The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (40 page)

Rexel shook his head. ‘He’s a pig-fucking troll cunt.’

‘It was a serious question,’ snapped Halla.

‘Sorry,’ replied Rexel with a grin. ‘Don’t know much about him. One of Rulag’s axe-masters. He used to raid the Wolf Wood and steal deep ice.’

‘Well, hopefully, a troll will be gnawing on his skull in half an hour,’ said Wulfrick.

Halla motioned for them to back away and return to the company. ‘Get to it. Assemble with light armour only. And no shouting.’

‘Aye, my lady,’ they said in unison.

‘Let’s liberate Hammerfall, shall we?’

* * *

She crouched, using a slight overhang as cover. In front, warming their hands round flaming barrels, were battle-brothers of Ursa. The highest level of the Bear’s Mouth was poorly guarded, with barely twenty men behind a low wooden wall. Across the chasm, Wulfrick faced a similar force.

The levels below, easily accessible from wide, sloping platforms, were more heavily guarded. Halla and Wulfrick’s forces would have to kill several hundred men each before they reached Oleff and Rexel.

A deep breath, a growled command to charge, and they attacked. She glanced to her left and saw the huge axe-master of Fredericksand breaking cover with a dramatic swing of his axe. Below, more of her company appeared from behind rocks and hidden gullies, rushing the defenders in a sudden flood of sound and movement.

The Bear’s Mouth was a defensive position, rather than a castle, and they attacked through no stockade or perimeter. The men of Ursa were unprepared and most were neither armed nor armoured. Halla killed three before any could raise a blade to parry her axe. The hundred men at her back swept across the top platform, meeting little resistance.

Blood and steel filled her field of vision. Across the fissure, Wulfrick barrelled men from the platform, sending them to a gruesome death on the rocks below.

The men of Ursa were driven back and killed, clearing the top level of the fortress. She reached the wooden stockade and paused, seeing no one left to kill and with blood in her eye. It had all happened quickly. Men had died and confused shouting had filled the air.

‘The top levels are ours, my lady,’ stated Heinrich Blood, the novice of the Order of the Hammer.

‘Move down to the next level,’ she commanded, rubbing her eye.

Her men were still fresh, their faces dripping with blood and conviction, as they ran for the sloping walkway leading downwards.

The Bear’s Mouth was now alive with combat. On multiple levels men and axes clashed at close quarters, sending ice and snow across the chasm. Their flanking attack had taken a brutal toll and the men of Ursa struggled to hold their ground.

On the second level, though, the men were prepared. She still had the advantage of surprise but now the killing began in earnest.

‘To arms,’ roared a man of Ursa.

‘Drive them back,’ yelled another.

Halla grunted and swung for a man’s neck. She turned quickly and sliced another across the chest. An arrow flew over her shoulder, then another lodged in a man’s stomach to her left, as Heinrich joined her. Although they were armed, most of their opponents wore no armour. They were skilled and they did not give away their lives easily, but without steel to protect them their mistakes were fatal.

The ground was being churned up. The more they fought, the more snow and ice ran down the platforms and filled the Bear’s Mouth. She couldn’t see beyond the platform she was on and the snow now sent a spray across her field of vision.

A glaive appeared in front of her, held by a screaming man of Ursa. The jagged blade sawed downwards, narrowly missing her head but biting deeply into her left arm. She screamed in pain and crouched, swinging her axe upwards one-handed. The blade struck him between his legs and caused a spray of blood to erupt from his mouth.

She fell to the ground and grabbed her arm. ‘Fuck!’ she shouted, in annoyance more than pain.

Heinrich ran to her side and stood protectively with his bow drawn. ‘You alive?’ he asked.

‘He mangled my arm. Bastard!’ She gritted her teeth.

‘Get up, we need to keep moving.’

She nodded and leant heavily on her good arm, passing Heinrich her axe. Blood smeared across the snow as she stood. The pain was sharp and biting, but she clenched her fists and shut it out. She grabbed her axe back and clutched her wounded arm to her chest. She’d been sliced across the biceps and could feel little strength in her hand.

‘I can heal it when we’re done,’ said Heinrich. ‘Just stay alive for now.’

Beneath her was Oleff Hard Head, one level down. He was at the front of his men, pushing the defenders back against their own wall. Hung from his belt was a curved horn.

