Caleb's Journey

Let there be war

“

Vox, look at the trees, they’re rustling!” Daeka passionately remarked. Vox, whose mellow disposition made him view most scenes with the ease of his own languid nature calmly replied, “Trees move all of the time. Strong winds will do that to’em. It’s natural. Just relax, Daeka, we have scouts in the field to alert us to oncoming threats.”

“

No, no, no. You are wrong. They are bending unnaturally and the wind has not been blowing all day. I’m sounding the alarm!”

“

Sound the alarm! Have you taken leave of your senses? Sir Samsuran will have your head.”

Daeka, in a heightened sense of agitation exclaimed, “Someone else will have it if I don’t sound the alarm. Better that he has it.” Dakar looked at the large shining bell that was within his sight and but a few steps away. Without a moment’s hesitation, he raced towards the bell, seized the metal rod next to it in his grasp, and struck it with all of the vigor that every fiber of his being would allow. Clangalang! Clangalang! Clangalang! Went the bell.

The sound of the bell reverberated throughout the morning air reaching all corners of Attalis for it was rung with such forceful, feverish, rapidity that it seemed as if Daeka sought to shake the entire army with his action.

Hearing the alarm instantly moved the stronghold’s soldiers into action. Men issued forth from their barracks like streams of water running down a mountain, all armed with sword and shield, and headed to their respective destinations. Some ran for their bows and took their posts along the arrow slit openings in the walls. Others grabbed pole arms off of racks lined with this weapon, an axe with a sharp tip at the end of the staff designed to attack anyone attempting to scale the walls of the mighty fortress. Some soldiers moved to man their anti-siege weaponry. The guards at the gate hitched the horses to the doors and drew them shut with a tremulous thud. They then reinforced the thick oak doors with heavy wooden planks. Commanders directed the traffic of the soldiers with perfect synchronicity.

While most inhabitants considered the sounding of the alarm as nothing more than a drill to determine combat readiness or a grievous error in judgment on the part of some lookout, to a man, they all dreaded facing their commanding officer should they fail to heed the sounding of the alarm with all military seriousness required of one who defended the gateway into the Golden Realm.

“

Light the fires!” a man bellowed and soon all across the arrow slits in Attalis a combustible mixture one could dip an arrow into and shoot it at their foes was set ablaze. The idea behind the flaming mixture was to burn the enemy’s supplies, thereby diminishing his ability to lay siege to the stronghold or just to inflict more damage on an attacker.

“

Dispatch the messenger!” A horse mounted rider sped off through one of the secret passageways out of the fortress heading for the nearest town, Ellbu, to alert them of the impending invasion.

This symphony of actions and movements was carefully overseen by its maestro, Sir Samsuran. That gray bearded, grizzled veteran emerged from his quarters at the first sound of the alarm. He strode through the scrambling troops, past every person with a quick gait. When an officer tried to speak with him he simply waved him aside with a dismissive motion and said, “You know your orders, follow them.” He continued his march to his destination, the observation platform. He needed to see for himself why someone had sounded the alarm and to assess the situation personally.

Up the smooth stone steps he marched to his mechanical military rhythm when he reached the top of the east wall, he bade someone to give him the looking glass, politely thanking the man who delivered it to him. “Yes, there, in the woods, there is something,” he remarked. The glass lacked the magnification to give a clear view of the strength and size of the invading host, yet it confirmed Daeka’s suspicions, there was indeed an army on the horizon the dense forest making it difficult to descry the potency of it.

Meanwhile, on hearing the humans’ alarm, Eman-Sadal dryly remarked, “We’ve been spotted and have lost the element of surprise. What are we to do?” He said with feigned fear. His confidence in his abilities and of his forces was so great that he had already foreseen the outcome of this conflict.

“

We need that,” Lortaag whispered.

“

What we need you fool is fear. Those humans have never seen an army such as this. Wait until we emerge from the forest and they behold the sight of the host arrayed against them. Sound the march.”

Skarlarth seized his horn, filled his massive lungs with air and blew into the horn. A booming, sonorous, bass sound emitted from the instrument and reverberated through the thicket. Its purpose was to tell all armies to act as Eman-Sadal had commanded, and to weave through the thicket, the sound so loud and ominous that it reached all the way up to Sir Samsuran’s ears.

