by David Rice
Hubbard’s knees wobbled but he locked Gow with panicked eyes. “They beat me. They have my wife. I beg you. Please—”
Gow raised his hand. “Sergeant. Place this fellow in the stockade but bring him some tea.”
“No. Please,” Hubbard cried. “You must read that and do what they request. They’ll kill her.”
“If the gnomes are here to beg favours in exchange for supplies, I may listen.” Gow pointed his spyglass through the open gate to examine the wagons again. “Are those cannon?”
Gow’s cheeks flushed. “Are they finally delivering what they’ve been paid for?”
Hubbard looked down but said nothing.
Gow waved his hand to dismiss the diplomat and cracked the top from the scroll case. “Fine. Put him away, Sergeant, while I read this.”
The thick hands of two soldiers hustled a wimpering Hubbard away. Gow’s eyes narrowed as he skimmed the parchment. “They are clearly insane!” he grumbled. “We have no gem of theirs.” He raised his spyglass a third time and cursed. “Those bold buggers! They don’t mean to deliver cannon. They mean to lay siege!”
Gow shouted to the bugler upon the wall, “Lock the gates. Sound the alert. All women and children in the barracks. All men take arms.”
The bugle call sounded across Gristmill, piercing, demanding, and swift. Before its first notes had drifted away, the town awoke with a cascade of panicked motion radiating from every building.
“Bring in the pickets and man the walls,” Gow ordered. His aide-de-camp rode up quickly, wide-eyed, with his tunic still unbuttoned. “The elves, Your Grace? Are they attacking?”
“No,” Gow responded. “To the east, some feeble gnomes have some cannon to test our walls but we’ll give ‘em a taste of the big guns, won’t we. We out range them. A few shots should send them running and then we’ll go capture their guns.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the aide replied, “But most of our cannon face north, and their blackpowder was locked away in the magazines underground that were startng to flood.”
“What are you saying?” Gow demanded.
“We’ve had to move much of the blackpowder out of the magazines to keep it dry. If a stray shot—”
Gow’s face twisted. “Tell our gun crews to the east that I expect them to make short work of the opposition before they get close enough to be a danger.”
The aide bowed and hustled away to deliver the Marshall’s instructions.
Gow pivoted to return to his vantage point on the hill. He was joined by a bugler and three messengers. “It’s going to get noisy around here,” Gow stated, his heart warming with excitement. “Air will be full of smoke so so you’ll be my eyes. I’ll need you to deliver reports swiftly.”
“Why are the gnomes attacking us, Your Grace?” the bugler asked.Gow looked at him and smiled.
“Because they want to die.”
The soldiers slowly smiled back.
“And, one more thing,” Gow instructed the closest messenger, “Once all of the women and children are in the barracks, have the Sergeant-Major lock them in there. We can’t afford to have screaming idiots running about and distracting us from our fun, can we?”
The messenger puffed up his chest and saluted. “Right away, Your Grace.” He galloped away, hooves tossing mud furiously.
The remaining soldiers exchanged some nervous glances and laughed politely.
***
First Underprime Tarbuckle supervised the deployment of their cannon with his usual precision.
“The cannon on their walls are large but inaccurate at this range. Keep enough powder near our cannon for two shots. Keep the rest on the far slope of the hill so bouncing shots go overhead. Use the mules to maintain a steady supply.”
“As planned, Underprime,” Munitionchief Kointrim smiled. “Our sparkgems have kept the movement easy over this soft ground, and will absorb much of the recoil.”
“Will they keep the barrels cool, as well?”
“Without question,” Kointrim responded. “And the best surprise for these humans will be the rifling of the barrels.”
Tarbuckle rubbed a medal on his uniform and grinned. “I almost hope the humans decline to give us the big blue gem. I really want to see these guns of your in action.”
Kointrim chuckled. “You heard their bugles and saw the gates close. They know we’re here and bracing for a fight, I think.”
Tarbuckle’s smile widened and he rubbed his hands. “Be easy on them. Survivors can be ransomed.”
Kointrim nodded. “It should only take a few rounds to knock down the walls and be sure of the range. Then we can target their cannons.”
Tarbuckle frowned. “Only if necessary, Kointrim. I’d hate to ruin the good craftsmanship we put into those.”
Kointrim pulled a shiny round gizmo from his pocket and held it towards the glow of the sun through the haze. “How long should we wait?”
Tarbuckle shrugged. “Humans are so disorganized. Give them a sun’s diameter to send out the emissary. If they fire before then, have at it.”
Kointrim pocketed his timepiece. “With pleasure, Underprime.”
The heavily decorated gnomes watched their underlings make final adjustments until every piece was set as precisely as the tools upon a machinist’s bench. War, Underprime noted agreeably, was no more complex than any other task given the correct tools.
