The Fable of Griffon: Book 02 - Herald's Dawn, page 7
“Griffon!” A voice called out harshly, half panicked as it came closer. Griffon turned to see Dabilo racing up to him, she looked exhausted, sweat pouring from her brow.
“What’s the matter?” He asked her as she approached. She looked almost terrified and exhaustion was plain on her features.
“I was going to get involved, but there was this… this thing! It was trying to unleash magicks like I’ve never seen, it took every trick I knew to try and stop it. I then tried to get a glimpse of who it was and where but...” She stopped to catch her breath. “I’ve never sensed anything like it before, it was so slippery, alien even. Then it brushed my mind. It saw me.” She spat to one side, as though trying to rid her mouth of some foul taste. “I felt it notice me. Felt it push me back. I can’t begin to imagine what it could have been.”
“A shaman of some kind?” Ostler asked as he placed his hand on her shoulder, looking down to her with concern.
“It was no orc. Nothing like that, nothing at all…” Her eyes seemed to droop as her voice fell away to tiredness. Finally she fell back, exhausted by her experience and blacking out. Ostler caught her before she fell, picking her up in his arms and looking up to Griffon.
“We had best make a move soon. The city will have defenses still, however broken. We need to get there and check for survivors and make the best of what we can of it.” The monk advised before taking the halfling back to the supply wagons.
“Agreed.” Griffon murmured looking to the West and the smoking citadel.
Chapter three: Horde of the West.
Pern skulked through the shattered gate uncomfortably, looking about to either side in fear as Ikkan urged the donkey ahead. Griffon and Ostler were up ahead looking around at the shattered city, whilst the others directed the search through the streets for pockets of enemy resistance and Lenatethian survivors.
Forge was not large. Like most Lenatethian ‘cities’ it barely deserved the title when compared to Tyrannique settlements or the sprawling urban crawl of Geranodorian townships. Nevertheless its compact size reflected its character; tough and intimidating. Compacted behind its broken walls, the streets were narrow and tall, built of stout brick and banded iron. The haunted shadow of what it had been only added to the eerie quiet that accompanied the allies as they walked the broken roadways. The charred wood of fires still steamed and smoldered and the scent of soot and cooking flesh was still strong in the breeze. The outer city had been gutted, the outer defenses breached in a dozen places with great gouges from its brickwork. Only the strong earth wall beyond had remained relatively intact, forming a steep slope that rose up from a wide surrounding ditch lined with stakes. Evidence abounded of heavy street fighting and bodies from both sides were scattered everywhere through the outer reaches. It seemed the defenders had hoped to hold the enemy off within the confines of the city itself, using the narrow and labyrinthine streets to confuse the attackers and corner them in ferocious ambushes. The orcs in return had simply burnt large sections of the city to the ground. Scavengers pecked and bit at the charred corpses of the warriors that had been caught in the flames, scattering as they approached with ominous caws.
Griffon wandered up the steep earth ramp that led up the central three stepped hill upon which the main city hall and supplies were held. The bastions strong, thick sandstone walls stood proudly, dominating the skyline. The signs of battle were still strongly evident, with terrible marks of enemy magic scarred into the stone and scorched brick flaking in the wind. Dozens of orc bodies were left scattered along the hill and across the ramp leading to its gate. Each of the three steppes of the hillfort had the remains of a wooden stockade, each torn down so completely as to give the impression the hill itself was merely a scrap pile of broken wood. Only a basic wall of sandstone crowned the shattered fort, and it was heavily scarred and battered.
They came to the gatehouse to find the great oaken door was smashed inward and scorch marks scoured the walls. The dead lay where they had fallen, many still clutching their weapons as though determined to fight on, both Lenatethian and Badlander alike.
“By the Raven.” Ostler whistled looking around. “This was quite a fight. You can see they must have retreated back here when the outer walls fell. The runework in the walls would have prevented magic blasting through. The Badlanders must have simply rushed the defences like a stampede until they fell in from the pressure of attack.”
Ikkan poked his head out from one of the large wooden storehouses that stood in the great wide courtyard beyond the gate. “They didn’t take any of the supplies here by the looks of things. They must have caught wind of us just after taking the city.”
Shump looked about at the inner defenses. Three wooden storehouses stood together to the South whilst in the centre stood a large earthen mound that protected the well. Another much larger mound stood running along beside the Northern wall. Inside would be the main barracks and on top were the ruins of a primitive keep, little more than a shell of stone and shattered wood now. Other buildings stood in a tattered state dotted around the edges of the courtyard, protected by the scorched stonework.
“This was one of the places the Polir said the Badlanders were after.” The half orc growled. “Looks like they were willing to loose a lot of lives to get to it.”
“Agreed. Where is he?” Griffon asked, glancing around.
“I don’t want to know.” Ostler muttered. “Dabilo, can you tell where this conjunction is?” The monk called to the mage as she poked her head nervously around the gate.
“Only vaguely. It’s not my chosen field, you would need one of the Shamans to tell you that.” She answered, looking around. “I would say it does seem to be somewhere on top of this hill, though I can’t say any more than that.”
