The Fable of Griffon: Book 02 - Herald's Dawn, page 36
The string of refugees kept coming, lowly heralds of the coming battle, their haggard and terrified forms staggering through the still open gate. The taverns and inns were already full, and stables, barns and even the arena had been put to use as shelters for the flow of men, women and children of all races that flowed through the gate seeking protection, many taking a sword from the armoury and preparing to fight alongside the city in a last ditch attempt to face the nightmares that have driven them from their homes. Many more remained where they were, barely able to speak, quivering in horror at the things that had seen, pleading with whatever gods they believed in for forgiveness for the sins of the world.
Whatever came, they were trapped here now. The enemy’s outriders had been reported South of the city. Any who would leave now risked being caught by spectres atop ghostly steeds that rode through the grasses like a cursed wind. With every passing day the fields and plains around them were becoming a haunted moor.
Drenn watched the proceedings from the vantage point on the top of the main gate house. He bellowed orders across the wall to some of the others, seeing the two Eastling mages of the young kings company trying to help paint the walls. At least two of the Eastlings could make themselves useful, he reasoned to himself before moving to help with a heavy wooden beam being put into position to strengthen the rampart around the gatehouse’s crest.
“Lord Drenn!” A voice called in warning, the alarm bell from the watchtowers began to ring loudly. For a moment it seemed everyone stopped as the peals of the bells echoed around them, a rise of adrenaline and fear filling their hearts at the thought that the battle was upon them already. Drenn bellowed for the gates to be shut, for those nearest the wall to be pulled back at once before rushing towards the nearest tower and racing up its steps onto the higher level. He looked out to the Northwest, seeing dozens of figures in the far distance, dust kicking up behind them in a great cloud as they moved.
“They are faster than I thought.” He said to himself as he watched for a moment. He looked back as he saw Griffon and the two elves rush up onto the rampart below. The young human called up to him loudly.
“Get the others ready! Has that fool Eastling general of yours left yet?” The minotaur lord asked.
“Not yet, they are coming down from the second level now!” Griffon called back, he glanced towards the Northwest, seeing the haze of dark figures on the distant horizon before looking to Phorest.
“I can not imagine how they got here so fast.” Phorest told him, Leaf moving aside from him a little to see for herself.
“Arm the walls!” Drenn shouted out, Lenatethians darting around with stacks of javelins, others clutching rocks, others spare weapons. The gates slammed shut, admitting the last desperate few before they were locked down with a thunderous boom.
#
Leaf closed her eyes, concentrating for a moment as she reached out with her mind towards the darkened horizon. There was a scent upon the wind, a feeling she could not shake. This did not seem to be their enemy, she could sense its fear even from this distance.
Phorest watched her for a moment before turning his attention skyward suddenly as a hawk flew overhead, racing out over the wide plain towards the approaching force. She opened her eyes, no longer the hazel of her own, but a golden and, almost feral look, like that of a cat’s. They glistened in the glooming light as the warning bells continued to ring. He returned his attention back to the approaching enemy, readying his bow to fire as dozens of others readied their own shortbows and javelins. Men and women witness to many seasons stood side by side to children who had yet to see enough, all clutching their weapons with the same fear in their hearts. There were no rousing speeches, no calls to glory, there was no need for them. From the youngest boy to the oldest troll, all knew the challenge that faced them, all knew the nightmare that lurked in the shadows of the plain and all; every man, woman and child, every single race and creed; all knew that there behind them lay their homes, their pride, their honour and their fellowship, and to defend it they would face the darkest legends of the gods themselves and not flinch.
The hawk flew high above the fields, over the hills and roads. Below it ranged the dark figures, spread out and disorganized, running not marching. Gone were the banners, the ancient and glistening weapons. The hawk swooped lower as Leaf directed it, her eyes seeing through its own as she watched the figures below. These were not the dead of Domorr, but something else entirely.
