“If we do survive the coming days, let it be known that Hedmark is open to trading and other arrangements with your kingdoms, with separate posts, of course. Let us avoid unfortunate misunderstandings arising from custom and different outlooks,” continued the jarl diplomatically.
Hey, this guy might be young, but he knows his politics! With trade from both dwarven races, Hedmark will be rich and powerful indeed. And I doubt if business would be the only relationship the jarl would have with them. The High King won’t be happy, observed Tyler.
“We are most fortunate that we have a High Mage with us. It is with great respect that I turn over the conduct of meeting to him,” finally added the jarl.
Huh? What happened?
Tyndur leaned over and whispered.
“It’s expected, sire. You’re the highest-ranking person here. Custom demands you handle the proceedings. But there’s a slight complication we have to resolve,” advised the einherjar in the lowest voice he could manage.
“And that is?”
“Which dwarven group gets to talk first. They’re very touchy about those matters. Matter of pride, you see.”
Duck shit.
Heimdall spake:
47. "Drunk art thou, Loki, | and mad are thy deeds,
Why, Loki, leavst thou this not?
For drink beyond measure | will lead all men
No thought of their tongues to take."
Loki spake:
48. "Be silent, Heimdall! | in days long since
Was an evil fate for thee fixed;
With back held stiff | must thou ever stand,
As warder of heaven to watch."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bony Regards
“I am so screwed,” Tyler told Tyndur.
“Like a goat caught between a hungry wyrm and a mad ogre,” replied the einherjar. “But there’s a solution. Though you might not like it. Leads to more bad blood.”
The mage was about to ask when the sound of furious knocking startled them all. The old adviser quickly went to the door and opened it. A panting warrior stood there, arm braced against the entrance. It was apparent the man ran all the way.
Sprinted from the gate, guessed Tyler.
“Begging your pardon, my jarl, but something’s happening at the North Gate. A scout has just come in with word that his fellows are guiding two large groups of dwarves into Hedmark. But they’re being pursued by a horde of undead. Unfortunately, they couldn’t move fast, the dwarves don’t want to leave their heavy weapons behind,” reported the man.
The jarl looked at the two dwarven leaders, caught by surprise by the development. Worry was etched on their faces.
“Those are the reinforcements we were supposed to send to the fortress. I intended to announce it during this meeting, but it seems circumstances have caught up with us,” said Dvalin. “That’s 2,000 dwarven warriors with some siege experts.”
“2,000? We brought 4,000 of our warriors and three ballistae, the Imperii kind!” bragged Otr.
“Ah, but we brought ten of those heavy weapons!” replied the other smugly.
Oh my God. Their men are fighting for their lives, and it’s still a pissing contest in here, thought the mage. And there’s no way the passage of such large contingents would pass unnoticed.
“How many are pursuing them?” asked the jarl.
“It’s hard to tell, sire. The darkness makes it difficult. That’s one reason our scouts remained with them. They had to be guided through our defenses,” said the warrior.
The jarl looked at Tyler.
“Suggestions?”
“Mages to the battlements. They can provide illumination over the attackers when and if they come within range of the walls. We should know what we’re facing. But I believe a sortie is needed,” replied the mage.
“I feared you would suggest that one. It’s tough fighting in the dark unless they’re in the vicinity of the defenses. Torches have already been prepared in our killing areas. But let’s go to the gate first and assess the situation firsthand,” answered the jarl who then asked the messenger.
“Alarms?”
“Already raised, jarl. Our men are already rushing to their positions,” answered the messenger.
The group went out of the room into the open courtyard to be greeted by loud ringing from iron clappers. He guessed the place was magically warded to prevent noise from coming in and conversations from being heard. He doubted if the technology of perfect soundproofing had been developed in Adar.
Warriors from the shadows stepped forward as the jarl strode through his keep – his hird, or personal retainers. A column was quickly created with the hird leading everybody. Tall and well-armed warriors surrounded the ruler. Following the jarl were Tyler and his companions. The dwarves then brought up the end of the queue, though in two separate files, each led by their own chieftains.
Around them, Tyler could see warriors bringing their gear and running toward the walls, though some had already put on their armor and helms. He glanced at Tyndur and motioned for the man to join him.
“What was the solution you mentioned?” the mage whispered.
“Normally, each group chooses a champion, and they fight for the privilege of being the first to present whatever they wanted to say,” replied the einherjar in a low voice.
“To the death?” said the startled mage.
“Near death. Each champion fights with a maul made of hardwood. The weapons won’t kill outright, but there’s a lot of broken bones by the time the duel is over. Of course, feuds lasting centuries begin that way.”
“Can’t they just toss a coin?” said Tyler, still not believing what he heard.
“For dwarves, important occasions require gold. And it would take Ragnarok before you could get a dwarf to volunteer a gold piece for that toss.”
***
When the column reached the North Gate, the jarl, Tyler’s party, the two dwarven leaders, and members of the hird went up the tall gate bastion. On either side were similar though lower battlements. The mage saw that mangonels were mounted on top of each of the three massive stone columns.
