Lennart was still waiting, and he realized that the aide was expecting new orders. “Send th’ messenger back tae Branham. Inf’rm Keegan he’s tae verify th’ state ay Kamdeac, if ‘at means he takes his fat crease north an’ sees it fur himself,” Waldemar told his aide firmly. “As tae Lancaster, teel Noelani tae muster a company an’ march them eest. Ah doubt huir uv a much ‘at th’ vermin hae come knockin’, but in th’ memory ay Constantine, we cannae jist ignair their requests. Teel th’ general tae keep an yak it fur thes mage an’ ‘at dobber son, tae execute them if he finds them.”
Waldemar took another gulp of his Grog and noticed Lennart still hanging around. “If ye dinnae lit me finish mah pure techt, I’ll hae ye march wi’ them. Looks loch yoo’re foo ay pep, we’ll donner it it ay ye!” he cursed at the Dwarf. “Frae th’ state ay yer stomach, it micht dae ye some guid!”
The King broke into laughter and ended up spilling more of his Grog on his food. That actually turned out to be a good thing; the meat did indeed taste better. The red was washed away with the Dwarven ale soaking into it. He’d have to remember to mention it to the cook, maybe do it on purpose. Less drinking then and more eating!
“Sorry, mah Rik, jist wanted tae make sure ‘at was—,” Lennart began, but the glare he got in return silenced him. Taking his cue, he whirled about and fled from the dining room like his ass had caught fire.
Waldemar chuckled again, then thought of the fallen King. Such a shame. A brave and courageous human in his day; he should have a sonnet created in his memory. Plagues, hordes, assassinations, maybe there was something sinister about. Yet, his mind was being filled with drink; it was still early, and he had a lot more to get down before nightfall. His wife Fumnaya had been knaggy lately; the more Grog he drank, the quicker he would fall asleep.
“Tae Fumnaya!” he toasted and downed his Grog, calling for more.
II
“John, that runner has been trying to get your attention,” Roland informed his King.
They were standing at the base of the tower, the last of the orders given, and their two-stage attack about to commence. He didn’t have time for anything else! He needed to stay focused and make sure that this went off without a hitch. He wanted to be out there riding with the cavalry, just in case he spotted his former aide hiding at the rear of the enemy army.
He couldn’t conceive of letting that bastard roam free.
“Whit is it?” Bendor asked the runner, stepping from the tower and coming to John’s side.
“Sir! A small group riding under a white flag has approached the southern gate and asks to offer terms,” the man told them, bowing his head out of respect.
John turned to Roland, his heart thundering in his chest; fury unchecked. “Give the order, send them now. I’ll humor them as long as I can; distract them while you start your attack.”
“Sire, yoo’re gonnae lat at while their commander approaches under a flag—,” Bendor questioned.
He turned to face the dwarven commander. “They tried to sack the city last night; invading our keep and attacking our castle walls! They don’t get to retract that act or offer us terms. For those can only be of our surrender, slaughter, and enslavement,” he told Bendor, who nodded grimly in understanding. He turned back to Roland. “You’ve got your orders, good luck and Godspeed.”
His cavalry commander bowed his head with a snap and climbed upon his horse. Though not taking part in the assaults himself, it was important for the men to see him mounted while commanding them from afar; it helped to boost their morale.
He watched Roland ride north, then turned and gripped Bendor’s shoulder. “Let’s go see what these bastards want.”
There was no way he’d lower the drawbridge and meet these creatures personally, so he exited the inner gates and began the climb the battlements overlooking the grasslands beyond. Soldiers saluted as he passed, but he saw the uneasiness behind their actions, and wondered how shaken they’d become over the enemy envoy’s presence.
As he reached the top of the stairs, his dwarven comrade right on his heels, he walked towards the edge and looked over. Understanding flooded him and he realized why his soldiers were nervous.
An aide had followed after with a small bench, and they placed it against the outer wall so Bendor could look between the merlons and see what was transpiring below. His quick intake of breath told him that Bendor agreed with his own mixed feelings of horror and awe. He was glad to not be alone as he tried to control the firing nerves within.
The largest orc he had ever seen was sitting astride a red armored black stallion. The orc had matching armor, the horned platemail covering the entire body with the exception of a two-horned helm; which was cradled in the orc’s right arm. Two thick shafts, probably belonging to battleaxes, rose in a v-pattern behind the creature’s back. Long tusks protruded from the orc’s mouth and his pure black hair hung loose upon his shoulders. Flames flowed from the orc’s eyes as they glared up at him from below.
He briefly wondered what pit of hell the creature had crawled out of.
The orc was flanked by two gargoyles, gray wings folded in, talons clenching with anticipation. They were unarmored, but their hides looked tougher than anything he had ever seen before, and he doubted a sword would easily penetrate their hides. Mouths of teeth sneered up at them and he couldn’t help but notice goosebumps had risen on his arms.
To the rear of the trio was a lone goblin, holding a white flag stained with blood. The black armored creature was eager for a fight, his eyes straying across the battlements as if imagining their slaughter. The goblin’s horse was jittery in the presence of the others and looked as nervous as he felt.
