First came four casters. Their chained and armored bodies swayed at the doorway of the house, as the enemy turned in shock to look at the unexpected foe.
Lines of blazing fire left the dverger hands.
Four, then eight such lines burned out, and they burned hot enough to turn man and beast into pyres. Hundreds of the thickly packed, gleeful enemy burned inside their armors like crabs. The enemy King’s spell was gone with the shock of the attack, as he was trying to turn the horse and comprehend what was happening. One of the dverg fell, his face sporting an arrow, but the others stepped out of the way, as Thrum’s officer, Narag, led the warriors out.
“Kill the milk-drinking toy-soldiers!” he screamed, and our troops took heart. We advanced on the horrified enemy one more time, who realized there was a terrible enemy behind them. Outside the gate, men were pushing at the portcullis, but some fell as men fired arrows from the gatehouse. I knew some of the valiant men still held it.
The dverger were savage fighters.
They seemed emotionless, because they didn’t scream challenges, dance before the foe in challenge or mockery, nor did they celebrate their victim’s demises loudly. Instead, they grinned like skeletons, murmured prayers for the soul of their soon-to-be victims. They tore in an organized mass of shield and deadly sharp, dverger crafted weapons into the packed, outmaneuvered enemy legion. I saw their weapons go up, and down. Then, up and down again, but this time, with blood flying high, until the battle by the gate looked like a crushing butcher house of disappearing legionnaires. The dverger moved inexorably forward, and so did we, and there, right in front of us, a high officer with a yellow helmet sat, screaming orders with a red face.
It was the General of the Minotaur Legion, his flags held high around him.
I slammed my sword right, and killed a fleeing man, I pushed to the middle of their crumbling shield wall, and howled, as a spear tore the air near my chin. I killed the spearman, hacked forward into what was now the back of the enemy, until I reached that high officer. I rammed the sword into his horse’s rump, saw him fall amidst bodies, and found him in mud, flailing like a bug.
There, I stomped and stabbed him dead.
His flag-bearers were falling around us, as two women with swords hacked at the men, gleefully and crudely.
The Minotaur standard fell into mud and blood.
The enemy ran in disarray, panting, and I saw the enemy King screaming at them. He was not far from the dverger, and seeing his men had no will to fight, the King pulled together a desperate spell, a force of guards holding shields around him. Lightning flashed through his men, and killed dozens of my short allies, who took the loss stoically, packed up the ranks, and pressed on. The dangerous King was screaming all the time, exhorting his men, but then, he was not.
A javelin from a ballista back in the walls impaled a guard near him. A large rock rolled over another of his guardsmen. Three javelins from my men found the King and his horse, and the beast fell in a heap. The King himself, the draugr Lord, was on his back, howling as a javelin had pierced his throat.
“Take him!” I bellowed breathlessly, and the men and women exerted their last strength and attacked ferociously. Where the King had fallen, I suddenly saw a dverg hack down with an ax, and lift in triumph the head of the draugr Lord.
The enemy rushed away, some to the city, guessing we would not pursue them far. Many went to the walls, and some jumped over, breaking bones, some dying.
I stood over the horrible field of death.
I pointed the sword around me like a King of War, claiming the field and the dead in it, and roared our victory. The people answered willingly, wounded, bleeding, bloodied, and proud. I grasped the flag, and threw it over the draugr King’s body. Then, I pulled out my cock from under the chain armor, and pissed on it, releasing a long and pleasurable rain of mockery, as the enemy on the other side of the gates cursed and wept.
I heard the cheers, and smiled with relief, until Narag, the dverg officer, was yanking my sleeve. “Imagine if you couldn’t have squeezed out a single drop, my king. It happens. Happened to me once. Put it away, jotun. We got to go. We will collapse the tunnel, but we have to go now.”
I nodded, hid my cock, feeling dizzy with the hard-fought victory, and turned to the people. “Take their weapons, armor, everything. We need every little dagger, even. Hurry!” I roared. The dverger rushed back to the abandoned house, and shut their way back in so fast, it seemed they had never taken the field, save for their fallen. They collapsed the tunnel, and after the enemy artillery began punishing the city and killing our survivors, we fled back to the city, carrying a hoard of weapons and armor with us. The wailing of the wounded smothered our glee.
