The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (46 page)

“No,” Tarquak said. “Perhaps I may end this before it starts and save those slaves for more productive use.” The commanders looked to each other, but none looked at Tarquak. “Have the troops make camp for the night here on the slopes.” The general turned the horse back to the hilltop overlooking his troops and the city under siege. He sent an aide to bring back an ogre he’d put in charge of sacking Sekcmet Palace. When the ogre appeared before the general, he was shaking.

“Did you find any women in the palace that attended Princess Dagmar?” Tarquak asked.

“Yes, General, but only one, the rest had done run off.”

“Did you secure any of the princess’ personal property?”

“Secure?” the ogre asked. “Personal property, what’s that mean, General?”

“Find any of her stuff, you idiot.”

“Oh yeah, we gots some of her stuff.”

“Hair? Her hairbrush?”

“I’ll go look see.” The ogre disappeared. When he returned, he had in his hand a hairbrush with dried blood on the handle.

“What’s this?” Tarquak asked, looking at the blood.

“The woman didn’t want to tell me where the princess’ stuff was,” the ogre said. The most sinister grin was on his face.

Tarquak grinned back. “That will do,” Tarquak said. He turned to the aide. “Give this ogre an extra measure of meat tonight.” The general then took hairs from the brush and sucked his own energy to make the lethal vaporous plasma creation he then sent against the queen to kill her and end the struggle before an attack was necessary. 

*

Later, when the wizard destroyed the plasma creature, the queen had slumped, drained from the destruction of the assassin. Its energy dissipation has drawn her own energy through her hairs at the core of the monster. Bodrin had quickly grabbed the hairs and burned them in the fire before the evil infected her further through them.

Tarquak slumped back, too. The destruction of the plasma being had liberated energy from his own essence originally from that of the Dark Lord, who also knew instantly of the attempted assassination failure. When the general recovered somewhat weaker, he rested in his coffin through the night to restore his energy from the earth that resisted his pull.

Next night, in his tent, Tarquak met with his commanders, planning the attack on the city. He asked the officers’ advice, but they offered none. He expected they’d learned at Sengenwhapolis that he would make his own decisions, punishing any dissenters.

“We will attack the gate and throw it down on the first assault,” Tarquak said. He looked to the officers for approval of the plan, but they just stood immobile and mute.

* * *

Bodrin had only returned with his force two days before the attack. He’d overseen the backfilling of the road behind Botahar’s main gate. The supplies were stocked in the warehouses along the wharf, well back from the defensive walls and the gate. All preparations that could be done had been done. Now, the city waited. The last of the boats were dispatched along the river to return with additional supplies to sustain the city for a long siege. Bodrin, Queen Dagmar, her generals, and their aides met in the reception hall of the governor’s palace. Dagmar sat upon a makeshift throne at the center of a great conference table from the dining hall. The air was cool, and a steady breeze blew through the windows, ruffling the draperies. Guards posted by the windows and across the plaza watched for assassins. At the queen’s right sat Bodrin. To her left was Sengenwha’s senior general.

“The city must hold,” Bodrin said. “Not only will Sengenwha fall if Botahar falls, but Dreaddrac’s forces will control the river and close it to support traffic needed to sustain the war in Graushdem.”

“Yes, most of the remaining resistance forces are here in Botahar,” Dagmar said. “If the city falls, the kingdom falls.” Dagmar looked to the senior general. “General, what do you estimate the resistance forces are? Those scattered throughout Sengenwha beyond Botahar?”

The general shook his head. He looked at the other commanders around the table. Bodrin saw they shook or lowered their heads without speaking.

“Majesty, most of the organized forces are within the city now. So many that rallied to King Calamidese to retake Sengenwhapolis were slaughtered there. Few remain or escaped to the hills to mount another offensive battle,” the general said.

“Well then,” Dagmar said, her tone grave, “this is it. The city must hold or they will wipe us out defending it.”

“Majesty,” Bodrin said, “we cannot hold out here indefinitely. Without something to break the siege, the orcs will wait us out and destroy the city sooner or later.”

