Rise of the Blood Masters (Book 5) (19 page)

The torch flew toward the earth, hissing and crackling, before finally reaching the oil-soaked ground outside the gate. A wall of flame roared up, blanketing their attackers with fire. Orcs screamed and fled in terror, clawing at their burning faces. Skemtun called to the spellcaster. “Strengthen the fire wall!”

A dwarf spellcaster came up behind him and raised his skinny arms. He knew what to do.
“Incêndio!”
he cried, his voice coming out in a croak. The fire flashed a brilliant white, spreading out farther, burning higher and hotter, consuming everything in its path.
“Incêndio!”
cried the spellcaster again, his breath wheezing. Fire spread outward into the horde. Flashes of smoke appeared within the wall of fire as orcs were consumed by the flames. Burning along with their siege tools, the orcs screamed and tore at their leather armor.

“Try to destroy that battering ram!” cried Baltas, and the spellcasters renewed the spell over and over.  The flames kept spreading, reaching the spot where the orcs’ siege weapon lay, winding up and readying for its first assault. The battering ram was claimed by the fire. The flames ate through the wooden wheels, and the machine collapsed in a burning heap. The orcs scrambled back, retreating to the tree line.

The fire raged on. The dwarves looked down at the carnage. The air was so filled with smoke and burning bodies that it was impossible to see the battlefield. Minutes ticked by, then hours. The smoke cleared slowly, and once it did, as far as anyone could see, there was carnage and burned corpses.

Bodies, covered with blood and soot, were heaped on top of one another. Remnants of their equipment lay on the field, charred and broken. Baltas came up behind Skemtun and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, well done. We got ‘em good.”

Skemtun wasn’t so sure. A few hours remained until dawn, and the orcs would continue to fight through the night and possibly the next day. But their front line had been decimated. Thousands had been killed.

Skemtun slowly lifted his lips. “Maybe there’s hope for a victory after all, eh?”

Baltas smiled. “Aye, I thought it’d be tough, and it was, but this might be the worst of it. They don’t have any siege equipment left, except for a few ladders. That’s not enough to beat our defenses. Now we just need to withstand the siege and whittle away their forces until they give up and go home. A few months of dealin’ with a siege and they’ll turn around, just like they did last time. Sure, they can pound on the gates, but without proper equipment, what can they do? Maybe King Nar isn’t nearly as smart as everybody says he is! Heh, heh!” 

Skemtun wanted to leap up and cheer. “A victory like this is exactly what we needed. Even the dragon riders can help us now. They can get us food supplies and will spread word to our allies. We’ll make it!”

“Aye, so we will,” said Baltas, smiling. All around him, the dwarf soldiers on the ramparts whooped and roared and clapped gauntlets over steel-clad backs.

But then something else caught their attention. A sudden burst of shouts made Baltas turn and look beyond the battlefield. He looked beyond the smoke and still-smoldering flames. Furrowing his eyebrows, he whispered, “What in bloody ‘ell is that?”  

Skemtun asked, “What?”

“Just look. Look at that!” Baltas pointed a trembling finger into the distance.

Skemtun spun around. From the forest, an army of drask appeared, lumbering out of the trees, snapping at everything with dripping jaws. “Well, the drask can’t scale walls,” Skemtun said.

“Not that,” said Baltas quietly. “Look behind ‘em.”

Skemtun struggled to see through the haze and darkness. He gasped when he saw what had upset the old dwarf. Another battering ram, covered with branches to camouflage its presence, emerged. As it came into view, the orcs tossed its leafy camouflage to the ground. There was a terrible clanking sound as the machine inched forward.

This battering ram was gigantic, easily twice as large as the other one that they had just destroyed. By the looks of it, it was also much better constructed. While the other machine was made of wood and ropes, this machine gleamed with iron plating and countless rows of bronze spikes. It had a giant iron head, covered in black tar and carved into the shape of a hammer.

Skemtun gasped.
The other machine was a decoy!
King Nar had tricked them!
The horrible realization hit him like a fist in the gut.

The huge machine lumbered down the hillside, and into the scorched fields. Countless orcs pushed from behind. The orcs cheered as the giant ram lurched forward.  The machine rolled up the ridge to the gates—no small feat for the orcs. On the horizon, the sun was just starting to rise. All their burning oil was gone, and it would take at least a day to prepare more. Half their arrows were used up, and the spellcasters were exhausted. What hope was there of keeping the orcs out of the city now?

