But with fine precision, both the ogres and Uruv Suurt raised their shields toward the flight. Arrows bounced off the rounded shields, raising a great clatter but creating little damage. A few fell earthward, but hardly any made a difference.
The enemy fired. Their arrows all but blackened the sky. The senior officer stared at his fighters, who were still trying to reorganize. “Shields!” he roared. “Shields!”
Some belatedly raised their shields, but most did not notice the danger soon enough.
The bolts decimated the front lines. There had been no need for magic; the Uruv Suurt archers were exceptional.
It was too late to order the force back into Sadurak, for the enemy was close. Worse, the defenses on the walls were disorganized and in no shape to come to their comrades’ aid.
At that moment, a sound like thunder erupted from just within the city. Two of the catapults had fired, their commander evidently having managed to whip his crews into swift action.
The minotaurs were said to have a variety of missiles to cram into their catapults, but ogres used only the most basic loads. The huge boulders went soaring overhead and dropped on the enemy.
They struck the traitors and the legionaries hard, crushing several and sending many other fighters flying in the air. The massive rocks struck the ground and rolled. A third fired, and with the catapults the defenders hopes rose again.
“Ranks!” Jod’s second growled. “Ranks!” The single word commands were best for his warriors, many of whom were not as well versed in Common as their leader. They understood him well enough, though, and did their best to regain some semblance of order.
And just in time.
Blades clashed against blades, and new screams arose as the attackers struck his lines hard. The lead ogre signaled the mastarks forward, deciding he had no chance to keep them in reserve. The gargantuan beasts eagerly lumbered into the struggle. They immediately lowered their helmeted heads and thrust their great, curled tusks into the advancing enemy. With but a shake of their huge heads, they each bowled over several warriors at a time.
But almost immediately, two of the mastarks were surrounded by fighters with spears who seemed as though they had been waiting for just that opportunity. One mastark was speared several times in the space of a few moments; even such a powerful beast could not suffer so many wounds without failing. The mastark stumbled and dropped to one knee, as its assailants continued to pierce it. The animal managed to knock away a few opponents with its long, serpentine trunk, but even that was speared over and over until soaked with blood.
The handler and guard atop the creature tried to keep the enemy at bay, but an arrow slew the former, leaving the guard to try to control the mastark himself. Because he was not as familiar with the animal as the chief handler, the guard’s efforts only provoked further confusion in the mastark. Bleeding, uncertain as to what the one controlling it wished for it to do, the huge creature stumbled around on three legs. As it turned, it collided with the mastarks on its own side.
Those attacking the mastark took advantage of the new chaos by finishing the animal. The dying beast let out a trumpeting cry before collapsing upon several defenders unable to get out of its unpredictable path.
Even as the other mastarks were kept at bay, the traitors’ beasts moved in to further harass the surviving defenders. The lead officer urged his mount toward the line of pikes.
But the pikes were already beleaguered by their own mastarks running amok behind them. Instead of ordering his pikes to take on the traitor’s beasts, Jod’s second-in-command had to herd his warriors together to protect themselves from their own.
The archers on the walls, and the catapults behind them, were the most effective weapons that the defenders had against the traitors and their horned allies. The commanding officer grunted with satisfaction as another boulder struck his foes. At least Sadurak had one weapon that the traitors could not neutralize.
Suddenly a cracking sound emanated from the other side of the fight, and shouts and cries came from the defenders. Several fell to the side as a huge wooden missile hurtled through their ranks. It was followed by a second, and a third.
Golgren’s ogres knew of the mechanical weapons of the Uruv Suurt. Usually the ballistae were found aboard imperial warships and used to rake the decks and sails, or rip holes in hulls. The ogres had heard of their possible use on land, yet none had believed it practical.
Even if only a few fighters actually perished or were merely wounded by the fusillade, the effect of seeing the ballistae in action added yet another element of shock.
