Elias nodded. “Once we have crushed the rebels and secured reinforcement, we will march to the Felle.”
Tataramoa offered his hand, and Elias shook it. “Then may your battles be swift, and may your enemies fall before you like ripe fruit. I await the time that we stand side by side again.”
~ ~ ~
6th Waxing Frost Moon, Year 4369
Elias sat on the back of his charger, next to Brandt at the head of a column of men and dwarves. They rode west, away from Valtheim, past the ridge that Quartz had destroyed when Gerulf and Adalhard's men had attacked. Their route took them along the southern side of the crater she had made, and when he reached the woodline at the top of the ridge, he could see the destruction firsthand.
It was exactly as if an enormous fist had slammed into the ridge, soil and stone piling up high around the edge of the newly formed crater. The bottom of the depression was littered with smashed gravel, sand, shattered trees, and crushed sections of stone pillars. Hundreds of corpses that had been too mangled to load onto carts were scattered about the base of the crater, half buried in the shifting debris.
The bottom of the crater had massive drag marks, where material had been shoved north, to the new, small mountain that stood at the northwestern corner of the valley where Valtheim had been built. The mountain was made up of stone, soil, trees, and had a base of solidified volcanic glass; great sheets of it, riddled through with cracks from cooling too fast. Black, gray, red, and green, it had many more colors than the obsidian that had been found on Greenreef, which had all been black.
Several large chunks of the stone pillars that Quartz had created stuck out from the mountain at sharp angles, and Elias could see how really huge some of them had been. Most of the pillars were ten feet across or larger, some spanning nearly twenty feet. They had broken off almost flat when they cracked; the edges chipped and scuffed, hexagonal in cross-section. Made of a dark gray material, the sides were smooth, fractal, like flaking glass.
Elias looked back at Valtheim, its broad walls surrounding the vast majority of the city, a nearly perfect octagon. Though he was quite far away, he could almost swear he saw little blue warriors standing on the top of the wall, watching for enemies, guarding the city and waiting for him to return.
He looked over the troops that followed him, five thousand of Brandt's finest warriors, a thousand willing dwarves, and ten ballistas that had been mounted to wide, sturdy wooden carts. He felt a sense of satisfaction. There was no way that Gerulf was going to be able to hold Steinhalt against this army, especially once Brandt's bannermen met them at Gerulf's stronghold. Their forces would double, numbering over twelve thousand, to Gerulf's six and a half. The siege weapons should make short work of any gates or thin walls, and then their soldiers would go and do what they do.
Despite Eira's urging for caution, Brandt decided to lead this assault. He had been late to battle when Valtheim was liberated, having to feign ignorance, and in the following battle he and Elias had just watched from the top of the western wall. Not this time.
This time, Brandt and Elias were both going to get their swords bloody.
Elias spurred his horse along the road. A war waited for him at the end of this path, and he had no intentions of making that war wait any longer than it ought to.
Chapter Thirteen
10th Waxing Frost Moon, Year 4369
The road was hilly, passing over ridges, curling around mountains, and dipping into valleys. Enormous pines, firs, and cedars towered on either side of the wide path as they marched along, keeping them in the shade for most of the day. Elias and Brandt rode at the fore, while Jonas, Martin, Jenna, and Geoff rode behind them. Accompanying them were several knights, of whom Elias could remember none of their names, and two thousand cavalry. Making up the vast majority of the army was the infantry, four thousand of them, marching in neat columns. The Northmen and the dwarves both seemed to have a lot more discipline than the sea elves did, and stayed in formation, marching with a tromping rhythm that was easy to get lost in.
Not that the sea elves were poor warriors, or inefficient travelers by any means. Elias found that he missed their presence during the march; though he wasn't a sea elf, they were still elves like him, and he felt a kind of camaraderie with them. Not to mention that he had fought and bled with all of them back in Greenreef. That sort of thing really tended to solidify the relationships that warriors had amongst each other.
