Soren took a last look at the Throne Room of Samir Durg.
The dried husk that had been the body of the dreaded Erkindrix lay, ignored, by his throne.
They had killed the Lord of Ishari. He was reunited with Belwynn. And they might just escape with their lives. It was almost too much to comprehend.
And then Soren’s vision left him, his mind gave out, and his body began to move.
26
Last Stand
THE SMALL ARMOURY IN THE TOWER turned out to be a treasure trove. Clarin did his best to supervise the distribution of weapons and armour, to ensure that everyone was at least adequately armed. The last thing he wanted was a dispute between the Persaleians and Barbarians over who got what.
He was helped in his task by their different sizes. The Barbarians were taller, and claimed the largest pieces of armour, because they were the only ones that would fit. The Persaleians, many of whom were already well armed, favoured the smaller weapons. For himself, Clarin acquired a quilted linen jacket, on top of which he had shrugged on a riveted chain mail hauberk big enough to fit him. He decided to keep the crystal sword he had acquired in the fight earlier, enjoying the feel and weight of it.
Cyprian had organised the distribution of food and drink from the larder, ensuring that everyone, even the Dog-men, received an equal share.
With everybody fed and getting a chance to rest, Clarin got to work on planning the defence of their position.
He began by exploring the ground floor of the tower. A door to the west led out into the courtyard of the fortress beyond. It was here that the largest group of Isharites were being readied for an assault. Clarin ensured that any spare item was shoved against it, to hold them off for as long as possible. A second door, cleverly built into the curved south wall of the tower, was an exit from the fortress. If they attempted to use it now, they would be cut down by Isharite horsemen in a matter of minutes. Nonetheless, it still represented a chance that they might somehow escape. Even if any realistic assessment of their situation would suggest that wasn’t going to happen.
Clarin decided that he would take charge of the defence of the ground floor, along with Zared and the Persaleians, the three Dog-men, and the two Rotelegen cousins, Rudy and Jurgen. Up on the third floor, which the Isharites could access from both the southern and eastern walls, Herin led the defence, along with Tamir and the Barbarians. Herin had taken a liking to the open roof on top of the tower. He had acquired a bow and a quiver of arrows from the armoury, and was keen to make use of the height that the position afforded.
When the Isharite assault came, it hadn’t been what Clarin had expected. With all his military planning, he had forgotten that Samir Durg would be crawling with wizards. Not that he could have done anything about it anyway.
The door to the courtyard suddenly engulfed in flames. The Dog-men yipped in panic as the fire took hold immediately. Clarin sent them into the armoury so that they were out of the way. With a whoosh of air, the flames spread onto the furniture that Clarin had ordered should be stacked against the door. Smoke blew at the defenders, forcing the Persaleians back a few paces. Clarin could feel the heat from the fire on his face as the smell of wood smoke hit his nostrils.
There was a crack and the door crashed down into the tower, resting precariously on the burning furniture underneath. Clarin could just about see through the smoke to the courtyard outside. A mass of Isharite spearmen stood waiting for the order to attack. In front of them, he could make out what must be some of the wizards. They raised their hands and another blast of air surged into the tower, scattering hot ash at the defenders. Clarin covered his mouth, his eyes watering from the black smoke that roiled around them, making the Persaleians cough and splutter. The courtyard outside was no longer visible but Clarin could hear the sudden shouting that told him the soldiers had been ordered to attack.
He found Rudy and Jurgen.
‘Go and tell Herin what’s happening,’ he shouted at them, grabbing them and pushing them away when they hesitated. They headed for the stairs up to the next floor, which were now barely visible as the thick smoke continued to spread.
Zared had found him.
‘What do we do?’ asked the young man, his voice dry and strained.
‘Retreat slowly to the second floor,’ Clarin ordered. ‘Don’t make it easy for them, but give ground when you have to.’
Clarin moved into the armoury with the Dog-men. There was more air here, and he took a chance to get his breath back.
‘Fight with me,’ he told them.
