The Battle for Jordborg

by Logan Petty

  The mass convulsed violently as the soft light touched it. The abomination before them looked like a slimy pile of rotting flesh covered in mouths. Some of the mouths looked human, some looked orcish, with large tusks, all of them chattered violently, gnashing their teeth together. Several of the mouths opened wide and spewed gangly arms with long bony fingers and gangrenous muscles that barely functioned. The arms scraped at the ground, pulling the mass toward Sawain as more of the mouths rose out of the mass, attached to spinal chords that pulsated with grotesque black veins which wrapped around each one. The mouths’ tongues had strange black tongues made of the same veinous tissue, but these tongues lashed out like whips, the ends covered in wicked spines. Sawain really missed his sword at this moment as the thing lunged forward.

  A magically charged arrow cut through the room, striking the monstrosity in the center. The arrow exploded into a large crystalline formation of ice as Syd yanked at Sawain’s shoulder.

  “There’s a stairwell leading up behind us. Get moving! I’ll handle this thing and catch up with you.”

  The mouth-covered tumor broke free of the ice and lumbered forward. Sawain did not stand around to argue as he turned and ran for the stairs. Another cold blast of air pushed against his back as Syd fired a second shot. Sawain raced upward, soon catching up to Axel.

  “Is Syd going to be alright against that thing?”

  Axel glanced over his shoulder as he hurried upward. “Syd’s been in much worse predicaments. Don’t worry, I’ve trained him well! We have to worry about our own job. We have to find that Brazier!”

  Sawain glanced over his shoulder as a flash of lightning crackled from the chamber below. He heard Axel laugh triumphantly. A moment later, the stairs opened up into the outside world. The night sky filled with stars. The brazier and forge they needed stood before them. Axel whistled.

  “This place is amazing! Look at this anvil! And this billow! It’s massive! Looks like we have everything we need. There’s even water in the trough over there.”

  Ylsgrin’s roar split the night sky. Sawain looked in that direction. From here, he could see the mighty dragon flailing around in the sky, surrounded by a swarm of creatures too tiny for him to make out. Whatever they were, it looked as if Ylsgrin fought at a disadvantage. The more he killed, the more that rose from the ground again. He returned to the brazier.

  “We have to get this thing lit. Looks like Ylsgrin is wearing down.”

  He rushed over to the massive basin. Dark oil sat motionless within, filling the gargantuan brazier. Sawain took the pouch from his belt and emptied the powdery contents into the oil. Axel handed him a torch he just lit.

  “Careful lad, ye might want to toss that in a ways back.”

  Sawain nodded as he stepped backward a few steps. He tossed the torch into the oil and closed his eyes as a blinding inferno roared to life. The heatwave that erupted from it pushed Sawain to the edge of the tower and nearly knocked him over the railing. The inferno condensed itself into a brilliant white flame that danced like a flickering eye, looking back and forth across the city. The intense heat it gave off singed Sawain through his enchantment. Axel wasted no time as he plunged the end of Giltglim into the flame. He pointed to the anvil.

  “Man the striking hammer, Sawain. Just like old times. I hope ye haven’t forgotten all I’ve taught ye while running around with the elves.”

  Sawain grinned as he made his way to his station. He placed the other shard on a stone slab near Axel. The cloth surrounding it combusted as soon as Sawain let go of it. At least he knew the potency of Mrena’s spell now. He glanced up at Ylsgrin. The light from the Eye radiated out across all of Jordborg. The cloud of enemies harassing the dragon dissipated immediately as its light washed over them. Ylsgrin took a moment to compose himself, hovering in midair before diving below the wall. Axel handed Sawain the now glowing blade. He set it in a vice while Axel headed the other shard. Sawain picked up the striking hammer, smiling to himself as fond memories of the forge in Anvilheim returned to him. It all seemed so long ago now. Axel interrupted his nostalgic moment as he placed the second shard against the first. He held it down firmly with his tongs as he glanced at Sawain.

  “Remember lad, precision is key. An enchanted blade is no different from any other blade. Just stick to yer instincts, and guide the hammer like you always do.”

  Sawain nodded as he took aim and swung down. The hammer struck metal, sending sparks soaring into the air. He found his stride quickly as the months of constant training in the forge returned to him. Strike after strike, Sawain worked the heated metal of Giltglim, repairing fractures, restoring stability. Sydarion emerged ten minutes later, shouting at them.