As he walked up the stairs, the small windows also afforded him a view of the forward walls. It appeared he was mistaken as to the number of catapults. What he saw when he arrived were the ones being assembled on the ground below. Now the mage could see recessed areas along the wall, which also had mangonels.
Ingenious, he noted. Preventing attackers from seeing the heavy weapons as they assault the walls.
When they reached the open platform on top of the tower, they couldn’t see anything beyond whatever the faint moonlight graced with its beams. Even then, the illumination seemed curiously dimmed. Tyler’s enhanced eyesight was of no help beyond what he could see as the first line of defenses. But from time to time, the group could witness flashes in the far distance. The mage estimated it at five to six miles away.
Tyler released a spell to examine what the darkness kept hidden. He immediately got the impression of a chaotic battle scene – a large ring of warriors was at the periphery of the fighting, surrounded by a sea of enemies. Numerous isolated groups were moving towards the fortress, some being pursued. But he couldn’t say if the entire battlescape was that of an organized withdrawal or a panic-stricken mob being routed.
“Is the scout here with us?” asked Tyler of the jarl. The torches on the parapets were understandably unlit, leaving the area dark. Otherwise, it would provide an enemy with perfect silhouettes.
“No, he’s downstairs.”
“Could I talk to him? I want to ask him a few questions,” said the mage and the jarl immediately gave instructions to one of his guards.
Tyler turned to the two dwarves.
“You sent reinforcements to Hedmark even without knowing what the jarl would say?” he asked the two with a smile, hoping they’d see it.
“You’re smiling, High Mage. That’s an encouraging accompaniment to your question,” said Otr.
“I forgot you could see better than humans in the dark,” replied Tyler. It was an honest answer. He did forget about the depths of mountains and deep tunnels being devoid of natural sunlight.
“With all due respects to the jarl, we could have just given instructions to our forces to go back if the ruler of Hedmark refused. It’s like trading, High Mage. A wise trader knows when his offer couldn’t be refused,” said Dvalin.
“Indeed,” laughed the jarl.
A man came up the steps, accompanied by the guard.
“Ivar the scout, my lord,” introduced the guard.
“I apologize for any inconvenience, Ivar. But were you among those who saw the undead host, the one near Hedmark?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Two questions first; one, how many, and two, any sign of heavy siege equipment?” inquired the mage.
“As to numbers, it is impossible to say, my lord. The army filled the entire area and we couldn’t see both ends of it, and that’s from a distance. On the siege machinery, we didn’t see any.”
“Ladders?”
“None, my lord. But it was strange watching the dead arrayed as though they were a living army. There were plenty of other creatures – bony drakes, skeleton ogres, desiccated dokkalfr, even dead dwarves. If I didn’t know they were undead, I would have sworn they were an organized force. Even the flying creatures were included in an arranged manner.”
“I assume they had scouts too?” remarked Tyler.
“Yes, my lord. That’s the reason we couldn’t get any closer. Probably also why the movements of the dwarven hosts were discovered.”
“That's all, Ivar. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure to serve, High Mage.”
Huh? Word sure gets around fast.
“Now that’s a lot of undead,” noted Tyndur.
“I guess we better be prepared with the sortie. I’ll assume that those flashes in the distance are our men,” said the jarl. One of the guards again went downstairs.
“The rescue force will consist of ten pentekostyes, divided into two groups. Unfortunately, the fortress only has three baturs’ worth of cavalry. We didn’t expect any use for them and sending them out at night is ill-advised,” said the jarl.
Pentekostyes? Right. Jorund explained that to me on the road outside Maljen. Each pentekostyes will have four batur of warriors, roughly 160 men. That’s over ten percent of the trained warriors of the fortress. The jarl is risking much in this foray.
“With your permission, jarl, our men would like to join the sortie. At least ten dwarven warriors to each pentekostyes. We have better eyesight in the dark, and their presence will reassure those being rescued,” said Dvalin. The two chieftains had apparently discussed the matter, with no bickering, when the venture was announced.
“Good idea,” said the jarl. “Please arrange matters with Skarde. One of the guards will accompany you to him.”
Tyler felt somebody tugging at his sleeve. It was Tyndur.
“It’s unfair. They get to have all the fun?” complained the einherjar.
“Let’s put it to a vote,” blurted Tyler. “Those in favor of joining the foray, raise your hands.”
Tyndur raised both hands, with one also raising Habrok’s arm.
“I was joking, Tyndur. Of course, we’ll help in rescuing the dwarves and the scouts. They represent more than half the force we have right now. But let’s see what the arrangements are,” laughed the mage.
“I am glad to hear that, High Mage. I doubt if my men and advisers would allow me to join. Looks like an exciting battle. At times, I wish it were like the old days, being in the middle of the fighting. But enough of matters past, let’s see what Skarde has prepared for us.” The jarl motioned with his hand for the party to follow him down the stairs.
Below the tower, companies were already in ordered ranks, each with a group of dwarves at the lead. The two dwarven leaders left the jarl's entourage and joined separate companies. A large bearded man in full-scale armor, with a bearskin cloak complete with a gaping head, approached them.
“My jarl,” the man bowed.
“My chief lieutenant, Skarde. We’ve been together since we both decided to play with the jotnar a long time ago,” presented the jarl.
