The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) Page 19

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  Silvi stood near a large birch tree. She watched Aparen and Njar, as she had every day since they had come to Viverandon. At first, she had come to ensure Aparen’s safety. As much as she had controlled him with her charm spells, she had grown fond of him and took it upon herself to guard him now. Whether it was her guilt for having manipulated him, or seeing his selflessness when he fought to free her from Dremathor that ignited this concern within her, she wasn’t sure. She bit her lip when Aparen rose up from the stump. She moved to hide more of herself behind the tree.

  Aparen was too focused on his training to notice her.

  Njar, on the other hand, simply glanced and offered her a stern look. When he made no move to chase her away, she stayed to witness as Aparen learned to manipulate the energies and heal a plant. From her position, she couldn’t quite see the effects on the plant, but when she saw Aparen’s reaction, she knew he had broken through a plateau in terms of his abilities. She fidgeted with the side of her dress between her fingers when Njar put a set of pipes to his lips. Within mere seconds the foliage around the grove grew so thick that she could no longer see them. She turned and started her way back to the village.

  *****

  Gulgarin growled as he dragged his finger along the wooden model of Ten Forts erected upon the table in the stone chamber. “We can push in from the keep in the east,” he suggested.

  Maernok shook his head. “The humans will expect that,” Maernok said. “Instead, I will send more reinforcements to your keep. You will make it appear as though we are going to make the push from that direction, but in truth you will be digging in and making the area more defensible. I will move the ram back from the main keep.” Maernok reached forward and moved a crude, wooden model back from the gate. “We will make it appear as though we are going to move to the east, and attack the next fort. I will lead the majority of the force out to the west and we will slam the westernmost fort.”

  “Draw the humans east and then hit them in the rear,” Gulgarin commented with an approving nod. “What of the main keep?”

  “The ram, and the orcs with it, will double back through the forest in the south. After we have the westernmost fort captured, I will return and lead a charge on the central gate.”

  “And I will press in from the east at that time?” Gulgarin asked.

  Maernok nodded. “And those in the west will press in from their position. We will squeeze the humans out of the forts.”

  “We should hit them again tonight,” Gulgarin said suddenly.

  Maernok shook his head. “We should preserve our strength.”

  Gulgarin pointed a greenish-gray finger at Maernok. “We can press now, hit them with everything we have, and then pull back. It will give more credibility to the ruse you plan. They will think we run with our tails between our legs.”

  Maernok sighed. The others lining the walls nearby were whispering in hushed tones, but he knew they agreed with Gulgarin. If Maernok hoped to keep the threads of this delicate alliance in place, he had to pander to the others enough to maintain their trust.

  “Glory will be to you, of course,” Gulgarin added with a bowed head and clenched fist over his heart. That sealed it. To deny the maneuver now would be to insult a fellow tribal chief, which would spread discord through the ranks.

  Maernok smiled wide. “You will be at my side, Gulgarin, and the glory will be to all who fight valiantly.”

  Gulgarin hesitated, but only briefly, before nodding and backing away. “I will prepare the soldiers I brought with me. It will be my honor to fight alongside you.”

  Maernok clapped his hands and the officers all departed from the chamber. He watched until the last had departed and then he turned to sit upon the table, careful not to wreck any part of the wooden model. In his mind, he wrestled with himself. Gulgarin was scheming for something, it seemed. Yet, if he was, why would Gulgarin consistently give all the honor to him? If he wanted to win the hearts of the other tribes, he could easily press on fighting in his own way and winning glory.

  Surely there must be something more to it.

  Did he wish to unite the clans? If he did, why would he seemingly give up his position of authority? No orc would willingly place themselves as number two if he could advance to the top. If he were human, Maernok would worry about Gulgarin stabbing him in the back, but that was not the orc way. Assassinations and betrayals were not part of the code. Maernok cracked the knuckles on his hand and rolled his shoulders to loosen them. He knew that one day, probably not far from now, Gulgarin would make a move to seize power. The large orc grunted and accepted the fact. If Gulgarin wanted to cross swords with him, then he was more than ready for it. For now he would let the fellow tribal chief scheme, so long as the soldiers won the siege and Ten Forts fell, Maernok didn’t care what happened after that. Let Gulgarin claim a seat as ruler of the united tribes if he wanted, for Maernok had other designs.

