“What the bloody hell?”
Engvyr wasn't sure who had said it but it summed up their collective feelings nicely. The strange battalion cut between the 4th and the Baasgarta, driving the enemy back and dropping to assume defensive positions. For the moment it appeared the flank was secure.
They all looked at each other in bafflement and Engvyr figured he and Taarven would be heading for the flank momentarily when they were hailed from the rear.
Turning to look they saw two baffled and very nervous looking skirmishers escorting a figure in the blue and red uniform of the unknown force between them. He carried a long-gun unlike anything they'd seen before and had a falchion belted at his waist. As he approached it was also obvious that he was a…
“Goblin?!” squeaked one of the aids in disbelief.
The goblin strode nonchalantly under the awning, nodded dismissal to his escort and looked around curiously. Spotting Engvyr he grinned and the ranger suddenly recognized him. He stared in disbelief as the goblin approached, bowed slightly and straightened before speaking.
“I see you, Engvyr Gunnarson Falkevellklan,” he said, clasping forearms with the stunned ranger, “I am Captain Grimnael Killraven, lately of the Southern Tribes Allied Forces and I am at your service.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“It's not horns, scales or fangs that makes a monster, it's a man's absolute certainty of his own rightness.”
From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson
When Engvyr mastered his shock well enough to speak he said, “Good to see you again, old friend. I see that your Common speech continues to improve.”
The Goblin shrugged and said, “It seemed that clear communication might be important. I also have brought some things of yours that fell into my people's hands, but for the moment that must wait. There are urgent matters to address; if I may send word to my people they will bring one who can explain.”
Engvyr glanced quickly at the gathered commanders, who were still too shocked to respond one way or another. Turning back to the goblin he said, “Of course.”
Grimnael turned to one of the skirmishers and, as if he had an unquestioned right to do so, ordered, “Go to the place you found me and blink a lantern three times. Three goblins will join you; bring them to us.”
The skirmisher looked around for confirmation and Engvyr nodded. The soldier departed.
Someone cleared their throat and he turned. Colonel Oakes said, “Ranger Engvyr, perhaps you would be so good as to introduce your, er, friend?”
Engvyr hesitated, not knowing quite how to introduce the goblin, but Grimnael rescued him by speaking.
“Normally it is the habit of our people to give our names only as a sign of great trust, but under the circumstances it is needed. I am Grimnael Killraven and I am the local commander of the Southern Tribes military forces. My official rank is Commander.”
The Dwarven commander bowed formally to him.
“We thank you for your timely intervention,” He said. Turning to Taarven he ordered, “I need you to go directly to the 4th's commanders and inform them to give our 'allies' their full cooperation and support.”
Turning back to Grimnael he said, “Not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, but how do you come to be here? We had no idea that you would help or had such… well-armed and disciplined units that might come to our assistance. Nor that you possessed guns, frankly.”
The goblin shook his head and said, “You dwarves! We make the finest clocks and mechanisms in the world! You think maybe we do this in caves? With rocks and twigs?”
Grimnael gestured with the gun he carried and said, “Is bellows and spring hooked to blow-gun. This is hard? But as to how we came to be here you may thank my friend, who spoke to me of the Baasgarta, and gave his name to insure belief. I took this news to our elders. Then other things happen, and the elders understood the threat. Because I am known among my people and yours they placed me in charge. We wish to show you we are not as they, these Baasgarta. What better way to show this than to help you, yes?”
The Colonel grinned and said, “I suppose so; certainly I’m not inclined to question your intentions after you have so handily saved our skins! Have you brought other forces as well?”
Grimnael nodded and said, “We have brought more, yes. For now I think maybe we hold those in reserve?”
The Dwarven commander looked around, catching the eyes of the command staff who suddenly decided that they had things to do.
“Things seem to have stabilized for the moment,” He said, “And we are expecting reinforcements before too long. Perhaps you will join us?”
