“I really wish you would stop laughing,” Raste commented.
Mahn tried to conceal his smile but failed. “Quit being so jumpy and I might.”
“I can’t help it!”
“There is no point in worrying about what is beyond our control,” Mahn told him. “The enemy is going to fling rounds at us until they either run out of ammunition or they break down our walls. Right now there isn’t a thing we can do to change that.”
Raste shook his head. “You have a way of making things worse, Mahn. Have I ever told you that?”
“Several times.” He tore off a large chunk of bread and passed the rest. “Here, you need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Mahn insisted. “You’re going to need the strength. The time is coming when we’re all going to need it.”
Raste reluctantly accepted the loaf of dark bread and took a bite. “We should be out there, not caged in these walls.”
“I agree, but that is something neither of us can change. Be patient. Our time will come again.”
Raste couldn’t drop the subject. There was too much pent-up frustration aching to escape. He was in the prime of his youth and had more questions than a normal man his age. “We need to be out there doing our jobs. Aurec is going to need our scouting reports.”
“To what end? The city is surrounded and it won’t be much longer before the Wolfsreik attacks,” Mahn replied. “If we went out there we would be cut off and, more than likely, killed. At least that would end your complaining.”
“Funny. You know what I am talking about. Aurec needs to send us where we can do our jobs.”
Mahn pointed an accusing finger. “Right now that job is here on this section of the wall.”
Snow began falling. Mahn looked up and relished the cool feeling of the tender flakes melting on his face. He’d found it refreshing since he was a young boy. He and his brother used to go out and play in the massive drifts until their mother sharply called them back inside. Those days were long gone, nothing more than shadowed memories dim with time. His mother died of the flux nearly twenty years ago. His brother was lost at sea when his fishing boat got caught in a late summer storm. Mahn enlisted shortly after and had been a soldier ever since.
“What happens when the wall breaks?”
Mahn smiled grimly. “We find a new place to go.”
The barrage continued long into another night. The shock value continued to wear down the morale of the defenders. The Wolfsreik was relentless. Winter was here in force and the invaders had limited resources. They had to either force a quick surrender or break inside and kill everyone. Stelskor understood this. His main priority lay in prolonging the siege long enough that Badron ran out of supplies and got desperate.
“I can’t see so well at night anymore,” he confided in his son.
Aurec watched his father. The flickering torchlight cast almost menacing shadows over the king’s face. His father looked much older in the half-light. Aurec hoped he never had to bear the weight his father carried now. “There is not much worth seeing.”
Stelskor reluctantly agreed. “I fear you are right. How did we come to this? Were we too blind to see this war coming?”
“Guilt and blame should be placed on me, Father. If I had not gone to take Maleela…”
“Enough of that,” Stelskor scolded. “We’ve had this discussion. Badron is the one to blame. We must focus all of our efforts on stopping his army and retaining our sovereignty.”
“I honestly can’t see how. Cuul Ol and his Pell warriors did their part, but now they’d just be wasting their lives.”
Stelskor placed a loving hand on his son’s shoulder. “Winter is here. There may yet be some life for us. Do not give in to despair. Hope is not lost yet.”
“I hear your words, but cannot see how hope is possible. There has to be a way to break the siege lines.”
“The siege is not important. This war is not important. The only thing that matters is the continuation of our people and way of life.”
Stelskor resumed his nightly vigil out the window. Fires burned across his city and at various spots along the wall. Black smoke billowed up into the night sky from a dozen places. He sighed. So much destruction after only two days. The old king never imagined his world would be burning down around him.
“I remember you back in your fifth summer,” he said softly without turning. “I sent you with your mother to one of the fishing villages. Keinburg, I believe.”
Aurec smiled as fond memories returned. “I remember.”
“What you didn’t know was that a large band of sea raiders had come from the east. They burned and pillaged everything in their path as soon as they hit the mainland. I barely had time to raise a force strong enough to meet them in battle. It was a terrible summer. More than three thousand civilians were killed. The raiders were stronger than I had anticipated.”
He paused. Too many bad memories haunted him. “We were outnumbered and I was forced to flee. I think I only had around four hundred battle-ready men. We fled to Grunmarrow. That is where we mounted a counter campaign. It took the entire summer, but we finally drove them from our shores. They have yet to return.”
“Once again the wolves are at our door,” Aurec added.
The king smiled. It was the gleam of a warrior unwilling to accept his fate, the unspoken vow to keep fighting when all the odds stood against him. “We will survive this too, my son.”
An urgent knock ended their conversation. Stelskor opened the door. Turgin, the house jarl, was leaning against the wall trying to catch his breath.
“What is it, Turgin?”
“My lord, come quickly.”
Aurec instinctively slid his hand to his sword. The tone in Turgin’s voice suggested danger. “What has happened?”
Terror lingered in his light brown eyes. “Another army approaches from the east.”
“Another army?”
“Goblins,” Turgin whispered.
That single word was strong enough to shatter the foundations of the world. The hour had grown late for Rogscroft. King and prince hurried off to the wall to catch a glimpse of this new evil.