  No sooner would Ten Forts fall into orcish hands than he was going north. He need only allow two days for Gilifan’s request, and then he was free to hunt the meddling wizard down like the conniving wretch he was. That thought brought a smile to his lips. Even now he could picture the wizard’s paled face and gaping mouth as he fell by Maernok’s blade. It would be a sweet day.

  Maernok left the caves to see the soldiers formed into ranks and ready for orders. A pair of officers jogged up to him and saluted quickly.

  “The plan has been disseminated throughout the ranks?” Maernok asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I will require a goarg,” Maernok said. “And be sure to place auxiliary quivers along the saddle.”

  The officers glanced to each other and then bowed as they ran off and disappeared into the sea of soldiers.

  “A goarg?” Gulgarin called out. The orc walked with a determined gait, though somewhat stilted by his thick plate armor. “I thought you were going to run alongside me at the front.”

  “I will be at the front,” Maernok promised.

  “I don’t see how,” Gulgarin said in a slightly quieter tone. “You planning on jumping the walls?”

  Maernok revealed his recurve bow and held it out for Gulgarin to see. “This is Szelevo. The bow has been in my family, passed from father to son, for six generations. It has seen many battles, and taken many lives.” Maernok turned the bow over in the light and stared down at the green wood. The limbs shone brightly, undimmed by age or use. The leather wrapping for the grip was worn smooth and stained with the sweat of many warriors. The black string held firm and the limbs begged to be drawn back to rain death upon the enemy.

  “This is a ride I cannot make with you,” Gulgarin admitted. “I was never much use with a bow.” He pulled a great warhammer from a harness on his back and held it out for Maernok to see. The metal appeared silver, yet held a greenish-black quality to it as well, as if some kind of oil had been permanently infused with the metal while forging it. The head of the hammer formed into a pyramid that looked as though it could punch through the heaviest of armor plating. The back side of the hammer was fitted with a devilish hook, and the base of the shaft ended in a wicked spike. “I too hold a family heirloom. This is Rombolo, a warhammer that has no equal in the Middle Kingdom. It was forged in the mines of Termalyn from a combination of feather-steel and Telarian steel.” He turned the weapon over and let the light reflect off the multi-colored surface. “It was the union of the two metals that gave Rombolo its color.”

  “It is a magnificent weapon,” Maernok said.

  Gulgarin smiled and placed it back into the harness upon his back. “Go, Chief of the Tiger Tribe, and knock upon the enemy gates with your bow. If they fail to answer Szelevo’s call, then I will be sure to break the wall down with Rombolo.” Gulgarin placed a hand on Maernok’s shoulder and Maernok returned the gesture.

  “May Khullan smile upon us this day, and award honor and glory to the valiant.”

  At that moment the two officers returned with
the requested goarg. Maernok inspected the special lateral rails that were affixed to the saddle and straddled the goarg’s large hips to accommodate hanging thin, long quivers filled with arrows on either side of the animal. Maernok leapt atop the beast and paused to look over his troops. He thought of saying something to rally their spirits, but as he looked over the proud, strong faces he realized no words were needed. He spurred the goarg on and the beast leapt onto the road leading through the burnt forest toward the gate. A chorus of cheers and roars erupted from the army behind him.

  Galloping down the road he prepared his first arrow. He knew that the goarg would respond to subtle movements with his legs, there was no need to hold the reins so long as he remained in the saddle. No sooner did he emerge out onto the battlefield than he pulled the bowstring back to the corner of his mouth, breathing in and holding it for an instant as his eyes scanned the walls before him. Had this been a normal bow, he would have been well out of range, but Szelevo was anything but normal. The very spirits of his ancestors had blessed it when it was made, and the arrows it sent flew farther and faster than the wind itself.

  A pair of archers stood talking to each other upon the battlement near the gatehouse. One leaned back upon a merlon, and the other stood before him.

