Dragonhammer: Volume II

by Conner McCall

  Eventually we make it to the base of the wall. I nod to him and he takes a few steps away from the wall holding the makeshift grappling hook. He faces the wall and looks down at the hook. Then he takes a deep breath, braces himself, and throws.

  There’s a loud clang as the metal contacts the stone of the wall. I flinch and wait for the worst to happen. Nothing.

  The rope dangles down to our feet and into a neat coil. I give it a tug and the rope goes taut. “Well done,” I commend.

  The soldiers disembark the Blackbrine and make their way to the wall in a single-file line. The guards haven’t noticed us yet.

  To avoid congregating one hundred men onto a single small dock, I continue to lead the men up the rope. I climb it quickly and soon pull myself over the crenellations of the wall and onto the stone floor. A quick glance reveals that the hook has lodged securely on one of the crenellations.

  The guards that had been on patrol are now helping with the battle at the front. We have no guards to worry about, but for the ones at the gate on the dock, and they seem to be oblivious to our presence.

  I help the other soldiers up and onto the wall; Percival and Nathaniel graciously accept my hand, but Aela refuses to let me touch her. She hefts herself up and gives me an I-can-do-it look.

  Genevieve follows quickly afterward. “Brilliant,” she says. “Let’s get a move on.”

  She darts towards the nearest stairway and beckons. “Onward,” I mutter.

  We’ll be much more imperceptible if we walk along the streets rather than the top of the walls, so I lead my forces down the stairway in the wall. The halls are vacant and eerie. I am thankful to open the door and find myself on the street within the city.

  The buildings are tall and ornately structured; many have decorative roofs and overhangs supported by thick columns. The alleys are narrow and we stay inside of them as much as possible.

  The sound of fighting gets louder as we near the gate: men yelling and siege weapons crashing.

  I try to find our main targets. Fearclan has mounted ballistae atop towers and walls, and they fire relentlessly down upon our troops outside of the gate.

  There are far too many soldiers near the gate for us to get it open from the inside. Any attempt would surely be suicide.

  “See those ballistae?” Genevieve points. I nod. “They’ll take out our catapults if Jarl Hralfar brings them in too close. He won’t be able to fire on the gate unless we can take them out.” There's a loud boom from the other side of the wall. “Which side do you want to take?” she continues.

  “I’ll take the left. You take the right. Be careful. They’ll find us after the first one goes down.”

  She nods and turns to make a few signals to the rest of the group. Effectively our party splits in half and we proceed.

  It takes me a few minutes to reach the far wall of the city. The others stick close behind.

  Briefly I turn and direct, “Those ballistae are our target. They are heavily guarded and stealth will be difficult. If stealth is truly impossible, hit them as hard as you can and then run before they have time to, well… kill you. Understood?”

  Every head nods.

  “Excellent,” I mutter. “We’ll split into groups of twenty-five. Go.” The soldiers separate themselves. “This group to that ballista,” I dictate, pointing. “And my group to that ballista. Move out.”

  “What did you mean, run before they kill us?” Nathaniel asks.

  “Exactly that,” I reply.

  “Seems a little dangerous,” he says.

  “More than a little,” I whisper.

  We take cover in an alley to avoid the gaze of a passing enemy squad. Unseen we dart to the door in the wall that will lead us up the tower and to the first ballista. Ullrog moves silently, despite his size.

  “Locked,” I curse. “I can open it but it won’t be quiet.”

  “Have you got a choice?” Percival asks. Aela looks back up the alley nervously.

  Without waiting another moment I smash the door in with a loud crack. It is disguised in the chaos of battle, but still quite noticeable and I usher everyone inside. I shut the door swiftly as soldiers come running around the corner.

  Inside, I turn to see a couple of dead guards. Shaking my head with disapproval I prop a chair up against the broken door to keep it shut. There’s a bang from the other side and somebody jostles with the handle from the other side. I hear a ring of keys.

  “Go!” I command. “Move now!”

