by Alon Shalev
There were several such groups, each led by an older guide. Ballendir had promised they would lead the Emperor’s army into the marshes, lose them, then double back and head for Hothengold, leaving their marsh guides to “clean up” as Ballendir put it.
Seanchai crouched at the sound of several soldiers’ voices. He signaled this to the old dwarf who drew a map in the sand, showing Seanchai where the path went. The map probably covered about thirty feet in front of them, but it was enough.
They all braced themselves as the soldiers neared.
“This is crazy,” one soldier moaned. “We don’t know where we’re going, who we’re fighting, nothing.”
“Quiet,” said another from behind him. “They say the White Demon has magical hearing. He could be right in front of you, and you wouldn’t know it.”
Seanchai rose out of the fog, his two swords flashing, and proved the soldier right. When he finished “cleaning up,” he rejoined the others and the old dwarf turned to Seanchai.
“Is it true?” he asked, with a look of wonder on his face.
“Is what true?”
“Do you have magical hearing?”
“No,” Seanchai replied. “Elves have good hearing—and we always keep our ears clean.”
Their laughter echoed in the fog.
“White Demon?” Ballendir said from behind him. “I like it. Maybe I can be the Bearded Demon.”
They continued for a short while and reached a round area of ground where other dwarf companies had collected. All reported encounters with soldiers, and Seanchai stared eagerly at Ballendir as the dwarf assessed how many soldiers had been killed. He estimated that at least a hundred had entered the swamp, and half were dead.
“Please, Ballendir,” Seanchai pleaded quietly. “Let me return to Hothengold.”
Ballendir stared at him for a moment, considering, and then turned to the older dwarf. “I have two more of mah groups out here. Can one of yeh people find and guide them out?”
“Yes,” the dwarf answered. “No need to wait for them. We’ll send them along and make sure there are no soldiers left.” The guide squeezed Seanchai’s arm. “Come, White Demon. Let me lead you out of the marshes.”
Seanchai was itching to keep the group moving once they reached the edge of the marshes and continued on without a sound or a wave to his dwarf companion. Ballendir called to him, obviously annoyed, and glanced at their guide.
“Thank you for your help,” Seanchai said, chagrined, bowing to the old dwarf.
The dwarf grinned. “The honor was mine, White Demon. Go, now, and save my city.”
Ballendir nudged Seanchai forward. “So, what’re we waiting for? To Hothengold.”
The group set off at a steady jog, Ballendir constantly calling Seanchai to pace himself with the others. “We must be fresh when we arrive,” he repeated again and again.
A few minutes later, Seanchai stopped and crouched, looking toward the mountain to his left. The rest of the company followed suit until they saw movement and recognized a dwarf.
Ballendir rose to meet him.
“I have six wounded, and thirty healthy,” the dwarf said. “After we drew the pictorians and humans into the gorge, we waited as you instructed to stop reinforcements reaching the marshes.”
“Why did you not tell them to come help us?” Seanchai asked.
“I didn’t want us confused who was behind us,” Ballendir answered. Then he smiled. “And I wanted some fresh troops for the battle ahead.”
He turned back to the dwarf. “Leave an older dwarf with the wounded. The rest will come with us.”
Seanchai estimated they were now had nearly seventy dwarves, and this number increased as they continued. A few hours later, they reached the gorge where Shayth and Seanchai had fought the pictorians. He called over to Ballendir.
“I’ll catch you up.”
Ballendir rolled his eyes, but signaled to Shayth to follow the Wycaan.
In the gorge, they found numerous corpses of dwarves and pictorians. Most had already been picked over by scavengers. Seanchai found Thorminsk, wrapped his body in a cloak that he took from another dwarf, and covered the body with stones.
When he finished, Shayth touched his shoulder. “Let’s go. We’ll honor his death at the right time. He would want you to go and save his people.”
Seanchai nodded and turned to leave. “He was a good dwarf,” he said. “And he left a son behind, one who won’t even remember him when he grows up.”
