”

  “Take care, and travel swift. It will take us nearly two weeks to reach the Veegal’s Wall. There are very few horses
, mules, and oxen to go around so the caravan will be moving at a crawl. Keep in mind Mareth is still out there and who knows what kind of support he held back.”

  “Mareth?” Eertu asked.

  “Yes, that was the name of the man who severed your arm. Know him?

  “In legend, but it cannot be.”

  “If you know something now would be the time to let me know. I spent most the battle last night having my arse handed to me by that man. I hit him full strength in the belly with a mace and he did not even grunt. In fact the only time he showed pain at all was when I stabbed him with my broken sword and he shrugged that off.”

  “Mareth means death in ancient tongues from distance lands. There is a legend I studied as a child of a warrior who bore the name of death itself appearing in one battlefield after another living only for war. It is said he has never been defeated in single combat. Always looking for someone he can fool into thinking they were his master for the soul purpose of manipulating things behind the scenes to lead civilizations to more and more bloodshed.”

  “You have a way of finding the most interesting enemies,” Hadrenn said.

  Dredrik considered what Eertu had said for a moment. “More than likely it is just somebody with as much knowledge of the subject as Eertu. Probably thought he could play on legend to advance his own goals. But just in case do these legends speak of a way to defeat Mareth.”

  Eertu shook his head and smiled. “As I said, legend says he has never been defeated. If it was him last night then his defeat at your hands is going to leave him in a piss poor mood. I am sure if it comes to it you will think of something.”

  “And on that vote of confidence I leave you to it.”

  With a nod Eertu spurred his mount forward leading his party onward.

  Eitreen slipped in beside Dredrik and threaded her arm around his as Dredrik watched his friends ride away. “They’ll be fine,” she said in her most soothing voice.

  “I know, but I’ve grown accustomed to the four of us facing down death together. It is hard not to ride after them. I just hope Vessa can get them in without a fight as she said.”

  “No reason to dwell on it now. Rest assured Vessa knows what she can and cannot do. If she says she can get them in she can. If it helps I for one am glad you are traveling with us.”

  Dredrik smiled and rested his head against Eitreen’s. “It does.” He could have easily drifted off to sleep where he stood, but his mind overrode his body. There were simply too much to do before nightfall. “What’s next on the list?”

  “Get you cleaned up, then we will treat your burns one last time before we leave.”

  “I’m fine,” Dredrik protested. “You’ve already done wonders for my burns. As for last night my pride is far more bruised than I am.”

  “Wikkid said you would say that.”

  “Did he?”

  “He also told me not to take no for an answer.”

  “Fine,” Dredrik surrendered, “after you.”

  . . . . .

  Mareth was furious. He would have liked nothing more than to grab the nearest person and take out his frustrations but that would accomplish nothing. Besides he would not let one man make him loose his composure. It was bad enough he had to retreat, but the sorcerers personal telepath wasted no time in reporting to Merca the second they had been forced to retreat. Mareth was not done yet though. He still had a dozen men under his control not including the remaining assassin, Jillian. A single scout who had remained hidden outside Galnath helped in no small part by a cloaking charm had just reported back. Three riders had left the town. The warlock was leading them. Tonight under the cover of darkness they would use their last blood tracker to pick up the trail and exact some measure of revenge for his humiliating defeat. Not that the blood tracker was needed, the snow was still deep enough to leave a nice trail.

  Until then there were other things to consider. He continued to change since battle started the night before. Where the warrior had stabbed him there was wound. Not even a bruise yet there was blood on the shirt worn under his armor. He had been struck by a mace that should have left him keeled over in pain and he never felt it. Then there was his strength, his energy level. Something was affecting him in very positive ways.

  But there were also the memories. They came unbidden into his mind as clear as day. Just flashes, images from a past he had no memory of but knew in his soul he had been witness to. He pushed those thoughts aside. He had a job to do.”