There was no choice but for the remaining defenders to pull back into Sadurak as best they could. The commanding officer managed to sound the signal for retreat; the surviving archers on the walls gave cover fire as the harassed warriors fled through the guarded gates.
As soon as the gates were barred, Jod’s second in command ran up to the walls to take measure of the situation. The defenders felt much of their confidence return inside. They had tasted the traitors’ magic once, but the attackers had relied on physical strength and strategy since. Against those, Sadurak could surely stand.
The commanding officer urged more and more archers to the walls, even those who were not as proficient as he would have desired. What mattered was to make any advance toward the gates costly. That would drain even the morale of the Uruv Suurt.
The walls suddenly shook as though the earth were quaking. A few of the warriors lining the top fell.
The defenders froze, aware that the tremor was no natural occurrence. Another rocked the walls. From the southern region, a warning horn sounded.
The senior officer raced to where he could see what was happening. He and others stared in amazement as two mastarks rammed their helmeted heads into the walls’ stone. The veteran warrior thought the beasts’ handlers mad until he recognized that particular section of wall. It was one of those most recently renovated with some of the more inferior stone from the quarries—Jod could only take what the quarries produced.
A warning horn sounded from nearer the gates. Jod’s second in command leaped down to another officer. Sending him to gather warriors to defend the likely breach in the south, he readied his own force behind the cracking area by the gate, signaling the catapults to lob boulders just over the walls as best they could.
But as the crews struggled to maneuver the unwieldy weapons, another thundering crash struck near Sadurak’s gates. Huge blocks of stone tumbled in, crushing two sentries and sending an archer atop the gates plummeting to his doom.
It was not a mastark that had struck the fatal blow to the wall, but another missile from the ballistae. A second blast struck home even as the defenders were recovering from the first, the huge, wooden projectile smashing into the rock right where the largest faults had spread.
The defenders’ catapults were of dubious use, for the enemy was too close. The senior officer mustered his fighters as the enemies poured through. Both ogres and minotaurs rushed through the makeshift entrance, eager to be the first to claim blood inside Sadurak.
Jod’s fighters met them, their desperate momentum briefly shoving the attackers back to the wall. A moment later, more than two dozen corpses lay under the struggling feet of the combatants, and the ranks of the dead doubled with each new clash.
On the walls, some of the archers turned to fire upon the intruders, but they proved as deadly a menace to their own. Jod’s second in command roared for them to aim their shots outside, but his voice was drowned out by the battle and by the recurring thunder of the walls being bombarded.
A sudden surge by the attackers forced the defenders back again. Legionaries and traitors flowed into Sadurak like a river of death.
Among them came a young warrior around whom the other traitors seemed to unite.
As with Jod, the senior officer knew the face of the ogre warrior: Atolgus. He once had been considered as loyal to Golgren as Sadurak’s commander, but clearly led the traitors.
As was plain even to his enemies, Atolgus fought with a speed and skill astonishing for a chieftain so young.
Jod’s second in command bared his teeth as he charged at the rebel leader. Atolgus would be rewarded for his betrayal with his head atop a pole.
The veteran warrior slashed his way past an eager traitor wielding an axe. The young chieftain, in the process of dispatching one of the guards, appeared oblivious to his advance. Jod’s second in command lunged toward the traitor as he neared, certain that he could put a quick end to Atolgus and, if he was any judge of battles, the momentum of the attack.
Even though Atolgus had appeared to pay him no mind, the rebel leader’s sword suddenly whirled around to meet the other ogre’s. The startled commander stumbled back as his target beat down his weapon.
“Jod is dead! Surrender and bow to me!” Atolgus demanded with a fierce smile.
“Golgren is my master!” retorted the other. “As he was yours!”
The traitorous figure laughed. His foe flinched as Atolgus’s glaring eyes shone gold at the edges and his pupils seemed to all but fade away.
“Golgren is dead,” Atolgus replied. “He is f’hanos.”
Although certain his adversary was lying, the loyal officer could not help reacting angrily. He lunged again at Atolgus.