Brief introductions were made, though Tyler noticed the man’s eyes widened at the High Mage description. The warrior’s eyes then swept over their armor and weapons. The man was struck speechless by what he saw.
The man knows weapons and armor. Few warriors ever notice what we’re wearing, much less our weapons, thought the mage.
“My lord High Mage, I have to say that this is indeed a night to remember. I knew a High Mage had joined us. But this! Wyrm and draken scales, wrought by the finest smiths. And I believe your weapons are also of the same legendary kind!” said the warrior in wonder.
“Hush, Skarde,” reproached the jarl. “Not too loud lest envious hands attempt unscrupulous acts damning them forever. Gifts from powerful beings, I am told. Easily upset ones. Are the men ready?”
“Yes, my jarl.”
“Good, Kobu here will lead the sortie with you as his second-in-command,” said the jarl.
“I understand. We’ve met, though this is the first time I’ve been with Habrok and Tyndur. I was already told that he would also lead the defense of the fort.”
“No problems about that, Skarde?” asked Kobu.
“None, sire. I have seen what you have asked to have prepared. You have a lot more experience in siege warfare than I would ever hope to have,” replied Skarde.
“Knowledge paid for in blood, Skarde. I can’t even remember how many forts I have defended or taken. Unfortunately, after a while, it becomes but a part of a warrior’s life.”
A commander's life is what he meant. But that many sieges? Not including battles and skirmishes? He is a warlord. And the land of Wa is not a place to visit. Constant war must be their daily diet.
“How are we going to do this?” asked Skarde.
“The flashes of light in the distance must be them, though we don’t have an idea if it’s an organized retreat of the entire force or just separate groups trying to make their way to the fortress. Either way, the quicker we make contact with them, the better,” replied Kobu.
It took me a magical spell to see what Kobu had concluded from what he could observe. In the dark.
As the companions went to join the queue preparing to leave the town, Tyler saw Kobu hand Tyndur a thin extended object. The einherjar unwrapped it, examined the item for a few minutes, and gave it to Habrok.
Despite the light of the torches, Tyler couldn't see what the thing was. He was momentarily distracted when Aage called out to him about the mages who were going to accompany the force. Turning his attention back to the companions, he asked Tyndur what he had given to Habrok.
“The mace I promised him. I asked Kobu to look around. He’s got a better eye for weapons and gear. Now Habrok’s got the proper weapon to crush undead heads, not that pig sticker of a sword. The undead will just slide forward when you stab with it and then bite one’s nose off. A lot of girls would be unhappy if ever that happened. At least that’s what he told me.”
***
The force that left the fort arrayed themselves into the configuration Kobu wanted after getting past the deadly traps guarding the approach to the town. The ten companies were arranged in a wedge formation, five on each side. Shields were held facing the vulnerable frontage of each flank.
Skarde took charge of the left flank, while Tyndur was assigned to the right. At the tip of the wedge, where the warriors from both flanks meet, was a force of heavily armored dwarves with warhammers and mauls, led by their two chieftains – a last minute change made by Kobu when he saw the battle gear of the dwarves. The ornate armor and equipment the party saw at the throne room were just part of their ceremonial dress. Apparently, armor was deemed daily attire by both dwarven races, except when at home.
Behind the batter
ing ram of dwarven steel were Tyler, Kobu, and Habrok, together with four journeyman mages. The mages, already awed and overwhelmed by being in the presence of a High Mage, were strictly instructed by Tyler not to use flame spells. Instead, given their limited magical repertoire, they were to focus on illuminating the battlefield once the fighting started, with the spells of light to be cast in front of the wedge or where fighting was going on.
Two had some knowledge of barrier spells, so were assigned to support a flank each. Shields were to be used as walls to support sections which appear to be sorely pressed. One mage knew healing spells, so Tyler told him not get close to the fighting. There would be wounded, and there was no way he could attend to all the injured, both from the sortie force and the warriors they intended to rescue. From experience, he knew healers in a battle were worth their weight in gold. Potions can’t compare to a healing spell in terms of immediate effect.
As they marched forward at a fast pace, Tyler could see the flashes were nearer, though couldn’t account for their occurrence. He suspected magical weapons, but then again, the retreating dwarves might be using tunneling spells as explosive charges. But curiously the flashes were not accompanied by the sound of loud explosions, a characteristic of Tyler’s flame and lighting spells. As he peered into the far darkness, the mage thought he saw a two-toned blackness, one of the night, the other moving like an undulating wave.
“Kobu, I think I see the outline of the pursuing enemy. If that’s but a small part, then I shudder to think about how truly massive the main host is,” whispered Tyler.
“Thank you, sire. How far do you think they are?”
“About two miles, Kobu. They seem to wear the darkness like a cloak. But we’ll be running into the lead elements of the retreating force any moment now,” advised Tyler.
“I believe so, sire. Normally, it is at this time a formation change is warranted, one which I call the scythe, but it is dark and we don’t have the men to cover our flanks. I respectfully ask for a constant update on the events in front of us.”
The Accidental Archmage - Book Five: Loki's Gambit Page 25