Last Stand of the Blood Land

by Andrew Carpenter

  They nodded, smiles showing that this first attack had broken the tension many of them had felt, wondering how their little army would fair against the storied South. At least we showed them they are capable, that the South will have to bleed every minute they spend in the North. He began the journey back to the fort, hopeful that all would be well on that front so he could sleep part of the morning. Moving through the blinking light of the tunnels he began to notice bunk rooms that would normally be full of sleeping warriors were empty. The room where the Cherubim had been drinking didn’t have a single inhabitant. The wall. He began to dash, sensing that their attacks hadn’t delayed the South but had forced them to act. As the stone rushed past he struggled to don his mail, thankful that his habit of constant preparedness had led him to grab his sword and shield from where he had left them before the raid. Their commander must have realized that as long as his forces were in the Canyon Lands, they would be exposed. He dashed on, finally running into a messenger.

  “Commander!” shouted the Dwarf breathlessly. “Its started.”

  “Go, alert the others in the tunnel, tell them to keep the entrances guarded and a reserve, but send the rest of them to the fort.”

  He darted on, anxious to provide leadership to his students, to his people. When he reached the last section of sandstone he found most of his forces huddled there, armed and ready, but visibly shaken. It only took a moment for him to realize why. A sudden tremor rumbled through the tunnel, shaking sand from the ceiling and down onto their heads. The catapults. He placed a comforting hand on the shoulder of a Human, then a Dwarf.

  “Good work everyone, this is what we’ve planned for, be ready to defend the wall when they move in.”

  He tried to sound comforting but even as he spoke a second rumbled verberated through the earth, and he headed forward before he had a chance to see the impact of his words. Ahead he could see a lone Dwarf looking up from the tunnel’s entrance shaft, illuminated by moonlight. To Fritigern he looked stoic and angelic, a freedom fighter in the dark, looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. With his night vision and the light from above, he could see specs of sand suspended in the air, wafting down from the bombardment above. The Dwarf looked back down the tunnel and shouted in the Dwarf tongue, breaking the serenity of the moment.

  “They are coming! Now!”

  Fritigern relayed the message back down the tunnel in the tongue of the Humans and Cherubim. Then he charged ahead, squeezing past the fellow and beginning the climb back up into the fort. He found the new hand and foot holds easily, always thankful for the meticulous planning that had gone into this moment. Nearing the top, he was showered with rocks and sand and the vibration nearly shook him loose. His helmet and mail protected him from the rocks, and a steady hand from behind held him in place, urging him on. In the next moment, his head breached the surface and he looked out onto the lower grounds of the fort.

  To his surprise, they were completely intact. Debris, chunks of stone, even a few large boulders and pieces of the wall littered the ground, but the mess hall, granary, tower, and stables were as he remembered them. He began to climb out into the moon drenched yard, eying the debris then looking towards the battlements. Empty. Dropping to the ground above the tunnel he saw a Cherub warrior swoop down from the cliffs that lined each side of the wall. The little warrior, Azariah, was still a youth, far too young for war, but here nonetheless.

  “Shield up!” he shouted at Fritigern. “Get back away from the wall!”

  Fritigern took off at a dash, never questioning the Blood Born but understanding the urgency in his voice with clarity. As he ran a boulder smashed into the wall, shaking the ground and disintegrating into a cloud of smaller rocks that showered down on the open courtyard beyond the mounds of sand that now reinforced the wall. The Dwarf ducked, instinctually bringing his shield around as he ran. He felt two large rocks smash into it, pushing through the layers of his leather, bronze, and wood aspis to bruise his shoulder and knock him roughly from his feet. A hand reached down and jerked him to his feet, and now he was running with a Northman up into the fort. They made it to the safety of the buildings, ducking behind a stone fence used to pen animals. Looking back, he could see his forces running across the open yard, dodging debris, and using their shields to protect themselves as best they could. Why aren’t they launching them into the fort? A second Cherub appeared, dropping down from the roof next to the assembling warriors to answer the unspoken question.

