The Powterosian War (Book 5) (4 page)

“What’s right there?” The king asked, moving closer to see what was on the page. Startled, he jumped back before he could adjust to the figures moving on the page.

“I remembered reading this when I first came here and was going through the books the old wizard left.” He closed the book with his finger holding the page’s place and showed the king the book cover. The title was ‘Warnings.’ The now more agitated wizard again opened the book to the page and looked down at the moving figures. “This book was written at the end of the last Wizard War at the Wizards’ Hall before it was overthrown. It was found later among the rubble and brought here by someone as it warns of a future danger to Graushdem.”

Grekenbach gazed at the figures and looked at the wizard. “What warning, Tolalo? What are you trying to tell me?”

“The old wizards warned of an army from the north to come upon Graushdemheimer; well, it refers to the capital, but now that would be Graushdemheimer.”

“Don’t split hairs, man, what warning?”

“Beware the army from the north. It says all will be in sorrow; the bloom of the rose will wither, and all will turn to chaos.”

“Yes, well, we’re in chaos now, that part has come true. Why haven’t you brought this to my attention before now? I do remember my father mentioning some prediction when I was a boy, but he didn’t take it seriously. No one thought an army could get past Hador in the north.”

“When I read it before, having found it among a stack of dusty volumes, it was written in ink, there were words…”

“Yes, well what’s your point?”

“The figures, Your Majesty,” the wizard said, hesitating and looking at the king and then down at the page. “The figures were words then, now they are animate and act out the warning! A very powerful wizard wrote this warning. Heed it.”

Grekenbach looked at the page where the figures moved in some progressive battle. He looked at the wizard, again at the page.

“I can make no sense of it. Can you decipher it?”

“Not yet, but I’m trying to find some code in these other books,” the wizard said, looking around the room at the chaotic piles of open volumes.

“Come to me as soon as you determine what it says.” Grekenbach turned and left the room brushing dust off his cloak. “Wizards, you can never make sense of them,” he mumbled, descending the tower stairs going to the royal apartments in the keep’s center.

“What is it?” Queen Nonee asked as the king closed the door behind him upon entering the queen’s private bower.

“Nothing, my love, it’s just Wizard Tolalo’s babbling.” He took the goblet she offered and drank from it, hoping to avoid having to tell more.

“What does the wizard babble about?” Nonee asked.

He saw from her piercing stare she sensed it was serious. I should never have mentioned it, he thought. If I don’t tell her something, she’ll go to the wizard and he’ll blab more than I want her to know. He walked slowly to the tray on the table and put down the goblet trying to decide how much to tell her.

“The wizard’s found some dusty old book of predictions. It’s nothing. The book was written at the end of the Wizard Wars. We can’t take it seriously in this late age. Just look at the dust on my cloak. I should never have even gone to the Wizard’s Tower. No telling what dried things this dust comes from.” Grekenbach was brushing unseen dust from the cloak, not looking at the queen.

Nonee put her hand on Grekenbach’s arm, stopping his brushing the cloak so briskly. He looked up at her. She smiled her tender smile. “What prediction?”

“Beware an army from the north, or something to that effect,” he held her head in his hands and kissed her. “Some prediction,” he laughed, “beware any army, I say.”

She held him to her. His unchecked responding embrace was too intense, it revealed too much. He felt her tense. She knows, he thought. He released her and turned away. “Well, I must get back to the walls. You will be safe here.” He left, mumbling about useless wizards as he passed out the door.

As he climbed again to the fortress tower at the west gate, a great boulder slammed into the gate buttress below. He rushed up the stairs to the ramparts and looked down to see the damage.

“They’re testing their range, Sire,” the general said. He’d come to this tower monitoring the preparations. “All is ready to repel the attack here and at the north gate. The southern gate will be secure before nightfall.”

Grekenbach nodded but said nothing. He looked out over the army beyond the wall. The orcs and their commanders were breaking off, positioning catapults and setting up their camps in their new assigned locations. As dusk followed the sunset, camp fires lit across the landscape. The smell of wood smoke permeated the crisp evening air.

It’s campfires tonight, Grekenbach thought when alone on the tower. Will it be the smoke of my burning city another day? He shuttered, not sure if it was the cool evening air or the thought of the city burning that caused his chill and goose bumps. He rubbed his arms and turned back into the tower. That wizard gives me the creeps with his prediction. I don’t know why I listen to such rubbish.

*

In the Wizard’s Tower, Tolalo watched the figures moving on the page. Suddenly, he flipped through several volumes beside him and read a yellowed sheet he sought. He looked back at the figures, chills ran down his spine, he looked up stunned, then down at the figures again. He jumped up, ran out the door, and down the stairs to find the king.

* * *

Bodrin and his men joined Sengenwha’s senior general and the wizard at Botahar’s main gate as the midmorning sun’s rays went down over the wall. The sun illuminated the massive ramming tower ponderously rolling down the main road toward the central gate. Orcs in their black leather with their dark, blood-red shields encasing the tower were a grim sight. The creaking wooden wheels and great tree trunk protruding from the facade was a frightful warning of what was about to happen if the defenders couldn’t stop the colossal weapon. Archers on the walls shot arrows at the orcs and the straining ogres pushing the tower. A trail of bodies fell on either side of the road, but the tower’s advance didn’t slow.

“That thing will be hard to destroy,” Bodrin said.

The general grinned, wrapped his arm around the scrawny wizard, and hugging him side to side, then patted his far shoulder. The wizard turned red, clutched and shaken in the general’s firm grip. “This little man is going to help us overcome that menace.” The general looked down at the wizard like a father to a son just graduated. The wizard managed to break free and straightened his full length, rune-edged robe.

“You think they’re ready?” the general asked the wizard.

