Dragonhammer: Volume II (21 page)

He shakes his head and looks out the large grubby window at the back of the room.  He stares at the port for a moment and then says, “You’re a clever man, Dragonhammer.  But I’ll get my money.”

“Yes,” I respond.  “You will.  As soon as this city is ours.”

He nods and opens his ledger again.  “You made me smudge my ink,” he accuses, licking the tip of his dirty finger and rubbing a black smear on the page.

I ignore him and study the dock from the window.  Before we launch our invasion, we will have to send at least a few scouts to survey the area so that we will know which spots to attack, which to avoid, and which to fortify.

My view is severely limited by the ship around me, so I can only see one side of the dock.  I chance a visit to the upper deck, careful to keep my left hand in my pocket.  I wear a bandanna around my head and my clothes are worn and baggy.  I deal with it for the sake of disguise.  If I am recognized, we are all compromised.

I lean on the railing casually, observing the port and all of its various activities and persons.

It’s much larger than Amnigaddah.  The black stone wall of Balgr’s Fall is pressed as far up against the beach as possible, and I can see only one entrance from the dock into the city.  It’s a large arched part of the wall, where stands a pair of steel-reinforced wooden double doors.  As in Amnigaddah, there are small makeshift buildings against the wall of the city, but there are none that actually enter the walls.

Wooden docks stick out into the water, perpendicular to the wall.  Tens of ships just as big as, if not bigger than, the Blackbrine sit at anchor with their sails furled.  Little rowboats, dwarfed by the larger ships, sit rocking in the wake of the unyielding ocean.

Waves crash on the rocky shoreline to the left and right of the city.  Balgr’s Fall sits nestled in the corner between Khaoth’s Gulf and the Juniper River, which empties into the violent ocean just south of the city.  It doesn’t empty like a normal river, however.  It divides into a network of small streams that encircle many islands of every size:  a delta.

A couple of buildings with pointed roofs stick out above the top of the two-story wall, though I note the wall gains height as it approaches the gate.  Some buildings further into the city stand one or two stories above the others.  The largest, however, is easily the castle in the middle.

It stands as one solitary, but very large, rectangular tower.  I use the word “rectangular” for the sake of simplicity, as its shape is much more complicated.  I wonder at how some parts of it still stand as the architecture, (however grandiose it may appear), is quite intricate and difficult.  The shape is not possible to describe with words.

I cannot see the front of the castle, as I stand on the Blackbrine docked at the wharf, but I can make out the back.  Two enormous windows, side by side, make up almost the entire back wall of a single rectangular room that juts towards the wharf from the rest of the structure.  Two titanic scarlet banners hang on either side with long golden ropes draped down their sides.  They bear the insignia of a black dragon confined within a ring, with only the tips of its wings and tail making contact with the circle.  I recall from a conversation with Jarl Hralfar that the keep is named Balgr’s Bastion.

Immediately I begin to formulate my battle strategies.

I don’t dare set foot off of the ship for fear that I will be recognized.  In fact, no one does.  In tense anxiety we wait to hear the battle begin at the front gate.  We cannot make our move until every guard is looking the other way.

Within the belly of the ship we suit up in our armor and ready our weapons at our waists or on our backs.  We must be ready when the battle comes, and I voice this to several soldiers who think it appropriate to complain.

“So we just wait here until we hear something start?” Nathaniel asks, shifting his hammer nervously in his sweaty hands.

“Yes and no,” I reply.  “I refuse to run blind.  Captain Alastair has agreed to let us know when the Jarl’s army reaches the city.  The battle will begin soon after.  We must be ready.”

“How do you know it will happen today?” he asks.

“Not today,” I clarify.  “Tonight.”

Sure enough, a sailor enters the cargo hold with news that the Jarl’s army has reached the city.  All of the soldiers and guards are being relocated to the front gate, where they will most definitely stop Hralfar dead in his tracks.  That’s their plan anyway.

The sun is setting.  I have urged many of the men to sleep, as the battle will take all night and probably some of the morning. This will not be fun.

When the sun has fully set and darkness settles over the dock, I allow myself onto the deck.  “Careful,” Alastair warns.  “Do not get caught.”

“Of course,” I reply.  Without another word he walks into his cabin and I hear him bolt the door shut behind him.

I linger in the shadows of the ship to keep the moonlight from reflecting off of my armor.  I watch the city flicker to life as torches light across the walls and over the bastion.  A couple of torches glimmer along the dock, but they are few and far between.  Our attack will be more surprising than I thought.

Nathaniel clomps onto the deck and stands next to me.  He says nothing, but stares up at the stars, blinking deliberately every so often, like he’s calmly forcing tears away.