“We must go,” Shayth insisted. “Many have fallen who shouldn’t have.”
“And some still live who should be dead,” Seanchai replied, his voice bitter.
Shayth grinned. “You’re beginning to sound like me.”
As they began to leave, Shayth stopped.
“What is it?” Seanchai asked.
“The First Boar,” Shayth pointed to a rock, “He was lying there. He lives still.”
“We should have finished him when we had the chance,” Seanchai muttered.
“Come on,” Shayth said, resting a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “You really are beginning to sound like me, and it’s getting weird.”
They set off at a brisk pace, and when they caught up again with the main party, Seanchai gasped. There must have been more than six hundred dwarves.
“This isn’t a company,” Seanchai exclaimed. “It’s an army.”
“Then let’s make a difference,” Ballendir cried. “With me”
They set off at a brisker pace but as they neared the Hoth Mountain, Ballendir stopped. “We rest,” he said.
“What?” Seanchai said. “But we’re so close.”
“And we aren’t going to walk into a trap,” Ballendir snapped. He called two dwarves and sent them into a concealed entrance that Seanchai hadn’t seen.
When the scouts returned, Ballendir called his troops around him and spoke quickly. “Our forces have retreated into the palace. There’s an army of men attacking the keep as we speak. There are also reinforcements resting where we will enter the cavern. We’re outnumbered about two-to-one, so let’s surprise them and take them out fast. We’ll regroup and continue together. Remember, the main force is at the walls, so no one runs ahead. Is that clear? No one runs ahead.” He glared pointedly at Seanchai, who nodded.
They walked quietly through the tunnel and descended on the resting battalion with a vengeance. Seanchai was possessed. Legends would later tell how half that battalion fell to his Win Dao swords. But the Wycaan wasn’t counting; his mind had become numb, focused on one goal. He only wanted to reach the keep, defend the King, face off with Tarlach, and most of all, find Ilana.
They advanced smoothly, but as they approached the outer wall, they faced at least a hundred pictorians.
Ballendir swore and turned to organize his troops, but Seanchai stepped past, sheathed his swords and marched toward the biggest boar, who met him halfway.
“Umnesilk, First Boar of the Pictorians,” Seanchai cried, and his voice carried to all who were gathered. “Now is the time. Now is the moment. This is when the once noble pictorian race decides its destiny.”
“We decided, Wycaan,” the First Boar’s voice was deep and traveled well. “We not fight you, but not fight Emperor. Not now; not this way. Give safe passage and we leave battlefield. We return to homeland in north.”
Seanchai bowed. “I applaud and respect you, Umnesilk, First Boar. When we meet again, let us meet as friends.” He turned and called out. “Ballendir, let them pass.”
The dwarves moved aside, and the massive pictorians lumbered out of the keep.
“Now,” called Seanchai, drawing his swords and holding them high. “To the King. To the King.”
SEVENTY
It had taken three hours for General Tarlach’s troops to secure the outer walls, and the dwarves had retreated to the first of two inner walls. He surveyed the ground between them. It was a hundred yards, and there was nothing to protect or shield his men.
; He sent the dwarf regiments to attack first. He wasn’t about to waste the pictorians – they were big targets, anyway – or his elite forces, soldiers trained for close quarter fighting. They would be critical in the next stage. He also had once thought that Hothengold dwarves having to kill fellow dwarves might be debilitating to their morale, but he wasn’t so sure anymore, given the ferocity he had seen from the rebels.
Three waves of conscripted dwarves attacked and were repelled by arrows before they could so much as plant a ladder into place. He pulled them back and signaled to General Shiftan to bring in troops, who formed a shield cover and moved in. Under the shields were dwarves armed with explosives.
As they neared the first of the two inner walls, rocks rained down on them, followed by burning oil. The echo of screams inside the cavern made even the seasoned General Tarlach cringe.
Two groups reached the walls and stood firm, despite losing many to the burning liquids. Their hasty retreat was met with cheers from the dwarves on the walls, but massive explosions drowned them out. The first inner wall was breached.
