"Would not the story of me having plied the whip counter any positive feelings for Silverlake?"
Creelisk laughed aloud. "I admire your reasoning, but your naiveté is quite endearing. The perception of that act is determined by the story spun by the survivors. Were I the only one, I would point out that a dispute had arisen within the community and you were invited in to adjudicate the problem and administer justice. That the Silverlakers trusted you that much speaks well to your character."
"How will you get that story spread?"
"I go back to the woman who set all these things in motion." The baron of Ardis sipped wine. "Ailson Kindler started this all with her novel, Winds of Treason. I don't know who paid her to write it, but that was a masterful stroke. I, myself, paid for the sequel, which has been quite popular. I've also paid for a number of bards and minstrels to sing of Silverlake. Writers are notorious whores. I'll pay the Kindler woman to grind out another of her insipid ramblings. Call it Winds of Courage. I'll be seen to weep as I read in it of the death of my son. And, best of all, my political foes will support any move that will send me back to Echo Wood."
Tervin scrubbed hands over his face. "You've told me what happens to Thornkeep if Silverlake does survive seeing the ogres off. I don't disagree with your assessment. But, I must ask: what happens to your intentions if Silverlake drives off the ogres? You have no sympathy, no army, no plan."
"That, my dear Tervin, is why you have risen as high as you ever will." Creelisk opened his arms and slowly pirouetted. "This is the best you will ever know. The plan I have detailed to you is simply one of many. It is the one which is in play. If things do not go according to that plan, there are others."
"If Tyressa Vishov survives, I could tell her all that you said."
"She wouldn't trust you. Were I questioned, I was simply responding to your question of what would happen were my son to not survive the winter. All other political speculation is merely your fancy, and a false attempt to get me in trouble." Creelisk arched an eyebrow. "And I would tread carefully, my lord. After all, it was you and your men who found Jerrad Vishov as he left Mosswater. You grabbed him and brought him directly to Silverlake. If there are ogres attacking the settlement, it was your trail they followed. I do believe that is a fact you would rather have remain hidden. It will make your life so much easier and, in the long run, much more profitable."
Tervin Blackshield stared down at Creelisk. "I have to say, I'd not considered that. A failing to not see through your webs of deceit."
"Don't fault yourself, Tervin." Creelisk started to chuckle, but it became a laugh which he quickly brought under control. "A provincial like you could never understand the politics involved in the Ustalavic court."
"Very true." Tervin smiled. "But then, I don't have to. For that, I have my lovely wife."
Creelisk glanced over at Ivis. She smiled at him. He remembered that smile, but had never seen it quite so cold.
Tervin advanced and plucked the cup out of his hand. "She told me you could never be trusted. And she told me many more things. Things about you, and what you did to her. This is why, when she insisted we invite you to dine—and insisted on poisoning your wine—I agreed."
Creelisk suddenly felt how light his head had become, how weak his knees. Something clenched hard in his chest, and he stumbled.
Tervin reached out, taking his wife's hand in his own. "Fear not, my lord. We'll see to it that your body is found at Silverlake, where you also died. And I promise I'll be eloquent when I vow to avenge you and all the others of Silverlake. I'll make your dreams come true."
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Thirty-Three
Quenched in Blood
Jerrad dropped a spare quiver with several archers, the last being his sister. "Here, I'll bring more."
Serrana acknowledged him with a nod. "Lots more."
Tyressa glanced at him. "Remember, you organize survivors, if needs be."
"Yes, Mother." He turned from her and stared out into the night. Ranall and Mulish had gotten inside the closer ring of fires and were sprinting to the gate. Guards and archers shouted encouragement.
Beyond them, ogres emerged from the forest at a gallop. Most ran on two feet, but several whose arms dwarfed their legs came on feet and fists. Muscles rippled with each pounding step, fat rolls surged. Tremors built as they approached, vibrating up through the palisade to the catwalk.
As Tyressa climbed down the ladder, Serrana raised a fist. "Wait for the signal. You're not shooting through the armor. Find meat or blind them."