“You asked to speak to me, here I am!” he hollered down at them, trying to keep the nerves from making his voice tremble.
The large orc dismounted from his warhorse and rose to his full height. The beast looked to be over eight feet tall, his body wide, and his arms thick. Still holding his helm, the orc looked up at him and bellowed “There no need all die miserably. If open up gates, War order quick deaths of men. Women and children live, slaves, but on honor, they survive.”
“You call those terms?” he shot back, shaking his head. “Our lives are not yours to barter with.”
“Don’t be fool!” the orc raged. “What War offer chance women and children survive. If turn War away, War order black flag raised, and slaughter every creature in pathetic walls. Castle be razed and War stamp memory existence into nothing! Foolish attempt resist go unnoticed; courage forgotten. Think before speak, Human, it is War Human speak too! War personally rip spine from corpse and parade skull on standard rest of days!”
Did this asshole really think I’d just open the gates? He could tell from the look on the creature’s face that he was thinking exactly that.
“I’ve heard your terms, here are mine! Ride back to your army and strike up your tents; turn tail and go back to the wastelands where you belong. You will be given safe passage to leave; no one under my command will do you harm. But if you want to stay, quit your petty posturing. You want our lives? Come and get them you piece of shit!” he hollered back.
His men along the battlements roared in agreement; their defiance unmasked.
He looked up and saw smoke in the distance; forcing a smile. Things were going just as he planned. A rider was approaching from the enemy army and he knew he had only a few moments before their “visitors” were informed of their attack.
“You made a mistake coming here; one that I’ll make sure you’re reminded of right before I separate that pig head from your rotting carcass. In case you don’t know, we dine on swine; it’s a delicacy! I say, bring on the bacon!” he finished and his men were exuberant with their support. Snorting noises erupted from those closest to him and he began to smile wider.
The rider had reached their guest but he couldn’t make out their words. He grinned when he saw the gargoyles’ reactions as they glared up at him, flashed their teeth, spread the
ir wings, and took flight. They launched themselves south, wings propelling them in jagged thrusts.
The red armored warrior stared at him with hate and he smiled back. Come get it you bastard!
Slowly the orc donned his helm and got back on his horse. Then he turned with deliberate ease and began a measured ride back towards the enemy horde. He displayed no concern over the attacks being waged upon them and he felt shaken by the enemy commander’s confidence.
He looked to Bendor and saw a grim look on his general’s face. “We jist poked a tiger laddie, an’ aam nae sure we’ve got a pit dug deep enaw tae trap heem in.”
“Well, best get the shovels then and get to it, because I fear that orc won’t ever stop coming,” he commented back sourly.
His eyes picked up a stream of cavalry heading towards the western side of the castle. A horn blew in the distance as their enemy gave chase. He backed away from the wall and eyed his short comrade. “Bendor, they’ll be attacking soon, better prepare the men. I’m going to go see how our cavalry fared.”
“Hopefully they got them aw, ur it’ll be rainin’ suin, an’ Ah fur a body dornt want tae gie dreich!” the dwarf called after him as he descended the stairs.
Thinking of the red armored orc, he analyzed his thinking and realized nothing had really changed. So, they had a monstrous hulk for a commander; that just meant he had to go find a larger sword to hit him with.
Or maybe a dragonlance.
He chuckled his nerves away, kicked his horse’s flanks, and rode north to find Roland. Maybe a larger shield too; he was definitely going to need it.
III
Tristan knelt next to the broken body of their Guardian, and despite the man’s supposed transgressions, felt remorse for what became of the elven bodyguard. His body had been mutilated beyond recognition, with only the purple cloth of his uniform giving the impression of who he’d been. Limbs ripped off, torso excavated, and what looked like defecation within his stomach cavity, made bile rise within his throat and he was forced to turn away.
“Are you sure that Preik was working for the Phoenix?” he asked Kylee, who eyed the corpse coldly and without remorse.
Willow had remained near Melissa and was busy stroking Trek’s ears. She refused to come any closer and he could tell by the expression on her face that it sickened her to see her kinsman murdered in such fashion.
“What is the purpose behind the Guardians?” Kylee asked him, kneeling down next to him and foraging through his pouches. “To guard; it’s right there in their name. What was he doing when Willow got bit by that wretched snake? He was nowhere to be found. That’s an awful lapse in his duties, for which he was the remaining member.”
He had to look away with disgust, and swatted at the flies that had begun to accumulate. “He could have been covering our back trail, making sure we weren’t followed.”
“Those goblins gave a rather quick chase and when we first saw them, they were on the passes further below. They hadn’t reached this point. Kore went looking for him after the attack and never saw any sign of him. Five hours lapsed between your leaving and her waking. That’s a long time to be checking our rear,” she said after removing the elf’s canteen and rising to her feet. “You’re just going to have to accept it; he was a traitor.”
“Then why kill him?” he asked as he rose to her side, turning his back on the fallen elf.
“Goblins are bloodthirsty swine and he made for an easy kill. They probably eat their own if they get hungry enough. Don’t try to put reason behind those vermin’s actions,” she told him and began her way down the mountainside once more.
