by Rex Hazelton
“Schmar is a monster who likes anonymity.” Alynd drew the conversation back to his original point while returning his gaze to his friends. “He is the mold at the bottom of the bread basket. He is the termite in the house. While Ab'Don is a strutting peacock who not only defiles his prey but relishes the infamy that his actions accrue, Schmar enjoys using subterfuge to abate his hunger.”
Once Alynd finished speaking, the Company of the Hammer dutifully continued their journey into the recesses of Schmar's lair, a place whose evil stench grew in intensity with each step they took.
Chapter 38: The Defense of Wyneskynd
Wyneskynd's walls towered above the Wyne River's western shores. Here Tsut'waeh and his father Zhan, standing behind the battlements, studied the vast army creeping up to the river's far shore, looking like a giant spider slowly siding up to a fly snared in its sticky web. A forced march enabled the Tayn'waeh to reach Vineland's capital in time to reinforce the warriors Wombur left behind to defend the city. Feryl, leader of the Woodswane- who arrived before the Tayn'waeh- stood transfixed by the ominous sight.
Rhombar, the Bull King's general left in charge of Wyneskynd's defense, began explaining the present predicament to the Tayn'waeh and Woodswane commanders. “Three bridges cross the Wyne River. Each must be safeguarded if we are to keep Koyer's armies out on the Crescent Plain. One runs directly into the fortress; the others skirt the walls. Cutting through the city that spreads out on either side of the citadel, they enter the fortress from the north and south. If you leave some your warriors inside the fortress to help our depleted numbers control the main gate, the rest of your forces can be deployed to defend the other crossings until you are forced to withdraw inside the walls. Then we'll make our stand together and pray that help comes before it is too late.”
Agreeing to this strategy, Zhan and Feryl went to deploy their warriors just as Rhombar had suggested.
While the Woodswane built up battlements around the southernmost bridge, the Zhimbwaeh did the same to the north. All through the dark and anxious night, the Nyeg Warlers labored to build makeshift walls they could fight behind when the battle began the next day. And while they worked, the groaning noise of portable towers and other siege machines was heard drifting out from the increasing number of campfires that multiplied as quickly as measles on a sick child's face.
Loud swishing, splashing sounds could be heard coming from the Wyne River, letting the Nyeg Warlers know the ruthless crocodon were already patrolling the waterway and spying on their progress. Later, the rhythmic beating of hundreds of booming drums, wafting over the river from the approaching Warriors of Regret, began working on their nerves.
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The sun that long ago had risen in the eastern sky, blinded Wyneskynd's defenders. Lahrm, seated on a gray-mottled steed as ill-tempered as he, led a cavalry of better than five-hundred Archan warriors, riding beneath a black banner embellished with a red heart rent in two. Touring the battlements, he knew the uncertainty of the moment was causing his enemies to expend their emotional strength. Like any other predator, he didn't want to attack until his prey had their energies sufficiently depleted.
In time, Glicknor and Syron, commanders in the White Guard, joined Larhm as he rode up to the mobile drawbridges positioned to be moved forward and deployed across the swollen river that flowed in front of the fortess' main gate. Brakor, the giant, and Scrum, the Malamor commander, followed behind.
Syron, who had an unusually strong anointing of persuasion in his voice, addressed those who stood atop the parapets running along Wyneskynd's walls. “Noble Vinelanders, Koyer sends you his warmest greetings and invites you to join him in reinventing Nyeg Warl. No longer will petty bickering among immature royalty be permitted to weaken and divide our beloved land. A new day has dawned, one that calls for different leadership offering a new and greater vision for all people. So, put down your weapons and join us as we walk hand in hand into this glorious new day.”
“And what will happen to us if we decline your generous offer?” Rhombar's sarcastic reply sounded high above the heavy stone walls.
Syron's milky-white face puckered as he increased the volume of his voice. “Those who turn down Koyer's gracious invitation have, by this act, marked themselves as infections that threaten Nyeg Warl's well-being. And like all infections, they will be promptly and painfully removed.” The magic filling Syron's words couldn't mask the apparent sham that was unfolding before Wyneskynd's walls.
