The Fable of Griffon: Book 02 - Herald's Dawn, page 8
“I knew it!” Dabilo cried out as the figures drew weapons and started to charge towards them. “Shroud spells! Shump! Help!” She cried out as she leapt from her barrels. She stretched out her hand to send a long whip of energy coiling outward and spiraling across the road, knocking the Badlanders aside as it rolled about violently, smashing the ruins on either side of the street.
Shump leapt out from the ruins, axe ready as he charged into the creatures that raced towards the fleeing halfling.
“Where are you going?” He shouted after Dabilo, his axe swinging.
“I have to get closer to the hill! Expect a lot of smoke!” She warned rushing up the street as fast as she could manage.
#
Phorest looked out over the city as the sounds of fighting began to echo through the streets. “What’s going on?” Ostler asked him as he furrowed his brow in concentration trying to see anything in the dim light.
“I don’t know. I cannot see anything.” Phorest admitted as he reached for his bow, aiming carefully. He fired a single shot high over the heads of the knights that guarded the bottom of the ramp, the arrow exploding into a shower of sparks over the city streets a few dozen metres ahead. The sparks drifted slowly down like bright snow, cascading against the cobbled roads. As they fell they clung to dozens of strange forms hidden within the shadows. Phorest watched as they approached, moving stealthily through the ruined streets towards the base of the castle mount, the bright sparks fading into the dark once more.
“Fire! Fire against the perimeter now!” He shouted, turning urgently to the Paladin commanders to either side of him. A series of bellowed shouts and the creak of bows preceded the shrill whistle of a shower of projectiles. Their efforts were rewarded with a chorus of screams and shouts as orcs seemed to form out of the very air itself, the enchantments upon them breaking as their lives left them. A roar of anger followed as the survivors leapt up and charged.
Phorest aimed and fired, his arrow smashing into the ground a few metres ahead of the Paladins below with explosive force that threw a number of orcs before them aside. The sounds of swords and steel ringing below at the base of the ramp echoed through the night sky as the remaining orcs fell upon the surprised Paladins in a disorganized clamour of noise and blade.
“No wonder the city fell! When did Badlanders learn tricks like this?” Ikkan shouted from atop the battlements of the gatehouse. He turned to the catapult teams that stood ready. “Fire into the ruins!” He ordered.
A torrent of stone projectiles launched into the air, crashing down onto the ground below with thundering booms, smashing aside earth and rubble with every strike as the unseen foe slunk away from the barrage.
#
Dabilo squeezed her eyes closed as she ran for the rampway, she could hear the sounds of fighting all around her, almost drowned out by the screams of the dying. Black feathered and cruelly barbed arrows flew past her, impacting into the scant pieces of cover she could find as she dashed around. Her muscles ached as she ran, threatening to force her to stop to take a breath that could have been her last. She pushed further not willing to give into the temptation. The Paladins of the Silver lance came into view up ahead as she turned a sharp corner. She felt something thump into her shoulder but ignored it as she ran. A Paladin raced past her, sword slicing just over her head by a hairs breadth followed by the sickening sound of the blade slicing through flesh and blood running onto the cobbles. She kept running, racing up the ramp as booms of the catapults echoed in her ears. She finally stopped, falling to her knees for a moment and breathing fast. She felt a trickle of blood trail down her forehead, the sensation pulling her back from the welcoming abyss. She turned and summoned all her remaining strength, wincing in pain as she drew on the energy around her, throwing it forward in a mass of blue smoke that surged all around like a vast fell wind, swamping the city streets about the castle. She cried out in pain before finally collapsing back onto the rampway, the surge of smoke ending.
#
The Paladins had begun to fall back, many of their number killed by a foe they simply could not see, shields and spears held defensively as they jabbed at shadows and sounds. Suddenly the orcs appeared before them, blue tinted shapes given form in the dark. The creatures slowed as the spells energy washed over them, confused as to what had just happened and caught surprised by how their disguise had been torn away. Seizing the opportunity the Paladins surged forth in an angry charge, cleaving aside the weapons of the orcs and cutting the creatures down.
