The White Arrow

by P. H. Solomon

  When the spell reached all the hexes he'd set while in the city months ago, hexes that had waited inert for this spell, Corgren paused. He smiled, his sight along the length of the spell taking in all the guards within his reach, even the patrols several hundred paces along the street beyond the far gates. He slowly closed his hands into fists. "Esko sulumbar mei-no-tchiskra." His spell activated the awaiting hexes hidden since disguised spying as Domikyas in the city.

  Hastra had taken out the one he'd left to delay them. But she'd never seen past the distraction. A long problem of hers. Myopia born of her limited faith.

  He smiled as the elven rangers slumped or collapsed into sleep. His smile deepened. They'd soon die at the hands of his trolls without a fight. Too easy. The spell spread among the rangers, and they drooped into sleep before they could react or give the alarm. Hundreds fell asleep as one.

  Corgren slipped his Wolfshead dagger into the sheath at his belt. Now for the next stage of the plan. Once Magdronu succeeded in his attempt for the Bow of Hart, they would break all resistance. He strode toward the bridge gates, his assault force of trolls, all wearing soft-soled boots, slipped among the trees and approached the bridge behind Corgren.

  The trolls crouched as they approached lest watchmen along the waterfront spot them and sound the alarm. His minions knew their place and the plan, and that any deviation merited swift death. They even held their breathing low in the silence along the river and the bridge.

  Corgren spoke another spell and kissed his hands and then touched his feet. He turned to the bridge gates and climbed them with ease, a shadow sliding along the length of the steel-plated wood. He dropped silently onto the bridge beyond the gates. With another whispered spell, the locks for the levers released, and he slowly opened all of the mechanisms. Then, with quiet care, he removed the bars and left the gate.

  Behind Corgren, the trolls awaited his signal until the very last moment, lest their presence be given away before they captured the length of the bridge. He half-grinned. The very security of the bridge would conceal and protect his forces as they crossed for the attack. Nothing of Sarneth's plans accounted for Corgren's actions this night. He climbed the far gates, where the rangers on guard slouched in their magically-induced slumber. He observed the fruit of his magical efforts along the street. Nothing moved.

  The whisper of the unlocking spell freed the levers, and Corgren released them all. He had lifted all but two bars free when a sound disturbed the surrounding silence in which the slumbering rangers uttered not even a stray snore. Corgren froze and gazed over his shoulder. Someone moved along the street, and he withheld his signal, a spell to whisper in the ears of his initial assault force.

  With a tug at his hood, Corgren slipped into the shadows among the sleeping guards and waited. A lone figure approached with care, discovered the guards asleep, then inspected the gates. He whispered the commanding spell to his waiting trolls. They would begin crossing the bridge while he handled this last obstacle silently.

  He drew his dagger and stepped from the darkness into the lamplight. He grinned. It was a stone-rat dwarf. He restrained the sudden urge for laughter and attacked.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Tordug trotted along Auguron's streets, where some places bore no traffic at all due to the hour. Weariness pulled his mind toward sleep, his feet lagging in response. He'd sleep later, though, and he hoped he found nothing amiss at the bridge. He yawned.

  He turned along the broad street toward the river. His boots smacked against the paving stones in the silence, but he passed a few patrols out on this street and saw others on the side streets. That was good. Still, he needed to check.

  The jolt of his strides dug up old memories. He ran through the tunnels of Chokkra, heading toward the sounds of battle. The boom of dwarven voices singing as they killed or fell. He had to bring support. The dwarves of a few tattered squads would do little. They lost ground at each turn. Cursed Rokans marched in and overwhelmed their thin forces at the eastern gates. They broke his honor as well as his troops. He must drive them...

  But that was long ago, and his honor had been ruined well before this night. He'd sought honor in killing trolls wherever he found them. No one knew of his years of wandering, each hunt undertaken without word to his people. They had abandoned him long ago, and a few trolls here and there did nothing, even with Makwi's help once his son had finally returned to him. Tordug grunted. Makwi had agreed to hunt trolls because he needed to do something, but they kept their distance as father and son. It grieved Tordug the most, to withhold his honor from his son. Yet Makwi remained the revered champion, bearing his own legacy rather than Tordug's wagonload of dishonor.

