Dragonhammer: Volume II (10 page)

The next days go by slowly, though the soldiers remain in good spirits.  Once we get within a few days’ travel of Nur’tokh they start to get a little uneasy.

“Kadmus,” says Nathaniel as we stand staring into the river.  “What if we don’t make it out?”

I think for a moment and then say, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

I stay silent because of course I know what he means.  It’s a situation I have not allowed to occur even in my thoughts and I don’t plan on changing that any time soon.

“I’m scared, Kadmus,” he says.  “I may not ever see Mother again.  Or Ethan or Nicholas.  I may never live to see Gunther’s children.”

“But you will,” I reply.  “You will survive.”

“I don’t want to survive!” he exclaims.  “I want to live!  This…”  He gestures to the surrounding army.  “This is not living.”

I am silent.  Then I say, “None of us want to be here, Nathaniel.  We’re fighting so that our families can live.  Not survive.  And when this is over we can return to them and we can live with them.”

He nods.  “I want to believe you,” he mutters.  “But in every battle there is someone that does not return.”  He looks at me.  “What if that someone is me next time?”

I shake my head.  “You will return,” I reply.  “I’ve already lost Father and I cannot afford to lose another.”

He nods but says nothing more.

As the sun sets, Ullrog refuses to enter the tent.  He sits outside next to the entrance.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“There is scent on wind,” he says.  “
Thiem ekh blakmos.
”  I give him a look and he translates darkly, “I smell blood.”

I lie awake, as I do every night but for the few hours I actually need to sleep.  Right after I drift off, it seems, I wake for apparently no reason.  Then I look up and see Ullrog looking into the tent.  His eyes glow blue like a cat’s in the dark.  He makes no sound but somehow transfers the message to me to get up.  I do so silently.  As I make for the entrance, he stops me with a single expression and then nudges his head towards my hammer which lies next to my bed.  While I’m at it I decide to stick a couple of knives in my belt.

He stops me again just before I exit the tent.  Then he says one word so lowly it’s almost like a breath of the wind.  “Wait.”  Then he feigns sleep against the canvas of the tent.

I look across the sleeping bodies of my companions.  Once again Aela has boxed herself in the corner, which has become a routine thing.  Her face is serene.  James is drooling and Nathaniel’s chest rises and falls slowly.  Percival snores lightly and rolls over.  Jericho lies on his stomach with his face on his makeshift pillow, and somehow manages to keep breathing.

Why did he wake me?
I wonder.

Ullrog twitches at the sound of the sand rustling.  It was not the wind.

Then somebody appears just outside our tent.  I can only make out his silhouette in the night, as there is no moon, but he lifts a small sword and I know he is not friendly.

He steps silently on the sand and lowers his blade to Ullrog’s chest.  Then just before I react, Ullrog’s arm stabs a knife into the gut of the silhouette.

The shadow grunts and falls forward onto Ullrog, concealing the orc and his knife from any others who might be watching.

There’s a whisper as some words are traded and another of them makes his way to his fallen comrade.

When his opponent nears, Ullrog takes a very different tactic.  From his spot on the ground he throws the body into the other soldier, who blurts a yell of fright.

Aela and Nathaniel start awake.  I put my first finger over my mouth and send the signal to be very quiet.

The shadow gets up and looks at Ullrog, who is unmoving next to the tent.  He tentatively steps towards the figure a couple of times.  Then with a roar Ullrog jumps from his spot on the sand and slashes the head from the shadow.

Everyone in the camp is woken.  Yells sound from every direction, and then the sound of fighting.

“Come,” says Ullrog.

All six of us pile out of the tent and into the fray.

There are many of them and they possess a huge advantage.  They are armored, while we hardly had time to pick up the nearest weapon and shove it at them.

They, however, were not expecting us to wake up and fight them, at least this soon in their attack.

It is difficult to tell friend from foe in the dark night.  Torches are lit at intervals between the tents and even then the fighting is uncertain.

Ullrog and I are at the head of our pack.  The enemy has scattered themselves around the camp, and so are easily surrounded and dispatched one at a time despite their armor.

I bash in the helm of one soldier and watch as Ullrog slashes his wicked blade across the chest of another.  The serrated edge rips the armor to shreds and I would rather not think of what it has done to his flesh.

