The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (37 page)

As father and son faced each other for possibly the last time, a messenger rushed to the duke. Dropping on one knee, the man lowered his face, raising an official message from King Grekenbach. The royal red wax seal prominently displayed.

Duke Heggolstockin reluctantly took the communiqué, broke the seal, opened, and read the message. He handed it to his son and looked out across the balcony to the west.

Duke Anton Heggolstockin:

This is to inform your grace that an orc army has tunneled under the Hadorhof and the Hador mountains. It has begun moving south. All royal forces are marshalling here at Graushdemheimer to defend the capital. We will be unable to send your grace additional legions to defend Heggolstockin. We command that you hold the dukedom secure against any invasion.

                                                                      King Grekenbach R

* * *

The great griffin’s wings smacked Earwig with every beat. She jostled about on the beast’s side, moaning with each blow. Dreg tried his best to push her up on its back, but huffing and puffing as she struggled, she just rolled around unable to pull her rotund body up. Each wallop of the massive wing made her bounce off the beast’s side. She shrieked endlessly, but the great vulture-headed, lion-bodied beast ignored her ranting. Her hair tangled in its fur. She kicked the beast furiously in the side, but it flew on without notice. Glancing down from time to time, she saw tiny creatures on the earth below that seemed like toys. Her stomach turned at the sight. She clutched the beast’s fur and feathers tighter.

“Hold on, Miss Earwig,” Dreg shouted from the beast’s back. The wing smacked her again, and she bounced off the animal’s side once more.

“I’m losing my grip; my fingers can’t hold on...”

With a scream, Earwig slid off the griffin’s side and began tumbling down through the sky toward the mountainous terrain that now seemed to rush up to meet her. She flailed in the air, grabbing for anything that might slow her fall. She was about to faint, seeing the ground coming at her so fast.

Suddenly, the great griffin’s beak snapped onto her rags near what would have been a waist. She jerked upward, hanging limp from the beak. The great wings flapped violently to regain height as the griffin turned north again, seemingly unaffected.

“When is this going to end?” Earwig whimpered. “My shoulders are killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can stand this. And the humiliation of it all, when this monster lands, I’m going to turn it into a big roach and squash it.”

The beast flipped his head and tossed Earwig over his shoulder. She screamed and grabbed fur, fell, jerked to a halt, and dangled again on the beast’s side. The smell of wet cat fur nauseated her, but she clung to the dark mane for life.

The griffin flew on for hours. Just when the witch was about to abandon hope, the creature stopped flapping his wings and began to soar. His enormous beaked head lowered and began searching the landscape below.

“Do you suppose this monstrosity is going to land? I can’t endure this any longer.”

“Can I help you?” Dreg asked. He leaned forward, reached, and tried to grab hold of her arm, but his grip slipped on her sweaty, pudgy arm, spinning the witch.

“Stop that, you idiot!”

With Earwig spinning still, the griffin circled and landed on a small patch of level ground on a hillside. Though the landing was smooth, it was a smashing halt for the dangling sorceress, who was thrown forward, bouncing along the rocky soil like a soft rubber ball, groaning with each bounce. She lay there stunned for a moment, crawled a bit, then slowly lifted herself up, stumbling from side to side. Dreg rushed up to her and grabbed her arm to steady her. She jerked it away, causing her to fall over and bounce once again. Earwig rolled and only Dreg grabbing her foot prevented her from rolling over the edge and down the thousand feet of slope. Again she crawled back to her feet, cleared her throat, and raised her painful shoulders to straighten her hair. When she felt the huge fluff on her head where twigs, leaves, and even an old bird’s nest had entwined, she abandoned the effort to straighten herself out and make her mottled body presentable. Her face grew hot with rage. She jerked her arms close to her body and clinched her fists, then marched at the unconcerned griffin, busy preening his wings.

“You damnable beast!” Earwig screamed. “You nearly killed me. I’ll teach you to respect your superiors.” 

“Miss Earwig, hold your temper. That thing could smash us both with one paw.”