***
Glandrew, Thane of the Haggisdrop clan of Thunderwall, took a nip of bitters and wiped his beard. Behind him waited three score troops representing a mix of several clans including a few of Beru’s survivors. It was such a hodge-podge of folks that he regretted briefly not taking the time to get to know who was who. Beside him stood eight volunteers drawn from
Thunderwall’s highgate and lowgate batteries. He did know their names so their families could be certain to share in the glow of their deeds. They stood ready with small fused bombs. These brave fellows would be Glandrew’s axe to deliver to the back of the thieving gnomes. Ahead,
emerging from the woods, were his best scouts. They jogged up, grinning madly.
“Thane,” the first scout puffed. “There’s no picket at all. Just gun crews and a few of their sparkly snobs in charge o’ the lot. There’s twelve guns an’ two caches o’ blackpowder.” Glandrew’s brows raised. “No picket? Not a trick?”
“They’re focused on the human fort, Thane. They look ready to fire, and the humans look ready to do the same.”
“We were careful, Thane,” the second dwarf exclaimed. “We snuck right up and away without a blink from them. Do you want us to plant the bombs now?”
Glandrew rubbed his chin and he chuckled. “No. Not yet. Best to stay back and not get hit by any stray shot. Let them get a good chew on one another first. We’ll all advance when there’s a proper opening.”
All the dwarves within earshot squeezed their weapons, shuffled their feet, and grumbled a mountain’s worth of curses upon the gnomes.
Glandrew turned to face his soldiers and held up his fist. “Stay quiet now. Don’t ruin the surprise.” Then Glandrew couldn’t contain himself any longer. “They’ve cost us too much.
Remember: revenge is warm and glorious,” he stated.
The dwarves’ enthusiasm peaked, and it took all of their strength not to shout and stomp.
***
Ballok grinned fiercely at Kirsten. “You make sure you stay right by my side. I’d hate for anything to happen to you when I’m not looking.”
Goosebumps shimmered across her skin and she gripped the pommel of the Fahde rather than say what she was thinking. A subtle change of light made her turn to see the elf warden Jiror appear from the fading haze of a shadowspark. As usual, he ignored her completely.
“The humans are locked up tight behind their walls, First Warden, and they anticipate an assault by a group of gnomes with blackpowder weapons. Behind the gnomes, a group of dwarves seem to wait to ambush the gnomes.”
Ballok laughed. “Let the dwar
ves have their fight, and hurt them not. I am told that they are allies in our larger efforts. But ready firesparks for the arrows.”
“Shall we set their battlements aflame?” Jiror suggested.
Ballok grinned. “Not yet. I have no idea why the gnomes would be here ready to fight with the humans but it is a fortunate distraction. If the gnomes and humans do not fire upon one another with their cannons then make it look like like the gnomes fired first.”
“Easily done,” Jiror chuckled. “And then?”
“Then we burn it all to the ground. Remember what they’ve done to our homeland, and how gnome rifles have been hunting our scouts.”
Jiror’s expressioned sharpened. “We remember too well. Their punishment is well deserved.”
Ballok nodded firmly. “No humans this side of the Raelyn, and no gnomes outside of Halnn.”
“Easily done,” Jiror hissed.
Kirsten shivered. She could hear the faint sounds of children and their mothers being herded into shelter. Ballok meant to murder them all. She couldn’t let that happen.
Jiror turned swiftly and sprinted away through the trees, his steps light with enthusiasm.
“You’re going to kill them all,” Kirsten stated. “No prisoners? No mercy?”
Ballok laughed again. “If I had been allowed to have my way cycles ago, this wouldn’t be required now, would it?”
Kirsten’s mouth tightened. “Not required now, either.”
Ballok’s sudden slap took Kirsten off her feet and filled her head with stars.
“Stay quiet and right beside me or I will add you to the pile,” he snarled. “Now get up and be ready to run. Once Jiror gets the two sides fighting one another, we’re going to seal the main gatehouse.”
Kirsten’s heart hammered and her mind filled with a raging heat that she barely pushed away. Ballok was not the real adversary, not the proper fight. As much as she hated herself for it, she accepted that she had to go along with the monster. Without knowing how to accomplish any of her burdens, she still had mysteries to answer, drakes to subdue, and her Papa to rescue. If he was even alive. Immediately, she was flooded with shame. The leaf pendant felt warm, and she knew her Papa was waiting for her. Waiting for her to prove that they were both worthy.
She rolled to her feet before Ballok’s impatience led to another blow and readied her bow. She’d only fire in self-defense, she told herself. And she’d keep her sword sheathed unless it was absolutely necessary.
From the gnome’s line of cannon in the eastern treeline, a bright flash, sharp crack, and billowing cloud was instantly followed by an explosion of timber from the eastern wall. Soldiers cried out or fell, shredded by spearlength splinters.
“Nicely done, Jiror,” Ballok whispered. “Well done.”
Kirsten found herself crouched, her heart racing, waiting for Ballok to move and hoping that her legs would follow.
***
“Who fired that shot?” Underprime Tarbuckle demanded as he looked north towards the smoking muzzle at the end of his line. He was met with shrugs. “Fine. Fine. It was a quarter early but we can’t let them return fire now. Fire all cannon!”