  The gates stood in partial shadow in the distance, a few lamps still burning. Tordug slowed. With the light and distance, he glimpsed nothing definitive ahead. But his sense of his surroundings slowed him further with suspicion knotting in his belly. He slipped into the shadows along the edge of the street. There were no patrols nearby. His eyes narrowed, and he crept along the street toward the bridge gates.

  The silence left him on edge. It wasn't the guarded silence of men on night duty. That always bore the occasional cough or murmur. This silence disturbed him with its emptiness, a blanket like a fog of sleep. His eyes drooped, and Tordug pinched himself. Stay awake. He passed storefronts, goods displayed in shadow, but ignored them.

  Tordug approached closer to the bridge, still shambling in the shadows, flitting between pools of light. He squinted. No one moved near the gates. He paused and waited. Guards should be patroling in front of the gates of steel-plated wood. He knew from the designs Sarneth had shown him that levered mechanisms sent lock-bolts half the length of an elven forearm between the gates into metal-sheathed recesses. Each of the gates locked into the bridge timbers with bolts thrust into steel-sheathed holes. Dwarves couldn't have fashioned the gates any better to fit so tightly together. A key, held by the captain of the watch, locked the mechanisms, while three steel-covered arms of wood barred the gates further.

  Even if the elves allowed an enemy through the far gates, which were designed the same way, they could use levers while retreating to drop sections of the bridge to stop troops. Tordug paused and stroked his beard, his gaze shifting from point to point at the bridge. They held the bridge between the gates with archers hidden behind steel-plated walls set into place along the length of the bridge. An easy retreat when the far gates fell if they dropped sections of the bridge. Tordug edged forward and crouched. The rangers kept the release levers and mechanism for the bridge sections well-maintained. They'd planned for the trolls for decades. Now that the rangers needed the defenses, one thing troubled Tordug. The lack of soldiers guarding the gates.

  He edged forward and tripped but recovered his balance with a soft grunt. He felt at the sidewalk and grasped legs. He peered into the shadows and glimpsed the dim forms of a patrol. Asleep? He nudged several elves. Not even a grunt in response. Tordug knelt beside several elves and felt for a pulse. Alive, but so asleep that he couldn't rouse them. He stood and tugged his beard. It had to be magic. His shoulders tensed, but he trotted forward. He passed more rangers collapsed in lumps. Not good at all. Were the guards on the bridge asleep too?

  At the gates, Tordug nudged the guards repeatedly, but none of them stirred. He slid aside a steel plate covering a viewport in one of the gates. Guards slouched in slumber along the length of the bridge. Tordug's stomach flopped. He stood alone at the undefended gates of Auguron City. Makwi had better get here with support very soon.

  A whisper from the shadows stiffened Tordug's spine. Someone hid nearby.

  He squinted at movement at the far gate. They opened, and his eyes widened. Trolls crept through the far gates, one an ogre with a massive cudgel over his shoulder. Kobolds and goblins slipped among the rangers and slit their throats.

  With his fingers, Tordug felt along the shadow of the gate. He must secure it until Sarneth sent replacements. He rubbed the back of his n
eck, and his chest tightened. Only two bars still lay across the gates. He felt for the levers on the gate and found them all unlocked and their mechanisms thrown open. He wheeled about and sought the captain of the gate. He needed the key.

  A figure rose out of the shadows. A voice he knew hissed, "Time to die, stone-rat."

  Tordug shouted the alarm. He was too late!

  Trolls charged on the bridge. Rangers shouted from their posts on the riverfront.

  Tordug snatched at the haft of his battle-ax, but his opponent kicked it from his hands before he could heft the weapon. It clattered to the street, breaking the silence. Tordug backed away from his attacker and threw the levers to lock the bolts into the ground for one of the gates. He dove for the levers to lock the other gate. His attacker swept a dagger toward Tordug's eyes, and he ducked. His fingers closed on one lever, and he half-pulled it closed before the hooded figure shoved him away.

  "I know you, stone-rat. You're Tordug." A soft chuckle escaped the attacker's lips as he tugged his hood from his head.

  "Corgren!"

