Veegal's Wall

  Chapter 6

  Dredrik watched from the deck of the inn as Wikkid and Hadrenn ran a group of villagers through various combat drills in the fading daylight. Not all villagers took the offer of further arms training, but the majority did. From what he had seen so far Eitreen had not exaggerated in the recounting of Galnathian history. Most seemed fairly well versed in basics of swordplay, but their true talents did lie in archery. Wikkid had seen to improving their melee skills over the past couple of day. In their present state they would do well against raiders and common thugs, but against a truly organized military assault they would never hold. A few days at the hands of Wikkid and Hadrenn would improve their odds although in the end it would probably be futile.

  Eitreen stood next to him dressed for combat in leather armor and a heavy coat. A short sword hung at her waist and a crossbow was cradled in her arms. It was her evening for patrolling the outer walls come night fall. Dredrik had already promised to keep her company. It made him feel useful while following Wikkid’s instructions even if he was skirting the intent of them. Besides he had become quite fond of her company over the past few days and she seemed to have taken an interest in him as well.

  That made tomorrow hard. After a night of heavy snow two nights ago the weather since had improved greatly. With obligations to keep they would have to leave in the morning even though he found himself wanting to stay more and more. Eitreen laid her head upon his shoulders and he wrapped and arm round hers.

  Dredrik considered trying to talk her into leaving with him again, but they had spent enough time going round in round on that subject. He did not wish to spend his last night with her arguing. He had already broken the news to her that he would be leaving in the morning. She was putting on a brave face but he could tell she was saddened.

  “Dredrik, we may have a solution,” Eertu began as soon as he cleared the inn’s doorway, Vessa right behind him. He did not pause for Dredrik to speak. “Vessa and I have been going over the rights and rituals of her order including potions, charms, and spells used in acceptance ceremonies. I recognized many from my reading of ancient tomes. I believe it was one of these that protected her.”

  “What’s the catch?” Dredrik asked.

  “What makes you think there is?”

  “Because there always is.”

  “Your right,” Eertu agreed. I doubt we are going to find what we need in the royal libraries at Calington or Veegal’s Wall. The safest choice is to go to the source.”

  Dredrik hazard a guess, “The Sanctuary of the Black Rose?”

  “Exactly, Vessa said it’s no more than three days out of the way. I mean what good does it do Eebrook if we show up at the Wall without seeking out all avenues.”

  “None at all, Vessa can we go there without being killed on sight?”

  “Last I knew was only four initiates and the keeper Anja left behind. As long as I vouch for the lot of you we should be good.”

  “Then that is our next move. Eertu, you and Hadrenn see to our provisions while I’m on patrol with Eitreen tonight.”

  “Speaking of which,” Eitreen said, “it’s time to get going. David will be wondering where I’m at.”

  . . . . .

  The weather was about as good as it got for a winter night in Galnath. The days warming trend had continued into the evening aided now by a warm southerly breeze. Stars shinned brightly in the clear night sky for the first time in nearly two weeks. Almost perfect, the absence of the moon left the town itself shrouded in darkness.

  Dredrik held the torch aloft in his left hand while holding Eitreen’s free hand in his right. They had not spoken much, both not wanting to face what the morning would bring. It was Eitreen who finally broke the silence.

  “So, if somehow everything works out and the tides of darkness are turned away then what will you do. Come back to Galnath maybe, settle down?”

  “I do not think I will ever pass east of Veegal’s Wall again,” Dredrik finally replied after some thought. “One of King Argile’s last acts was to fulfill his word to the tribes.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “No matter the outcome I am to leave with the lost for an island called Rhonin. Argile gave us the whole of the Island including the outpost already established there to settle and create our own kingdom upon. I wish I could tell you different but that is where my responsibilities lie. It is also one of the reasons I have tried so hard to talk you into leaving with me. Well that and the impending doom on this side of Veegal’s Wall.”

  There were tears in Eitreen’s eyes but her voice was strong and unwavering. “I can’t, these people are my family, my friends, my life. I cannot abandon them any more than you can your friends.”

  “Then there is nothing for us,” Dredrik said in defeat.

  Eitreen leaned in and killed him full on the lips. “We have tonight.”

  “That we do,” Dredrik replied as let the torch fall to the ground and grabbed her by the waist pulling her close. “What time is this patrol over?” he asked then kissed her again.