TWENTY-FIVE
The War Changes
Thousands of Goblins marched under the brutal whips of their masters. Disorganized ranks of the snarling creatures moved as a black stain against the pure white snow. The men of the Wolfsreik watched in disgust while hurriedly preparing to attack. Word filtered through the ranks that the Goblins, once a mortal threat, had come as allies. Few accepted it as a truth. Most of the vaunted army saw the Goblins for what they were, the harbingers of doom. Others took it as the gravest insult. No matter how any man chose to view it, the Goblin army had arrived and in force.
Rolnir and Piper watched with abject disgust as the Goblins continued to surge into positions on the far right flank. Goblins were squat and powerful, barely taller than a Dwarf. Their grey skin was the color of ash. Fangs jutted from their squared faces. Legends said they ate their dead. Rolnir didn’t doubt it. Their presence whispered a violent demise for all humanity stood for. A rancid smell choked the air.
“Disgusting creatures,” Piper snapped.
More than just his senses were offended. Piper saw their coming as a personal affront to the abilities of the Wolfsreik. Badron had finally broken down and told his senior commanders about the Goblins. His decision was met with rage. The king denounced them for close-minded fools too willing to risk friendly lives during the coming battle. Not one of the commanders sided with the king, but it didn’t matter. Badron was king and his decision was law.
Rolnir couldn’t bring himself to look away. The Goblin army presented a ferocious appearance well beyond the fur-clad soldiers of the Wolfsreik. He despised them. Emotions couldn’t override the natural hatred Rolnir held in his heart for the vile creatures. Goblins had no right to exist.
“Do you find it odd that such a large force was so well prepared and able to march on s
hort notice?” he asked Piper.
He did. “They must have been preparing for as long as we did.”
Rolnir hesitated. The consequences of that alone might be disastrous for his army. “Then we have been betrayed.”
His words were barely a whisper. Rolnir had lived a soldier’s life. It never once entered his thoughts that he might be betrayed by his own king. The convenient arrival of the Goblin army combined with their readiness for battle meant Badron must have struck a deal some time ago. The implications sickened him.
Piper stared at his longtime friend. They’d endured countless struggles and battles, many they should not have. Each trusted the other with his life. Whatever decision Rolnir made, Piper would follow.
“What are your orders, sir?”
Familiar confidence colored Rolnir’s face. “Not much seems to bother you these days. How can you be so calm right now?”
Piper stared out at the sea of Goblins. “They are here. Nothing either of us does will send them back. The best we can hope for is that enough of those monsters get killed so that we don’t have much to worry about until the city falls.”
He held back his private thoughts. Images of what the Goblins were going to do to the men and women inside Rogscroft turned his stomach.
“When do you think Badron will call on us?”
“I do not think he will. Whatever council he keeps, the king does not trust us,” Piper replied.
A company of Trolls, huge and carrying double-headed battle axes, marched by. Rolnir blanched. Their skin was almost pure black, their eyes a possessed red. Tufts of steel-tough hair dotted their muscled bodies. Their foreheads were sloping. Horns jutted from beneath their ears, curving over their faces. Rolnir had had the displeasure of fighting Trolls once. Only three of his men returned alive after the ambush. Trolls had iron-tough skin and took several blows before falling. Just two of the beasts killed almost fifty of the Wolfsreik. Seeing one hundred of the hulking creatures here inspired his darkest fears.
“We have nothing that can stop them,” he said.
Piper shivered at the sight. Puss-filled lesions covered the Trolls’ arms and legs.
“We’d best start sharpening pikes now,” he said and half smiled. “I have a feeling it’s going to take a lot just to kill one of those bastards.”
“Piper, I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
Rolnir grinned despite himself. “Work up a plan of attack against the Goblins. I have a sinking suspicion they already have done so against us.”
They went back to watching the enemy army continue to move into position.
Badron watched as his Goblin counterpart marched up the snow-covered slope towards him. The king of Delranan struggled to keep disdain from showing. His instincts screamed that he should have resisted Amar Kit’han from the beginning. Every decision since had led him deeper into a growing disaster. The army’s morale was at its lowest point since the war began. Badron’s faith in his general had also waned. The world slowly closed in around him until this was all he could see.
Badron scowled. He knew the war was unnecessary. Revenge for the death of his son had fueled his ultimate decision. It might have easily been settled through a challenge. Instead, Badron used the single death as a spark to invade his longtime rival. Then came the Dae’shan. He wasn’t sure how he had fallen under their spell, for surely it must be a sort of magic. They’d come with promises of fulfillment for all of his private lusts. Dreams of power and conquest had led him to this moment.
Amar Kit’han stood behind the king. The Dae’shan had dissolved his form back into darkness in order to remain unseen. The last thing he wanted was for Badron to realize that he had been duped and that both the Wolfsreik and Goblins marched to his manipulations. The Goblin king halted a few paces from Badron. Drool trickled from the corners of his mouth.
“You are king.” It was more statement than question.
“Badron of Delranan, Lord of the Wolfsreik.”
Grugnak was unimpressed. Natural hatred extended to all men, no matter their station. “Grugnak,” he said.
