Aethir

by DeWayne Kunkel

  Burcott grunted accepting this as just one more piece of bad news on an already dire day. “Their range is less than our own. They will be exposed to our fire before we are under theirs. Have our bowmen concentrate on them when the attack begins.”

  Tellius tucked the tube into his belt and walked along the wall relaying Burcott’s orders to the men.

  Jehnom came to stand next to Burcott, his eyes burning with hatred as he looked upon their shared enemy.

  “How long until your people in the forest attack?” Burcott asked.

  Jehnom shrugged, “I am not among them.” He replied. “They may have sought shelter in the deep wood, there no army could touch them.” He pointed vaguely southward. “There the heart of the forest is yet aware. Only the Taur Di may pass those beneath those boughs safely.”

  “Taur Di?” Burcott asked. “You have used that term to describe your people, what does it mean?”

  “It does not translate readily,” Jehnom replied. “Tree brothers or kin would come the closest to its meaning.”

  Burcott’s attention was drawn to the besieging army; a mounted figure was making his way to its forefront. Behind it came a battle scarred rock troll bearing a huge drum. “We meet at last,” Burcott said softly looking into the Morne commanders golden eyes.

  The Morne leader was a powerful figure, imposing in his black armor. His scaly hide bore the scars of the many battles he had fought to gain his present position. His eyes were inhuman and his face was incapable of betraying any emotion.

  Raising his curved blade above his head he hissed. The Morne ranks raised long crude ladders of freshly cut wood to their shoulders.

  Jehnom’s jaw clenched. “They’ve cut living wood!” He exclaimed. “Are there any limits to their blasphemy?”

  Burcott thought Jehnom’s views to be rather eccentric, he had in his time hewn live trees but he chose to keep silent.

  The Rock troll raised a great hammer and began to beat a steady cadence on the massive drum. The vibrations shook the stone and weakened the resolve of the defenders.

  As one the Morne started forward, only the commander and his drummer remained in place, the ranks parting to either side of them as they advanced.

  Burcott drew his sword, “There will be fighting on the walls today Jehnom.” Burcott stated. “Have your people prepared.”

  A slow smile spread across the Taur Di’s face. “Today these Morne will taste the justice of our spears.” He vowed, he held his spear aloft and shouted. “Kias te selon!”

  The Taur Di responded as one “Shie Ta!” and raced to the walls.

  “Ware the arrows, Jehnom.” Burcott warned the warrior knowing his people had little experience in this type of combat.

  “We do not fear wood.” Jehnom said lowering his spear.

  “Then fear the steel upon its tip.” Burcott countered.

  The tempo of the drums changed, beating faster as the host charged into arrow range. The shafts flew and the Morne fell. The reptilian archers returned fire, their shafts a dark cloud rising up to the ramparts.

  Burcott ducked behind the merlon, allowing the weathered stone to protect him. All along the wall men cried out in anguish and toppled from the rampart. Some fell back into the courtyard while others went over the wall to land with a sickening thump onto the ground before the charging Morne.

  Grapnels clang on the stone and ladders were levered up against the walls. Burcott’s men cut the scaling ropes and the Taur Di used their spears to push the ladders back. For every one that was pushed aside two more took its place.

  The attackers spread out along the wall, forcing the defenders to do likewise. Their numbers were few and the defense appeared as if it would crumble at any moment.

  Morne gained the western rampart and the fighting grew fierce. The Taur Di raced in to face the Morne, their spears sowing death.

  It was their prowess that forced the Morne from the walls. The ladders were pulled up into the keep and cast down into the bailey.

  The drum sounded three notes once more and the Morne retreated. Leaving thousands of their comrades dead at the base of the wall.

  Burcott watched as their dead and wounded were taken down to the bailey below. He was a well-seasoned warrior but the sight of his men slain and wounded filled him with a barely suppressed anger.

