The Final Battle

by Stuart Daly

  Panter yanked his wheel hard to the left, trying desperately to avoid the dragon-headed bow, which threatened to slam into the side of the sloop. Roland leapt to the Captain’s assistance and pulled on the wheel with all his might. The sloop’s timbers groaned, and barrels and crates that hadn’t been lashed down rolled dangerously across the tilting deck.

  The Mangy Dog turned, but Caspan feared they’d never make it in time. The Roon vessel was almost upon them. Its dragon head raced down the side of a passing swell and reared like a great beast. Many of its crew abandoned their oars and gripped their swords and shields, ready to board the pirate sloop.

  Caspan stood up dexterously and took aim with his bow at a giant straddling the dragon head. The Roon roared savagely and hammered the pommel of his broadsword against his bare chest, stirring himself into a berserk-like rage. Carefully timing his shot with the rocking boat, Caspan drew back the bow string to its full tension, exhaled slowly and released. The giant howled as the arrow hit him in the shoulder. But he merely snapped off the shaft and tossed it aside. His gaze locked on Caspan, and he snarled as he pointed his sword at him. The Roon climbed high up on the dragon head and made ready to leap across to the sloop.

  Caspan stood his ground and set another arrow to his bowstring, but the Roon boat slid back behind the towering swell and disappeared from sight. As luck would have it, Panter and Roland steered the Mangy Dog around to catch the rolling wall of water, and the sloop sailed safely away.

  The naval battle raged for well over an hour. Panter was an exceptional pilot, skilfully avoiding all enemy vessels that swarmed around them, and positioning the Mangy Dog so that its ballistae could deliver maximum damage.

  Kilt grabbed a bow and quiver from below deck and joined Caspan in trying to pick off giants on approaching ships, but she wasn’t that good a shot at the best of times, let alone aboard a rocking boat. Tossing her bow aside in frustration, she manned the ballistae at the prow. It was attached to a swivel base, allowing it to not only shoot straight ahead, but swing around to cover the starboard and port. For someone who had never fired a ballistae before, she performed admirably. Her first shot sailed way over the mast of a Roon boat, but the next seven were direct hits, puncturing deep holes into the hulls of enemy ships.

  Shanty paced the deck irritably, complaining that he got all dressed up for nothing. Whenever an enemy ship looked as if it might get close enough to throw over its boarding lines, he gripped his sword and positioned himself so that he would be the first to engage the Roon. But Panter always managed to steer the Mangy Dog clear before bringing it around to expose the sides of the enemy ships to its ballistae.

  ‘Blood and thunder!’ Shanty bellowed when the sloop ploughed through a wave, drenching him in spray. ‘All I’m going to do is rust out here!’

  Caspan instructed Frostbite to keep low behind the bow rail, but the drake took up a lot of room. Frostbite often craned his head up, nostrils flaring as he searched for an enemy ship to incinerate. But Caspan quickly pulled him back down, fearful that the ignited Roon vessel might collide into the Mangy Dog and set it alight. When a spear thudded into the bow rail barely an inch from Frostbite’s head, Caspan dismissed his drake. Frostbite growled and shot him an aggrieved look just before he disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke, but Caspan didn’t want to run the risk of his Warden getting hurt unnecessarily.

  Whisper remained by Kilt’s side, but the panther was smaller than Frostbite and hunkered down behind the ballistae when in danger. During these moments she scraped her claws across the deck, sharpening them for battle. Ferris, meanwhile, chased after Shanty. When the sloop slid down the side of a mountainous swell, Shanty tripped over the faun.

  ‘Damnation!’ he roared as he lay on his back, weighted down by his armour. He tried to push away his Warden, who for some strange reason had decided to lie on top of him. ‘How am I supposed to fight with you lounging all over me, you great big sack of fleas? Get off me!’

  Wary of puncturing the hull of the Mangy Dog on a sunken ship, Panter ordered Roland to run to the prow and keep a careful eye out for submerged obstacles. Roland had spent his childhood aboard small fishing boats and knew exactly what to look for, guiding the sloop skilfully through the water. But nobody saw the Roon vessel that got behind the Mangy Dog until it was too late. Riding the swell the sloop left in its wake, the giants closed in on the ship.