Baltas cursed. The dwarves had played their hand too soon. With a shaking voice, he cried out, “Man the catapults! Take down that machine!” The dwarves loaded their catapults with stones and small boulders; anything they had. The stones flew into the horde below, killing dozens, but doing no visible damage to the machine.

“We’ll get through it,” Baltas said, his voice cracking. “We’ve always made it through in the past, and we’ll do the same again.”

Skemtun nodded and wanted to reply, but when he opened his mouth, he couldn’t speak. Only a croak came out. He could see their troops shaking, beginning to falter. Any sense of bravery was gone. Fear and confusion appeared on their faces.

He forced a smile. He had to put on a brave face, for the men at least.

The ram passed through the worst of the burned areas, crushing dead bodies in its wake. Now the machine’s momentum carried it forward down the hillside. More orcs ran to surround it, grunting and pushing to get it into position.

Near the back of the horde, a huge orc wearing iron chain mail appeared. There, riding a massive, armored drask, sat King Nar himself. Nar was deep in conversation with another orc. Hanging from his side was a broadsword. Magnificent black armor, decorated with polished animal skulls, encircled his barrel-like chest. The Orc King widened his jaw to reveal jagged rows of gleaming yellow teeth, each longer than a man’s thumb. Even from a distance, the dwarves could see that Nar was laughing.

At dawn, the new machine reached the front gates. For a brief moment, the world hung still and all was silent. Skemtun raised a shaking hand and took a gulp from his water skin.

The dragon riders were flying directly above them now, circling in tight formation. Skemtun couldn’t see their faces, but he knew what they were thinking. It was what they were all thinking. If the gates failed, they’d be annihilated.

The orcs pushed the ram into position and grabbed the ropes. They pulled back, lifting the head so high that it almost reached the battlements. Then, they let go. The gears spread open and the battering ram swung forward.

“Ram!” Baltas yelled. He raced off, shouting commands to the frightened troops.

A loud boom, like thunder, resonated through the air. The soldiers stationed above the gate lurched from side to side, stumbling backwards from the wall. The ground rattled horribly, sending two archers toppling over the sides. They were quickly torn to pieces by the orcs below.

“Look out!” screamed Baltas. “Step back from the wall!”

Another boom sounded, this time followed by a crack and low whine.

Suddenly, Kathir appeared at the top of the stairs. For a second he stood there, frozen, taking in the chaotic scene. “What’s going on? Why didn’t anyone call for me?” he said, his voice laced with alarm.

Skemtun turned with a horrified cry. “The orcs are at the gate! They’ve breached our defenses!”

Kathir rushed to Skemtun’s side. “I’ve got to get you out of here!”

Skemtun shook his head. All around him, dwarves were paralyzed with fear.

“Boom!” went the battering ram again, striking the ancient gates. A single dent appeared in the right door, and one of the hinges ripped from its frame. The terrible tremors caused a rock-fall that spilled debris onto the battering ram and the orcs below. A cloud of dust rose up, but the orcs didn’t stop their attack.

“Boom!” came another attack. A few moments later, the sound of the battering ram ceased, and the iron gates of Mount Velik collapsed.

Thousands of orcs rushed forward, overwhelming the small battalion stationed inside the gate. The orcs poured through the shattered doors. The dwarves watched helplessly as the horde stormed into their now-defenseless city.

Baltas spun around, shrieking new orders. “The walls are breached! They’re coming through! We need help! Save the women and children!”

Kathir rushed to the edge of the wall and gasped. “Please, Skemtun, you’ve got to listen to me,” he pleaded, grabbing the dwarf’s shoulder. “I'm telling you, we need to get out of here now.  If we don’t leave now, we won’t get another chance. The orcs will be coming up the stairs any minute. It’s my job to protect your life! You’ll die here!”

Adrenaline surging, Kathir jumped forward, trying to pull Skemtun towards the door. The madness of panic took over as it looked like they could be trapped above the doors, unable to escape.

Skemtun jerked away and grabbed his axe, raising it above his head. “I can’t abandon my people. I must see this through to the end.”