“They’ve been flying five minutes with no place to land. They should be ready now” the wizard replied. Grinning, he glanced up at the general and broke free of his grasp again. They both looked at Bodrin, who looked to each for an explanation but the Neuyokkasinian got only grins.

“You do the honors, Little Wizard,” the general said.

The magician bowed slightly to the two men and went to the tarp-covered surprise behind them. Bodrin then noted that a boy was sliding a stick back and forth across the floor of the container and something was flapping around inside. Immediately, the wizard nodded to the men behind him who pulled off the tarp, revealing a cage filled with flying crows. The closest man lowered a grate of limbs, forcing the crows to the floor. Another man took out the exhausted crows, passing them to the others, who dropped loops holding frog skin oil bags over the crow’s neck and one wing to secure it.

“The wizard has worked his magic on the oil so that it’s more viscous and will spread very rapidly.” The wizard nodded confirmation to Bodrin.

When the six dozen crows were all so encumbered, the men tossed them into the air. Seeing the flying crows, other men along the walls slapped swords against shield ensuring the tired crows would fly to the first, highest point away from the city. The trick worked and as the crows landed atop the approaching ramming tower, the thin frog skin oil sacks burst against the wood. The oil splashed down the tower.

Not knowing what to think of the sudden appearance of the crows, the orcs on the tower shooed them away. The crows flew off to the woods behind the burned farmhouse. The oil flowed down the wood structure of the tower in all directions.

After allowing time for the oil to spread well, the general gave the signal with his sword. Archers again shot at the tower but with flaming arrows. Though most of the arrows ricocheted off the shields, some slid through the cracks. The tower was soon burning top to bottom. Before the orcs could make any headway in controlling the fire, a catapult fired a great sack of oil, now that the tower was close enough. The whole tower burst into flames.

Bodrin saw the goblin general panicking in the distance. The general turned this way and that, apparently yelling instructions to aides that rushed down the slope carrying battle plan changes to counter the new disaster. The orc legions began to run toward the city walls with their ladders on both sides of the burning tower. Black oily smoke billowed from the abandoned and burning siege machine mixed with the stench of burning orcs and their leather garments. The foul smell drifted over the attackers, disheartening them in their attack.

Botahar’s general took a deep breath and grinned at Bodrin and the wizard. “Smells like roasted orc to me.”

“And so it is, General,” Bodrin responded, with a slight bow to the commander and grinning shaman. The cage behind them was set alight with the remaining oil and the whole thing flung over the ramparts onto the first ladders reaching the wall.

The orcs attacked the ramparts all that day, but were repelled with heavy losses. By the end of the day, the attack was clearly a failure. The goblin general had come down closer to the city, riding up and down behind the orcs, screaming orders. By late afternoon, he must have realized the attack was a failure and retreated up the slope to the enemy headquarters. Seeing the general retreat, the ogres driving the orcs abandoned the attack and they, too, retreated followed by the remaining orcs.

“The day is ours,” the general said.

Bodrin watched the retreat, wiped off blood splashed on his face and agreed. The men on the walls began throwing dead orcs over the battlements. They hauled up the abandoned ladders to burn, denying the orcs their future use. Others brought water to wash the slippery blood off the parapets.

“There’s less than one legion of them left,” Bodrin said. The general looked at the retreating army and nodded his head. “Not enough to mount a serious attack tomorrow.”

*

When General Tarquak rejoined the army at the siege of Botahar after sundown, he scanned the few remaining orcs hovering around their campfires. Cold, abandoned campfire sites dotted more space in his lines than those with living orcs. The last light of dusk closed down the grim poster of failure. Snatching the first orc that passed, Tarquak assumed the shell and screamed for the goblin general in charge of the day’s attack. No one knew where he was. The ogres quietly moved away from the headquarters and disbursed among the remaining orcs. Two ogres and one last goblin stood by, shaking and silent.

Tarquak grabbed the first one he came to, an ogre aide. “Find me that goblin general!” The ogre looked at the other two beside him and hung his head.

“I think that’un done run off,” the ogre said.

Tarquak wheeled about into the face of the ogre. “What do you mean, run off?” The ogre drew back, seeing the hideous grimace on the general’s orc face.

“I seen him riding up the slope back over the hill. He were riding at full gallop two hours ago, general,” the ogre said, he slumped.

Seething, Tarquak looked from one to the other of the three quaking aides. He lowered his voice to a guttural growl. “And did none of you stop him or find out where he was going? Is he coming back?”

No one said a word. All three shook their heads, looking at the tent’s dirt floor. Tarquak was unable to restrain his rage. In an instant, the orc sword flew out of its scabbard and the goblin’s head flew in the air, plopped down, and rolled back against the tent flap.

“You two drag that mess out of here and find that runaway goblin.”

The ogres grabbed the corpse and the head dragging them out of the tent. No one saw the goblin general again. Some orc searching for firewood at the crest of the ridge spread the word much later that he’d seen the goblin general heading southwest toward the Morass Mesas, but there was no confirmation.

What do I do now? Tarquak thought. He looked out over the widely scattered campfires. There’s not enough orcs to mount another attack. The king has told me flatly I’m doomed for eternity if I fail to subdue this kingdom completely. If I can’t break Botahar and take control of the river, I’m beyond hope. I’ll not go back down in the Well of Souls.

* * *

Queen Dagmar awoke next morning to the orcs still in their encampment up on the slopes. There was no sign of their moving back down the hillside for another attack. They remained in the camps all day. Late in the afternoon, she summoned Bodrin and the general.

“Whatever Tarquak decides to do next, it seems he’s not got enough creatures to attack the city again unless he can get reinforcements from somewhere else. I understand Prince Pindradese has launched his attack on Heggolstockin. If so, there will be no more forces from there. The only orcs available to Tarquak now are those in the southern marshes.”