River Of Life (Book 3) (36 page)

HENDLE had set a guard for the night.  He had no idea what to
expect from the wraiths.  The night had gone peacefully; there had not been any
sign of the enemy.  There had not even been any lights along the walls.

Now as the sun rose, there still was no sign of opposition.  The
walls remained empty.  Hendle had almost expected to see the entire army of the
wraiths staring back down at them by morning, but there was nothing living or
visible along the wall’s summit.

Everything was bleak, not the green lush paradise Hendle
remembered.

"Not what I had in mind when I imagined this place,"
Auri grimaced.

"I was really young, but this is not how it was," Flex
grumbled.

The walls were bleached, the ground a light brown of earth that
had been blasted dry by both sun and wind.  The trees that had lined the
mountains were only skeletons, some even had their branches stripped away
leaving only the trunk, a lonely finger pointing upward.

Hendle turned toward Bahsal.  The dwarve shrugged his shoulders
and said, “Let’s go in anyway.  Either they will show, or this will be the
easiest wall taken in the history of the earth and war.”

Hendle gave a nod, “Then to war we go.”

Bahsal turned around and let out a roar in the dwarvish
language.  It was answered by thousands of other dwarves.  Bahsal left Hendle,
walking into the encampment of the dwarves who had begun to take down the
tents, Bahsal hurrying them along with his harsh voice.

"I don't hear the beating of those drums, and I still see
standing tents!" Bahsal's voice roared. "Where are my crimson
banners?  We are GOING TO WAR!  Come my lazy brothers.  We are off to kill
goblins and trolls!"

Warriors were slipping into their armor, strapping on weapons,
and finally setting helmets on their heads.  Today, they would march, most
likely, into conflict.

“So how do we attack?  There’s nothing to attack,” Grism said
angrily.

“Bring the giants.  Have them push the siege towers.  If no one
wants to give resistance, we won’t complain,” Bahsal replied.

As the beat of the dwarve drums sounded, the army lined up.  The
fall of the army’s step matched the beat of the drums, filling the valley with
a slow steady rhythm.  The army moved slowly forward as there was no real
purpose in charging the walls.  The armor jingled with every slow step.  The
siege towers could only move as fast as they could be pushed.  The night
before, Bahsal had instructed the giants on how to assemble them.  Easily bars
had fit into hooks and were locked into place, a huge clanging noise as metal
slid into metal, weighed down by tons of material.  Slowly they had risen to
great heights, the giants finally having to use the cranes, which were no more
than gears and pulleys that raised a hook tied to a rope high into the air.

Bahsal looked around. He wanted to draw the enemy out, and he
wanted to see what he was going to engage in conflict.

“Dunmer clan!” Bahsal roared at the dwarves, “With me!”

Bahsal charged toward the gates, no more than debris piled into
the opening.  A small section of the dwarve army charged behind Bahsal.  They
rushed into the gate, axes biting quick and deep, mauls tearing. A hole opened,
and quickly Bahsal threw a torch through. There was an animal hiss on the other
side.

“So they are here!” Bahsal cried with satisfaction.

The other dwarves let out a cry having been the army to succeed
in causing the first casualty.  The hiss of pain from the other side fired
Erelon’s army into action as they heard the news.  They charged the walls,
throwing up ladders.  Ballistae were set up and readied to fire bolts, and the
giants picked up speed.  Dwarves already lined up, ready to climb the siege
towers, to move closer to where their axes could reach the enemy.  The riders
of Samos along with a strong number of Elven cavalry rode up to where Bahsal
led an attack on the gates.

A small group of elves joined Bahsal, sending arrows through the
holes growing in both size and number.  The arrows flew over the heads of the
dwarves, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel.  Bahsal heard as a few
struck the rock of the walls, but even more thudded as they sunk into flesh. 
Grism and Auri led a surge up the siege towers.  They rushed into the wooden
columns that had stairs encircling the inside walls.  Arrows struck at the
towers.  But the thick wood chosen by the dwarves deflected the goblins'
arrows.  A giant metal broad head attached to a shaft the thickness of a man's
leg burst through the wall, pointing at Grism's skull, spraying his face full
of wood fibers.