He gestured to the map table and Grimnael joined the dwarven commanders there, looking over the map while they explained the layout of their defenses and the situation to him. Having no instructions to the contrary Engvyr joined them.
Shortly the skirmisher returned with the three goblins that he had been sent to retrieve. Two were uniformed like their commander. The other was in civilian dress, including a face-scarf and broad-brimmed hat. The civilian bore no weapons, not even a small eating knife.
“Ah good,” Grimnael said, and introduced them, “This is my Assistant. His rank is Leftenant and you may address him by his rank.”
Turning to the other uniformed goblin he said, “This is my… Your rank is 'Sergeant-Major.' You may call him 'Sergeant.'”
Indicating the final goblin he said, “And this is Kruger.”
The final goblin removed his hat and face-scarf, revealing his facial tattoos and hair tightly braided with beads and small bones. Several of the dwarves recoiled as the Baasgarta revealed himself, but Grimnael held up a hand to forestall any hasty action.
“Kruger will harm no one!” the goblin said, “He is… your word is what? A 'dissident?' He does not believe in The Dreamer, and wishes to tell you what he has told us. He is the other part of the reason that we are here.”
The dwarven commander gestured for them to join him and moved to one side. The others continued their work, though not without casting an occasional glance at the Baasgarta in their midst. Oakes favored the tattooed goblin with a flat look and said, “Well?”
The Baasgarta spoke, with Grimnael translating.
“Know this,” Kruger began, “I am yet your enemy in all things but this matter, which is more important by far than our war.”
“Fair enough,” Oakes said in a hard, quiet voice, “Go on then.”
“Many years ago in the digging of this city-in-the-mountain, a thing was found. The corpse of a great, strange creature. Its flesh- or what passes for its flesh- was uncorrupted by time. It was considered a great curiosity, but we knew not what it was, and eventually it was sealed away, forgotten. Then a young man of our people broke the seal and went to see this eldritch wonder, and afterwards he began to dream. In his dreams he was told that the corpse was of an ancient god from the Time Before Time, when people who were not men walked this world. The young man became known as The Dreamer, and he became powerful among our people, for wisdom was granted him in his dreams. Wisdom that was of great help to our people.”
Engvyr felt a chill run up and down his spine… he had heard of these beings before and the memory of those times was not a comfortable one. The Baasgarta continued.
“Around four decades ago an old woman of our people, her body ridden with sun-cankers, went to die at the Roof of the World. There she encountered Braell, but like no Braell she had ever seen. They were tall and proud, un-branded and uncut, well dressed and bearing many fine goods. And she knew them for an abomination, for these must be the sons and daughters of the God-slayers, unrepentant and proud.”
Engvyr's eyes grew wide as he realized exactly who those dwarves had been, and he swore softly. The others eyes flickered to him briefly, uncomprehendingly.
“She knew then that she must not die. She returned to her people to tell them what she had seen and they knew that god would want these people destroyed. But they despaired, for these Braell
dwelling in abomination were many and wielded great power.” Kruger locked eyes briefly with each of the dwarves before he continued. His expression filled with hate.
“Then The Dreamer came and said that they should not fear, for God had not placed this task before them with no means to accomplish it. There was an artifact buried somewhere near that could raise the Dead God from before time. It would smite their enemies, destroy them in flesh and spirit and the Baasgarta would reign supreme.” He paused.
“They searched long and hard for this artifact, which they called the Soul of The Elder, eventually finding it in the valley of the Abomination. An expedition was planned to recover it so that The Dreamer's plan might be accomplished.”
“This is what they dug up in the Makepeace Valley?” The Colonel asked.
Grimnael translated the question and the Baasgarta shrugged and continued.
“I had long suspected that The Dreamer was not really speaking to God as he slept. This to me confirmed it, for I was a scholar and had studied much of the ancient times. I did not, do not believe that the dead God will be bent to The Dreamer's will. He would try chain it with our own magics. But these would be nothing to the creature he would raise, any more than the chirping of crickets can compel a man to do their bidding.”
