‘Has anyone else seen Drobax before?’ asked Soren, trying to establish the facts.
A few heads were shaken, but Rabigar spoke up. ‘I have, many years ago now. If this is what it looks like, countless thousands have been marched through here.’
‘Look at this,’ said Herin, who had walked down the road a few feet.
Dirk looked at what he was pointing at. At first it was an indistinct blob by the side of the road. Curious, he followed the others to take a look.
Suddenly, he realised what it was. A dead baby. But not human. It was a greyish colour, with a sharp, grotesque looking face. It looked like it had been trampled on repeatedly, lying flat to the ground.
Dirk couldn’t look any more. He turned away, but it was too late; the sight of the baby and the smell combined to make his damaged body spew out the contents of his breakfast on to the ground. Elana edged over towards him, but Dirk waved her away.
Belwynn made an upset noise as she, too, recognised what it was. ‘What is it doing here?’ she demanded.
Nobody seemed to have an answer for her. Then Rabigar spoke up.
‘The Drobax are unlike any other race in Dalriya. They are so numerous and yet so despised by their masters in Ishari that, when they march to war, everyone goes. Not just male adults, but everyone—even infants. If a few thousand die on the way, no one cares. So many have marched through here, if you were to follow in their path you would find many bodies along the way.’
‘Thousands of them,’ said Gyrmund. ‘What can the Empire do to stop that?’
No one answered him.
‘It can’t,’ said Herin finally.
‘Do all the Drobax…look like that?’ asked Moneva, gesturing towards the baby, though keeping her eyes fixed away from it.
‘Their skin is grey in complexion. Adults are often hairy. The strongest will wear armour they have taken from somewhere, but many wear nothing. They can reach five feet in height, thin-looking, but that hides their strength. They are a created race,’ Rabigar continued, ‘by the wizards of Ishari. They bred them for their own purposes. Stupidity and base instincts make them easy to control. But they can be cunning and cruel. They have as strong an instinct for self-preservation as any living thing. That makes them dangerous. But they are a blunt, imprecise weapon. If Erkindrix has sent them to take the Empire, it means he has decided on a speedy destruction. Nothing much will be left surviving afterwards. These are new tactics from him.’
‘New tactics?’ asked Belwynn.
‘Up to now Erkindrix has used the people he has conquered. Arioc was made King of Haskany, and their soldiers now fight for Ishari. The Drobax have hardly been used. Their use now suggests that Erkindrix isn’t that interested in the Empire as a rich resource to be exploited. He wants total victory, whatever the cost, and soon.’
Soren nodded. ‘What you say makes sense, Rabigar. I wonder if anything has prompted this change in approach.’
Nobody seemed to have any suggestions, so Soren’s question was left unanswered.
‘I’m going to bury that baby,’ said Belwynn suddenly.
‘Belwynn—’ began Soren.
‘I know, it may be stupid,’ said Belwynn, interrupting him, ‘but I’m not leaving it like that.’
She walked over to the body. Clarin followed her and offered his help.
Everyone waited in uncomfortable silence but the big man dug out a shallow grave quickly enough.
Gyrmund wordlessly led them off away from the Road. Everyone followed in silence. A sombre mood had fallen on the group, and everyone seemed lost in their own private thoughts. As he struggled on at the back of the group, Dirk tried to imagine a horde of these Drobax descending on his homeland. Maybe I hadn’t fully realised, he admitted to himself, what was at stake. I have to force this broken body to help Elana as much as possible. Only she can save us.
Farred felt a sense of foreboding as the combined forces of Magnian and Middian soldiers arrived at their destination: Castle Burkhard. It had been a looming presence in the distance for the last few hours, and the closer they had got to it, the more formidable it seemed.