  “We’ve got company! Gnolls on both sides of the Sea Wall!”

  Axel shouted back as Sawain continued to hammer, “Keep em off us! We need more time!”

  Sydarion peppered the walls’ ramparts with magical arrows, trying to beat back the waves of beast men. The more he killed, the more that rose again to continue the assault. A shower of arrows pelted against the tower, many of them narrowly missing the trio. A sudden flash of light announced the arrival of the Spirar. They filed in as another flash brought more to the tower surface. They returned a barrage of arrows at the gnolls. The heat from the eye ignited the arrows, raining fire upon their heads, which dropped several of the attackers at once.

  Sawain and Axel worked hard as the battle raged around them. Their hammers rang out like victory bells as the mighty Spirar unleashed more stinging volleys onto the advancing foes. The gnolls scaled the side of the tower by the hundreds, slowly working their way up as the defenders pelted them constantly with arrows. The assault lasted for several hours. The gnolls gave up the upward assault as their numbers dwindled and took a defensive position outside of the arrow range as they waited. Jashr glared out warily as the early morning hours passed.

  Sawain and Axel worked and reworked the metal of the sword’s blade, tempering it in the dwarven fashion, strengthening the already impressive alloy. Sawain lifted his hammer and examined the gleaming sword. He turned it over, checking it for warps or inconsistencies. He handed it over to Axel, who scrutinized it closely. He looked up at Sawain, the white fire gleaming in his eyes.

  “It’s done. The mighty blade of the Spirar is restored.”

  Axel handed the blade back to Sawain. He immediately took it to Jashr, holding it up for his approval.

  “What do you think? Did we deliver on our promise?”

  Jashr took the sword and hefted it in his hand, feeling its weight, balancing it on a single finger. He examined it for a moment longer then smiled at Sawain.

  “You did well, both of you. Giltglim is restored to its former glory. I daresay it looks even stronger than ever. Now here, take it,” he said, handing the blade back to Sawain. “I want you to use it to free the soul of Master Hervoth.”

  Sawain tried to form words as he slowly shook his head. His tongue caught up to his brain a moment later.

  “Jashr, I can’t accept this. It is a relic of the order.”

  Jashr nodded, “I know a hero when I see one. I have served under one my whole life, and trained a fair share as well. You can do far greater things with that blade out there than it could ever do sitting in some vault. Take it. Save our Hold. Save the world.”

  Sawain nodded, “I will. Are your soldiers prepared to march on the palace?”

  The Spirar answered for Jashr with a resounding battle cry. The old warrior drew his blade, a gleam in his eye.

  “We are prepared. This time, Xifrieg will perish and the rightful ruler shall be restored.”

  Sawain looked out across the sea wall. A single gnoll with eyes that burned like fire slowly approached. The Spirar archers took aim and fired. Their arrows passed through him as if he was made of smoke. Sawain knew that face. He would never forget it. He did not break eye contact as he spoke to Jashr.

  “Can you teleport your men down to the docks and seize it?”
<
br />   Jashr followed Sawain’s gaze. “It should be no problem, but what about you? I’ve seen that gleam in the eyes of many a rival. Don’t tell me you’re going to face that monster alone.”

  “I want you to teleport me to the Sea Wall. I will catch up with the rest of you once I deal with him.”

  Mrena pushed through the crowd, smiling broadly. “I can do it! That’s no problem at all. It’s a lot easier when I can see my target.”

  . . .

  A flash of light on the rampart ahead of him caused the gnoll to stop and cover his eyes. Sawain stepped out of the light, Giltglim shining in his hand.

  “Hilmr Goretusk.”

  The gnoll squinted at Sawain a moment before realization flashed in his eyes. He grinned maliciously.

  “You. The boy from Mistveil. How many times do I have to kill you? But I should be grateful. Running you through is always so satisfying. Hmmm . . . you look different.”

  Anger flashed in Sawain’s eyes as he strode forward. “I am no longer the boy from Mistveil. I am the Swerdbrekker, champion of Turin, god of the Sturmforge, and hero of Hammerhold. I’m going to destroy you here and end your reign of slavery and terror. Tonight, you die, Hilmr!”