The younger warrior easily beat back the second attack, and thrust his blade deep into the shoulder of his adversary’s sword arm. The older ogre lost his grip on his weapon.
Atolgus added a second wound to the officer’s other shoulder. As the latter struggled, Atolgus set the point of his blade at his foe’s throat.
“Sadurak is falling,” the young ogre said, staring off as if speaking to some invisible figure. “She will be pleased that he is pleased.”
Jod’s second in command had a good understanding of Common, but what Atolgus had said made no sense at all to him. He also knew that the young chieftain had not spoken so crisply in the other tongue when they had last met.
With a wide grin, Atolgus repeated, “Golgren is f’hanos.” He raised his blade and brought it down with such swiftness that no one could have dodged the blow. “But he does not know that yet.”
Jod’s second in command did not reply, for his head was no longer attached to his neck. Atolgus watched with mild interest as the head rolled several feet away from the collapsing torso, before he eagerly moved on to finish the taking of the city.
Another with a loyalty to Golgren and an antipathy to Atolgus angrily stalked across the unforgiving landscape of old Blöde with his tiny troop, wondering all the while if it was to be his destiny to perish so ignominiously out in the wilds.
Since escaping the betrayal of his force, Khleeg had tried to find a way back to Garantha—despite his sense of loyalty tugging him in the direction he knew Golgren had gone. Khleeg was aware he could serve his master best by seeing that the capital remained a stronghold against the Grand Khan’s enemies. He was doubtful that, for all his resourcefulness and skills, the younger Wargroch was capable of protecting Garantha from the unexpected threats that had arisen. Against warriors alone, perhaps Wargroch would have triumphed. But there was Titan magic involved, and Khleeg trusted only himself to do the best possible against the sorcerers.
The three other surviving ogre warriors kept pace behind him, their lives entirely in his hands. They would do whatever he commanded, not that he had any commands to give them except staying alive. They had been without water and food for several days, and the former was a more desperate need than the latter.
Twice, Khleeg had attempted to steer the survivors to known water sources, but Rauth had moved faster, sending bands of fighters to guard those places. Being kept far from water also meant that finding food was harder, for most plant and animals in the region generally stayed near few pools and streams.
It had been some time since Khleeg had seen any sign of the traitors, but he led the others as if Rauth both dogged his steps and rode ahead plotting ambush. It made the going slow, but the bulky ogre told himself to be patient for his vengeance.
“Ishraali…” muttered one of the warriors, forgetting his Common.
Khleeg snapped to attention. Ishraali. Dust.
Dust as in riders or some great force on the move.
He surveyed the distant cloud. It lay far to the south, more in the direction of Garantha. His first thought was that Wargroch had sent out another hand—but he had given the officer explicit orders to protect the capital. Sending out even one hand would dangerously impair Garantha’s safety.
Another, more ominous notion occurred to him: They were other traitors moving to join Rauth. With a low growl, Khleeg waved the others to crouching positions. The dust cloud was fast approaching. Surely there would be scouts ahead of the main force. Common sense dictated that the four act warily.
But Khleeg could not forget his duty to his Grand Khan. While he intended to be as cautious as possible, he had to know to whom the hand was loyal—or if, by some terrible magic it was even Atolgus’s force. If it proved to be the missing hand from old Blöde and the young warrior was riding at its head, Khleeg would have to do something to impede his progress.
And if there was any chance of killing the traitor, even at the cost of losing his own life, Golgren’s second in command was willing to take that chance as well.
With renewed purpose, Khleeg guided the others around the nearest hills. He felt certain the riders were headed to the west of his position. He would try to scout them from behind.
As he and his small party maneuvered around, he wondered at the immense size of the dust cloud. It gave every indication of being a force greater than the twelve hundred warriors of a hand. It looked worthy of at least twice that size.
He pulled out the crystal and muttered Wargroch’s name. When after several moments he still did not receive an answer from the other, Khleeg repeated the call.