  “In about another hour,” she replied a mischievous smile on her face.

  That was when they heard the muffled cry from the sentry tower overlooking the nearby gate.

  “Go, sound the alarm,” Dredrik ordered all the while cursing the timing of it all. “Proceed under the impression that the wall is breached. I’ll head to the gate and see what I can do.”

  A protest began to form upon Eitreen’s lips but she bit it back and took off at a sprint toward the market square. With Eitreen safely on her way he drew his sword suddenly all too aware that he postponed picking up his armor and shield till early in the morning and ran as fast as he could to the gate. As he rounded the corner of a hovel nearly touching the wall he saw four figures, two climbing over the wall, the other two sliding down the ladders from each of the two guard towers. Whoever they were they were nimble, quick, and deadly.

  Dredrik urged his legs to carry him faster as he realized that two of the black clad intruders were working on unbarring the gate. Two sentries who must have also heard the commotion charged with a loud shout, swords drawn only to be quickly cut down by the pair watching their fellows back.

  The invader closest to Dredrik spied him as he barreled forward and raised its blade to strike but too late. Dredrik hit the attacker full force in the chest using his shoulder to drive the warrior to the ground. With no time to spare to finish the job Dredrik scrambled to his feet, his sole purpose now to stop the gate from being opened but he was too late.

  From the market square the alarm bell rang out as the large timber used to secure the gate fell to the ground. One of the invaders shouted something and the heavy gates swung open. Another of the invaders rushed Dredrik. Well-honed reflexes saved his life as his own blade barely turned away that of the attackers. A horn sounded as he and his opponent exchanged a series of furious blows neither making it through the others guard. Finally his assailant made a mistake which he quickly capitalized on by slamming his left fist into the warriors mid rift then drove the pommel of his sword into the attacker’s skull. A cry of pain rang out. It was then that it registered that the attacker was a woman. “Black Rose,” he mumbled to himself now suddenly fearing for those he had left with Vessa.

  More soldiers rushed through the opened gate followed by a huge warrior in black plate with silver glyphs etched into the metal. He reached for the huge claymore on his back as he strode forward. Behind him even more men in various forms of attire continued to rush through the opening.

  Outnumbered and unable to retreat Dredrik did the only thing he could think of. He leveled his blade pointing it directly toward the towering warrior in an obvious challenge.

  . . . . .

  Wikkid was the first outside, his great axe held at the ready. A quick glance of his surroundings found Eitreen ringing the alarm bell screaming “Were under attack!” There was a pattern to the ring he quickly realized. It was more than just a warning, it was also code.

/>   “Where?” Wikkid shouted.

  “The southern gate, Dredrik is there now. He sent me to sound the alarm, said to proceed as if the outer walls have been breached so I am signaling for the village to fall back here.”

  Wikkid fully understood what went unsaid, Dredrik was on his own. Already townsfolk came pouring into the makeshift keep. Parents racing for safety with children in arms, almost everybody carried a bow, quiver, and some form of melee weapon. The speed at which the villagers responded was incredible. Eitreen must have yelled an alarm as she ran for the bell. Wikkid took command of the keep, nobody protested.

  “Alright I want melee militia at the north and south gates, Archers climb to the roofs.” You and you,” he ordered pointing toward two pre-teen girls, “help gather the children into the inn. First sign of invaders I want those gates swung shut.”

  “Where is Dredrik?” Hadrenn yelled as he finally exited the inn still working at sliding on his mail shirt.

  “Where do you think,” Wikkid replied.

  “Of course, where do you want me?”

  “South gate,” Wikkid ordered.” That is the direction we believe the breach is coming from. Eertu,” he yelled as the warlock also cleared the inn, “up top with the archers.”

  Both Hadrenn and Wikkid nodded acknowledgements and went their separate ways. The villagers were now moving with a sense of trained purpose displaying an efficiency that would make any military commander happy. Unless the attackers came with overwhelming force they were in for a big surprise.

  “Fires burning to the south!” someone from on top of the inn yelled. “Torches on the move, here they come!”

  “Close the gates!” Wikkid ordered then muttered the dwarven blessing of luck and good fortune for Dredrik Airasmau.

  . . . . .