  Hilmr cracked his neck and drew a pair of wicked looking daggers that curved like snake fangs. “Good luck, boy. You won’t be the first to make such a bold claim, nor the last.”

  Sawain charged the gnoll and swung at him with Giltglim. The blade cut through Hilmr as if it cut through air. Hilmr’s grinning visage dissipated in a swirl of smoke, leaving Sawain staring at an empty rampart. A sudden pain tore through Sawain as Hilmr’s daggers pierced his ribs from behind. He gasped and swiped at Hilmr again as he pivoted around. Again, his sword cut through smoke. He listened carefully for a moment and heard the shifting of paws right behind him. He spun around in time to dodge the deadly daggers and swing again, still not connecting. Hilmr materialized a few feet away, perched on one of the wall’s turrets. He grinned viciously as Sawain fell to one knee.

  “Hard to breathe, boy? Do you need to take a nap?”

  The wounds in Sawain’s sides burned like fire as he gasped for air. He grit his teeth as he stood back up and rushed Hilmr. The gnoll deflected the attack with his daggers, nimbly hopping over Sawain and leaving a gash on his face that burned immensely. Sawain grunted as his vision tinged red. Hilmr laughed the horrible yelping chuckle of the gnolls.

  “What’s the matter, that sword too heavy? I can take it from you if you’d like.”

  Hilmr dashed forward, jumping at Sawain, who raised his blade to strike. At the last moment, his opponent shimmered and Sawain jumped forward, twisted around, and sliced the air behind him where the ethereal specter rematerialized. Giltglim bit deep into his right calf, straight through his armor, forcing open the wound it carved as if an invisible wedge pushed the flayed flesh apart, even after he withdrew it. Hilmr rolled forward, yelping in pain as blood poured from his calf. He quickly rose to his feet, trying to put less pressure on his damaged leg. Sawain stepped forward and blinding pain seared his chest as he vomited blood. He doubled over in pain as Hilmr limped up to him, kicking the wounded nemesis in the face hard. Sawain flew backward, crashing to the ground on his back as he gasped for air. Hilmr grinned as he slid the bone-like blades of his daggers together menacingly.

  “Ever heard of Nath’s Teeth, boy? Probably not. These daggers are special, see. They are a gift from the god of my people, Nath the Two Headed Snake Lord. The holy venom that drips from them breaks down flesh quickly, killing you from the inside out. By now, your organs are turning into piles of nasty goo. Your lungs should be about there. Breathe deep, boy. Your next breath will be your last.”

  Sawain closed his eyes as he drowned out the gnoll’s laughter with his own prayer. He heaved as hard as he could to get anything out of his destroyed lungs.

  Turin. Mother. Someone, save me!

  Sawain let out a yell as hard as he could. Hilmr dashed in to deliver the killing blow. Divine electricity surged out of Sawain and knocked Hilmr backward, singeing his fur and stunning him. Sawain coughed up blood and corrosion as his lungs rebuilt themselves. The purging fire of Turin’s blessing evaporated the foreign poison as it flowed through him, reversing the damage done. Sawain glared at Hilmr as he pulled himself up from the floor and stepped toward his adversary, wiping gore from his beard.

  “I told you. I am the champion of Turin. His holy fire surges through me like a purifying bolt. Your false god’s toys cannot stop me.”

  Sawain raised Giltglim above his head and chopped down at Hilmr. The gnoll screamed in terror as the blade bit into his face. The scream erupted into a sadistic giggle as his smoky form evaded injury. Before he could dissipate completely, Sawain stuck out his free hand. A bolt of electricity leapt forward, running through Hilmr’s half formed body. He writhed in pain as Sawain lunged at him. Though stunned, the agile gnoll moved enough to avoid a fatal stab to the heart, taking the hit in his shoulder instead. He howled in pain as his blood spattered against the stonework. The actual fire burning in his eyes flared as he finished dissipating. He reappeared a moment later a few feet away from Sawain, clutching the wound in his shoulder.

  “I’ll give you this one, boy. We’ll finish this another day.”

  Sawain charged forward, flinging another bolt of lightning. “You’re not going anywhere, Hilmr!”

  Hilmr took a deep breath and spewed a thick cloud of burning ash and smoke that filled the ramparts and absorbed the lightning. His voice seemed to come from every direction as the smoke spread.