Before I can ask him what the matter is, he says, “I wonder if he’s watching.”  I do not need to ask who, as I’ve wondered the same question to myself on multiple accounts.  “Would he be proud?” Nathaniel continues.

“I do not know,” I reply softly.  “Why would he be proud?  I am not proud of myself for the things I’ve done.  The people I’ve killed.”

“The people you’ve saved,” Nathaniel counters.

My words stop in my throat.  I try to speak and almost choke.  Finally I get out, “The Jarl said that to me.  Once.”

Nathaniel nods.  “I remember,” he says.

I work the lump out of my throat and continue, “He said… that he would be proud.  I hope he is right.”

“Me too,” Nathaniel mutters.  After a moment I hear him sniff.  I look down again to see him shaking his head and wiping a tear from his crinkling face.  “I want to see him again,” he says.

“We may yet,” I reply.

“How?” he asks, his shoulders sagging.

“The afterlife,” I say softly.

“You mean like what Frederick was always going on about?”

I nod.

He looks back up at the stars.  “I hope it’s true,” he says.  “Then we will see him when we die.”

I agree silently.  There’s a long pause and Nathaniel speaks again, “Kadmus I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know how I’ve survived this long,” he says.  “There have been many times where I would have died had it not been for you.  Once even Ullrog saved me.”  He smiles at the thought but it fades quickly.  “I wonder how long it will go.  How long before one of us meets our match.  Haven’t you wondered about that?”

I give him the slightest nod, unwilling to admit that I have entertained the thought that not all of us may return home.

“Jericho was lucky,” he continues.  “It’s only a matter of time before one of us…”  His voice weakens and he looks away.

“Don’t think like that,” I command.  “We all came in and we’re all coming out.”

He glances at me, uncomforted by my words.

I pull him into a tight embrace.  “I love you brother,” I say, “and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I feel his head move up and down against my armored chest and he chokes softly, “Okay.”

Slowly I pull away and look him in the eye.  “We’ll all come out.”

He nods and sniffs.  Then, suddenly, he reaches into his pocket, saying, “Oh I almost forgot!”

“What?” I ask.

From his pocket he pulls a small object, which he hands to me.  “For you,” he says.

I study the little wooden carving.  It’s a statue of a man holding a hammer with the head of the weapon at his feet, the shaft coming midway up his chest.  All I can utter is, “Thank you.”

Suddenly a familiar warhorn blares from across the city, on the far side.  “There’s our cue,” I speak, pocketing the carving.  “Come on.  We’ve got a city to win.”

Subterfuge

I
open the door to the lower decks of the ship and my small army begins to appear from the depths.

“Careful,” I command.  “Surprise is our advantage.  If we lose that, we’re done for.”

Only a couple of torches light the gateway into the city, but I’d rather not use that way.  It’s too conspicuous.  We may have to neutralize the guards, but I’d prefer not to do that either because I have no idea when the guards switch shifts.  Even with the battle going on at the main gate, which we can all hear, they still leave a light guard posted around the city.  The good news is that the only guards appear to be at the gate.

“How do you propose we go about this?” Genevieve whispers.

“Don’t get caught,” I answer, glancing up at the wall where no guards patrol.  The tall mast of a ship catches my attention and I study it.

No
, I decide. 
Too risky
.

“That’s a lot of help,” the commander complains quietly.  “You mean you have no plan?”

“You’re as much in charge as I am,” I reply.  “If you have something to say, please say it.”

She shakes her head and says, “Let’s break through the back door.  There aren’t very many of them.  We can destroy them and move through silently!”

“Will we?” I argue.  “And if one of them sounds the alarm?  What then?”

A loud crash echoes from the far side of the city.

“Whatever we do, it has to be done quickly,” she urges.  “And right now it looks like we have one option.”

I remember an object I had seen in the cargo hold, and I suddenly have an idea.  “Someone run and get me the hooks from the cargo hold,” I command.  “Bring the ropes as well.  Leave the nets.”

A couple of soldiers dart down the stairs and Aela gives me a look like, “I know what you’re thinking.”

I return one that says, “Of course you do.”

“How will those help?” Genevieve asks.  “I assume we’re not fishing.”

“No,” I reply.  “It’s better than that.”

The soldiers reappear with the equipment and I proceed to study them in detail.  There are three hooks at the end of every shaft, pointing different directions.  They’ll do very nicely.

“Secure the ropes to their ends,” I command.  “Get them as tight as you can.  We can’t have them give way.”

Genevieve raises an eyebrow as she begins to put together what I am doing.  A soldier hands me a finished harpoon and I ask, “Now who has the best arm?”