  Caspan and several soldiers rushed to the rear quarter deck of the sloop and loosed arrow after arrow at the giants. Several of the Roon were hit and slumped over their oars. The boat was soon bristled with feathered shafts. But the giants rowed at a furious pace until they drew alongside the Mangy Dog. Boarding lines were thrown, locking the boats together. The Roon then swarmed aboard the pirate ship.

  ‘Finally, something I can attack!’ Shanty yelled over the giants’ battle cries.

  Fighting erupted across the deck as the crew of the Mangy Dog tried to drive the giants back. But the Roon were too strong. The giants carved through the Andalonians with their broadswords and battleaxes, littering the deck with the dead and wounded. Shanty, Ferris, Saxon and a small group of soldiers and pirates gathered around the central mast and formed a defiant ring of steel. Caspan and the archers on the quarter deck shot arrows down at the Roon and tried to provide as much cover as possible. Some of the Roon tried to rush up the stairs to stop them, but a stalwart group of Andalonians formed a shield wall halfway up the stairs, blocking their path. Another blocked access to the elevated bow forecastle, from where another band of crewman armed with bows fired down at the giants.

  Caspan sent a shaft thudding into the shoulder of a Roon facing Shanty, forcing him to lower his shield. The dwarf brought his sword down in a gleaming arc, sending the giant staggering back. Caspan dexterously nocked another arrow and finished off the Roon with a shot to the chest. But no sooner had the enemy slumped to the ground than two more giants pushed forward to take his place. They rained blow upon blow down on the dwarf, who braced his back against the mast and fended off their attacks with his sword.

  Saxon cut down the giant directly in front of him and came to Shanty’s aid, thrusting his sword into one of the Roon. The giant fell to his knees, and Saxon extracted his blade and delivered a wild swipe at the other Roon. The giant twisted and raised his axe to block the attack, leaving himself open to Shanty. The dwarf knocked the giant to the floor in a crumpled heap with a swing of his sword.

  By now only a dozen Andalonian soldiers and pirates remained around the mast. A terrifying growl suddenly rose over the sounds of combat. Everybody froze and turned to the forecastle.

  Whisper stood with her front forelegs against the balustrade, her fangs bared in a savage snarl. Atop the Warden sat Kilt, her blade gleaming and her green eyes blazing. She stared down at the Roon, then flicked her reins, sending the panther leaping over the railing and crashing into the enemy. Many were knocked aside and were cut down by Whisper before they could regain their feet. Roland and a band of pirates followed after Kilt, hurdling over the balustrade and launching themselves at the Roon.

  Whisper tore through the giants, her claws slashing like daggers and rending through their armour. Kilt swung her sword in sweeping arcs, cutting down any giants that tried to attack her Warden in the flanks. Together, they cut and cleaved a path to Shanty and Saxon, allowing Roland and the pirates to join them.

  ‘I’m glad you could make it,’ Saxon said to the black-haired boy and ducked as an axe sailed past his helmet and thudded into the mast. As the giant struggled to free his weapon, the Baron drove his blade deep into the Roon’s torso. ‘I thought all was lost, but then she arrived.’ Saxon stared admiringly at Kilt. ‘I’ve never seen anyone like her before.’

  Roland squeezed in between Shanty and Saxon. ‘Kilt’s one of a kind; I’ll give her that. And if there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that you don’t want to get her angry.’

  ‘Perhaps someone should have told that to the Roon,’ Shanty yelled ove
r the clamour of clanging blades. He watched Kilt slay a giant with a powerful upper-hand swing of her sword, then screwed up his nose. ‘Then again, maybe not.’

  With Kilt and Whisper slaying all they came across, and Caspan and the archers loosing shafts until their quivers were empty, the Andalonians eventually gained the upper hand and drove the Roon back to their boat. Roland and Saxon severed the boarding lines, setting the Roon vessel adrift. Its sails full of wind, the Mangy Dog pulled away, leaving the enemy vessel far behind.

  Shanty removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘That was well fought,’ he said, turning to Saxon.

