Within a matter of minutes, all was still and silent. Most of the killing had occurred in the first few moments as Seurat’s magic stunned the goblins and allowed his fellow rats and the zombie cobras to strike with impunity. The survivors of the initial attack had been overwhelmed as they milled about in confusion and terror. Not a single goblin had escaped, and none of them had been able to sound the alarm. Seurat grinned and squeaked his congratulations to the others for a job well done. Some of the zombie cobras had been killed, but they could easily be replaced, and they had already served their purpose.
He ordered one of the others to reach out to their forces outside the city to let them know they were ready to proceed to the next part of the mission. Not long after, a zombie wyvern swooped past and dropped a pair of barrels. The barrels were accompanied by another pair of ninja rats and a zombie warrior who guided them safely to the ground using a device the demolition rats had crafted to help guide their explosives toward their targets more accurately. Once they had landed, the zombie warrior lifted the barrels and carried them into the fort as Seurat and a pair of his fellow ninja rats entered the ventilation duct.
As the king had warned them, there were spinning fans to help circulate the air, along with a variety of magical and mechanical defences. However, they had been told how to disarm those defences, and Seurat used some of his wire to halt the fans as the two other rats got to work on the more intricate purification magic that kept the incoming air clean. Interesting. The purification magic was attached to something that would sound an alarm if it were disabled for too long. He smirked. They wouldn’t be disabling it for long. With the dwarves’ knowledge of the system, all they had to do was change the magic just enough to let the poison gas pass through without being purified. And with two barrels of poison, it wouldn’t take long for the goblins to feel its deadly effects.
* * *
With everything in place, Timmy gave the signal for the ninja rats to empty the barrels they’d been given into the ventilation ducts. Not far away, Spot and Chomp were engaged in a friendly scuffle. The dragon and the dog didn’t seem the least bit worried about the upcoming battle. If anything, they were bored, and playing tug of war with some dead goblin scouts was how they’d chosen to pass the time. They’d gotten a bit messy – the goblins had an annoying tendency to get ripped apart – which was why he’d asked them to move a little further away. He did not need goblin guts all over his cloak. Katie was beside him watching the bridge that led to the gates of the city closely. Rembrandt was on her shoulder, and he was relaying news from the other rats to her. Despite her calm expression, Timmy could see the tension in her body. If his plan didn’t work, they would be dealing with a lot of angry goblins.
When their army had arrived, the goblins had immediately abandoned their positions on the outside and retreated into the city. During its fall, the goblins had destroyed most of Diamondgate’s outer defences, and they lacked the skill to repair them. So instead of attempting to defend battered piles of rubble, they had fled inside, all but daring them to try their luck at breaching the massive main gates. That alone made Timmy frown. The gates were intact. He knew for a fact that the goblins lacked the skill to repair the gates, which meant they’d somehow managed to take the city without having to destroy them. Either the king was right and treachery was involved, or the goblins had recourse to magic or eldritch powers that they had yet to reveal.
Timmy wasn’t about to order his zombies to attack the gates. They were far too durable to break down in anything even remotely approaching a timely fashion, and the bridge over the chasm that led to the gates was well within range of countless small windows hewn out of the mountain face. There were undoubtedly plenty of goblins there with bows, spears, slings, and other projectile weapons, not to mention the possibility of mages and shamans. No, relying on brute force to take the gates would be an exercise in futility. Fortunately, he wouldn’t be relying on brute force.
At the midpoint of the bridge, just beyond the comfortable range of the ranged weapons usually wielded by the goblins were the king and some of his elite troops. Alongside them were a handful of Timmy’s more exotic zombies. If the dwarves needed to retreat, a zombie chimera-manticore would do an excellent job of killing anyone who tried to pursue them. It would also prevent the goblins from massing or fighting as a unit. The dwarves wanted their vengeance, and Timmy would make sure they got it. It was only a matter of time now.
“Shouldn’t they be coming out now?” Katie asked. “It’s been more than five minutes since we sent in the poison gas.”