“Wait!” Leaf cried out, the link with the hawk breaking away. She swayed a little, coming back to her own senses, her eyes returning to their original shade. “It’s not Domorr! It’s something else. Orcs, perhaps a thousand of them, maybe more!”
“Badlanders?” Griffon asked, glancing back to the approaching force. “It must be survivors from their army, coming here.”
“Necessity makes for strange alliances.” Phorest commented. “But something does not feel right about this.”
Griffon nodded, looking back over the plain. “Tell Drenn to back down, at least long enough for them to declare why they are here.” He said, turning towards the tower. “Get the others ready and here by the gate.”
Phorest and Leaf both nodded, moving quickly down the steps to the ground below as Griffon raced up the tower steps.
#
The orcs stopped a short distance from the walls, panting for breath for a moment as they slowed. They carried numerous scars of battle, and that they had been running for some time was obvious from their exhausted manner and tattered dress. Though the Lenatethians along the wall could kill them at a moment’s notice, they seemed not to recognize it, uncaring of mere death after what they had seen.
A large orc lord, his skin tanned almost black by the harsh sunlight looked up towards the towers of the gatehouse. He bellowed, a loud guttural cry that carried on the wind. The Badlander had no eyes, both covered by a blood stained strip of cloth tied about his head. Dark blood, having long since run like twin rivers over its face, had dried to leave nightmarish marks upon its cheeks. It seemed to lean forward a little as Drenn approached the wall, looking down at them.
“State your purpose here!” Drenn called down, his voice calm yet carried with a bitter note.
“We… seek… shelter!” The orc warchief called back, his voice broken and tired. “He… is…. coming!”
“Why should I trust you?” Drenn bellowed. He glanced aside to see Shump and some of the other half orcs atop the wall sniffing the air.
“They stink.” Shump grumbled. “And they look like they’ve been through hell.”
“We… pledge… to serve… Lenateth.” The orc answered. “For… as long… as we draw… breath.” Drenn looked down to the orc commander with a curious eye. There was something he disliked about this whole matter, a scent that set his feelings burning through his gut in warning.
“You have… our lives…. In your hands. Don’t… leave us… to them!” The orc commander pleaded, its scarred face looking up at him.
Drenn glanced to a half prime beside him with a cautious look. “Open the gates. We could use the aid, but if they cause any trouble then I want them thrown out into the wastes where they belong.” The minotaur lord turned back to the orcs. “Then your pledge is answered, but should you or your men cause me or my people the slightest trouble you will be thrown to Domorr’s mercy. Do I make myself clear?” The orcs nodded, slowly turning towards the opening gate.
#
Arroganen huffed impatiently as the gate opened at last before his artillery train, allowing him to leave this gods forsaken city to its fate and for him to return to a nice warm bath and a bottle of fresh Geranodorian wine.
“Forward!” He cried out, leading the way out of the gate, his men following behind, many sharing his eagerness to leave before anything else arrived.
Several Lenatethian warriors suddenly began rushing past him and his cohort, filing around the creaking wood and iron as the gate swung inward. They seemed to ignore the Geranodorians beyond a few cursory glances, and most clutched their weapons eagerly as though about to charge into war. If that were the case Arroganen had no intentions of being caught in it, discretion was definitely the better part of valour in this instance. He had already ordered some of the supplies be abandoned in their haste to leave after the first sound of the bells ringing. He did not relish the idea of having to gallop to safety at the expense of the artillery and their crews because whatever was coming here had decided to come early.
Still, if needs must.
With the opening of the gate a number of ragged refugees wandered in like a miniature flood, blocking his way even more. He impatiently began to push towards them, pushing aside the cordon of barbarians and encouraging his soldiers to do likewise. Even as he approached he could see a large number of orcs that reeked beyond anything he had suffered before. They filed into the city in a shambling mass, exhausted and ripe. It was all he could do not to retch and he lifted his silk handkerchief to his nose in disgust, peering at their slobbering faces. If these were the sort of creatures ranking among the defenders he did not envy those who were staying behind to protect the city walls.
