Lord of the Rose (25 page)

The defenders at the mill could hear the frenzied battle on the town’s main street. Weapons bashed shields, armor and, all too often, flesh. Men and goblins died. Sir Rene commanded that key sector, and his orders, calm but forceful, echoed above the fray: “Stand fast on the stairway! Advance on the left! Fire those hay-bales!”

A few goblins appeared on the riverbank beyond the mill. Over the course of an hour their numbers increased, and by the time a sizeable company had formed the battle on the main street had subsided. These goblins now rushed forward in a howling mob.

They reached the steep slope on the outside of the millpond and hurtled up the slick, grassy surface. Several of them slipped. Those that climbed did so only by clawing for traction, scrambling and pulling themselves up the steep slope. The first to reach the top had the misfortune to face Dram Feldspar. The dwarf chopped his axe in a single forceful blow, spilling brains and blood. The goblin, killed instantly, tumbled back down amidst the rank of its fellows.

The dwarf’s killing blow seemed only to inflame the inhuman attackers. Bestial faces contorted in fury, and hundreds of mouths gaped wide, displaying sharp teeth. Broad nostrils flared as the gobs shrieked, brandishing their weapons, clutching at the wet grass, pulling themselves up all along the steep embankment, trying to reach the few defenders.

Carbo had fashioned a sling from a strap of leather. The bald gnome swung the weapon around his head and launched a round stone with speed and accuracy. The missile struck one goblin in the forehead, and the creature collapsed, senseless. Dram darted here and there, his axe bloody, each strike adding fresh gore to his blade. Boys and men wielded their makeshift weapons with courage and enthusiasm, if not with precise skill, and the struggling goblins were smashed back from the height of the embankment. The archers in the mill tower found targets in the mass of enemy troops.

Jaymes was everywhere along the line, wielding his sword with one hand, stabbing the long blade into the face, throat, or chest of any gob unfortunate enough to crest the slope. His eyes ranged along the position—when one youth slipped in the mud and fell backward, the warrior was there, holding the breach against three attackers who had hurled themselves into the momentary gap. Two fell from his blows, and the third retreated, shrieking and clutching its bleeding scalp.

Sulfie had armed herself with a heavy shovel, and she banged the blade against any leering face that rose above the lip of the embankment. Carbo stood close by her, launching stones into the faces of the increasingly shrill goblins.

Two boys, brothers too young to shave, fought courageously with sharpened sticks, poking the makeshift spears into the bunched attackers. A hulking hobgoblin rose from the wavering rank, seizing one of the staves in a taloned hand. With a tug, the beast pulled hard and dragged the lad from the rampart. Screaming in the terror, the youth tumbled into shrieking mob of hacking swords and biting jaws—and there his death was mercifully swift.

His brother cried out, casting his own weapon into the mob and lunging forward in a frantic effort to help his doomed sibling. Jaymes pulled the lad back by the scruff of his neck. The sobbing boy tumbled down the back of the dam while the warrior returned to chopping and slashing against the suddenly frenzied gobs.

Roused by bloodlust, the creatures threw themselves at the defenders with renewed intensity. Several more humans fell, and for a moment Jaymes, Dram, and the hammer-wielding smith faced a dozen jabbering goblins in the middle of the dam. The three drove them back, killing half, but the defense was faltering.

“The fuse—light it!” shouted Jaymes, clearing a swath around him with whistling sweeps of his bloody blade.

“All right, give me half a minute,” the dwarf replied, skidding down the backside of the dam, pulling open the door to the pump room where the keg of gnomish powder was stored.

“The rest of you—back to the water wheel!” Jaymes shouted to his ragtag militia. He and the smith stood back to back, slaying any goblin that came within reach of either hammer or sword, while the rest of the defenders raced along the crest of the dam toward the shelter of the sturdy wooden structure.

Goblins spilled over the top of the dam, down to the flat, dry shore of the millpond, and they started making their way along the base of the earthen embankment. The smith staggered, dropping his hammer, groaning as he clasped a bloody wound. The warrior stepped back, giving the big man his left hand for support while, with the sword held in his other, he forced back a swarm of attackers.

“It’s burning—run for it!” shouted Dram, bursting from the pump room, sprinting toward the wheel house with a pack of howling goblins pursuing him just a few steps behind.