"Must be an angry ogre out there," Grism said, smiling
while looking down at Auri.

Two ogres smashed through the gate’s barricade, sending the
dwarves backward.  Goblins flowed from among the ogres, who went down quickly
as the cavalry charged, spears flying into the huge monsters. The dwarves were
back on their feet, leaping into the goblins, shoving the enemy backward.

Bridges fell from the siege towers, grabbing the wall's summit,
cracking stone, and causing a puff of air and dust to shoot out from below.  As
the wizard’s army surged forward, the wraith’s army appeared as if born from
the ground.  Mostly the army was trolls, ogres, and goblins.  The strange
creatures born of magic had yet to appear.  Grism and Auri both led a charge on
top.  The enemy tried to set the towers on fire, but the young, heavy timber
was protected by spells and would not catch.  The torches would hit and the oil
would burn up, filling the air with smoke, but the fires would sputter, cough,
and die.  Erelon’s army continued to pour out.

Auri and Grism rushed across the bridge between the tower and
the wall of Mortaz. Grism looked down. He could see the helms of other soldiers
milling around.

"Long way to fall," Auri stated as he looked back.

"That is no joke," Grism growled as he leapt off the
bridge and brought a hammer smashing into the knee of a goblin before bringing
it back up and crushing its face.

Auri lunged forward with his own sword, ramming it through the
belly of one goblin.  Picking up the fallen enemy's sword, Auri tossed it so it
was buried between the eyes of an ogre.

"Keep up," Grism bellowed to the men following him.
"We are going to the tunnel.  Pin the army in there, between us and the
dwarves."

The men kept filing out of the tower. Grism guided them to form
a protective barrier around the bridge.  More kept pouring behind.  He felt the
pressure grow to the point he could no longer hold it back, and his army
exploded from behind him.  They surged forward. The goblins were forced into
each other, a conglomeration of soldiers tripping each other, twisting together
until they formed a knot that did not know if it was fighting or retreating.

A wizard blew on his flute, and from the sky, hawks descended,
rushing the enemy looking like a dark cloud.

“See?” the wizard said, turning to the man next to him, “You
should have brought your animal friends with you.”

The man had smoothed, rounded features, “I have no need for
animal friends,” he said as he fell to all fours, changing into a lion. In one
bound, he brought an ogre crashing to the earth.

“Ugh, skin changer!” the wizard said in surprise.

Auri carried a sword and a shield strapped to his arm.  As he
glided around, he showed why his clan was known as Mystic Sword.  No enemy
could seem to move close to the weapons master.  Auri’s sword sliced through
the enemy, dropping them without a sound even before it seemed that they were
in range of the weapons master's blade.  The blade went in and out.  It did not
ring.

Hestler followed Auri, never leaving the prince of his country. 
Hestler's loyalty was so great he would die protecting the prince.  In his
hands was a large hammer for smashing through the enemies.  Down upon the skull
of a goblin, crushing its scrawny neck, the next moment, the hammer went
through the knee cap of some huge ogre, shredding it through sheer force.  As
goblins tried ducking below the arching hammer, Auri’s blades slipped in,
leaving small but deadly cuts.

Auri twisted with his large sword splitting a goblin in half. 
He lunged forward, spearing another.  As he drew his sword out, the hammer of
Hestler fell, crashing into the creature's skull so that its eyes bulged from
it's sockets.  The large man worked beside Auri as if he were in the warrior's
mind, as if he knew exactly which move to make to maximize his potential to
help his prince.  He kept the enemy off Auri's back, always protecting the
flank, allowing the skilled warrior to push against the enemy.

Grism charged in, smashing at the enemy with his shield,
lunging, parrying, clinching.  Grism did not hesitate to grab a goblin and
throw the enemy to the ground.  He stomped at its skull before grabbing the
shaft of a spear.  Its head had been broken off, but Grism rammed the broken
end into the goblin's throat.  He slashed at another with a short thick knife
before dropping to the ground to wrestle.  It was not elegant, but it was
effective.  He rolled over and over with one, grunting as sweat sprayed from his
body.  He butted his helm twice into the face of a goblin that went still and
then clumsily crawled to his feet.