Badron winced. The words sounded like rocks being chewed.
“Your assistance is appreciated, but unnecessary,” he continued. Badron tried to exude a calm he did not have.
He’d never seen a Goblin before, at least not this close. Their kind had been relegated to myth in this part of Malweir. Badron cursed his weakness for leading him into this situation, knowing it was too late to send the Goblins away. The best he could hope for was that Rolnir was disobeying orders and preparing to make war on the grey bodies.
“Careful, King. The Goblins are not the sort to take insults well.” Amar Kit’han’s voice was a whisper only Badron could hear.
Grugnak shot a look of hatred up at him. “We are here to kill Men. Remember that.”
“See how single-minded they are? Goblins detest life, yours most of all.” Amar’s voice held a certain humor, as if he found this scenario amusing. “Best not to upset your new allies.”
“Quiet you bastard,” Badron hissed through clenched teeth. “Else you can find a new puppet to play your games on.”
Amar turned indignant. “Games? How little you grasp your situation. Mind your tongue, King, lest I have it torn from your mouth.”
Badron stiffened, causing Grugnak to reach for his short sword.
“All the men you wish to kill are inside the castle walls,” he told the Goblin.
Grugnak relaxed, if only slightly. He had no hesitation towards killing Badron. It was the Dae’shan’s insistence that stayed his sword arm. “My Goblins want blood.”
Badron felt his stomach turn. It took great willpower not to run the disgusting creature through with his sword. Instead, he reluctantly said, “They will have it. We attack at first light.”
“No. Goblins do not fight under the sun. We will attack at night,” Grugnak said defiantly.
“That is insane! My army does not have the advantage at night,” Badron protested.
Grugnak laughed in his face. “You sleep, we fight!”
The Goblin general turned and stalked back to his army.
“I warned you, king. Do not provoke them. Goblins are touchy beings. It will avail none to anger them.”
Badron glared back at the shadows in the dark. “Your words leave a chill upon my soul. I should tell you to piss off and be gone. This is my war.”
Laughter. Cold, merciless laughter.
“Why do you laugh?”
“This was never your war.”
Belkin couldn’t believe his eyes as the first Goblin ranks marched into the city he had been born and raised in. They’d come to kill. Axes and rusty swords glinted in the torchlight. More and more came, all with bloodthirsty abandon. They snarled and called foul cadence. Belkin felt a warm trickle run down his right leg. He never dreamed he’d be forced to stand the line against such a dark foe. Instincts begged him to throw down his sword and flee.
“We need to get out of here,” Pilin echoed his own thoughts.
Belkin’s voice trembled. “No. We have been ordered to hold. Have faith, Pilin.”
“I don’t think I can.”
Belkin understood. He caught the glimmer of another man in the building on the opposite side of the street. It was time. Dozens of arrowheads poked from every window on the street. Belkin did the same, drawing a bead on the nearest Goblin. His heart trembled. The thunder of each beat threatened to rip his head apart. He prayed his fingers kept their strength. A flaming arrow arced up over the city skyline. The signal. Every archer loosed simultaneously.
Goblins fell dead by the dozen. More lay wounded, trapped beneath the dead and the press of bodies still pushing into the kill zone. The archers loosed volley after volley, as fast as they could reload. Others poured buckets of pitch down on the writhing mass of bodies.
“Fire!”
Fire arrows plunged into the Goblins. A few managed to look up in time to see t
heir deaths hiss down around them. The smell of cooked flesh roasted in the chill night air. Screams filled the city.
“Keep firing! Kill them!”
Belkin lost himself to battle, all thoughts of escape dissolved into the madness of battle rage. He and Pilin emptied their quivers well before the order to fall back was given. The handful of catapults on the castle walls barked flames into the night. Projectiles slammed into Grugnak’s follow on forces. The Goblin advance stalled. Body parts were flung up into the air. The iron smell of blood choked the defenders.
“Fall back!” came the order. “Get back to your secondary positions!”
Belkin snatched his empty quiver. “Come on, Pilin. We have to leave before Goblins find us.”
They ran, joining a large pack of others. The threat of death was very real. No one wanted to die this early in the siege. Mass confusion greeted the pair once they hit the main avenue. Rogscroft soldiers ran for their lives while burning Goblins ran off in despair. Their massed ranks had worked against them. Belkin and Pilin ducked down a tight alley and into another building. Two full quivers were already there. The boys settled down and prepared to kill again.
Rolnir watched the flames lick up into the fading night sky. Screams drowned out every other sound. He sighed. The Goblin assault had failed, miserably. Realistically it never stood much of a chance. The Wolfsreik hadn’t the chance to clear any of the traps or obstacles. Snipers remained hidden instead of being routed back into the castle. Rolnir was almost amused. They might never know how many Goblins had been killed tonight, not that it mattered. Each death was one less his men would need to deal with once the siege was lifted. Rolnir watched the scene with a small measure of satisfaction before turning in for the night.
TWENTY-SIX
Harnin’s Fall
Tides of Blood and Steel Page 20