The draugr’s head was left before the gate, stuck on a broken Minotaur pole, and the piss-stained Minotaur banner was hung on his mouth.
Balic knew it would take a real war to take Dagnar.
He would oblige.
CHAPTER 22
The enemy poured into the city with eighteen thousand men, overturning everything on their way. They took a good look at the dead littering the street, and marched on under the commands of their officers. They slowly wound their way through the Bad Man’s, and marched for the Harbor. There they took positions in the Harbor Market, trampling the tents and the merchandise, and set up companies of guards while they deployed.
Men were approaching the walls in ones and twos, and these men were stealthy, cautious, and were taking notes. They were trying to find the weaknesses of Dagnar’s fabulous walls.
The only true weakness was the fact they had too few professional defenders.
“Any more surprises?” Ragga asked, with grim humor. “We could use a huge one.”
“Just the last one,” I said. “That one should be the best one, I hope. But, now, it’s time to bleed them slowly. We must let them try.”
Ragga cursed softly under his breath. “Not long,” the man said mirthlessly.
“See our city die, Ragga.”
We waited.
The enemy made preparations, and soon, it seemed like a snake of steel was taking shape around the walls. An elaborately carved tree trunk—an immense one—was carried past the main gates and for the Harbor Road. It was shod in bright steel, which glittered coldly in the last light of the day. Another like it was pulled through the gates, and it was long as a mast. Ballista and catapults were being hauled to the city all across the lower levels. Men tore down houses frantically to give the weapons the best sight to hammer at our walls. An hour went by, and the only reminder the battle had already begun, was the moaning of the terribly wounded people, who were being carted off for the Tower of the Temple.
Then, everything changed.
We all observed a slow, rippling motion in the troops below. Balic showed up in his war glory, eyeing the smashed main gate under his helmet. He rode his red-armored horse around calmly, and as the One Man entered the city, the so-called savior of men and death’s foe, the armies struck their shields rhythmically. It was a hollow, booming sound, the sort which heralded the end of the world, and I admit, it made our knees weak, no matter the terrible, victorious melee we had already subjected the enemy to. The sound stole every ounce of hope from us. It was relentless as a hungry bear; a spine-chilling noise which wouldn’t let you think of anything except the way you would die.
Balic observed one of the kings riding to the Harbor, the Silver Snake Legion’s commander, and the King of Harrian took his place with his troops somewhere in the middle, but Malingborg’s very own faced us, with those of the enraged Minotaur Legion’s men, who were apparently going to have to redeem themselves. They were in the fore. Amongst the Malingborg’s Legion, there was a golden-armored contingent of brooding, silent, disguised draugr.
The enemy army twitched. Balic raised his arm, and the shields were struck with even more terrible power. Dust fell across the city.
“Prepare!” I screamed, and on the walls, shouts resonated, as officers, o
r those with authority, shook the fifteen thousand people into readiness. Even with the stolen arms and armor, we felt like children. The dverger alone were casually conversing amongst themselves, occasionally glancing over the wall, as if to see if the enemy was coming or not.
And then, they were.
Balic stared up at us. I felt his eyes pierced my soul. I made a mocking dance, and waved my hand, and men around us laughed nervously.
Balic brought his hand down.
His army roared, savage, sudden, and bloodthirsty, as if the enemy suspected bathing in our blood would make them all holy and filthy rich. They surged forward, like a thick wave crashing for a beach, enveloping every alley and street on their way for the wall, where Dagnar’s men and women pissed themselves.
Except for the men manning the siege machinery. They were too busy to piss or shout.