  “Their catapults are shooting straight for the gate,” said the winged warrior. “They have everything trained on that one spot. I don’t think they can get them to shoot over the wall.”

  Fritigern thought for a moment, confused by these unfamiliar tactics. I didn’t want to destroy the fort when I took it either, they want it intact. If the gates were destroyed storming the fort would be costly, but with their superior numbers, it wouldn’t be as costly as waiting it out while their camp was attacked night after night. Two more missiles smashed into the wall in rapid succession, knocking loose stones and jarring the fort but failing to punch a hole due to the layers of sand and stone piled for yards behind the original wall. They don’t know the gate has been sealed completely. He made a mental note to thank the Elves if he lived through the siege. His sharp eyes could see that the stars and moon were fading as morning approached and he realized what the South would do when they saw that their bombardment had no impact and that the walls were undefended.

  “Go!” he shouted to the warriors assembled there, “protect the others!”

  Two Humans grabbed big shields that had been taken from the soldiers in the phalanx and ran down to protect the soldiers that continued to emerge from the earth. Now Brogdar appeared from his position up the canyon, his antlers startling the commander when they materialized over his shoulder.

  “Azariah, Brogdar,” said the commander. “They will attack at dawn. I need the Cherubim to let me know exactly when they come. The catapults will stop when the phalanxes get near. You Cherubim should fly to the wall and hold them off. Brogdar, you come with the Giants and be prepared to lay waste to any that make it into the fort. They should be easy pickings for you. Diamo will cover with our archers and the men will be held in reserve to relieve those on the wall.”

  Brogdar turned and ran back up towards the canyon behind the fort and Azariah jumped, flapping his way into the air in search of his fellow Blood Born. Fritigern looked for Diamo but couldn’t see the Dwarf among those taking cover behind the low wall.

  “Diamo!” he shouted, looking for the warrior. The forces looked at him and he realized that he had to maintain order himself, that these were still his students, and he had to teach them how a leader acted in war.

  “You there,” he shouted to a man whose face was obscured by a pilfered helmet. “Find Diamo.” He didn’t wait for the man to reply before picking out three of the youngest students and ordering them to begin collecting arrows and stockpiling them so the Dwarven archers would never run dry. At least we have more than enough arrows. The fort had been hoarding arrows for years and he knew they would be crucial to repelling what he hoped would be many more waves of assaults. Don’t let them overrun us with a single push.

  Over the next hour he dashed back and forth throughout the fort, dodging the continuous cascade of rocks coming off the wall and organizing the resistance. He had two groups of twenty Dwarven archers and twenty in reserve. The reserve unit would cycle through the other units to keep them fresh and would provide cover for the Dwarves and Centaurs that would be mopping up any soldiers that penetrated the fort. One unit would stay on the wall, targeting individual solders, the other would stand behind, sending volleys up and over the wall. With everyone in position he longed to climb the tower to survey the defenses and the attackers in the growing morning light, but he knew the Cherubim would provide him better intelligence than he could gather by running up and down stairs. I need to be here, with my fighters, let them do their jobs.
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br />   He was looking down at his hands, watching them shake, and searching his belt for a water skin to quench his thirst when he realized the fort had gone quiet. He looked up and saw dust from the bombardment drifting lazily across the rock-strewn yard and the sun’s first rays striking the watch tower overhead. The Cherubim were there, up on the cliff walls, hanging like bats where they were safe from the shelling and could fly down to the wall at a moment’s notice. He was on his feet and running for the wall in an instant, pointing to the archers who, watching him run alone across the rubble, began to funnel up the stairs leading to the battlements. Fritigern was ahead of them, bounding up the stones that had been placed by Giants centuries ago.