Still, no reply. Whatever magic had granted the crystal its amazing powers before, it appeared to have vanished.
Spitting with frustration, Khleeg put the piece away again. There would be no warning Garantha.
His wide nostrils flared. There was a slight scent in the air.
Khleeg glanced at the three warriors, all born of old Kern, not old Blöde, as he was. To his mind, those of old Kern did not have the sharp sense of smell he and their other cousins had, which might be the reason they showed no apparent concern at the moment.
“Beware—” he started to mutter.
Their attackers came at them from all sides. They caught the three warriors behind Khleeg entirely unaware. Swords at their throats forced the trio to surrender their weapons.
But the pair that thought to take Khleeg found themselves with their hands full. He had no doubt his companions would be given the chance to swear fealty oaths in the name of Atolgus, but there would be only one fate for him: death.
Worse, Rauth would no doubt take pleasure in drawing out that death with whatever tortures he thought would force secrets from Khleeg’s mouth.
The two scouts from the larger force—they could be nothing less—tried to force him back against a large rock. One of their companions broke away from guarding the other prisoners to join their efforts. Slowly, they maneuvered Golgren’s second in common into a precarious position.
“Surrender!” one growled in passable Common.
“Surrender?” he snarled back, gasping for breath. If not for the lack of water and food, he would not be so hard pressed. “I am Khleeg! I do not surrender!”
The one who had spoken faltered. He pulled back from the fight. “Khleeg?”
The Blödian took the opportunity to lunge at one of his remaining adversaries. He stabbed the scout in the arm, forcing the other ogre to drop his sword.
“Stop!” roared the first scout, dragging the others back. “Stop!” Once the pair had withdrawn behind him, he eyed the Grand Khan’s officer. “You are—Khleeg? The Hand of the Grand Khan?”
Khleeg had heard others refer
to him as such, although never within the hearing of Golgren. His weapon held before him, he retorted, “I am his hand, that will slay all enemies.”
The scouts exchanged odd looks, and the speaker suddenly went down on one knee. “Great Khleeg, my neck is bare!”
The scout bent his head down so that Khleeg could easily have chopped it off. The other pair followed suit.
His mind racing, Golgren’s second in command demanded, “Your commander! His name!”
“Syln.”
Khleeg knew Syln well. He was a loyal follower of Golgren.
He was also one of the commanders of the forces protecting Garantha. “Why is Syln in the region? Does he hunt Rauth?”
The scouts looked up, their expressions perplexed.
“Why is Syln in the region?” Khleeg repeated impatiently.
“We are ordered. Wargroch sends us to Varuus Sha.”
“Varuus Sha is not that way! You lie!”
The lead scout shook his shaggy head. “Wargroch sends us there! But Syln commands we march elsewhere. The others, they are marching to Varuus Sha, but Syln insists that way. Says we must find the Grand Khan. He must return to Garantha.”
Khleeg halted his explanation. He understood Syln’s dedication to Golgren, but something he heard astonished him. “Others? Syln’s hand is not the only one to march from Garantha?”
Again, the scout shook his head.
“How many?” the officer roared, growing frustrated with having to peel each bit of information from the warrior. “Two? Three?”
“All four! All four march are ordered to Varuus Sha!”
“All—” Khleeg growled furiously. Wargroch could not be that naive! He wouldn’t have gone against Khleeg’s command! He could not have emptied the capital.
“Fool!” Khleeg muttered, thinking of Wargroch. The young officer had been ambitious, determined to rise to the level of respect that his brothers had earned from Golgren.
Sheathing his weapon, he roared, “You! You lead me to Syln!”
Wargroch still had the city’s guard. Protected by the high walls, that guard could keep any traitorous force temporarily at bay. Khleeg had to turn Syln and his troops around, and get them back to the capital as soon as possible. Garantha would be safe again and ready for its beloved Grand Khan’s return.
The Fire Rose Page 20
