The Powterosian War (Book 5) (7 page)

Boiling water and buckets of oil met them from above. Torches lit the oil, burning both orcs and the ladders. Scalding water left more screaming and falling, but some orcs managed to get to the top and gain footholds on the walls.

There weren’t enough men on the ramparts to defend them, and those that were there were ill prepared to fight hand to hand with orcs. The defenders quickly lost control of the fortifications in several places.

“Looks like I’ll have the city before sunset,” the ogre general said to an aide. He rode round the walls shouting commands to the orcs, “Your heads is gonna hang from your own pikes ifn any you orc cowards retreat.” The battle raged on.

* *

The duke directed the defense from the western gate tower amid his strongest remaining cohort of soldiers that formerly guarded the palace. He was issuing orders and moving soldiers to hot spots when his meek, nervous wizard shuffled up. He wasn’t much of a wizard, hired cheap in a provincial town, but he clearly wanted the duke’s attention.

“What is it?” Duke Anton asked, glancing up and down between the wizard and the situation map on the table before him. He looked out the door to the south and yelled for reinforcements to the south gate. The timid wizard stepped forward but was evidently afraid to speak.

“What is it, man? You can’t see I’m busy here,” the duke barked, still looking this way and that making instant decisions as to disposition of the few troops he had left.

“I want to help,” the wizard said, barely above a whisper.

The duke looked up, staring at the magician. The little man in a dirty robe without even runes dropped his head at the stare. The desperate duke went back to studying his situation map. “Better you go find some place to hide. You’re good with amusing tricks for the court, but you’re no match for this situation,” the duke said; then realizing how hurtful he sounded, he cast a smile to the bright-eyed little man. “I appreciate your offer to help.” He looked back down at his map.

“But I think I can be of service, Your Grace.”

Again the duke glanced up at the wizard who didn’t look away this time.

“And what do you propose to do?”

“I have this spell, you see.”

“A spell,” Anton said. He looked out the door to the north and shouted an order to an aide to take to the north wall’s commander. He then looked back at the wizard. He saw no hope from that quarter but gave the man a moment to collect himself.

“Well, I found this spell that … well…” Embarrassed, the wizard flushed.

“Out with it, man, or be gone. I have no time for this.”

“It’s a love potion spell, Your Grace,” the wizard blurted out, looking the duke in the eye.

The duke was stunned. He didn’t know what to say and broke into laughter. The aides outside the doors on either side glanced into the room at the duke. “A love potion?”

“Yes, you see we could put it in their food and they would fall in love with the nearest living thing in sight, each other, and forget their attack.”

“Orcs falling in love with each other, have you lost your mind?”

“Yes, well no, I’ve not lost my mind, I mean the powder has to be ingested so we could put it in a large wagon of ox meat. We could leave that near where the orcs have broken through the wall. Well they haven’t actually broken through yet, but we could allow them to do so at some obscure spot to grab the food and then…”

“You’ve lost your mind,” the duke said, not taking his eye off the wizard.

The little man slumped. Again his head drooped forward looking down at the floor in silence. The humiliated wizard turned to leave.

The idea is insane, but then all we have to lose is a cart of meat, the duke thought. Anything that could divert an attack could give time for the general coming from the west to arrive and counter attack the orcs from behind. “Get back here,” the duke said as the bedraggled wizard was starting down the tower steps.

The wizard turned on his heel and rushed back to the duke as if re-inflated.

The duke scratched out an order and handed it to the magician. “Take this to the commissary at the barracks by the southern gate. They will issue you a cart full of meat. You’d better not be wasting precious food. Show this to the commander at the south gate. He’ll know where to place the cart and what to do to pretend a retreat long enough for the orcs to break in and find the cart. Who knows what this foolishness will do, but we may as well try anything at this point.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the wizard said, his tone effervescent. He bowed again and again, backing out of the tower observatory and disappeared.

“A love potion,” the duke mumbled. An aide near him looked at him. “Never you mind the wizard,” the duke said. He went back to issuing orders for the defense of the city.

*

The wizard hurried through the dusty city streets, past houses with worried matrons, straining at their windows, trying to get a glimpse of the fighting high on the walls. He hurried through the barracks at the south gate and found the sergeant in charge of the commissary. When the man read the duke’s order, shaking his head, he looked up at the wizard with a puzzled expression.

“Can you get it ready quickly?” the wizard asked. “I’ll need it as soon as possible.”

“I’ll have it ready time you get back,” the sergeant said, shaking his head. He handed the order back to the wizard, scratched his head, and went to fill the directive.

The wizard rushed off to find the commander of the southern gate and showed him the order, realizing there wasn’t time to explain or argue. The commander, like the sergeant at the commissary, stared at the wizard for a moment, and then nodded acknowledgement to comply with the mandate.

“I’ll arrange for the orcs to break through here at the side of the gate where their battering ram has cracked the wall. When the cart arrives from the commissary, I’ll have it here. What’s this all about?”

“Never mind that,” the wizard said, his voice reflecting a newfound self assurance that surprised even him. “I’ll be right back.” The wizard rushed off to his tower workroom and grabbed the sack of potion he’d been working on for days. Though it was not too heavy, the sack nearly jerked the frail little man to the floor. He regained control of himself and rushed out the door, clutching the sack in both arms. He reached the commissary just as the kitchen staff was about to roll the cart to the wall. With the sergeant and cooks help, they were able to liberally dust the potion over all the slabs of meat. Together, they were able to move the wagon to the wall just as the wizard instructed.

“Be sure you all strip and wash yourselves completely, and wash your clothes, too, before you touch hand to mouth,” the wizard shouted to the staff as they moved the cart in place.

