Even Gods Must Fall (13 page)

His mouth twisted in a funny way, as if the words refused to come out. “Fine. I’m in. I signed on to this fool quest in the beginning and I’ll be damned if I leave all of you now. Let’s just hope the big Gaimosian returns. I don’t relish the thought of tackling the dark gods without him.”

“Nor do I,” Bahr admitted, “but Anienam is quite certain he’ll return in time.”

“He’d better hurry up. Time is almost up.”

Bahr nodded. Having said enough, he faked a smile. “I don’t suppose there’s any food ready? I’m famished.”

Dorl’s laughter was loud enough to get the others to look their way. “If there is I’m sure Anienam will have eaten it already.”

“Best we hurry,” Bahr slapped him playfully on the back and headed towards the camp center. All eyes were on the duo, most with that knowing look of satisfaction. Bahr felt better inside knowing that some questions could be answered after all.

Luck of the Draw

The fury of the Wolfsreik was unleashed for the first time upon Delranan soil mere hours after Piper Joach was given his new command. Warriors who’d been bottled up in the Murdes Mountains after weeks of inactivity attacked with ruthless abandon. The defenders were caught off guard and struggled to form ranks and recall their training. Piper knew it wasn’t going to be enough. He had numbers and the element of surprise. All it took was scaling the wall and opening the gates.

Streaks of flame sped out from the fortress, trailing black, acrid smoke. Piper failed to understand the waste of ammunition. Surely whoever commanded inside recognized the need to retain as many shafts as possible for when the army broke through? He almost ordered a secondary assault, altering his plans to counter the fortress commander’s sudden move. It was light enough that darkness wasn’t a factor. Mind so wrapped around details and counter plans, Piper failed to notice the small moat ringing the fortress.

The first arrows struck the pitch filling the moat and exploded. Men screamed as they burned to death in their armor shells. Others, cut off by the wall of flame stretching high into the sky, could only push towards the walls to be cut down by crossbowmen hidden behind the palisade. Piper Joach’s carefully worked plan was about to be undone by the combination of guile and inexperience.

His initial instinct was to fall back and regroup, but doing so would leave those soldiers cut off to their deaths. Wasted lives in a war that should have been avoided. Piper couldn’t allow that to happen. “Push forward! Attack all sides at once.”

Sergeants and junior officers gaped at his orders. They fully expected to die in the assault, but the Wolfsreik discipline was unmatched across the face of the world. Slowly they began moving. Some of Piper’s tension left, replaced by the casual demeanor of a seasoned combat leader. He’d been a fool for not expecting tricks. Static defenses relied on misdirection and chicanery in order to survive. Most times they didn’t work, leaving the garrison exposed to the predations of the attackers. Piper would be damned if he let a handful of reservists expose his momentary weakness.

“Commander, the flames!”

“Damn the flames! We must get under their fire and over the walls. Now!”

Piper shoved the startled sergeant forward. Hundreds of infantry massed just beyond arrow range, hesitant for the first time since encountering the Goblins. The task force commander frowned, knowing further exposure would limit his ability to succeed. Ignoring the incoming fire, Piper stormed over to his shocked troops. Heavy infantry had its uses but storming a fortress wasn’t one of them.

“On your feet, lads! This is what you get paid for. Strike for the walls and don’t stop until the enemy surrenders,” he ordered. His voice strained into a bellow.

Soldiers reluctantly hefted shields and began to move forward towards the wall of flames. Bravery and foolishness collided, as was its wont. Piper hoped it was enough. The other option was full-fledged retreat. He needed to give his assault force as much aid as possible to keep casualties down.

“Archers! I want your quivers emptied. Keep their heads down and don’t stop firing until our lads are on the ropes!”

Longbows groaned as they were loaded and drawn. The first volley soared back towards the fortress, followed by ragged strings of successive shots. Order devolved into chaos as the battle intensified. Piper strapped his helmet on and joined his infantry in their charge. Smoke choked him. Coughing and sputtering, Piper forced his way through the advancing ranks to take his rightful place at the head of the column.