  The young baron leaned against a side rail and cleaned his notched blade on a scrap of cloak. He nodded grimly and did a quick head count of the surviving Andalonians. Less than a quarter remained. ‘But at a high price.’ The Baron helped an injured soldier to his feet before beckoning over one of his officers. ‘We have many wounded, Koln. See to it that an infirmary is set up in one of the storage rooms. Ensure there’s clean water and bandages.’

  ‘But what about the Roon, my lord?’ Koln asked. ‘We don’t have many men left. Should we get boarded again I doubt we’ll have the numbers to fight them off.’

  ‘The injured are our priority now.’ Saxon looked around at all the sinking and broken ships. Of the Andalonian fleet, four sloops remained. Only six Roon vessels had slipped past them and were now heading towards the cove. ‘I think our part in this fight has come to an end.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Koln saluted, and trudged off to do the Baron’s bidding.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Shanty called out to the officer. ‘But not before somebody helps me out of this armour.’ He tried to reach behind his back to untie the leather cord of his chest plate, gave up and kicked the mast in frustration. Hearing laughter, he spun around and glared at Roland, who was chortling into his sleeve. ‘Oh, that’s right. Go ahead and chuckle.’

  ‘Hey, don’t get angry at me. I told you not to put on so much armour.’

  Shanty smiled humourlessly. ‘Well, I want to take it off now, don’t I? And I’d appreciate a little help, if it’s not too much to ask.’

  Roland yawned and inspected his fingernails for a moment, before glancing questioningly at the dwarf. ‘Sorry, did you say something?’ He hooted and ducked as Shanty hurled his helmet at him. ‘That’s one piece off. Only seven hundred left to go. At this rate, you should be out of it by the end of the month.’

  Caspan carefully inspected the surrounding sea, his final arrow still set to his half-drawn bow. Spotting no enemy boats in the area, he returned the arrow to his quiver and slung his bow over his shoulder. He made his way down to Shanty.

  ‘Here, I’ll give you a hand,’ he said and started tugging at the strap.

  ‘You see.’ Shanty glared accusingly at Roland. ‘You should pay close attention to Caspan. He knows how to respect his elders. There’s a lot you can learn from him.’

  Roland humphed, then assisted Koln as he searched for injured soldiers. Kilt, meanwhile, slid wearily from her saddle and hugged Whisper. The panther reciprocated by purring and licking her on the cheek.

  ‘I’d hate to interrupt this special moment,’ Saxon said, coming over to join them, ‘but I’d like to thank you. We owe you and your Warden our lives. Never before have I seen such bravery. You were … well, remarkable.’

  Kilt pushed Whisper gently away and bowed before the Baron. ‘You’re too generous, my lord.’

  Saxon noticed she was cut on the arm and reached to inspect the injury. ‘You’re hurt!’

  Kilt flinched at his touch, then saw the reassuring look in his eyes and relaxed. ‘I hadn’t even noticed. I’m sure it’s nothing.’

  ‘Still, I insist on letting my private physician tend to it when we return to Castle Crag. I’m not taking “no” for an answer.’

  Kilt smiled softly. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

  Saxon returned her smile. ‘Good. You don’t want to risk infection.’ He held her gaze for some time before he remembered he was still holding her arm. He cleared his throat and let go. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Kilt grinned. ‘I was wondering when you were going to give me that back.’

  Saxon quickly looked up at Panter, who stood at the helm, steering the Mangy Dog back towards the coast. The Baron pointed at the six Roon boats heading towards the cove. ‘Are we going after them?’

  ‘We’ll follow them up to the headland,’ the pirate replied and nodded to a crew member holding up a red flag. The man waved it above his head, signalling for the remaining ships to follow them. ‘But we’ll hold position in the cove entrance, trapping the Roon on the beach. If they try to escape, we’ll sink them with our ballistae.’

  Saxon grunted in approval and stabbed his sword into the deck. He leaned on the pommel and smiled ruefully. ‘General Liam shouldn’t have too much of a problem dealing with six boats. I know it’s a little early to celebrate, but I’d say we’ve successfully defended the High Coast.’

  Roland, who had been helping a wounded soldier to his feet, looked up and rubbed his hands excitedly. ‘So there will be a celebratory feast in your great hall tonight?’ The Baron smirked and nodded, and Roland added, ‘With lots of sausages?’

