by I K Spencer
Looking through his telescope, he observed the twinkling of countless enemy campfires as far down the pass as he could see, evidence of the enemy's great number. Innumerable war banners, some he recognized, bore witness to the many Dolonarian lords seeking glory. If Dolonhold fell the group of standards would separate, moving west and defiling the Isaencarl countryside until one flew over every city and village. The guardsman felt sick at the prospect and quickly forced his thoughts elsewhere.
His gaze passed over a row of oversized catapults containing at least a score of the destructive weapons. The gigantic catapults, much larger than any he had ever seen, were positioned well beyond the range of their own few catapults. The guardsman wondered how large a boulder such a massive weapon could hurl and what damage would result when it hit the formidable wall beneath his feet. The burly warrior next took a closer look at the battering rams lined up against the cliffs to the north. The rams were of such a mammoth size that he could not imagine that even the famed Dolonhold doors could stand their assault.
The guardsman had arrived at the fortress nearly a fortnight ago. After leaving Anthen and Teya he had ridden hard to Gates and proceeded directly to the commander of the small militia stationed there. It had taken precious hours to convince the leader that invasion was imminent but he had finally succeeded, then hurried on to alert Dolonhold, spreading the alarm to every traveler he happened upon. Upon his arrival at the fortress, riders were dispatched immediately to carry his message to King Jamen.
Fortunately the commander in Gates had heeded his warning. Since Garrick's arrival a growing stream of traffic was passing through the fort each day, with refugees arriving from the border plains while soldiers and supplies reached the garrison from the west. The previously little used trails were now choked with traffic.
In the last week, the poor souls fleeing the border plains had carried horrific tales. The Dolonarians had burned Gates to the ground and were slaughtering anyone not fit for slavery. Just in the last few days, remnants of the border militia had straggled into the fort. Their valiant commander had attempted a defense outside Gates. Though he must have known it folly, their brave sacrifice had gained precious time for thousands of fleeing residents.
The aging guardsman took a break from watching the massive enemy force to scan the faces of the young soldiers around him. Nervous fear he expected but lately he had seen more and more terror in their eyes, especially since the black mist had brought endless night. Thanks to his warning, at least the size of the force had risen from several hundred to a few thousand, though a quarter of that number were untrained and ill-equipped volunteers. His latest estimate for the approaching Dolonarian force, conversely was ten times their number. Beating all predictions and not expected for another day at least, the lightning-quick Dolonary advance units had been sighted shortly after noon, coming so quickly that some scouting parties were caught off guard and nearly cut off from the fort. Since then, a steady stream of enemy soldiers could be seen arriving through the foot of the pass.
The strange mist had arrived early that morning, carrying with it summer-like temperatures. At the same time, however, word was sent that an early blizzard had hit the mountains to the west and beyond during the night, though it remained abnormally warm all day at Dolonhold. The heavy snow and freezing cold had essentially cut off any further resupply and reinforcement of the fortress. The runners had been shocked to see such warm weather at the fort, saying that less than twenty miles to the west one would find freezing cold and howling snow. Like the mist, Garrick felt certain Cidrl's power was behind the poor weather blocking further aid and forces from Jamen.
The blizzard, mammoth enemy force, and especially the mist worked on the will of those inside the fortress. Panic was widespread and troubling self-doubt and feelings of hopelessness plagued even Garrick, to whom war was no stranger. Many times during the dark day, a young recruit, unable to contain his terror, would break and make a run for the western gate. Each time, a squad leader or officer would drag the panic-stricken youth back to his post with blows and oaths to set an example. Garrick alone had caught six of his men trying to leave their post during the course of the day.
Garrick put away his glass, now of little use in the gathering darkness, and circulated among his nervous men. The aged guardsman commanded the force atop the walls at the northeast corner. Around him on the outer wall were archers and anyone else at all handy with a longbow or crossbow. The rest, swordsman and other brutes like himself, waited atop the inner wall for when the enemy breached or scaled the wall.
A key position in holding the fort, the northeast corner was of course designed specifically to repel an attacker coming from the east, namely Dolonar, and had done so in the last two wars against the unfriendly neighbor. The imposing fortress was situated in the eastern end of a roughly circular valley, taking advantage of the sheer cliffs on either side of the valley. Dolonhold had a narrow and well-fortified eastern face and a much wider but weaker wall to the west; the north and south-facing sides flared out from east to west so the open space between the wall and cliffs was always within reach of archers. The north and south walls were nearly as stout as the eastern face and the same twenty-foot height. A host attacking from the east must choose between attacking the heavily defended, massive eastern wall or braving the exposed gauntlet on either side to reach the weaker, ten-foot western rampart. Thus, the men at both corners of the eastern wall had double duty—battle the main thrust and be watchful for a flanking maneuver.
Garrick went through his ranks, attempting to bolster their waning courage and insuring they knew what to do once the battle commenced. Word had spread that the legendary guardsman, Dolonhold defender of old, was again in the fortress and Garrick, normally one to downplay his role, used his fame to prop up the sagging nerves of the countless young and untested men defending the realm, most of whom would die horribly in a matter of hours. Though inside he felt afraid, old and weak, the guardsman roared with feigned good humor as he strolled atop the walls, a necessary pretense.