“Auri!” Grism yelled as he watched an enemy troll try to board a
siege tower, letting nobody else out.  If they did come out to face the gray
troll, it would sweep them off, sending them to their death.

Auri looked over. He grabbed a spear, and every muscle in his
legs tightened as he about threw himself forward into a charge when the voice
of Bunkir demanded, “Let me.”

The mud troll carried the trunk of a small tree.  His large hand
with extra fingers easily wrapped around it.  He threw it like a spear.  It
collided with the gray troll, hitting it square in the side of its chest,
forcing its body to twist backward awkwardly.  The gray troll tipped, its back
arching while its arms flailed in a circular motion in a desperate attempt to
catch anything stable.  For a moment, it seemed about to regain its balance. 
Then it slid on backward, off the bridge and into the air.  The wind whistled
as it slipped around the beast's body, tickling the few long hairs.  Then its
body hit the earth below, breaking, its life leaving.

The cavalry charged through the gates, Yalen leading the way,
swinging low on his horse as his sword cut into goblins on his way through. 
The necks of the goblins came up above the body of his horse, a perfect height
for cleaving.  He swung one way and then the other.  The goblins were thin. 
The dwarves had already charged through, leaving only a few confused goblins,
standing, wondering how they had so quickly lost the narrow tunnel.

Once Yalen reached the open plain of the first tier, the elf switched
to a long bow and charged toward the main fight.  His horse tore at the ground
as he pulled a long arrow from his quiver.  He notched it and then pulled back
on the string before gently raising the tip, releasing the arrow to fly over
the dwarves who had pushed the enemy far before him.  Several times he release
an arrow, each time dropping the tip of the arrow a little as he drew closer. 
Finally, the elf’s horse smashed into enemies, sending them flying to the
earth.  The bow disappeared as the elf grabbed for a sword at his waist. 
Bahsal was a little slower as he came by foot after staying behind to give some
last minute orders.

Bahsal turned to an elf and grabbed him by the front of his
shirt, "Take a few more elves, dwarves, and a couple mud trolls.  Guard
the front gate.  Make sure that the enemy does not close it behind us.  I want
to be able to retreat if we become desperate."

Bahsal charged to the battle, breathing heavy from the run,
looking far in front where his brethren had forced the enemy's army.  A goblin
charged, and as it neared, the dwarve grabbed it by its skull and, using his
hip, threw the goblin forcefully over the edge of the wall.  The amount of
enemy soldiers was small.  Many had been killed, but Bahsal knew that this was only
a small fraction of what the enemy actually possessed.  A great number of the
enemy forces were out fighting the country of Samos.  As Bahsal reached the
main battle, the fight was over.  None of the enemy had retreated, all had
fought until dead.

“Okay,” Hendle was saying to his fellow generals, “We need to
pile the bodies at the front of the valley for burning and set up camp.”

Bahsal walked up, “We need to leave a guard at the entrance to
the valley to alert us.  There is the chance of the enemy soldiers returning
from Sirus.  I also am advising that the siege towers be pulled apart and
brought to this tier and that we also camp here.  We fought for it, and we
won.  No point in giving it up without a fight and then fight for it again tomorrow.”

“What happens if we get pushed back tomorrow and leave the
towers behind?” Hendle asked nervously.

“We are not getting pushed back,” Auri said vehemently.

The sun was setting as Hendle oversaw the disposal of the dead
bodies of the enemy.  It had taken several wagons and the rest of the day to
pack off all the dead.  A green blob of fire rested on the dead and at first
seemed to die.  But suddenly the fire exploded to life.  Little pieces cascaded
through the air on fire as they flew, consumed before they could touch the
ground.  The bright green fire darted in and out of the bodies, surrounding,
biting and chewing.  Quickly the bodies dehydrated and then slowly turned to
powder until the fire finished consuming the flesh.  Hendle raised an arm and a
strong gust came from the West.

“In two days there will be an eclipse,” a wizard told Hendle.
"The best time to cast the most powerful magic."

But Hendle completely ignored the remark as he said, “They only
played with us today.  I wonder what tomorrow will bring.”