  When he reached the top, he could see many of the crenellations had been dislodged, particularly above the gate, and large pieces of the battlements were pockmarked from the impacts, making for less than idea fighting positions. Looking out to the west he could see the sun cresting yellow, orange, and red out over the Canyon Lands. Its rays illuminated the enormous enemy camp, frightening in its precise layout, and at least a dozen catapults. The Dwarf commander could see them clearly now, arrayed in a semi-circle where the terrain flattened out beneath the approach to the gate. Their buckets, attached to long wooden arms, sat vertically where a crossbar had stopped them to send their payloads arcing forward towards the wall. The Dwarf could see that the shorter range of these weapons, coupled with their firing angle and the steep approach to the fort, meant they would be unable to get their stones up and over the wall.

  His gaze shifted to the columns of soldiers that were approaching his position. As they marched, they coalesced into tight formations with the soldiers on the inside holding their shields vertically to protect against arrows coming down from above. He could see ladders protruding from each group and knew that these phalanxes would be used to approach, then storm, the wall. There were at least five phalanxes approaching with three more in reserve, several thousand men, with many thousands more working to haul more rocks and timber from the forest to the south. The scope of the army made the successes of the past days feel trivial, and Fritigern was happy for the company when he felt the young Blood Born fighters landing all around him on the wall. Then, with the archers filing onto the battlements, he knew the time had come to shout his defiance into the face of impossible odds.

  “ARRRRROOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

  All around him his soldiers did the same, chasing away fear with the war cries of their respective tribes, thumping their chests, and stamping their hooves. Not today. Then, with the courage of comradery shaking away the exhaustion of the sleepless night, they watched the phalanxes while they struggled to climb the switch backs without breaking formation. They made it a few hundred yards with three units abreast, the shield walls disintegrating as the Men struggled to climb the vertical slopes.

  “Archers!” called Fritigern, turning to the reserves. “Three hundred yards, concentrate fire!” There wasn’t time to doubt that the Northman he had assigned to find Diamo had done his job, the Dwarf simply had to trust that his fighters.

  Diamo took over, assembling the reservist archers and directing their fire. The archers on the wall didn’t need guidance, nocking their arrows and taking aim, waiting for the command.

  “Fire!” should Diamo and Fritigern watched as the flight of twenty arrows arced up and out over the steep approach.

  The Dwarves on the wall fired simultaneously, picking targets where the terrain had left them unprotected. The effect was disastrous for the solders with at least ten arrows finding their mark. Up and down the awkward front, Men toppled backwards and slid down the dirt covered approach. Those that weren’t killed outright bellowed in pain but none of the seasoned attackers grew hysterical.

  Azariah and Maraki, young though they were, jumped to the wall and led the Blood Born over. Fritigern knew the sight of them would be etched in his mind even as he watched it. The flash of forty wings, a force raised to be forest hunters and gatherers but born for this bloody moment, gliding down towards an enemy trained to fight as one on the open plains. Now, spread out and off balance, the soldiers were at the mercy of the winged warriors. They attacked the flanks, flying in close to throw their daggers from just a few feet away, then gliding back up, out of the reach of the soldier’s swords. Here and there the Blood Born would group together to attack an isolated Man, cutting him down ruthlessly with tomahawks that pierced armor and shattered bone. I cannot believe this is their first battle. They fought well, avoiding engaging the larger Men in full on fights and instead picking their battles. With the Men being driven together, the archers on the wall were able to pick off more targets and the volleys from behind the wall were ever more effective. More than once he saw the Cherubim deflecting arrows fired by their own archers.

  With the bodies of the dead and dying Men littering the slopes the centurion officers quickly abandoned the idea of attacking en masse up the steep slopes. The professional soldiers quickly reformed into narrow phalanxes and began to wind slowly up the switchbacks, carrying the ladders on the side that faced away from the fort so the shield wall could protect them from the side and above. When Southland archers began to move into place to protect the flanks of the approaching, snake shaped phalanx, the Cherubim retreated back up the steep slopes.