“You're saying he's going to rouse this thing? And that it will be loose in the world with no control?”
The goblin nodded and said, “It will destroy the Baasgarta, destroy the Dvaerg. It will murder the world in its grief and fury. The Dreamer must be stopped. He must not wake the Dead God!”
The Dwarven commander studied the Baasgarta's face, then nodded and said, “Thank you. Remain here.” He gestured for one of the staffers.
“Get a couple of gunners to watch this fellow, but be polite. Get him food, some coffee or something to drink if he wants it.”
Turning to Engvyr he said, “I need you to get me one of the Battlemages. I don't know if I believe in this 'Dead God' of theirs but he certainly believes in it.”
“Sir?” Engvyr said, “A word before I go?”
The commander looked at him inquisitively and motioned for him to speak.
“This may lend some credence to at least part of his story. The part about the old woman at the Roof of the World? That much at least is true. I was there. My family were the dwarves that she met.”
Colonel Oakes looked at him, raised an eyebrow and he explained quickly. When he was finished the Commander gave a sharp nod and sent him to collect a Battlemage.
“Ah, Ranger. Is it true that the southern goblins have come to help us?” asked one of the mages as he approached.
“So it seems. The Colonel wants to speak to one of you about some new information. Can you come?”
The other dwarf nodded and Engvyr led him back to the command area. The mage raised an eyebrow when he saw the goblins among the commanders, speaking with them and apparently perfectly at ease. Colonel Oakes saw them, made a comment to one of the other officers and came over. He quickly explained what they had been told and the mage shook his head, disturbed.
“We've been trying to suss out what the Baasgarta are up to, but we can't make heads or tails of what we're sensing. Certainly it jibes with some of that goblin's remarkable story and what little we know of the eldritch gods, but is it true? I can't say for certain, but I hope not!”
“Bring the rest of the mages up here, with us,” the commander said, “I want you folks reporting to me as things happen.”
The mage departed. With the spoiling of the flank-attack the fighting had slowed down for the night, with only occasional shots, shouts or screams being heard. Wherever possible the troops were being given a hot meal and some rest. The fighting would most likely resume at first light.
Engvyr stayed with the command group. He watched Grimnael gesture, ask questions and state opinions on the conduct of the battle as if he'd been working with the dwarves for years. Something about him, perhaps his assumption that he belonged, made it easy for the dwarves to accept him. Before long several goblin runners had made their appearance, conveying his orders back and forth to their own soldiers just as the dwarves were doing among themselves.
Near midnight the officers took a break, sitting down and relaxing. Refreshments were brought and Engvyr took the opportunity to speak with Grimnael.
“Do you believe the Baasgarta's story? That the Dreamer is really trying to raise one of the Dead Gods?”
The goblin shrugged and replied, “I do know that the tribal elders, who know much that I do not, believe enough to take him seriously. I think your own leaders do not believe, not completely, but they will take no chances. When your reinforcements arrive I believe that they will assault the city.”
“What of you and your people?” Engvyr asked.
“I have two battalions more of infantry,” Grimnael said, “They will join the assault. We may have other resources that will be of help as well.”
They talked of other things, Engvyr's marriage and assumption of an estate, the liberation of the Braell and Deandra's efforts there. Engvyr kept looking at the goblin's gun. It was different than any dwarven gun he had seen, with a long slender barrel and a somewhat bulbous shoulder stock covered in leather. A lever, hinged at the end of the butt stock ended at the trigger-guard. A block of what appeared to be dense, oily hardwood around four and a half inches long and an inch thick protruded from the mechanism at one side. Seeing his interest Grimnael removed the block of wood and extended the weapon to him.
“Is smoothbore lined with brass,” the goblin explained, gesturing, “There is a bellows inside butt-stock, and a cam on the lever that opens bellows against a spring. Trigger releases spring, bellows puffs air.”
