The Powterosian War (Book 5) (35 page)

“How about all them dead orcs there in front of the gate?”

“We was attacked and overwhelmed by a full cavalry unit rushing out of the gate on us. There was a mass of them, you got that? We was lucky to get away alive to warn the general afore he brung more of the army into the trap.”

“I got it,” the orc said with a smirk that revealed one protruding buck tooth.

The ogre’s story was passed around among the orcs before they formed up and began their march back to General Vylvex at Graushdemheimer.

*

The dozen grizzled old veterans still inhabiting Tossledorn peered through cracks. They watched the retreating orc force march off through the tall grass back northwest to Graushdemheimer.

“Clever Neuyokkasinian trick with these bows here,” the old custodian said. He leaned on his rake again. “Better pass the word to unload the bows afore the strings break.”

“I’ll get to it,” the retired soldier said, tying his leather straps to his armor. He spit on his sleeve and polished the metal breastplate. “Never thought I’d be wearing this old uniform again.”

“Yeah, well if you don’t stop eating all the supplies, you ain’t gonna get in it much longer with that gut you’re a sporting there.”

“Don’t you be calling me fat. I can take you on any day. You’ll think it’s another war, old man.” The retired soldier leered at his friend, clearly blustering and walked off to disengage and unload the crossbow clusters.

The old custodian watched his old board game friend, shaking his head. He went back to raking up rubbish, the warmth of his friendship taking the years away.

* * *

The wind from the Talok Mountains whistled around the spire above the Hoyahof’s highest tower where a sentry was pointing out to General Sekkarian a flotilla coming down the Pundar River. The boats’ sails billowed out with oars plowing hard and white water spewing off the prows.

“There are so many,” General Sekkarian mumbled.

“Are they ours?” the sentry asked. “Are they more refugees coming from Girdane?”

“They’re of Dreaddrac design. Their crews are in black leather.” Sekkarian said, leaning forward on the railing. “They bode ill for Hoya. Sound the alarm.” The sentry blew hard on his trumpet.

Sekkarian rushed down the tower stairs. The trumpets blared throughout the fortifications. Before the general could reach the main level of the Hoyahof, the whole city was racing about gathering supplies and bringing up arms for a siege. Soldiers on the wharf moved to close the spiked chains across the Pundar, closing it to river traffic and preventing the boats from accessing the city by water.

“General,” a messenger called out, pushing through the throng between them. “Across the river, coming from Sengenwha, there is an army approaching from the southwest.”

This young soldier breathes hard, Sekkarian thought. The alarm in his face suggests this will be more than a skirmish. He crumpled the message and climbed the tower steps again to view the new army for himself.

The first orcs broke from the forest across the river and began to disperse along the river bank. There numbers kept growing. Then the insignia and standards of the various units were planted along the bank under which the troops assembled. Black leather uniformed orcs covered the bank. Ogres cast nasty, challenging grins at Hoya.

This is going to be a full scale assault, Sekkarian thought. They mean to overwhelm Hoya before we can summon help. “Send a message to King Saxthor immediately,” the general said.

“General,” another messenger called out, rushing up handing him a message.

When he read it, the general sighed and dropped his hand that held the message. “You there, that message for King Saxthor, add that Prince Pindradese sails down the Pundar with his army to attack Hoya as well. The full force of Dreaddrac is come upon us.”

The Chowzenschwang Awakens

King Saxthor marched his band over steep, rocky terrain. They stayed below the exposed higher levels of the mountains where no trees grew. Mountain goats stood as sentinels watching them pass below. They crossed frothy white streams that raced down the slopes amid the rocks where ice crystals formed at the edges, ensnaring the cold water in ice at nights. The crisp mountain air was invigorating but a warning of times to come.

“We must reach the pass at the Helgenstat and be prepared for the imperial army when it approaches,” Saxthor told his men. “We’ll only get one chance at stopping them. If they get through the pass, it’s not likely we can prevent them from descending to the plain and overrunning Konnotan. Your homes and families depend on us holding that pass.”

“A third of the imperial army died in that flood, Your Majesty. Are there enough of them to undertake the conquest of Neuyokkasin?” a man asked.

“There must still be a dozen legions, maybe more; that’s three times our army.”

“Are you sure they will attack? Having lost so many of their forces, they must think of abandoning the campaign.”

“Emperor Engwan IV doesn’t think of such things, only what he wants. What are six or eight legions lost to the empire? The emperor cannot fathom losing a campaign. Courtiers have fed his ego his whole life. I’m counting on his arrogance demanding he pursue this war to victory.” Saxthor poked the campfire with a stick, shifting the wood and enjoying the flurry of warmth amid the shower of sparks. “Failure would so weaken his throne, he might well fear rebellion and the possibility of being deposed.”

“And you are sure they will come to Helgenstat?”

“A lot rest with that farmer convincing the emperor there’s a pass where he can yet get his army through the mountains. I think it’s a race to see if he can snatch Neuyokkasin before Dreaddrac can. He doesn’t have much time to do so. He can’t wait a month for the plain to dry out. He’ll have to march through the mountains if he’s to win this war and seize the kingdom quickly.”