‘Yes, master,’ said one of the creatures, bowing its head. They had eschewed the weapons that had been available to them, and were instead ready to fight with tooth and claw.
Clarin peered out of the room, waiting. He heard the shouts of battle and, slowly, the sounds grew louder as the melee drew closer. The Isharites would have had to get through the flames, negotiate the debris in their path, and then fight in a very enclosed space. The Persaleians were in a good position to hold them off, but he knew that the superior numbers would tell in the end.
Eventually, he could see them being pushed back, and he ducked back into the room, out of sight. He nodded at the Dog-men to be ready, and then waited for a while longer. Finally, gripping his sword, he ran out of the room.
Clarin got to the Isharites before they knew what was happening. Concentrating on the Persaleians ahead of them, they had ignored the rooms on the ground floor. He raised his sword above his head and slashed down with it, doing as much damage as he could while he had the advantage. The Dog-men joined him, slashing out with their sharp claws in all directions, as the Isharite progress came to an abrupt halt. The Isharites were heavily armoured, but the claws of the Dog-men were still able to find exposed throats and faces.
Clarin took a strong blow on the shoulder that nearly knocked him over. He tottered backwards but managed to stay on his feet. One of the Dog-men was hit with the full force of a spear thrust, the weapon sinking into its belly. It scrabbled at the shaft of the weapon but there was nothing it could do.
‘Back!’ Clarin shouted, recognising that they were in trouble. Fortunately, the Persaleians had supported his attack, giving him a retreat route. He took it, the two remaining Dog-men following close behind.
The Isharite advance paused and the two groups backed away from each other. The floor between them was covered with mangled corpses and injured soldiers. The Isharites were being ordered into the rooms on the ground floor to make sure that there were no more defenders hiding there.
‘Defenders,’ shouted Clarin, his eyes kept firmly ahead of him on the Isharites. ‘Back up to the stairs.’
They took advantage of the pause in the fighting to make it to the stairs that led to the second floor. Here, they not only had a height advantage, but the narrow, twisting stone steps negated the superior numbers of the Isharites. If done properly, it was a position that could be held for a long time.
‘Zared!’ Clarin shouted.
‘Out of the way!’ came the Persaleian’s voice, as he tried to reach Clarin through the bodies on the stairs.
‘You need to defend this position,’ Clarin told him when he got there. ‘Two men with spears or other long weapons are needed to keep them back. They need to be given space behind them to retreat into: don’t get too bunched up. Rotate the men at the front so that they don’t get too tired. I’m going to check on what’s happening upstairs.’
‘Understood,’ agreed Zared. ‘Pass me a spear,’ he yelled to his men, and began to relay Clarin’s orders.
‘You two,’ Clarin said to the two remaining Dog-men, ‘with me. Cyprian, you too.’
Clarin marched up to the second floor. It was deserted, but he could already hear fighting on the third floor above them. This came as no surprise; he had expected the Isharites to coordinate their attacks. His worry was that his group of defenders could get trapped between the two Isharite forces coming from below and above.
Taking
the stairs up to the third floor, a quick glance confirmed his fears. Rudy and Jurgen were just about managing to fend off the attackers from the east wall, the defences that had been placed there still holding. The Isharites from the south wall, however, had managed to break into the room, leaving the Barbarians dangerously divided. Half a dozen of them had their backs to Clarin, trying to stop the Isharites getting further into the room. The rest had been pushed back to the stairs that led up to the tower roof.
Clarin turned around to Cyprian.
‘Go back and get the rest of them up here as soon as possible,’ he told him. ‘There’s no time to waste.’
Cyprian immediately disappeared back down the stairs.
‘Clarin!’ said Jurgen, relief in his voice. ‘Can you help?’
Clarin could see that Jurgen had a nasty wound across his calf where a spear had sliced into his leg, gouging out muscle, and probably cutting tendons. Blood was pooling in his shoe, and he could barely stand. Clarin quickly moved over and took his weight, manoeuvring him out of the way. The Dog-men replaced him, standing next to Rudy, and snapping menacingly at the Isharites who were trying to force their way in.
