by RW Krpoun
The mercenaries had charged as soon as the flame appeared, all having been assured that the fire would be out before they got close enough to be singed, and in fact it was. As she ran forward, drawing Rosemist, Janna could see a sheet of fire on the south wall as Durek’s javelin-induced fire tore at the stacked trees on that side, and that when it vanished it left no fires behind, just as hers had not.
The first Badgers to the wall braced crude ladders against the side and began to climb; others, Kroh amongst them, attempted to scramble up the logs themselves, but quickly discovered that the fire-javelin had worked against them, burning away much of the bark that would have given them traction; most of the branches were gone as well, or so badly burned as to be useless as handholds, although they were equally useless as the spikes the Goblins had intended them to be.
The Silver Eagle was the second one up the nearest ladder, right behind a red-haired Silver River guard who was whooping and howling as he scrambled up the rungs; the older Badger conserved her breath for the fight. The boat guard was three rungs from the top when a Goblin spear slid out between the logs and caught him square in the throat, turning his battle-howls into a choking gurgle as his hand missed a rung and he toppled sideways off of the ladder. Another spear darted out at her leg, and it was all she could do to twist out of the way, the weapon’s edge slicing a hole in her loose leather pants. She cursed and grabbed for the weapon’s shaft, bracing herself with Rosemist’s hilt, but the jugata was too quick, drawing the spear back like a snake going down a gopher hole.
The Goblins, she could see now that she knew what to look for, had put their fort together with the ingenuity of one of those Opatian block-puzzles: grooves had been adzed in the logs here and there, grooves that when mated with a groove in the adjacent log provided just enough space to run a long spear or half-pike through but was too narrow to be seen at any distance. Spears and forked push-sticks were sliding out all over the wall now, inflicting wounds and knocking over ladders while the wielders stood behind two feet of wood. Cursing, the Serjeant scrambled up the ladder, yelling for the rest of the attackers to follow, that they would be safe on top of the wall. As she climbed she saw Kroh grab a thrusting spear from the side and heave on it, slamming the Goblin holding onto it into the inside of the log wall. Jerking the weapon from the stunned jugata’s grasp, the Dwarf reversed it and drove it back through the slot, stabbing blindly into the fort.
She reached the top of the wall, which, due to the overhead cover Axel had told them about, was nearly four feet wide at the top, having gotten two cuts on her lower legs and a bright groove on her breastplate from a vicious stab which had nearly knocked her off of her feet. Below her on the outside of the wall her attack force was floundering, with most of the ladders knocked down and more than a few attackers falling back for the trees; she caught sight of Yvonne van der Jabs and three of her household servants carrying a wounded man back on a stretcher, and her husband, a bloody rapier in hand, easing up to peer into a wall-slot.
Behind her Emory Bohmlerz climbed up the ladder at his best speed, cursing at the pain of a leg wound, the tall, slender former Imperial Navy sailor-turned Badger a very welcome sight. A short distance away the Me’Coner brothers were scrambling up another ladder while two Silver River boat guards held it solidly against the wall despite a straining push-stick trying to force it away. “Pull the ladder up and lower it into the fort,” she ordered Emory, a three-year veteran of the Company and a highly regarded Senior Badger, a reputation that was vindicated by his presence on the wall. Looking across the fort, whose open center held the two broken ballista, stacks of ammunition for the war engines, the fire pit, and the impact-scars of the onager’s bombardment, she saw that the far wall-top was empty; Durek’s attack was faring even more poorly than hers. Four out of twenty appeared to be all her force was going to get into the fort, but it might be enough: with the exclusion of Kroh, who was prowling from one slit to another with his captured spear, she had the three best fighters in her group with her.
“Send the Me’Coners after me and stay up here to guard the ladder,” she told Emory, who was better known as ‘Mad Dog’ for his unfaltering courage and skill in a fight; he was also as solid as a rock in regards to orders. Grabbing the edge of the overhang, the Serjeant swung herself down to the dirt floor of the fort.