Two giant rocks shot upwards from the ground, dwarfing the countryside around. Brock fancied that they looked like the bent knees of some immense sleeping giant. The slightly smaller rock, where they were now heading, was thinner and irregular in shape, while the larger rock was shaped like a pyramid. Both had stone-built structures on top of them, and Farred had noticed a bridge connecting the two about three quarters of the way up. Coming to it from the east, which most people would do, would make it even more formidable-looking, he considered. The land to the east, including the Great Road, was relatively flat and featureless. Castle Burkhard dominated this territory. To the west, from where Farred and his soldiers had come, the land was rocky, tough, barren and virtually unsettled by humans. They had, in fact, seen more impressive slabs of rock on their journey. None of which, of course, had a stone castle built on top of them.
At the base of the castle they were met by Rainer, the imperial chamberlain. There was a small village here which must have found itself suddenly overwhelmed with soldiers. The road which ran through the village and approached the castle was a muddy mess after the comings and goings of so many soldiers. Their force had been allocated a temporary barracks to the south of the village, which was adequate enough. There was no time to rest, however. Rainer led the way up to the castle, followed by Prince Ashere, who was flanked by Farred and Brock.
They followed the path and reached the base of the first rock. Farred was keen to study the defences of the famous fortress, which they might have to help to defend. This first rock, even more so than the other, was a virtually vertical climb upwards, and so the path, which had been hewn into it, wound its way upwards around the rock. Any defenders were automatically given a height advantage on the path itself, but more than that, were able to hurl down onto the attackers all manner of unpleasant objects. Rock, thought Farred, being the most obvious.
Half way up, a massive boulder was positioned just off the path, kept in place by a wooden buttress. When released, it would roll down the path, squashing anything in its way. They stopped for a brief rest.
‘The castle atop this crag is known as the Duke’s Keep,’ said Rainer, breathing hard from the steep climb. ‘It’s linked by the bridge to the Emperor’s Keep. Duke Burkhard built both structures here as a defence against the Persaleian army, which couldn’t be beaten in a pitched battle. How times change, eh?’ he said wryly. ‘Baldwin has garrisoned the Emperor’s Keep; his father-in-law Duke Arne has his forces in the Duke’s Keep.’
‘Are you expecting the other duchies to send forces here?’ asked Ashere.
‘Yes...’ Rainer replied, though he sounded unsure of himself. A look of worry crossed his face. ‘I’ll let the Emperor explain all that to you.’
They walked on, Rainer’s long legs striding out at a fast pace, and Farred began to feel the effects of the upward climb in his thighs, especially after all the riding they had done. ‘This is one hell of a thing to climb up when you’ve got people trying to kill you every step of the way,’ he commented.
Brock chuckled and slapped him on the back. ‘Good job we picked to fight with the defenders, my friend!’
‘We’re here…Your Highness,’ said the chamberlain, stopping to catch his breath.
It must have taken them close to an hour to reach the summit, and all four men were perspiring freely after the steep upwards climb. To attack such a place, thought Farred, must surely be madness. At this point the path divided into three ahead of them, while, in-between and to the side of each path, sheer rock walls loomed above. Even now the Brasingians had stationed some men here on guard duty, but in a real attack these defences would be bristling with soldiers.
Rainer began towards the left path.
>
‘Does it matter which path is taken?’ asked Ashere.
‘Only the left path takes you to the top,’ said the chamberlain, turning around and resuming the last ascent.
They followed behind and reached the top. Although it was a mild day, the wind whipped about them at this exposed height and soon cooled off Farred’s sweat. To their right lay a stone built fortress which perched close to the far edge of the summit: the Duke’s Keep. Farred counted five towers, the farthest one being the tallest, soaring above the walls as if trying to reach the sky. To their left was the bridge, which Farred had noticed from the ground. Rainer took them in this direction. As he approached, Farred let out a whistle.
‘It’s made of stone!’ he marvelled.
The bridge arched across the divide between the two rocks as if held there by magic. On the other side of the bridge, and slightly higher up, stood a larger fortress which took up the whole of the opposing summit. Below was a sheer drop of several hundred feet. Farred had only seen a handful of stone built bridges in his life. To see one here, spanning these huge crags, was stunning.