  Maernok smiled and directed his arrow. He let loose. The arrow silently shot out, straight and true, toward its target. Maernok watched the missile fly until it sank deep into the back of the first archer with such force that it tore him from his spot and slammed him forward into the other archer. A moment later they both fell over the inside of the wall. Before any of the nearby archers could raise the alarm, Maernok dropped three more sentries with his bow. Each one flew from the battlements to land inside the courtyard.

  Shouts and cries went up from inside the walls. The orc nudged in with his right knee. The goarg turned left and galloped in a line parallel to the wall, deftly leaping over and around the many bodies littering the field. He readied another arrow and looked up to the battlements. A score of new archers rose up and moved into the crenellations. They each took aim and let loose. Maernok answered by picking off one of the archers in the middle. He didn’t worry about the arrows raining from the sky, however, as they landed far away from him.

  The alarm bells rang out through the towers until the whole field reverberated with the mixed sound of brass bells and hurried shouts and curses. For every volley of arrows the humans fired, they would lose three archers. Szelevo devoured them, teasing them with its superior range and power. Maernok, just to keep it interesting, would run his goarg for three hundred yards in one direction and then cut in toward the wall ten or twenty yards before galloping in the opposite direction. Each time he moved in closer, he could hear the archers frantically shouting for more support. He was close enough to keep their attention, but not close enough for their arrows to reach him at all.

  He continued his maneuvers for some time, until finally he saw what he was waiting for. The gates opened and out rushed a group of pikemen and archers. He turned his focus to them, punching through them second after second with his arrows. Still, on the enemy came, fanning out as soon as they exited the gatehouse. Behind them came a trio of horsemen. Each was armed with a bow and a long spear. Maernok smiled and let loose his arrows at the horsemen. The first caught an arrow in the chest and tumbled back over his horse’s rump to crumple on the ground. The second somehow managed to dodge the arrow meant for him, and the third held tight to his seat, despite the arrow piercing through his armor and stabbing into his left shoulder.

  One of the foot archers leapt atop the empty saddle and spurred the horse into a gallop. Soon there were arrows flying back at Maernok, and these were close enough that he had to maneuver effectively to dodge them. He slammed in with his left knee twice, turning his goarg toward the forest. As he did so, he twisted to face the charging horsemen and continued to fire at them while they gave chase. The wounded horseman was the first to fall, after taking two more to the chest. The foot archer was next, though he did manage to duck under the first arrow sent his way, the second lifted him from his saddle as it sank deep into his heart. The two horses scattered in opposite directions.

  An arrow zinged past Maernok’s head. He smiled at the dedicated survivor and then sent an arrow back. It caught the man in the chest. The bow fell from the rider’s hand and he slumped over to the side. His shoulders went slack and his head bobbed uncontrollably. Maernok knew he was dead in the saddle.

  He halted the goarg and went to pull another arrow so he could pick off the footmen still charging toward him. His hand grasped only empty air. He looked to the ground, stuck with hundreds of arrows that had been fired from the battlements above, and thought about retrieving them for his own use, but he needn’t have worried about it.

  A sudden cry of rage erupted around him and he turned to see his army standing up from the rubble and debris in the burnt forest. They had crept into position while he had kept the enemy busy. Covered in soot and ash the soldiers pushed up from the ground and broke into a sprinting charge over the field. The footmen without the gate shrieked in horror and turned back to the walls. Maernok smiled as he watched the archers upon the battlements call down to the courtyard behind them. The gates opened again.

  A young officer ran up to Maernok. “Sir, I have more arrows,” he said as he offered a quiver up to exchange with Maernok. The orc bent low and took the proffered quiver. Without removing the empty one he slung the new supply over his back and reached for a deadly shaft as he spurred the goarg onward.

  He let the first arrow loose and then heard heavy hooves pounding the field next to him. He looked to his left and saw Gulgarin, grinning wildly and holding his warhammer with his right hand.

  “To the gates?” Gulgarin asked.