“Relax,” Timmy said. “It’ll take a little longer for the gas to spread, but it will spread. The rats did exactly what we asked them to.”
A few minutes later, purple gas began to creep out of some of the windows. The colossal gates swung open a crack, and more purple gas billowed outward. The stiff breeze rushing past dispersed the gas so that by the time it reached the dwarves it would have been merely unpleasant instead of toxic, not that it mattered since they’d been given protective charms to wear. The gates opened a little wider, and goblins began to pour out. Most had abandoned their weapons in their haste to escape the gas, and all of them were panicking. Many were clutching at their faces, and their laboured breathing and uncoordinated movements were easy to see. He almost felt sorry for them before remembering what they did to any dwarves unfortunate enough to be caught alive. Well, they should consider themselves lucky since a spear to the gut was merciful in comparison to the horrors they meted out – and there were going to be plenty of spears driven into plenty of guts before the day was out.
Although the dwarves all carried weapons for close combat, the default dwarf formation was actually a phalanx of pikes or spears. Their lack of stature and reach was a disadvantage in combat, but their immense strength and low centre of gravity made them excellent pikemen or spearmen. They could carry heavier weapons than humans, and they could wear thicker and heavier armour without tiring. They were also maniacally determined. Dwarf formations did not break. They had to be wiped out to the last dwarf.
Timmy had once seen his master attack a dwarf outpost. The evil bastard had cut through the dwarves like a deadly whirlwind of steel, but they hadn’t broken. Instead they’d fought – and died – with grim determination. It hadn’t been in vain, and Timmy had managed to ‘accidentally’ start a landslide that had buried their corpses before his master could animate them. He’d gotten a beating for that stunt, but it had been worth it to see the look on his master’s face.
Those dwarves had been regular soldiers, but these were the elite. As the first wave of goblins recovered and gasped as they finally got to breathe fresh air, they realised their predicament. They were on the wrong side of the gates with a lot of angry dwarves. Worse, the purple gas spilling out of the windows made it clear that they were not going to get any help from their ranged units. Their first instinct was to retreat. They knew better than anyone what happened if they attacked dwarves who had time to prepare and were already in a favourable position. However, the goblins behind them had other ideas. Heedless of the danger the dwarves posed, the goblins at the back pressed forward, desperate for fresh air as the poison gas grew thicker inside the city. Those in front screamed and yelled, but it was pointless. Goblins were not exactly known for their self-sacrificing nature, and those behind had no intention of dying so that those in front could live. Little by little, step by step, the goblins at the front were pushed forward until they found themselves within reach of the dwarves.
“Let’s get to work, lads!” the king bellowed. “Kill every last one of them!”
With a roar, the dwarves at the front thrust their spears forward. The goblins shrieked and died, and the dwarves calmly yanked their spears free and repeated the motion – again and again and again. Despite the mass of panicked goblins pressing forward, the dwarves held their ground, striking over and over with almost mechanical precision.
“This isn’t really a fight,
is it?” Katie asked quietly. Panicked, disoriented, and stuck on a bridge too narrow for them to use their superior numbers, the goblins were in a hopeless position, and the dwarves were in no mood to be merciful.
“The best fights are the ones you win before you even start.” Timmy’s eyes narrowed. “But don’t relax yet. I’m sure some of the goblins have managed to retreat deeper into the city and find shelter. That’s where things could get ugly. Heroic battles are all well and good, but this isn’t a fairy tale.”
“I know,” Katie replied. “It just seems…”
“Very bloody? I suppose it is. Be glad it’s their blood being spilt and not ours.” Timmy smiled thinly. “There are people you can negotiate with, Katie, and it’s usually not a bad idea to at least try first. And then there are people like these goblins. You don’t negotiate. You start sharpening your spear because talking isn’t going to achieve anything.”