  “You think you’re the only one who can commune with gods? Heh heh. Sleep with one eye open, boy. Next time you feel Nath’s bite will be your last.”

  The smoke dissipated, revealing that Sawain stood alone on the ramparts. He spat at the spot in which Hilmr last crouched. He glanced over at the docks where Jashr’s soldiers beat back the remaining gnoll forces. He turned to begin his long walk around the wall to get back to the docks. Despite everything going on, Hilmr remained all he could think about.

  “Blood stained coward. Run while you can. When this is all over, I will find you.”

  Chapter 11:

  The distant noise of battle hovered in the air above the nearly empty streets of Jordborg as Vaskar leaned against the base of one of the sea palace’s large outer towers. He strained his ears, listening carefully. The door that led into the guards’ barracks swarmed with gnolls. The yelping voices that melded into an imperceptible cacophony made the guards sound numerous, too much for Vaskar to take alone. Suddenly, the noise stopped as a single gnoll barked out in their horrendous language. It sounded panicked to Vaskar. He ventured a peek around the corner to see the scene before him.

  A host of nearly fifty gnolls stood with their attention focused on two other gnolls. The captain of this outfit, a gray furred beast with large muscles and a small head, chattered with Rognur in the gnollish language. Rognur made gestures toward the southern docks. The other looked in that direction, scratching his scalp. His dialogue seemed more reluctant and skeptical, by his body language. The two bickered for a few moments longer until the captain turned and barked at his company. A chorus of blood-chilling yelps and cackles split the air as the gnolls fell to all fours and raced off after Rognur. Vaskar smiled. It looked like Rognur’s infiltration of the Goretusk camp had worked.

  He slipped from his hiding place and made his way quickly to the door. He slowly and, as quietly as possible, opened it, peering inside. The bunk room smelled like a toilet and looked as though a pack of direwolves lived within, but nothing moved. Vaskar silently stepped in and carefully wove his way from one end of the room to the other, where another door stood wide open, light spilling from the adjacent room.

  The hallway beyond connected the barracks to the inner walls. From here, soldiers could quickly travel to any point along the walls, including the throne room, via a secondary service tunnel hidden to all but the most privy. Vaskar turned right and ran al
ong the corridors, as light as a feather. His heart raced as he heard the chattering of gnolls approaching from the turn in the wall. He looked around for a place to hide. This corridor was built to be a sort of service way. It did not host such trivial decorations as furniture or closets. He did find a ladder that led up to the walkway above. He quickly scaled it and pressed his body against the trap door, hoping no one needed to open it and that the shadows would be enough to hide him. He held his breath as the two gnolls nonchalantly strolled past him, not once looking up. He waited silently until he could not hear their banter any longer. He sighed and dropped from his hiding place. He wasted no time in dashing down the curving corridor. The stretch of hallway went on forever as he ran past a few doorways he knew as landmarks, but not his target. Eventually, he stopped at a statue of an elven man dressed in kingly array. The statue stood in an upright posture, waving at the empty hallway.

  Vaskar reached up and pulled down on the statue’s uplifted arm. A grinding noise broke the silence as the king’s arm turned downward like a lever. It sank a foot into the ground, then moved to the left, along with a section of the wall. Vaskar slipped into the dark tunnel and hoisted the statue’s arm back up as he moved past it. A few seconds later, the statue ground back into place and left Vaskar in complete darkness. He stumbled through the inky blackness, running his hand along the wall for guidance. It took him several minutes to reach the other end of the tunnel. He pressed an ear against the stone wall and listened carefully. He heard voices on the other side. Most likely guards Xifrieg posted just in case. He cursed the usurper for being so prepared. It sickened him because he knew his father would never betray royal secrets to a no-name like Xifrieg if not through bewitchment. He reached for his sword and drew it slowly as his other hand felt for the handle that would open the doorway. His hand found the iron bar embedded into the wall and twisted hard against it. The bar moved with some resistance as light from the other side poured into the tunnel. Two gnolls poked their heads in as the door opened, alarm on their faces. Vaskar’s blade was swift and precise as it cut through their necks and left their heads rolling on the ground. He sneered at the mess the corpses made as he stole away down this new corridor. The throne room was only a few feet away from the secret entrance, right behind the far wall of this tunnel. He knew it would not be long before someone came to check on the commotion and find the dead guards. He had to get to the vault of kings, and he had to move fast.