Thick clouds obscure the moon and stars, much to my delight.  That will make this much easier.

A soldier by the name of David, who has been trained in javelin throwing, has volunteered his skill for the next step of my plan.  He and I sneak down the ramp of the ship and onto the dock.  The boards creak or clunk with every step, despite the effort I exert trying to be covert.

Eventually we make it to the base of the wall.  I nod to him and he takes a few steps away from the wall holding the makeshift grappling hook.  He faces the wall and looks down at the hook.  Then he takes a deep breath, braces himself, and throws.

There’s a loud clang as the metal contacts the stone of the wall.  I flinch and wait for the worst to happen.  Nothing.

The rope dangles down to our feet and into a neat coil.  I give it a tug and the rope goes taut.  “Well done,” I commend.

The soldiers disembark the Blackbrine and make their way to the wall in a single-file line.  The guards haven’t noticed us yet.

To avoid congregating one hundred men onto a single small dock, I continue to lead the men up the rope.  I climb it quickly and soon pull myself over the crenellations of the wall and onto the stone floor.  A quick glance reveals that the hook has lodged securely on one of the crenellations.

The guards that had been on patrol are now helping with the battle at the front.  We have no guards to worry about, but for the ones at the gate on the dock, and they seem to be oblivious to our presence.

I help the other soldiers up and onto the wall; Percival and Nathaniel graciously accept my hand, but Aela refuses to let me touch her.  She hefts herself up and gives me an I-can-do-it look.

Genevieve follows quickly afterward.  “Brilliant,” she says.  “Let’s get a move on.”

She darts towards the nearest stairway and beckons.  “Onward,” I mutter.

We’ll be much more imperceptible if we walk along the streets rather than the top of the walls, so I lead my forces down the stairway in the wall.  The halls are vacant and eerie.  I am thankful to open the door and find myself on the street within the city.

The buildings are tall and ornately structured; many have decorative roofs and overhangs supported by thick columns.  The alleys are narrow and we stay inside of them as much as possible.

The sound of fighting gets louder as we near the gate:  men yelling and siege weapons crashing.

I try to find our main targets.  Fearclan has mounted ballistae atop towers and walls, and they fire relentlessly down upon our troops outside of the gate.

There are far too many soldiers near the gate for us to get it open from the inside.  Any attempt would surely be suicide.

“See those ballistae?” Genevieve points.  I nod.  “They’ll take out our catapults if Jarl Hralfar brings them in too close.  He won’t be able to fire on the gate unless we can take them out.”  There's a loud boom from the other side of the wall.  “Which side do you want to take?” she continues.

“I’ll take the left.  You take the right.  Be careful.  They’ll find us after the first one goes down.”

She nods and turns to make a few signals to the rest of the group.  Effectively our party splits in half and we proceed.

It takes me a few minutes to reach the far wall of the city.  The others stick close behind.

Briefly I turn and direct, “Those ballistae are our target.  They are heavily guarded and stealth will be difficult.  If stealth is truly impossible, hit them as hard as you can and then run before they have time to, well… kill you.  Understood?”

Every head nods.

“Excellent,” I mutter.  “We’ll split into groups of twenty-five.  Go.”  The soldiers separate themselves.  “This group to that ballista,” I dictate, pointing.  “And my group to that ballista.  Move out.”

“What did you mean, run before they kill us?” Nathaniel asks.

“Exactly that,” I reply.

“Seems a little dangerous,” he says.

“More than a little,” I whisper.

We take cover in an alley to avoid the gaze of a passing enemy squad.  Unseen we dart to the door in the wall that will lead us up the tower and to the first ballista.  Ullrog moves silently, despite his size.

“Locked,” I curse.  “I can open it but it won’t be quiet.”

“Have you got a choice?” Percival asks.  Aela looks back up the alley nervously.

Without waiting another moment I smash the door in with a loud crack.  It is disguised in the chaos of battle, but still quite noticeable and I usher everyone inside.  I shut the door swiftly as soldiers come running around the corner.

Inside, I turn to see a couple of dead guards.  Shaking my head with disapproval I prop a chair up against the broken door to keep it shut.  There’s a bang from the other side and somebody jostles with the handle from the other side.  I hear a ring of keys.

“Go!” I command.  “Move now!”

My blood pumps as we run up the stairs.  The second floor is empty.  On the third, as we emerge onto the landing before the next spiral staircase, a captain at the head of his squad yells out, “Hey!”

“Keep running,” I command.  “Don’t stop.”  Disregarding my own orders, I run towards the squad with my hammer at the ready.  “How’d they get in?” I hear somebody yell.