Timmy grimaced as the ranks of goblins pouring out of the gate and onto the bridge swelled. There were so many of them now that they might have simply overwhelmed the dwarves at the front of the formation if those behind hadn’t begun to thrust their spears over the shoulders of their comrades. Further back, dwarves with fire magic had begun to lob attacks into the middle of the horde, and those with wind magic were using it to push the goblins back or simply toss them over the side of the bridge. The dwarves had also begun to sing in their native tongue. It was an old war song, and they timed their slow but steady advance to the rhythm of the song as they finally started to push the goblins back toward the gate. Any goblin unlucky enough to fall down was trampled underfoot while others spilled over the side of the bridge and plunged to their deaths.
“Wall!” King Barin boomed. In response, the ranks of dwarves tightened, shield against shield, until there was a single, unyielding mass of metal at the front of the formation. Behind them, a dwarf began to beat a steady rhythm on a drum. “Push!”
The dwarves pushed, the entire formation moving in perfect unison. If the goblins had been fresh and had worked together, they might have stood a chance. But in their current disarray and with almost all of them still struggling to shake off the effects of the poison gas, they didn’t stand a chance. Step by step, the dwarves pushed them back. It got so bad that goblins began to pile up and spill over the side of the bridge into the chasm below. From what the king had told them, the chasm was at least a mile deep with a fast-flowing river at the bottom. Falling off the bridge was a death sentence. But the dwarves weren’t done yet. As the dwarves at the front began to tire, they parted ranks just enough to let those behind them take their place. No matter what happened, the dwarves had fresh, eager troops at the front. In contrast, the goblins were a disorganised mess. Those that weren’t speared, crushed, or tossed off the bridge were simply trampled under iron-shod boots.
It was a ruthless demonstration of how the dwarves preferred to fight: create a wall for the opponent to break upon and then advance once their momentum had been shattered, crushing them utterly. Steadily, the dwarves moved forward, and those at the back of the formation moved to finish off any goblins that were still alive and to throw the corpses over the side of the bridge. It was grim stuff, but the dwarves’ singing was filled with savage joy. This was revenge for centuries of loss and hardship.
“You know,” Avraniel drawled. “You said this was going to be a battle. I don’t see a battle.”
“We’ll get one once we’re inside. I doubt all of the goblins are going to be kind enough to die so easily,” Timmy replied. “Although I won’t be upset if they do. It means less work for us.”
Katie watched the dwarves heave yet more goblin corpses over the side of the bridge. “You know, master, they’re throwing a lot of goblins into the chasm. What if they block the river?”
“…” Timmy made a face. “You know, that’s a good point. We might have to send Spot down to burn the corpses later. But I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s not like all the corpses are going to fall in exactly the same spot, and the river can just flow around them.” He paused. “Although we should probably check that there aren’t any settlements downstream. That could be bad.”
Katie squirmed. “Yeah… I don’t think drinking water contaminated with goblin corpses would be a good idea.”
“Actually…” Timmy waved Spot over. The dragon hopped over in what would have been adorable fashion if not for the mangled goblin corpse in his mouth. He and Chomp must have ripped another goblin in half playing tug of war. “Spot, do you think you could fly down to the bottom of the chasm and burn the corpses? It’s probably better not to risk contamination if we can avoid it.”
Sure! The dragon was always happy to burn something. Can I burn some of the goblins on the bridge too?
Timmy scratched the dragon’s back. “Not yet, Spot. The dwarves seem to be enjoying themselves, and it wouldn’t be nice to interrupt them when they’re having so much fun.”
Once they’d almost reached the gate, the dwarves staged a retreat to give themselves more room to work with and to allow fresh dwarves to come to the front of the formation. The retreat also gave the goblins inside a chance to rush out of the gates, convinced that they could finally get some fresh air and that perhaps the dwarves had begun to tire. Poison gas was still pouring out of the gates and windows – Timmy was starting to wonder if they might have gone a tad overboard – and the dwarves waited until they were halfway across the bridge before they turned and repeated their earlier tactics. The goblins, demonstrating that their tactical acumen truly was less than stellar, promptly repeated all of their prior mistakes, with those at the front being driven headlong onto the spears of the waiting dwarves as those behind fought for fresh air.