It wasn't that he didn't care about these soldiers, of course. These were his allies, as much as Brandt was, and he knew that they were marching off to a place where many of them would die. He just didn't know them as personally. He was slightly ashamed at the fact that that made it somewhat easier, but as time went on, battles became simpler to count as victories or losses, instead of individuals killed.
Elias pushed that depressing line of thought out of his head. He needed to focus on the battle ahead, and the time he had left on the road would be better spent on that.
Sargoth had followed them, as Elias had asked him to aid them in the coming battle, but most of the time he flew so high that he was either above the clouds or was barely more than a silver speck in the sky. At night, he rested in the closest clearing he could find after hunting, giving the men their space. Elias visited him after they made camp, and filled him in on any developments he and Brandt had made in their strategy.
Steinhalt was built on the edge of a wide stony plain, where great sheets of granite and bedrock jutted out of the ground. Much of the Northland's stone came from the quarries here, and many of the large castles were built with blocks cut from these lands.
Even now, a day's march away from Steinhalt, there were clearings in the forest where the soil grew too thin to support the massive evergreen forest, and sparse, dry, gray grass grew, full of burrs and ticks. They would trample these places flat and pitch their camps there, the ancient forests giving up ample dead limbs and logs for firewood, baked by the sun and time.
They had left one of these broad, stony clearings that morning, and resolved to reach the final ridge by sundown. They were making excellent time, and the weather was cooperating. Elias wondered if it was Eira's doing, in the same way she kept Valtheim's weather fair, but it really didn't matter either way. No rain or snow slowed their passage to Gerulf's fortress.
Perhaps an hour before sundown, a rider met them on the road. He was dressed in chainmaille and rode a gray charger, and while Elias recognized the standard on his armor, he couldn't place to which lord it belonged. A red tree on a green field, with a blue band across the bottom. Perhaps to represent a river?
The rider approached, holding his standard high, his other hand raised, riding without holding the reins of his horse. Brandt held up his hand, and the whole column ground to a halt, all six thousand troops. Elias sat on his horse next to Brandt and watched the rider approach.
Brandt dropped his hand. “What news from Waldgebeit?”
The rider called back. “Trevor of Waldgebeit and two thousand warriors wait for you outside of Steinhalt, my lord! Our swords and lances are ready to reclaim the Northlands for the rightful king!”
Brandt nodded. “I am glad to hear this. What of Einman and Gevalt?”
The rider stayed where he was, but dropped his hand back to his lap. “Both Steinhaus and Hohlhaus are with you, my king. Einman and Gevalt have ridden to accompany you to battle. They camp alongside the soldiers of Waldgebeit. Our swords and our lives are yours to command!”
Brandt smiled. “Very good. Tell your lords that King Brandt arrives in an hour with six thousand men, and at dawn, we take Steinhalt. The bards will write songs of our victories for generations to come!”
The rider bowed low, turned his horse, and galloped away, leaving Elias and Brandt to resume their march.
Tomorrow, there would be blood.
~ ~ ~
11th Waxing Frost Moon, Year 4369
The dawn was brisk and mostly clear, with only thin, wispy clouds in the
sky, as if a giant had swept over them with a ragged broom. A cold wind came from the north, rousing the men early, despite their long march. They assembled at the edge of the long, open plain that led up to Steinhalt, the cavalry in front, and the infantry behind them. Together, there were twelve thousand soldiers standing at the ready, facing the fortified city.
Steinhalt was roughly the same size as Valtheim, but its walls were square instead of octagonal. Great, thick towers adorned each corner, with a smaller one in the middle of each wall. The gates themselves took the place of the tower on the western wall, with a wide buttress on either side. A large force of infantry and cavalry stood in front of the city, ready to engage the army. The scouts reported that it was almost all of Gerulf's men; six thousand soldiers, with five hundred to man the walls. Gerulf was throwing everything he had into this, not holding out for a siege. Perhaps when the families of Brandt's men had left, they had taken so many supplies, the city wouldn't be able to last if its supply lines were cut off.
