The First Compact: The Karus Saga (The Karus Saga: Book Book 3)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “The enemy is hitting the entirety of the east wall … in force. They marched out of their camp and attacked.” Karus bit the words out. He felt his anger mount. Why had word not reached him about that sooner? The moment the enemy had marched, he should have been alerted. He turned to the messenger. “Do you know how long the attack has been going on?”

  “About an hour, sir.” The messenger was breathing heavily. “It’s hot and hard fighting. Tribune Delvaris told me to tell you that, sir. He asked that you come immediately.”

  Karus crumpled the message, thoroughly disgusted. Someone had screwed up, for the enemy marching that many orcs forward and forming them up for an assault would have taken some time. By all rights, he should be at the east wall, commanding the efforts, and not here, where the fighting was essentially irrelevant. Karus turned his attention back to Kol’Cara.

  “It seems they’ve thrown in at least twenty-five thousand warriors, maybe more, against us. Reinforcements are being sent from the west wall to strengthen our defense.” Karus glanced out at the retreating enemy. “I guess we have our answer now. The attack on the north and south walls was only a distraction, as we had thought. The real assault has begun.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “This way, sir,” the legionary guide said as he turned onto a side street. The buildings seemed to crowd in on them. This area was one of the poorer districts in the city and the evidence of that was all around. The buildings had a decayed and frayed look to them, as if basic maintenance had been an afterthought.

  It was late afternoon and the street was heavily shadowed, presaging the near onset of dusk. Kol’Cara walked at his side. Two other elves, Joron’Tas and Kelus’Su, and four legionaries followed a few steps behind.

  They had picked up their guide at the last defensive position they had passed, where Karus had found himself briefly detained by the centurion in command. He had wanted an update on what Karus knew about the attack on the city walls, which was not much.

  Their guide led them another hundred yards down the street and finally onto a wider boulevard, with a small square just ahead. They passed through the square and were led up to a squat two-story building that was sandwiched between two warehouses. At the far end of the street, the east wall was finally in view, seventy yards away. Karus could hear the fighting, somewhat muted, but raging all the same.

  On the wall itself, there were figures moving about. He wanted to get up there, to eyeball the situation personally, but first had decided to stop by the dwarven headquarters and get an update on the larger picture of what was going on. That way, when he did see the fighting, he would be better informed and guarded against making assumptions based upon incomplete information.

  Armor jingling, a century of men carrying javelins and shields overtook them, jogging past toward the wall. The centurion in command, jogging to the side of the formation, offered a salute on the move. Karus returned the salute.

  “This is where I will leave you, sir.” Their legionary guide opened the door to the building he had led them to.

  “Thank you,” Karus said. “You may return to your century.”

  “Yes, sir.” The legionary saluted and left.

  Karus was about to enter the building when he thought he heard shouting behind them. It died off rapidly. He paused and looked back.

  “What?” Kol’Cara asked, glancing in the direction Karus was looking.

  “It’s nothing,” Karus said, deciding he had only heard an echo from the wall, a trick of sound … nothing more.

  The elf scowled slightly, scanned the street, then said something in Elven to the other two elves. Without hesitation, both moved away in the direction they’d just come. Karus’s legionary escort watched them go in question. Karus turned his gaze to the elf.

  “Just to be sure it was nothing,” Kol’Cara said.

  Karus gave a nod and turned away, stepping into the dwarven headquarters. He was followed a moment later by Kol’Cara and the escort of legionaries.

  The building had once been occupied by a leather maker. It smelled terrible, almost bad enough to make the eyes water. Scraps of leather littered the floor. The tanning vats, having long since dried, had been moved and stacked against the walls, along with the racks that had been used for curing.

  Since there were no windows, Karus wondered if they had tanned inside, which seemed almost inconceivable to him. It was more likely they had done it out on the street.

  Three clerks sat at a large table. None looked up as he entered. They were hunched over wax tablets and writing furiously with ornate metal styluses.