Tarlach sent the dwarf battalions in to take control of the ramparts. The fighting was intense, and when Tarlach saw that the free dwarves were holding their ground, he sent in the pictorians. The line broke and Tarlach, flanked by his elite guard, walked through the wall.
The final stretch up to the keep was only fifty feet away and surrounded by a second wall about the same size as the one they had just leveled. They made it through at a heavy cost. The dwarves on the walls, having seen what happened previously, threw everything they had to prevent the human shield reaching the wall. When Tarlach stepped forward, he had to negotiate piles of bodies. He had lost many soldiers, but he had two regiments of special forces itching to be unleashed. And he still had the pictorians.
Inside was a grassy knoll and path that led into the gateway of the keep itself. Organized regiments of dwarves met them on the grass fighting desperately and bravely. Tarlach was in the thick of the action and he wielded his broadsword with great speed and skill. More than once his warrior energy surged through his body and he let out an unbridled roar. The soldiers around him raised their heads and yelled in response.
Gradually the dwarf defenses were pushed back and General Tarlach’s forces finally infiltrated the keep. The fighting scattered into the narrow streets and alleyways. Many dwarves and men fell as each building was furiously defended. Tarlach kept his guard close by and moved toward the palace and the Great Hall.
Here they met their strongest opposition, and Tarlach caught glimpses of the King fighting alongside his fellow dwarves. He was about to head toward the King when he spied two elves.
He paused. Though he had seen them only fleetingly, he was sure these were the two elves he had captured in Galbrieth. The male was a very competent swordsman and the female . . . was she the mate of the Wycaan? Tarlach felt a thrill rush through him. He called his honor guard around him and charged toward the two elves.
The fighting was intense and erratic. The elves retreated through alleys and corridors, entering into one side of a building and exiting a doorway on the other side.
Seeing an opening, Tarlach circled the fighting and climbed nimbly up a wall. He jumped over a crowd and landed facing the elfe. She didn’t hesitate, attacking with her long and short knife with some skill. Tarlach was impressed, but comfortable. He could wear her down.
But he didn’t get the chance. The male elf hit him from the side and sent him spinning into a wall. He recovered quickly and engaged the male with blows fast and evenly matched. Sparks rang from the clashing of the two heavy broadswords and, for a moment, Tarlach was pinned back.
They sparred from one building to another, separating from the main battle. Tarlach was vaguely aware that it was just the two of them as he jumped onto a low wall, and the elf followed. He was surprised to find a steep drop on the wall’s other side.
If this fazed the elf, he didn’t show it, but steadily advanced. Suddenly a great horn, deeper than that of the dwarves, was blown. The elf froze, and Tarlach took the opening. He feigned to the right but hit from the left. His blade slashed into the elf’s shoulder, sending his sword over the edge.
“You were a worthy opponent, elf,” Tarlach said. “I will spare your life this day and let the Emperor do with you what he will.”
The elf was holding his shoulder, but he never flinched. “I would rather die a proud warrior than submit to the indignity of captivity.”
“Very well,” Tarlach replied, feeling a begrudging measure of respect for the elf. “Let me at least know your name.”
“I am Rhoddan,” he replied evenly, “close friend of Seanchai the Wycaan, he who has reforged the Alliance to set Odessiya free from your oppression.”
“A fine warrior, but a misguided fool nonetheless. Die well, Rhoddan, Elf Warrior.” Tarlach raised his sword, but Rhoddan just smiled.
“I will die by my own hands,” he said, and jumped from the wall.
Tarlach was momentarily stunned as he stared down into the darkness. He heard a thump, but no cry from the elf. He quickly regained his composure and ran back to where the battle had centered. He looked around and saw the elfe and a few dwarves retreat into a small hall.
When he entered, he saw a dozen of his troops in a stand off with three dwarves and the elfe. He strode up between them, his boots clicking on the stone floor.
“Lay down your weapons. It’s over. I have you . . .” he stared at Ilana, “. . . again.”