The smoke forced him to squint. Patches of tar and residue clung to his face and uniform. The heat from the flames nearly pushed him back. His nerves threatened to break. Piper Joach dug deeply, forcing aside his weakness and personal fears in order to inspire his soldiers. Or so he hoped. The thought of roasting alive shook him to the core. No one would label him a coward if he chose to retreat. But such lack of values wasn’t in his character. He tucked his arms into his body, dipped his head, and closed his eyes the moment before running through the flames.

Intense heat seared his body. Steam rose from his plate armor, threatening to boil him like a coastal crab. What felt like a lifetime lasted but a few seconds. The smell of cooked hair and charred flesh sickened him, though he’d been around such too many times in the past. Piper kept charging, lifting his head as he closed the final few meters to the base of the wall. His enemy had established a poorly designed kill zone for their crossbows. Only a handful of Piper’s disoriented soldiers fell under the deadly shafts before reaching the walls.

“Ropes!” Piper shouted above the roar of the fires.

Soldiers darted forward to throw their blackened grappling hooks over the top of the nine-foot walls. A fully armored Wolfsreik assault soldier was capable of scaling the distance in a matter of seconds, providing he remained in top physical shape. Piper counted on the harshness of winter and their trek across the mountains to fuel his assault. A dozen ropes went up. The first crashed back down before the soldier managed to grab hold. Soldiers scrambled up the others, barred steel in mouths. Short daggers were best for close fighting. Each soldier in the assault was specially trained for breaching defensive structures, having trained for months on designs exactly like the one they assaulted. Piper considered it payment for the lives he had lost in the initial attack.

One of infantry toppled over the wall. Blood ran in sheets down his armor. He was dead before hitting the ground. More soldiers climbed. The sounds of pitched battle atop the wall soon contended with the flames for dominance. Piper took his place in line and climbed. Muscles ached. He was more exhausted than he thought but couldn’t stop. There’d be time enough for rest once the battle was won. His initial doubts of winning or losing were swept aside the moment he pulled his body over the wall.

His infantry was already surging towards the front gates, killing all in their path. Soldiers continued to swarm over the walls on all four sides of the beleaguered fortress. Bodies littered the area, reminding him of a slaughterhouse he’d visited as a child. This was war at its grimiest. Defenders fought with claws and teeth to stave off their imminent deaths. Desperation took hold on those few defenders still capable of acting. Many launched what amounted to a suicide charge into the armored ranks of the Wolfsreik heavy infantry. They died horribly, but at least with a small measure of honor.

Others were herded together and placed on their knees with hands over their heads. Abject failure lingered in their hollow eyes. Piper had seen it already and still failed to understand what could drive anyone to perform such against their own kinsmen. The Wolfsreik commander didn’t have time to stay locked in deep thought, however. A pair of defenders charged him. Only one bore a sword. The other relied on fanaticism and paid for his arrogance.

Blood splashed across Piper’s chest as his blade ripped a terrible score through his unarmed foe. The body collapsed even as the dying man struggled to register what had just happened. Piper took a half step back and brought his blade up diagonally to block a blow from the second attacker. The impact jarred his bones. Gritting his teeth, Piper pushed back and used the sudden separation to swing upward.

The blow was well placed but blocked immediately. Clearly this man was a skilled swordsman. Piper didn’t have time to enjoy a bout. He needed to end the battle quickly and see to the rest of the fort. He was forced back another step as his attacker launched a series of blows. It had been a long time since Piper met his match with another swordsman. The challenge was appreciated at a fundamental level even as he snarled at having such difficulty.

Deciding quickly to let his opponent think he had the upper hand, Piper reeled backwards. Taking the bait, the other soldier charged foolishly. Piper ducked back from a blow aimed at his neck and drove the hilt guard into the man’s throat. Blood fountained from the wound, telling Piper he’d struck the jugular. The enemy soldier dropped his sword and reached for Piper’s throat. Hot fingers curled around his neck before he managed to punch a knee into the soldier’s groin. Dazed and bleeding out, he fell back enough for Piper to deliver the merciful death blow.

Piper’s breath was ragged. He looked around for another combatant but saw the battle had moved well beyond his tiny circle of influence. The main quarters were already on fire. More than a score of enemy had surrendered. Others were being forced to their knees and stripped of any weapons or personal possessions. He’d ordered his infantry not to take any chances until the final assault ended. Soldiers carried fallen comrades back through the gates, their bodies covered in cloaks. Medics treated those less severely wounded. Only a handful appeared to be seriously hurt. Piper winced as one soldier was carried past. The bandages swathed over the stump of his right leg were soaked through and dripping.