Clarin then moved over to help the Barbarians, who were hard pressed to keep their positions against the Isharites who had poured into the room.
‘Have you seen Herin?’ he shouted at the Barbarians.
One of them nodded a head in the direction of the stairs. Herin was probably using his bow and arrow up on the roof while he still had the chance.
When the Persaleians arrived, he moved back to meet them. Their faces had dropped at the situation.
‘We’re going to force our way up to the roof,’ he told them. ‘Zared, you will lead the attack. Join up with the Barbarians. Then start feeding your men up to the roof. I’ll hold things here.’
Zared nodded, though it was the dull kind of agreement of a man who couldn’t think of anything better. To their credit, though, the Persaleians wasted no time, and ran at the Isharites.
‘Rudy,’ said Clarin, moving over to the far side of the room. ‘Take Jurgen up to the roof. I’ll replace you here.’
The young Rotelegen man looked like he was going to argue, but instead nodded his assent and put his arm around the back of his cousin. Together, they hobbled towards the steps that led up to the roof.
Clarin took a glance nervously down the steps to the second floor, checking to see if the Isharites from below had followed the Persaleians up yet. It was still clear, so he joined the two remaining Dog-men. Although they lacked the reach of the Isharite spearmen, their snarling presence seemed to have done enough to keep them at bay.
A spearman jabbed at him through the door, going for his legs. Clarin knocked the strike away with his sword. He waited to see if he would try the same thing again. He did. This time, Clarin stamped down on the shaft of the spear. Before the Isharite could withdraw it, Clarin reached down and pulled at it with all his strength. He won the tug of war, pulling the Isharite along before wrenching it out of his hands. One of the Dog-men leaned over and sunk its claws into the head of the Isharite and somehow pulled him out further, before sinking its teeth into his neck, its face coming up bloody and triumphant.
Gripping his newly won spear, Clarin moved back over to the steps leading down to the second floor. There they were. The Isharites were marching quickly up the stairs. In a matter of moments, they would find themselves stuck between the two forces. He launched his spear down the steps. The soldier in front tried to move out of the way, but there was nowhere for him to go, and the spear lodged in his shoulder, sending him tumbling over.
Clarin looked across. The momentum of the Persaleian attack had now stalled. They had to move. He went back to get his sword.
‘Come,’ said Clarin to the two Dog-men.
Leaving the entrance to the east wall undefended, they rushed for the set of steps leading upwards.
‘Go!’ Clarin thundered as he arrived.
The Barbarians went first, running up the steps after Rudy and Jurgen, who had only just hobbled their way to the roof above. Next went the Persaleians, fighting a desperate rearguard action as the Isharites swelled around them. That left Clarin and the Dog-men. They backed up to the steps. Clarin held his sword out in front of him, daring the Isharites to attack. The two Dog-men snarled, crouching down low, ready to leap at the enemy.
The Isharites now seemed reluctant to make a move. Clarin, moving backwards, put a foot on the first step and then his other foot on the second. Still the Isharites didn’t come, content to let them take the stairs. There were shouts from amongst them, and he could see that some of them now looked confused, as if they had been ordered to hold their position.
Glancing behind him, Clarin could see empty stairs, and he quickly made his way up before the Isharites changed their mind. He took in the scene. Jurgen and Rudy sat together a few feet away, leaning against the circular wall of the tower roof. Rudy was wrapping a rag around his cousin’s calf. Persaleians and Barbarians alike lay or sat on the tower roof, utterly spent. Only a few still stood around the stairwell exit with weapons in hand, ready to continue the fight when the Isharites arrived.
The two Dog-men appeared on the roof, but still the Isharites waited below.
‘Clarin!’ called Cyprian. He was looking over the edge of the roof at the courtyard below. Smoke from the fire on the ground below swirled past him.