Below, Ranall and Mulish made it through the sally port. Several of Ellic's men slammed it shut, dropped a bar across it, and blocked it with a small log angled down into the ground. It paralleled the two larger ones securing the main gates. The two men each grabbed weapons—a bastard sword for Ranall and short spear for Mulish—and slipped between the sharpened logs to stand with other defenders.
Jerrad shouted down to them. "Where's Kiiryth?"
Frustration flared Ranall's nostrils. "He told us to run. We thought he'd be behind us."
Jerrad's hands tightened into fists. If anyone can survive out there...
Nelsa pointed further west. "In their wake. Goblins and goblin dogs."
Like the vermin they were, goblins flooded the fields behind the ogres. Most ran toward Silverlake, ululating war cries scaling up until they became inaudible. The others rode on hairless rodent-things with whiplash tails. Open mouths revealed a tangled mass of sharp teeth. Once the ogres batter their way in, they'll pour through like locusts.
"Shoot!"
At Serrana's command, the archers of the first company loosed their arrows. The shafts vanished in the night, then reappeared quivering in the target or glancing off bony armor. One of the two lead monsters, stuck in both eyes and with the left thigh bristling with arrows, stumbled and went down. The one following leaped over the rolling body. Despite more arrows peppering his hide, he kept coming.
The ogre lowered his shoulder and smashed full speed into the gate. The bar holding it shut splintered, but the two angled posts kept the gates shut. The impact shook the whole wall. Two archers fell, but Jerrad and the rest caught hold of the wall, remaining upright.
The ogre rebounded, stumbling back as if drunk. As he came around, arms up to maintain balance, Serrana sped an arrow into his right armpit. Black blood splashed. The ogre clamped his arm down tight and sat abruptly.
"He's done.» Serrana's lip curled back in a sneer. She nocked an arrow, twisted to track a target, then let fly. "One less goblin."
Out at one of the fires, a trio of ogres hung massive disks on thick chains over the blazes. The disks caught, and in the brief second before ignition turned into conflagration, Jerrad saw enough to realize the disks were tree-trunk slices the size of cart wheels. The ogres, once the flames had engulfed the disks, whirled them around themselves in a circle. The flames all but died, but the disks' edges began to glow the angry red of hot embers.
The ogres released the missiles. One flew awry, plowing into a mass of goblins. The chain sailed through them, snapping a handful in half. The burning disk crushed several more. Wounded goblin dogs yelped. Riderless beasts turned and began to devour their former masters.
The other two disks crashed into the gates. One hit high on the right, blasting through the door. Wooden splinters sprayed into the settlement. Several fighters reeled away, stuck through. Mulish snapped off a splinter in his shoulder, then yanked one out of his father's hip.
The last disk hit low on the left, undercutting the gate. The wooden gate split apart where the post had been supporting it. Pieces of door tumbled into the courtyard. The post fell down onto the burning disk.
Another ogre hurled himself at the door. Wood shattered. A piece of the right door sailed into the settlement. It skipped off the longhouse roof and spun down onto the green. The ogre stumbled, but tucked his left shoulder. He rolled thro
ugh the gap in the door and came up inside the compound, a hideously expectant grin on his malformed mouth, letting his momentum carry him forward into battle.
He impaled himself on a sharpened log. The point shattered bone armor, driving broken ends back into his enormous gut. The log punched through his stomach, splashing the contents of his last meal onto the ground. The bloody point emerged from his back, just left of the spine.
The ogre looked down at his ruined middle, then lashed out with the twisted metal hook in his right hand. The sickle-shaped hook most closely resembled an oversized baling hook. It had been bent out of wrought-iron railing, the end wrapped tightly around a piece of wood for a grip.
Tyressa ducked the swipe, but another man who was wiping ogre blood from his face, caught the hook in the side. The metal ripped him front to back, from flank to spine, tearing through mail, flesh, and bone. As he screamed, Tyressa thrust her spear into the ogre's throat and yanked it back, leaving the point buried in the monster's flesh.
More ogres rushed the gate, and the goblins followed closely.
"Serrana, here." Jerrad pulled the sack of roast-weed leaves he's salvaged from the longhouse off his belt. "Get these on fire. The smoke will hurt the goblins.