  He estimated that a third of his men were beyond fighting. Either dead or seriously injured. He turned away from the courtyard unable to watch as a man was held down so that a heated sword could cauterize the bloody stump of his arm. His screams died down as consciousness left him.

  Amazingly Jehnom’s people only suffered a few casualties, even though they had stood were the fighting was its fiercest.

  “If it had not been for the wood folk we would have lost the walls.” Tellius said joining Burcott.

  Burcott nodded, “They are skilled warriors.”

  “The dead sire, what shall we do with them?” Tellius asked. “They will become corrupt and then sickness will move among us.”

  “Aye,” Burcott agreed. “Build a pyre, we will use the siege ladders for fuel.”

  Tellius grimaced as the drums sounded once more. “They offer us no respite.”

  Burcott looked over the blood stained merlon. The ranks of the enemy were moving forward once more. At the head of the Morne came the strangely armored men. They marched in two tight squares their round shields interlocked overhead to protect them from the arrows of the defenders.

  Burcott tightened his helmets chinstrap. “The bastard knows how weak we are and seeks to wear us down.” He drew his sword the blade no longer gleamed; dried blood coated its polished length.

  Tellius looked down at the approaching ranks. “He will succeed,” He said fatally. “We’re at the edge of exhaustion now.”

  Burcott turned to face his men, raising his sword high he shouted above the drumming. “For Trondhiem!”

  “For Trondhiem!” The men shouted back, their hearts full of courage. A steady beat echoed out of the keep countering the Morne drum. The men struck their shields with the flat of their blades. The Taur Di joined in on the show of defiance. They struck the stone with butts of their spears.

  Burcott swelled with pride, these were brave men, even with the odds against them they had not lost heart. Though they may lose the day the Morne will pay dearly for their victory. They will be taught a harsh lesson; the strength of Trondhiem’s men is not countered lightly.

  Then from the court below the wounded and old grabbed what arms they could find and joined their peers along the wall. Even the older children of the Taur Di took up spears and joined their elders. Their brave faces hiding the fear they felt.

  Burcott wanted to object, but he knew that if the walls fell no one would be spared. The Morne were ruthless, and would slay even the youngest. Let them fight, he decided. It is their right to defend their lives.

  Looking to the sky above, he took a deep breath of air. The feint tang of burning trees still tainted it. A sense of calm settled over him, there were only two options before them. Fight or die, he was not yet ready to lay down his arms. He shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword; he had lived a full life and had no regrets.

  The attackers reached the walls and once more grapnels clang upon the stone and ladders slapped the walls.

  A ladder clapped against the parapet in front of Burcott. Rather than pushing it aside he stepped back and waited. As the first warrior reached the top of the merlon, Burcott attacked. His sword whistled through the air cleaving the shocked reptile from the base of its neck to the center of its breast. Hot blood splashed on Burcott as he wrenched his sword free.

  The reptile fell, knocking two of its comrades from the ladder. The Morne continued to climb only to face death on Burcott’s blade.

  Tiring of the attack Burcott raised his blade over head, with a mighty heave he brought the sword down on one of the ladders uprights. The wood split down its entire length and the ladder folded in half throwing the ascen
ding Morne to their deaths.

  The first group of armored warriors reached the barricade across the gateway. Protected by the upraised shields of their comrades the first rank assailed the barricade with their iron hammers. The wood cracked and groaned beneath the onslaught. The places where the hammers struck burst into flame as the fell power of those weapons splintered the wood.

  Enraged Burcott descended the steps two at a time. He reached the gate as the first of the men was forcing his way through the debris.

  Howling with fury he slammed his shoulder into the armored man, knocking him back into the opening. Stabbing his sword forward as they fell. The blade slid beneath the breastplate and deep into the man’s abdomen.

  Yanking his sword free he attacked the next armored figure through the opening. This man was prepared and caught the blow on his shield. Sparks flew from the metal as the blade slid past.