While it lie beyond that knight’s sight, but what transpired amidst the rustling trees was the advancing of a mighty army. Instead of seeing the army the humans heard it in the distance and as Eman-Sadal predicted, it struck a chord of fear within each man. The ogres began beating their drums in unison, deep, angry, booming strikes on their hide instrument that filled the air with sound and caused the trees to sway to their beat such was the nature of the bass being emitted. Then the sound of the marching army came, no longer seeking to mask its size, its thousands of footfalls hitting the ground, what a deliberate thunderous sound it was.

The tops of the trees swayed and shook as the ogres beasts of burden lumbered forward with siege weapons in tow. The mass and power of these mighty beasts and the weight of their cargo caused small trees to bend and snap. Ogres who served as masters to these animals stood behind them, whipping them and urging them to move forward, the sound of the cracking whips permeating through the air and ringing through the ears of those ahead of them who had no choice but to march or risk being trampled.

Witnessing the siege unfold in its early stages Sir Samsuran with his decades of expertise in tactics began barking out orders, “Captains, I want a heavy concentration of archers not only behind the arrow slits, but on the east wall as well. Make sure we have pikemen stationed at all walls to repel those that get past through the moat. Those mangy dogs will come through the clearing soon enough and I want your men to fill the sky with arrows so that our foes might know the might of our majesty’s army! Train your shots on the leaders. Load the ballistas and use them to damage the enemy siege weapons. Nobody and nothing can penetrate our impregnable walls. Let’s take away every advantage they have and send them scurrying back from whence they came like the rats that they are!

At his command the captains signaled for the bulk of the missile columns to assemble on the east wall. Men ran, like streams, to form rows, three men deep onto the tops of the wall, which had staggered steps, allowing as many men as possible to obtain a position from which to launch a volley. Upon reaching his assigned spot, each man reached into his quiver, removed and arrow, notched it, and waited for the order to fire.

They didn’t have to wait for very long. Out of the clearing emerged an army the likes of which nobody had ever seen, even Sir Samsuran. First among the invaders came the skeletons, hordes of them. Insensate and emotionless there stood the reanimated remains of countless humans. Each varied widely in height and density, as is common in humans. All of them had the same blank, lifeless stare in their red orbed, hollow eye sockets. Each had a dull, gray frame, the natural whiteness of bone being covered by a mixture of both time and dirt. All of them held a weapon of some kind, be it sword or axe or club.

To a man the soldiers at Attalis doubted what their eyes beheld. Row by row their foe lined up in perfect unison, out of missile range thus far, but giving every indication of being the first wave of the impending assault.

Gnoll infantry formed the second line of attackers, garbed in leather or hide armor and armed with flail and shield, most of them now whirling the ball and chain weapon, working themselves up into a furious frenzy. Now the ogres came into view, the heavy infantry units of the group, as well as the spearmen each clan decorated with its respective colors splayed on their hide armor. Some amongst them had elaborate tattoos or boasted multiple piercings, the intent to make them look even more ferocious than the sight of an eight to ten foot tall and four feet broad behemoth would already appear.

Until their enemies were in shooting range the humans stood helpless, like casual spectators at a play, watching the menacing host arrayed before them execute their orchestration for assault. Soon the siege engines emerged from the thicket, catapults, battering rams, and assault protectors, two rows of shields attached to thick timber to protect from ranged attacks, allowing the troops to advance and use ladders to attempt an attack on the castle. Finally, the leaders of their respective hosts emerged.

“

They’re scared, finally,” Skarlarth snarled.

“

Of course they are,” Eman-Sadal assented. “Soon they’ll be dead.”

“

Not soon enough,” Wulu added.

Gnolls began to howl as they marched forward and the ogres beat their chests with their free hand. Ogre commanders beat their drums to give the entire march a cadence. Eman-Sadal thought them silly and simple for these antics and attributed their military losses, at least in part, in a desire to look fearsome rather than execute a plan of attack. He felt confident in his abilities as a tactician and he assumed that with the size of his army that the stronghold would fall in a week at most, far ahead of time for any group of reinforcements to alter the outcome. Attalis had his respect for its potency, but his regard for himself saw the loss of life as a mere formality before an assured outcome.

From his command post, Sir Samsuran ordered countermeasures, “concentrate ballista fire on the evarks.

