“We’ve started to pull down the oldest buildings.”
“Remember to tell them the blocks must be small enough for even the weaker ones—women and boys as well—to heave over the side. Who knows how long we’ll have enough trained soldiers doing the job?”
Doghosh and Endrawolt made their way down the spiral stairs and strode alongside the ditches at the foot of the first wall, where substantial wood supports prevented the walls from falling backward onto the workforce hacking away with their shovels. Straw soaked in pitch and petroleum had been piled against the wall.
They looked up at him with a strange mixture of fear and loyalty. Doghosh tried to display as much confidence as possible and keep his men’s spirits up.
But by the time he and his deputy had arrived at the second wall he could not help sighing deeply. “It’s going to be hard, Endrawolt. We won’t have any more walls in reserve if the orcs bring up reinforcements. What are we going to do?”
“Pray. Our safety lies in the hands of the gods.”
“Our safety used to lie primarily in the hands of the dwarves.” Doghosh looked north, to where dark clouds were gathered on the skyline. What can have happened for the dwarves to let us down like this? He turned around abruptly. He needed to get to the council meeting at which he was expected to report his progress.
He got on his horse and rode through the gate of the innermost wall. This one was not as substantial as the two outer rings of fortifications: time and weathering had allowed fine cracks to develop on the northern face. The inhabitants had always been able to rely on the strength of the outer walls. But it was about to be sacrificed.
Men and their sons were busying themselves with cartloads of stones. Ammunition. There was no complaining. It was life or death.
Originally from the south, Doghosh had made Sonnenhag his home when he was forced to leave his birthplace due to plague. He had promised his dying wife he would go. He liked it here: the half-timbered houses with their carved balconies and murals were how the townspeople had demonstrated a hard-won prosperity. Now their peaceful life was under threat.
He acknowledged every greeting with a silent nod.
He would not have to speak much; he would only explain, yet again, that every single person was doing everything they could. The old councillors would be glad to hear this and would congratulate him and then they would all say a prayer to Elria. It had been the same story every day since the beginning of the siege. The goddess did not seem to be taking much notice.
He reached the citadel that housed the council chamber. This was where the weakest inhabitants would take shelter when the next attack came. There were bunkers underground where people could be safe even if the houses burned or collapsed. A secret tunnel led out of the catacombs into the open air, but it did not go far enough to evacuate the whole town without the orcs noticing.
Maybe they will be the only ones in Sonnenhag to survive the siege. Doghosh reined in his horse and was about to dismount when the alarm sounded.
The North Gate! He turned his horse back through the narrow streets, racing through the exits to the outer wall. “What’s happening?” he shouted, springing out of the saddle and running up the steps to the walkway. “They’re coming!” Endrawolt pointed to the broad road that led toward Sonnenhag. Before the siege, merchants and tradesmen in coaches and on carts had regularly used this road, but now it was a throng of orcs trundling their crude but functional siege engines along. He could see three battering rams heading their way and then catapults for spears and arrows. “I can’t see any catapults. That’s one good thing.”
Doghosh wondered what instructions he should give. “How far along are the excavations?”
“The towers will stay standing, but we can topple the walls right and left for a distance of just over a hundred paces. We haven’t been able to get any farther yet. We had expected the attack to come from the south—” Endrawolt uttered a curse. “They’re coming really fast! They’ve got new siege ladders, three or four dozen, it looks like.”
Doghosh watched them approach. They had impressive-looking ladders on rollers, which had shields to protect the climbers from bolts and arrows fired down on them. Infantry in various formations brought up the rear. This is not going to be easy. They’ve got lots of tricks up their sleeves. Doghosh was convinced that these monsters had come from outside Girdlegard.
The enemy started firing arrows, many of them falling short and crashing into the stonework, but others flew in far over their heads.
“They’re testing the aim. Another couple of salvoes and they’ll be around our ears.” Endrawolt yelled down at the men in the ditches, telling them to get out. The ditches were to be filled with water to make things go smoothly. “Take hold of the supports,” he called. “Listen out for the order.”
Doghosh realized that the falling wall would only take out half of the enemy front. “Endrawolt, send word for the best horsemen: those who don’t have family! They must be sent out with messages for our king. He has to know what is happening in Sonnenhag. He must assemble an army to defeat the orcs when we are gone. We will do all we can in the meantime. The messengers should be given the best of our horses and must set off as soon as some kind of gap appears in the enemy ranks. Warn them they may well lose their lives in the attempt to get word out.”
His deputy nodded and spoke crisply to one of his officers, who ran down the steps to carry out the order.
“Get down!” came a shout from the nearby tower.
Endrawolt and Doghosh ducked, narrowly avoiding incoming fire.
The second salvo had been accurate. Anyone up on the battlements was at risk of being hit if they were spotted in the open embrasures. The Sonnenhag defenders could only reply with archers and crossbowmen. The council had never dreamed their city would be confronted with dangers such as these.
Nobody had. Doghosh was not apportioning any blame to the city elders. Once he had thought that the stars would fall to the earth before the orcs would turn up with a force like this one. He peered cautiously around the edge of the protective crenel. “They’ll be here any minute! Their siege ladders are only forty paces off! Withdraw now!”