  The heat of the room made the stench worse. It was lit only by a handful of oil lamps, which barely provided adequate light. Martuke was standing by a table, giving instruction to a fourth clerk, who was writing as Martuke dictated. Dennig was nowhere to be seen.

  Martuke glanced up and spotted Karus. He frowned slightly as recognition set in. Karus noticed that the dwarf’s armor was covered in a spattering of dried green blood, orc blood. He had clearly been up on the wall and in the thick of things.

  A bucket by the door held fresh water. As Karus and Kol’Cara moved over to Martuke, one of his legionaries took the ladle, dipped it, and drank.

  “Messages were sent to you the moment the enemy began to march from their camp,” Martuke said by way of greeting. “It is about time you decided to come to where the action is.”

  “I never received those dispatches,” Karus said, wondering what had happened to the messengers. Had they gotten lost in the city? That seemed difficult to believe. “The only messenger that found me told me the attack was well underway.”

  Martuke gave a disbelieving grunt and said something more in Dwarven to the clerk, who continued to write. Then Martuke turned to face Karus fully. The intense dislike in his gaze was more than evident.

  “Where is Dennig?” Karus asked.

  “Shoega is on the wall,” Martuke said.

  With the fighting, Karus figured he would have been there. It only made sense.

  “He is exactly where he should be,” Martuke continued with disdain, “leading our warriors in battle.”

  Karus did not like the bastard’s implication. He felt his ire toward the dwarf rise. It took a surprising effort, but Karus managed to contain himself from responding. He needed the dwarves and had enough headaches as it was, especially with his legion in battle and the city’s walls under assault. He took a calming breath, glanced around the large room. There was a door opposite the one he had entered and a staircase that led to the second floor.

  “Before I go up to the wall,” Karus said, “can you give me an update on the tactical situation? I have been at the fight on the southern wall.”

  Martuke eyed him for a long moment. He appeared as if he might refuse, then apparently reconsidered.

  “This way.”

  The dwarf led him over to a long table. A map had been spread out on the table. A small clay lamp, formed in the shape of a teska, lay on the tabletop. The map turned out to be a rough sketch of the section of the city wall the dwarves were charged with holding. It showed a little beyond their position too. Karus recognized it as a camp scribe copy, most likely provided by the legion since there were notes in Latin. The dwarf rested a palm upon the map.

  “The enemy has thrown around forty thousand against the east wall. That is only an estimate, but one I think accurate. Needless to say, the fighting is difficult. Your Eighth Cohort is to our right, here.” Martuke touched the map. “So is the Ninth, along with one of your auxiliary formations. I don’t recall their name. To our left is the Tenth. All along the wall, the enemy are pressing, but their main thrust, or really their strength, is here, against our position, and here facing the Tenth.” Martuke paused and glanced up. “I understand more of your legionaries are on their way, as well as another auxiliary cohort.”

  Karus thought that good news. Someone had made the decision to call for help.

  “The enemy is pressing us
hard,” Martuke continued. “So far, we are holding and killing them in great numbers. They are also bringing up more warriors, perhaps another twenty thousand. Those are forming up here.” Martuke touched a point to the front of the east wall’s gate, then rubbed at his eyes, which were bloodshot. Only then did Karus recognize the weary exhaustion that battle brought on.

  Seeming to deflate, Martuke let out a long tired breath. “As I said, we’re holding for the moment. However, unless you order more men up, beyond what are already on their way … within two or three hours, our warriors and your legionaries will start to become fatigued. They will need replacement and rest. That is where the real threat lies … in exhaustion. Without help and sufficient reinforcement, I doubt we will be able to hold through the night.”

  Karus took a moment to absorb that. It was not good news, but also not unexpected. He had understood, when the enemy hit them in earnest, things would not be so easy. Martuke’s briefing only reinforced that feeling.

  “The enemy’s assault, for lack of a better word,” Martuke said, “is furious. They have thrown their best at us.”