  Tordug snatched the dagger given to him by Athson and threw himself at the wizard with a shout. He stepped inside a thrust from Corgren and blocked the blade with his forearm against the wizard's wrist. But Corgren dodged Tordug's stab and kicked at his feet. Tordug leapt the kick and Corgren withdrew. Tordug reached for a lever to lock more of the gate, but Corgren slashed the bracer on his forearm and sliced his hand.

  Moments passed like hours as Tordug strove with Corgren, each of them reaching for levers to lock or unlock the gates. Corgren out-reached Tordug but the dwarf depended on his compact strength, even with just a dagger. Choices danced in his mind, force his way past Corgren's defenses or draw the wizard toward him. Corgren feinted but seemed confused by Tordug's keen reflexes and strength. Best not let him use magic. Tordug sang in dwarvish and chose.

  Tordug charged into the taller man, ducked under Corgren's reach and forced the wizard from the gates. He thrust the knife but Corgren leapt back.

  Tordug grimaced through his beard as shouts drew nearer along the docks. "They'll kill you if I don't, wizard."

  Weight pressed against the gates as the trolls beyond pushed at them, thinking Corgren had already completed his task.

  Corgren's eyes narrowed as he lunged back at the gates, and stabbed upward.

  Tordug stepped back. The point missed his chest and tangled into his beard. He flinched his chin from the point. A feint ending at his throat, no doubt. Tordug snatched at Corgren's wrist where the blade tangled in his beard.

  Trolls pounded on the gate, and the half-unsecured one sagged against the thrusts of the ogre's strength. The two lower bars groaned at the force of the torsion. The long, slender arm of a hobgoblin reached for a bar.

  Tordug thrust his dagger at Corgren, who twisted aside. Tordug maintained his grip on Corgren’s wrist and followed with another stab, then another. The wizard grunted as the blade stabbed him in the upper left chest, and he fell, pulling Tordug on top of him. Tordug bobbed his head away from the Corgren's attempted slash.

  Over them, the hobgoblin yanked one bar free of the unlocked gate, and the trolls pushed all the harder. The remaining bar squealed as the wood within the steel cracked and the metal bent.

  Corgren spit blood in Tordug's eyes. Tordug shoved the dagger deeper, and Corgren screamed and thrashed. Tordug rolled away and found his battle-ax. He lifted the weapon overhead.

  Corgren cringed, and his jaw twitched as he attempted to speak.

  "No!" Not a spell. Tordug slammed the ax into Corgren's face, and the wizard ceased his struggles. The body twitched in death as Tordug stepped on his chest and worked the battle-ax free. Tordug lifted his face to the sky and roared his exultation. Dead! The enemy of his people. His enemy. His chest heaved as the weight of his past failure lifted.

  The gates creaked.

  Tordug hefted his ax. He'd hesitated in victory too long.

  The gate swung wide and knocked Tordug over. He grabbed for his ax-haft. The ogre squeezed through the gate and smashed Tordug in the side with its cudgel. Tordug yelled as pain caressed his hip and ribs like an avalanche. He gripped his ax with suddenly feeble strength. Above him, the ogre loomed and grinned, thick fangs dripping drool. Tordug gasped, and pain gripped him tighter. His body trembled with the message of failure as the ogre lifted its cudgel again.

  A shout rolled like thunder, and something like lightning flashed in Tordug's vision. Ogre blood spurted on him. One ax-blade rose away, and a smaller hand-ax chopped the ogre's neck. The creature fell in spasming death, an arm flung across Tordug and pinning him in further anguish. Tordug squinted through his pain as a figure leapt onto the massive carcass blocking the single open gate.

  Axes slashed through milling trolls, who fell back at the attack, then countered. The defender smashed two bugbears in succession with crushing blows to their chests. He glanced at Tordug with a grim grin, then faced the trolls crowding against the bodies of the big trolls blocking their attack in the gateway.

  "THIS. IS. MY. BRIDGE!" Makwi's bellow echoed across the river, and he sang the dwarven battle song of life and death. The rhythm of his singing matched the rise and fall of his axes amid the snarls of trolls and the clash of weapons.