The gnomes’ eleven guns fired as one, and the eastern wall of Gristmill exploded in showers of blood and debris.
***
Marshall Gow winced as the first shot struck the wall. “Return fire,” he yelled, and the bugler raced to play the proper notes.
Eleven more shots thundered into the wall, and Gow hunched across the neck of his horse while it skipped sideways and threatened to throw him. “I said fire our guns!” he screamed.
“Why don’t they fire?”
The bugler sounded the call again. The north east gun answered with a hearty boom that shook buildings, echoed from the trees, and reverberated across the Raelyn River’s ice packs.
Gow brought his horse under control and glanced at the southeastern gun. Half of the crew were wounded or dead from shrapnel and a bloodied officer was attempting to rally enough men to fire. Gow’s heart skipped a beat when he saw a torch waver in the air and then drop alongside the charges of blackpowder neatly arranged upon the steps.
“Down!” Gow yelled and pivoted his horse.
The southeastern gun emplacement exploded, sending a tall grey mushroom of smoke punching through low clouds. Rock and flame pelted down in all directions. All windows ceased to exist. Troops and horses cried out. The cedar shingles of roofs began to catch fire.
Gow’s horse was white eyed and frothing with panic. It dashed and slid downslope and all Gow could manage was to dismount roughly and escape with a twisted knee. He hobbled back up the hill to find his bugler. The young corporal was sprawled in the mud, his face a red wreck from stone shrapnel.
His troops along the eastern wall would need to be rallied. Perhaps cavalry could charge those guns. Yes. The King’s Own were on the far west, and some 1st Hussars. They’d answer the call. Gow wrestled the bugle from the dead man’s grip and tried to get his mouth to force sound through the mangled instrument. After three attempts, he cursed and tossed the bugle aside. The northeast gun fired a second time and then disappeared as another gnome barrage ripped through the walls.
As he staggered about on one good leg, Gow’s mind slowed to circle one question. How did the gnome’s smaller guns have the range and accuracy to hit them at all? A horse without its rider came forward through the smoke and Gow seized its reins. With a cry of pain, he swung into the saddle and rode for the far end of the fort. The King’s own would save the day.
***
“Now.” Ballok made a single chopping motion with his hand and the signal swept through the surrounding treeline. Three score streaks of flame raced from the trees in a high arc, spread apart as they soared towards Gristmill and then plummeted.
For a moment, Kirsten was struck by the beauty of their flight and then horrified by the ferocity of their impacts. Dominated by swirling smoke, Gristmill’s walls, buildings, fences, stores, and some unlucky panicked livestock lit up like a swamp full of fireflies at dusk. And the fires took hold. Cries of desperation, fear and pain rolled through the town in growing waves.
Kirsten looked away as her stomach flipped.
Ballok was gone! Kirsten located the gatehouse and picked out his dark form delivering precise strikes against all those stumbling from its doors or climbing from its shattered windows. She urged herself forward, bow up, firing as she ran. She thought one of her arrows might have caught a soldier as he peeked over the wall, but he disappeared so quickly she couldn’t be sure.
Kirsten arrived, panting for breath.
A lumberman stepped quickly from the half open door of the gatehouse, opened his mouth in surprise and was instantly run through by both of Ballok’s curving blades. He tossed the twitching body aside and stepped inside.
“Slow,” Ballok hissed.
The Fahde’s gem began to glow and it filled the gatehouse with a pure white light. Ballok grumbled as he faced three more soldiers who tossed their weapons aside and held their hands high. Ballok cut them all down, splattering red vividly upon the walls. Kirsten’s stomach
flipped a second time, and her head buzzed with energy.
“Get useful, half-breed, and bar the doors” Ballok commanded, “and I’ll lock the gate.”
Kirsten closed the door to the inner yard and dropped a thick iron bar across it. Maybe the gnomes will have knocked enough holes in the fort to let some folks escape, she hoped.
Ballok triggered a heavy spring mechanism and a heavy iron gate crashed down behind the main wooden doors of the fort. He laughed as he peered out a narrow firing slit, took out his heavy bow, and jabbed several barbed arrows into the ground at his feet. “Get up to the second floor to cover anyone coming off the wall. Shut that door and shoot anyonewho tries to get in.”
With a surge of relief, Kirsten took the stairs to the second floor, anything to be away from Ballok. There was no one there and the door to the wall was already secured. Som
eone smashed against it twice and it made Kirsten jump. Then she could hear a soft cry cut short and the sound of a body sliding to the floor. Through the narrow firing slits, Kirsten could see the flames and the panic building. She could hear the stocatto bleating of bugles, the sounds of horses whinnying, and the rumble of many hooves.
Kirsten forced herself to take several breaths to slow her heart but it didn’t work. Smoke began to roll into the room and it stung her eyes. She tore some strips of cloth from a blanket and wedged them in the slits to block the smoke. So far, she hadn’t needed to kill anyone, and she hoped that good fortune would continue.
***
“Underprime! Horses emerging from the fort,” Kointrim yelled.