  “You don’t think they will call off the attack once darkness comes?” Karus asked, knowing it was incredibly difficult to coordinate an assault, let alone fight, once it became dark. With the cloud cover overhead, there would be little to no moonlight. He could not imagine what a major assault would be like on a fortified city in the dark. Whenever possible, most commanders he had known avoided night actions, himself included.

  “No,” Martuke said. “I do not think they will ….”

  The door opened on the other side of the building. Ducking through the doorway, Ugin stepped into the room. He spotted Karus, bared his teeth in a pleased grin, and started over as one of the two elves of his escort behind him closed the door.

  “This place stinks like an orc’s hovel,” Ugin said. The Vass had to hunch his shoulders slightly to keep his head from hitting the ceiling beams.

  “It does,” Martuke agreed.

  “You could not have chosen a better headquarters?” Ugin asked, glancing around in disgust. “There is an entire city of empty buildings out there.”

  “Shoega always chooses the worst locations for his headquarters,” Martuke said, with an unfriendly look thrown to the Vass. “He does not want his officers lingering too long here or becoming comfortable. Their place is with their units.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Ugin said and then turned to Karus. “I was hoping to get some information before I went up to the wall. I did not expect to find you here. This, I must admit, is a pleasant surprise, for no one could find you.”

  “I am gathering that,” Karus said, feeling intense frustration. Normally this kind of thing did not happen. Why they couldn’t find him was beyond Karus. “Something must have happened to the messengers,” Karus said. “They got lost or …”

  “Something,” Ugin said with a shrug. “Well … it does not matter. I have found you and come to fight, as our bargain dictates.”

  “I think we’re gonna need that sword of yours,” Karus said.

  The door through which Ugin had come opened again and a grim-faced dwarven warrior entered. He walked up to Martuke, stood to attention, and said something in Dwarven. Martuke gave an unhappy nod and replied tersely. The dwarf spun on his heel and left.

  Running a hand through his beard, Martuke watched him leave. The dwarf blew out a long breath before turning to one of the clerks. He snapped out what sounded like an order. The clerk gave a nod, set his stylus down, and pushed back his stool, standing. He started for the door Karus had entered through. Stopping their work, the other two clerks set their styluses down and moved over to where their swords had been leaned against the wall, next to their packs.

  “What’s going on?” Karus asked.

  “The warchief has ordered the rest of our reserves, about a hundred, to be sent into the fight,” Martuke said. “I will be going with them, as will the clerks.”

  That told Karus how difficult things were becoming. He felt the intense need to get to the wall to eyeball the battle for himself and regain touch with the legion. He needed to begin exerting some control over events before they overtook him and things spun out of control.

  Martuke said something to the clerk who was headed for the door. Hand on the latch, the clerk turned and started to reply. As he did, the door burst open, knocking him roughly backward several steps. It was one of the elves, Joron’Tas. He had his sword out, and it was stained with green blood. He shouted something in Elven to Kol’Cara.

  There were shouts of alarm outside, followed by the ring of steel on steel. Joron’Tas glanced behind him, then made to step inside but was instead thrown forward. An arrow had hammered square into his back. The tip had emerged from his chest. He vomited blood and, curling up, rocked on the dirty wooden floor amidst the scraps of discarded leather.

  Kelus’Su appeared at the door. His bow was in his hands, and he fired an arrow back through the door. There was an answering cry of pain. He hastily stepped out of the way of the doorway and dropped his bow in favor of his sword, which he drew in one smooth motion.

  “Arm yourselves!” Kol’Cara shouted as he drew his sword.

  Karus’s hand was already on Rarokan. As he drew the weapon, the tingle was a welcome friend. The clerks went for their weapons. Martuke yanked his sword out, just as an orc burst through the door. It was huge, hulking, and powerfully muscled, fearsome-looking. The creature had a stone hammer and smashed it down on the injured Joron’Tas, killing him.