  Tordug managed a grin at the sight of Makwi, his champion, his son, as he stood alone, defending the bridge gates against a horde of trolls. Tordug sang along with Makwi, his voice frail with pain and drowned out by the clash of weapons. The feeling in his legs faded. He coughed blood. The ogre must have crushed something vital.

  Rangers shouted and crowded about the gates. Gray light grew around them. In the distance, a bugle echoed across the river. Weapons clashed louder, and the sound of Makwi's bellow rang out. Instead of trolls overrunning the gates, rangers pushed the other way. Someone dragged open the other gate, and more rangers rushed along the bridge.

  Sarneth's face peered at Tordug, concern etched on the elven captain's features. He turned and waved his hand. "Over here, quickly!" He knelt and squeezed Tordug's shoulder. "Well done!"

  Tordug winced in pain as hands grabbed him. His voice faded. He'd still been singing. Then vision and sound faded with a gasp.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Limbreth slept little before the approach to Auguron City. She rose and met her makeshift staff of officers for their reports.

  "Our scouts killed many trolls in the forest at our approach." Erskwe leaned over their dirt map. "I've been forward, and there are many trolls massed at the river, but well back from the bridge." He looked up. "For now."

  "What plan do you suggest, colonel?" Limbreth watched the Grendonese cavalry officer's face in the dim light of their circle. With but a few hours before dawn, they'd roused their army for a predawn maneuver into position along the road. Their scouts had ranged all night, dispatching troll scouts and patrols to improve their chances at a surprise attack.

  Colonel Meegs squatted and observed the map, his hand supporting his chin of gray whiskers. Without lifting his head, he gazed at Limbreth. "Our fastest route is by the road. If they haven't barricaded it, we'll go far more quickly."

  All eyes shifted back to Erskwe. "They've not blocked the road that we can see."

  The colonel leaned over their map and pointed. "With so few of us, we must charge directly at the bridge and hope to weaken the siege there so the elves can attack across it. We'll need to alert them we're there with bugles. We'll charge along the road until we reach the clearing closer to the bridge and then shift to a narrow wedge for the charge. The dwarves come in behind, and we'll chop through and hope for the best."

  Limbreth leaned forward. "And if we don't get the elves to counter our attack?" She needed to reach Athson and the others.

  "Then we'll be encircled." The colonel shrugged. They'd be massacred without a corresponding attack from the rangers.

  Erskwe lifted one finger. "Don't use the bugles too soon. We need the surprise, since we'll be charging among them. They'
ll scatter before they rally, and we can pierce their ranks deeper. We call with bugles just before we clash nearest the bridges for the most effect. If the trolls attack at dawn, it will be so loud that they won't realize we're there until you sound the bugles."

  The colonel nodded. "It could work." He stood. "This is unlike any attack I've led. Anything could happen."

  Limbreth considered the stick drawings of the troops. "Draw all foot units close together. The first two companies follow the horses. Remaining companies cover our flanks, odd numbered units left and even numbers right. We push for the bridge without stopping. Everyone keeps moving. We kill and advance. There's no retreat." She glanced around the gathered officers. The Grendonese looked uncommitted. "This is not our city, not our fight. But it will be our fight. Maybe not this year but the next. If the trolls take Auguron, they'll sweep south toward Grendon, and Rok can attack from the east. We stop them now, and we avoid a war we can't win later."

  Grendonese faces nodded, grim understanding in their eyes.

  Limbreth stood and brushed dirt from her hands. "Then we march for the city. Rations eaten as we go. Silence among the ranks. Just scouts in threes to kill all they find.”

  The army of dwarves and Grendonese cavalry set out soon after, moving with care in the dark hours before dawn. The march dragged on longer than Limbreth anticipated, but when they reached their destination along the slope of the road down to the river half a league away, her heart raced anew. The march hadn’t really been that long. Her eyes took in the mass of shapes below, silhouetted in what light shined from city. Sudden doubt gripped her at the thrill of her heart. If they couldn't make...

  Her eyes narrowed as she stared at what lay ahead and they waited for the gray brim of dawn to light their attack. Was Athson worth this? She didn't trust him, certainly not yet. But he had confessed his error to her rather than hide it like so much else. She was no better and had failed too. She pursed her lips at the uncomfortable reminder. She may have done her best and failed, but failures they all remained.