  “That one is mine,” the amused voice of the armored monster now marching toward Dredrik boomed. “Find the others, secure the warlock. Burn this village to the ground.” Slowly and deliberately the massive warrior made a show of removing the claymore from its resting place on his back.

  As ordered the host moved forward spreading out through the village stopping to light buildings with torch and oil as they went. Four large rat-like creatures held by leashes ran along with them. Dredrik waited helplessly as the invaders passed him by, the black knight confidently closing the distance.

  “My name is Mareth. A man willing to make such a brave gesture deserves to know the name of his executioner.”

  “Dredrik Airasmau,” Dredrik sneered, “and you will not find me so easy to kill.”

  Mareth chuckled, it was a crude laugh. “Fair enough Dredrik.” Mareth’s blade leapt into motion.

  Dredrik was ready. Blade met blade, the force of Mareth’s swing knocking him back. Blow after blow came against him each swing as powerful as the last forcing him to continually fall back. Blade on blade was not his specialty, preferring instead sword and shield. Try as he might he could not generate any offense. Sooner or later Mareth would wear him down and it was already feeling like sooner. The wound on his chest ached horribly hampering his ability to maneuver. Somehow Mareth managed to slip a backhand in between swings catching Dredrik with a gauntleted strike across his jaw. The unexpected blow knocked him to the ground, blood flowed freely from the gash on his cheek. Desperately he staggered to his feet fighting of the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. By God Mareth could hit.

  “Come now Dredrik,” Mareth mocked, “do not make this too easy.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dredrik growled striking out with a straight thrust toward Mareth’s stomach.

  Mareth easily batted the blade away with a lighting quick downward block, sparks igniting from where Dredrik’s blade slid across his bracer.

  However it was nothing Dredrik had not seen before. Quickly he brought his blade back across Mareth’s body but the blade slid harmlessly across the warrior’s breast plate. Once again Mareth’s incredible speed allowed for another gauntleted strike, this time in his gut. He doubled over falling to his knees, breath forced from his body. Once again he tried to rise but Mareth’s heavy foot smashed down upon Dredrik’s sword which lay across his leg, the tip of the blade resting on the ground. The blade snapped in two, the force of the kick removing any momentum Dredrik had to stand.

  “It is over,” Mareth snarled as Dredrik remained on his knees barely able to draw breath. Overly confident he slowly drew back his claymore for a mighty swing meant to removes Dredrik’s head.

  “Not yet,” Dredrik gasped as he summoned what strength he had left and thrust upward sliding his broken blade between overlapping joints built into the armor for mobility of the waist.

  Mareth cried out in surprise as the blunted blade hit home against his side, the pain making him drop his claymore. The glyphs on his armor glowed and forced the blade back out simultaneously disarming his opponent.

  With renewed hope Dredrik stood drawing a dagger from beneath his great coat. An enraged Mareth caught him in his much abused chest with a tremendous kick knocking him through the door of the building he had been unknowingly backed against.

  Mareth studied his unmoving opponent for a brief moment then collected his claymore before making for the bulk of the fighting having decided the insignificant man would not be a bother anymore.

  . . . . .

  Eertu swore as the eastern gate exploded in a shower of debris and flame. The defenders had been doing a remarkable job so far. Many of the enemy had fallen to the Galnathian arrows and bolts. It had not gone all the defenders way though. All too many of their number had been downed by return fire but the defenders battles on diligently. In the end it had been a mage hiding within the infantry charge that did in the gate. A vengeful smile spread across his face as he conjured up an appropriate death for the mage. With a few intricate hand gestures and the right incantations the mage simply lit up, his cries rose above the noise of battle as the human torch ran away through the hovels lighting even more structures as he went. Unfortunately the damage had been done though, and the unintended carnage being wrought by the human torch was unfortunate.

  Wikkid and Hadrenn stood shoulder to shoulder, the Galnathian militia standing with them. “Hold this line!” Wikkid yelled. “In front of you is your enemy, behind you your children and loved ones! You falter, they die!”

  On cue the enemy charged. Ten of the militia stepped forward thrusting out with pikes blunting the enemy charge. With a chorus of dwarven swears Wikkid lead the counter charge, his axe distributing death indiscriminately as the two lines clashed in earnest. Those who had never seen or fought a dwarf before sorely underestimated what they were up against and it cost them dearly.