“Either way, it looks like we interrupted. They will be coming back here if it’s the conjunction they are after.” Griffon looked around at the defenses. “All right. Call up the troops. We need to repair the defenses here as best we can, don’t worry about the outer city, the wall is too broken to be defensible. We will concentrate our strength here. Clear the area around the base of the hill and give these bodies what honours we can give them. See if we get the Order craftsmen to try and set up some makeshift artillery, there should be plenty of materials around.” Ostler nodded and rushed back to collect the forces moving through the city. “If the supplies are still here then we can hold out long enough for reinforcements to be sent or for us to make a good strike back when we have had the chance to scout the area.” Griffon added, looking to Ikkan. “With luck we can find some survivors here to help. Can you send a message to Conrad and tell him what’s happened?”
Ikkan nodded. “Aye. I will get it done. He’ll be keen to know the fate of the city.” He took another deep gulp from his bottle before riding for the supply wagons that were slowly entering through the gates.
Griffon looked around, trying to figure out where to begin. The sun was still high, but its light had begun to wane. There was little chance of properly fixing the cracked defenses here before sunset. He took off his helmet, placing it to one side as he walked for the barracks. Shump followed behind him glancing about at the devastation whilst Dabilo quickly gave chase, not wanting to be left behind.
The barracks had two thick doors that led down into the mound and a further miniature gatehouse that had protected the earthwork stair to the ruined keep atop it. They came up to the first, the thick tough wood standing defiantly, despite heavy scoring from blades slicing against it. The other door into the mound had been blocked, a large piece of rubble having collapsed in front of it, or having been made to seal it. Griffon moved closer to the damaged door, pushing against it gingerly.
“It’s locked, or blocked from the inside.” He said, glancing to Shump. The half orc moved forward ready to push against the door in concert with the young king. They rammed into the door both stepping back from it wincing slightly and rubbing their shoulders. “Or both.” Griffon muttered.
“The mound is intact, it must be sealed from within.” Shump told him as he looked up at the grassy mound in front of them. He moved up to the door and banged against it with his fist. “Hey! Is anyone in there?” He shouted.
A voice called back from within the mound, sounding bitter and angry. “You just don’t give up do you, you Kuunsi swine!”
“The Badlanders have been routed! I am Shump of Houden, here under Lord Conrad’s orders!” Shump shouted back.
“A likely story! Enough of your foul magicks! You will not drive us from this place yet!” The voice replied.
Shump was about to say something in reply before Griffon came forward. “Believe what you will. I am King Griffon of Tyran. We have just driven a force of Badlanders from the city. We are trying to refortify now, but any help you can give would be appreciated.”
“The King of Tyran indeed? Your earlier illusions were more convincing than that!” The voice spat back in response.
“Fine.” Griffon answered. “Stay in there if you will, but tell me what happened.”
“You know full well Kuunsi. You will get no more information from us.” Griffon sighed for a moment before shrugging.
“As you will have it. If you require supplies they will be made available for you. I will ask only one thing further. Who are these Kuunsi?” The voice didn’t answer. Griffon waited for a few moments to see if they would respond before finally giving up and walking away. Shump swiftly caught his arm looking to him with surprise.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving them there.” Griffon answered. “These Kuunsi are evidently spellcasters and illusionists. I would be loath to trust someone like us as well after such a battle. They will come out when they are ready.” Griffon continued to walk away, freeing his arm gently from Shump’s grip before moving to the troops that were starting to come in through the main gate. The half orc glanced down to Dabilo with some annoyance. Dabilo simply shrugged, she had little idea how to convince the Lenatethians out of their hole and wasn’t about to waste much energy trying.
#
Griffon winced from the exertion as he pushed against the heavy oaken platform salvaged from the walls of the outer defenses. The thick wood, easily a foot thick, had been carved roughly into shape to fit the gatehouse of the hill and was being pushed up into position.
“Heave!” Dabilo called out from on top of the gate house as the paladins pushed it up into position. Further along the wall the Lenatethians were reconstructing the damaged keep, using the salvaged wood to plug the gaps in its stone walls and in the battlements that surrounded the courtyard. Even as they did so the sun light was starting to sink behind the horizon and the dull thud of drums could be heard in the far distance.
The gate finally came into position with a loud crash followed by a rush of activity as it was fastened into place. Dabilo looked out to the sinking sun on the horizon, watching in fear as she saw torchlights begin to appear upon the darkening hilltops. Like distant stars they shimmered in the dusk haze, more and more appearing with every passing moment.
“Heave!” She cried out again, rushing back to the edge of the battlement as the second half of the gate was pushed into place, a newfound urgency to her voice. “Quickly!”
#
Shump pulled hard against the ropes that bound the makeshift catapult, pulling it back into position and locking it ready to fire. He moved away from it with a puff of relief, patting the weapon happily. Two Paladins with him began to move the catapult into position with the aid of one of the Lenatethians. Shump moved aside, letting them get to work as he walked up to the battlement, looking out over the stone wall to the horizon as the sun fell into oblivion. Torchlights already lit the courtyard, giving illumination to the hastily erected tents of the entrenched army.