“We’ve not enough troops to attack the orc legions,” the general said. His hand slammed the table. His brilliant eyes stared at Bodrin.

“Gentlemen,” Dagmar said, “both of you are right, of course. But there must be a solution to this dilemma.”

“I’ll lead a force across and up the right bank of the river, cross back out of sight, and attack their flank, destabilizing their legions,” Bodrin said. “Maybe I can destroy their supplies. That would damage their morale and perhaps shorten their ability to sustain the siege.”

“Have you objections, General?” Dagmar asked, turning to him.

“We’ve not enough troops to defend the city as it is, but Count Vicksnak may take his own troops, the Neuyokkasinians, on such a questionable raid.”

Bodrin bristled. “Majesty, I studied General Tarquak’s last two battles where he was in command. He attacked the enemy head on and failed to guard his flanks. He’s a coward. If the assaults aren’t successful, his nerve dissipates quickly. He got promoted to general for such an assault, but in his last battle, his forces equaled his enemy’s, and he was unable to overwhelm them. He fled the field, abandoning his troops. I think, bolstered by his success at Sengenwhapolis, he’s now overconfident. He will again neglect his flanks to overwhelm the gate.”

“You could be right, Bodrin.” Dagmar said, studying his face. She turned to the general. “Release Count Vicksnack’s troops. Will that be enough men, Bodrin?”

“It’ll have to be, Majesty.”

*

Bodrin took his leave and his forces and crossed the river into Neuyokkasin’s Talok Province just after dusk but before the moon rose to expose them. He rushed up the river several miles, far enough away from the river for the low grounds to hide their movements.

“Where did you arrange for us to meet the boats?” Bodrin asked his aide.

“The boats are tied up in the creek that enters the river just ahead,” the aide answered. “It was good that you thought of this on the trip down from Hoya. It gave the farmers time to organize this flotilla.”

“I hope there will be enough boats,” Bodrin said.

Hidden back around a curve in the deep water creek, a line of boats appeared on the creek’s south bank as Bodrin’s force broke through the cypress trees in the swampy low grounds. The boats lined the creek, tied to river birches.

“Have the men file onto the boats, and be quiet about it,” Bodrin said.

The loading went smoothly, though some men slid down the embankments into the dark waters. Just before the last two boats filled, Bodrin, standing on a crest above the bank, heard a soft crack, the sound of a rotted timber breaking.

“What’s it?” Bodrin’s aide asked.

“Quiet.” Bodrin climbed a small tree and spotted the source. He looked down at his aide, who was still looking for the movement. He doesn’t see the intruder, he thought. Bodrin snatched his bow and an arrow and aimed carefully. I can’t afford to miss this shot.

“Is it a deer, sir?” the aide whispered, still looking toward the source of the sound.

The arrow whisked past the aide, making him flinch. There was a thud as the arrow found its mark in the chest of an orc scout. The two men went to the dark, nasty body, lying back, sinking in the black swamp muck. Sulfurous gas bubbled from around the carcass as it sank. The two men watched the body as the black, mucky water slid up and over the orc. Soon, only the arrow’s shaft still rose above the duckweed covered water that settled back into smooth silence.

“An orc scout?” the aide asked, still looking down on the moonlight reflecting from the last ripples of the dark slough.

“Yes, that’s one that won’t report back and reveal our position.”

The raiding party crossed the river with paddles muffled as they stroked across the dark current of the Nhy River. Bodrin disembarked his men on the Sengenwhan side. He organized them quickly on the field atop the riverbank after posting sentries to ensure no one spotted them. They moved with stealth south through the night, arriving at a forest edge above the plain that overlooked Botahar and the orc army preparing for an attack after sunrise.

“Keep the men out of sight and quiet,” Bodrin ordered. He crept along, but inside, the woods to reconnoiter the backside of the enemy’s force, looking for a weakness. He followed the forest edge until he came to a small farm with a large barn. Outside the structure were wooden crates and barrels of supplies beyond what the barn could contain.

There it is, he thought. The enemy’s concentrated his supplies and failed to post guards or even sentries. Tarquak is overconfident. He doesn’t expect any attack from outside the city. He thinks we are all shut up behind the walls.