‘Oleff,’ she shouted, ‘signal Rorg!’

‘Let’s make a mess,’ he bellowed in response.

The old chain-master disengaged, turning sharply and moving back along the platform. He wiped blood from his brow and placed the horn to his mouth. With a wink to Halla, he released a single, resonating note.

The horn rose above the sound of men fighting and dying. Halla leant against the rock, breathing heavily. Her men were still fighting on the second level and, like the defenders, they were too distracted to register the horn. They were dark shapes, flailing their arms and axes through the sheet of white. Across the chasm, when the wind cleared the snow, she could see the rest of her company. They had advanced deep into the Bear’s Mouth and now held the upper levels.

The fort, at the base of the wide fissure, was alive with activity. Hundreds of men moved over wooden platforms and between large structures, running to reinforce their lines. All of their defences were pointed the other way and their artillery – ballistae and catapults – were too cumbersome to move quickly.

Everything changed when the keening started. Echoing along the eastern gully, bouncing off the icy walls and displacing the fog of snow, the sound of the trolls reached every ear. The noise impinged on the minds of every man and woman of Fjorlan. It was a noise they had been taught to fear.

‘Varorg!’

The bellowed voice was a grunting snarl creating a harmony with the keening. It was chased up the gully by the roar of the berserker warriors. The defenders had time to see the Low Kasters and their trolls but they spent most of that time staring in terrified disbelief.

Halla’s men were as dumbfounded as those of Ursa. They paused, letting their axes fall, as the huge hairy shapes bounded towards the fort.

‘What are you looking at?’ shouted Halla. ‘You have killing to do.’

She was impressed at the volume she could manage when she meant it. Her words reached the two nearest levels and was immediately obeyed. The defenders were now on the back foot. They couldn’t tear their eyes from the Ice Men and they died quickly, their half-hearted parrying easily deflected.

‘Hold this platform,’ commanded Halla. ‘Oleff! Don’t get in their way.’

He looked up at her and nodded, braining a man of Ursa with the hilt of his axe. He blew a softer note on his horn, signalling to Rexel and Wulfrick to hold their ground. The top platforms were now theirs.

The pause allowed Halla and her men to observe the charge along the eastern gully. The Ice Men, leaping over the snow on all-fours, continued their keening. They moved as a dozen mounds of dark fur, springing across rocks and clawing at the gully walls. Unrahgahr was at the front, his tusks dripping with slobber, as he plunged towards the unprepared men of Ursa. Several hundred defenders were in the fort. Hundreds more swarmed across the lower levels. They moved slowly, their bodies hesitant.

‘Axes!’ screamed a man of Ursa.

Axe-hurlers, standing ready on wooden platforms, shook their heads in confusion and amazement. They had armed themselves but their feet were unsteady.

‘The ice halls beckon, lads,’ shouted the same man, a rotund warrior in a fur-trimmed cloak.

Their survival instincts returned just in time. The trolls were close when the first volley of axes hit them. They bounced off their dense muscle or embedded into shallow cuts, but none of the Ice Men slowed. Unrahgahr received an axe to the chest which lodged in his fur, but he contemptuously plucked it from his body and threw it aside. Blades did not scare them.

‘Again,’ commanded the rotund man of Ursa, but his men didn’t react quickly enough.

The trolls had reached the outer platforms, dragging axe-hurlers to the ground with their huge, bulbous limbs. The men were battered against rock, sending pulpy red body parts into the air. The next line of men tried to brace themselves behind spears but the charge didn’t slow. Unrahgahr ignored two spear thrusts to his face, splintering the wooden shafts with minimal effort and clubbing the spearmen to death. He struck them as a smith would strike an anvil, flattening them against the snow and leaving their bodies a broken mass of red.

The fort was of solid construction and forced the Ice Men to slow down. A mass of warriors stood, a sea of armour and steel, ready for the trolls. Axes were thrown and groups of men gathered to surround the beasts.

‘Halla, they’re turning their ballistae,’ said Heinrich.

She sheltered her eye from the glare. Men of Ursa were hurriedly manoeuvring huge wooden frameworks, sighting the thick arrows along the eastern gully.

‘Let’s get down there.’

She waved to the nearest men and word spread quickly. They formed up in a loose column and moved down the sloping platform towards Oleff Hard Head.

