The Iron Wolves (33 page)

The mountains grew ever close, and through the freezing wind and whipping snow, Narnok guided them to the Bone Channel. They entered the narrow aperture cautiously, fearing it may be guarded – either by Vagandrak infantry and archers, or something more terrifying. But there was nothing but a cold, mournful wind crying in mock sorrow down the long, freezing corridors of rock.

As dawn broke, the Iron Wolves walked their horses, gazing up at the sheer massive walls of granite rearing around them. Impossibly high, vast, unforgiving, this cleft cut through the mountains seemed incredible, artificial, as if man had used some giant saw blade to hack a rough path through the mountains themselves. But they all knew this was impossible. No such tools could exist.

“Maybe it was magick?” whispered Narnok at one point when they stopped to drink ice-chilled water from canteens that were cold to the touch. “Maybe some great magician cast a spell, blasted the rock away and made this narrow road through the mountains?”

“I don’t believe any man could be that powerful,” said Dek, rubbing at his stubble.

“I think, dear love, you’ll one day realise that’s exactly what the ladies think of me,” piped up Zastarte, as if awakening from a melancholic slumber. He’d been pretty much silent since the death of Dalgoran, and the attack by the suicide victims of the Drakka; now, it seemed, his humanity was slipping back into place. He had surprised himself by how much Dalgoran had meant to him. But then, Dalgoran had saved him on occasions the others knew nothing about. If it hadn’t been for Dalgoran, Zastarte would have been dead and buried many times over…

“What, lacking in power?” chuckled Narnok.

“No, packing so much love they believe they will explode in ecstasy the minute I walk in the room.”

“You’re full of shit,” said Narnok, scowling.

“No, I am full of love.”

Trista looked at him. “Really?”

“There’s not a woman who would not bow to my supremacy.”

“And you
really
believe that?” she said.

“Of course,” smiled Zastarte, with easy charm. “It is one of my core principles.”

“Try me,” said Trista.

“Ahh, but then you are not a woman.”

Narnok snorted on his water.

“What the fuck am I, then?” snapped Trista, rattled.

“Indeed, do not trouble yourself to be upset. I would merely suggest you are
more
than a woman. After all, you have the exalted rank of Iron Wolf; I would wager that only one in a hundred thousand ever earned such a position. Thus, you are not simply ‘woman’, you are indeed a kind of ‘super woman’.”

Trista stared at him. “Are you taking the piss?”

“Oh no! I would never dream of such a travesty.”

“Well. That’s all right then.” She stared at him some more. “Sometimes, you have a golden tongue,” she said.

Narnok nudged her. “Heh. He’d better be careful. There’s people I know who’d want to cut that out.”

“Precisely,” said Trista, looking down her nose at the old, scarred, one-eyed axeman.

They crept through the chasm. Not because they had to, but because Narnok reminded them of a particular mission where a mountain decided to try and collapse on them, mainly due to Dek and Mola’s rowdy drinking songs. They’d nearly died under the savage rockfall. There was nothing like learning a lesson the hard way.

The passage towards the Pass of Splintered Bones was long, and narrow, and straight except for a couple of angular jerks through the rock, cut-out switchbacks which caused the horses a few problems due to the sheer confines and severe angles. But they managed it, with a lot of cursing and gentle talking to the beasts.

It took several hours to negotiate the narrow channel through the mountains and Narnok especially was a moaning old goat. He claimed he was too old, too wide, too tired and too grumpy to be undertaking such adventures. He said he wanted a clean, nasty battle with the enemy stood before him, somebody he could really hit with his axe.

With little humour, Kiki pointed out that that was exactly what he was going to get.

Narnok thought this hilariously funny.

Eventually the pathway became so narrow they had to dismount and lead their horses in single file, snorting with ears laid back. Occasionally, trickles of rock fell from high above, rattling down the near vertical walls.

Gloom and darkness closed in. Occasional snowflakes fluttered down into the impossibly deep valley.

Dek, in particular, was in sour mood at this confined traverse. “It feels like I’m in a coffin and they’re closing the lid,” he mumbled, words echoing to the others from the sheets of black granite to either side. “It feels like the mountains are waiting to chuck a billion tons of rock on our heads.”

“Maybe they are,” said Kiki, softly.