The courtyard was huge, designed to accommodate for the city’s army in times of war and easily capable of holding their modest force within its confines. The horses had been taken to the far Eastern side, beyond the main storehouses in the hopes of keeping them as far from the fighting as possible. Shump looked out to the growing shadow on the horizon as the lights of the enemy flickered into being. The moons were growing prominent in the night sky above them and a cold breeze was blowing strongly. The light of the moons would be strong tonight.
He glanced around the city with interest. There were a little over a thousand men of the Orders and the Lenatethians deployed outside the castle wall. Among them stood a small number of scattered survivors who had been found by the patrols, standing ready to face the enemy using the city ruins to provide cover. It was hoped to once again try to force the Badlanders in fierce skirmish battles where the Lenatethians should excel.
The Order of the Silver lance had volunteered to remain outside in the repaired stockades upon each steppe, blocking any pressed attack against it for as long as possible whilst the remaining Lenatethians and the Paladins of the Angels shield held the castle walls themselves. In all they could muster almost three thousand, although as Shump looked out to the horizon he feared that even ten thousand would not be enough to halt the mass that surged towards them.
Ostler walked up to him, looking out from the castle wall, following his gaze to the field of star like torches in the darkness. “There’s a lot of them isn’t there?” He commented, fastening his bracers tightly.
“Yes.” Shump agreed, not altering his gaze. “I will go out into the city with the forward force.”
“Yes I thought you might. Griffon has already been told he is to stay here. He wanted to be at the front of things as well. I will remain here with him though I am not sure you have my envy more than my pity.”
“It will be a long night ahead.” Shump agreed.
“You sure they will attack in the night?” Ostler asked.
“They will attack whenever they can.” He answered.
“Ikkan guesses they will try to take the castle again by brute force first and then by starving us out if they cannot beat us from here so quickly. We still haven’t managed to convince your friends in the barracks that we are not the enemy. They keep accusing us of being illusions or tricks, and after what the Shamans have been saying…” Ostler trailed off for a moment, looking at the half orc with some concern. “Be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?” Shump answered before moving down towards the gate.
#
The night fell upon the ruined city with a harrowing stillness as the allied force made ready for the expected attack. Shump shifted uncomfortably in the shell of the burned out house that he waited within, two orcs and an ogre waited beside him with a sense of eager anticipation. He glanced out from behind the charred and scorched wooden supports that now lay leaning against the walls as he tried to see down the street, illuminated by the dim cool light of the twin moons.
“Nothing.” Dabilo hissed from across the street where she hid among a trio of empty barrels. “Where are they?” The echo of drums still rolled through the streets, a dim reminder of their close presence.
#
“It’s been almost two hours since night fall. Are they coming? What are they waiting for?” Ostler muttered as he glanced over to Phorest who stood nearby. All around them the Paladins of the Angels shield had spread across the wall, bows ready to fire at a moment’s notice, shamans interspersed among them to defend against fell hexes.
“I don’t know.” The elf admitted, looking out to the sea of tiny flickering lights of the enemy army that stood tentatively just outside the earthen walls. “The eberron wind is blowing strongly tonight. There is some sorcery afoot.”
“So long as they keep it to themselves.” Ostler replied, glancing down to the dismounted knights that guarded the base of the ramp.
“Have those survivors Shump found decided to join us yet?” Phorest asked idly.
“Not yet. Ikkan’s got a couple of his people posted near the door if they decide to come out. Otherwise they haven’t said a word since Griffon and Shump last talked to them. At least not in so far as I have been told.”
Phorest looked back across the ruinous landscape. “I was told the Badlanders were battle hungry savages. That does not look like the behavior of a barbarian horde to me.”Ostler followed his gaze out to the sea of torchlights upon the hillsides in the distance. “They’re waiting for something.” Phorest continued.
#
Dabilo frowned. Something was wrong. The air felt oddly still, yet she could feel the cool of the night breeze against her cheek and see its effect on the ragged banners around her. She glanced around towards the others hidden among the tattered ruins as they waited impatiently for the attack. There had been no horn calls to signal the approaching enemy and she certainly could see nothing approaching, nevertheless…
“Something in the air.” She muttered, shuffling uncomfortably. She glanced down the street once more casually as she turned to adjust her belt. Her eyes caught a shadow, a sudden shift of movement far down the street. She quickly snapped her attention back to it. She could sense something in the air, a strange tang of infused power. Spellcraft, she was sure of it. It gave the wind a metallic coppery taste, and sent a gentle wash of dread through her limbs that caused the hair upon her neck to rise. The feeling came as strongly as if she had cast it herself, yet she could see nothing. In truth, that worried her more than any barbarian horde.
Shump sniffed the air opposite her, glancing down to the two orcs with him who did likewise. “Something close. I can smell it.” Both orcs nodded in agreement as the ogre glanced about the corner again. Dabilo clicked her fingers, a play of sparks lighting from her hand for a brief second, alerting Shump and his group.
She pointed down the street and closed her eyes. Drawing power for a moment she sent it surging down the street in a sudden burst of dull blue cloud that flowed down the road like smoke. Dozens of strange forms could suddenly be seen within it, marked by the surge of colour as they moved, suddenly alerted to the fact they could be seen.