Elias wore his plate armor this time, his dragon skin tunic underneath it and his gambeson. This was going to be an all-out battle, where stealth didn't matter. The weight of the steel on his shoulders was comforting, as was the weight of his sword in his hands. He wasn't as comfortable fighting from horseback as the rest of the cavalry was, so he decided to join the infantry, and fight on foot.
Sargoth stood out front of the cavalry, poised much like a cat, the sunlight glinting off of his scales. He made for an impressive figure, his head held high on its long, serpentine neck, all four limbs resting on the stone of the battlefield, sitting back on his haunches. Even seated as he was, his head towered thirty or more feet off of the ground.
Brandt rode out in front of his army, wearing his resplendent plate armor, a hand and a half sword held aloft. He cried out to the assembled warriors as his horse cantered along in front of the battle line, a forest of raised lances standing at attention. The plan was to break Steinhalt's cavalry with their own, and then the infantry would close with the battle, helping the horsemen crush Steinhalt's infantry. Once the soldiers in front of the city were destroyed, the infantry would storm the fortified walls, open the gates, and let the rest of the forces into the city.
“Patriots of the North! Dwarves from the mountains!” Brandt shouted, his deep voice carrying far enough that Elias was sure that even the soldiers at Steinhalt could hear him. “Today we face our enemy, a lord who once swore fealty to my father, the noble king Brynjar! When my father died, so did this traitor's honor! He swore to uphold our laws and protect our country from those that would try to destroy it. When that time came, he instead joined them, and tore our land apart! It was he who held your families captive, who held a sword to your necks and said to you, 'My word is now law!' It is he who began to sully the name of the Northmen by attacking peaceful cities, returning us to the barbarous scourge of our lesser years! Is this the way of the Northmen, to bully and terrorize our own?”
A resounding cry rose from the assembled soldiers, and Brandt wheeled his horse around, causing it to rear. One-handed though he was on the reins, Brandt easily kept his seat.
“Will we allow this traitor to remain in our midst, poisoning our land with his vile betrayal?”
Another great cry from the Northmen, the cavalry lifting their lances high as they shouted, the infantry banging their swords and axes on their shields. Dwarves held their axes and hammers high, lending their deep voices to the cacophony the greeted Valtheim's enemies.
“Then on this day, we ride him down like a boar, skewering his grotesque presence with our lances and swords, and wiping his disgrace from our stone, our forests, our rivers, and our mountains! Today we take back the North!”
He turned his horse towards Steinhalt and pointed his sword forward. “Lay waste to his army, and let the gods know that true Northmen wage war this day! Charge!”
With his last shout still lingering in the air, Brandt spurred his warhorse forward and was immediately followed by five thousand cavalry, their hooves making the ground shake as they rushed forward, surging around Sargoth, the horses giving him a wide berth. Elias stood, his heart pounding as Valtheim's cavalry charged, flanked by the cavalry from Waldgebeit, Steinhaus, and Hohlhaus. He waited with the rest of the infantry for the cavalry to engage before he would charge in behind them.
Elias could still see Brandt's sword held high when it happened. Two-thirds of the way to Steinhalt, as the grass gave way to a flat sheet of stone, the charging cavalry moved in on itself. Valtheim's horsemen kept charging forward, but those from Waldgebeit, Hohlhaus, and Steinhaus turned towards the center, closing on Valtheim's cavalry.
Elias's eyes went wide as he saw fighting begin.
He was about to shout, to lead the infantry to Brandt's aid, when he heard cries of pain from behind him and to either side. Whirling to face the infantry at his back, he saw men wearing the insignias of the three lesser lords burying their weapons into dwarves and Valtheim men. A wordless cry escaped his lips as he leapt into combat, barely countering a blow from a pike that was meant for his back. Hacking the weapon into pieces, he rushed the wielder, cleaving him almost in half before descending on the confused mob of soldiers.
A rush of wind nearly bowled him over, and he could hear Sargoth taking flight. An ear-shattering roar caused the mob to slow for a heartbeat, before the battle resumed with renewed fervor.