The Goblins had seen the shadows of the Badgers on the roof through the spaces between the tree limbs and trunks, but had not thought to put spear-slits up there; they were surprised, however, that a single Badger would jump into their nest. Janna was able to land, recover, and bring Rosemist up as the first two jugata tossed aside their half-pikes and charged with wicker bucklers and hand axes.
Enchanted weapons are a mixed lot; some are merely enchanted in such a manner that their edges are enhanced and protected, such as the blades Bridget and Henri carried, while others have special functions in addition to the basic enhancement, such as Kroh’s Named Axe which could be thrown, or Starr’s Snow Leopard which could deliver a freezing blast of intense cold. The best weapons, such as the latter two, drew their power from association with their wielders in a manner that wizards always got vague and technical about when pressed, making comparisons to static electricity and that sort of thing. These weapons were long-lasting, being potent for centuries, but were handicapped by a time element: Kroh’s axe required twenty-four hours between uses to rebuild its enchantment, while Snow Leopard took twenty. Lesser items, such as Kroh’s throwing axe, drew upon a store of energy implanted with the main enchantment, and were useable much more frequently, but would eventually wear out. Rosemist was a ghost-blade, a weapon whose blade could ignore all non-living obstructions and affect only living flesh; it could store up to six uses of this ability, but it took sixty-odd days to replenish a single usage, with six small silver roses inset into the blade near the hilt indicating by their luster the sword’s potency. Janna, naturally, hoarded the blade’s abilities with the utmost care.
Caution was thrown to the wind this day, however: Janna whispered the command word and swung, spoke again and swung again; each time the black steel faded to a misty vapor-like outline that flashed out, ignoring shields, armor, and clothing. Both Goblins fell away, dying, blood seeping through their unsundered armor from their shattered chests. The sight of two comrades cut down by a sword whose blade seemed to vanish and left no marks on their armor while obviously ripping their chests out unnerved the other Goblins, who stopped and stared in wonder, except for one jugata who carelessly stood square-on with a slit and took Kroh’s spear through his shoulder.
Shrieking like an eagle, Janna leapt in, Rosemist’s solid black steel ripping out a Pa’s throat before the startled leader could react. Booting another jugata in the groin, the Silver Eagle planted her back against a support timber that held up the overhead cover and lashed out again, Rosemist chopping a great rent in a shield and the arm of the Goblin holding it, the black steel of her sword blade flashing across the bands of sunlight that cut through the dusty shadows beneath the overhang like bands of gold.
Recovering from their shock, the Goblins closed in, although enough of their leaders retained their senses to order some to go to the ladder that had just been lowered into the fort and most to go back to their posts and continue to harry the attackers. For several minutes Janna was hard pressed to hold her own, but the Goblins were hampered by the fact that the quarters were too close for the half-pikes they had been using at the wall in place of their shorter thrusting-spears, and their small axes and shorter reach placed them at a severe disadvantage against the taller Badger whose sword sported a three-foot blade. Never the less, Janna was bleeding from a half-dozen minor wounds (and had wounded three jugata) before there was enough of a pause in the action for her to look around.
Royan Me’Coner was standing at the foot of the ladder holding back two Goblins with his morean, or basket-hilted long sword, and a spiked buckler, the Thebian’s leather kilt swirling with his fast foot-work;
his older brother was two rungs from the ladder’s bottom thrusting with his monei, the Thebian two-handed great sword, to cover his younger brother’s back. Emory was out of sight, but she could see his hands bracing the ladder in place. Across the fort she saw Durek, Dayyan Reinhart, and Barthel Gayton on top of the wall, the Captain waving for her to withdraw. Seeing the wisdom in it, the Serjeant feinted, stabbed a Goblin in the leg and then side-hopped before breaking into a run, shoulder-slamming a jugata off his feet as she leapt across the ground between herself and the ladder.