Ordering the Dog-men to defend the stairs, Clarin went to see what he wanted. Cyprian pointed down. The Isharite soldiers were now leaving the tower and heading away. For a while Clarin watched in disbelief as they kept moving—heading, it seemed, for the circular building in the centre of the fortress. He tried to understand what was happening. They had been all but defeated, with nowhere else to run; and yet the Isharites had left without finishing the job. He frowned, thinking.
‘Soren?’ he croaked to himself.
‘What?’ asked Cyprian.
Clarin shook his head. ‘Gyrmund and Moneva went to rescue Soren. Maybe they found him...’
Cyprian looked far from convinced. ‘I hope so.’
Clarin turned away. Zared approached him, offering his hand.
‘Thank you,’ said the young Persaleian.
Clarin took his hand, though he didn’t feel like self-congratulation.
‘Have you seen Herin?’ he asked.
Zared shook his head.
‘Herin?’ shouted Clarin, staggering into the middle of the roof. His shoulder had gone numb and his sword hand ached. He had to concentrate on opening his fingers, they were gripping the hilt so tightly. As he did, the sword dropped to the ground with a clatter.
What was left of their sorry group had all collapsed onto the ground. None of them had escaped without an injury of some kind. He spied Tamir, the Barbarian chieftain, who was sitting down in the centre of the roof, nursing one of his hands. As Clarin approached he saw that he had lost two of his fingers from the hand, and a third was barely attached.
‘Where’s Herin?’ he asked him.
Tamir frowned and turned around. With his good hand, he pointed to the far wall of the tower. ‘He was fighting over there.’
He wasn’t there now. Then, something made Clarin’s heart quicken with fear. A bow and a quiver of arrows lay where Tamir had gestured. He moved over to look. Herin had perhaps used the position to fire on the Isharites approaching from the south wall. Clarin peered down. You could get a good shot in from here, and stay well protected by the wall that ran around the roof. But then what had happened? Maybe Herin had drawn his sword and left the roof to fight the Isharites? That would make sense.
Clarin scanned the roof once more. He then peered down at the walls below: all the way down to the courtyard, though it was hard to see clearly down there. He walked right around the roof, looking to see if Herin had fallen off, and landed over on the other side of the fortress. There was no sign of him.
Wearily, he headed for the stairs.
‘Where
are you going?’ asked Zared, as Clarin walked past him.
‘I have to find my brother.’
‘What do you make of it?’ asked Walter.
Farred looked out from their vantage point atop Burkhard Castle.
‘It’s like our prayers have been answered,’ he said.
Beyond them, the horde of Drobax had turned around, and were marching away from the castle. They left a trail of devastation behind them.
The last few days had taken their toll. The Drobax had attacked the Duke’s Crag night and day, and had nearly reached the summit. All but two of Walter’s wooden gates had been torn down.
It was a scene from a nightmare. They had been unable to remove the bodies that littered the path up the crag. The crumpled bodies of Drobax had lain rotting in the sun for days. The stench was unbearable, and many of the men had started coming down with maladies: vomiting and diarrhoea were rife, and they spread yet more disease. Even the bodies of the Brasingians lay where they had fallen: some of them defiled by the Drobax, who had gnawed on the corpses of men who had died defending their country.
Footsteps behind them made Farred turn around. Emperor Baldwin had arrived to see for himself.
‘We did it,’ he said, so quietly that Farred wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to himself or to them.
‘It could be a ruse,’ warned his brother.
‘I think not,’ Baldwin replied, pointing out to the east of the castle, in the direction of the Great Road. Here too, the Drobax, who had surrounded the castle for the last two weeks, in numbers so overwhelming that it had made any chance of survival seem impossible, had disappeared.
‘What kind of ruse would it be?’ continued Baldwin. ‘To make us believe they had left, only to return and crush our spirits? We were fighting for our lives anyway.’
‘Maybe so,’ acknowledged Walter warily, seemingly unwilling to accept what he was seeing at face value. ‘But why leave now? It doesn’t make any sense.’
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 69