  The warrior countered with his hammer, denting the metal of Burcott’s shield. With every blow he blocked, Burcott could feel the heat building in his shield. The metal was smoking, the painted heraldry of his house charred beyond recognition.

  The man pressed forward but Burcott gave no ground keeping him pinned within the opening, preventing more of the attackers from gaining entry.

  In frustration they turned their hammers back to the barricade and sought to create more openings.

  The fighting atop the wall was fierce and deadly. The defenders were vastly outnumbered and fought desperately to drive the attackers from the few places where they had gained the parapet.

  Burcott slew his opponent with a blow that slice through shield and helm alike. The man’s hammer fell to the ground the fire within the metal cooling instantly.

  The Barricade failed and through the opening poured the armored warriors. Burcott was a competent swordsman, but he knew he stood no chance against such a large number of men.

  With grim determination he fought on trying to stand his ground against them. Relying on his skill and brute strength he drove into the attackers. His sword flashed in the light, a blur of silver that clove deep into armor. The shield upon his arm glowed a dull orange in its center from the hammer strikes. If it were not for his own armor his flesh would be burning.

  The armored men faltered, never before had they faced a foe of such skill and daring. Their own numbers and the proximity to the wall hampered their attacks. Using these to his advantaged the Raven helmed warrior pressed them. With his skill their armor proved to be of little benefit, six of their number lay dead upon the cobblestones.

  Tellius saw Burcott’s plight, shouting for others to follow he drove the Morne before him seeking to gain the stairs to the bailey below.

  Jehnom’s attention was drawn by Tellius’s shout. A quick glance told him all he needed to know. Thrusting his spear forward he swept his opponent from the wall. Dodging swinging blades and grasping hands he passed through the attackers, as untouchable as a shadow. He gained the stair and raced half way down its length. With a staggering leap he flew through the air and landed on top of several of the armored warriors. With his long knife he slit the throat of one of the fallen men.

  Rolling free of the bodies he came to his feet in the midst of the combat. Using his spears shaft and iron head he felled foes with an apparent ease that should have been impossible given their heavy armor.

  Tellius arrived with a dozen men in tow. Together they forced the warriors back keeping them confined to the breach in the barricade.

  Burcott stood with his back bent, his swords point resting on the ground. His chest heaved and his left arm burned. With a shrug he cast off his battered and blackened shield. He was exhausted lacking the strength to lift his weapon.

  A great cheer arose from the wall and the drum of the Morne grew silent. The warriors attempting the breech retreated.

  With a great effort Burcott lifted his blade and stepped through the ruined barricade with Jehnom at his side.

  The scene outside erased the certain feeling of doom from Burcott’s heart. The Morne’s ranks were in disarray; they were fully engaged with a sizeable force of Taur Di.

  The warriors had come upon them from the cover of the forest and had decimated their ranks. Caught between two foes they turned their backs on the keep and faced the new threat. Their commander was dead and the last remaining Rock troll had gone down beneath a hundred spears.

  The Morne were fierce fighters and on open ground they were a deadly foe. Burcott knew that should the Morne rally, the woodsmen would be routed.

  Raising his horn to his lips he blew a long clear note. “Let’s go!” He shouted finding new strength within him.

  The Men within the keep poured out the gate, following their leaders into the fray. In a wave of vengeance they fell upon the Morne without mercy.

  Within minutes not one Morne remained alive upon the hillside. The stench of death permeated the air but the men were too exhausted to care. Many of them simply sat on the gore spattered grass and rested.

  The Taur Di reunited with their kin in a quiet moment of grasping hands and touching of foreheads. Together they made their way through the burned devastation to the waiting greenery a mile away.

  Jehnom shouldered his spear and bowed to Burcott. “Lord Fullvie,” He said solemnly. “The people of the open lands have earned the gratitude of the Taur Di. Although much blood was spilt between us long ago, we will never forget the acts of heroism your men have done here.” He looked to the keep and smiled sadly. “Honor has been brought to this place at great cost. Perhaps now the spirits of our ancestors will find peace within those walls.”