Ilana jumped forward to stab him and with amazing speed, he sidestepped and smashed his fist into her face. She flew across the floor and lay there crumpled.
“Kill the dwarves but I want her kept alive. Bind her and keep her here in this hall.” The soldiers nodded and Tarlach turned to one of his guards. “Bring my healer here and tell him to bring the black demendina poison – he is to force enough inside her to keep her alive for another day, but no more. He is also to bring a vial of antidote and hand it to me personally.”
It suddenly dawned on Tarlach that the fighting outside the hall had stopped. “Where are the pictorians?” he asked as an officer burst into the hall.
“That horn we just heard, my lord,” the officer was panting, his eyes bulging. “The pictorians have gone.”
SEVENTY ONE
Seanchai’s arms ached as he wound his way through the narrow streets. His Win Dao swords were in constant motion, plowing into wherever the enemy congregated. He paused for a moment and rubbed his arms.
Shayth, always close by, checked for enemy troops and then spoke to Seanchai.
“You’re getting tired, aren’t you?”
“Of course not,” Seanchai replied. “I could continue for another week.” His smile was more of a wince.
“Seanchai.” Shayth put a hand on the elf’s arm to stop him. “Where are the stones the Priestess gave you?”
Seanchai pulled out the small leather bag. He put his hand in and pulled out the red one. He stared at it. Then, instinctively, he cupped it in both hands and immediately felt waves of heat moving through his body. Swiftly, the fatigue became a dull ache. He nodded to Shayth. “Okay. Let’s keep going.”
As they began to move, a cheer rose up from behind them and a hundred dwarves swarmed out from a corridor to their right. At first Seanchai feared they were conscripted dwarves, but he saw their coat-of-arms was a shield with a crown on top and two ornate axes beneath the shield and sighed in relief. They were soldiers of Hothengold.
Suddenly, a cry came from an alleyway to their right. “Seanchai! Shayth!” Sellia appeared, glistening with sweat and bleeding from a nasty gash on her cheek. “I need you. Come.”
Seanchai turned to Ballendir. “You have enough dwarves to reach the Great Hall. We’ll join you there.”
They ran after Sellia, who dashed through an alley with a high wall to one side. Seanchai gasped as they reached the broken body of Rhoddan and nearly shoved past Sellia to drop to his side.
/> “You’ve been enjoying yourself,” Seanchai said, his voice breaking.
Rhoddan lay awkwardly, limbs jutting in impossible directions. His cuts had been hastily dressed with strips of cloth. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“Ilana,” he said. “ . . . the small hall . . . above here.” He tried to move his head.
“Is she okay?” Seanchai asked, his heart beating in his ears.
Rhoddan shook his head. “Don’t know . . . Tarlach. I think . . . he knows she’s your . . . I pushed him away . . . I couldn’t . . .”
“It’s okay,” Seanchai said. “Shayth and I will go. Sellia, stay with Rhoddan.” He pulled out the pouch and took the red stone. He wrapped Rhoddan’s hands around it. “Hang on to this. I’ll be back.”
“Seanchai.” Rhoddan tried to grab his arm. “Tarlach . . . he’s very good.”
“Yes,” Seanchai snapped back. “But if he’s touched Ilana, he’s dead.”
Rhoddan looked at Sellia.
“I’m going with you,” Sellia said. “It’s what Rhoddan wants.”
Rhoddan nodded ever so slightly. “Let me . . . keep . . . my honor.”
Seanchai began to argue, but Shayth grabbed his arm. “Come on. There’s no time.”
They ran up back through the alley and up the other side. At the door, four guards braced themselves to fight. But Seanchai was in no mood and reached out his hands. “Mereksur,” he yelled, and blue light left his palms and smashed the guards and the door to smithereens.
Through the dust and debris stepped the Wycaan warrior; the beautiful black elfe with her bow noched on one side; and the Emperor’s nephew, broadsword held at the ready, on the other.
More blue light shot from Seanchai’s hands, and two more soldiers fell and lay still.