“Your words are meaningless to us. We are irrevocably set to oppose you with our very lives, if need be.” The Vinelander's words cut right to the heart of the matter.
“Well then, that is precisely what will happen!” The scorned White Guard cried out in a terrifying shout that he intended as many of the defenders to hear as possible. “If you don't surrender, we will slaughter both you and your families!”
Having said that, Syron signaled for the Archan horseman to separate and allow the Malamor cavalry to approach. In time, the decomposed heads of a thousand slain Shomeronians came bouncing forward, sitting atop lances the tall Malamor carried about like so many rueful trophies. Simultaneously, a score of milky-faced warriors, who had arrived with the tall Malamor, began hurling the magic of their voices against Wyneskynd's proud walls, shouting out hideous threats against the warriors who defended them. All the rest of that morning the macabre parade continued to ride back and forth before their enemies, discharging volley after volley of horrifying threats sent forth like arrows anointed with the poisonous power Ab'Don doled out to his servants, enabling them to succeed in doing his biding.
“Where is your king?” The evil emissaries poured their energy-draining speech into the ears of those who opposed them. “He has abandoned you and taken Vineland's best warriors to protect his own hide. Surrender now and you and your families will be spared. Resist and we will kill every man, woman and child in Vineland!”
Then, after the time the noon meal is normally eaten, the Malamor cavalry thrust their lances, and the gruesome burdens sitting perched on top of them, into the eastern bank of the Wyne River and withdrew, following the White Guard's lead. Not long afterwards, the groaning of massive timbers used to construct the siege machines choked the tension-filled air. The sound drifted past the severed heads standing along the banks of the river as tokens of what could be expected and up over the battlements the Nyeg Warlers hoped would withstand the destructive wave that was ready to break upon it.
A grim-faced Zhan and his son Tsut'waeh watched the towering mechanisms lumbering forward like so many huge wooden behemoths, half expecting them to roar out their challenge like living beasts. Meanwhile, Feryl and the stout Woodswane, who stood on the other side of Vineland's fortress, drew out their weapons, readying themselves to meet the evil forces oozing towards them like a field of searing lava.
An army of Froms and Cassians, walking hesitantly toward their Nyeg Warl brethren, surrounded the massive siege machines. A huge potpourri of unwilling conscripts taken out of Ar Warl followed close behind. Next came the squat but powerfully built Archan, who's narrowly set eyes were further pinched by the promise of blood, driving the conscripts onward into battle like they were gaming roosters being forced to fight. Ab'Don's blue-eyed Malamor, representing a different branch of the same family tree that spawned the Archan, marched in ranks behind their dark-eyed cousins. Finally, Koyer's White Guard rode at some distance behind the others, identifying themselves as being the upper strata of the evil cast system that flowed out of the Isle of Regret. A small army of giants stood close by, anxiously awaiting their master's command. Hunchmen, intermingling with the warriors, snapped at the conscripts like they were dogs herding sheep to the slaughter.
Froms and Cassians, driven by fear for their families that were being held hostage by the Lord of Regret, marched directly into a barrage of arrows that flew out of Wyneskynd like angry bees swarming out of a hive. The conscripts shipped out of Ar Warl did the same. Scores of the unwilling
warriors fell to the ground either wounded or dead. Those who survived the deadly salvo quickly replaced the expressions on their faces that reflected the confusion they felt over undertaking their unsavory task, with the the grim-faced look of soldiers who would do anything they could to survive the day.
So, the battle began, the conflict that would determine Nyeg Warl's fate.
Mindful that they had to fight, or their families would suffer for their unwillingness to do so, the From and Cassian commanders quickly organized their archers to return a volley of their own razor-sharp arrows. As usual, the Ar Warl conscripts who were driven into battle by the Malamor were quick to do the same as carts full of timbers were wheeled forward.
Carpenters, who had been hiding behind the stacks of lumber, hurriedly assembled the logs together once the carts reached their destination, forming their own battlements that would protect the Warriors of Regret and their lackeys from the deadly rain of arrows that steadily poured down upon them. Once the temporary fortifications were erected, the siege machines rolled past the lances that held the rotting heads up for all to see and through strategically placed gaps in the barriers.