  Burcott reached out and shook Jehnom’s hand. “Let our people never forget this day and live in peace. All of Trondhiem will learn how the Taur Di have protected them from invasion.”

  Jehnom’s gaze hardened. “Peace,” He said softly. “There will be no peace for a long time yet. These Morne will learn to fear us. For rarely have the Taur Di left the forest but their attack has called down our wrath.” Turning aside he ran to catch up with his people. He moved with such speed and agility it was as if he had never been in combat at all.

  For a brief moment Burcott felt a pang of pity for the Morne. He knew Jehnom would make good on his threat.

  Turning to face his men he was shocked at how few of them remained unscathed. He raised his sword in salute to them and smiled. He knew the border was secure with men such as this at his side.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Three days out of Amberoth they encounter the first signs of habitation. Irrigated fields of rich grass holding herds of cattle and coal black horses. A large tor rose amid the brilliant green. The rock was riddled with many dark openings, from several of these thin tendrils of gray smoke wafted into the sky.

  Marcos led them northward keeping the tor upon the horizon. No one came down from the settlement and the herd appeared to be untended. After an hour with no signs of pursuit they relaxed their pace.

  “The Morne males must be among Sur’kar’s army.” Marcos remarked. “They jealously guard their lands from rival tribes and we should have seen sentries.”

  On the horizon to the west the land suddenly changed. A ridgeline cut directly across their path, small peaks of stone stood along the rim, tall piles of broken rock and dry earth. Beyond these the faintest hint of distant mountains were visible.

  They made camp that night against the escarpment. It was not high only thirty feet at most but it rose sheer. Looking as if the earth had suddenly split, with the half on which they rested having sunken beneath its own weight.

  That night, the howls of hunting Fell hounds echoed eerily from the land above them. Although the calls were extremely distant, they kept them from getting any rest.

  On the move with the sunrise they followed the ridge northward until in the late afternoon the aftermath of a small landslide provided them a path to the upper lands. The face of the escarpment had collapsed leaving a scalloped shape mound of debris.

  The path
upwards was short but difficult. Loose stones slid from under their feet. Leading their horses they gained the upper lands with only a few scrapes and bruises.

  Traveling west they left the smooth upland plain and entered a tortured landscape of broken ridges and deep gorges strewn among up thrust monoliths of sun baked stone.

  Suni grew more alert as they rode the narrow paths between the ruddy spires. The land was a prime spot to launch an ambush, none came however and they put forty miles behind them.

  Connell spotted a defensible position, a narrow cut in the stone of a large outcropping. Within the fissure there was plenty of room for both horses and men. They spent that night in relative comfort, sheltered from the chill wind by the walls of the defile. No baying hounds disturbed their sleep; and the land appeared nearly devoid of life only large insects claimed this realm as their own.

  Their progress slowed the next day as the stone pinnacles grew closer together and the land rose and fell in large knuckled ridges. As the hours passed more brush began to appear and tufts of long grass found purchase within the stony soil.

  Above them the stark wall of the Moinas Ard Mountains loomed. The ground rose steeply and they found themselves riding in a deep ravine. At its far end lay a long slope of loose shale.

  They led their horses up the slope of shifting rock. It was an arduous task that strained their nerves as much as muscle. With each step the loose rock shifted threatening to begin a slide at any moment.

  At the top they came to a narrow strip of level ground. Less than a mile westward stood the foothills, a series of battered knolls upon which the ponderous mountains squatted.

  The upper reaches of the mountains were cloaked in a thick mantle of snow and ice. The light of the afternoon sun glinted from the heights forcing them to squint against its glare.

  The land before them was bleak save for a few weathered pines that grew in scattered clumps among the rocks. Growing more plentiful in the higher elevations until they formed a thick blanket shrouding the mountains lower slopes. A harsh wind blew down from peaks, snapping their cloaks and chilling their faces.