A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (45 page)

The marshal looked at Earl Boris and Darve Northtower, his face taking on a practiced aura of command. “The dwarves hold the inner gate, while Bluecloaks man its towers and walls.” He lifted his thin finger toward the bulky structure above the caves. “I will command the bastion.”

Magus Britt nudged Boris while eyeing Jaerd. “Captain Westar came up with an excellent new use for my enhanced Quickfire. Most of the mages will man the inner wall.” He nodded toward Gael. “As will your elves. We’ll need their bows up here.” The Battlemage forestalled Boris’ question. “I will explain all to you once you have eaten and rested.” Looking at Gael, Magus Britt narrowed his gaze. “We have at least a few hours, correct?”

“Sundown,” the elf lord replied, his one eye tracing to the north.

J
aerd ran his bare hand over the rough stone battlement, still warm from the sun now setting at the mouth of the defile. The solidity of the stone gave him courage. He knew how many centuries it had stood against that which came.
It will probably be this stone’s last fight. Spirits of Water, I hope this works.

A slow rumble crawled up the approach to Highspur. The heavy haze of dust that Jaerd had seen on the plain that morning now hung over the rocky walls of the defile. It rose above the corner of the Dragon’s Feet that hid the Norvus River from Jaerd’s view. A loud, growling bark met it from the peak of the inner gate towers.
I would swear that dog knows Hall didn’t come back. I wish I had him down here.

Behind Jaerd, a shout rang out, and a soldier came running down. The Bluecloak hurried up the stairs to Jaerd and offered a quick salute and a piece of paper. Jaerd noticed a gray cast to the man’s face, even in the direct rays of the setting sun.

With the dragon-spangled blue banners snapping about him, he took a deep breath. Opening the folded letter, he scanned it quickly.

Enemy larger than original estimate. Rearguard still crossing Norvus. Trolls, dragons, and siege engines identified. Proceed with original plan if feasible.

He crumpled the note and tossed it into an iron-wrought fire pit, stoked high against the coming night. The dry parchment curled and blackened in a flash of red flame. His heart felt as if it burned with the note in a fire stoked by fear. “Lieutenant!”

Kent Varlan jumped to his side with a salute. “Sir!”

Nodding to the young man, Jaerd pointed down along the wall. “I want you to make a final pass of the turrets. Make certain every scorpion crew knows to concentrate on the biggest things first.”

The lieutenant gulped, but nodded. “Yes, sir!” He dashed down the stairs.

Jaerd looked at the men operating the two catapults placed upon the gatehouse, the only large weapons on the front wall. He gave the soldiers a confident nod while warming his hands over the fire.

The boom of a large horn, a haunting, single note, resounded up the vale toward them. With it came a billows blast to the flame of fear burning inside Jaerd. He heard the loud roar of thousands and thousands of voices following it, filled with the hatred and rage of centuries of oppression. Far behind the roar, the fat, orange sun dipped into the purple haze of a distant sea. Its dying rays cast the defile into a crimson glow, as if blood already coated the rocks. Down in the vale below, pinpricks of red light popped through the dust. Thousands more appeared, as torches and campfires lit up the hills of the Dragon’s Feet.

Jaerd leaned once more against the stone of the battlement, his heart turning to ash. The masonry felt colder and less substantial as he watched the fires spread into the coming night.
I never imagined this. I never believed this could be real. Now, here it is, stretching before me. By the Waters, why did I agree to come here?

“Steady hearts, men!” Pounding out the flames of fear, Jaerd lifted his voice above the rumble of the orcish horde. “These walls have thrown back greater hosts than this.” He grabbed a torch from the barrel, dipped it into the fire pit, and raised it on high, waving it about. “We are all that stands between the peace-loving nations of our homelands and the chaos that barks at us from the darkness. Do not let your fear overcome you! Embrace it! Feed from it! And cast it back at our enemies along with our steel!”