In time, portable bridges were put in place and their wooden spans extended across the river's surface in front of the Woodswane and Tayn'waeh forces concealed behind the makeshift battlements they had constructed for protection. Syron and Glicknor planned to catch the defenders outside of Wyneskynd's formidable fortifications and so deplete their numbers as to make the help they would offer the Vinelanders, once they were forced to retreat behind the fortress' walls, negligible. In due course, the Froms, Cassians, and Ar Warl conscripts were forced to cross the portable bridges and rush headlong into the teeth of the Tayn'waeh and Woodswane defenses.
Tsut'waeh, pulling out the Willow King's crown- whose leaves continued to live in spite of being separated from trunk and root- was bolstered with an anointing of hope and courage as he spoke to his father. “Though we are cut off from the rest of Nyeg Warl like these branches have been cut off from the tree that bore them, we shall prevail and live even as they do.”
The sound of hundreds of running feet, pounding across the portable bridges, echoed down the river's channel. In response, defiant shouts, riddled the sky, those that Tsut'waeh- after tucking his prize away- joined. For hearth and home! For freedom and right! The Tayn'waeh's traditional war cry burst into the air.
Not wanting to wait for the fight to come to him, Zhan lept over the battlements and led his brave warriors in a terrifying counterattack. There on the western banks of the Wyne River, brown-skinned warriors crashed into the hordes that had been forced to fight like bulls colliding into a pack of dogs. The horrified Froms, Cassian, and Ar Warl conscripts were driven back by the deadly onslaught and began retreating over the bridges. But to their chagrin, cruel Archan axes met them and began cutting them down until they returned, once more, to face the indomitable Tayn'waeh.
Amazingly enough, those who were forced into battle began to fight the Archan, refusing to return to the bridges. Seeing what was taking place in front of them, the From and Cassians who had not yet reached the Archan turned and pled with the Tayn'waeh to shelter them. Once they realized their petition was being granted, those who escaped getting an Archan arrow or ax in the back were greeted as brothers.
Having observed the exodus, the enraged Warriors of Regret began slaughtering the From and Cassians who still stood among. Ar Warl's conscripts who were smart enough to join the Archan as they went about killing the Nyeg Warlers were given a temporary reprieve from having to return and fight the Tayn'waeh.
Filled with indignation over witnessing the ensuing slaughter, Zhan led a charge across the portable bridges, and the permanent one he and his people had been sent to guard, to come to the doomed Nyeg Warlers' aide. This act of selflessness took the foul enemy by surprise, giving Wyneskynd's defenders the upper hand early on in the battle. Many of the Archan, who had only a few moments before thought they were in for some fun when they began executing the From and Cassians, were cut down by the unexpected assault.
The battle continued to rage on the eastern banks of the Wyne River until misfortune overtook the triumphant Nyeg Warlers. In the midst of the horrendous fighting, the White Guard saw an opportunity to trap many of the Tayn'waeh on their side of the river. Sneering at the Nyeg Warlers' display of selfless heroism, the milky-white-faced Glicknor ordered the Malamor to circle the field of battle and drag the portable bridges out of the river.
Realizing what had befallen them, Zhan ordered his forces to press towards the permanent bridge that couldn't be withdrawn. A large number of Tayn'waeh, who had been held in reserve, charged onto the stonework arching over the waterway to keep them clear of the advancing Malamor.
The fighting was fierce as the indomitable Tayn'waeh battled their way out of the trap. Hundreds of Ar Warl conscripts lay dead and dying while scores of Nyeg Warlers joined them on their journey to the Great Hall of Death.
In the end, those unwillingly conscripted out of Ar Warl were no match for the warriors who fought for their own homes. Nevertheless, they served Ab'Don's evil purpose by becoming the sacrifice that wore down his prey. Soon, the snow covering the ground turned red with blood as stern-faced men struggled for dominance and survival.
The tall Malamor, that were busy removing the portable bridges, found themselves suddenly caught in a trap of their own when the Nyeg Warler's from both sides of the river closed in on them like the jaws of a great beast. In time, broken bodies littered the escape route leading to the permanent bridge.