Beneath them, Rorg and his berserkers had reached the fort. The howling madmen of Varorg leapt at the defenders with suicidal ferocity, biting, kicking and headbutting. Their powerful axes, made of deep ice, sliced through armour with ease, leaving jagged, smouldering cuts. Their broken skulls pulsed and split, their faces covered with a mantle of bloody insanity. There were few of them, but, like the trolls, they made an almighty mess.

‘To the ballistae, my lady?’ asked Oleff.

The two warriors met on the third platform, halfway down the fissure. All around them lay bodies, bloodied and cleaved. A handful of their men had died but they were few compared with the lifeless forms of the defenders.

‘Aye,’ she replied, hugging her wounded arm to her chest.

‘You okay?’ asked Oleff. ‘That looks nasty.’

‘To the ballistae,’ she said, ignoring his question.

Across the Bear’s Mouth, Wulfrick waved his axe high above his head, signalling that their side was clear. So far, the plan was working.

Below, the trolls were now tearing their way through wooden walls and butting into structures. They reached within, grabbing men as if they were dolls and pulling them into the open to be eaten or hacked apart by the Low Kasters.

One of the smaller Ice Men was surrounded, penned in by spears and distracted by heavy rocks thrown from above. If Halla didn’t get to the artillery, the trolls would begin to falter. On open ground they were unstoppable, but within wooden structures and narrow quarters they were easily distracted. Already one of them had lost his bearings and run back along the gully, confused as to where he was.

Oleff stayed close to her as they led their men down to a solid wall of defenders. Wulfrick and Falling Cloud did the same and the two forces now flanked the bottom levels.

The rotund man, commanding his troops, locked eyes with Halla. Across dead bodies and broken wood she saw a pair of black eyes.

‘Easy, lads,’ shouted Grammah Black Eyes. ‘We can hold them.’ He didn’t turn his gaze from Halla as he spoke. ‘Ballistae! Bring the trolls down.’

The huge, wooden frames flexed. Three artillery pieces fired, one after the other, sending massive arrows along the gully. They flew over the fort and found their mark. One troll was barrelled backwards with a shaft clean through his chest. Another went flying into the rocky wall of the gully as his leg was torn apart. The third killed one of Rorg’s men, cutting him in two.

Neither of the trolls was dead. They sat on the ground, looking in surprise at the huge arrows stuck in their bodies, but they were no longer mobile.

‘Move,’ commanded Halla, pushing her men forward.

They hit a wall of circular shields and were stopped. The defenders were too many. The initial assault had caught them by surprise but they had not panicked at the sight of the charging Ice Men and they now held their ground. Getting to the fort would take time and Rorg’s company was now dangerously isolated.

The trolls had faltered. Some appeared lost, others sat on the ground, grabbing any men that came close, but not advancing. More ballistae bolts hit them. The huge arrows weren’t designed to kill the beasts, just to slow them down and cause confusion. Some had bells attached, others trailed wire nets. The men of Ursa were skilled at dealing with the Ice Men. Unrahgahr, more aware than his family, was crouched behind a wall. He surveyed the scene and bellowed.

Halla ignored the pain in her arm and redoubled her efforts, joining Oleff and flinging herself at the shield wall in front of them. She rammed her shoulder into a braced shield and swung her axe under it, severing the man’s foot and creating an opening. Spears cut her in the shoulder, neck and across her legs, but she grunted and kept going.

‘With me!’ she shouted.

Oleff dived through the opening behind her, hacking at the shield-bearers and entering a dense melee of defenders. He pulled Halla away from a dozen spear thrusts and kept them at bay with wide swings of his battleaxe. He cut at wood and flesh, and was cut badly in turn.

Heinrich joined them as more of their company pushed into the gap. Halla stood, blood flowing over her body, sticking to her hands and dripping into her eye. But she didn’t stop.

‘Fight for Fjorlan! For Teardrop and Summer Wolf!’ Her words were primal.

Men died, body parts flew and blood flowed. She was at the front of a wedge of men, splintering the shield wall and driving towards the fort. Her axe felt light and she swung it easily with one hand, making circles in the air. There were too many men to engage individuals and her company could only hack at passing targets and hope their advance would continue. To stop amidst so many enemies would mean certain death.