After rounds, he returned to the outer wall to check the status of the enemy. He had little doubt they would attack sometime during the night. The Dolonarian generals knew the fortress would only get stronger the longer they waited. The assault would probably come a couple of hours before dawn, after making those inside the fort wait for most of the tension-filled night.
His biggest concern lay in the oversized catapults. He feared that they could hammer away at the fort’s walls and interior while far beyond the range of the garrison's much-smaller counterparts. As soon as the behemoth catapults had appeared, builders had studied them from afar and carpenters were then dispatched to replicate one. He could hear them yet, working in a frenzy to finish it. At the same time, two of the existing weapons had been raised on makeshift platforms to extend their range. Every man atop the walls had seen the number of enemy catapults, however, so each knew the odds.
He surveyed the seemingly endless sea of watchfires down the length of the wide pass east of the fort. Farther still, he could make out torches carried by columns just arriving at the short-lived Dolonarian camp. He could also now hear the ominous sounds of drums and chanting as the Dolonarians prepared for battle. It was a sound that evoked painful and bloody memories.
Garrick searched the night sky for a single star but could find none, the black mist having thoroughly blotted out the heavens. The unnatural cloud reminded him of Anthen and Teya and he offered a silent prayer for their wellbeing. There was nothing left to do but wait.
Chapter 52
Anthen scanned the finally silent camp. Well past midnight the sounds of drunken laughter and singing had still floated up to them from the watchfires. Then, one by one, the drunken Dolonarian soldiers had stumbled off to their bedrolls. Now, just a few hours before first light, the main fire burned low. The only sentries were a pair of spellbound guardsmen. They made the perfect watchmen, endlessly scanning the perimeter without tiring or be
coming distracted. Anthen shuddered when he saw their empty stares magnified by his telescope and quickly looked away, moving the glass to Cidrl's tent. Throughout the night he’d seen no sign of the traitor or Urvena except for a strange light coming from inside the tent, a bluish glow and not the kind of light made by any manner of torch he’d ever seen.
Upon first witnessing the spectral radiance, the elf had warned that it was a sign of dark sorcery at work and more than likely, Cidrl would not sleep. Shayva had confirmed the concern, informing them that the powerful magic would not let the mortal sleep, though he would likely be entranced for periods, his spirit wandering the world to visit evils upon his enemies. The guardsman thought of Dolonhold and offered a silent prayer.
Putting away the scope, Anthen looked at his comrades and both communicated their readiness with a nod. The three warriors rose and, with Kyreial in the lead, descended into the dark woods for the hike to the edge of the camp. Teya and the guardsman trailed the elf, who led them over well-worn trails around to the far side of the lake. It took nearly a half-hour to reach the edge of the woods near the main group of unicorns. The warriors halted and Teya and Kyreial both turned toward the guardsman, who would continue through the trees around to the other side of the camp.
Anthen turned to Kyreial first and the pair clasped hands. The last of the elf's disregard for the young guardsman had dissolved when they reunited before entering the caves. Anthen's survival and escape had astounded the sprite and he no longer thought of the young man as a mere human. No words were necessary to communicate their mutual fondness and respect.
Anthen faced Teya and the two warriors bore identical expressions. Each displayed a momentary frown of concern replaced quickly by a brave smile meant to reassure the other, as any well-trained soldier would. They embraced and privately whispered their love as their lips brushed, then without saying goodbye, Anthen turned to continue on along the forest trail. She watched the guardsman's back disappear in the dark woods then, with Kyreial at her side, began to crawl towards the shimmering captive unicorns.
********
Garrick leaned on the ramparts of the outer wall and took a sip of tea. He grimaced at the bitter taste but it was hot and strong and would help keep him alert in these last few hours of darkness before dawn. Remembering the black mist, he wondered if dawn would even be noticed.
He had stopped off at the galley after making the rounds among his men to give more encouragement. He had spent the night watching the enemy watch-fires twinkle in distance when not moving among his charges. Given the situation, the latter had occupied most of his time. He had surprisingly little else to do since his mission was simple—keep the Dolonary horde from breaking through or pouring over the walls. He had always thought the walls were insurmountable and indestructible but that conviction weakened with each passing hour.
Garrick looked out at the enemy in the distance and cocked his head in confusion at what greeted his weary gaze. Though difficult to make out with no moon, the ground seemed to be undulating before his eyes. Then his heart began to pound as he realized what he was seeing—a sea of men charging up the pass toward the fort! Even then, he did not stir for a few moments for the sight was mesmerizing, like watching an approaching storm.
"TO ARMS!" the guardsman bellowed, the tea mug falling from his hand and forgotten even before it clattered to the ground. In moments the cry was echoed countless times across the fortress and followed up with horn blasts; everyone inside the fortress now knew the desperate battle had commenced. He felt his stomach churn with fear but showed nothing to the terrified men around him. "Be at the ready lads and wait for my command. We have not an arrow to waste!"