“Commander Joach, one of the prisoners talked,” a grime-covered sergeant told him between half breaths. He bled from several small cuts across his right cheek.

Piper noticed the wounds and thought they could only have been made by fingernails.
Why in the world would these people do this to themselves? Is Harnin truly that powerful?
“Very well, bring him to me. I trust he’s not as obstinate as the fool in the first capture.”

The sergeant could only shrug as he’d still been en route with the main body when Piper and the vanguard made the first assault. He left and returned with the prisoner before Piper was able to finish drinking form his canteen. Disappointed, Piper put the cap on and replaced it in the holder strapped to his waist.

“I’m told you have information to give,” he began with as much authority as he had left. Truthfully he was much too tired to give a damn. The prisoner would talk or he’d find one who would. “Don’t waste my time.”

“No sir, I won’t.” The prisoner clearly recognized Piper, a fact he hoped to turn to his advantage. “Commander Joach, we didn’t want to fight but the commander told us we was all going to be slaughtered by them heathens from the mountains. Been plenty of talk about them Pell Darga since you all marched to war back in the fall. None of us fancied being caught by them. It wasn’t until we noticed there was nothing but Wolfsreik that some of the boys decided to throw down our arms.”

“Admirable but unconvincing,” Piper snapped. “What makes you different from the others we’ve encountered thus far?”

“Sir, I don’t kill my own. I was once active duty. Served in the cavalry a few years back but mustered out due to my bad leg. Rider ain’t no good if he can’t ride. So I joined the reserves. A lot of the boys here done the same thing.”

“Those would be the wise souls who surrendered I assume.”

The prisoner nodded fervently. “Sure enough. We know a beating when one is due. Badron forced us here. Don’t think many of us wanted this posting.”

Piper exchanged surprised looks with his sergeant. Had he misheard? “Badron? That’s impossible. The king hasn’t been seen or heard since we ran him out of Rogscroft. You must be mistaken, trooper.”

“No sir, I ain’t. Was King Badron who gave us our marching orders. He come back one night not long ago and dueled old One Eye in front of the rest of us. Killed the bastard too. Bout time I says. He’s been a wicked one since this all began.”

Dead? Could it be?
Piper wasn’t one for gossip, despite it being a soldier’s best friend. This sudden information was as unexpected as it was welcome. Badron was a minor threat without much backing, or had been until now according to the prisoner. Yet another twist threatened to alter the course of the war. Normally Piper would take the time to investigate but time was the one element he lacked. Whatever time the combined army thought they had was slipping faster than sands in the hourglass.

“Sergeant, take this…what is your name, soldier?”

The prisoner stiffened. A measure of pride returned to his slightly broken form. “Fenn, sir. I be from Stouds.”

“Very good, master Fenn. Sergeant, take Fenn to General Rolnir. He needs to know who it is we now face,” Piper ordered.

Saluting crisply, the sergeant gestured for Fenn to head towards the gate. It was a long ride to catch up to the rest of the army.

* * * * *

Endless leagues of snow-covered fields and ice-covered streams rolled beneath the boots and hooves of the combined army. Rolnir pushed his force as hard as he dared. Man and beast were already close to their breaking points. As proud as he was of his army--though arguably it wasn’t entirely his--he knew he couldn’t keep them on the move forever. At some point they were going to have to rest longer than a few hours. Frowning in thought, Rolnir made his decision. The ruins of Arlevon Gale were still close to forty leagues away. The Wolfsreik general would lose half his combat effectiveness if he didn’t halt now. He rationalized it by recalling an army needed an operational pause before advancing on the final objective.

Word passed through the column and the pace slowed to nothing. Soldiers busied setting up tents, establishing the perimeter, and foraging for any live game to bulk up their evening meal. Dried rations and hard tack only went so far. Rolnir made his rounds without complaint. His lower back screamed for relief and he had a headache deep within his skull. Partially dehydrated and stomach growling, the Wolfsreik general refused to take care of his personal needs until after all of his troops were seen to. He was only as important as the lowliest soldier. They either made him successful or mired his legacy with failure.