The battle is over quickly and immediately I make my way to Jarl Hralfar’s tent.  He paces around the table in his tent and looks up as I and Ullrog enter.  The others wait outside.

“Orders?” I ask.

“Go back to bed,” he says.  “And sleep on your swords.”

I raise an eyebrow and shoot him a look that asks the question, “What?”

“Titus is getting desperate,” he says.  “Desperate people tend to do stupid things.  This attack was one of those stupid things.  Go get some rest and keep your weapon on hand.  He is highly unlikely to try again but be on your guard.”

I nod and leave the tent, but I am unable to get any more sleep that night.  As the sun begins to rise, I get up and look at the sky as it turns a fiery shade of orange.  Ullrog is standing, looking down at the body of the first man he had killed that night.  The other body lies on its back only a few feet away, with its head lying in front of another tent.

The orc has already cleansed his blade and it shines in the light of the rising sun.  He looks upon the bodies sadly.

Suddenly I remember what Nathaniel had said. 
In every battle there is someone that does not return.

“I wonder if they had family,” I think aloud.  Ullrog looks at me as I speak.  “If they had a wife or son waiting at home for them.”

He nods.  “Or brother,” he says.  There’s a moment of silence and then he speaks again.  “Not evil,” he says quietly, looking back at the persons lying lifeless on the ground.

Again it takes me a moment to figure out what he means.  “I wonder as well,” I say.  “Were they evil at heart?  Did they agree with Titus… or are they fighting against their will?”

Ullrog shakes his head and looks up at the sunrise which has turned a nasty shade of red, matching the pools beneath the bodies.  The sand is stained.

Seige of Nur’tokh

W
e do not bury the bodies.  The desert will do that for us, over time.  And time is too precious now.

“There it is,” somebody finally says a few days later.  “About time.”

The walls are the color of the sand and some soldiers have a hard time spotting the city against the horizon of dunes, despite the height of the sandstone structures.  As we near, I observe a titanic castle built in the very center, higher than the walls with sheer sides like cliffs.

“How are we getting in?” I ask Jarl Hralfar.

“Have you looked at our armament of siege weapons?” he returns.

“Only in passing.  A few catapults and ladders?”

“Ten of each,” he says.  “And one battering ram.  Nur’tokh is a tough nut to break open, but we can do it.  The doors are strong but we can crush them.  I do not expect the ladders to be entirely successful but they will help to distract their forces while we attack the gate.”

“Sounds like you already have a plan,” I observe.

“This is the oldest plan in the book,” he replies.  “Hit them hard and send them running.”

We make camp about a half mile away from their gate, at the tail end of a long canyon.  An enormous stone cliff juts from the sand like a dagger thrown into a table, and the army takes shelter in its shade.  Similar rock formations cluster the city and the lake.  “When do we strike?” I ask.

“We are tired,” Hralfar replies.  “We will rest tonight and attack them with everything we’ve got when the sun rises.”

There’s not long to wait.  Only a few hours later the sun sets and the army sleeps soundly, though there are many watchmen set about the perimeter.

How many will I kill tomorrow?
I think. 
Will I make it out alive?

Everybody else seems to be thinking the same thing, but for Aela and Ullrog.  Ullrog is quiet and contemplative as always.  Tonight he sharpens his enormous serrated blade with a stone from his pack.  The stone is shaped oddly so that it is easy to grip, and it bears a rune that I do not recognize.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

He runs it along his blade again with a loud ringing noise and stops.  He studies the rune on the stone as if even he doesn’t know what it means.  “
Dura
,” he says ominously.  “Death.”  The torchlight shines off of the sharp edge and he resumes whetting the blade.

“Are you afraid?” Aela asks Nathaniel.

“Yes,” he says.  “I’m afraid.  Are you?”

“No,” she replies.

He looks at her and furrows his brow curiously.  “Why not?”

“I have nothing to fear,” she says quietly.  She notices my gaze and then looks away quickly.

Percival sits next to Ullrog, watching the orc sharpen his blade.  Then he picks up his own sword and examines the edge.  His normally clean-shaven face has become stubbly.  James points this out and Percival smiles.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I got lazy.”

Jericho battles invisible opponents by the tent.  His black hair has gotten longer and he’s beginning to look a little unkempt.

“Are you winning?” Nathaniel asks.

