The Powterosian War (Book 5) (6 page)

The sergeant looked the young messenger up and down with a cocked eye. “You don’t look like a governor,” the sergeant said.

“No and you don’t look like a general, but you serve in that capacity for the moment as I do as governor.”

“That’s good enough for me,” the sergeant said. He turned and led two soldiers from the customs office to the walls.

Without ladders to scale the ramparts, the orcs shot arrows over them, killing a few of the defenders on the wall and one or two of the remaining townspeople. The messenger-governor rushed around the town calling for reinforcements to man the walls. Several men asked the man who he was and then joined the soldiers to hold back the orcs. When the new governor could find no more men he returned to the defenders to aid those holding off the invaders.

The goblin was furious. He seethed with rage, he snarled, directing the orcs’ attack from horseback. Finally, he shouted something to the troops. An ogre with orcs promptly rushed back to the forest to fell trees.

“Fire the walls,” the goblin screamed, riding back and forth in front of the wooden walls casting his grimace at the defenders. The orcs around him scrounged for any rags they could find. They wrapped and soaked the arrows in cooking oil and set them on fire. Then a volley of flaming arrows struck the walls. Several flew into the town, setting it alight.

“We can’t spare the men to put out those fires,” the messenger-governor shouted. “Hold your positions on the wall!”

The fire spread behind the soldiers, but the defenders fought on. The messenger-governor could feel the heat from the flames. Smoke, whipped by the wind, swirled around them, but the soldiers held the walls.

The furious goblin rode up and down the ramparts, driving the orcs on to the attack. Then he stood up in his saddle, turning his head so his ear was to the forest. He looked up and saw arrows, coming from deeper in the woods, strike down the party building ladders at the forest edge. Then soldiers broke out of the thickets racing to the smoldering town that was crumbling to embers and ash.

“The Heggolstockin army is coming,” Someone down the line shouted.

The messenger-governor thrust up his sword in recognition of the reinforcements.

“Retreat to the east!” the goblin said. He sat back in his saddle. The word spread across the orcs and ogres, who looked first to the fleeing goblin, then to the woods behind them. The Heggolstockin and Neuyokkasinian troops broke the siege. The Dreaddrac line dissolved into disorder. Orcs ran past each other, trying to follow the goblin and ogres on saber-wolves to the east.

Saxthor and the Heggolstockin general broke out of the woods, galloping in pursuit of the goblin while the rest of their army chased the panicking orcs. It was a disaster for the Dreaddrac forces. The messenger-governor watched as the Heggolstockin forces ran down the orcs fleeing into the woods east of Girdane. Finally he looked behind him and saw virtually the entire town of Girdane was smoldering rubble.

“Ain’t much to be governor of, is it?” the sergeant said, coming up to the messenger-governor.

“No, but this ash heap is still under the duke’s control. Dreaddrac and the enemy got no supplies here.”

That night Saxthor and the general returned to Girdane and the governor’s house; one of the few buildings still standing, having a slate roof and grounds preventing the fire from spreading to it.

“It seems you saved the town,” the general said to the young town official. He slapped the man on the back, grinning at him, then Saxthor. “This is one of my best men.”

The red-faced messenger bowed to Saxthor. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he said to the general, glancing at Saxthor.

“Well you must promote him, then. A governor can’t be a simple soldier, now can he?” Saxthor said.

“I suppose not,” the general said. He leaned back and looked at the governor straight in the face. “I suppose not indeed.” Saxthor drew out his sword.

“Kneel down,” King Saxthor said.

The governor looked puzzled and glanced at the smiling general who nodded his ascent. The man kneeled down before the king, who tapped him on the shoulders.

“Rise Baron Girdane,” Saxthor said. “As king of Neuyokkasin, we grant you the title under Neuyokkasinian law as a noble of the Kingdom of Neuyokkasin, until your sovereign lord makes it official within Graushdem for saving Girdane.”