Ignoring Dreg, Earwig passed him, focused on getting to the griffin. She picked up a stick as she approached the scratching griffin. The creature studied something impaled on one of its enormous claws and didn’t appear to see the witch. As Earwig raised the stick in both hands, the griffin dropped its hind paw. A claw flicked slightly, knocking Earwig squarely in the face, bowling her over backward. She rolled across the small level ground, past Dreg, and over the edge and down the slope for what seemed like an eternity. When she did slam into a crooked old bush protruding from the hillside, she grabbed hold and managed to right herself. The witch sat down, head spinning, too exhausted to try to climb back up the slope. When neither Dreg nor the griffin came to her aid, the old bag grabbed the bush to steady herself. Trying to stand up, she had to ignore every aching joint. The branch snapped under the strain. The witch flew back, rolling further down the slope, bouncing off rocks and being pelted by rubble her passing threw up around her.

Her spinning and bouncing slowed when she reached the plain at the foot of the mountain. After her battered head stopped spinning and her ears stopped ringing, the throbbing pain of her body chimed in. She looked up at the slope high above, but there was no sign of Dreg or the griffin.

“I’m going to kill both of them.” Earwig brushed herself off. One last rock rolled down the hillside, bouncing off a boulder in front of her, flying up, and knocking her down. Once more, she stumbled back up, shaking her head but humbled. She looked frantically for more missiles, and seeing none, she started to crawl back up the slope. Her feet slipped on the rocky slope’s loose gravel until her shoes wore through and her clawed toes protruded. Her hands were ragged and bloody from clawing and clutching sharp rocks. At dusk, she finally made her way back up to the small level patch where Dreg and the griffin waited for her.

“You miserable wretches, why didn’t you catch me or come to my aid?”

“You rolled past me too fast, Miss Earwig. And this here monster wouldn’t let me go down there after you. When I moved to the clearing’s edge, he pinned me to the ground with a single claw. Honest, Miss Earwig.”

“I’m gonna kill the both of you.” Earwig flopped down in the middle of the clearing far from the edge. “I don’t suppose we have anything to eat, do we?” Earwig stared at Dreg and the griffin.

Dreg just shrugged his shoulders.

The noble beast rose as if light as a feather, took a couple of strides, thrust out his wings, knocking Earwig over again, and launched into the air with ease. It circled over the valley below, and as Earwig watched, it dove into a thicket and came out with a small deer slumped in its beak. The griffin flew back to the clearing and settled down near the rocky hillside. It dropped the deer between its paws.

Earwig approached the deer; a drop of spittle drooled from the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t care. The griffin focused its defiant eyes on the slowly approaching witch, then snapped its beak at her. Earwig jumped back and went to sit beside Dreg in the dusty center of the rocky patch.

The griffin tore off the deer skin at midsection. The great beak snatched out the entrails and tossed them in the direction of the two miserable starving people watching it. The winged beast feasted on the deer carcass.

Dreg and Earwig looked at each other, then the entrails, with disgust. It was Dreg that finally got up and collected the few sticks on the clearing to make a fire. Earwig still wouldn’t consider the viscera. She watched the griffin tearing the last of the meat off the deer bones. Full, the beast kicked the head, skin, and remarkably clean bones over toward the witch. With a snarl, Earwig picked through the offal with a stick and pushed a bone toward Dreg.

“You want me to cook you this bone?”

“Yes, cook the bone, stupid. I’m not eating those intestines.” Earwig picked up a rock and smashed the leg bone, cracking it open. She put the pieces by the fire that now settled into coals and roasted the marrow for her meal. She refused to look and see what part Dreg ate for his food, but it was their only meal that day.

Next morning, the griffin awoke and stretched his paws like a cat, then flung out his wings to warm them in the early morning sun. Earwig watched with one eye barely open. She punched Dreg, who snoring, was sound asleep.

“Wake up, you lump,” Earwig said. “That griffin is awake. We must be ready or it might leave us here, stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Startled, Dreg jumped but settled back, clearing his throat. He pulled his cloak around him again.

“That thing’s sunning himself. He ain’t going nowhere.”