At the south gate, they placed the cart just so. As the orcs began to break through, the defenders moved back allowing the orcs to claim the prize just at sunset.

At the western gate tower observatory, the duke slumped, exhausted. He’d been able to repel the invasion the whole day to his and the ogre general’s surprise. As the last rays of sun dappled shadows from distant trees over the walls, the orcs began to withdraw to their camps. They moved up the slope. An aide tapped Anton on the arm, then pointed to the cart. The orcs at the south gate were slowly hauling it back to camp.

“That little wizard pulled it off,” the duke said. They smiled at each other. The duke returned to his plans for the next day’s defense, giving no credence to the slight hope the meat could affect the orcs. “Send word to the commander at the south gate to seal up that breach.”

*

The next morning the duke was quick to the walls expecting an early attack. He looked across the slopes above the city. The orcs weren’t forming up to attack. Then he saw something that shocked him. He turned to his aide, also staring at the sight. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Anton asked. His aide looked as puzzled as he felt. They both looked out again at the spectacle up on the hillside. Amid the activity, only the ogre general moved with determination, riding back and forth yelling commands to the orc pairs focused on their comrades, ignoring him.

“The orcs are all in disarray, Your Grace. They seem to be chasing each other… amorously.”

“You don’t suppose the wizard’s potion… No… It couldn’t be.” Again the two men, and men all along the walls, looked at and each other, making no sense of the sight. “Well, if it works, so much the better. The trick might gain us time for our forces to return to break the siege.”

The duke and his soldiers on the wall watched the general raving through the morning until he lost his voice and returned to his tent. The chaos lasted three days, about the time it took for the goblin and his tattered orcs to arrive from the west. The Heggolstockin general came up behind the Dreaddrac army as the potion was wearing off.

A great battle ensued with the outnumbered Heggolstockin army; damaging, but not defeating, the Dreaddrac army. Eventually, the Heggolstockin general broke through the enemy siege and gained entrance to the capital to reinforce the wall defenses. With little more than three legions, the Dreaddrac generals held the siege but couldn’t overcome the defenders on the walls. The battle resulted in a stalemate.

* * *

The Dark Lord sat all day at the table in the workroom staring into the blue energy column that radiated up through the room in the heart of the Munattahensenhov. Smegdor’s inquiries as to bringing food or drink were rebuffed with waves of the knobby, claw-fingered hand. The fidgeting assistant repeatedly peeked in not daring to disturb the king, shrouded in his thoughts. There was no change the day long.

Then the nasty witch Earwig, with dragon dung on her filthy boots, shuffled up behind Smegdor. She poked him with her black, dung-stained fingernail.

“I’ll not disturb him for your petty requests,” Smegdor snapped. “You’d better get back to the stables where you belong. If the king wishes your assistance, I’m sure he knows where to find you.”

“But I must see him,” Earwig whined. “This must all be a mistake. I’m his greatest protégé. He needs my help.”

Smegdor snorted, laughing hard before realizing his hated laughter might disturb the king. He slapped his hand over his mouth.

“What is it, Smegdor? Why must you keep disturbing me? What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing, My Lord, sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Nothing indeed,” Earwig snapped. She shoved Smegdor aside and waddled into the workroom, startling the king. Smegdor rushed up and grabbed Earwig’s flaccid arm, trying to drag her back out the door. She shook her bulbous body and threw off Smegdor’s grasp, casting a threatening glare at him before turning back to the king with her disgusting smile. Smegdor saw her face, and the king’s frown, and drew back.

“What do you want, witch?”

“Your Majesty, I’m sure there’s been a mistake. I’ve traveled all this way to aid you in your world conquest. Your impertinent assistant here has all but imprisoned me above in that foul, dragon infested cave.”

“Well, we do want to utilize your talents, of course,” the king said, rising from his seat. He came around to the witch. Earwig cast Smegdor a triumphant pursed-lips smirk.

“You must understand that we’re very busy now, but we’ll call upon you for your excellent talents soon. Meanwhile, we must ask your indulgence.” The king’s oily smile rivaled hers in insincerity. Almost imperceptibly, he clutched her mushy arm as he spoke and led her to the doorway.

Earwig suddenly realized she was at the exit and about to be ejected. “But Your Majesty…”

The Dark Lord’s foot flew out and disappeared in Earwig’s rump, sending her lurching forward down the hall. She stumbled past Smegdor, who grinned before his hand covered his mouth. Casting frequent glances back to be sure no one pursued her, she hobbled back toward the dragon stable, rubbing her sore rump.

“Keep to your assigned duties unless you’re summoned to perform some other odious task,” the king yelled down the hall.

As she disappeared in the dark, moldy tunnel, Smegdor watched her go. Suddenly he felt a hard slap and his ear rang, followed by a burning pain on the side of his head.

“Wipe that look off your face,” the sorcerer said. Smegdor hunched over, rubbing the side of his burning face, not daring to look up at the Dark Lord. “Don’t allow that horrid creature in my presence again unless told to do so.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

The sinister wizard returned to his desk and thoughts, then called to Smegdor who appeared at the door.

“That incompetent General Tarquak has failed miserably at Botahar. I can sense it. The invasion of Heggolstockin has bogged down as well. I’m surrounded by bumbling idiots.” He looked up at a cringing Smegdor.

“How may I assist Your Majesty?”

“What assistance could your crippled self offer?”

Smegdor slumped and turned to go back out of sight behind the wall.

“I didn’t dismiss you, fool.”

Smegdor faced the king but said nothing.

“That King Saxthor has aided the resistance in Heggolstockin. I can sense his presence there. I’d have both the kingdoms of Graushdem and Sengenwha under my control by now if he wasn’t conspiring with Memlatec to thwart my seizure of the peninsular.”