They heard a loud grunt behind them and swung around to see an orc hurdling up the stairs. The orc faced them with a terrible shriek. There was another one right behind him.

“It’s too late, it’s already too late…” Skemtun cried, swinging his axe into the neck of the first attacker.

It was over…Mount Velik had fallen.

The Temple

              Far away in the Elburgian Forest, Tallin and Mugla continued onward toward the coast. The sun was bright, the air clear and cool. They flew low above the treetops, and Tallin shrouded them with a concealment spell whenever they flew over a village.

They had already been traveling for several days. This morning they would cross over the pass dividing the city of Faerroe and the Jutland River valley, about the midway point in their journey. Tallin and Mugla kept their minds warded and closed to any telepathic communication. They didn’t want to risk any more unpleasant contact with the elves. Because of this, they were oblivious to the carnage wreaked upon the dwarves, or the bloodshed at the Elder Willow.

A large bird flew up from a nearby tree and almost hit them, but Duskeye swerved easily. The sudden movement took Mugla by surprise, and she yelped with surprise. “Look out!”

Tallin chuckled and steadied his aunt by grabbing her around the shoulders. “Sorry about that. I’m used to sharp turns, but sometimes I forget that not everyone is a dragon rider.”

She gave her nephew an exasperated look. “Can ye be a little more careful?”

“Sorry,” Tallin said, tapping the dragon’s shoulder. “Let’s go a little higher, Duskeye.” The dragon nodded and rose smoothly into the clouds.

“How close are we?” asked Mugla. “It’s been a long time since I’ve traveled this far west. The countryside looks different than it did two hundred years ago.”

“We’re still many days from the coast,” replied Tallin.

“Will the elves get there before us?”

Tallin shook his head. “No, the elves are traveling on foot. They’ll arrive at the rendezvous point later than us. Duskeye flies faster than they can run, so we can take our time.”

Mugla smiled. “Well, that’s nice. I enjoy seein’ the countryside.”

Along the way, they stopped to rest and spend the night at various points. One day, they were delayed for several hours while Tallin repaired a tear in Duskeye’s saddle. It rained heavily the following day, so they waited outside the city of Jutland for the storm to pass. Tallin found a dry cave for them to sleep in, and although he didn’t get much rest, it felt good to lay down and relax.

Mugla stretched out on the floor, wrapped her shawl around her body, and went to sleep. Tallin was hungry but the idea of food wasn’t tempting. He felt too nervous about their journey.

Soon the rain cleared, but a thick fog remained. Tallin donned a heavy wool cloak and gave his aunt a thick blanket to wrap around herself. The cold fog made flying uncomfortable, but safer for all of them.

They spoke little, except for Tallin’s infrequent comments about the landscape or some village that they happened to pass. Each was sunk in their own thoughts.

Tallin seemed increasingly preoccupied, while Mugla kept anxious eyes on her nephew, waiting for an appropriate time to tell Tallin her news about Skera-Kina. The last few days had turned everything on its head. She no longer knew what to think. But instead of sharing her fears, she kept quiet, not wanting to upset him.

As the days passed, the forest became sparser, and wild vegetation covered the landscape. The remaining trees became smaller and spaced farther apart. As nightfall approached on the twelfth day, the coastline became visible on the horizon. There was a lull in the wind and the fog dispersed, revealing a bright skyline. Sea birds were visible in the distance, diving into the water to catch their dinner.

They stopped one last time to rest, camping on top of a hill. A short distance from their camp lay a tiny settlement of less than a dozen homes. Beyond the valley there was nothing but ocean, vast and wide.

The temperature dropped sharply in the evening, and after some consideration, Tallin decided to build a small fire, something that they had avoided for most of the journey since it drew attention to their location.

As the sun dipped down into the sea, the ocean became a brilliant purple streak above the dunes. Even from a distance, one could tell that the water was rough, with frothy whitecaps all across the surface. The distant sound of waves pounding onto the shore traveled inland on the breeze.

Tallin turned his head to gaze at the horizon. “It’s been several years since I’ve been this close to the Black Sea. I’d forgotten how the ocean sounded.”

“The waves are high. That means that the Lord of the Ocean is mad today,” Mugla said. “We should throw some bread into the water to appease him.”