“Then we must ride on immediately,” the soldier said. “We’ll show the emperor what Neuyokkasinians are made of.” The man tossed a stick on the fire, got up, bowed, and walked to a sheltering rock. He wrapped himself in his blanket and turned away from the light to sleep.

Poking at the fire, Saxthor stamped out a burning coal with his boot that had fallen outside the rock enclosure. In the firelight he saw Dagmar’s face as she rode beside him across the hills outside Konnotan. Her elegant form gracefully undulated with the horse’s strides. She smiled, and it warmed him. The last of the men rolled up in blankets and turned to sleep. Saxthor sighed and did the same.

* * *

The Emperor Engwan studied the maps on his field table as he drank his morning elixir. He’d dismissed his servants and analyzed the political situation along with the maps. Word had already reached him of grumblings back at the capital, Engwaniria. The nobles were questioning his desire for such an expensive war for territory the empire didn’t need. He’d raised taxes to support the massive army and this campaign. The nobles and merchants alike grumbled while the emperor was away observing the war.

The situation at home is getting dangerous, Engwan decided and shuddered. This war must be won expeditiously. “Send in the generals.” The guards held back the tent flaps as a small parade of commanders marched into the imperial presence. “Where is this peasant you told us about?”

Waiting outside, a guard ushered in the farmer. He twitched and shook at the sight of the splendor within the massive purple tent. He dropped to his knees and fell forward, his forehead touching the plush carpet.

“You may rise,” the emperor said.

The farmer scrambled to get up, looking left and right at the dozen magnificently attired generals each outdoing the next. He glanced at the emperor and quickly dropped his head, fearing to look at the august personage.

“Our generals tell us you live in this region and know of some pass through the mountains further to the east. Is that so?”

“Yes, Imperial Majesty. There is such a pass. Few go there.”

“Can you lead us there?”

“If Your Majesty commands it, at least near to it.”

“Know if you are lying or fail to get us there quickly, you and all your family will forfeit your lives. We shall burn your village with all the inhabitants locked in your huts.”

The man dropped to his knees again. He crumpled his hat, twisting and turning in anguish. He began moaning.

“If you lead us there as you say you can, all will be spared, and you yourself shall be richly rewarded. Stop that wailing.” The emperor motioned for the nearest general to get the man to his feet. The commander lifted the farmer by his elbow and pulled him out of the tent, bowing repeatedly to everyone he saw all the way out.

“Gentlemen, it’s our pleasure that you organize the remaining forces and be ready to march by noon today. We shall leave the valiant dead. There is no time to bury them and we can’t get to those in the flood waters, in any case. We must prosecute this war at once or fail all together. It’s not in our thoughts to consider failure. You generals must reorganize and rally your troops. Be ready to march at noon. That is all.”

“Majesty,” a general said. “Our forward sentries have caught a Dreaddrac spy watching our troop movements. There may be others.”

“Yes, well, torture him and find out if there are others.”

“We’ve done so. The creature admits that a spy has already left for Dreaddrac to inform the king of the disaster here on the flooded plain.”

“Kill him,” the emperor ordered, throwing his goblet at the tent wall.

The reformed but dejected imperial army marched reluctantly to the east along the foothills below the mountains, following the farmer’s lead. Even the emperor had to admit to himself that the slumped soldiers, dragging their weapons, were not enthusiastic about pursuing the war.

*

Bodrin left Tonelia and his troops to camp at the foot of the mountain below the awesome ruins of the great Castilyernov Helgenstat. He cautiously climbed the mountain through fog. The cool, moist air under the tree canopy penetrated his cape and uniform. Damp twigs snapped beneath his feet, muffled in the ancient musty leaf litter. He climbed for what seemed like forever. Then his heart pounded. A massive, moss-covered tower appeared ahead in the gloom, amid the crooked and twisted trees. Great hairy vines dangled like massive snakes from them. He clutched his grandfather’s sword hilt as he climbed the steep slope by the stream that had cut the pass through the mountains. The water was dark for mountain water. It didn’t bubble and splash over the stones but seemed brooding as it sped away from the mountain. The eerie mist that shrouded the mountain made the chill even more penetrating; he shivered. As he approached the ruins, the chill grew colder. Murkiness enveloped the ruins before his eyes and the tower disappeared. Bodrin climbed on, slipping on the rotting vegetation covering the rock-strewn slope, but he finally reached the foundation of the great citadel. He marveled at the massive stones that formed the base of Castilyernov Helgenstat though they were shrouded in thick dark moss. A huge salamander slithered from beneath a rotting log that had fallen by the wall. Bodrin jumped at the sight. The creature flicked its tongue and slowly but ominously retreated back beneath the log. The musty odor of decaying vegetation mixed with a faint stench of rotting flesh. Bodrin looked up but couldn’t see the top of the wall that disappeared in the vapor. He searched through the day, but there was no sign of a break in the wall or towers before the light began to fade. Bodrin turned back and descended the mountain without having found the entrance gate to the fortress.