This went on for hours as Timmy periodically ordered the rats to dump more poison gas into the vents. Reports had come in from all over the mountain of goblins trying to leave via hidden exits. However, the dwarves knew where all of the hidden exits were, and they were ready and waiting. Timmy had a feeling that a lot of animals on the mountain would be eating well for at least a week with so many goblin corpses scattered across the mountainside. Already, a few mountain wolves had arrived to scavenge a meal. The hardy wolves eyed the dwarves warily, but the dwarves were content to let the wolves eat, provided they kept their distance. Some of the goblins even tried climbing out of the windows and scaling the mountainside to safety, but the dwarves had archers and crossbowmen. The goblins were lucky to get more than a few yards before the dwarves picked them off. Spot even made a game of it, seeing if he could incinerate the falling goblins before they fell into the chasm.
As the day wore on, the gore on the bridge got so bad that Timmy had to ask Spot to burn it away since the dwarves had begun to slip in it. As the dragon’s flame seared the bridge clean, the dwarves happily resumed their work. Indeed, every single one of them was smiling. It was a bit eerie, but not unexpected. After so many years on the defensive and after losing so many of their friends and kin, they were definitely enjoying their chance to mete out some revenge. Every goblin they killed here was one less goblin to trouble them later on. They’d even begun to keep a tally of who had killed the most goblins although some of the dwarves were arguing about whether simply throwing a goblin over the side of the bridge should count as much as spearing one.
As night fell, the flood of goblins exiting the main gates began to peter out. Either they were all dead – and Timmy wasn’t nearly optimistic enough to think their plan had gone that well – or they had found places to take shelter from the gas. Overconfidence had been many a general’s undoing over the years, and Timmy had no intention of adding his name to their ranks. He’d assume the goblins had managed to survive until he could prove otherwise.
“Set a watch!” King Barin ordered as the dwarves finally retreated from the bridge. He stomped toward Timmy with a big, big grin on his face as he tugged off his helm and wiped the sweat off his brow. The dwarves were all singing loudly despite their tiredness, their rough, ro
wdy voices filled with joy. “This was a good battle, necromancer, a very good battle.”
“I wouldn’t call it a battle so much as a slaughter, Your Majesty.” Timmy handed the king a gourd of water. The king gulped it down and then called for some mead. “Which is what we intended. We’ve made a good start, but there’s more work to be done.”
“Aye. You have the right of it.” King Barin sank onto a stool. His hair was a mess, and he accepted a bucket of water before simply dumping it over his head. He shook the water off and took a long sip of the mead he’d been brought. “Still, my ancestors once dreamed of killing so many goblins in a day while taking so few casualties in return. We must have slain at least twenty thousand of them on the bridge today.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” Timmy watched Gerald out of the corner of his eye. The bureaucrat was busy dispensing drinks and healing potions. Elsewhere, Old Man was helping the healers apply poultices and bandages with the ease of someone familiar with caring for the wounded. “But they’ve stopped coming out even though we threw in more poison gas only a few minutes ago. Either they’re all dead…”
“Or they’ve finally worked out how to deal with the gas.” King Barin clasped arms with one of the passing soldiers. The other dwarf was a grizzled veteran, many years the king’s senior, and his axe and spear were both covered in blood and gore. “What is your next move?”
“I’ll send some zombies in to scout. There’s no sense in risking any of your troops. Depending on how many of the goblins survived and where they are, we could have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“A long day perhaps,” the king mused. “But a good one. It has been far too long since my people reclaimed one of our cities. I’d like to put an end to that run of misfortune.” He got up and stretched. “I’ll have my lads call it an early night, so we can be up and at them bright and early tomorrow. Let me know what you find.”
Two Necromancers, a Dwarf Kingdom, and a Sky City Page 40