Anyone not wearing Valtheim colors was subject to Elias's wrath. His great blade whipped around him, removing arms, heads, legs, whatever he could reach. Behind him, he could hear a blast of flame coming from Sargoth, and could feel its heat on his back. Turning, Elias saw an inferno billowing skyward, dividing the battling infantry from the cavalry. He sidestepped an axe that was swinging for his chest, and removed the arms of the man who swung it, his sword snapping downward like a guillotine, cleaving through flesh and bone as butter.
Even over the rage of combat around him, he could hear the shouts and screams of men and horses as the cavalry tore each other apart. He fought towards the western edge of the battle, towards the flames and towards the cavalry, cutting and hacking at anything that stepped in front of him Soon, he made it to the edge of the battle, and started casting about for his companions.
He roared to the battle. “Jonas! Jonas, Martin, Jenna, where are you! Geoff! Rally to me! Men of Valtheim, rally to me!”
A group of soldiers charged towards him, bearing the colors of Hohlhaus, blue and gray, armed with spears. He held his sword ready, bellowing out a battle cry as they closed with him. A spearhead struck his breastplate, sliding off to the side. Countering the strike with one of his own, Elias skewered the spearman with his sword, slashing out his entrails as he fell. He whipped his blade to the side, turning the previous strike into a swing at another man, who leapt back in time to survive, dropping his spear. Another soldier struck him, the tip of his weapon breaking through the chainmaille that covered his thighs, cutting Elias, but not badly. The soldier's victory was rewarded with a two-handed strike that slashed him to the spine, spilling his innards on the ground as Elias claimed his life.
A third man leapt on Elias's back, trying to bear him to the ground, but Elias gripped the man's wrists and ducked forward, throwing the soldier over his head, slamming him hard against the stony field, stunning him. Elias's pommel was the last thing the soldier saw as it came crashing down to crush his skull. Turning, Elias hacked through another man's spear as it sought his flesh, and prepared to strike, but before he could land a blow, the back of an axe crushed the man's skull from behind. As the soldier fell, eyes rolling up in his head, Elias saw Martin, bloodied but alive.
Elias stepped over the fallen man, standing next to Martin. “Where's Jonas?” he asked, blocking an axeman's strike with his sword, and countering with a solid kick to the chest. The point of his blade finished the solider off.
“I don't know! When the fighting started, he ran into the middle of it to find Jenna!”
“Is G
eoff nearby?”
Martin swung his axe, digging it into a screaming man's neck. Wrenching it free, he closed his eyes and blood spurted across his face. “Fuck! I don't know! He was in the back, with the archers! Why isn't that fucking dragon burning these cunts alive?”
Elias caught a pike with his left hand, and jerked the soldier wielding it forwards, ramming his sword through the soldier's sternum. “If he did, he'd be burning us too! We're too thick in it here!”
Martin cursed again, and started laying into the soldiers around him with the back of his axe, crushing legs and arms and skulls with savage blows. He was not nearly as large as Elias, but his thick, solid build lent itself well to the task of combat. Another axeman rushed up to Martin's back, holding his axe ready to cleave the young man, but Elias took off his leg above the knee. Martin heard the man's scream, and smashed in his chest with the back of his axe.
“Find Geoff! I'm going to find Jonas! Rally as many men from Valtheim as you can; we're losing this battle!”
Elias heard another roar, but this one was more distant. He turned towards Steinhalt, and saw a terrifying sight. An enormous serpent, as large or larger than Sargoth, was flying over Steinhalt, towards the fray. Its scales were pitch black with red highlights, and its face and back were covered in long, glistening spikes. Its wings were long, tattered, and looked almost like black sails with myriad holes in them, and he was flying straight towards the battling infantry.
Sargoth answered the other dragon's challenge with one of his own. The great silver dragon circled once, and dove at the black dragon like a falling stone, tucking his wings in close, his front claws outstretched, reaching for his target. They collided in midair, wrapping around each other like a pair of cats as they fell, biting and kicking with their back legs as their front claws dug in, holding each other from escaping.
Thunderbolt (Dynasty of Storms Book 2) Page 22