He went to Willow’s side and together they followed after the ranger. Melissa held back for a moment, glaring at the corpse, but then turned to take up the rear. Bleak was sitting on her shoulder and looked to be bored with the grisly find.
“Just doesn’t make any sense,” he continued; not letting go. Preik had stood by Willow’s side during their battle in the forest, protecting her from goblins; why not just let them kill her? What purpose did pretending serve, when he could have attacked them unawares and finished the job right there? Why keep going?
Willow took his hand and gave him a hard smile. “We may never know, let’s just try and put it behind us and move on.”
Before he could say anything else he felt a tug on his mind, a probe trying to interfere with his thoughts. He tried to resist but it pushed harder, shoving his defenses aside.
You’re alive!
He recognized the youthful exuberant voice and relented in his mental struggle, letting their minds touch unhindered. He continued walking by Willow’s side as he felt the alien presence access his vision and move his eyes.
Who’s the chick, what the hell is on her shoulder, and where is Merlin? I can’t seem to reach him, Jared asked him with a flurry.
Mentally, he focused on what had transpired since they’d parted ways and let the events unfold in his mind. He couldn’t relate what had happened on Willow’s end, but his memories were sufficient enough to give a general overview.
Another presence flitted on the edge of their consciousness and he knew that Jared had interwoven his sister into their discussion.
After he finished with the discovery of Preik’s body, Reyna spoke up You’re following some witch now? Who the hell put her in charge?
A hand gripped his arm and whipped him about. Facing Melissa, he flinched at the look on her face. “Merlin did by getting me involved and leaving this whelp on my doorstep,” she snarled, gazing through his eyes and communicating to those watching.
“What’s going on?” Willow asked, eyes flashing between the two. Jared automatically reached out and touched her mind, and her face changed when understanding dawned. “Oh.”
Well, you can tell the witch that she can turn around and go right back to where she came from, Reyna ordered through the link.
Melissa eyed him coldly and wondered who she was truly glaring at. He shrugged and tried to smile, as if apologizing for his black armored comrade.
“I wish. But now the Phoenix knows where I am, thanks to you lot. And since I can no longer stay in the shadows, I might as well take you where you need to go. Unless, of course, you know where to find Camelot, and where within lies the key that we seek?” Melissa asked, eyes twinkling with spite.
“Yeah!” Bleak chimed in, not having a clue to what was going on.
“Shut up,” Willow and Melissa said at the same time and the brownie bowed his head at their rebuke.
The horses are fine. We are fine. We’ll be waiting for you to get here, Jared informed him, then broke away before Reyna could argue any further.
Thank God for small favors.
And what was with his head being used as a conversational piece? He really needed to work on shutting these people out. Was nothing sacred to them? How did he know that he wasn’t being coerced, rather than making decisions on his own? He growled and looked away from the angry magician, catching sight of Kylee in the distance; not paying attention to the fact that they had stopped.
A cat growled at his feet then spoke up at them “In case you forgot, there’s an army not too far off that would love to finish the job of killing us. I’m sure another goblin party is on their way here now.”
He hadn’t thought of that, hoping that the battle that morning had been a victory that would give them some space and time to collect themselves. The thought that another might be on the way—
“Let’s keep moving,” Willow told him softly, freeing his arm from Melissa’s grasp, and pulling him along.
Melissa followed after and he couldn’t help but stare over his shoulder at her occasionally; sure that at any moment she’d just disappear. How could he trust someone that truly did not want to be there? So many damn questions and he was with someone less forthcoming than Merlin; if that were possible?
The magician had stopped in place and was looking across the horizon at the fortress beyond.
“What is
it now?” he asked, yanking his arm free and turning to face her.
Her eyes seemed distant, as if following something that none of them could see and when she turned to look at him, he felt a cold shiver snake over his nerves.
“War,” Melissa whispered softly in return.
IV
“Thirteen survived from the attack on the encampment,” Roland reported and John sympathized with his general’s pain. Forty had gone out, thirteen had returned. He prayed that the twenty-seven others had been killed outright, for he feared what that orc commander would do to them if they still drew breath.
They were walking towards the tower they had met in earlier and felt the weight of his men’s deaths with every step taken. “And their targets?”
“They set fire to as many as they could. Whether it burned them beyond being serviceable? They didn’t stick around to find out. It’s varying with their reports, but yes, I think they got them all,” Roland replied.
He felt a grim satisfaction rush through him; maybe those men’s deaths hadn’t been in vain. Their sacrifice would buy them some time for reinforcements to arrive.
He didn’t dare hope that Forlorn or Grendweir would march to their aid, but the bond with Griedlok ensured that their army should already be on the move. He hadn’t heard from them since sending a messenger pigeon the day before and didn’t dare to do so now. Enemy archers had been placed around their walls and were picking off any attempts with communication with the outside. A force of men might be able to break away, but he could not spare the man power for such a futile act. Either Griedlok was coming or not, there was nothing he could do but wait and hope.
Horns blew from the direction of the enemy horde and he felt his heart leap in his chest. As if to confirm his thoughts, a runner came flying down the steps in their direction and yelled that the enemy was advancing.
Pure of Heart (the New Age Saga Book 2) Page 4