“We must be ready,” Earwig said. “This time I’m not flying half the day dangling off that flea infested thing’s side.” She got up out of her dusty nest. Her bruised body, a mass of pulsing pains from the falls the day before, hobbled over by the cold ashes. She reached down for a bone fragment, seeing a dab of marrow she’d missed the night before.

Suddenly, she caught the great beak out of the corner of her eye. It was coming toward her. Before she could react, the beak snatched her, tossing her onto the lion-back. The griffin only had to look at Dreg. He ran, scrambling, and leaped on the griffin’s back.

“Hold on!” he said as the griffin rose and started across the clearing. 

Earwig dropped the bone fragment and grabbed hold of the griffin’s fur just as it lurched forward and into the air. Off they flew north toward the Ice Mountains. She looked down and watched the bone fragment disappear in an instant. Her stomach grumbled.

War Comes to Heggolstockin

With the collapse of Sengenwhapolis, the death of King Calamidese, annihilation of the grand duke’s relief force, and the exodus of the last defenders of the capital, Sengenwha was a defeated state under the control of General Tarquak and the massive silver-scaled dragon, Ozrin. Having completed his mission, and finding few tasty Sengenwhan corpses or dead orcs to feed on, Ozrin informed General Tarquak he was returning to the Munattahensenhov to report to the king on the status of Sengenwha.

“What do you mean you’re returning to Dreaddrac?” Tarquak asked, spitting through the stubble teeth in the orc shell’s mouth. Tarquak raged. He turned to his ogre and goblin aides for support, but they stood mute. “You’re needed here to defend Sengenwhapolis.”

“No, General,” the great dragon responded. Boiling spittle fell from the corners of his massive mouth, splashing sulfurous flames near the wraith-orc. The general jumped back but dared not comment. “I go to report to the king on Sengenwha’s status. The city and kingdom are subdued; it merely remains for you to maintain control.”

“But you can’t abandon me here now. What if these people decide to rise up again? What of Botahar”

“You have an organized army, General. They have nothing.”

Without waiting for another response, Ozrin stamped away into the night, his great tail whipping around, narrowly missing his nemeses.

Tarquak turned to his aides, looking this way and that, daring one to comment. “Did you see that? That lizard dared turn and walk away without being dismissed.”

There was no response from goblin or ogres behind the general. The orc face twisted, his eyes flared, his mouth half grimace half snarl. “Well, it will be your responsibility to assure this former kingdom remains broken and subdued. I’ll allow no argument.” The general started walking back to his tower overlooking the city, now mostly dark.

“General,” an ogre called out.

“What is it?”

“What about Botahar, General?”

“What about Botahar?”

The ogre began sweating. He looked about him for support, but none of the others even moved. They just looked ahead, avoiding eye contact with the doomed ogre.

“General, Botahar be the last stronghold in Sengenwha. Them rebel defenders of this city run off there. It’s from there that any counter attack is gonna come. Shouldn’t we crush it before a new army can form?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, fool. None would dare another attack on Sengenwhapolis now.” The general turned again to leave, but the goblin stepped forward. “What about the queen?”

“What queen, you idiot?”

“King Calamidese had a sister. She would be the lawful queen now. What of her? Won’t the Sengenwhan people look to her?”

“She’s a woman; they won’t rally around her. She can defend nothing and lead no troops.”

The general stormed off, returning to his resting place before dawn. He didn’t see Ozrin off to Dreaddrac or respond to the drunken revelry and decay of order going on among his troops in the streets of his recaptured city.

* * *

Queen Dagmar watched and evaluated from the heights in a lone hill overlooking the city. Ghouls feasted on the unburied scraps left by Ozrin. Drunken orcs stumbled this way and that. The ogre commanders indulged with them, failing to bother with maintaining order.

* * *

Duke Heggolstockin led his legions out from his provincial capital, leaving behind the city’s militia and the legion King Grekenbach had previously stationed with the duke to defend the province. It was a magnificent procession with legionary standards blazing, flags rippling in the breeze, and polished armor flashing in the morning sunlight. The duke’s resplendent gilded armor of ancient elfin manufacture stood out beneath his rich plumed helmet. The force marched forward to war with the invading goblin and his orc legions on the province’s western border.