Archers rain arrows on the ogres towing those battering rams. I want the sky to be blocked out by our missile assault. Let’s see them get their siege weapons close enough after we’ve finished with them.” As the army marched forward, he waited until the enemy was in range and then he shouted, “Fire! Fire! Fire!” His prompting caused each captain to say, “You heard our commander, make it rain arrows! Bows were notched and a voluminous number of them filled the sky headed towards their targets. Winches on the ballistas were wound by humans to draw back the massive spears loaded into them and their volley was launched.

“

Shields up,” the gnolls shouted as they raised said article to protect themselves. The skeletons continued to march blindly, neither covering themselves, nor showing any signs of fear while the ogres braced for impact, trusting in their dense flesh and hide armor and wooden shields for protection. As the arrows sped towards their destination, they seemed to hang in the air for a moment before streaking downwards towards their final destination, the advancing hordes.

Many found their mark in the marching skeletons who screamed not the slightest in pain, but simply fell to the ground, the injury severing their brief connection with the world of the living. Other arrows struck the gnolls wooden shields, which held fast, but some pierced said shield and now stuck in the forearm that held that article of battle. For anyone who failed to deflect the blow some caught an arrow in the throat, others the chest, others had a limb pierced. If the injury failed to kill its target, then that victim let loose with a scream, but all who were able continued to advance.

As for the ogres, whether by shield or hide armor or dense flesh or sheer force of will almost none of them succumbed to the first volley. Naturally some were injured or slowed, but as those farthest away from the arrow assault they suffered the fewest injuries. Sure, it slowed the ones who got hit, but they merely grunted and snapped off the offending missile at the point of entry or ripped it out entirely.

Eman-Sadal chuckled when he saw his soldiers and the soldiers of his allies fall. This behavior did not escape the attention of Skarlarth. With a snarl and bared fanged teeth, he angrily inquired what his comrade found so amusing about losing soldiers.

“

Ease your mind great warrior. It’s the ironic humor of recollecting my own death and the path that I have chosen. I was so afraid to die and look at me now. Dying was the best thing that ever happened to me in my life. I command an army the likes of which few have seen,” and here he chuckled even more, “and I shall preside over the destruction of the most potent stronghold in the Golden Realm. How mighty am I?”

“

Ghoul,” thought Lortaag.

“

Avenge our brothers in arms barked,” Segtui. “March mighty ogre hordes. Soon your weapons will be red with the blood of our foes.” This elicited a roar of assent from all of the ogres and they increased the pace of their march.

“

Make our tribe proud and show them we are mighty warriors to be feared,” barked Manaan.

With a cool, collected look on his gray, rotting face the lich master issued his next command, “There, they’ve fired their first volley and in the face of charging soldiers their next shots will be more hurried and less accurate. So, hurry them, we shall. Signal the full charge!” This order was given to his heralds and standard bearer, bearing a black silk flag with a crowned, ebony skeleton sitting on a throne, who waived said flag in the air in a twirling motion and then slashed it towards the ground, the sign for a full speed frontal assault that was noted by all of the heralds of each faction of the invading army who gave the same instructions to their respective forces.

Every creature in the dread alliance immediately began racing at top speed towards their destination in a full march that resembled something like a foot race to reach the castle walls of the human stronghold. With a unified spirit and desire they charged forth. The skeletons, who had no brain with which to think simply did as commanded while the ogres and the gnolls who had hungered for centuries for a great victory over the humans pressed on with a particular purpose and passion, a passion forged in the flames of enmity passed on to generation after generation. Enervated by the thought of achieving the dreams of their forefathers and avenging every slight, real or imagined the bloodthirsty non-humans began to overtake the slower, more methodical skeletons.

Meanwhile, the humans wasted no time in admiring their handiwork. Instead at the urging of their captains they loosed another volley. Fire! Fire! Fire! Was the order that rang throughout the misty morning air.

“

Vox,” cried Daeka, “They’re so many of them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“

Just keep shooting,” Vox answered, “There will be a lot less of them soon enough.”

As a hail of arrows rained down upon them the gnolls and ogres who had not found themselves pierced by projectiles began to flank past the slow moving skeletons. “They’re closing ground quickly remarked a captain. “Concentrate your fire on the gnolls. They’re faster than ogres.”

Many archers heeded this suggestion, their arrows now flying towards the rapidly advancing creatures and felling some, but many gnolls continued to surge forward. These forces, coupled with the gray boned skeletons and gray skinned ogres seemed like a great sea of advancing assailants to the defenders of Attalis. Various utterances issued forth from the soldiers. “Look at their number.” “There are so many of them.” “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Doubt and fear gripped some of the men on the walls.