He gestured with the block of wood. Engvyr noticed the end of the block was covered in waxed paper, and there were notches in the side of it.
“Not enough power to shoot bullets well. The block has five tubes, each tube has four-inch steel dart. Dart can kill small game, rabbits, hares, maybe coyote. For war is coated with poison- very fast poison! Hit head, throat, man die in seconds. Hit anywhere maybe a minute. Causes convulsions. Very painful. Range is short compared to rifles, but fires very quickly for five shots, then reload with new 'magazine.'
Engvyr noted that the weapon seemed as well-made as their own. Different solution to making a gun, he thought, but it sure seems to work.
As he handed the weapon back a commotion started. Runners came to let them know that the Eastern Force had arrived. The reinforcement commanders joined them and the runners were kept busy as they sorted things out, positioning troops for the attack. They appeared to have the forces to crush the Baasgarta now, and hopefully penetrate the city stopping whatever insane ritual the Dreamer was engaged in. Engvyr glanced at the battlemages, who looked increasingly worried as the night wore on. That, he thought, is not comforting.
The newly arrived troops had some time to rest but not much. The assault began with torches flaring to life all along the lines. A commotion could be heard spreading through the Baasgarta lines as they realized what was in the wind.
The dwarves advanced by ranks, maintaining their standard rate of fire of a volley every two seconds. The goblins responded with their light repeating crossbows. While their breastplates were proof against these the dwarves were still vulnerable to hits in the arms, legs or face. Heavy crossbows were shooting as well, and these would pierce the dwarven armor, but they had a slow rate of fire. The dwarves pressed forward despite taking heavy casualties, driving the Baasgarta back.
The southern goblins’ rapid fire guns quickly proved their worth when the fighting moved into the trenches, as did the dwarven infantry's short cut-and-thrust swords. The close-quarters fighting was murderous. Casualties streamed back from the front, aided or carried by the dwarves’ medics but they made steady progress, especially when they could bring their guns into play.
The sounds of the battle were punctuated by the firing of the engineers’ siege
engines, like giant crossbows, sending either long, iron-shod wooden bolts or round cast-iron balls whirring over the heads of the combatants to smash into the city's walls. Never meant to withstand a siege, the walls were already crumbling under the impacts.
Engvyr estimated that despite the heavy casualties they would reach the walls by dawn, but he was wrong. At first light everything went abruptly, completely and literally to hell.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“People say 'if it's stupid and it works it's not stupid,' and I think there's something to that. But if it's crazy and it works it's still crazy.”
From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson
Portions of the Baasgarta city had begun to burn. Projectiles from the siege engines had upset or scattered fires, and even with stone buildings there are plenty of things that can ignite. Engvyr felt bad about the thousands of Braell trapped within, but if the siege wasn't broken quickly their lives were forfeit regardless. For now the fires helped to light the battlefield as the dwarves and their allies relentlessly drove the Baasgarta back against their own shattered walls.
Suddenly the light dimmed and there was a basso rumble that reminded Engvyr uncomfortably of the mine collapse that he had been caught in as a boy. For a moment he thought the Baasgarta battlemages must be suppressing the fires until he looked up and saw them burning as tall and bright as ever. He realized the darkness was in his own perception.
The battlemages cried out in alarm. He saw several of them crouch or cower defensively and then it hit. A soundless, lightless explosion that knocked everyone flat but somehow did not disturb anything physical.
His vision went white as a shriek of agony, grief and triumph tore through his mind, clawing away at the edges of his sanity. Pain exploded through his head. It felt as if someone had sank a red-hot cleaver into the middle of his skull. Images and sensations flooded through his brain, distorted and incomprehensible. He nearly went mad as he tried to cope with the input of inhuman senses that had no name. In the end it was the pain that was his salvation, the one overwhelmingly human feeling in the maelstrom. It gave him something to focus on. His flailing hand landed on the action of his rifle and he gripped it frantically, another anchor against the flood of insanity washing over him.
Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman Page 27