‘How did they—’ he began.
‘I’ve got no idea how they built it,’ Rainer interrupted, obviously expecting the question. ‘Marshall Walter, the Emperor’s brother, might know. He seems to have studied this place as much as anyone. My job is to lead you across. Emperor Baldwin’s hall is in the Emperor’s Keep opposite. I advise you not to look down.’
With that, Rainer placed his first foot on the bridge. He began to walk steadily, if carefully, across it. Farred and his companions exchanged worried glances.
‘I’m staying here,’ announced Brock, folding his arms.
‘If you do,’ replied Ashere, placing one foot and then the next onto the bridge, ‘I’ll have to tell your men that you were too scared to cross.’
Farred held his breath and joined Ashere on the bridge. The bridge did not, as he had half expected it to, suddenly collapse.
‘Oh, shit,’ swore Brock, and, after a moment’s hesitation, followed on.
Emperor Baldwin had invited only Ashere to the Royal Council, but the Prince had insisted that Farred and Brock attend as well, since he could not speak alone for all of the soldiers in their force. Rainer had assented, but was clearly in a rush.
‘This is the main hall,’ he said breathlessly, before barging open the double doors and entering what must be the largest room in the fortress. Like everything else, it was designed with functionality rather than elegance in mind, but it impressed with its size. No doubt it would have looked larger, but most parts of the hall were being used for temporary storage. Pieces of armour, for every part of the body, had been unceremoniously dumped in one corner. In another, barrels of food and drink had been stacked. It was at the far end of the hall that the meeting was taking place.
Rainer led them over to the small group of men sitting about a plain wooden table. As they approached, the men stood up to greet them.
‘Your Majesty, I present His Highness Prince Ashere of North Magnia and the lords Farred and Brock.’
Farred looked to see who Rainer directed the introduction to.
Emperor Baldwin looked confident and physically fit, his hair dark but studded with grey. This was the man responsible for the deployment of Farred’s troops and the defence of the lands of the South. On first sight, Farred could not be disappointed. He detected a slight look of anger in his eyes and jaw, presumably at the fact that Farred and Brock were attending as well. It was a small war council, and no doubt Baldwin would rather have had men around him that he knew he could trust. Still, the Emperor hid his annoyance. Farred didn’t mind the anger. It showed a man used to having his orders followed.
‘His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Baldwin; His Grace Arne, Duke of Luderia; Lord Walter, Marshall of the Empire; Lord Gustav, Archmage of the Empire.’
Baldwin moved and shook Ashere by the hand, thanking him for coming. Everyone then made sure they shook a hand or nodded an acknowledgement before they were quickly seated.
‘I hope you will excuse our grim faces and lack of hospitality this day,’ began Baldwin, ‘but we have bad news and difficult decisions to make.’
‘We expected such a situation, Your Majesty,’ replied Ashere. ‘That is why we are here.’
Baldwin nodded. He let out a breath of air, as if deciding which bad news he should relate first.
‘Two days ago Duke Ellard of Rotelegen made a second raid on the Haskan forces positioned just over the border in Grienna. It seems that the first time he caught them by surprise. But on the second, the tables were turned. They were waiting for him—probably lured him into a trap. He was killed.’
Baldwin paused a few moments to let that news settle in. Farred felt a tingling along his spine. This was important news of war, but it was magnified in that it had happened only miles away from where they were now.
‘Most of his army was slaughtered, including his three eldest sons. A few escaped to bring back the news. His youngest and only remaining son, Jeremias, was left back in Guslar. He is now duke. Only sixteen, we think.’
Walter, Baldwin’s brother, nodded grimly in confirmation.
‘So, in most ways that matter, we have lost the army of Rotelegen. The duchy is indefensible…’ Baldwin’s voice trailed off a little.
Indefensible. Farred wondered what that meant, what decisions had already been made.