Ostler raced forward down the ramp from the castle gate towards the fight, Phorest close behind as he gave covering fire, taking out a number of strange blue shadows hidden within the ruins that sniped at the defenders with vicious powerful shortbows. Ostler scooped Dabilo up carefully, a dark bolt embedded in her shoulder.
“They are withdrawing.” Phorest said suddenly, looking around. “There were not many of them.”
Griffon suddenly shouted from the battlements. “Ostler! Get everyone back up here now!” The sounds of catapults launching their projectiles once again echoed in the still night air, though no shots landed within sight. The signal horns sounded from the keep as the castle recalled its forces to its defense.
A warning cry from behind drew Griffon’s attention, a scattering of defenders on the far wall shouting to the assembled defenders in the courtyard. The young king turned as bells rang furiously. He raced to the battlements looking over the Eastern wall at the city below even as a cohort of archers drew into position around him. Hundreds of torchlights suddenly appeared in the streets below as thousands of orcs raced towards the stepped slopes of the castle hill from the opposite side. It was as though a veil had been drawn from over them, a concealment that fell away as their commanders barked harsh orders.
Ikkan ran up to join him, peering through one of the arrow slots before turning to the young prince. “The torch lights of their camp are still there, it was just a diversion! These cannot be orcs of the Badlands!”
“Be sure to tell them that when they arrive.” Griffon answered as another volley of stones flew over their heads to crash down onto the streets below.
#
Ostler laid Dabilo carefully at the base of the mound upon which the keep stood, one of the apothecaries rushing to her to tend to the wound. “Take good care of her, we owe her for her actions.” He said as he rose. The healer nodded and quickly knelt beside her as Ostler rushed for the Eastern battlements.
With a frightful whipping sound dozens of arrows were let fly into the night, hailing down against the sea of orcs that raced towards the hillfort’s steppes. The makeshift wooden walls and stakes of the first steppe were cast aside by the torrent of attackers, the fallen being trampled underfoot by the stampede of snarling beasts as the scant few Lenatethians that guarded the upper steppes let loose with a hail of javelins and throwing axes. The forward ranks of the orcs were cut down in their dozens, arrows rained against the creatures as the catapults unleashed continued barrages. Still the Badlanders raced forward, crushing the lower defenses in their wake, raising ladders against the upper steppes or clambering up the steep dry grassy slopes. They were as a sea of angry feral faces that swarmed against the defenders as they fought tooth and nail to throw them from the walls.
“Bring them back! Fall back to the main wall!” Griffon shouted down over the noise as the Lenatethians fought and died, overwhelmed by the enemy’s numbers.
“Top steppe! Fire!” Ikkan bellowed as flaming projectiles flew down against the orcs from the catapults. The pot like munitions exploded in torrents of flame among the rush below, driving panic and fury through their ranks as the flames burned angrily.
The Lenatethians of the third steppe raced to the walls, throwing javelins into the horde with hideous effect, knocking the enemy back from the lower palisade as they sought to clamber over. The Lenatethians pulled back, climbing up ropes that had been thrown over the bastion wall to their aid. A few chose to remain behind, to fight to the death, defiantly pushing the orcs from the walls before being overrun themselves.
A section of lower steppe’s wall suddenly fell away as the last few Lenatethians retreated up the ropes, the palisade pulled from its mountings by roaring berserkers who almost glowed with enchantment. A rush of Badlanders poured through the breach, racing against the Lenatethians that tried to climb the ropes to the safety of the upper steppe, pulling them back into a sea of dark faces and terrible blades, trying to clamber up the ropes even as the defenders of the upper steppe tried desperately to pull them out of reach, forcing them to cut them loose and abandoning those of their comrades to their fate.
“Hold them back!” Griffon shouted over the noise, ducking slightly as black arrows began to fly at the upper battlements.