“Of course,” Jericho says.  “Every time.”

“Remember what we agreed on,” James says.  “We have each others’ backs.  All of us.”

We each nod our agreement and James looks at me.  “We stick together.”

I repeat him with a slight smile.

The next morning Hralfar stands at the head of the army with his fist raised.  As soon as he clenches it, the catapults begin their assault and the first regiment of troops moves forward, the battering ram lumbering slowly in the middle.  A couple of ladders move forward with them, pulled by oxen.

The main problem with the catapults is that they are not accurate.  However, every hit brings down at least part of some structure or another.

The soldiers move with shields raised over their heads to block arrows incoming from the walls.  Slowly the ram rumbles forward until it reaches the gate; then tens of men cling onto ropes attached to the back of the ram and pull with all their might.  The ram rises slowly and then falls as they release the ropes, slamming into the great gates of Nur’tokh.

The ladders operate using technology similar to the ones used by our enemy at Nringnar’s Deep in Terrace.  Ballistae shoot ropes to the top of the wall, and our troops pull to hoist ladders to the top.  The process is a little slow, and their archers are able to take down too many soldiers before the first ladders reach the crenellations.

As soon as the first ladders touch down, Hralfar blows the warhorn.  Then everybody charges forward.

Each of the other ladders is hoisted in a similar way and soldiers climb up to the top of the wall to press the fight; their archers are forced to focus on the impending threat on the wall rather than the one steadily breaking down the gate.

The catapults continue to fire, but in controlled areas so we don’t hit our own ladders by accident.  One shot smashes straight through a tower and the whole structure crumbles to the earth far below.  Rubble lines the walls and some shots take off crenellations or men with them.

Ullrog looks up at the crenellations anxiously and grips the hilt of his sheathed sword.  His armor gleams in the hot sun and he licks his fangs hungrily.

We start up one of the ladders as a group.  Ullrog charges up first, bounding up the rungs like an animal.  I follow him, and the others follow me.

The archers are preoccupied with the soldiers already present on the wall, and so there are few arrows fired at us.  The few missiles that actually get to the ladder are not accurate, shot off without much time for aiming.

I hear a thud and glance back to see Percival staring wide-eyed at an arrow embedded in his shield.

The walls seem much higher from the top.  I hazard a guess that they must be thirty or forty feet.

A soldier at the top begins to hack at the ropes and an archer takes aim at Ullrog.  I can hear the orc panting like a wolf as he leaps up the ladder.

The archer fires and Ullrog hurdles to the side, grabbing the side and rolling underneath.  He continues up the ladder by climbing on the bottom, and then throws himself to the upright side of the ladder as he reaches the top.  As he clears the crenellation he unsheathes his sword and slashes across two soldiers and stabs another.  I reach the top as he cuts down an archer.

My hammer flies from its leather holster on my back and I whip it around to slam an enemy over the edge of the wall.  I drive the spike into another and throw him into an archer just drawing his bow to fire at Ullrog.  Though the archer was cut down, Ullrog rolls as if to dodge the un-shot arrow and slices another enemy.

Percival arrives with Jericho and each of them immediately engages a Tygnar soldier.  Aela arrives just after James, and Nathaniel brings up the rear.  His hammer sits on his back and he pulls his strung bow from his shoulder.  He nocks an arrow from the quiver on his belt and fires into a soldier.

There’s a boom as the battering ram hits the gates.

Soldiers of our regiment follow behind us and the wall quickly becomes full of our troops.  A catapult shot hits the wall below and to the right of our position, shaking the entire structure.  Bits of sandstone explode into the city in great chunks, causing even more destruction.

“Should we see if we can open the gate?” asks Nathaniel.

“There is no need,” I reply.  The ram booms against the gate once again.  “But what we can do is distract their attackers.”

They follow me across the wall towards the crenellations above the gate.  Any enemy soldiers brave enough to stand up to us are cut down, some of them thrown from the wall.

Most of them are archers.  They look over the edge of the wall shooting arrows at the men hefting the battering ram.  Most times, once they realize we are there, it is much too late.

Several of them are not able to even draw their sword.

A cry is shouted among them and suddenly their bows are pointed at us.  A throwing knife leaves my hand and one drops dead.  Before I can hit another, three already lie dead on the ground, each with an oddly-shaped axe sticking out of his head or chest.