Dolan Me’Coner saw her coming and slapped his brother on the back before withdrawing up the ladder; a second later the younger Thebian withdrew as well. The Goblins harrying Dolan didn’t realize that Janna was behind them until it was too late; she decapitated one and kneed the other in the groin before he could bring his shield to bear, then leapt for the ladder. Emory released the ladder as soon as she stepped off the top rung and headed for the ladder against the outside of the fort that the Me’Coners were using, which was still held in place by the two boat guards. Janna followed them, pausing once back on the ground to grab up an abandoned ladder and drag it back to the trees as she withdrew, the last of her attack force to reach safety.
“Three dead, one being a Badger, and twenty wounded bad enough to warrant professional attention, if not Healing,” Durek shook his head in disgust. “Axel, how did we do?”
“I’m getting better with the feathers, so I can say with confidence that we killed five and incapacitated seven,” the Wizard said. “I could tell you that they’re dancing around and cheering, too, but you can hear that for yourself.” The distant shouts and jeers coming from the fort were faintly audible in the grove of brown alders the Company officers were meeting in.
“Who got killed?” Janna asked. “I was getting bandaged up and didn’t hear.”
“One of the new recruits Rolf interviewed, his fourth day with the Company,” Henri advised, shaking his head. “I don’t remember his name, took a half-pike in the chest.”
“So where do we go from here?” Axel asked Durek. “We threw fifty-two warriors at them and got nowhere. The javelins won’t work, my hail can’t get under the overhang, and neither Henri or myself can get a spell through one of those blasted slits. Should we try a Rod?”
“No, not yet,” Durek shook his head. “One or two fire pots would choke it off. No, we’ve got that wax still, the stuff that lets you climb like a spider. I’m going to lead a squad made up of the best we’ve got who’ll have the wax on their boots and off hands; while a diversionary group hits the south wall, we’ll come in from the north and climb straight over, no messing around with ladders. Get a few of the best inside and we’ll teach the Goblins a new dance step or two.”
“If we tied a blanket between two spears, we could throw them on the walls to block the Goblin’s view through the slits,” Rolf suggested. “Or something along those lines.”
“Good idea, Rolf, see about setting it up,” Durek nodded. “Now, I’ll take Janna, Kroh, Rolf, Starr, the Me’Coner brothers, Dayyan Reinhart, Emory Bohmlerz, and Barthel Gayton; ten of the best should do the job. Once we’re on top Starr can use her bow against the Goblins at the south wall, keep their heads down while the rest of us pile into the floor of the fort and sort this business out. We’ll clear the north wall so our backs are covered, then mop up. Arian’s Healing is exhausted, so he’ll lead the diversionary attack with Henri as an assistant; I know I’m taking nearly all the Corporals, but it can’t be helped.”
“We’re going to have to create some more Corporal positions before next spring, perhaps another Serjeant as well,” Axel observed. “Ten leaders in total won’t be enough to control a Company of the size we’re planning.”
“You’re right,” the Captain agreed. “Aside from the Me’Coners, who I can’t understand most of the time, the line Badgers in my group would seem to be solid candidates, but that’s a subject for later.”
“I wish Pug was here,” Henri observed. “He’s a steady sort, too.”
Flicking ash from his cigar, Kroh studied the battered fort, eager to get stuck into the fight. Puffing out a smoke ring, he watched Axel rubbing the hard block of wax on boot soles and gloves; it looked like they would use up half of their supply of the stuff, and shrugged; they had acquired quite a trove of such trinkets over the years, acquired and expended as well, and the wizards always hated to part with any of them, but they were there for the using and no mistake about it. Aside from weapons the Waybrother wasn’t much impressed with such flash goods; they got used up and there you were, used to having them and going without. Best to count on things that lasted, was his way of looking at things.
Finally it was his turn, and Axel rubbed the grimy block of wax across his boot soles and his left gloved palm, the Waybrother having cut the fingers off an ordinary glove for this mission, rather than use his custom-fitted fingerless fighting gloves. “Will this stuff work?” the Dwarf asked, eyeing the glittering flakes.
“Yes, well enough,” the Wizard sighed unhappily as he carefully wrapped up the remaining wax. “It is extremely valuable.”