“

My precious soldiers fall,” Lortaag yelped.

Eman-Sadal, who sat on the back of a horse answered, “All part of a bigger plan.”

“

If your plan is to reduce my army to nothing, let me congratulate you,” the gnoll king said with disdain.

To this the lichmaster gave no reply. Instead he contented himself with thoughts of how dimwitted Lortaag was and that Eman-Sadal’s plan would unfold over time. He had neither the time nor the patience to explain his actions to one he viewed as his lesser. If he had a choice, Lortaag’s body would be among the dead who now littered the battlefield. However, he had to keep up appearances so he simply said, “Patience your majesty.” His next edict was for the ogres, “I want those catapults in place in five minutes, push those evarks!”

To the great credit of Sir Samsuran and his strategic cleverness he had enough of the forest cleared away so that any siege weapon would have to be placed within firing range of his archers. Otherwise that attacker would have to leave the weapon placed amongst the dense forest, making accurate targeting nigh impossible and neutralizing the firing range advantage such weapons held over the bow and arrow. Attalis’ walls were designed to be impregnable, but Sir Samursan wanted to leave nothing to chance. Eman-Sadal’s scouts had reported this to him and his plan, the first rush, was designed to distract his adversary, thus allowing him time to place, entrench, and fortify the position of his siege equipment.

The plan worked exactly as expected. As the advancing horde drew nearer and nearer with each stride the archers on the walls started to panic and began training their arrows on any advancing target. Arrow after arrow was launched at the charging throng against the protest of captains who wanted them to shoot at the commanders and anyone pushing siege towers or carrying ladders or battering rams.

Sir Samsuran personally ran up to a ballista team and said, “Shoot at that siege tower.” The order being followed, the missile impacted the front of said tower tearing a partial opening in the plate armor attached to it.

Still the mass moved across the open field. “Knock down the doors!” Ogres shouted. Gnolls, thirsty for blood howled with glee and said, “Cross the moats and put the ladders on the walls and let’s kill some humans!” Ladder bearers, not far behind the other groups prepared to traverse the moat with their siege protectors and rest the instrument of ascension against the castle walls. Other ogres with their thick oak tree fitted with a metal ram’s head, began to circle around to the west wall where the entryway was located. For missile support they had their spearmen accompany them.

“

Prepare to repel boarders,” multiple captains shouted. “Bring out the boiling oil! Pikemen, gouge those pieces of refuse from the ladders and let their wounds fill our moat with blood. Archers, concentrate fire on anyone who tries to let one of their accursed ladders touch our walls. Heap torches onto any siege item and let it burn. Send these creatures back to the holes from which they came. We fight for the Light King! Uua protect you all!” A chorus of cheers and other verbalizations of assent poured out amongst the crowd. Many thought of their families and loved ones as Attalis was all that stood between them and the oncoming horde.

Sir Samsuran now mounted his personal platform and repeated many of the instructions of his subordinates. “This first wave is drawing near. Let’s give them a reason to be sorry that they tested our mettle. Pikemen, push the ladders back down once they hit the wall. Archers, shoot the men holding the ladders. Dump the oil on them as they ascend. This is what we trained for. This fortress will not fall!”

Eager for combat, the advancing gnolls slogged into the moat and began laying their ladders against the slightly slanted walls of the castle. Amidst the arrows raining down on them scores of gnolls came up the ladders only to have the pikemen, now stationed on the deep walls, gouge at them from behind the ramparts. Every bit of the defensive nature of the castle was designed to protect the defenders from siege and missile attacks. Still, gnoll sling men on the ground did their best to pelt the defenders with stones. Some found their mark and the soldiers fell off of the walls where the now arriving skeletons attacked them with savage ferocity and quickly hacked the men to pieces.

Captain Josai, who commanded the west well ordered his men to fire at will at the ogres carrying the battering ram. The ram bearers were protected by ogres carrying large, heavy shields. “Those crazy devils,” Captain Josai commented, “There aren’t enough of them to even take a good shot at our doors.” Arrows hit both shield and ogre. When an ogre carrying the ram was felled another took his place. Ogre spearmen threw their long wooden missile weapons in an attempt to provide some distraction for their brothers, which they did with a modicum of success, but most of the spears hit the walls and fell harmlessly to the ground.