Jaerd joined the brave shouts ringing up from the gate tower and along the wall. He spied Lieutenant Varlan, who stalked among the defenders, taking up the huzzahs and passing them along. Soon the inner gate echoed the cheers as well. Their cries tumbled down the ravine, muting out much of the orcish noise clambering in his ears.

A thrill rippled through Jaerd, fortifying the seedlings of his courage. They rose from the ashes in his heart. The men around him fed off it, and soon shouts of “Bring them on!” and “They’ll smash upon this wall!” echoed down the line.

Then the slow, tortuous creak of heavy wheels reached him from the ravine, followed by shouts of anger and bellows of pain. Fires moved in the darkened passage. Soon, Jaerd picked out heavy catapults, and the bulky, misshapen figures that pulled them. Orcs snapped long whips over the creatures’ heads while they heaved their burdens forward.

Jaerd laid his torch along the edge of the fire pit and leaned out over the battlement. “So those are trolls...and to think Tallen killed one.” He exchanged glances with the corporal next to him. “Guess I’ll just have to one up my little brother today, eh?”

Two heavy thumps sounded behind Jaerd. He looked up to see a pair of faint yellow sparks tumbling through the sky overhead. The thumps sounded again, and two more sparks flew, this time from further to his sides. As the first two projectiles crashed into the oncoming enemy, they exploded in a burst of green-orange flame. The fire flowed like water, covering both the siege engines and the creatures that pulled them. Blood-curdling screams of agony and rage echoed toward the defenders. The smell of caustic chemicals and burning flesh seared Jaerd’s nose.

He looked to the two catapult teams on the tower roof. Their sergeants held a torch to the payload until the fuse lit, then nodded in readiness. He sliced the air with his hand.

“Launch!”

The catapults heaved against their grounding chains, hurling the round pots full of enhanced Quickfire at the oncoming enemy. Explosions rocked the night, illuminating the walls and ravine with a flash of green light. The pot metal ripped apart, shredding the enemy with molten chunks of slag.

Screams of pain and death erupted again from the orcs and the trolls they drove. Their black catapults stopped moving forward, and a cheer rose from Jaerd’s men.
The worst thing about the enemy entering your range is that it usually means you are within theirs.

Jaerd ducked against the battlement. “Cover!”

Two dozen hollow thumps sounded in the night. The gate tower lit with the red light of burning pitch. Fiery balls rocketed toward the walls of Highspur. Just before they crashed into the defensive line, over half of them stopped in midair then hurtled back at the enemy. Only a few crashed into the battlements, taking out soldiers with each of them.

A cry lifted from the defenders. “The mages!”

Jaerd looked at the red-trimmed Bluecloak just a few yards away. The man’s hands lifted in the air, and his eyes focused on the siege engines. Jaerd gave the mage a sharp nod. “Well done, Stanton.”

The orc crews scrambled each time the trebuchets within the four inner towers launched, desperate to avoid the Quickfire. Shorter ranged catapults worked from the interior wall, pumping fiery death upon the orcs. Jaerd’s own two crews scrambled to reload the buckets of their machines. He signaled the sergeants.

“Launch at will, gentlemen.” The weapons heaved again, and the green inferno of death brightened within the vale. Those enemy engines still operable loaded and launched again and again, while the Bluecloak Battlemages held many of the orc missiles at bay. Magus Stanton stopped two balls of fire that would likely have found Jaerd and his men, forcing them to tumble back down the slope.

The exchange continued for several rounds, and with each launch, fewer orc weapons successfully fired. Jaerd noticed the strain on Stanton’s face increase with every attack. More and more of the enemy missiles crashed into the forward wall, and Magus Stanton winced. “It is easier when they are not so close together.”

Jaerd waved to his crew sergeants. “Concentrate on that cluster over there where their weapons are still firing.”

The catapults launched toward the southern edge of the ravine, decimating the weapons. Jaerd smiled at the sound of orcs and trolls screaming. Some pulled what engines they could back out of range, and another volley of fire chased them down the defile.