I dare not get trapped on this mountain in the dark, he thought. I must get back down to the army before darkness descends, shrouding the slope, making movement impossible. He scrambled down, sliding on the slick vegetation, slowing his decent by grabbing at crooked limbs and vines. He just made it back to the camp as black night, devoid of stars beneath the pursuing mist, swallowed the mountain.

“Are the troops well deployed?” Bodrin asked.

“Yes. What’s it like up there?” Tonelia asked. She wiped moist, rotting leaves and a slug from Bodrin’s cloak.

“Sinister, that’s all I can say. I didn’t locate the entrance. It’s more massive than any castilyernov I’ve seen on my travels; I can tell you that. The Occintoc Empire must have been everything the old stories claimed it was to have built such a massive structure.”

“Is there something evil there as they claim?”

“Who knows, I didn’t see anything living there but a giant salamander. That creature was scary; I must admit. There was no sign of anything moving through the leaves, no animal trails, nothing to suggest anything goes there. We’ll remain here as Saxthor ordered until he arrives.”

The next morning, Bodrin again climbed the slope to the Helgenstat. He rode his skittish horse cautiously around the seemingly endless structure, probing again for the entrance. Finally, he came to a stone arch so large he didn’t recognize it as a gate at first. The portal rose three stories high but it stood out alone from the fortress like a triumphal arch. He probed for the collapsed stonework that should have connected it to the fortress, but there was no fallen stonework anywhere.

This can’t be a gate, he thought. The wall of the fortress beyond is solid stone. There’s no way to pass through the arch and into the Helgenstat. And yet it’s there and there’s no other structure. I’ve ridden around the massive complex and there is no gate. Only two massive stone arches twenty feet from the walls on opposite sides of the fortress.

He studied the arches whose lichen covered stones bore no other sign of decay or damage. He passed through the arches and felt a buzzing sensation as he did so, but nothing happened. No opening appeared in the stone wall beyond. Looking up at the arch and wall for response, he tripped and looked down at the bones of some large beast he didn’t recognize. Scratching through other mounds in the leaf litter he found more skeletons.

“How could anyone get in or out of such a fortress?” he mumbled to his horse. “And what are all these bones doing here? Do they have anything to do with the arch?” He looked up at the dark towers and spires rising within the walls. “The outer towers are still undamaged. The center of the complex, what I can see of it from the slopes, is missing the great keep towers that should be there.” He scratched his head and knocked off a leech that moved in his hair.

It was again getting dark. He’d spent the whole day making his way around the great complex looking for the missing gates. At the first sign of dusk, he made his way back to the camp, frustrated with his findings. Better not tell Tonelia about the skeletons, he thought.

“What did you find out today?” Tonelia asked. She jumped back, knocking a huge leech off the cloak. She stomped it, glanced up at Bodrin, then stomped the tough leech again.

“Nothing much, I couldn’t find an entry way in the walls, none whatsoever. There was only a pair of massive stone arches to suggest a gate but totally unconnected to the great citadel. There appears to be no way in or out.”

Memlatec had ridden ahead of Saxthor’s band and reached the army as Bodrin returned from his inspection of the Helgenstat. He came to see Bodrin at once. As Tonelia brushed his cloak, searching for more leeches, the old wizard interrogated Bodrin. “What did you find at the Helgenstat?” Memlatec asked. His face was grave, his eyes wide. He clasped Bodrin’s wrist with his boney hand as if checking a pulse.

“There’s nothing much there. The center of the Helgenstat seems to be missing if that makes any sense. Strangest of all, I went completely around the complex and never found any sign of a gate or any break in the walls. There are two massive stone arches beyond the walls, but no gate. I can’t see how anyone or anything could get in or out.”

Memlatec frowned. He put his fingers on either side of Bodrin’s head and pressed gently, his fingers strangely warm against Bodrin’s temples. The wizard looked off at some vision. “You noticed some buzzing sensation as you passed through the arches,” Memlatec said, removing his fingers. Tonelia looked up and froze, staring at Bodrin.

“It was just a sensation, nothing of note.”

“And the skeletons, what of those?”

“What skeletons?” Tonelia blurted out, dropping the cape and coming to Bodrin, who felt his face flush.

“Just some long dead bones. There was nothing dangerous for you to worry about, Tonelia.” He put his reassuring hand on hers, seeing the look she gave him.

“Hum…” Memlatec said. He looked hard at Bodrin for a moment and left without a word.

That night clouds rolled over the mountain pass and a cold rain ensued for three days and nights. The army was huddled in their tents. The ground was wet beneath them and the wet crept up their boots. The rain seemed endless. The darkness was pitch black. Even in the day time the light through the clouds and rain was silvery, not like sunlight. The army’s morale degenerated with the gloom, infected with it. The troops were ready to abandon the expedition and return to the capital, when the rain stopped in the morning light of the fourth day.

When Bodrin came out of his tent, he heard a horse neighing and looked to the edge of the trees. King Saxthor was riding his stallion through the drizzle toward Bodrin. His band, also soaked to the bone, was following close behind him. Bodrin went back inside his tent and got the dispatches for the king that had caught up with him just as the army began to ascend the foothills below the mountain pass.