Paul Kemp - Realms of War

"Who?"

Dove drew Mirt's sword out of his scabbard, turned to the door and flung it wide-and drove the sword deep into Tauniira, who'd been leaning against the door listening.

Spitting blood, Tauniira staggered forward into the room.

"Behold the wizard Varessa," the Chosen said. "Ongalor's lover-and commander."

Mirt gaped at his dying comrade.

"She killed the real Tauniira months ago," Dove added. "Just as I've now killed her. After all, in war, people die."

The Year of Shadows (1358 DR)

"Fire!"

Arrows vaulted over the wall of Zerith Hold. The twang of bowstrings drifted off just in time to hear the entire volley slap to the ground like a wind-driven steel rain.

"Again!" shouted Lord Purdun, the rightful ruler and keeper of Zerith Hold. His red hair and the long-healed scars on his left cheek shone bright in the afternoon sun as he stood atop the wall, looking out over the ruined battlefield.

The archers responded with another chorus of buzzing from their bows.

The half-elf, half-steel dragon ranger, Jivam Tammsel, crouched behind the crenellation, beside Purdun, winded from the fight. The ashen scales that ran down his neck, shoulders, and back slid effortlessly over one another with each gulp of air.

The two men had been inducted into Elestam's Crusaders together, and both had sworn an oath to protect the people of Erlkazar-even before there was such a thing as Erlkazar and the land had been ruled by King Alemander of Tethyr.

"How long can we keep this up?" asked Tammsel. He scratched at the thick stone with his powerful claws, dislodg shy;ing a small chunk. "Korox has been gone for nearly a month, and we're running out of supplies."

"He'll be back," said Purdun. "With reinforcements from Tethyr."

"We will be lucky if he returns from Tethyr with his life," replied the half-dragon crusader, tossing the bit of stone down the archer's platform, "let alone reinforcements."

"He will return," repeated Purdun. He looked back over the wall. "We must hold out until he does."

"Do we have any other choice?"

Purdun shook his head. "None that I can see."

They had been at war with the goblin tribes for nearly a year. The surrounding villages of Furrowsrich and Saarlik had fallen tendays before. The battles in Duhlnarim had swayed back and forth for months, only to end up here at the gates to the hold-the last refuge inside a broken, nearly beaten land.

Outside, as far as the eye could see, the two groups swarmed, converging on the hills in front of Zerith Hold. Those goblins with deep yellow flesh were from the High Peaks. They gener shy;ally moved on foot and were particularly good at hiding and laying ambushes. One on one, the beasts were little more than a nuisance. But by the hundreds-and thousands-they were a real danger, as the ongoing war had proved.

Though the High Peaks goblins were problematic, it was the Kuldin Peaks goblins that caused Lord Purdun more concern. They were more organized, were generally larger, and rode atop the backs of worgs-four-legged beasts that resembled huge, ferocious wolves. The goblin and its mount together were nearly a match for a single soldier, and the pairs outnumbered the denizens of Zerith Hold nearly thirty to one.

"Lord Purdun," shouted Lieutenant Beetlestone, his normal youthful enthusiasm replaced by dire seriousness. "They're forming up!"

Purdun looked out to where Beetlestone pointed. Sure enough, there in the middle of the swirling, chaotic mass of goblins, order had broken out. A large group had formed loose ranks, and they charged now for the walls of the hold.

"They've got trees!" warned the lieutenant.

Lord Purdun ran down the wall, bracing his men for another attack.

"Archers to the wall. Ready the oil," he ordered. "Take out the leaders. Don't let them inside." He stopped at the end of the defenses, pulling an arrow tight to his bowstring. "This is your home you're fighting for. I don't need to tell you what happens if Zerith Hold falls."

The goblin horde grew as it drew nearer to the walls. They had toppled some of the hundred-year-old trees from the dense wilderness surrounding Duhlnarim and carried them over their heads. The goblins had tried the trick once before. They would brace the tree, a rudimentary ladder, against the side of the hold and try to scramble up the side to get over the wall.

The result of their last attempt could be seen below. Two broken stumps lay scattered and burned, one on the ground, another in the moat. The attempt had proven unsuccess shy;ful, but they were trying it again-and with twice as many trees.

"Fire!" shouted Purdun, and he released his arrow.

The wall rumbled with the hum of bowstrings. Huge swaths of goblins were pinned to the ground by the volley. But those who held the trees were mostly sheltered from the assault-the arrows glancing off or sticking deep into the ancient wood.

"You there, on the end of the wall," shouted Purdun. "Concentrate your fire on that group there. Wait until they lift the tree. When they're uncovered, give em the Hells." He turned to the crusaders and guardsmen beside him. "You men, focus your fire over there, on the group with the second tree. Hold your shot until you hear my order."

The men nodded or grumbled their agreement.

The trees grew nearer, and the men pulled their bow shy;strings tight.

"Wait for it."

The tree rose, reaching up for the top of the wall and revealing beneath the goblins who held it aloft.

"Fire!"

Arrows rained down again, puncturing the goblins' soft bodies. They fell over, dead on impact, slumping to the ground like blades of grass under a huge foot. The tree grew unbalanced as fewer hands steadied it. It swayed sideways, then toppled over as they lost control. It rolled as it dropped to the ground, crushing the yellow-skinned gob shy;lins underneath it and exposing those who had previously enjoyed its cover.

A cheer went up from the wall as the tree fell. The goblins scrambled around beside their makeshift ladder, trying to lift it back into place, but the archers on the wall picked them to pieces.

"They're coming!" came a shout, followed by two huge thuds and the sound of wood splintering.

Turning around, Purdun's blood ran cold. Two trees had gone down under their concentrated fire, but the other two had hit home. They rested against the outside of Zerith Hold, a line of goblins climbing through their branches on their way up.

"Pour the oil!" ordered Purdun.

Four huge men made their way down the platform. They carried between them a thick log, from which hung an iron caldron bubbling over with animal fat, tree sap, and oil. They moved carefully, for the caldron had been hanging over an open fire. One misstep and they would be scorched on the slick metal-or worse, under a flood of scalding, sticky oil.

The goblins charged up the side of the trees, quickly drawing closer to the top of the wall.

"Hurry," shouted Purdun.

The caldron arrived just as the first goblin topped the tree.

Dropping his bow, Purdun pulled his long sword out of its scabbard, cutting the yellow-skinned vermin in two with his draw. Stepping up on the crenellation, he took down two more goblins, knocking them off the tree to their death far below.

"Pour it," he shouted, jumping back down to the archer's platform.

The four men lifted the log and tipped the caldron over the side. The melted fat and oil oozed out over the stone and down the side of the tree. A gush of foul broth splashed over the climbing goblins, blistering their flesh, cooking them alive. Their skin sizzled as the oil and pitch stuck to their bodies, and half a dozen goblins toppled away from the wall.