Bodrin returned to his men, and with guards still posted to be sure they weren’t discovered, he pulled his men together in a tight circle.

“Men, a quarter mile further up this thicket, there’s a farm with a large barn. The enemy has stored his supplies in that barn, and I propose we burn it. Tarquak’s strength is his numbers, but those numbers require large amounts of food stuffs. If we can burn those supplies, Tarquak will have to win in his first assault on the city or break off the siege and return to Sengenwhapolis. The Sengenwhan farmers have taken all local supplies and food stores into the city. There’s nothing for the enemy to live off of except goods stored in that barn.”

“How can we, such a small force, take on Tarquak’s army if they turn on us?” one man asked.

“Tarquak’s failed to post more than a few guards at the storehouse. We must sneak in and silence those guards without any noise that could alert the army. Wrap animal skins or clothing around your boots to muffle them. Form into pairs. My aide here will assign each pair to a guard. Everything depends on your killing the sentries fast and without noise.”

“What then?” another man asked.

“When the sentries are silenced, all will converge on the backside of the barn. We’ll arrange the barn inside so that fires set will spread quickly through it. Some of you will put on the dead guards’ cloaks and stand out front. The rest will move the crates and barrels to again facilitate the fire’s quick spread. We will have little time to accomplish this. We don’t know when relief guards will come. Is all understood?”

The men looked at each other, then back to Bodrin, and nodded.

“My aide will make the assignments. Look to me for the signal to move on the sentries.”

After all was ready for the attack and Bodrin was about to give the signal, a troop of a dozen orcs marched around the farmhouse toward the barn. Bodrin motioned for his men to drop down. They lay in the leaves as the guards squabbled with their replacements.

“The attack’s about to start,” the replacements’ leader told the lead guard. “Tarquak wants you orcs to get with them others for the battle.”

“What about these here supplies?” the lead guard countered.

“Ain’t nobody gonna mess with this stuff. Now get these here orcs back down to the battle.”

Grumbling, the lead guard called for his orcs to assemble for the march down to the legions forming up for the attack on the city. Then, one of Bodrin’s men was bitten by something and, jerking his leg, snapped a dry twig.

“What’s that?” the lead guard asked, scanning the woods beyond the barn.

“I didn’t hear nothing,” the ogre from the encampment said. “Now get them guards back to the fight, or I’ll report you for a coward. You knows how Tarquak hates cowards.” There was a tense look on both the ogre and orc’s faces as each puffed up his chest and threw back his shoulders. Both grabbed his sword hilt. Bodrin thought there was a blood bath coming, but then both antagonists broke out in snickers.

“Come on orcses,” the lead guard shouted. The orcs marched with the arrivals back down the road to the legions aligning for the attack on Botahar.

Bodrin’s men crept forward and throttled the two remaining sentries just as they fought over some scrap by one of the barrels. His men spread through the barn, moving the supplies and straw for maximum fire spread. When all was done, his men moved quickly away from the building, ready for their flight back to the boats. Bodrin was about to fire the barn when he heard the commands for the enemy to begin their attack on Botahar.

“Get the men back to the boats as quickly as you can,” Bodrin told his aide. With that, he rushed to the back of the barn and started the fires, spreading them as he moved to the front and outside the barn. He tossed the torch to a large heap of crates and rushed to catch up with his men.

Something grabbed his leg; startled, he fell to the ground. One of the sentries recovered enough to crawl beside a crate and grab Bodrin’s leg as he passed. His heart jumped. There was no time. The men were waiting. He heard the shouts coming from the orcs as they attacked the city. As the orc drew his dagger to stab Bodrin, Bodrin whipped out his sword, jerking his leg to evade the dagger. He stabbed the orc through the heart, and the creature died releasing Bodrin’s leg. Heat from the exploding fire flashed over him. A flame blast shot over his arm, burning away the hair. Bodrin dashed to join the others. The boats cast off and sailed down river to Botahar, the men watching flames above the barn swirling in the wind, consuming the enemy’s food.