The command was passed down the line without a bugle sounding. A handful of the bravest stayed up on the battlements, showering the attackers with arrow-fire to make it look as if all the defenders were still in position.
Doghosh and Endrawolt made their way down to the foot of the walls where the men stood ready with their long poles.
There was only a distance of thirty paces to be covered before they reached the safety of the second wall. If the worst came to the worst, the surviving orcs would catch some of the slower humans. The archers up on the second wall would do their best to prevent that from happening.
“The masonry will kill them all,” Doghosh called, climbing up into the saddle. “Take heart! Sonnenhag is our bastion against the monsters of Tion. We will stand firm until the king arrives with an army to liberate the town!” His words echoed back from the town walls. There were no answering cheers from the townspeople.
Water steadily filled the ditches, softening the ground and allowing the pitch-sodden straw to float to the surface.
The din the orcs were making got louder and louder; their tinny instruments squeaked and their drumrolls urged them on. The walls amplified the noises so that those waiting by the ditch felt that the enemy army must be getting bigger all the time.
Elria, protect our people and our town! Help our children!
One of the archers up on the wall called out, “Ten paces to go.”
“Get down!” Doghosh ordered before turning to the men. “Right! All of you, push hard against the wall. As hard as you can! We’ll crush these vermin when the walls collapse. As soon as the wall starts to fall, drop your staves and run for it!” He rode along the line repeating his orders so that everyone could hear him above the gruff orc shouts. It was vital their own losses were kept to an absolute minimum at this st
age. Ideally, we won’t lose a single man.
The last of the archers came running down the steps, taking up their positions behind the men with the staves who were shoving with all their might.
Cracks started to appear and mortar crumbled away; some sections of the wall were tilting, but the whole construction was still intact.
“Push harder still!” Doghosh yelled. “And start the burning!”
Some orcs had managed to scale the walls, weapons raised, looking in vain for someone to fight.
The straw on the water-filled ditch was ignited with a fire arrow and the pitch and petroleum mix burned strongly, sending up clouds of thick black smoke to make the invaders’ eyes water.
“Shoot them!” Endrawolt cursed. “Those triple-damned—”
Archers on the ground and on the battlements of the second wall sent their arrows flying at the enemy, killing one orc after another as soon as they appeared around the sheltering armor of the siege ladders.
But for each monster killed, ten new ones arrived. Some were already running down the steps wielding terrifyingly large clubs, axes, morningstars and swords. Doghosh could smell the rancid fat they smeared their armor with and their war shouts were ear-shattering.
“Start shoving again!” Doghosh shouted. The stones continued to put up staunch resistance to the softness of the ground and the muscle power of the humans.
He stopped near where the wall was weakest. Oh, ye gods, give me your blessing and aid! Covering his horse’s eyes, he dug his spurs sharply into its sides and forced it into a charge, muttering, “Forgive me.” At the last moment he threw himself free.
The horse leaped the barrier of the burning ditch and crashed into the wall, which yielded under the impact, bringing down the other sections of the fortifications as it collapsed with a thunderous noise. It fell straight down onto the besieging orcs.
“Yes!” shouted Doghosh in relief as he struggled to his feet. His right leg was painful, but he had sustained no other injury. “Thank you, gods!”
A 300-pace portion of the town wall had gone. Those orcs who had already stormed the battlements found themselves hurtling down onto their own ranks. Some jumped clear only to be shot down by the Sonnenhag bowmen or to fall onto the burning pitch.
It’s worked! Bellows of terror came from the other side of the wall as the enemy force saw their vanguard pulverized by the stone blocks. Siege ladders crashed down onto the enemy lines and the careering stones rolled back through the mass of horrified monsters.
Doghosh exulted as the last sections of the falling masonry smashed down, squashing the throng of beasts and sending up clouds of dust.
Endrawolt cantered up and pulled his commander up behind him. “The men are running back, sir. Let’s not give the orcs a target for their anger!”
The two of them rode straight for the gate, men running before them, away from the rubble they had created. Archers on the second wall gave covering fire.
I wonder how our side have fared? Doghosh risked a glance over his shoulder.
The first orcs who had escaped the collapsing wall were leaping out of dark brown clouds and thick smoke. Some had injuries seeping green blood where smaller stones had gashed them. They looked horrific with their painted tusks, fat-smeared armor and enormous crude weaponry. They no longer had any discernible battle plan; snorting and snarling, they were hunting down the humans like animals.
They are so set on killing us they’ve forgotten about our archers. As long as none of his own men tripped and fell, they should all reach safety. Nobody need be left behind.
Endrawolt was riding through the gap between the opening gates.
I am the commander. Doghosh slid down from the horse and stayed back, sword and shield at the ready, until every single one of his men had run through. Now I can go through!
“Commander!” Endrawolt shouted. “What are you doing? Get in here!”
“I’m coming!”
The orcs stormed nearer.
Doghosh took the scene in. He wanted to remember every detail for his report to the king.