“Well, I’d rather die on a battlefield with a sword in my hand. A good clean death! Not this, buried by rock as a random act of Nature. This place is wrong, I reckon. It shouldn’t exist. It wasn’t made by natural means, that I can tell you.”

After another hour, they saw a long straight tunnel with daylight at the far end. They unconsciously increased their pace, until Narnok’s boots stepped cautiously out into wintry sunlight, crunching bones underfoot, head snapping left and right to check for possible threats, axe head glittering menacingly.

“We’re clear,” he said, leading out his horse, and one by one the others emerged to stand at the centre of the Pass of Splintered Bones, breathing deeply as if they’d just emerged from under a black ocean and were gasping for breath.

Dek tilted his head, listening. “What’s that sound?”

“Drums,” said Kiki.

And the sounds of distant battle drifted to them down the pass, intermingled with the booming of mud-orc drums and a mournful howl of the wind. There were clashes and smashes of iron and steel. Screams and wails and growls. All interwoven like a song by the croon of the wind down the pass.

Mountains reared above the Iron Wolves, dizzying and vast.

Kiki looked at her companions. With a grunt, she mounted her horse.

“Iron Wolves. Let’s ride!”

Approaching Desekra Fortress from the Vagandrak side of the pass was unnerving for all members of the Iron Wolves. Only Narnok had been back during the past two decades, and even Narnok’s journey had been nearly fifteen years previous. The huge black walls of the keep, Zula, loomed gradually into view alongside an increase in the song of battle. Huge gates stood centrally in the keep, and archers guarded the wall high up, winter sun glinting from helms.

Narnok reined in his mount out of range, and lifted his hand, bellowing, “We seek General Vorokrim! We have been sent by General Dalgoran, greatest hero of the War of Zakora!”

“Approach the gate!” came the shouted reply.

Kiki led the wedge now, and they walked their mounts, iron hooves crunching bones, eyes taking in the vast, sheer walls of the keep. She was painfully aware of at least a hundred arrows trained on her, and sweat trickled down the middle of her back.
What if King Yoon was here? What if, as everybody claimed, he had gone insane? What if he was cooperating with Orlana, the Horse Lady? Maybe he had ordered their deaths…

The great gate opened enough to allow entry, and once inside the sounds of battle increased exponentially. They were relieved of swords and knives, their mounts led away to stables, and a heavily armed group of soldiers surrounded them.

“State your business,” snapped an irate captain. He looked exhausted, eyes red-rimmed, a shade of stubble on his face, a fresh cut on his neck.

“We have been sent by General Dalgoran. We are here to see General Vorokrim Kaightves. He will see us immediately, when he hears our names.” Kiki gave a narrow smile.

“That is of little concern,” said the captain, flicking his hand to a man by his side. “Escort these
people
to the dungeons, the general is a very busy man. We are fighting a war! He will see you at his convenience.”

Kiki stepped in fast, a blur, grabbing the captain’s throat and dragging him close so he was suddenly off-balance, arms waving. “You don’t understand; I am Captain Kiki Mandasayard, leader of the Iron Wolves, the soldiers who saved your parents’ lives when we fought the mud-orcs and killed Morkagoth twenty years ago. You will take us to General Vorokrim right now or I’ll break your neck, we’ll put down your men, and walk there ourselves. Understand?”

She released him, and he staggered, and coughed, and looked around, face pale. The armed soldiers had backed away a little, a ring of steel surrounding the unarmed Wolves.

Narnok leaned to the closest man. “If you keep pointing that sword at me, laddie, I’m going to shove it up your quim, hilt first.” He gave a broad wink, although there was no humour in his scarred face.

“Back away, back away, er, lady, if you and your companions would… would like… to follow me.”

Narnok growled, “And tell those idiots to bring our weapons. We’ll be needing them on the walls soon enough.”

They climbed steep steps and thankfully were met by a sergeant who recognised Narnok. He shook the giant axeman’s hand, a look of awe on his broad brutal features, and took over from the shaken captain, leading them deep into the fortress keep; deep into the belly of Zula.