Shouts of victory soared up from the walls. Elf, dwarf, Bluecloak, and Hadoner alike lifted voices and spears into the fire lit night. Jaerd clapped his men upon their shoulders, nodding and raising his fist as well, the fear in his heart little more than glowing embers.

A harsh blast from a sonorous horn cut short their moment of joy. An ocean roar of angry voices drowned out the southerners’ cheers. With a heave of torches and glittering metal, a host of the enemy surged up the defile.

Jaerd cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ready!”

Fire flew down from the inner towers, both magical and mundane. The enemy died, but more rushed over and around their burning comrades. Hundreds of gargantuan trolls charged over the scattered remnants of broken siege engines, carrying bulky iron ladders.

Leaning back, Jaerd grabbed one of his runners. “Tell Varlan and the scorpion commanders to focus on the trolls!” He shoved the young man down the stairs and waved to his men. “Target the ladders and the trolls!”

Yard-long shafts flew out from the turrets on the walls, punching through armor and burying themselves in heavy hide. Some of the trolls fell, dropping their ladders and tripping their fellows. More followed, and Jaerd knew the fire and missiles could not stop them all. His hand rubbed Shar’leen’s hilt, and the fear in his heart rekindled.

The clank of iron on stone rang across the battlefield as the ladders clattered against the wall. Orcs and trolls swarmed up to meet the plate-armored Bluecloaks at the top. The defenders pushed ladders away with hooked bills and pikes, only to see them lifted back into place again. The fire from the inner wall moved back to the horde’s rear to avoid harming Jaerd and his men while they fought off the assault.

Sheer numbers won over, and scattered fights broke out along the wall as groups of orcs reached the top. Crossbowmen and archers in the turrets fired down on the enemy, while the armored billmen held the line. At Jaerd’s signal, reserve units drew their swords and charged in to fill gaps when they opened.

A pair of trolls clambered onto the wall along his right, flinging both men and orcs aside. Scorpion shafts stuck out from both creatures’ hides, yet they still cast soldiers about with vigor. Three billmen charged one together, getting their weapons firmly planted into the beast’s hide. The creature toppled into its companion, and it crashed into one of the turrets, already weakened by catapult shots. The scorpion on it fired, its shafts sinking into the troll, but not before the new stone shifted under the weight. The entire structure tumbled to the ground behind the wall, crushing trolls and Jaerd’s men alike.

Trying to drown the fires of dread with calm, Jaerd shouted down to the garrison house below. “Reserves to the right!”

A hundred Bluecloaks charged along the wall, pushing back the enemy advance to where the collapsed turret once stood. Just as they pushed the black-armored orcs off that battlement, another troll clambered up on Jaerd’s left, wreaking havoc among the defenders and opening a hole for a large platoon of orcs to swarm behind it.

Jaerd shouted to the garrison house again. “Reserves left!” He turned to Magus Stanton. “Those men are my last reserve unit. It’s probably time for Magus Britt to drive them back.”

Stanton nodded and looked back toward the inner gate towers. He flicked his finger and a bright yellow spark flashed in the air above Jaerd. With the signal given, the mage fire that fell among the enemy intensified, highlighted by flashes of lightning. Heavy piles of boulders tumbled down along the front of the wall, crushing the enemy warriors while they burned. The entire force of Bluecloaks surged forward, pushing the orcs back into the wall of fire and electricity.

The horde wavered before it collapsed. Its lead battalions began to retreat, forcing those in their rear to first halt then begin a hasty withdrawal. In seconds, the retreat became a rout. Catapult and arrow fire chased them so long as they remained within range. A few paused to help wounded comrades who cried out for help as they passed. The magical fire stopped, and Jaerd ordered his crews to cease. He looked over the battlement, watching the enemy horde flee, his fear returned to low embers.

An eerie quiet settled over the ravine, as the attackers fled back to the safety of their main force. The creak of metal sounded behind Jaerd and horsemen trotted out from the inner fortress. Earl Boris and Magus Britt led them. Jaerd climbed down the inner stairs, past the triage of wounded soldiers.