The beasts forged a path to him, fixing him with their beady little eyes, their muscular legs pumping tirelessly as they covered the ground, sharp, predator teeth on display as their broad mouths hung open. One of the monsters was struck three times by arrows before it keeled over, but its fellows marched straight over the obstacle of its carcass without a second glance. Their armor rattled as they sprang.
There’s no way these orcs are from Girdlegard!
One of the beasts hurled an ax at him.
He dodged and the ax embedded itself deep into the wood of the gate. If he had tried to take the ax on his shield it would have gone straight through and he’d have lost an arm.
What creatures! His heart pounded suddenly with fear and he hurried in to safety. Tion has sent his worst creations to attack us!
The gates closed on the orcs, leaving them on the outside.
For now.
CHAPTER XII
The Inextinguishables stood on the highest part of the Bone Tower.
They turned their faces toward the northwest, to the land between Wèlèron and Avaris.
They came to the conclusion that they and their people were safe.
And so they laughed at the threat of attack by the dorón ashont. They mocked them and sent wine barrels as the payload of their strongest catapults to remind them of their previous humiliating defeat.
The tears of joy the Sibling Rulers shed as they laughed made them blind to the dangers they would face.
The Epocrypha of the Creating Spirit
Book of the Coming Death
72–95
Tark Draan (Girdlegard), south of the Gray Mountains, Enchanted Realm of Hiannorum,
4371st division of unendingness (5199th solar cycle),
late autumn.
Morana finished the piece she was playing on her death’s head flute and put it away. She was riding downhill along a broad valley toward an oddly shaped building—her destination. To her right a high waterfall cascaded into a river. Clouds of spray floated in the air, dampening the blood-red roof tiles so that they shone like gems under the setting autumn sun.
This looks like the sort of house you would find in Dsôn! Its three elegant towers of various heights were connected at a number of levels by delicately carved bridges. Staircases wound around the outside, protected from the elements by glass, and the walls were covered in ivy and climbing roses. The daystar sent the last of its golden rays over the brow of the hill, bathing the three buildings in warm, shimmering light.
Morana had to admit that it appealed to her.
The valley itself had been expertly transformed into a delightful garden. Every bush, every shrub and every tree had been precisely trimmed and decorated with strips of bunting and ribbons that wafted prettily in the breeze.
Statues were displayed picturesquely. Small fountains and burbling streams adorned the scene.
She saw stone benches and garden tables where women were seated, reading or talking, while others played ball. The resident enchantress was living up to her name: Flawless.
By all the gods of infamy! This is almost classier than our royal palace! Morana admired how clean and tidy everything was. But she did find it . . . cloying. Too much honey, too much decoration and not enough real art. When you think what they could have made of this valley! I should ask the nostàroi to let me redesign it.
But the mere thought of asking Caphalor any favors went against the grain. She had not forgotten his behavior at their last meeting.
People had noticed her. The ladies put down their books and stared. A man up on the highest of the three towers banged a gong. Its round, rich tone rolled across the valley to announce the visitor.
Morana did not mind. On the contrary, it suited her plans.
She was already wearing her black armor and knew that she stood out in the midst of all the frippery. But her own native gracefulness trumped any barbarian. br />
She rode across the valley floor, heading straight for the towers.
As she drew closer, she began to make out the mosaics on the walls. They all showed the same female form: a woman carrying out various activities; brushing her hair, looking at herself in a mirror, handing out gifts of food to the poor. She could see labels in elegant writing by each of the pictures.
She did not understand everything, but they were all praising Hianna the Flawless for her beauty, wisdom and generosity.
How very modest. Morana’s mouth curved into a small smile and she slowed the horse to a walk as she approached the nearest of the towers. If she were stupid, would they praise her for that as well?
A woman stepped out. At first glance Morana thought she might be an älf; she was tall and slim, with finely chiseled features and long blond hair that fell over her high-collared red dress. She wore gold filigree at her throat, golden rings on her fingers and a silver coronet studded with diamonds in her hair.
“Greeting,” she said warmly. Her outspread arms and her smile would have melted the heart of a rampaging óarco. “I am Hianna the Flawless, mistress of Hiannorum.” She placed her hands together, “You are welcome as my guest, a welcome happily extended for one so graceful.”
Morana was itching to draw one of her weapons. She studied the maga’s ears suspiciously. Round, not pointed. So she’s not an elf. She sketched a slight bow. “My name is Morana and I have come a long way to see you.” She halted her horse and jumped lightly to the ground in front of Hianna.
The first of the ladies from the garden hurried up, but kept a respectful distance while they stared at the visitor in her dark and warlike attire.
“Oh, a messenger?”
“More of a negotiator.”
Hianna was still smiling. She raised her linked hands and pointed both index fingers at the älf visitor. “You have piqued my curiosity, Morana. You are no elf, though you have their grace and elegance.” She looked Morana directly in the eyes. “Black. Strange, but attractive in its own way.” She passed her tongue over her lips. “You will be tired after your journey.” The maga moved aside and invited her into the tower. “I’ll have you shown to a room where you can bathe and be given fresh clothes. We can talk at supper.”