Within minutes they were ushered into a high room which looked out over the four massive walls of Desekra Fortress, and the battle which raged on Sanderlek. For long moments Kiki, Dek, Narnok, Zastarte and Trista stared out at the carnage. Siege engines were being pulled towards Sanderlek, creeping forward by inches, and archers had braziers and arrows with oil soaked tips. As they watched, men with slingshots sent clay balls of oil hurtling across the massed mud-orcs, to smash against the huge siege towers, closely followed by hundreds of fire-tipped arrows, a glittering hail which arced above the battle, above the struggling defenders on the wall. With a roar and blast of billowing fire five of the six towers went up, raging as their timbers burned and fell, igniting or crushing the mud-orcs standing beneath hauling on massive ropes. The whole scene was suddenly one of mayhem, as if the fires of Hell had suddenly visited the world.

On the walls, the defenders slaughtered the remaining mud-orcs and hurled bodies from the battlements. A ragged cheer went up as the mud-orcs retreated out of archer range, defeated for the moment.

“They’re still testing us,” said Vorokrim, rubbing at his eyes and standing, smiling weakly. “Captain Kiki. You look in fine health! Dek, always a pleasure. I’ve won a lot of silver pennies when I’ve wagered on your fights. Narnok – is that you, Narnok? I heard about your…
injuries…
”

“Don’t worry. You should see the other fucker.”

“I can believe it! Trista, beautiful as ever, and hopefully as deadly as ever! Your lightning blade will not go amiss in this damn fortress. And Zastarte! I see you still haven’t got a bloody haircut, but as long as you can wield a blade I’ll overlook the insubordination. Unless you’d like me to send for the barber? By all the gods, it’s good to see you. We are in dire need of help. Any help!”

“Have many lives been lost?” asked Kiki.

“Two thousand souls, sent screaming to the void by these green-skinned bastards. We are undermanned, and Sanderlek is too long. It’s a rancid whore to defend without full fortress battalions, and my captains are urging me to pull back to Tranta-Kell where the walls narrow. But this will hammer morale, I know it. Still, these siege engines appeared this morning; if they manage to get them up to the walls we’ll have to withdraw. We will have little option.”

Kiki nodded. “Have you seen Orlana, this witch who leads the mud-orcs? Has she attempted to make any demands?”

“No. None. The mud-orcs arrived, and they attacked almost immediately. We sent out messengers to try and seek some sort of parley, but they were returned tied to their horses and minus their heads. We’ve sent treaties to King Yoon begging him for more support, but he has gone silent – indeed, as he has been for the previous five weeks. My scouts tell me he’s moved up to camp his thirty thousand men by the mouth of the Pass of Splintered Bones; I assumed they were coming to our aid, but now I am not so sure. I do not know what strange game is being played here, but I feel it is some kind of test.” He stared hard at Kiki. “Sometimes, I think I’m going out of my mind.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” rumbled Narnok.

“Is Dalgoran with you? I could do with his sage counsel.”

The Iron Wolves exchanged glances. “He didn’t make it,” said Kiki, and watched the expression drop from Vorokrim’s face.

“Oh. That’s… very bad news,” he muttered.

“We could go and pay Yoon a visit,” said Kiki, gently.

“I sent Captain Veragesh at dawn this morning. When I heard you on the stairs, that’s who I thought was returning.”

There came a clatter of boots, and Captain Yoran appeared. He saluted General Vorokrim. “Sir. The enemy have changed their lines. They’ve abandoned the siege engines, and the mud-orcs have shifted back. Those huge bastard creatures have moved to the front. And the drums have started again.”

“Are they a mix of horse, man and wolf?” said Kiki.

“Yes,” nodded Captain Yoran. “This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. The hour we’ve been dreading. I think they mean to take the wall today… I’ll order extra men from the reserves, but we’re starting to run low on arrows.

“I have wagons coming in shortly from Vagan,” muttered Vorokrim. He rubbed at his temples. “This is a nightmare!”

“Come on,” said Kiki. “Let’s escort Captain Yoran back to Sanderlek. I feel the need to stretch my muscles.”

The others nodded and, as they reached the doorway, Vorokrim said, “If I hear from the King, I’ll send for you.”

“You do that,” said Kiki, and closed the heavy, iron studded door.

Walking across the killing grounds brought back floods of memories. Training with sword, spear and bow. Running the length of the walls carrying logs and sacks of coal and other assorted awkward objects guaranteed to “make you bloody fit!” and “strengthen those bloody legs!”