The catapults and the ballista, as well as some smaller scorpions, shuddered, and spat death on the massed foes. Stones rumbled over files of them. Spears went hurtling down, with terrible power, impaling shields, men, and poor horses. Soldiers crumbled, broken, and fell like crushed ants to be stomped on by their comrades, but all the terrible punishment seemed totally insignificant in the face of the numbers advancing in deadly columns. And soon, it would be our turn to be on the receiving end of such terror. Their siege machines were being pushed up after them, and they began to fire back inaccurate, probing shots, many arching over the heads of our covering defenders, many shuddering to hit the walls with brutal power. Ladders, most made of iron, were being manhandled in the fore of the rush. Dozens of such could be seen, lifted above shields and arms.
They had been trying to find weak spots in the wall.
There had obviously been none.
“Attack all over, that’s the plan,” Ragga said, leaning on his sword. “They have the men for it, and all they had to do is to kill enough defenders.”
“I know,” I said, stalking back and forth on the wall, scowling as I tried to decide where exactly they would place the ladders. Arrow hurtled over us, then many others, some killing men and beast waiting with carts below. I cursed myself for not thinking about sending them to safety. I raised my eyes to look at Balic.
He had disappeared.
“Where did he go?” I roared.
“Balic?” Ragga asked, with shock. “I know not. I wasn’t paying attention to him. Only to these motherless goat-humpers.”
I cursed, and slammed a fist on the stone. “You tell me if that bastard, or any of the draugr, slap their feet close to the wall. Can’t have it, you see.”
“Men know what to do if they approach,” he answered, with shattering teeth. “Gods, I should have shat earlier.” He eyed the long walls unhappily. “If, and when, they get over, we have to be smart and lucky. Let’s hope only a few get cut off.”
I slapped a hand on his back, cursing the queasy feeling in my belly. I would be responsible for that as well. “Maybe we will stop them?”
We did not.
The wave broke to the wall. The enemy artillery was quiet now, so all we had to fear were the ladders and archers. Our archers braved shots down at the enemy, slaying dozens of the tough veterans below, impaling shields, wounding the foe wrestling the ladders forward. The enemy began answering in kind. Arrows flashed up at us, rattling on the crenellations, scraping the gatehouse and the walls, leaving tiny pockmarks in the stone, and flashing over us to land to the city. A man shrieked nearby, his cheek sporting a thick arrow, and he fell on his side. A young woman was throwing down rocks with dozens of others, and she fell with an arrow in her chest, lifeless.
“Hold them!” I yelled, with tears in my eyes. “It’s our city. The blood spilled makes the wall worth keeping!” I had no idea what I was saying, but they cheered, though each death sickened me. No matter how much blood flowed, they fought for the wall like lions.
It was a terrible place, such a battle.
Time lost all meaning. The chaos of the incredible, terrible sights and sounds whirled around, and you could not possibly understand everything taking place. You fought, but you had truly no idea if you were winning, or losing. You grew numb to the horror of missing limbs and dying people.
We threw down stones, hundreds of them, heaped in great piles on the walls, and they made the life hugely miserable for the foe. Throwing a rock took little skill, but even a shield could fail at foiling one. We shot all our arrows, rapidly using what we had thought was plenty. The enemy soaked it all up.
The ladders hung before our eyes, soon to crash on the wall.
There was also a scream of joy from below, amongst the growls of officers.
I sneaked forward, glanced over, and spied the ram taking center stage in a sea of enemy faces. Others saw it as well, and everyone started to yell warnings.
“Riddle it with missiles!” Ragga yelled. “Make a heap of dung-smelling corpses around, over, and under it!”
Dozens of our archers—few of them soldiers—began firing at the ram, as men were resolutely lugging it forward. Two archers fell, one screaming with blood flying out of his nostrils, the other one toppled over the wall and amidst the legionnaires. Taking wounds, men were frantic to stop the ram. They braved the wounds, the terrible punishment, and steel-tipped missiles and stones fell at the men around the ram. Legionnaires toppled down to the road, though not enough, as shields were being held high around those brave souls carrying the thing with the thick ropes they’d use to swing it. Another rain of stones hurtled down at the ram, and finally, some five men fell on the side. That stopped it for a moment, but a dozen others took their place.