Ullrog springs forward, draws two of the axes from the bodies, and throws them again.  Two more men drop to the stone floor of the wall.  Another falls when an arrow sprouts from his chest, tribute of my brother Nathaniel.  Three of them drop their bows and try to run when they see Ullrog.  It only gains them a few seconds.

Then they begin loosing arrows.

Percival’s shield serves him well.  With every thud, an arrow embeds itself into the woodwork.  James takes cover behind him for the first volley, and then charges out with his sword swinging.

I duck and use one of the bodies as cover.  The sound of arrows penetrating flesh is sickening, but I am glad the flesh is not my own.

Impossibly, Ullrog’s armor seems to be deflecting arrows.  Some of them miss, but one ricochets off his shoulder and zings into the sky.

Blood drips off of the crenellations.  Pools are forming beneath the bodies.  My hammer is turning crimson and my armor is splattered.

I slam one of them in the back and snag another to throw him off the side; as he tumbles, he accidentally catches one of his comrades and both go over the side.

Percival blocks a blow with his shield, and then bashes as his enemy’s sword comes down.  The soldier falls back in surprise, and then Percival knocks him across the face with the steel binding on his shield.  The soldier falls unconscious.  In the same movement, Percival spins and slashes across the chest of another, and then stabs the gut of yet another.

Ullrog holds his bestial blade with one hand and one of his throwing axes in the other.  He spins like a tornado, using both weapons as tools of destruction.  Soldiers fall on every side of him.  As he finishes the spin, almost like an incredible barbaric dance, he throws the axe into a soldier’s chest.

He stabs his blade clear through one of them, and then throws him off into another with a slash.  Then he turns and simply kicks another off the edge into the city.

A boulder smashes the wall dangerously close to us, releasing a sharp spray of sandstone bits.

“We’ve almost got them,” I mutter.  A tremendous crash further emphasizes my statement.

Our warhorn blows again, followed by a roar from our army.  From our position we cannot see the gate, but we know that we have now entered the city.

Tygnar blows its warhorn and many of the soldiers turn and run.  “Follow them,” I command.  “We go deeper into the city.”

We charge into the nearest tower, kill the guards that remain, and run down the spiral staircase where we exit a wooden door and find ourselves on the street.

“Push them back to the castle!” I command, slamming a soldier in the chest.

“Dragonhammer!” one of them cries.  Nathaniel’s arrow puts him on the ground.

“No trolls so far,” I note quietly.  “That’s a good sign.”

We stick to the wall and try to make our way to the gate to reunite with our main force.  I take down a soldier with a solid slam in the shoulder, spin to avoid a slash from a hostile sword, and in the same motion, pull a knife from my belt and throw it.  Nathaniel’s attacker falls lifeless with the blade sticking out of his back.  I take out my own attacker with a quick blow to the head.

Aela moves swiftly.  She dodges every blow and hits so quickly that her opponents take a moment to realize they’re dead.  Her swords fly in a flurry of blows no soldier can withstand.

Nathaniel draws his hammer as we get into streets that force close quarters combat.  He blocks a blow with the shaft and rams the head into the gut of his attacker, and then drops him with a final blow.

Ullrog’s jagged blade tears through even the toughest of armors.  Nobody stands against him for more than a few seconds before their flesh and armor rips beneath his beastly weapon.  More than one man simply freezes at the sight of him, and is hardly able to do more than yell before the orc cuts him down.

A crash echoes throughout the city as a watchtower crumbles under the force of a catapulted boulder, only a few streets away.

We turn a corner and the main gate comes into sight, with our soldiers flooding into the failing city.  I hear the clang of steel on steel, the yells of men victorious and defeated alike.  Always.

As one, they run for the castle of Nur’tokh.

Blood runs in the gutters of the streets.  Men lie tossed to the side over and around each other, unmoving.  I’d rather not dwell on the details surrounding their bodies.

The city is well-organized.  Smaller buildings lie on the outside of the city, and as we approach the castle, the buildings get larger.  The main road leads us all the way from the gate of the city to the portcullis of the castle, but there is still a fight to be had before we reach it.

Archers have been positioned atop the houses along the main road, and they take many of our soldiers by surprise.  Even after we are aware of their presence, many more fall underneath their arrows.