  My blood pumps as we run up the stairs. The second floor is empty. On the third, as we emerge onto the landing before the next spiral staircase, a captain at the head of his squad yells out, “Hey!”

  “Keep running,” I command. “Don’t stop.” Disregarding my own orders, I run towards the squad with my hammer at the ready. “How’d they get in?” I hear somebody yell.

  The captain beholds my hammer and my looming form bearing down upon him. Just before my weapon tears into his body I see the light of recognition in him. “Dragonhammer!” he blurts. Then he hits the ground.

  The soldiers begin to flee in fear. In one blow I throw two to the wall and they fall unconscious. A third falls beneath me, but the others are already dead.

  Ullrog stands with his dripping blade above several of them, many of whom he had killed in a single blow. His teeth are bared behind his orcish helmet and he growls. I nod to him and together we sprint up the stairs. A few steps up I suddenly stop.

  An idea hits me and I dart back down the stairs, grab an unlit oil lantern, and then follow a confused Ullrog up the stairs.

  We catch up to my men within seconds. I find they had a similar encounter on the top of the wall and two of my men lie dead. We have no time to hide them, and so I leave them on the cold torch-lit stone with only their blood and fallen enemies for company.

  The ballista sits farther down the wall, and we make for it with all of our might.

  Percival blocks an arrow on his beaten shield and it sticks in with a thud. Aela runs behind him, reluctant to have to swing her blades.

  A soldier loads the ballista and cranks a large handle connected to a gear that pulls the bolt back, increasing the tension. His head turns and his eyes widen at our approaching attack. I watch his hand tighten on a large release lever. Unfortunately for him, he is only able to pull as my hammer slams the back of the machine.

  The bolt launches across the wall, through an ill-fated soldier, and cracks straight through the central beam of another ballista. The tension on the damaged ballista suddenly releases and the bolt, as well as part of the machine itself, shoots off into the night sky. The first ballista, still intact, sits unmanned, unarmed, and for now, harmless. That is not good enough. We must make sure it cannot be used after we are done with it.

  I ready the oil lamp and smash it over the center of the ballistae. Oil runs down all sections of the wood, glistening in the torchlight. I lift a torch out of its sconce on the wall and throw it onto the shining ballista; flames leap into the air and firelight creates a beacon on the wall. All soldiers, friend or foe, look in shock at the wrecked siege weapon.

  With our presence suddenly blaringly obvious, we are faced with a much more difficult challenge.

  Survive.

  I watch as a sudden pillar of flame sprouts on the other side of the gate where Genevieve’s group fights to disable the siege weapons. The third group appears atop one of the towers and shortly the ballista tumbles to the ground below.

  “Fall back!” I command. “Fall back!”

  “Where?” comes the reply.

  “I don’t know,” I breathe quietly.

  Enemies make their way towards us across the wall, too quickly. We will be overwhelmed before we can fight back to the stairwell.

  I slam the shaft of my hammer into the breastplate of an oncoming soldier and floor him, and then shove the butt of the hammer into the forehead of another. My hammer twirls, seemingly of its own accord, knocking against two heads and ramming an
other with the spike on the end.

  There are too many, I think. My men are falling beneath the ever-growing numbers of the Diagrall soldiers. Though they fight with ferocity, they are not ferocious enough.

  Think, Kadmus! I urge myself in frustration.

  James blocks a blow and twists his sword around their weapon to stab at an open chest. Ullrog slams his shoulder into one of them and effectively shoves him from the wall, and then turns and knocks aside a blow that would have proven fatal to James.

  The harpoon!

  Quickly I find the soldier who had been charged with holding the makeshift grappling hook. It takes me only seconds to find him, but my face falls when I see him lying dead behind a wall of soldiers.

  With a roar I bound towards his fallen body and knock two men from the wall in one strike. “Dragonhammer!” a man screams, dropping his sword and throwing himself towards the tower.

  Their line falters and I use their moment of weakness to grab the harpoon and line of rope from the limp arm of the dead man.