#
Jarren walked calmly down the streets as the sounds of battle echoed down. His cloak hung loosely over his shoulders, blowing in an ethereal breeze as he stalked the streets. Orcs raced through the ruins around him towards the fortification, eager to get into the fight that raged along the Eastern wall and began to slowly spread around the castle. Most failed to even see him, and those that had, had been left a bloody trail.
Three berserkers and a number of smaller orcs suddenly darted across the street in front of him, skidding to a halt suddenly as they noticed the silent walker.
The largest of the group growled angrily as the orcs encircled the Polir. Jarren said nothing, his sword slicing through the air faster than the wind. He held it high to one side as he continued to walk, pushing the berserker aside as it fell into two halves.
The other orcs looked in horror at the carcass for a moment before rushing at the Polir. Jarren raised his wooden arm, the vines across it writhing, vicious thorns appearing along their length before they whipped about him in a swirling maelstrom.
Jarren returned his arm to his side, but kept his sword in hand as he walked onward, leaving the tattered remains of his attackers in his wake as he continued to follow the strange presence that leeched power from the ley. He could taste its pull, far greater than any normal spellcaster could have done alone. It felt artificial, unnatural.
It would not feel for much longer.
#
Whip like ropes lassoed themselves around the tops of the wooden stockade that blocked the orcs from the final hill steppe before the castles main stone wall. The defenders raced about the wooden palisade, desperately cutting at the ropes as the fell creatures tried to climb them, arrows flying in both directions as the barbarians and Paladins fought desperately to hold the line.
Far to the opposite side of the castle the Paladins of the Silver lance had withdrawn up the ramp, guarding it from further encroachments as they fell back. Shump raced up past them from the darkness of the city streets, a large group of Lenatethians with him.
“Lord Shump! Get your men inside! They need you at the East wall!” The Paladin captain called to him as the Lenatethian rushed by.
“They’ll see me there!” Shump called back.
He leapt down from the top of the high rampway to the stockade of the third steppe below. The Badlanders had tried to lap around, beginning to attack from the South as well, hoping to find a weak point in the walls defenses as the defenders in the outer city raced back to the castle. The main castle walls were a good thirty feet above him as he came down to the steppe, an intimidating sight that he could only hope would slow the creatures down. Hurriedly he followed the curvature of the wall, seeing a number of orcs climbing up the stockade with ropes. He slammed his axe against one of the lassoes as he passed, causing the orcs climbing it to fall back into the mass with shocked shouts. A grunt nearby caused Shump to spin, releasing his axe and plunging it into one of the berserkers that came over the wall.
“Back!” Shump shouted, pulling his axe free with a spray of blood as the barbarian fell away. More lassoes and grappling hooks followed, latching into the wooden peaks of the palisade wall as more orcs clambered up.
#
Phorest aimed carefully, concentrating on his shot before firing a single thin blast of energy into the orcs below. The shot split as it travelled, dividing again and again until dozens of thin slices of glowing death ripped into the horde. Sweat ran down the elf’s brow as he charged another shot, his head was starting to swim as he drew on more and more of his energy reserves. He couldn’t keep up the pace much longer yet with the darkness shrouding them there seemed no end to the numbers of the enemy. He fired again, clearing a mass of creatures that pulled themselves onto the wall as another volley of catapult fire rained down over his head against the Badlanders.
“We are running out of ammunition!” Cried one of the captains along the wall.
“Use anything you can!” Griffon shouted in response before turning to the runners in the courtyard below as they raced to aid the catapult crews. “More arrows! Get to the supply train!” He shouted down to them. Two of the catapults had already stopped firing during to malfunction, ropes breaking under the strain or the weak makeshift frames shattering under the stress.
A flash suddenly lit the night sky as a blast of fiery energy slammed into the steppe below the main fighting, exploding outward with tremendous force and casting the orcs aside like puppets.
“Where did that come from?” Phorest shouted, aiming his bow carefully before firing, taking another orc in the throat.
“I don’t know!” Griffon bellowed back as two more blasts appeared from among the ruins of the outer city, streaking over the Badlanders to strike just below the stockade. Orcs screamed in anguish as the flames left them charred ashes from the intensity of the strikes. The fires licked up at the stockade eagerly, causing the wood to rise up in flame, the ropes holding the construction together burning away.