Baldwin gathered his thoughts together. ‘Gustav had just begun to tell us his news. If you could go over that again, Gustav.’
The other three men were dressed in the leather armour of soldiers, as if ready to ride and fight at a moment’s notice. The brothers, Baldwin and Walter, looked the part. Duke Arne of Luderia didn’t. In fact, the man looked ill, his face pale and his eyes baggy. They seemed to wander around, as if he were not really involved in the conversation. The fourth man, Gustav the Archmage, was wearing knee-high black leather boots and a yellow robe with a patterned hem, belted at the waist. He began to speak.
‘On hearing the news of the battle yesterday, I went to Grienna to see for myself. To check on the facts of the battle as they were reported to us. The facts are true, I am afraid. However, once there, I discovered yet worse news. The Haskan army has now been joined by a force of Drobax from the north. The size of this force is beyond imagination. It sits like a plague on the edge of our lands. Perhaps less than half of these Drobax are fighters, as we would call them. For Ishari has sent all of these creatures, be they male or female, old or young, healthy or ill. As for numbers, I could guess, but it would be meaningless. Millions. When it is in those numbers, you cannot count or assess size.’
‘Millions?’ Brock let out, his voice incredulous.
Gustav simply nodded. ‘It is not a military force as we would understand it. They are not trained fighters, but beasts who would do Ishari’s bidding. They are not even being provisioned. Supplies come in for the Haskan soldiers, but hardly any for the Drobax. They steal what they can from any Griennese stupid enough to get caught. But mostly they eat each other.’
Farred gasped, an involuntary sound.
‘To me, it seemed a practice the Drobax were familiar with. The smallest and weakest are killed and eaten. And yet at the same time, more are produced. I could see them fornicating; I could see pregnant Drobax females walking around. In one sense, it is the ultimate army, capable of feeding itself. The commanders seem not to worry about logistics or keeping them alive. Each day they are there, many thousand will perish. But that is something hardly worth caring about, since such mortality hardly takes away from the overall number. Soon, they must unleash this force on the Empire. When one combines it with the large and well-organised army of Haskany and the Ishari sorcerers they have gathered there, I am afraid it is unstoppable. To put an army against it in the field would be laughable. A fly attack
ing a horse.’
‘So,’ said Ashere, speaking slowly, as if still absorbing this terrifying information, ‘Rotelegen is virtually defenceless, while there is such a force on its border ready to invade. Have you any ideas about how to respond?’
Baldwin gave a pained smile, as if the question were a cruel joke. ‘I know how I will respond. Unfortunately, it is not a response which holds out any real hope. That, I am afraid, is beyond me.’
Baldwin paused. Farred wondered whether he hoped that someone would interrupt, and demand that there was cause for such hope. But how could there be?
‘I have already sent word to Jeremias and his advisers in Guslar. Rotelegen is to be evacuated. The whole duchy. Everyone there is at the mercy of Ishari. I’m not going to waste what force I have left on making a vain gesture. I’m going to make it as hard as possible for the fuckers.’
Farred liked what he heard. Ashere seemed to agree.
‘Yes. Give them the hardest fight you can. That is all you can do.’
Baldwin seemed to take some encouragement from those words.
‘What forces Jeremias has left he will have to use to make their people leave. Arne’s troops will help. Those who can fight will be sent here. Those who can’t will go south to Essenberg. Any source of food or water for the invaders must be destroyed or poisoned. We’re not giving them one free meal. Walter will finish the defences here. I pray to Gerhold and any other god who will listen that the other duchies of the Empire send their troops in time. And then we hole ourselves up in here and last as long as possible.’
Ashere nodded. Farred wondered how he could, since Baldwin of Brasingia had just spelled out a nightmarish end to his Empire: its army holed up in this castle, its people scattered to the south, utterly defenceless against Ishari’s armies.
Toric's Dagger: Book One of The Weapon Takers Saga Page 32