He felt a strange vibration against his chest, glancing down at a gemstone he had, had added to his medal to further emphasise its importance. The gem glowed brightly, shaking within its frame as the orcs slowly approached. He grasped it, looking at it in his palm for a moment. “Magic? These things can’t have anything enchanted on them…”
He glanced back up at the orcs, realising how they seemed to be looking at the horses and men of his artillery train as they struggled to get past the Lenatethians.
“A splendid sight isn’t it?” Arroganen noted. “Geranodorian might at its finest, well, excepting other private matters of my own of course.” He smiled at them. “Pity, you’ll have to make do without us.”
The ragged refugees suddenly doubled over, falling to their knees or arching back as in stricken in terrible pain.
“What is the matter with you? It’s not my fault they wouldn’t pay for it.” Arroganen asked, chancing a glance back to his catapults. They had barely moved the first up to the gate as the creatures about them suddenly opened their mouths to scream.
With silent cries of agony, the orcs flesh corrupted upon their very bones, rotting where they stood, skin and muscle falling from their bodies like rain as they lurched towards the Geranodorians with ungainly speed, grasping at other refugees and Lenatethians that stood nearby. With rotten talons they pulled hapless men and women down, ripping them apart beneath their clawed grip and vicious teeth. The remaining Geranodorians pulled back sharply, putting their catapults and the Lenatethians between them and the insane monsters. Others reached for crossbows and heavy halberds, regrouping under the barked orders of the artillery masters as Arroganen trotted in circles trying to find a way out of the chaos.
The Lenatethians rushed to try and close the gate before the rest of the Badlanders could enter, some fending the beasts off as others dragged the obstructing catapults back inside. Javelineers along the wall began to throw their weapons down at the Badlanders as the monstrous beasts reached up for them. The creatures seemed hardly to notice the most grievous of wounds, the most hideous of cuts and thrusts. The Geranodorians clustered together around their catapults, weapons held out ready in horror. The creatures moved with strange ungainly jumps and runs, moving at unpredictable speeds and directions. By contrast the Geranodorians barely moved at all, fear fixing their feet to the floor like lead weights.
#
Shump ran towards the gate, holding his axe eagerly as the other warriors around him struggled with the clawing monsters. He roared, slamming his axe across one of the beasts and casting it aside. Savage melee had erupted all around him as the defenders pushed back against the sudden attack. He ducked back, trying to find room to move as the press of battle hemmed in about him. Moving aside, he turned to the sound of gurgling screams as the largest of the Badlanders tore the throat from an unfortunate dwarf with its teeth. It turned its blind expression to him as though sensing his attention, the ragged flesh between its jaws dropping away to the sandy floor as it snarled through fleshless lips. Shump brandished his axe in challenge as it hissed before leaping at him like some rotting demon. Shump spun, crashing his axe into its side and throwing it to the floor. With the sharp tug he freed the blade, bringing it up and down against the monsters waist with a terrible crack. The thing shuddered for a moment, before becoming still. Shump nodded to it before wrenching his weapon free. The creature seemed suddenly to spring to life, its claws latching around the half orc’s leg as it tried to bring its great maw closer. It fingers were like talons of ice, bitterly cold to the touch against his skin. The wound at his waist flared in pain as the cold spread up his body, and he kicked the thing away to be finished off by the other Lenatethians nearby. He backed away again as the defenders regrouped, watching the ghoulish monsters slash and claw their way in through the gate.
“This is what Domorr intends for all of us.” He murmured.
#
Dabilo raced across the wall for the gate, chancing glances down at the Geranodorians that fended off the monsters that hemmed in against them. The beasts were relentless and terrifying, low moans and hisses accompanied only by the screams of those they killed as they circled, catching a few unfortunates and throwing them to their fellows to be feasted upon. Her palm warmed as energy collected between her fingers like a great pool of light. She reached out, a white coil whipping forth and twisting down amidst the swarm of creatures like some giant serpent, crushing the monsters under its bulk.