“Put out the fire!” Ikkan shouted, before turning to the runners in the courtyard and bellowing orders for water from the well.
#
Shump raced to the flames, axe ready as another blast raced across the battlefield crashing hard into the stockade with terrible force, scattering wood and warriors with equal abandon. The smoke cleared to reveal a gaping hole in the defenses. Shump sneered and gave an angry roar before charging in against the orcs that began to clamber through the gap.
#
“Stop those fireballs! Quickly!” Griffon shouted as another fiery blast raced over the defenses completely to slam into the main castle wall. The runes of the wall served their purpose, earthing most of the magical force in moments, leaving only a sudden bright flash of heat and dust that caused the defenders near it to duck aside by reflex. Shamans raced to the walls, looking out to the distant outer city and concentrating their energies to block the assault.
Another volley of blasts raced towards them, each flickering out of existence as their strength was taken from them in mid-flight. The shamans murmuring made a constant drone of voices, draining the spells of energy and leaving only a few trails of sparks to scatter against the defenders. Another volley streaked overhead, growing stronger this time, the fireballs illuminating the hundreds of orcs below at the base of the hill.
#
Jarren looked up as the fireballs streaked over above him, he removed the vines from the orc in front of him, letting the corpse fall to the floor as the plants shrank back, wrapping themselves about his arm once more. His gaze followed the thin and fading trails back across the sky, leading his eyes to their source.
“So that is where you are.” He said softly as he moved purposefully towards a cluster of ruins to the East.
#
Griffon looked down in growing fear as the orcs continued to press against the defenders, grabbing wreckage and debris from the steppes below and using it ram against the last stockade. A number of ropes had been lowered to the defenders below the main stone wall, but dozens of Lenatethians and Paladins were cut off, too pressed by their attackers to be able to withdraw safely. Every passing second the situation grew worse as he watched them desperately defending the last stockade before the main bastion wall.
‘Save them.’ The thought ran unbidden, and all he could think of was the people he had been forced to let die to escape Nallaimor’s clutches so long before. ‘Blood cannot go unanswered.’ He heard himself whispering even as he watched two more paladins pulled into the mass of snarling tribesfolk. Without thinking Griffon grabbed one of the ropes and slid over the top, landing roughly on the steppe below as he drew his sword.
“Griffon!” Ikkan shouted out in shock as he watched the young king throw himself into the thick of the fray.
Ostler immediately threw aside the bow he held, catching one of the ropes that dangled from the castle wall and racing down to the steppe below. He landed a few metres from the prince as a great orc clambered over the wall only to be sliced in half by Griffon’s blade.
“What in the hells do you think you are doing?” He bellowed over the noise. Griffon didn’t respond, busy cutting one of the grappling hooks from the walls of the wooden stockade as he shouted for the defenders nearby to escape. “Griffon!” He shouted again, picking up a spear from one of the fallen and throwing it at an orc that tried to climb the barrier.
“Not again!” He answered, cutting another orc down. The kill felt strangely good, his blade singing in the air with every swipe and thrust. The blade was made for this! The roar of battle echoed about him as he felt the enchantments woven into his sword and gauntlets glow with a comforting heat. Above it all a warmth upon his chest pulsed gently, urging him on.
A thin energy blast roared down from above to kill one of the orcs that rammed against the wooden wall. Phorest leaned over, breathing hard, exhaustion making him seem haggard even in the dim firelight.
“They are bringing something up from ahead, I can’t tell what!” He warned before ducking back from a short volley of black bolts that clattered noisily against the battlement.
Ostler punched an orc that came up over the stockade. It slid back into the mass as the monk ducked aside from stabbing spears that sought vengeance against him. A grappling hook suddenly flew up and latched onto the wall by his shoulder, barely missing. A thick chain ran from it, pulled taught by the creatures of the horde. Ostler backed away from the wall as four more suddenly flew up and over against the stockade, digging deeply into the wood.