The nervous archers positioned themselves in two rows along the outer wall, those in front kneeling. Other squads were doing the same, all along the eastern ramparts. Garrick continued to scan the advancing enemy with his glass, still well beyond the archers. A sound the old warrior knew well began softly and started to grow. It was the roar of the advancing host and all too soon it would be deafening.
A flash to the right caught his attention and he quickly swung the glass toward it with a sick feeling. As he expected, the mammoth catapults had commenced firing. Some of the boulders were covered with pitch and set aflame, some left unlit so the men could not see them coming.
"CATAPULTS!" he screamed the useless warning, since the archers could not break ranks to take cover. Still, the warning would be echoed all along the wall and relayed inside the fort, where it might save lives.
Garrick watched the colossal weapons fire in sequence, amazed by the fact that they appeared to be firing almost straight up in the air, their range so great. Seconds later he heard a loud shriek overhead, a sound even the experienced warrior had never heard before. There was a moment of confusion as the men thought it more sorcery but the truth provided no relief when they realized it was the sound of wagon-sized boulders falling from the heavens above.
With thunderous crashes, the projectiles returned to earth. The gigantic weapons were not accurate, more than half the boulders landed outside the walls, but those that hit targets did tremendous damage. One landed atop the northern wall just a hundred paces from the Garrick's corner and left a six-foot crater in the battlements. For the first time in many years, the guardsman heard again the screams of men being maimed or killed in battle.
"Steady!" Garrick growled to his men. He fought to ignore his own mounting terror as he watched the first waves approaching. The lead cavalry units were nearly in range. "Wait! ... Wait! ... NOW! Fire at will!"
He heard the thrum from countless released bowstrings and watched as precious few of the approaching multitude seemed to fall. Behind the first wave there followed endless more. Most came straight on but sizable groups, mostly cavalry, split off to attempt to run the gauntlet on either side. The circling maneuver would have been futile with the fort fully manned but with so few archers along the north and south walls he wasn't so sure the weak western barrier would not soon be threatened.
He glanced toward the center of the eastern wall, Ballidor's command. The two old warriors smiled at each other and raised their fists but Garrick saw hopelessness beyond Ballidor's bravado and guessed the experienced soldier could probably see through his own brave front as well.
Garrick ascertained quickly that the archers were never going to keep so many invaders from the wall and he called for the rest of his men to come forward. The archers moved to steps at the back of the outer wall, where they could still fire and be out of the way of the others.
As the Dolonarian archers came within range, the sky was lit with flaming arrows. For a moment it was beautiful, like a thousand shooting stars, but then the arrows rained down upon the fort and the imagery instantly disappeared as the screams of the countless wounded reached the guardsman's ears. A moment later, dozens of ladders appeared at the wall in front of them. Garrick roared at his men and the brutes went to work. The experienced warrior had instructed them not to try to push the ladders away or they would become quick targets of the enemy archers below. Garrick demonstrated the proper technique, swinging his great battle hammer across three Dolonarians as they appeared above the ramparts. All three and their ladders fell sideways, taking more in their path. A great cheer rose from his men and they followed his example.
Garrick's men seemed to be holding their own. However, when he scanned the length of the eastern wall he didn't like what he saw; other sections were in trouble. He yelled to his second to take command and moved down the wall to help. Closer to the center he encountered a breach where the wall had been hit by catapult fire. Enemy soldiers had put a couple of ladders at the gap and were streaming in. Garrick leapt into the breach and smashed the soldiers and ladders away before placing two stout young recruits, farm hands by their looks, in the position to repel any further attempts. He moved along the wall, helping out at several more points where the Dolonarians seemed to be gaining advantage. With the guardsman's help they wer
e holding their own for now but in his heart he knew it would only be a matter of time before the catapults and enemy archers took their toll and the dwindling number inside still standing could no longer hold the wall.
Garrick went nearly to the southeastern corner, then started back. Fighting was most furious at the center around the eastern gate, where the Dolonarians had placed a battering ram. It was unlike any ram he had seen—a six-wheeled iron carriage supporting a solid stone ram. It took six massive workhorses to pull the ram back for the swing back against the gate. Dolonarian blacksmiths must have worked for years crafting this terrible weapon. He was nearly knocked from his feet as the giant stone smashed against the heavy gate and clearly the gate would not hold for long under such a tremendous force. He glanced down into the ten-foot gap between the outer and inner walls and saw young boys and women carrying stones to pile against the rapidly weakening gate. Rage surged through him as he saw the bodies of women and children, victims of the continuous rain of arrows from enemy archers.
"You there!" Garrick yelled for the man directing their efforts on the ground. The rock pile against the gate measured less than three feet tall and the guardsman knew they were too late. "The outer gate is lost! Move to the inner!"
The man opened his mouth to argue when the next blow from the enormous ram cracked the tree trunk used as a center cross beam and opened a foot-wide gap. The women and children scurried inside and an order to secure the inner gate immediately followed. Word was quickly passed along the wall that the outer gate was lost and the enemy would soon be in the gap. Even with Dolonarians between the walls they would attempt to hold the top of the outer wall for as long as possible to retain the advantage offered by higher ground.