Seth ran with her, stopping at the crest of the gatehouse just above the fiercest fighting. He tapped his blade against his shoulder with a wry smile, the runes upon it glowing fiercely as he leapt down. The enchantments kicked in immediately, his fall as gentle and graceful as that of a feather in the still air. He twisted as he came to land, the greatsword he wielded leaving trails of flame and ice as he carved aside a pair of beasts that rushed up to intercept him. Two more of the vicious ghouls finished off the meal they had made of some unfortunate plainswoman before looking to Seth, blood dripping from their exposed teeth.
“Well, aren’t you two pretty?” Seth smiled, adding a further enchantment onto the blade. Domorr’s denizens frustrating ability to ignore a good cut from his sword had aggravated him once too often. He raced for them as they charged, swinging his blade in a wide arc and slicing through their exposed chests. The creatures stopped, the magic that had animated them ripped away.
#
Warning bells rang loudly once again as the creatures were slowly pushed back from the gate, the great iron and wood doors slamming shut at last, closing off the greater number of the beasts outside. The Geranodorians were still caught in the melee just inside the gate, Arroganen bellowing orders from where he stood upon one of their heavy wooden weapons. For all the danger they were unwilling to abandon their expensive catapults, forming into defensive circles about them. Fortunately the remaining ghouls seemed uninterested, continuing their relentless assault against the gate, battering at it with their claws or crude weapons. Within moments the last within the compound had been culled, leaving the defenders chance for the shock to settle in. The moans of the wounded echoed about them, almost as chilling as the moans that echoed from outside. Seth turned over one of the rotted corpses with the point of his blade, listening to the loud poundings and scratching of the other monsters that battered at the gate from outside. He glanced up to Shump who sneered in disgust as he tried to clean his axe with a strip of leather.
“What the hell happened to them? They were as alive as you or I just moments ago.” Seth asked in muted horror looking at the rotted corpse before him as shamans began to rush to the scene, already a few of the barbarians around them had put the flame to the corpses.
“You are the mage. You tell me.” Shump answered. Before Seth could say anything a single woeful bell rang one thunderous note upon the air. It was very distant, but its tone unmistakable. Both of them looked to one another as one by one the watchtowers began to ring their warnings.
“On the horizon! They are here! They are coming!” Called down the lookout nearest, shouting at the top of his voice and ringing his bell as loudly as he could.
#
Griffon looked up at the horizon, seeing the great dust cloud that grew upon it, seething like a great wave as it rose high into the sky. Black stormclouds hung above the great trail of dust, flashing lightning with rolls of thunder.
Dabilo threw a fierce volley of energy orbs into the last few of the ghouls below them, moving back away from the rampart to catch her breath as the creatures burst into flames, finally collapsing in a heap against the sandy floor.
“What was that? A message?” She asked, looking up to Drenn as the minotaur lord glared out towards the horizon with a cold resolve. He said nothing, but his expression said all Griffon needed to know.
“By Uillime.” Leaf exclaimed as she climbed the steps up onto the ramparts.
“Steel yourself. The gods won’t help us here.” Phorest said as he moved past her to stand beside Griffon, looking out to the darkness upon the horizon and its ever growing menace. “Everyone is ready. Warriors are gathering either on the ramparts or by the gate. I take it that was a test of our defenses?” He asked, looking more carefully to Griffon.
Griffon didn’t answer at first, his attention focused on the horizon. He looked down to see the Lenatethians below as the smell of burning flesh rose from around the forward gate. They were visibly shocked, disgusted by what they had seen, and by what had been done to those who had fallen. Griffon had been told of this before, in the annals of Paladins, and the warnings in Tyran’s histories. Fear. It spread faster than any disease, and broke men’s wills and spirits as surely as the Dead city’s blades would their bodies. As the darkness grew on the horizon it grew too in their hearts, fueled by the horrors they had paid witness to, seeding doubts and fears ahead of the true battle.