  Hadrenn stayed at Wikkid’s right side matching the dwarf blow for blow, the two cutting a bloody swath through the enemy ranks. One invader managed to get around Hadrenn’s guard, morning star ready to deliver a deadly blow when a crossbow bolt impaled the attacker’s skull. Tracking the shot back to its source he nodded his thanks to Eitreen and went back to his slaying.

  Eertu was starting to tire. While magic made for a deadly weapon it was also taxing on the caster. That was why mages in the royal army worked in tandem. It was also the reason Eertu trained hard with quarter staff. However upon the roof of the inn magic was all he had. He watched the pitched battle below allowing his magic to recharge for the next cast. Everybody was so fixated on the fight below nobody had noticed the four assassins climbing the back wall of the inn.

  The assassins were upon the rooftop defenders without mercy. Most died before ever knowing murderers were among them. With no time to cast he drew a long dagger gutting an attacker mid-air as the assassins leapt at him leaving the blade stuck in the dying woman. Then focusing what manna he had regained shoved another from the roof with a quick push spell. The other two assassins were upon him too quickly though tackling the now defenseless warlock. Without ceremony he was bound and tossed outside the defensive perimeter.

  . . . . .

/>   Dredrik moaned as he rolled onto his stomach and reached for a nearby counter to pull himself up with. By all rights he should be dead but for some reason Mareth had left the job unfinished. Everything ached as he steadied himself and let the cobwebs dissipate. His eyes focused to the dark room and he smiled. As luck would have it he had been kicked into the blacksmith’s shop. In front of him his armor and shield hung from an armor tree repaired perfectly including the engravings and trim work. The smith had been more than good as her word.

  With practiced ease he suited up then rummaged through the weapon racks till he came upon a menacing weapon. The mace had a fairly large head and short handle to keep the weight easier to handle. On the back of the mace head was an axe blade. He made a few practice swings against a practice dummy to get a feel for the weapon. It was as if it was made for him, an assumption that was reinforced upon closer inspection. The same griffon that adorned his armor and shield was engraved upon the axe head, with writing engraved on the mace head below in a language he did not recognize.”

  Properly armed he hurried away to aid his friends.

  . . . . .

  A strange predatorily growl followed by a shriek of terror from behind grabbed Wikkid’s attention. He finished hacking down another attacker then whirled around to find two dog sized rat-like creatures stalking closer. Blood soaked leashes trailed behind them and the shredded steaming body of their previous victim still quivered in a pool of its own blood. At second glance he realized the body was that of an invader. These beasts were in such a blood lust that they did not care who they slay.

  The beast on the right sprang forward, mouth of dagger like teeth opened wide. Wikkid sidestepped the leaping animal and removing its head in one swift move, the momentum of its body carrying the beast a good distance before it crashed lifelessly to the ground.

  The second beast had wasted no time. Even before its partner had made its move the beast had maneuvered to flank the dwarf. Wikkid turned just in time to catch the beast’s mouth with the haft of his axe as the beast bore him down. Long narrow razor sharp claws dug in, the tips managing to penetrate the through the metal links of his mail shirt. Blood ran hot from the tiny shallow wounds.

  There was a glint of firelight reflecting from metal as the beats head separated from its body. Hadrenn offered Wikkid and hand and Wikkid accepted allowing Hadrenn to pull him to his feet. Without a word the two sought out their next target only to find the siege had broken. The remaining defenders had disengaged and were now running for their lives.

  A great cheer went up as the defenders realized they had won. “Finish the job,” Hadrenn cried and the defenders surged forward in pursuit.

  . . . . .

  Mareth had not made it far when he was met by two of the assassins carrying the limp form of the warlock they had been ordered to retrieve. “The assault has faltered,” the one on the right yelled as they approached. “If we are to extract this man we must leave immediately.”

  “Faltered?” Mareth questioned. “These are but villagers.”

  “This is no village,” the second assassin countered. “It’s a bloody garrison, and they were more than ready for us.

  Mareth was furious. His scouts had assured him this was a harmless village with a small defense force. He found the mere thought of defeat was enough to put a sour taste in his mouth. At least they had the warlock. He could take some measure of victory from acquiring their primary objective. “Come then, let us be off.”

