Fortress of the Forgotten: Book One of the Swordmaster Series

by Rutger Krenn

  “Very well then,” said the Duke. “Your services are accepted, and welcome. Cadrafer will show you to the barracks and around the castle. You will not have long to acquaint yourself with our defenses. The Goblins are likely to attack shortly.”

  Barad grinned. “I have little need to be acquainted with things. I have my axe and that is all I desire.”

  He didn’t bother to bow as he left with Cadrafer.

  Kenrik smiled to himself. The stories said he had no respect for authority. That was certainly true. He hoped they were just as accurate about his fighting ability

  An hour slipped by and the sun rose higher in the sky. It seemed unnaturally bright to Kenrik and perspiration beaded uncomfortably on his face. He could see every Goblin. He could see how the light glinted on their scimitars. He could hear the harshness of their talk as they gathered beyond range of any bow that could be fired from the battlements.

  If he had enough soldiers he would have taught them the foolishness of their audacity. They were not prepared for a sudden cavalry attack. A quick charge would devastate their front ranks and could then be withdrawn behind the safety of the walls before they reacted. But it was not to be. He knew he must save each man’s life that he could. Each soldier must be used to his best purpose and placed in danger only sparingly. The siege must be drawn out as long as possible.

  Certainly, he thought, they could endure for a few days, but their numbers would dwindle. Each soldier lost was irreplaceable while in comparison the Goblin’s army seemed almost limitless.

  Could Thromdar last a week? That was the question everyone wished answered. A week was a very long time when your own death and the destruction of all you held dear could come at any moment. Would they be safe at nighttime? Or would the Goblins attack then also? They were known to do so if it suited them. They had better sight than men having lived much of their lives in underground tunnels hidden beneath the mountains.

  The Goblins’ ranks continued to swell. Noon passed into afternoon and as yet they had made no move. The castle was like a dam wall stopping the flow of a river that could overwhelm it at any moment and unleash a flood of destruction.

  The Goblins seemed to mass endlessly before the battlements and his thoughts turned to Mecklem. It was his foolishness that had brought them to this point. He now wondered if he wanted his daughter to marry him at all. He was vain, and worse, there was a streak of meanness in him. Ruthlessness could be a virtue in a frontier kingdom like Aren Daleth, constantly beset by enemies, but if a man didn’t know how to control his baser instincts, when to use them and when to hold them in check, he could be very dangerous.

  Every man had been ordered to the battlements so as to make it look as though the castle was properly defended. Would the Goblins guess how few they really were? Could they know that the destruction of the patrol had placed Aren Daleth in the gravest peril? They could not know these things as a fact, but they would be sure to realize that the kingdom was vulnerable and that the castle, while still being defended, was far short of the men that it would have in better times.

  All through the long afternoon they continued arriving and it appeared as though the two armies were joining in the valley of Thromdar itself. The Goblins had still not attacked by the time dusk arrived and slowly filled the valley with darkness.

  They were growing quiet now, almost as if they were waiting for something. The harshness of their voices was subdued and the clatter of their weapons was reduced. They sat, many of them even appearing to be motionless, yet they became increasingly restless as though they were restrained against their will.

  The last group was approaching. The Goblins before the battlements, rank after rank of them, were perfectly silent. Barely a sound was heard and Kenrik fancied he could hear from afar the wind in the tops of the trees on the ridges. It was unnatural. It was as silent as death and a strange feeling suddenly came over him.

  The men on the ramparts grew quiet also. They no longer spoke to each other. All the weapons had been checked a hundred times and now their lips, as well as their hands, were stilled.

  On came the last group and it became obvious that they were not Goblins. They were Trolls, much stronger than men, their skin tough as stone. They were creatures of Eruthram and lived but to serve him. They were ferocious in battle and ten of them could defeat fifty men.

  Fear spread along the battlement like a ripple in a pond. There was something else as well. Something that came with the Trolls like a walking shadow, smaller in stature than they, and yet the defenders could sense its greater power and malice.

  Cold fear ran through Kenrik’s veins like ice water. He realized what had come to oppose them and the meaning of Arandur’s message.

  Visible before them all now stood one of the Turgil. It was a being wholly of evil, once a man, once a Wizard, but now entirely a creature of Eruthram.

  Now he knew why the Goblins had waited. Here was their leader and here was come the sign for the destruction of Aren Daleth. Who could hope to stand against a seething army of Goblins fired by the will, and sustained by the dark sorcery, of a Turgil?

  “We are doomed,” whispered Kenrik to himself. Yet even as he thought this he knew also that he must find a means to give his men courage to face this latest disaster.

  Chapter 8

  Talon and Arell rode through the night and felt safer than they had at any point since the beginning of their journey.

  He chose a path that would take them southward and away from the mountains and hoped by early morning they would reach less rugged terrain. From there they would soon be able to make swift progress along the plains for several days before climbing again into mountain country.

  “Are you sure this is the best way?” said Arell.