“Brave bastards,” Ragga breathed.
I rushed to the gatehouse and for the ballista positioned to guard the gate. It was set to fire through a murderous hole to butcher the enemy around the gate, and had been killing men below faithfully. I pushed to its side, just as the ram came to its sight. Two of the five men operating it were dead, their chests pierced by arrows.
“Can you kill them?” I roared.
“We are trying! You think we are groping each other’s asses and playing riddles?” howled a freckle-faced man, while they were cranking the weapon.
Arrows flashed past, hitting the silver bell above with hollow clangs. Finally, the weapon was ready, pushed forward, turned down, and one of the artillerymen fell, a javelin on his side. His eyes were pools of surprise, but then, he went silent and rolled away to oblivion. The others ignored him stoically, and fired. The huge javelin shuddered down at the ram just below the gate. I could see the ladders hitting the stone all across the walls in sight, but I ignored them, and peeked down. The huge spear had impaled the wood in the ram, along with a fat officer, who bled over it. The whole thing fell down, and soldiers jumped up to remove the dead one. Two fell with arrows in the back, but more and more of the legionnaires roared their anger and frustration, and set to freeing the corpse from the ram.
“Reload!” I screamed, and hefted a huge javelin, until I realized I had no idea how to use it. A Mad Watchman grabbed it from me.
“May all the generals rush to Hel,” he cursed, flashed me a grin, and set about reloading the thing.
I gazed down again. Twenty enemy were aiming arrows at us. I fell away desperately. Hail of arrows spattered all over the room and the walls.
A gray-haired woman yanked me away, as she joined the ballista crew. “Best get your ass elsewhere, Lord. It’s not safe here.”
I laughed at her gratefully, and ran to the walls. A ladder was right there next to the gatehouse, and it was trembling with enemy steps, shaking madly. All across the wall, our men and women prepared, many tried to remove the ladders, with bloody price to pay, as arrows cut many down.
Ragga was screaming. “Stab and hack at each and every damned face you see! They’ll have shields up, but they’ll be clumsy and scared, so spear them from the side, as they’ll try to set their dirty boots up here! We don’t want them! So show it to the vagrants!”
We wai
ted.
The last time I had fought in such a terrible place, I had embraced my shape-changing and the deadly, wondrous powers of magic. I had fought, more than led, that day. It hadn’t been enough.
Now, I had the dubious honor of commanding others to die, but I flashed Ragga an appreciative smile, and he nodded, praying. People were preparing with spears, maces, and axes. We all held our breath. Probably the poor bastards climbing did as well. They were men after promotion, or men being punished, and few would survive the day. Behind, the ballista coughed again, and an angry chorus rang across the walls, as they likely hit the ram a subsequent time.
Suddenly, so quickly it was hard to fathom, shields, and heads and arms appeared. They came up the ladders, frightened eyes flickering, as they tried to take stock of what was waiting for them. Men hollered challenges, rammed the weapons at the enemy. Most of the foes fell, many wounded, some dead immediately, and few jumped down voluntarily. My sword slammed down, cutting with terrible power and precision, folding and cutting a metal shield like a leaf. The man fell, and we set to slaying the ones who would follow.
More enemy took their places, dodging the falling legionnaires, climbing up at the orders of their captains. Men struck down at them, again and again, impaling wicked spears into bodies and through armor, and dozens of the enemy soldiers fell to Helheim. We kept at it, hacking, thinking we might actually win, as no enemy in sight had managed to breech the wall. The dverger even managed to shove some of the ladders off the wall, and the mayhem below must have been horrible, as the things slid and crashed amidst their own ranks. In some places far from us, I saw how some of the braver and luckier enemy made it on the wall, but fell quickly, as the men of Dagnar tore them apart.
We kept at it.
Suddenly, I realized there was a rhythmic beating sound. The wall shuddered distantly, and I guessed the gates were being rammed.
Then, the city shook, and something horrible happened somewhere in the middle of the wall.
The Queen of the Draugr: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Thief of Midgard - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 2) Page 29