When the troops approached the invaders some days later, Heggolstockin’s advance guards noted the sentries, posted by the goblin, fled to warn the general of the duke’s arrival.

“Where do you suppose the invaders will choose to fight?” the duke asked an aide.

“Not many locals remain after the saber-wolves ravaged the countryside. The few that have come forward tell us there is a small plain between two impenetrable stands of forest over a ridge about a mile ahead. The farmers think the orc army will make a stand there,” the aide said. “But shouldn’t your grace make choice of the battlefield?”

“Send scouts ahead to reconnoiter the area and determine where the orc legions are positioned. Meanwhile, assign legionary camping positions for the night. Post guards and have the troops dig a surrounding moat and walls. We don’t want them surprising us in the night.”

The duke removed his helmet, and his attendant took his breastplate once he was in his tent. It had been a long march and they were all exhausted. The duke had a goblet of wine before retiring. He noted his troops’ campfires surrounding his tent on the heights. It was after midnight when the duke was awakened by the sound of smashing metal. Just as he awoke, one of his commanders dashed in to awaken him.

“Your Grace, we’re under attack!”

“Attack?” the duke said, shaking his head to dispel the drowsiness at the abrupt intrusion. He rushed to the tent opening, grabbing his helmet as he passed the camp table. Looking out over the bivouac, smoke drifted from burned out campfires, but moonlight flashed from swords swinging everywhere. ‘Whoosh,’ was heard from tents slashed in the darkness. Screams rose far and wide from soldiers, savaged in their sleep before they could grab their arms in defense. Moonlit openings between silver-edged charcoal clouds revealed orcs everywhere tramping through the camp and tents, slashing anything that moved.

“Sound the alarm!” the duke yelled. He jerked his helmet on his head as his drowsy attendant fumbled, fastening his armor breastplate. Another attendant rushed up with the duke’s sword and a spear. The man hesitated, looking out over chaos in the camp. The duke grabbed the sword from his hand and shoved the man backward as he passed. He turned to an aide that just arrived. “There are enemy troops all through the camp. What happened to the guards posted to warn of an attack?”

“They must have fallen asleep, Your Grace.”

Before order could be restored and the orcs driven from the camp at first light, the invaders had killed or wounded a quarter of his forces.

“The orcs appear to have struck and retreated, losing few of their own to the battle’s chaos,” an aide said, coming to the duke at sunrise.

The duke spent the morning reordering his force and evaluating the prospects for the coming battle. He had the two remaining guards responsible for warning the camp the night before whipped out of camp.

“We will march on the enemy at once,” the duke said to his remaining officers.

“Your Grace, the men are demoralized and exhausted from expelling the attackers. Shouldn’t we give the men a day to recover and to formulate our counter attack?” a commander asked.

“That’s what they’ll expect us to do. We are in disarray, but so are they. No, we will attack as quickly as possible, while we have the element of surprise. I should have had those two watchmen hanged for their failure to warn the camp.”

The duke marched his troops west through the afternoon. By dusk, down a dry stream gully almost upon the orcs, he found them. They were celebrating their attack on the duke’s camp the night before. Many were drunk, stumbling around their campfires, others falling over or asleep already amid empty jugs all around the camp.

“You take your cohorts there along the ravine and position them so they can form a line between our main force here and the river. They must hold! They must keep the orcs from breaking through to Jardin’s Crossing and escaping back into Prertsten. We attack at dawn.”

The commander turned his horse and raced off to the left. The duke turned to another commander. “You take your cohorts to the right. You must advance the right wing and keep the orcs retreating back to the river. Remember, dawn!” The second commander rushed off into the night.

When the duke led the center in the attack, he took the orcs by surprise indeed. They fell back. Almost at the Akkin’s riverbank, the orcs turned, fought a weak defense, and suffered heavy losses. By then, the duke’s forces were exhausted, too. In the meantime, the goblin had brought his commanders under control and issued orders to reform the forces at the river. The duke’s confidence rose, seeing the lack of treetops denoting the river over the next ridge.