His sister glanced at him, then nodded toward the burning disk. "Throw toward that."
Jerrad hauled his arm back and threw. The bag arced up and started down. Serrana tracked it, then shot. The arrow snagged the bag and pinned it to the disk.
It took a moment or two for thick white smoke to seep from the bags. It remained low to the ground and swirled around ogres and goblins alike. This has to work.
One goblin on a goblin dog leaped through it. The dog landed, then leaped sideways, spilling its rider. The animal went down, rolling onto its side. Its tongue had swollen and begun to ooze pus. Its lungs worked harder and harder, but nostrils had closed. The rider regained his feet, but his eyes had already closed and begun to crust over. An arrow took him square in the forehead, pitching him back onto the disk. His body sizzled, but it also smothered the fire on the bag.
"More arrows, go!"
Jerrad slid down the ladder with Nelsa close behind. He grabbed two sticks from where he'd thrust them into the ground. She snatched up a cudgel, slipping her hand through a rawhide loop, then twisting the club to tighten it around her wrist. Jerrad started toward the lake end of the settlement and small blockhouse that served as Silverlake's armory.
The ogres had crowded through the gate and paused, finding themselves hemmed in. Jostling knocked several forward. One twisted between the stakes. Two others got knocked onto them, but one only got stuck through the thigh. The last took the shaft through his lower abdomen, puncturing rolls of fat before bursting his bladder.
More goblins poured into Silverlake, easily passing between the poles. Arrows from the reserves cut down their first ranks. Goblins tottered and died, their bulbous heads having made excellent targets. The back ranks slowed, trapped between ogres and defenders, then turned toward the walls.
Here they come. Jerrad set himself, holding two slender sticks against a knot of knife-wielding, shrieking goblins.
Nelsa laughed. "We have them. Ain't no mud."
One thrust at Jerrad. He twisted back to the left, letting the knife slide past his belly. He snapped one stick down on the goblin's wrist, then thrust with the other. He hit the goblin clean in the throat. Knife falling from a numbed hand, the goblin fell back choking.
Nelsa reshaped one's skull with savage blow. It crumpled. Another leaped above it, knife raised for an overhand stab. She took a half step forward, grabbed its throat in her free hand, then turned. She dropped to a knee, speeding the goblin's arc. It hit full force, face first. Its neck snapped loudly and the body bounced limply into shadows.
A third, rushing at her back, stiffened as Serrana's shot took it in the right shoulder and angled to emerge at the left hip. The goblin skidded past Nelsa. Jerrad darted forward, knocking aside the knife-thrust by a fourth. He swept its legs with his right foot, and Nelsa whirled, cracking its skull with her club.
Jerrad looked up to give his sister a nod. "Serrana, behind you!"
An ogre had leaped up and caught the wall's upper edge. He loomed above her, a fist raised for a crushing blow.
Serrana spun, leaped back, and loosed an arrow. She hung in the air as the shaft caught the ogre under the chin. It ripped out the left cheek, shredding the ogre's tongue. Blood and spittle hung in a mist.
Then the fist came down. The blow narrowly missed Serrana, but swept two other archers into the night. They tumbled through the air, arrows spilling, and descended into the melee at the gate.
Serrana fell and landed awkwardly. Her right leg snapped, audible even above the growls and shrieks. Her body bounced, but she never lost her grip on the bow.
"Serra!" Ranall's shout cut through the din of battle. His blade flashing left and right, he cut his way through goblins to reach her side. Legs spread wide, both hands on a blade running with dark blood, he snarled at gathering goblins. "Come and die."
Nelsa dragged Serrana back, while Jerrad pointed up past Ranall. "The ogre!"
The ogre came up over the wall. With a nightmare-inducing grin, he drooled blood and landed with both feet on the catwalk. He crouched, preparing to leap down and perhaps crush Ranall. Ranall brought his sword up in a guard, but there was no way that slender blade could save him.
Before the ogre could leap, wood splintered and snapped. The catwalk support gave way beneath his bulk. The ogre, falling, grabbed for the top of the wall to support himself. He succeeded only in impaling his hand. Worse yet for him, as he fell, his broad leather belt snagged on the wall itself. His feet dangled shy of the ground and his pierced hand hung him up.
