The Powterosian War (Book 5) (23 page)

“Don’t mention it,” Saxthor said as Bodrin drew her to the door. They left still squabbling, walking down the hall.

“You’re going straight home,” Saxthor heard Bodrin say.

“No, I’m going where you go.”

“Saxthor didn’t say where he and I are going, but you’re going home.”

“Not unless you’re coming too,” Tonelia said. “You promised long ago to take me with you in the dungeon of this very fortress, and take me with you, you will.” That was the last of the argument Saxthor could hear.

“He has his hands full,” Belnik said, straightening the food on the tray and starting to offer it to Saxthor.

“Indeed he does.”

“I’m sure he will convince her to return home. It’s much too dangerous for a lady here at the front.”

“He’ll not convince that lady, Belnik. He’ll win against trolls and ogres but he can’t change that lady’s mind. It’s made up and she doesn’t give in.”

“What makes you say that?” the valet asked.

“You’d had to have been with us on the adventure, collecting the Yensupov jewels to understand, but he lost that battle before it started.” Saxthor looked at Tournak and they both chuckled. Belnik just looked puzzled.

As the laughter died down, the three men again looked toward the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

“Sekkarian?” Tournak suggested.

“It had better be. I don’t think I can take any more surprises tonight,” Saxthor said.

Saxthor’s Desperate Last Hope

King Grekenbach threw open the door in the wizard’s tower. It banged back against the wall, shaking on impact. The sudden noise startled Wizard Tolalo, lying on a cot in the workroom. He struggled to sit up but collapsed back, gasping for breath.

“Sorry if I startled you,” Grekenbach said, alarmed at seeing the wizard’s state.

“Are they… are they all dead?” Tolalo asked. His arm fell limp over the cot’s side.

“All but one, Tolalo, all but one.” Grekenbach stood over him. He put his hand on the wizard’s forehead. “You’re cold as death.”

“I’m drained, Your Majesty. I can do no more.”

“What are we to do about the last whingtang?”

“You must kill it in some conventional way. I can do no more.” The wizard’s eyes were milky as if he were blind.

Grekenbach stroked Tolalo’s head; his breathing was labored. The king took a wet rag from a basin beside the bed and wiped the exhausted wizard’s forehead, then brushed back his hair. Grekenbach put the limp arm beside the wizard’s body and pulled a fur throw over the slender, shaking man, tucking its edges around him.

His voice softened. “Have you eaten anything? I’ll have someone bring you something hot and tasty.”

“I’ll be well again soon, Majesty.” Tolalo attempted to smile, but his lips trembled. He shivered from his fever. His eyes closed slowly.

Grekenbach turned and crept out of the room. He approached one of his guards that had caught up and now stood at the door. “Go immediately to the kitchens and bring the wizard soup, hot soup. Then find my physician and have him attend him right away.” The guard left and Grekenbach gazed back at the magician, his chest heaving as the poor man labored to breathe. Tolalo’s done his all; I can’t ask him to do more, he surmised. The king then returned to the fortress tower above the north gate.

“Where’s the wizard?” the general asked.

“Tolalo’s barely alive; he can’t help us now,” Grekenbach said, his voice hushed. “We’ll have to kill that thing ourselves.”

“How do we do that?”

“You’re a general, that’s my question for you. Look behind you across the city, general. There are thousands of people huddled behind those windows and thousands more throughout the kingdom that may well depend on your answer to that question.”

The general stood erect, his chest out, his hair mussed at the edges of his helmet by the night breeze coming from over the wall. He said nothing, but he looked back at the city and then to the king. His mustache wiggled when he cleared his throat, but still he had no response. He bowed and descended the tower and strode down the wall toward the tunnel with the unaccounted for whingtang. Grekenbach watched as he walked hurriedly along. Maybe he got a momentary sense of his monarch’s overwhelming responsibility. I know him; he’ll find an answer.

“Majesty,” a courier said, coming up the tower stairs. “The western gate, the general told me to tell you the enemy is massing his forces behind a monstrous tower with a battering ram. Great trolls are pushing the tower to the gate.”