The captain beholds my hammer and my looming form bearing down upon him.  Just before my weapon tears into his body I see the light of recognition in him.  “Dragonhammer!” he blurts.  Then he hits the ground.

The soldiers begin to flee in fear.  In one blow I throw two to the wall and they fall unconscious.  A third falls beneath me, but the others are already dead.

Ullrog stands with his dripping blade above several of them, many of whom he had killed in a single blow.  His teeth are bared behind his orcish helmet and he growls.  I nod to him and together we sprint up the stairs.  A few steps up I suddenly stop.

An idea hits me and I dart back down the stairs, grab an unlit oil lantern, and then follow a confused Ullrog up the stairs.

We catch up to my men within seconds.  I find they had a similar encounter on the top of the wall and two of my men lie dead.  We have no time to hide them, and so I leave them on the cold torch-lit stone with only their blood and fallen enemies for company.

The ballista sits farther down the wall, and we make for it with all of our might.

Percival blocks an arrow on his beaten shield and it sticks in with a thud.  Aela runs behind him, reluctant to have to swing her blades.

A soldier loads the ballista and cranks a large handle connected to a gear that pulls the bolt back, increasing the tension.  His head turns and his eyes widen at our approaching attack.  I watch his hand tighten on a large release lever.  Unfortunately for him, he is only able to pull as my hammer slams the back of the machine.

The bolt launches across the wall, through an ill-fated soldier, and cracks straight through the central beam of another ballista.  The tension on the damaged ballista suddenly releases and the bolt, as well as part of the machine itself, shoots off into the night sky.  The first ballista, still intact, sits unmanned, unarmed, and for now, harmless.  That is not good enough.  We must make sure it cannot be used after we are done with it.

I ready the oil lamp and smash it over the center of the ballistae.  Oil runs down all sections of the wood, glistening in the torchlight.  I lift a torch out of its sconce on the wall and throw it onto the shining ballista; flames leap into the air and firelight creates a beacon on the wall.  All soldiers, friend or foe, look in shock at the wrecked siege weapon.

With our presence suddenly blaringly obvious, we are faced with a much more difficult challenge.

Survive.

I watch as a sudden pillar of flame sprouts on the other side of the gate where Genevieve’s group fights to disable the siege weapons.  The third group appears atop one of the towers and shortly the ballista tumbles to the ground below.

“Fall back!” I command.  “Fall back!”

“Where?” comes the reply.

“I don’t know,” I breathe quietly.

Enemies make their way towards us across the wall, too quickly.  We will be overwhelmed before we can fight back to the stairwell.

I slam the shaft of my hammer into the breastplate of an oncoming soldier and floor him, and then shove the butt of the hammer into the forehead of another.  My hammer twirls, seemingly of its own accord, knocking against two heads and ramming another with the spike on the end.

There are too many,
I think.  My men are falling beneath the ever-growing numbers of the Diagrall soldiers.  Though they fight with ferocity, they are not ferocious enough.

Think, Kadmus!
I urge myself in frustration.

James blocks a blow and twists his sword around their weapon to stab at an open chest.  Ullrog slams his shoulder into one of them and effectively shoves him from the wall, and then turns and knocks aside a blow that would have proven fatal to James.

The harpoon!

Quickly I find the soldier who had been charged with holding the makeshift grappling hook.  It takes me only seconds to find him, but my face falls when I see him lying dead behind a wall of soldiers.

With a roar I bound towards his fallen body and knock two men from the wall in one strike.  “Dragonhammer!” a man screams, dropping his sword and throwing himself towards the tower.

Their line falters and I use their moment of weakness to grab the harpoon and line of rope from the limp arm of the dead man.

“Defend the rope,” I command Ullrog, holding the rope in one hand and my hammer in the other.  He nods and growls his consent.

I wedge the hooks behind a crenellation and then throw the rope to the ground.  “Go!” I command.  “Slide!  Go now!”

Men obey my orders without question, sliding down the rope and into the dark city below.

Percival plummets to the streets, and then James.  Aela follows after Nathaniel.  Then it’s just Ullrog and me.

“Come on Ullrog,” I mutter, cleaving yet another helm.  “You first.”

He shakes his head.  “No you.”

Unwilling to argue with a stubborn orc in the midst of battle, I leap to the rope and manage to grasp it just as I hurtle over the edge.  I land hard and look up for Ullrog.

He flips over the edge, but instead of grasping the rope, he extends his arm and the rope slices easily underneath his blade.  With a roll he lands softly and stands, awaiting my orders.  The rope falls limp behind him.