The governor rose slowly, not taking his eyes off Saxthor. Saxthor held the sword in two hands, presenting it to the soldier, now baron, who stood speechless.

“Tomorrow we continue on to hunt down the goblin and what forces he has left,” Saxthor said. “They haven’t enough troops to mount an attack now on Heggolstockin. It will be a matter of wiping out this force and finding that goblin that could still be a danger if he gets more troops.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We appreciate your assistance in destroying this enemy and probably saving Heggolstockin,” the general said.

They went to get much needed rest after days of forced marches to catch the goblin’s army. Their rest was sound and deep.

*

The next morning, just before the army was leaving to find the remaining enemy, a messenger rode up with an urgent message from Duke Heggolstockin. Far from being relieved, Heggolstockin was now under attack from Dreaddrac forces that had crossed the Akkin at Feldrik, bypassed the fortress, and marched on the provincial capital in force.

“I suppose that’s where the goblin is heading as well,” the general said to Saxthor.

“Yes, that’s where he’s heading. His force isn’t sufficient to threaten Heggolstockin alone but added to the army already there it will still be dangerous. We must ride quickly to destroy the goblin and his soldiers before they join the others at the siege of Heggolstockin.”

The general struck a table with his fist. “Remain here and hold the city, Baron Governor,” the now grim faced general said to the former messenger. “Do what you can to shore up the ramparts and restore enough of the town that it may still be a trading center for supplies and troops coming north to the war.”

But as they were about to ride off in pursuit of the enemy, another messenger came from downriver rushing up through the ashes from the harbor. He handed Saxthor a communication from Bodrin in Botahar.

Saxthor read the message and the general watched his face. Gloom clouded the king’s eyes and a frown settled on him like frost crystals on a cold windowpane.

“Is Your Majesty okay?” the general asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I must leave you now and return with my troops to Botahar,” Saxthor said, folding the message and carefully sliding it into the breast pocket of his cloak. The general continued to look at Saxthor but dared not ask the king’s business. “There’s a rumor a dragon is coming to backup General Tarquak at Botahar,” Saxthor looked at the general, but said no more.

The general understood there was more, but clearly Saxthor didn’t want to divulge it. He snapped to attention and saluted the king. “It’s been a pleasure to serve with Your Majesty. If ever I may be of assistance to you, please don’t hesitate to call upon me. Heggolstockin owes you for your gallant service to Graushdem and the dukedom.”

“It’s been a pleasure to serve with you, General.” Saxthor saluted.

The general turned and led his army northeast in pursuit of the goblin.

*

Alone, Saxthor took out the letter from Bodrin and reread it. There was another warning from Count Vicksnak.

Remember that old bedraggled seer in the cave north of Botahar? She’s reappeared here most agitated. I can’t make sense out of it. She said, ‘King Saxthor is going the wrong way,’ but there was no explanation of what it meant. All she added was the following:

Gone to save, to lose

The false appearance smooth,

Yet the Southern wind

Disaster’s flame blows,

And treachery’s foul breath fanned,

Grows.

Saxthor refolded the note, returned it to his pocket, and immediately marched his force south toward Botahar, Bodrin, and the seer.

* *

In the ducal palace, Duke Heggolstockin read the message from one of the sentries sent to a lookout tower northwest of the city. Dreaddrac’s army would be within sight of the city before noon the next day. He sat back down, drained.

“Disaster follows on the heels of disaster,” the duke mumbled.

“What is it, my dear?” the duchess asked.

“The enemy is upon us.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the duchess bite her lip, but she didn’t make a sound. She put down her needlework, rose, and got the duke a goblet of refreshment.

“Send the messenger back in,” the duke ordered when the guard responded to his summons. “Ride round the lookout posts and recall all the sentries surrounding the city.” The messenger bowed and rushed out.

The duke turned to his wife when the door closed. “We’ve no army to take the offensive and there’s no relief coming from Graushdem. I suppose we must hold up and defend the capital until the army in the west comes to our aid.”