“The western gate now, and trolls,” Grekenbach said. He pushed past the courier and down the stairs, rushing to the western gate. He reached the fortified tower over that portal and found the commander in charge there. They looked out at the great wooden siege tower, its huge wooden wheels creaking ominously as it rolled in the moonlight toward the city gate. Four of the most enormous trolls imaginable strained, their muscles flexing and their yellow teeth grinding, as they pushed the great tower toward the gateway. Orc contingents massed behind the trolls, ready to storm through the breach. Their spears thrust up and down as the orcs chanted some unintelligible gibberish, bolstering their courage.

“We must kill the trolls,” Grekenbach said.

“Yes, but how?” the commander replied.

“Do none of our officers have any imagination? Find a way.” The commander stood looking at the king with a blank face. “Take a troop of your best cavalry swordsmen to clear a path and the best archers among the cavalry. Kill the trolls.”

The officer bowed and saluted. He left immediately to assemble the force the king suggested. Grekenbach watched from the tower as the great battering ram rolled unevenly forward up a slight slope toward the city. The monstrous threat moved into the torchlight from the city walls, giving the whole a sinister glow. The trolls appeared even more frightening as flickering torchlight alternated light and shadows over their muscles. They seemed to grow larger and even more intimidating. The soldiers on the walls began to mumble among themselves, their movements more pronounced and jerking.

Then the king heard stamping horses and men shouting orders behind the gates. He looked down on the commander at the head of the cavalry. The officer growled his orders as he passed along the lines of his men, appointing different tasks to each group.

“Majesty,” an aide said. “What if the raiders can’t break through and kill the trolls?”

“We must hold Graushdemheimer no matter what.”

“But what if the general fails? Will King Saxthor come to our aid?”

Grekenbach looked at the aide who shivered, though the night wasn’t cold.

“Son,” the king said softly, seeing the man’s fear. “We must hold this city. King Saxthor can’t bring his armies here and abandon Neuyokkasin’s long frontier there. Dreaddrac is on his border with Sengenwha. If we fail here, we’ve no place to retreat to. We must hold this city against whatever comes.”

“Couldn’t we retreat to Tossledorn if the walls are overrun?”

“Tossledorn couldn’t hold all Graushdemheimer’s people, son. We’d have no way to protect all these people in a retreat, in any case. No, we must hold this city for Graushdem’s survival, perhaps for all the kingdoms of the peninsula.”

“Your Majesty!” another aide shouted and pointed to the gates below. King Grekenbach dashed to the front of the tower as he heard the great oak doors creaking. They were opening. The commander below shouted ‘Charge!’ and rushed through the gate at the head of his cavalry. His sword swung in arcs as he cut down orcs along the road leading to the city. Other troops followed, slashing at the orcs who fell back at the sudden onslaught of the cavalry force. The archers’ horses thundered under the tower. Men rode forth up the opened road, loading arrows into their bows, riding for the tower and trolls.

The stupid trolls are apparently oblivious to the danger, Grekenbach thought. They push forward without regard to the archers galloping toward them.

A spear knocked the foremost archer from his horse, piercing him through his chest, killing him instantly. Still others advanced and got within range of the trolls. They shot arrows into the lead troll on the battering tower’s left side.

The enraged troll screamed and flailed. He let go of the tower to rip out half a dozen arrows in his chest. His eyes, blazing with rage, looked up at his tormentors for the first time. His mouth foamed as he shrieked. Then blood infused the foam and began to trickle down the corner of his mouth. Blood spread between his yellow teeth, but orcs whipped the troll from behind. The monster slapped his huge hairy hands on the tower again, but again arrows struck him. The troll let go of the tower and rushed at the archers ripping out arrows from his bloody chest. He bellowed, grabbing at the archers who barely managed to dodge his lunges before the great beast began to gurgle from blood in his lungs. He hesitated a moment, then fell off the side of the road, gasping his last breaths.

The great battering ram tower moved forward with the other three trolls still pushing blindly toward the city. Arrows struck them also but not as many. Pushed unevenly, the tower began to slowly roll to the left without the lead troll on that corner.

A goblin pushed forward on his black horse. “Balance yourselves and straighten the tower’s advance.” The retarded trolls just pushed on as before. “Whip those trolls into place,” he yelled to the orcs.

The orcs flogged the trolls at the goblin’s insistence, but there was no change in the leverage. The battle raged on, orcs and men fighting to control the tower.

Towards morning the archers saw the tower listing further to the left and renewed their attack on the remaining troll on the tower’s left side. Wounding him, one arm fell limp at his side. The troll could only push the tower with one hand. The tower rolled even more to the left and began to tilt over as the left wheels rolled down into the drainage ditch by the side of the road.