  Maernok glanced back to the opening gates and saw scores of men emerging. Some ran before the group and hastily planted pikes into the ground, while most formed ranks behind them, shouting at the first group of archers and pikemen to hurry their pace if they wanted to survive. The archers above rained arrows down, forgetting now about their own safety and Szelevo’s reach as they concentrated on protecting their retreating comrades from the orcish horde.

  The commander nodded. “To the gates!” Maernok shouted with all of his strength. The two of them raced ahead of the army. Maernok drew back his bow at will, alternating from firing at the archers on the wall to slaying officers on the ground. Despite this, the humans continued to pour out from the main gate.

  He managed to fire the remaining arrows in the quick charge, so he hung his bow with a special hook on the lateral rail behind the auxiliary quiver on the goarg’s right side. He pulled his sword and let out a mighty call to Khullan, prodding the goarg to leap headfirst into the fray.

  Bone and metal clashed and clanged as the horns blasted through many human warriors. Gulgarin was right beside him, his goarg trampling a score of humans to the ground in less than a second. Spears shot in, but the orcs fought them off. For every spear shaft severed by Maernok’s blade, two humans fell by Gulgarin’s mighty hammer. They pressed into the enemy force, slowed now by the wall of shields and spears directed at them. The goargs lowered their heads and pushed back against the shields, jerking and twisting their horns to get better angles on individuals. Occasionally a goarg would rear back on its hind legs only to slam back down with its horns and run several humans into the dirt. This was when the animals were most vulnerable.

  Maernok worked his blade furiously to keep the several spears from finding and piercing his mount’s soft underbelly. Up his goarg went, nearly throwing him from its back, then it crashed down with a heavy snort. Calang! Three men held their shields up, but ended nearly flattened against the earth. Next the goarg stomped down with its hooves, ensuring the three wouldn’t rise again as it moved over them to get at the next row.

  At that moment, the orc warriors on foot caught up with Maernok and Gulgarin. A great din of clashing metal and horrific shouts of pa
in tore through the sky and filled the whole of the battlefield. The arrows from above ceased now as the two armies melded together.

  Maernok brought his sword down, crushing through a man’s helmet to end his life. A spear came up on his left, he jerked back in his saddle to dodge the deadly shaft. Gulgarin’s hammer connected with the spearman from behind, just between the shoulder blades. Crrack! The man fell to his knees and then flopped onto his side, mumbling and groaning something that Maernok couldn’t understand. The spear, still clutched in the man’s left hand, stood straight up beside Maernok. The orc reached out and yanked it free of the man’s grasp. He then flipped it over and began to jab it at enemies on his left while continuing to hack those foolish enough to approach him on the right.

  All of a sudden the men broke and ran toward the gate. The whole of the orcish force pursued. Maernok and Gulgarin were neck and neck, trampling and crushing all they could reach. For a moment, it seemed as if the feint would be unnecessary. Then, the human force split like a dry piece of wood under the heavy chop of a sharp axe. From the newly cleared path to the gate emerged a new foe. Seven men with black, pointed and sharply spiked armor came charging at them. Maernok smiled.

  “Dragon slayers!” he yelled as he spurred his mount onward. His goarg leapt toward the oncoming foes. Maernok launched his spear forward and simultaneously raised his sword. Everything slowed for him in that instant. The spear seemed to move through water, rather than air, as it soared toward the first dragon slayer. The spearhead clanged off the armor and sent the whole of the weapon spinning off in another direction. Meanwhile, a pair of arrows plunged deep into the goarg at the base of the neck. The beast grunted and went limp, still its crushing mass flew through the air straight and true toward the group. Maernok launched himself off the beast moments before the body crashed into two of the dragon slayers, pinning one to the ground.

  Blood sprayed out from the goarg as its flesh was torn apart by the spikes on the dragon slayer’s armor, and some managed to splatter onto Maernok, but he paid it no mind. He kept his eye on the dragon slayer below him. A spear came up, Maernok kicked it away with his left foot and then brought his right leg up to plant it on the dragon slayer’s chest as he brought the sword down upon the man. The steel shattered against the resilient armor of Telarian steel. However, Maernok managed to knock the man onto his rump.