“Still no word from the general as to his defeating the goblin?” the duchess asked.

“No word as yet.” He looked up at Denubia. “You mustn’t get your hopes up, if the general doesn’t destroy the goblin and his army, all may be lost.”

The next morning the last of the scouts returned to the city. The gates were about to be shut up at noon when a messenger arrived from the general. It told the duke of his success at Girdane with King Saxthor’s help, but Girdane was a smoldering ruin and the goblin escaped with some of his troops heading for Heggolstockin. Again the duke slumped as he passed the letter to the duchess.

“So our fate is an unknown,” the duchess said after reading the letter. She passed it back to Anton, who tossed it into the fire and watched it burn. “At least the goblin’s force is reduced.”

The duke smiled at her new found optimism. He cleared his throat and stood up straight. “I think it’s time you left, my dear.”

“Left? I’m not going anywhere. I’m tired, it’s been a busy day. I’m going to stay right here on this couch” The duchess leaned forward and fluffed the pillows, then settled back down.

“I mean the city,” Anton said, his tone subdued.

“Why, whatever for?”

“My dear, you have done all you could with your ladies, but there’s nothing more you can do. The city can spare you now and I’d rather you were safe with your nephew in Graushdemheimer.”

“Well if that last report was true, the king is no better off under siege there than we are here.”

“You could go south down the river to Hoya. King Saxthor would give you refuge there until this mess is over.”

“You are my lord,” the duchess said, rising. She went to her husband and held him, nestling her head on his shoulder. “Where else would I be other than beside you? We’ll see this thing through, one way or the other, together.”

The duke felt his eyes water and fought to keep back a tear. “I’d really rather you were safe somewhere.”

“No, if anything happened to you, I couldn’t bear living without you,” she said. She patted his chest and returned to the couch. He wiped his eyes as she walked away. “Besides, this city is full of wives and mothers waiting for their husbands and children. I must stay as an example for them.”

Just after noon the next day, the sounds of the enemy drums reached the city causing panic in the streets. Old men kissed their wives goodbye as did mothers their young sons, when trumpets from the watchtower atop the western gate summoned all men in the city that could bear arms.

* *

The ogre general leading the Dreaddrac army down through Heggolstockin from Feldrik marched his three legions in formation across the plain, drawing them up before the provincial capital, Heggolstockin. Just out of range of the catapults on the city walls, the three legions split up and marched to stand before each of the primary city gates. Heggolstockin’s walls were but fifty feet high and her gates far less impressive than those at Graushdemheimer. The ogre general directed the placement of his legions, their camps, and their assignments for foraging and building siege machinery. He then rode around the city walls five times, studying the defenses with each pass. He spotted the duke and duchess standing on their balcony, watching him from atop the highest tower of the ducal palace.

For a week the orcs established themselves and built their siege towers, ladders, and rams as the impotent city watched nervously from the walls.

“Tomorrow we attacks,” the ogre general said in his tent to the commanders surrounding him. “I got a report today from the goblin general that he’s done lost his battle with them men in the west. But he got away and is gonna be here tomorrow. You can’t count on no goblin.” The ogre laughed his gruff laugh, looking at the others who quickly joined in chuckling. Then he looked at each officer with a piercing glare and all laughing stopped. “We’ll have this city beat and thems peoples dead or in chains afore that goblin gets here. You got that?” The commanders glanced sideways at each other, then nodded agreement, but none spoke. “Now get out.”

The next morning the general ordered the siege towers hauled up to the front of the troops. A great battering ram tree trunk swung ominously at the forefront, hanging from its great wooden carriage before the western gate. Trumpets sounded and the army moved forward to the walls of Heggolstockin. As the orcs came within range of the archers on the walls, a shower of arrows rained down on them, most deflected by raised shields, but still many orcs died in the ensuing salvos. The orcs marched on undeterred. When they reached the walls, they hoisted ladders that slapped quivering against the battlements. The orcs began climbing to overrun the defenders.