  When they arrived Fritigern could see the varying responses to combat registering on their faces. He saw shock, fear, anger, and above all anxiety. They have killed now, and they aren’t aware of the internal change that is happening. He felt for his students. Far too young for this fight, they had been thrust from training to war in a matter of weeks instead of years.

  “You have honored your tribe today!” he called out to them. “You are brave warriors just as your fathers would have wanted. Today you stand for your people’s freedom, for all our freedom!”

  The little winged warriors responded with woops, drowning out the feelings that threatened to overwhelm their focus with the patriotic image of their tribe. It is easy when you are winning. He could see them turning back to face to approaching soldiers, their myriad emotions replaced by just one. Resolve. Fritigern watched as the impact of their arrows continued to take a toll, albeit a greatly reduced one, on the approaching soldiers. Here and there a body would fall out to the side, wounded soldiers making their way back down under the protection of their brothers in arms. Their shields, resting on their shoulders and working in unison, provided the perfect head to toe cover. Now, creeping to within just a few hundred feet of the battlements, the front row of soldiers contained just four Men abreast. Negate their greater size with greater training, with greater thinking. The words in his mind were his master’s. For many years he had thought his teacher had been talking about the greater size of the other races, of the Centaurs, of the Giants, and the Humans, how they towered over his own people. But now, in this moment, he realized that Aram hadn’t been talking about the size of a warrior, but the size of an army.

  “Stones!” he shouted into the fort.

  Fifteen Giants came forward, five experienced knights sent by Atlas and ten untested students, picking up large stones as they did and forming a chain to pass them up to the battlements. Fritigern admired their power; he had watched for years as they had toiled on the wall, fought and died in the Companion Cavalry, and all for a cause that was not truly their own. Now, as he watched the strength of a dying people, he could see glory in the sacrifice they made to be here this day. The reserves in the fort cheered as one of the knights hefted a stone onto his armored shoulder and, without letting on as to how heavy the stone really was, heaved it over the battlements in a slow arc. The stone bounced once, gaining momentum as it rolled, then splintered through the front row of shields and into the legs of the approaching soldiers. Three Men buckled as their knees were rent and their legs broken, the contorted pain on their faces obvious to the defenders. Fritigern could see a line cut through the tightly packed soldiers and then watched as they regrouped and contin
ued their march forward around the broken bodies of their comrades.

  The knight continued his onslaught, tossing great boulders down so that they rolled into the men with the archers firing into the gaps created when the rocks made contact. The phalanx pressed on until the knight was simply dropping the stones over the edge. The courage of these men. Fritigern could not believe they kept coming, but they did, even as the bodies of their fellows were smashed. Exhausted, the knight rotated back, and another replaced him.

  “Target the ladders!” yelled Fritigern.

  With the remarkable precision of a laborer who had hauled block for five years, the knight cut the first ladder in half as the Men were hauling it into position. Below, Fritigern could see the Men becoming discouraged as the Cherubim blocked their arrows and sliced through their grappling hooks with ease. The soldiers could see now that the gates were backfilled with sand and layers of stone and that their catapults hadn’t punched a path into the fort. The front stalled at the gate for a moment while a few brave Men tried to scramble up the nearly vertical scree, a mix of oak timbers from the gate, sand, and stone, that protruded onto the narrow path leading out of the fort. The archers on the wall couldn’t miss, and with no covering fire, the South’s losses began to mount.

  Shouts came as the commanders realized it was futile. Then, with slow measured steps, the phalanx began to retreat, leaving behind a line of bodies down the narrow cart path. A cheer went up from the defenders, and two of the three runners he had appointed appeared with water. The fighters guzzled it down, grateful to be alive and unimaginably thirsty. Fritigern’s eyes were sore from staring into the bright morning light. The day had dawned clear, with soft blue skies and a slow, cold wind coming out of the North. It was cold, yet he could see the sweat on his students and felt a chill as the wind caught his own soaked skin. Not students, warriors. Even as he admired their success at repelling the attackers, suffering no casualties yet extracting a terrible price from the attackers, he knew it could not last. Too easy.