“We have them trapped against the river and in disarray,” the duke shouted to his aides. They spurred their horses and charged up the ridge.

“It will be a great victory, Your Grace,” a general said, riding beside the duke.

When the duke’s entourage came over the crest, he looked down in horror on his exhausted troops. They were out of formation, slowly pursuing the fleeing orcs to the goblin’s reformed legions backed against the river.

“How did that goblin reform his soldiers so quickly?” the duke asked.

“The troops he sent to engage us must have been only a diversion to give him time to set his defense,” the general mumbled, not taking his eyes off the organized army facing him. He turned to the duke. “They know they have no retreat. The river is behind them; they will fight to the death.”

“How stupid of us,” the duke said. “Reconnaissance failed us again. Look at our men. They’re all but dragging their swords and shields, while those orcs are swaying, brandishing theirs, challenging our men to attack them.”

“We must stop the advance, or we’ll be slaughtered,” the general said.

“Yes, you would council that now,” the duke said, staring at the general. “As military commander, you’re supposed to plan ahead, not react to the obvious.” The duke lowered his head. “Sound the withdrawal from battle, and have the men camp here on the crest for the night.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the general said, nodding to his subordinates. He left to see to the disposition of the troops.

That idiot wishes to get out of my presence, the duke thought.

“Be sure the guards are posted, and be ready for an attack this time. Any guard found asleep this night will be executed at dawn before the whole army, what’s left of it.”

The duke rode up and down his lines that evening, checking and rechecking the defenses in case the orcs charged up the slopes. Exhausted and demoralized, he went to his tent late in the evening to find a courier from the capital.

“What is it?” the duke asked the man.

The courier dropped to his knee with lowered head.

“What is it man?”

“Your Grace, the duchess sent me. She’s in a state.”

“What’s she upset about now?”

“Your son, Lord Amenibus, has ordered the remaining forces at the capital to prepare to march to reinforce Feldrik Fortress!”

Pushing the man over out of his way before he could rise and move, the duke went to the tent opening and grabbed a guard.

“Find the general; have him report here at once.” The guard rushed off into the darkness. The duke poured the messenger a goblet of wine and handed him a portion of roasted bird from the camp table set up in the corner of the tent.

“Eat quickly, man. We ride at once to Heggolstockin. We must reach the city before Lord Amenibus abandons the capital for Feldrik. If we fail to stop this orc army here, they will have open access to Heggolstockin and the city without defense.”

* * *

At Heggolstockin, the duchess rushed about in the ducal palace, then out to the fortification over the city’s western gate. In the torch light of a mirror she passed, she caught sight of her robes, dusty from her frantic rush through the city. Her frizzled hair seemed to stand on end. Her servants followed in near panic, but if they came too close trying to restrain her, she swatted them back.

“Where is Lord Amenibus?” the duchess asked those she passed as she raced on. She paid little attention to those same persons startled both at the sight of her and her panic. When she found her son ordering troop dispositions and a supply column, she grabbed him with both hands.

“You’re planning to abandon the city and take the defense forces off to Feldrik, aren’t you?” Denubia asked in a dry and cracked voice. “You mustn’t abandon the city!”

“I must relieve Feldrik, Mother. Feldrik’s commander has sent word Prince Pindradese is crossing the Akkin with all his forces. They’ll need all the help we can muster. Father will defeat the invaders in the west and return here to defend Heggolstockin.” Amenibus continued ordering his preparations.

The duchess spun around in front of her son, breaking his concentration. She grasped a scroll in Amenibus’s hand and thrust it toward the table without looking to see where it landed. “Listen to me. You must not leave the city undefended. What if your father isn’t successful in expelling the invaders in the west?” she whispered in his ear. “Would you have all our troops at Feldrik and the whole of the duchy exposed to those savages?” She broke into tears. “What if something happens to your father?”

Amenibus took his mother in his arms and held her for a moment. He looked her in the eyes.