Step by step, Jaymes edged back, still carrying the bleeding smith. When the wounded man lost his balance and slumped to one knee the warrior stood fast, hacking the head off of a goblin who charged in. The sight of the rolling head gave the next in
line a moment’s pause, enough for Jaymes to pull the smith to his feet again. The two of them tumbled back to the door of the wheel house just as Dram scrambled up. Willing hands pulled the wounded man inside and the dwarf dived behind.

Jaymes stood alone outside the door, holding his sword ready. The goblins paused, gathering their courage for a renewed assault. Now they spilled along the pond side. The warrior kept his eyes on the pump room, where a small puffs of smoke indicated that Dram’s makeshift fuse was burning.

Abruptly, churning black vapor erupted from the pump room. Sparks shot through the murk, and red cinders scattered over nearby goblins, sending them scrambling away, swatting frantically at their burns. More and more embers shot from the pump room. The acrid cloud billowed. Bitter vapors made the goblins cough and choke, and many fell back in fear.

But that was all. The burning keg sputtered and fizzled and smoked up a storm, obscuring a large section of the dam. But it did nothing else, caused no damage to the embankment. All too soon the fire had burned itself out, and the acrid smoke was wafting away.

“By Reorx! That’s not right!” Dram cried, standing in the door of the water wheel building.

Jaymes cursed and turned back to the battle with a clenched jaw.

After their momentary consternation, the goblins took stock of the situation and rushed the door of the millhouse, howling in glee.

Jaymes stood alone before the door. He held his blade in both hands, and methodically twisted the hilt in his calloused palms.

Blue fire burst from that potent blade.

Ankhar watched the panic and the retreat. He was hypnotized by the suffering of one hobgoblin, his leg severed below the knee, try to crawl back to the camp on the plains. The wretched creature bled to death within a hundred paces of the outer pickets.

The half giant felt an unfamiliar disquiet. Things had not gone well today. This town should have been easy pickings compared to the walled city of Garnet, which he had so successfully sacked.

Of course, it was all due to that wretched Blue Fire sword. Goblins had always hated that ancient weapon. The warrior who surprised them with it had wielded it well, he had to admit, singlehandedly breaking the left flank of the horde’s attack.

Foremost among his regrets was the memory of that dead, silent skull, the talisman that had stared at him when he had been determined to act with or without his god’s approval. This was a lesson that Ankhar would remember.

It was the lesson of Truth.

“They almost broke through at the sawmill,” Sir Rene told Dram and Jaymes, as they looked around at the detritus of battle. The mill building was battered but still intact. “Sir Hubert tells me it was a very close-run affair, here. You did well to hold them.”

“We did what we could,” Jaymes said dryly. “I don’t think we could have held out any longer if they had attacked one last time.”

Rene shrugged but looked at the warrior shrewdly. “Apparently they didn’t have the stomach for tremendous losses. The plainsmen report that the whole horde has moved on—apparently they’re heading for Thelgaard. And the river is falling—the ford will be useable by tonight, I’m guessing.”

Jaymes nodded. Sir Rene rubbed a hand across his mustache then looked at the warrior. He gestured to the more than a hundred goblin corpses scattered around the wheel house.

“Lots of burns on these bastards. That’s probably one thing that scared them off.”

The warrior narrowed his eyes, said nothing.

“I’m going to send a report to the dukes. They’ll need to know about this battle. For one thing, first reports suggested this enemy was untrained, but I will suggest that is not the case.”

Jaymes nodded. “They attacked in some semblance of rank—they could do a lot of damage, with good training.”

“And I’ll be telling them about the brave defense. About the warrior with the sword who stood alone before the wheelhouse and left a hundred dead goblins, many of them burned.”

“That may be true enough,” Jaymes replied cautiously.

“I’ll be sending my report with a courier first thing in the morning,” Sir Rene said, awkwardly. “Just in case … you know. In case you are the modest type and want to cross the river this evening and get out of here before my report arrives in Caergoth.”

The warrior nodded. “We’ll be on our way.”

T
he lone knight spurred his horse, urging the animal to greater speed. Mud sucked at the hooves, and the animal staggered but found the strength to plunge ahead, raggedly cantering across the flat ground. Eyes bulging, nostrils flaring, the war-horse persevered, carrying the weary rider through the graying twilight. Finally the army camp materialized in the dusk, a scattering of smoky fires, sodden tents, and apprehensive troops.

The big horse slowed as it stumbled past the outer pickets. The knight guided it between the aisles of tents toward the largest canvas shelter in the encampment. The banner of Thelgaard, a white crown on a black field, hung limply from the tall staff, dripping water that pooled unnoticed among the soaked expanse.