  Talon once more considered the two choices that were available. The first was the path he was taking now – the swiftest route to the Stone Mountains, but the one that exposed them most to view. The second entailed hugging the boundary between the plains and the mountains of Aren Daleth. This was a longer and slower way but offered more concealment from unfriendly eyes.

  “I think we have to,” he said. “On my way to Thromdar the Chung were behind me. I came along the boundary and used ridges, valleys and streams to throw them off my trail. I didn’t expect to lose them but I knew I’d slow down their pursuit.

  “Speed wasn’t necessary,” he continued. “It was a game of cat and mouse and whether it took a day or a year didn’t affect anything. This is a different situation though. It’s not just me in danger. This time Aren Daleth depends on us getting to help as quickly as possible. To arrive too late would be just as bad as not arriving at all.”

  “True,” said Arell. “But we’ll be on the plains and in full view. Now that the trees are beginning to thin I feel exposed already.”

  Talon looked around him and even in the darkness he could tell that she was right. The forest was opening up and the ground, while still rocky and steep in places, was levelling out.

  They travelled in silence once more. Talon’s thoughts frequently strayed to what Arell had said. They would be exposed and that could be a very great danger. He would have to minimize that by continuing to travel at night.

  He looked over and saw that her features were calm. No one would ever have guessed by looking at her that she had seen as much danger in the last few days as many men did in a lifetime. All that she loved was hanging in the balance, yet however she must have felt, none of that distress showed on her face.

  Talon had to admit, even if only to himself, that he was glad she was there. The miles in her company were going by swiftly and she hadn’t hindered him at all.

  She returned his look. “So, if Chow called you Talon, what’s your real name? I mean your name as a child in Aren Daleth?”

  It was an innocent question and Talon tried to think of an answer. He didn’t want to lie to her, but what could he say? To tell his name would be to risk her learning his parentage. She would no doubt hav
e heard the story of the duke’s son that had gone missing. There was no reason for her to connect it with him; she thought him a commoner, but his old name would be a giveaway. If his parentage came out he would not be able to escape his past. He wanted to make a place for himself in Aren Daleth with his own name. His father’s was history to him. But if he made something up he would be lying to her and she deserved better. They were companions, at least for the moment, and their lives were at risk. They had to guard each other’s backs.

  “I didn’t realize it was such a hard question,” said Arell sarcastically. If you don’t want to answer just say so! Obviously you prefer the company of your horse than talking to me. Why should I take the trouble to converse with such an ill-mannered . . . such a rude . . . such a - ”

  “Such a commoner?” said Talon. “Is that the word you’re looking for?”

  “Hmpf!” said Arell and clapped her doeskin boots together to nudge the horse forward. She tossed her hair as she went past him and levelled one of her cool looks at him.

  Talon followed and cursed himself. How did he always manage to upset her? He felt like he’d let her down but at the same time wasn’t he entitled to privacy? His name was none of her business.

  At length the dawn came. When it did they found they had reached the lower slopes of the mountains and the plains were widening out in front of them like a huge green blanket. They were open and the eyes of any enemies would certainly see them where they crossed. Yet here and there were woods, some larger than others, and places in which they could at least conceal their camps.

  There was one particular line of trees on which Talon kept his eyes. There were different varieties there from the rest of the wood and probably indicated a creek coming down from the mountains and draining into the Cardil Nissen, the great river of Andoras that had many sources in the high valleys and flowed southward, league after league, country after country, until it finally emptied into the warm southern ocean.

  Talon came to a halt and Arell, familiar with his habits, waited. He felt her eyes boring into him as he watched the plains. He studied them for a long time, motionless within the concealment of trees. He sought for anybody, friend or enemy, who might be moving out there. Not only did he look for riders, wagons, or men on foot, but also for any sign of their passing. He especially looked for sign of their hiding.

  He studied for tracks in the long grass, birds that took to wing, the scent of smoke in the air and also allowed free reign to his instinct. There was a part of his unconsciousness that he had learned to listen to and trust. It sometimes warned him against things his eyes couldn’t see, his nose smell, or his ears hear.

  He rode on a little further, still keeping within the cover of the trees and did the same thing again from a different viewpoint. This was to help him spot anything that may have been hidden from his last position.

  He looked back at Arell and tried to make the peace. “It’s a nice area here. It’s different from the mountains, but not like the plains either. It’s a borderland and I like that. You never quite know what you might see in such a place. Wildlife is always moving: some going up the mountain and some going down. It’d be a good place to rest for a while if only we had the time.”

  Arell looked around. “It is a nice place. It’s just a pity the company is so uncouth.”

  Talon ground his teeth together but didn’t answer. Instead, he led her onto the plains and made for the line of trees along which he believed there was a creek. That would be the place for them to camp. It would offer fresh water, shade from the hot sun and most of all concealment until they were ready to journey once more. It was vital that their passage went unseen.

  There were eyes however that did not fail to notice the passing of two riders across the plain. The Chung, still high in the mountains, spotted their targets and marked them well.