In the predawn light, one soldier jumped from his horse to push a small log by the road under the tower’s left front wheel. Arrows then began to shower down at the man from the orcs above in the tower and behind the trolls. Held high, the man’s shield saved him as his companions rushed forward to drive back the orcs. In the melee, the soldier shoved the log in front of the tower’s wheel.

The orcs counter attacked and surged forward, pushing back the men with swords slashing on both sides. Just before dawn, two arrows found their way under the grounded man’s shield. He fell, dying by the road as the listing tower’s wheel caught on the log.

The front left wheel stopping instantly. The tower trembled and rolled more to the left, the right side continuing on, pushed by the simple-minded trolls. The tower wavered as it rolled down in the ditch and began toppling over. Orcs started to jump from the tower’s upper levels as the massive structure fell over. The great tree trunk ram slammed into the side of the tower, knocking out support beams. The creaking structure crumpled into a heap of broken timbers.

The battle intensified between the mounted cavalry and the exposed orcs, but dawn rose amid the chaos. The sun’s rays caught the exposed trolls, turning them into massive stone statues, blocking the road to future siege machines.

The orcs panicked and retreated in disarray when the trolls turned to stone. Graushdem archers set fire to the tower’s rubble before retreating back inside the city walls.

“We’re saved for another day,” Grekenbach said to an aide. “I must congratulate the commander on his brilliant campaign.”

“I think the officer may be dying, Majesty,” a soldier on the wall said. He pointed to a rider slumped on his horse, walking slowly to the gate. An arrow had pierced his chest at the left lung. King Grekenbach rushed down the tower stairs as the commander passed through the gate. The massive doors slammed shut behind him. Grekenbach approached the victorious rider as the hero slid off his horse into the arms of his silent men. He was dead.

“Majesty,” yelled a soldier running to Grekenbach.

“What is it?” the king asked, still looking down at the valiant commander.

“It’s that burrowing monster. The general on the north gate said to tell you there are big cracks forming in the wall above where it’s tunneling. The ground inside the city wall is cracking and buckling, too.”

“Come on, lead the way,” Grekenbach said, and the two men rushed back to the north wall.

“How bad is it?” the king asked the general.

“That thing has burrowed under the wall,” the old general said. “Look down there behind the wall at the roadbed. See that rubble? It was a shed; it collapsed from the ground’s movement and buckling. And look there at the street beyond. The cobblestones are popping up. You can see the ground rise and fall with constant undulations.”

“What shall we do?” Grekenbach mumbled. “Have you made any preparations?”

“I’ve started fires under the largest commandeered cauldrons in the city. The soldiers are filling them with water. If that thing comes up inside the city, we’ll pour the boiling water on it. That should send it scurrying back to the orcs.”

“Yes, but it will have completed the tunnel under the wall then. It’s tunneled under the wall if the ground there under the street is buckling. When it scurries out, the orcs can enter the passageway and come up inside the city.”

“I’ve a plan for that too.”

No sooner than the water in the cauldrons boiled than the cobbles paving the street flew up. A huge pink snout pierced the surface. The whingtang’s proboscis wiggled, sniffing the air. As the general rushed down the stairs, the monster thrust up its great head. Its fanged jaws smacked, with tusks slashing as it worked the first of its clawed feet through the opening, scratching frantically to clear the opening and get out. A thrashing tusk smacked a cobblestone and a soldier fell dead, his skull shattered.

“Pour the boiling water on the snout!” The general yelled, rushing up.

The terrified soldiers hesitated, then grabbed the poles under the huge cauldrons and struggled toward the great snout. The beast sensed danger and instantly froze. The one free eye watched the soldiers approach. Gathering their courage, the soldiers flung the boiling water on the menacing muzzle, dropped the poles, and dashed back out of the way. Another team hauled up a cauldron and lobbed their cauldron of boiling water on the face.

The whingtang screeched in pain. For a moment, steam swirled up from the monster’s face making it even more sinister. Then the head whipped about, flicking soil and cobbles to the side when the whingtang’s skull burst out of the ground. A tusk hit a soldier, flinging him in a wide arc back against the cracking wall. The terrified soldiers retreated, dropping the last cauldron in their panic. The beast screamed, again raking its tusk from side to side.