  “Defend the rope,” I command Ullrog, holding the rope in one hand and my hammer in the other. He nods and growls his consent.

  I wedge the hooks behind a crenellation and then throw the rope to the ground. “Go!” I command. “Slide! Go now!”

  Men obey my orders without question, sliding down the rope and into the dark city below.

  Percival plummets to the streets, and then James. Aela follows after Nathaniel. Then it’s just Ullrog and me.

  “Come on Ullrog,” I mutter, cleaving yet another helm. “You first.”

  He shakes his head. “No you.”

  Unwilling to argue with a stubborn orc in the midst of battle, I leap to the rope and manage to grasp it just as I hurtle over the edge. I land hard and look up for Ullrog.

  He flips over the edge, but instead of grasping the rope, he extends his arm and the rope slices easily underneath his blade. With a roll he lands softly and stands, awaiting my orders. The rope falls limp behind him.

  The men on the wall are giving chase. Those with bows are taking aim. We find ourselves grossly outnumbered in the middle of an enemy legion.

  “Run,” I command.

  We weave through streets and allies, trying desperately to find somewhere to hide or make a stand until Jarl Hralfar can make it through the gate. Every attempt is for naught as there are soldiers around every corner.

  A tremendous crash reverberates through the city and shakes the ground. “There are the catapults,” one of my men gasps.

  Our breathing is loud and ragged. Our weapons become heavy in our hands. Our legs burn beneath our panicked bodies. My lungs feel as if they are ablaze.

  “In here!” I shout, pulling a door open suddenly. The others follow me inside and it is only after we bar the door that we are allowed a few blissful seconds of solace.

  Our numbers have been cut dramatically. I am saddened by the sight but am forced to other thoughts, because there are more pressing matters at the moment.

  “Dragonhammer’s in here!”

  “We’ve got him!”

  “Nowhere to run!” one of them shouts.

  I scan the room.

  We’re in what appears to be a barracks or armory. That was no mistake of mine.

  The entire building is one room with a tall peaked ceiling and a couple of large wooden beams spanning the distance from wall to wall. There are many rows of weapons and shields, but I do not care for those.

  “Where do we go?” Nathaniel whimpers, jumping as something slams against the door.

  I shake my head in frustration. “I don’t know,” I finally mutter.

  A couple of the windows shatter, and we take cover behind the rows of weapons as enemy arrows begin shooting through the shards of glass.

  I pace angrily, tearing through the aisles of weaponry, looking for anything that could get us out of this impossible mess.

  When I near the back of the armory, the clomp of my boots on the wooden floor becomes deeper. Only a stride later, the sound has returned to normal.

  I look in disbelief at the rug on the floor, but without wasting any time I pull it aside. Beneath it lays a trapdoor.

  I open it quickly and peer inside. “A tunnel,” I whisper in disbelief.

  “What are the chances?” James says with a smile as he jumps down.

  “Don’t know, but I’m not arguing,” Percival replies as he follows.

  “Khaoth is with us,” I say quietly.

  “No,” Nathaniel disagrees. I give him an odd look. “He’s with you,” my brother finishes. Then he follows Aela down into the tunnel.

  “The gate’s been breached!” I hear from outside. The banging on the door only intensifies.

  Ullrog follows after, and I jump in after him. Just as the trapdoor slams shut, the doors burst inward and the building floods with men wondering how on earth Dragonhammer has yet again escaped from their clutches.

  James holds a torch that he must have lit while the others were climbing down. “Where’s it go?” he asks.

  “Onward,” I reply.

  The Battle of Balgr’s Bastion

  “What’s this tunnel here for?” Nathaniel asks as we hurry through the dirt passageway. Roots hang from the walls and ceiling, and the occasional rock sticks from the sides.

  “Could it be a tunnel to access the sewage?” James asks.

  “No,” I reply. “It’s all made of dirt. Those tunnels are usually made of stone to prevent erosion, and to keep the sewage from soaking into the ground. If I were to guess, I would say it’s an escape or access tunnel that will lead us directly into the Bastion. Access more likely, judging that one would probably want to escape outside of the city rather than into the middle.”