Ranall thrust up into the creature's belly. He avoided the kicking feet, dancing back, then in again to stab. Three times, four times, Ranall perforated the ogre's gut. Foul fluids gushed while the monster roared with outrage. The ogre stopped trying to kick the man and instead drove its heels back against the palisade itself. Bark flew and wood splintered.
"Jerrad, get Serrana and Nelsa to safety. The wall's going to come down."
"No time. Goblins!"
The ogre's predicament fascinated the goblins for only as long it took for a murderous mob to gather. As Ranall turned away from the dangling ogre, a wall of goblins surged forward. All knives and claws and teeth, they came howling gleefully.
Jerrad lashed out with his sticks. He might not have been fast enough to beat Kiiryth, but the goblins came in carelessly and slow. He parried thrusts, then struck back. He shattered jaws, crushed cheeks, fractured wrists and arms. He struck without thinking, knowing he couldn't help but hit targets, so many of them came at him.
To his left, Ranall's blade crunched bone and slid wetly from bodies. Nearest Serrana, Nelsa smashed goblins with her club. Bodies dropped heavily. Goblins snarled and whimpered, then gurgled and died.
Something grabbed Jerrad's ankle. Before he would pull back, the goblin bit him through his boot. Another rushed forward, his knife stabbing. Jerrad twisted, but not enough. Steel burned, slicing him over the ribs. He elbowed the goblin in the eye, then cracked another across the head. That one went down, then another hand grabbed his free leg.
He begin to fall on his back. "No!"
A goblin surged up through the pile, spitting out boot leather through bloody lips. He raised a knife above his head in both hands. He graced Jerrad with a red grin, arching his back, ready to pin Jerrad's heart to his spine.
The knife descended.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Thirty-Four
Etched in Pain
Ogres squeezed slowly between the sharpened logs, whereas goblins poured over and around them. Tyressa thrust up at an ogre, aiming to punch through a gap in its bone armor, but a goblin deflected her spear upward. The point skittered along armor, then plunged into the ogre's neck. Blood s
quirted, just missing Tyressa as she pulled back.
Despite warriors trying to hold the line, the ogres penetrated Silverlake's first line of defense, heading for the western longhouse. Enormous flat feet stomped on caltrops. Metal spikes punctured dirt-black soles. One ogre bellowed, then jumped up and down clutching his foot. Caltrops clung to it like ticks. His necklace of skulls bounced as he hopped. Then he came down on more caltrops. He flailed his arms against the pull of gravity, and crashed down on his right flank in the metal-strewn field.
Another ogre sank an enormous baling hook into his ankle and pulled him back. It's not a rescue. She doesn't want him reaching the longhouse first. His thrashing body picked up more caltrops, clearing a path to the prize. Her hook rose and fell again, taking the first ogre in the hip and dragging him backward out of the way.
Triumphant, she darted in. The shutters over the longhouse windows clacked open. A bristle of spears thrust outward. Some of the shafts snapped as their points caught on the ogre's armor. Others found gaps, sticking the monster in thighs and shins. As the spears withdrew, the points remained in the ogre's flesh. The ogre plucked one out as if it were a thorn, then shrieked and went at the longhouse again.
Fear fluttered in Tyressa's stomach. How can we stand against them? Yet as soon as the thought came, so did the answer. We will because we must.
Tyressa replaced the point she'd left in the ogre. She quickly grabbed another and jammed it deep in a passing goblin's neck. She brought her spear up and around, using the steel-shod butt end to dent one more goblin's head.
The biggest ogre she'd ever seen thrust aside two smaller of his kind and marched through the gate. Leg bones had been laced into an armor ladder covering his chest and ample gut. His skull necklaces had each been strung with different types of skulls. The smallest, worn closest to his throat, featured goblins. The largest, which hung down to his belly, had skulls from wild beasts. The middle string contained human skulls. The only sense she could make of how they'd been arranged was that he kept families together, with children's small skulls strung between parents'.
Pathfinder Tales: The Crusader Road Page 27