  Wu Chin reminisced about the occasions when he had sparred Talon under the supervision of their masters. This had occurred dozens of times and he had always beaten the Whiteskin. The fight that was coming now sent a thrill through his body. This time he would not have to hold back. He would be able to kill. And there was the woman too. He led his warriors in their descent from the mountains and smiled to himself. As he did so a slow chuckle slipped through his thin lips. He wasn’t going to forget about her.

  There was something else watching also. It was higher still than the Chung and looked down upon them as they followed an overgrown path amid the trees.

  Down it looked, past the Chung and over the plains and saw distant figures flitting without cover toward a creek. Down it looked with fierce eyes and a cruel, dark heart. Nothing could hide for long from its sharp eyes or its keen sense of smell.

  It had found the bodies of the Goblins in the previous valley and followed the spore of those who left. The master would not tolerate mistakes. It had been sent to guard against such as these, to watch and to kill, and that was the creature’s very nature.

  Vast leathery wings gave a powerful beat and it lifted further into the air. Soon it would sate its hunger.

  Chapter 9

  The old man walked through Thromdar valley. He was taking the open way, in plain sight anyone who cared to look, but as yet nothing untoward had happened.

  The valley was deserted. There was nobody to be seen, whether man or Goblin, and the few stockaded farmsteads that were scattered on the deep soiled flats were desolate. Some had been burned and looted for their meagre valuables. Others, spared by a twist of fate and the pressing desire of the Goblins to reach the castle, remained intact. But they too were silent.

  Arandur passed such a place now. The doors of the large high-gabled barn were closed. The windows of the cottage were shuttered and the smokeless chimney rose from the roof like a roadside monument of a tragedy.

  Would any of the Northmen return to the valley to pick up their tools once more? Would they ever plough fields and raise crops as they had done in happier times? Would bread be baked at the now cold hearths?

  He felt a sudden stab of sympathy for whoever had lived here but also breathed a sigh of relief. These people had been lucky. They had learned of the approaching Goblins and escaped to the castle before the invasion came. What he saw now though was a forerunner of what was to come. This was the fate of all Aren Daleth should the castle not withstand the assault until help arrived.

  He had a role to play in ensuring it did. But he remembered other places and other times long ago. He saw in his mind Brin Seth, Liangar and Camloth that had fallen in ash and blood. They were lost forever and his aid had not been enough to save them. Was there more that he could have done? Would there be more that he could do now?

  Continuing past the abandoned homestead he soon found the remains of another from which several pillars of smoke rose into the air signifying the destruction of a family’s happiness. The fire was several hours old now and the smoke was petering out. Brave people had lived here, he thought, trying to make a living. They grew food and tended livestock for sale to the castle. All they would have wanted was a chance to live and grow, a chance to raise their children and save money for them so they could have a better start in life than they had themselves. It had all been taken away.

  It was often that way, he mused. The good went backwards while the strong and the cruel prospered. Such was the way of life, and yet it was not always so. Sometimes good triumphed over adversity. These occasions seemed to give other people at least the hope of success and to make hardships easier to endure.

  Arandur eventually came, unseen or at least ignored, to the end of the valley. From here it sloped upwards toward the castle and he stopped in a thicket of trees a mile from Thromdar. The battle had already begun and the Goblins were formed in ranks opposite the castle’s wall. This was a massive structure that bridged the gap between two mountains.

  He knew there were many Goblins higher up along the rim of the valley as he’d seen their campfires at night and from time to time during the day noticed the sud
den flight of startled birds. They were too far away to be of any concern to him at the moment.

  He looked at the wall and studied the scene spread before him. It was obvious, even from this distance, that the battlement wasn’t properly manned. There were larger gaps than there should have been for men were thinly spread. Not so thinly that they, and the reserves who no doubt were kept behind them, couldn’t defend the wall for a while, but they couldn’t hold for long.

  He saw immediately that the castle would fall. The only questions were how long would the struggle last and how soon would it take Talon to bring help.

  Beneath the battlement lay the bodies of those Goblins who had already been slain. It was quiet now as the army regrouped for another attack, but he pictured what would have occurred earlier. He saw in his mind, as he had seen in life many times before, the frenzied rush of battle, the screams of triumph and of dying, the tortured anguish of souls who had been mortally wounded but not yet found the mercy of death.

  The evidence was before the wall. There were many Goblins beneath them and some of the defenders who had been dragged over by their opponents. Wounded Northmen on the ramparts would have been carried into the castle itself. Some would be treated and return to fight again. Others, though they lived, would never again wield a blade.

  Many would have died; not a glorious death, for truly he knew there were few of those, but at least an honorable one. They had given their lives to defend their land, and even more so to defend their wives and children, and the wives and children of their friends.

  He studied the ranks of the Goblins and judged their numbers in the thousands. What appeared to be their first attempt at breaching the wall had been repelled but they were showing no signs of disorder. They were keen to begin the next stage of the battle. The idea that they didn’t fear death was true - not when in large numbers such as this. They always thought their companions would pay the price and not themselves.