  “So this will bring us into the Bastion?” James asks.

  “Don’t know,” I respond. “That was a guess that we will prove right or wrong in a minute or two.”

  After an intense minute of running, the passage ends abruptly. James’s torch flickers over the uneven walls and reveals an old wooden ladder that leads up to a closed trapdoor.

  “Everyone ready?” I ask quietly. My small group nods slowly or looks at the floor. “Good. Time to see where this leads.”

  Tentatively I lift the trapdoor and peer between the floor and the wood. The hinges stick and creak loudly so I stop lifting as soon as I have even the slightest crack to see through. It is dark and I can see nothing. Lifting the trapdoor, I find that we have surfaced in a closet of some kind and the door is closed.

  “Clear,” I whisper to the soldiers below, setting the trapdoor down softly on the ground. I grasp Percival’s hand and hoist him up, and as he helps up the others, I begin to open the door. A group of soldiers marches past us and turns to go the opposite way down the hall, and I barely duck back into the closet in time. As soon as they are out of earshot, I open the door and we trickle into the hallway. I survey our condition.

  Ullrog breathes slowly, his eyes flicking about warily. Percival stands at ease with his sword and shield hanging at his sides. James looks similar, but his hands are tense and he grips his shield and sword firmly. Aela glances around nervously. Nathaniel looks up at me and shakes his head; I remember the conversation we had only an hour before. Aside from them, only six of my soldiers stand with me. I have no way of knowing what has befallen Genevieve or any of the others.

  “Let’s go,” I mutter.

  We tread down the stone hall carefully, peeking around every corner. Soon we come upon a white spiral staircase, but it is not until we emerge on the next floor that we run into trouble. “Get back,” I whisper, waving for the others to back down the stairs. I follow them and hear the captain only a few yards in front of me say, “…get everyone here. Position archers on all floors. If we lose the Bastion, we have lost the city.”

  “Yes sir.” A soldier runs towards us and I duck behind the center pillar of the spiral staircase. His footsteps clack upward, and I realize he has gone another floor up.
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  There comes a cry from across the room. “They are coming!”

  The soldiers start to panic. “Shut the gate! Shut the gate!”

  “No!” the captain objects. “Jarl Sythian has yet to return!” I hear his footsteps getting farther away and peek from around my cover. He has exited the stairwell and I seize the chance.

  All of us dart around the corner and up the stairs, onto the next floor.

  We find ourselves on a balcony that overlooks the entrance hall. The gate sits to our right, wide open. Their soldiers flood in.

  “We have to find cover,” Percival says urgently.

  “Yes,” I agree. “Now.”

  Quickly we make our way around the back of the stairwell and into the small room to the left, where we hide behind various barrels and crates. Tens of footsteps sound on the stone floor, but they do not enter. Instead they continue onto the balcony and begin to line the Bastion.

  “If we don’t shut it now-” I hear above the noise.

  “Then we will lock Jarl Sythian out of Balgr’s Bastion,” finishes the captain’s voice. “We cannot take that risk! That gate stays open until he returns!”

  “What if he doesn’t?” comes the cry. “They are coming!”

  There is no answer as the captain ponders the panicked words of his soldiers. The outside fighting dominates any other noise until the captain says, “Shut the gate.”

  “No way,” James mutters.

  “Close the gate!” the captain commands.

  I take a chance and peer around the corner. The captain stands on the far side of the gate, which is being drawn closed by a couple of soldiers on each door. The fighting gets louder. Just before the gates close, there’s a bang and the nearest gate stops as if a boulder had suddenly dropped in its way. One figure shoves through the gap, catches the gate as he swings around, and slams the thing shut. “Lock the gate!” the figure dictates forcefully. The soldiers stare at him in disbelief. “Lock the gate!” he roars. Six of the soldiers mobilize quickly and place an enormous wooden beam into metal holsters across the doors, effectively baring them shut.

  “Who gave the order to shut the gate?” Sythian hisses.