As the skeleton legions reached the walls, a horn was sounded. Instantly, the gnolls broke off their attack and began a hasty retreat. Now it was the turn of the hordes of dingy boned skeletons to try their luck at storming the castle. Their smaller frames made them harder targets for the archers and their lack of flesh made them less susceptible to piercing attacks by the pikemen. Still, the pikemen fought with ferocity and shoved down the attackers fortified by both their physically advantageous position and their strength, which exceeded that of the attacking undead.

The ogres that he circled around towards the west found themselves harried with arrows. Undaunted they pressed the attack, having ventured too far away from their allies to turn back. Some skeletons followed them, but lacked the speed to keep up with the ogres. Charging towards the sealed door which had been raised and where it lay, now stood a moat, the ogres had no means of a frontal assault on the door. Many of them uttered curses and more and more of them fell to the arrows of the numerous archers. They cursed their fate, now realizing the futility of their action, an action which they hoped would define their heroism.

Finally, they broke ranks and they all began openly fleeing, past their supporting skeletons. The scene of what they thought would be a daring, famous escapade to be remembered by future generations had become a slaughter. Eman-Sadal had not told them to charge the gate for he assumed, correctly so, that the moat encircled the entire castle. As the ogres fled, so too did the skeletons, but the ogres raced back towards the command post, the handful that survived whilst the skeletons merely rejoined the ranks of those forcing the frontal assault on the castle.

Vats of boiling oil were raised by a series of ropes and gears, operated by men and it was men who handled the canisters when they reached the top of the walls. Some even gleefully imagined the pain they were about to inflict. So far no skeleton had reached the summit of the ladder to begin doing battle with the soldiers stationed along the walls. The archers and pikemen had proven too competent a duo, when coupled with the thick and high walls of the castle, to overcome. The men who handled the vats now dragged the globular items to the front of the castle walls and began dumping them onto the invaders with extreme prejudice. Heated oil set the ladders ablaze and burned right through any targets that had clung to the ladder rather than jump into the moat in an attempt to avoid the assault.

After hours of pitched battle the day grew dusky and another horn blatted out a sound in the distance, this one coming from beyond the siege weapons and the sight of the humans, blown by Eman-Sadal. It signaled a retreat to defensive drenches dug by the ogres during the assault, reinforced with timber so as to provide extra protection from human arrows. It was here where all of the minions of the attacking generals gathered for an evening’s respite. Some sang songs, others drank. The skeletons merely sat and looked lifeless, awaiting the next word of their commander.

In the leader’s tent, Lortaag, Skarlarth, Segtui, and Eman-Sadal, Manaan, and Wulu took conference. Lortaag, seething with rage, spoke first, “Some great general you have proven yourself to be, all you did was get our armies slaughtered. Bravo. One of your skeletons could have done that.”

Eman-Sadal gave him a sinister one-eyed stare. “Who else thinks I did wrong?” he asked as he stood up from the table and began pacing to and fro.

Seguti spoke, “Today’s outcome does have the appearance of folly, in trusting too much to the size of our army.”

“

The only folly is in not trusting me,” Eman-Sadal snapped, “I was sent here to win, and win I shall. We probed our enemy’s defenses and have learned something about their tactics. Our catapults are pointed at their walls and are protected. This very moment they are being doubly reinforced and when combined with the might of our infantry and archery units, we shall overcome our foe. Let me remind you how quick they were to engage the infantry at the expense of ignoring our siege weapons. Every man in there is afraid of coming face to face with any of our soldiers. They know that they are no match in melee combat with a gnoll or an ogre. Let a pack of your men come streaming into their castle and I promise you that your troops wouldn’t hear me sounding a retreat over the screaming of those humans.”

Skarlarth, who was usually free with his tongue, gave a vote of confidence to Eman-Sadal, “He speaks truth and smartly. I say we trust him still. Xerax wouldn’t send someone here to help us lose, he would look too weak.”

“

Indeed, he would,” Eman-Sadal answered him. “Indeed he would. So, eat and drink my friends. This military matter is in good, capable hands, mine. Trust in me and you shall have your victory. Don’t forget, the humans have not yet seen my mount and neither have any of you!” With those words Eman-Sadal left the tent. He had no desire to enjoy the company of the other commanders and no need to sleep so he spent the evening drafting battle plans by torchlight in his private camp.