“Onward, men!” Zhan encouraged his brave warriors as he swung his broadsword through the shoulder of one of Ar Warl's pathetic conscripts. The brown-skinned warriors, like hearty lumberjacks, cut their way through a forest of malevolent warriors. But for every three they felled, one of their own was lost. Though this arithmetic would have encouraged the unseasoned warrior, those who knew the strategy Koyer was employing realized the battle was moving along just as the Lord of Regret planned.
After much laborious fighting, the Tayn'waeh who finally reached the permanent bridges, fought their way across its red-stained surface. But even achieving this goal did not give them respite, for Glicknor ordered Lahrm to mount an all-out attack that would chase them across the bridge and follow them over the make-shift battlements in hopes of despoiling the parts of the city that surrounded Wyneskynd's fortress. Quickly, the full strength of the Archan warriors pressed upon those fleeing, exacting heavy losses on their retreating flanks. Thousands of battle axes, swinging through the air, made the advancing army look like a gigantic threshing machine that chewed up human flesh like it were stocks of wheat.
The wounded who fell off the bridge into the river- whether they were Tayn'waeh or Archan- were immediately torn to pieces by the crocodon patrolling its reaches. Fortunately for the Nyeg Warlers, Laviathon, who was out scouting the seas, was not there to bring his incendiary powers into play.
Once behind the battlements, the Tayn'waeh and the remnant of the Froms and Cassians turned to face their enemies, making them pay a heavy toll for following them across the bridge.
The arrows, flying back and forth across the front lines, looked like chaff being blown about in a whirlwind. Slowly, the Nyeg Warlers turned the wave of Archan back from their makeshift walls. But before any shouts of victory could be uttered, Brakor lead his troop of Cragmar giants into the fray, moving against the Tayn'waeh while the Clay Giants assaulted the Woodswane, moving across the southern most bridge.
The giants stubbornly advanced through a hailstorm of arrows that bounced harmlessly off the heavy armor they wore until they reached the makeshift battlements. Then using a battering ram made from the trunk of an oak tree, they began shattering the walls consisting of a jumble of wooden tables, carts, timbers, and stones that had been scavenged from nearby buildings and heaped upon the ground. In time, a gaping hole was created and the giants poured into the outskirts of Wyneskynd where the battl
e continued its feverish pace.
While this was happening, a wave of hunchman swept up behind the giants and scattered throughout the unwalled portion of the city, spreading mayhem wherever they went. With their arrival, things turned decidedly against the defenders. Regardless of how valiantly the Tayn'waeh and Woodswane fought, for Feryl's men weren't fairing any better than Zhan's, the weight of the assault pressed the Nyeg Warlers backward toward the safety of Wynekynd's thick stone walls, those that lay on the other side of a deep moat joined to the river in the same fashion as the moat surrounding Shomeron's fortress.
Once the full weight of the Malamor was added to the mix, the beleaguered Nyeg Warlers were forced to seek safety behind the citadel's stone walls. Finally, as the sun began to lower its weary head in the western horizon as if it were discouraged over what it had seen, the last of the Tayn'waeh and Woodswane entered the city fortress and the drawbridges were raised and secured.
In evening's fading light, Tsut'waeh, Zhan, Feryl and Rhombar stood, once again, behind Wyneskynd's parapets, watching the Army of Regret celebrating their first day's success. Lining the Wyne River's eastern banks, a thousand more heads taken from the freshly slain Nyeg Warler's were mounted on pikes alongside their Shomeronian brothers. Behind them, pathetic cries, of those who had the misfortune of only being wounded, rose out from the places where their captors mercilessly tortured them. The unnerving noise continued well into the night. The bright glow of a massive funeral pyre, built by the Archan army, added to the surreal scene.
Realizing they were trapped, Rhombar spoke to the gathering of captains and commanders now meeting in the Great Hall of the Bull King. “Men, we have our work cut out for us. Whether we can hold back the strength of Koyer's army that sits on the eastern banks of the Wyne River like a cat who thinks it has cornered a mouse, now seems in doubt in the light of the news brave Woodswane scouts have brought to us. Risking their lives to get this information, they report that the main body of Koyer's dark army is marching toward Wyneskynd to ensure our defeat.”