  They had not made it more than a dozen steps when one of the assassins tumbled mid step spilling Eertu onto the ground. From the shadows emerged a silhouette, the glow from the burning building nearby not managing to reveal much about the new threat. A cross bow dropped from the shadowed form replaced in its place by the glint of steel. “I’ll be fine,” the first forced between clenched teeth, “teach that one what it means to interfere with the Black Roses.”

  The second drew her sword and dagger then charged. The two warriors met in a clash of steel upon steel, both a blur of deadly motion. After a brief violent exchange the two combatants maneuvered into the light. “Sister Vessa!” the assassin exclaimed.

  “Camilla,” Vessa replied evenly.

  “How dare you. You are one of us.”

  “This village is my home, inhabited by my people. You come as shock troops not assassins and led a blatant attack that goes against our code.”

  “We are finishing a contract,” Camilla argued as the fight renewed.

  Vessa continued to parry Camilla’s aggressive strikes. “The government that issued that contract is no more.”

  “The terms have been renegotiated. Do the job or pay with our lives.”

  Vessa barely turned the dagger thrust aimed at her heart. The blade instead sliced through leather armor drawing a thin line of blood across her side. Her counter strike stuck deep into Camilla’s thigh. The assassin backed off and collected herself. With blood drawn between them there could only be one end.

  Mareth unslung his claymore. As much as he appreciated a good honor duel time was short. “Stay with the prisoner,” he ordered as he readied to end the duel. So intent on his goal he almost did not hear the sounds of heavy footsteps and the clanging of plate armor in motion. Startled he turned in time to be hit full force by a shield being driven into his chest by all the momentum an armored man could produce on foot. For the second time tonight Mareth found himself in unfamiliar territory as he was driven to the ground.

  Dredrik wondered if the impact hurt Mareth as much as it had him as the two men were sent sprawling on the ground. Dredrik scrambled to his feet poised to fight only to find Mareth already standing, bringing his dreadful weapon down in a wide powerful arc. Whatever force drove Mareth, Dredrik was sure it had to be supernatural. No man that big wearing so much armor could have gotten up that quickly and be already pressing the attack. Dredrik used his shield to redirect the blow. The force of the swing carried Mareth uncontrollably forward allowing Dredrik to catch the hulking warrior in the stomach with the full force of his new found mace. Dredrik’s arm vibrated furiously as the blow was violently deflected by Mareth’s armor.

  It was as much to Mareth’s surprise as it was Dredrik’s that the blow had not crippled him. He could feel something changing within him ever since he had battled the man at the village entrance. The way this new threat moved and carried himself it had to be the same man. Leaving him alive had been a tactical error after all, but one that would be soon corrected. He launched himself back at the man this time keeping his temper in check. His blade was met once again by shield with the warrior’s mace coming into play again. This time he was ready but still found himself on the defensive now as shield and mace came at him with purpose. For the first time in his memory he had found a grudging respect for an opponent.

  There was a cry of pain from where the two women had been locked into mortal combat. Mareth glanced in time to see the mysterious woman pulling her sword from Camilla’s chest then remove the assassins head.

  A new noise carried over the air as screaming running men in full retreat came into view with militia hot on their heels. Things had taken a turn for the worst with even the small victory of extracting the warlock now fading away. Mareth had to make a decision fast. If he simply tried to retreat this warrior would be on him instantly, but perhaps if the man’s friend had been grievously injured he would stay and aid his friend.

  Mareth swept his leg around taking the warriors legs out from under him. As the man rolled away he raced toward Eertu re-slinging his claymore and drawing a long knife. “This part I take with me,” he growled as he pulled the warlocks bound hands back and brought the knife down in a quick powerful motion removing the warlocks right arm at the elbow. With that task done Mareth found himself doing something else he had never done. He ran for his life.”

  Vessa and Dredrik wasted no time coming to Eertu’s aid as enemy soldiers rushed pass them with no intent to stop and engage. Vessa removed her belt and
tied off the warlocks bleeding stub.

  “Kill him” Eertu snarled, the color fading from his face as shock kicked in.

  “With a nod Dredrik stood to make chase. Mistaking Dredrik’s intent some of the retreating men struck out forcing him to fend them off. The soldiers went down quick enough, but by the time he had dealt with them Mareth was long gone.