“Bugger valuable, we got a fight to win,” the Waybrother sneered. “You magic-slingers are always moaning about using this kinda stuff up.”
“Do you ever worry about anything, Kroh ?” the wizard cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Starr getting hurt, and missing a fight,” the Dwarf replied promptly and honestly.
The Lieutenant chuckled. “I envy you, Kroh, I really do. When you charge, try to stay up on your toes so enough wax remains on your feet to let you climb.”
Stubbing out the butt of his cigar on a handy tree (and ignoring Starr’s disapproving look) the Waybrother took a few warm-up swings with his axe, muttering the names on the gold rings to himself for luck. All around him the rest of the main assault group were readying themselves.
“Right, tall ones out front, short ones to the rear,” Durek joked as they formed up in a single rank, side-by-side at the edge of the clearing, the puddles of blood, discarded ladders, and dropped weapons at the base of the fort reminding them of the failed first attack. “Up the wall, over the top, and into the bastards with axe and sword. Stay in pairs or threes so someone can watch your back. Everyone set?”
“No,” Barthel grinned under his mustache, a short, stocky man in his late twenties whose eternal good humor ended only in combat, where he had earned his nickname of ‘Bulldog’ for his relentlessness and growling. “I want to go home.”
“Permission denied,” Durek grinned back. “All right, there goes Arian’s bunch.” From the other side of the fort a howling erupted as the diversionary attack was mounted. “On three: one, two, three charge!”
Kroh was paired with the Captain as the two were of the same turn of speed, i.e., slow. Both were as strong as a Man or stronger, and with their axes they had nearly the same reach, but being four feet tall makes for a short stride.
The first Badgers to the fort (Rolf and Emory) braced freshly-cut saplings against the wall, the leafy branches blocking the view through the slits, and scrambled up the logs, the enchanted wax giving them traction where none was to be found. Kroh hit the wall a step behind Durek and dead last in the group, but once on the logs he made up for time as climbing and rock-crawling were common Dwarven activities. The run had damaged the wax on his boots, causing his feet to start to slip as he neared the top, but enough remained to get him up the wall.
Starr was kneeling on the overhanging sending arrows into the Goblins defending the south wall as Kroh thundered to the edge, checked the ground below, and rolled off the wall. He chose to make a rolling landing, falling onto his thigh, hip, shoulder and then rolling to keep from injuring himself, a risk but not as great as trying to fight on a broken ankle. The taller Badgers just sat on the edge and then swung themselves down like Rolf did as the Dwarf went over, but Dwarves had further to fall than other races.
A jugata was on him as he rolled to his knee
s; blocking the small axe with the shaft of his axe, Kroh ignored the wicker shield’s strike on his helm, leaning in to punch his attacker square in the groin, knocking the bug-eyed Goblin up onto his toes. Lunging to his feet, the Waybrother brought his axe up and around in a mighty decapitating swing before his opponent could recover from the fit of gagging.
The sudden charge up and over the wall had caught the Goblins off guard; after successfully repulsing the first attack they had a far better opinion of their defenses than events warranted. There were fourteen jugata assigned to the north wall initially, and they were confronted by nine armored Badgers coming down off the wall while the other fourteen were taking fire from Starr while dealing with the diversionary attack. They had learned one thing to their advantage, however: each Goblin had a short thrusting spear with him or her in addition to the half-pikes they were using through the slots. While in no way putting them on equal footing, it at least gave them a better chance.
Durek twisted to let a spear point glance off his breastplate, the sharp steel tearing a deep groove in the metal with the Goblin’s full weight behind the thrust. The Dwarf split the spear-wielder’s leather helm and skull with a mighty stroke and kicked the thrashing corpse away as another jugata, broken arm flapping at his side, threw himself at the Badger, small axe flailing wildly. One stroke split two of the rounded iron studs in his arm-length bracers and cleaved through the bull hide of the bracer itself to open a nasty gash on the Dwarf’s upper left arm before he could kill the Goblin, a painful but not threatening wound.