  Screaming in rage, Kelus’Su slashed the orc in the side of the neck, nearly severing the head from the body, instantly felling him. Another orc charged through the doorway, rushing past Kelus’Su and at the surprised clerk who had been knocked backward by the door opening. He had not even managed to get his sword out yet. Snarling, the orc fell upon him, cutting him brutally across the face. The dwarf went down in a spray of blood.

  Two more orcs, each carrying swords, rushed into the building, one being engaged immediately by Kelus’Su. Great sword out, Ugin shouted something in his own language and launched himself at one of the orcs. Inside the confines of the walls, the clash of steel rang out jarringly, hurting the ears. Three more orcs pushed their way into the building. Martuke attacked the nearest orc, taking a powerful blow on his sword that sent sparks flying. A heartbeat later, the rest of the clerks joined him in the fight, as did the legionaries. The long table was in between Karus and the fight. He and Kol’Cara began hastily moving around it toward the action.

  As if he were parrying a child, Martuke turned away the enemy’s blade. He smashed his fist into the orc’s face. The creature’s head snapped back and he stumbled a step. Then, lightning-fast, the dwarf brought his sword back and slammed the hilt into the orc’s jaw from the side. There was a popping sound and the creature collapsed, losing his sword. Without hesitation, Martuke reversed his blade and stabbed downward, powerfully punching his sword right through the orc’s breastplate with a loud cracking sound.

  The dwarf let out a howl of exultation at his kill. It was cut off as an orc blade swung down onto his shoulder armor with a heavy clunk. Martuke took a step back, staggering slightly. He recovered bringing his sword up, skillfully blocking the next attack, even as additional enemy warriors entered through the door.

  Karus raised his sword to block as an orc rushed him, but an ornate dagger appeared, as if by magic, in the orc’s forehead. The creature crashed to the floor at his feet, sword skittering away across the floorboards. Karus glanced over and saw Kol’Cara had thrown the blade. He nodded his thanks and started to move forward to help but found himself restrained by the elf, who grabbed at his arm.

  “We must go!” Kol’Cara shouted at him over the noise as the battle raged before them. The elf pointed toward the fight. “There are too many. We must leave now.”

  Even as he said this, more enemy warriors had entered. Where before the room had seemed spacious, now it was crowd
ed. There was no telling how many were out on the street beyond. With the numbers pouring into the building, he figured it was a good amount. Kol’Cara was right. They needed to get out of here, and before it was too late.

  “Fall back!” Karus shouted as he and Kol’Cara made for the other door. “Fall back!”

  Martuke ignored him as he fought, almost shoulder to shoulder with two of the legionaries of Karus’s escort. One of the clerks was cut down as a powerfully wielded blade severed his leg. He screamed horribly, until an orc silenced him. Ugin finished his opponent by backhanding him to the ground, then running him through the neck to make sure he did not get up. One of Karus’s men dropped next as he tried to fall back to the other door. The orc raised his blade to finish the man.

  “No!” the legionary shouted, holding a hand up to ward off the blow. It did no good. The blade stabbed down, through his forearm and into his collar. The orc drove it deep into his core, killing him.

  “Ugin,” Karus shouted, “Martuke … time to go.”

  The Vass glanced around, spotted them by the door, and with the two elves of his escort, began backing toward them as he fended off three of the enemy with his big sword. Martuke, seemingly lost to the fight, stabbed another enemy in the side. Before he could pull back the blade to finish his opponent, a sword strike slashed his arm, opening a wound that exposed the bone and rendering it useless. He grunted in pain, his sword clattering to the floor from nerveless fingers.

  The dwarf fell back, looking wildly about for help. There was none, for he was now cut off. Karus saw realization sink home as their eyes briefly met. In a heartbeat, a hard look of resolve steeled across Martuke’s face.

  “Go!” Martuke shouted at them as he drew his dagger with his uninjured hand and threw himself forward again. He plunged the blade into the neck of the orc that had struck him. Martuke’s momentum took them both to the floor. A breath later, the dwarf was hit by a stone war hammer. The weapon caved the right side of his head in. He died atop the orc he’d stabbed and killed, almost in the end seeming to embrace his enemy.