Chris Pierson - Spirit of the Wind

“That’s it!” Riverwind shouted. He loosed another arrow, which flashed through the air, hitting an ogre in the neck. “You’re doing it! Keep at them!”

The assault continued in this way for an hour, though to Kendermore’s defenders it felt more like an eternity. In time, half the attacking ogres lay unmoving at the base of the wall, pierced and smashed and burnt. But half still remained, and the supplies of arrows and slingstones on the battlements ran perilously low. One by one, the archers and slingers cast their weapons aside and joined their fellows at rock-heaving.

“There!” Kronn cried, pointing out across the meadow. “Ladders coming! They’re going to try and scale the wall!”

Riverwind squinted, leaning dangerously out over the merlons. He ducked a soaring javelin, then peered toward the distant Kenderwood. Night had fallen, but in the glow of the fires and the pale moon, he could make out several hundred more of the ogres, charging forward to join their fellows. They carried at least two dozen long, sturdy ladders.

“Get ready!” Brimble shouted. With practiced ease, he slung his chapak across his back with one hand, picking up a long military fork with the other. “They’ll all come at once. Be prepared to repel them!”

Hurriedly the kender set down or cast aside their weapons and pry bars, discarding them in favor of pole arms. The few remaining archers and slingers concentrated their last shots on the ladder bearers. They succeeded in stopping a third of them before they could get near the wall, but the rest came on, driving their ladders into the ground and swinging them up toward the walls. Then the ogres began to climb.

Wherever a ladder rose, kender ran to intercept it. They pushed with their bill hooks and pitchforks, trying to shove the ladders away before the ogres could reach the top. Several ladders fell, crashing back to the ground and crushing those who had tried to climb them.

But the ladders were sturdier than the ones Riverwind and Brimble had used in their drills, and the ogres who held their bases steady were strong. Of the seventeen ladders that went up, nine refused to fall.

Brimble Redfeather swore like a sailor, shoving his fork against a ladder with all his might. “Damn it!” he snarled. “They’re going to make it up here! They’re going to take the wall!” He blew hard on his whistle, sounding a signal he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to use. “Arm yourselves! Be ready when they come! Kill them as soon as you can see their ugly faces!”

The kender dropped their pole arms, which were ill-suited for close-quarters fighting, and took up their own weapons again. Hoopaks, chapaks, clublike battaks, hammer-headed hachaks, and many other strange weapons rose in anticipation of the first ogres to crest the wall.

The kender didn’t have to wait long. The ogres climbed quickly, and soon they began to appear at the top of every ladder. The kender laid into them, shouting as they chopped and slashed and thrust with their weapons. Surprised by the defenders’ fury the first few ogres fell from their perches, bloody and battered. In several places, the ogres steadying the bottoms of the ladders had to leap aside to keep from being struck by the plummeting corpses. The kender promptly responded by toppling those ladders to the ground.

Not all of the attackers were so easily thwarted, however. In three different places along the wall, the ogres forced the kender to give ground, vaulting over the merlons to land on the catwalk. The kender rallied quickly, sprinting along the battlements to hold the intruders at bay. In one place, they forced the attackers back quickly, toppling their ladder when they were done, but the ogres held the other two breaches. Kronn and Riverwind ran to one of those battlefronts, and Brimble dashed to the other.

More and more kender died, in ever-increasing numbers. Ogres continued to climb up the ladders onto the wall, and for each attacker who fell, three of Kendermore’s defenders died, smashed by cudgels or hacked to pieces by axes and swords.

Riverwind shoved his way to the front of the battle, his sabre flashing in the moonlight. He stabbed one ogre in the face, then swept the blade low and disemboweled another. The stones under his feet were slick with ogre and kender blood. To his left, Kronn hewed away with his chapak. To his right, a golden-haired kender woman swung a hoopak. She killed three ogres with the weapon, but a fourth seized her by the arm and lifted her up into the air. She slashed at the creature with her hoopak, but it only laughed, raising her high and flinging her out over the merlons. She dropped out of sight, plunging to the ground far below.

For a moment, Riverwind and Kronn held the line alone, using all their strength to stave off the surging tide of the ogres. Then someone stepped in on the old Plainsman’s right, shouting with berserk fury Two ogres fell, in rapid succession, to her whirling, flanged mace.

“Brightdawn!” Riverwind shouted. He thrust his sabre through an ogre’s ribs, and it fell face-forward on the stones. “I was wondering where you were! We need your help!”

His daughter laid into the ogres with two weeks’ worth of seething rage, wreaking bloody vengeance for Swiftraven’s death. Bones cracked and blood spattered beneath her pounding mace. With the added force of her attack, Riverwind and Kronn began to push the ogres back toward the ladder.

The kender at the other battlefront did not fare so well. The catwalk was littered with their broken bodies, and the survivors faltered beneath the onslaught of the ogres. The wall’s defenders fell like grain at harvest time.

“Come on, you lamebrains!” roared Brimble Redfeather as he chopped at the attackers with his chapak. “Tighten up those lines! We’ve got to stop these bastards!”

But the ogres continued to press, and the kender continued to give ground. Brimble glanced up and down the wall and cursed. Then he looked toward the ladder, where more and more ogres continued to pour up onto the battlements, and his eyes narrowed with sudden determination. Shouting at the top of his lungs, the old veteran leapt up onto the merlons and began to run toward the ladder. “You won’t take this city while I live, you goblin-spawned, lackwitted dogs!” he roared.

The old kender dashed recklessly across the merlons, leaping across the crenellations, his chapak held high. Attackers and defenders alike stared in amazement as he sprinted to the ladder, knocked away the topmost ogre with his axe, and hurled himself off the wall, onto the rungs. Pushing with all his strength, he used his own weight to tilt the ladder away from the wall. It swung back from the battlements, stood straight upright for a heartbeat, then fell away. Brimble shouted triumphantly as he rode the ladder all the way down, then disappeared amid the throngs of ogres at the bottom of the wall.

Galvanized by the old veteran’s last, crazed act, the kender who had been fighting at Brimble’s side began to make headway against their attackers. The ogres, suddenly stranded and bereft of reinforcements, cast about in panic, seeking to escape. The hesitation cost them dearly. The kender dosed in, slaughtering them without mercy.

At the other battlefront, Kronn, Riverwind and Brightdawn continued to force their opponents back. Soon they were at the ladder. Riverwind raked his sabre across the chest of one last ogre, who screamed and fell from the ladder. Without pausing, the old Plainsman dropped the blade and picked up a discarded bill hook from the catwalk. He lunged at the ladder, using all his strength to shove it away.

The ogre at the very top of that ladder happened to be Baloth, Kurthak’s lieutenant, whose job it was to command this first charge. For just a moment, the hairless ogre locked eyes with the fierce old Plainsman.