  Saxon slapped his thigh in mirth. ‘Yes, there will be sausages galore.’

  ‘Now that’s my type of feast!’ Roland said, licking his lips.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE FINAL BATTLE FOR THE HIGH COAST

  The battle for the beach was brutal. All but one of the Roon boats came to a jarring halt when their hulls were impaled on the sharp stakes hidden beneath the waves. Surf swamped over the stricken ships and jostled them about, knocking Roon overboard. One of the vessels was flipped over by a towering wall of foam that surged towards it like an avalanche.

  Many Roon that had trudged out of the surf onto the beach were injured or had lost their weapons. But they were far from beaten. Salvaging what weapons they could find, they formed up in three lines and advanced up the beach.

  Those in the front line and on the sides raised their shields against the storm of feathered shafts loosed from the Andalonian archers, who were positioned at the grassy hillock at the end of the beach and atop the flanking cliff tops. Some Roon were hit and fell, but the rest closed ranks and pressed forward. Soon their shields were bristled with arrows and the dead littered the ground, but onwards the giants marched until they reached the trench in front of the berm. Into the ditch they swarmed, heedless of the sharp stakes and pig bladders stacked in its base. Andalonian soldiers tossed flaming torches into the trench, but they smouldered and fizzled out in the snow.

  The Roon scrambled up the side of the ditch and launched themselves into the men of the First Legion. The Andalonians greatly outnumbered the Roon, but the tattooed giants fought like maniacs, smashing through the shield wall and slaughtering all they faced. Such was their bloodlust that some even slew their comrades.

  No longer able to loose arrows upon the Roon for fear of hitting their own men, the cliff-top archers mounted up and galloped back along the headlands, determined to add their swords to the defence of the beach. Carefully watching the battle unfold from the prow of the Mangy Dog, Caspan caught a glimpse of Sara. She rode at the head of the troop upon Cloud Dancer, her black Brotherhood cloak flying in her wake. He lost sight of her when the riders rounded a copse of trees.

  One of the Roon commanders saw the reinforcements riding along the cliff tops and roared for his men to fight harder. Their black-bladed swords and battleaxes hacked relentlessly into the Andalonians, until gradually the First Legion began to falter and withdraw. Before panic spread through their ranks, General Liam pushed through his troops on his warhorse and smashed into the Roon. His great blade carved a path through the enemy, and in his wake came Maul.

  Nothing could stand before the ferocious bear, whose foot-long claws cut through mail armour like a heated blade through butter. The General’s soldiers rallied behind him and his Wa
rden, and re-formed their lines. Once a shield wall had been established, they pushed forward, forcing the Roon back towards the trench. The General and his men were making good progress until Liam, fighting in the front line, was cut down from his horse and disappeared amidst the slashing blades and slamming shields. One of his officers, wielding a shadow blade and carrying a flag, cried out in alarm. Word of the General’s death spread like wildfire through the ranks of the First.

  Separated from the General in the chaotic press, Maul gave a bloodcurdling roar and reared onto his hind legs. The Warden towered over the Roon and sent them flying through the air with tremendous swipes of his claws. But with Liam lost, the Andalonians’ morale withered. Their right flank crumbled and men started to retreat.

  But then, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the General clambered to his feet. His armour was dented and stained red, but he was far from finished. He cut down the nearest Roon with a powerful swipe of his sword, then scrambled onto his horse and thrust his blade high above his head. A triumphant cheer rose from the ranks of the First Legion, and again they tightened their formation. Inch by agonising inch, they pushed the giants closer towards the trench.

  The Roon made a defiant last stand at the edge, heaving their swords and axes until bodies piled before them, but they could not break through the opposing shield wall. The Andalonians pushed forward again, knocking the surviving giants into the pit. Those that managed to avoid the sharp stakes tried to scramble back up, but they met stiff resistance. Swords cut them down, and soon the trench was a mass grave for Roon.

  The enemy defeated, an eerie silence descended over the battlefield. Where men and giants had fought only moments ago, snow drifted gently from the sky, blanketing the fallen in a fine white sheet.