Kirkjuvargr
The House
troops arrived in Kirkjuvargr early on Tuesday morning, fresh and, in many
cases, eager for the fight that they knew lay ahead. Although they were greeted warmly by the garrison warriors of
this unfortunate town you could see that many citizens were wary of the
Sar’Donnath soldiers. Their slim
features and scarred ears marked them apart from the humans that surrounded them
on all sides and these new arrivals to Wolf lands were still strange and alien
to many.
Walking through the crowded streets, it
was obvious that the House soldiers were ill at ease amongst all these
unfamiliar faces. Any one of them
could be the mask worn by an enemy, the façade of someone who harboured ill
will. The House has many enemies
and in a place like this it is hard to tell friend from foe.
The garrison commander approached Tolarin
Dar’Kath, shook him warmly by the hand and began to explain the situation to
him as he guided him towards the barracks where the House soldiers were to be
quartered. A gruff man, he might
not have been so friendly towards unknown soldiers in his town if the situation
was not so desperate.
“We have a serious problem,” he told
Tolarin when he had got everyone to the barracks and was certain that no others
could overhear him. “The Picta
will be on us within a day, possibly two at the most and we simply don’t have
the numbers here that we should have.”
He gestured around the almost empty
barracks, barracks that should have been holding dozens of soldiers instead of
the handful of Sar’Donnath troops that were there.
This room held only ten House soldiers along with Netsu, second Speaker
of the Sul’Kath, standing close to Tolarin and Perian StillWalker, standing
motionless in the shadows close to the doorway.
“One on one, the picta that we’re up
against are not that dangerous,” continued the garrison commander.
“But there are a lot more of them than there are of us.
Sure, we’ve got the walls to hide behind, but we can’t take a long
siege here. We’re simply not
equipped for it. And if they do
break through and the start fighting in the town itself…….
Well, we’ve got a lot of civilians here.
It would be a slaughter”
He stops and looks around the room again,
runs a hand nervously through his short beard and lowers his voice slightly.
“And we’ve heard that they’re being
aided by evil spirits,” he whispers. “The
living and the unliving fighting side by side.
Or so the rumour goes!”
“Kill them all,” snarled Netsu
suddenly in a harsh voice. “The
Undead can be killed again and again if need be.
Kill them all and soak the ground with their blood!”
“Aye, well,” stammered the commander
as he looked at the slightly abashed Netsu.
“That’s as may be, but a lot of my boys are a bit nervous about this.
I’m going to keep them behind the walls as much as I can and, I’d
like you to lead your men out there, take the fight to the enemy, if you see
what I mean.”
Tolarin’s stare grows cold as he looks
back at the commander. For almost a
minute the two men just look at each other, as if judging the other’s worth.
“I understand exactly what you mean,”
Tolarin finally says. “You wish
House Sar’Donnath to be at the front of the fighting while your men stay
behind the walls.”
“You won’t be the only ones out
there,” answers the commander, anger showing in his tone.
“You’ve got the most experienced soldiers I’ve got and it would be
murder to send untrained troops out to meet the Picta.
I can’t force you to lead your men out there, but, truth be told, your
dozen soldiers could make the difference between life and death for a lot of the
people of Kirkjuvargr.”
“We’ll do it,” Tolarin answers after
only a moment’s hesitation. “I’m
not happy about this, but we will do it.”
Still standing in the shadows, Perian had
not moved, but anyone who was close enough to see under his hood might have seen
his eyes grow a little bit harder when he heard what Tolarin had said.
“Good, I thank you for that,” sighed
the garrison commander. “Well;
we’re not expecting to see the first of the picta until tomorrow at the
earliest, so you might as well take the time to get to know the lay out of the
town a bit and get some rest for you and your men.
I’ll come for you tomorrow.”
Once the commander had left, Tolarin
called Netsu and Perian over to him.
“Well,” he said.
“You know what we’re doing here and what we’re up against.
Any comments?”
“We’re doing the right thing,”
replied Netsu after only a moment’s pause.
“If this town falls we lose a major strategic point.
We can’t afford that. And
from what we’ve seen of the troops in this place, they’re going to need all
the help they can get.”
“Perian?” Tolarin asked.
“I don’t like it,” answered the
StillWalker. “We don’t have
…………. enough………….. soldiers with us to fight …………..
outside ……………… the walls and I don’t trust these ………….
humans ……………. to guard our backs.
We shouldn’t be here.”
“Well we are here now and I’m not
leaving. We know what we have to do
so get some rest while you can. StillWalker,
I want a report on the layout of the town, how many soldiers are here and where
the weakest points in the defences are. And
I want a map of the land around the town as well, see if you can get one of them
for me.”
Without a word, Perian turned and walked
out of the building, his long cloak wrapped around him.
“You know,” Tolarin muttered to Netsu.
“I’ve known him for a long,
long time now, and he still makes a shudder run down my spine when I talk to
him. There’s something strange
about the StillWalkers, and he’s the worst of the lot.”
The next
morning finds Tolarin leading the House troops and Netsu out from the supposed
safety of the town walls. The
StillWalker starts with them but soon moves off on his own, nothing unusual
there. But what is unusual is when
he hurries back before midday.
“The picta are here. Their numbers are …………. greater ……….. than we
were led to believe.”
Perian StillWalker leads the others
northwards for perhaps an hour until he gestures for them to halt. Crawling forward, Netsu and Tolarin crouch down beside the
motionless StillWalker and look out towards what must be tens of hundreds of the
wild warriors.
“This is not good,” mutters Tolarin.
“This is not good at all. Okay,
this is what we’re going to do. StillWalker,
you stay here and keep an eye on the enemy.
Don’t let them see you but see what you can find out about them.
Netsu, we’re going to get back to town and tell them what’s going on.
There is no way in Hell that I’m going to be fighting outside the
walls.”
Within moments, Perian is left alone
looking down at the picta forces. Even
from here he can see that there is something very unusual about the way they are
laid out. This looks more like a
mob than an army and, if it wasn’t for the fact that there were so damn many
of them, they would be no threat to the town.
As it is, he very much doubts if the walls will hold them back.
When the
first attacks come that night, House Sar’Donnath finds itself on the walls
fighting against a horde of attackers. Time
and again, the brave House soldiers force back the screaming picta but each time
the enemy are driven back they return in greater numbers.
All around, there are groups of warriors fighting desperate battles and
uncounted acts of heroism go unnoticed in the dark and chaos of the battle.
Tolarin and Netsu are standing close
together, trying to get enough time to step back from the battle to take stock
of what has been happening but the fighting is too fierce for this.
For hours, they are locked in deadly struggles against enemies that seem
to have no care for their own lives. Netsu fight methodicaly and
efficiently until, with no warning, he suddenly begins to scream and hurls
himself at th nearest batch of picta. He is fighting viciously and wildly
with no thought to defence, everything is focused on killing his enemy.
His weapons spin and blur as he lashes out again and again and again at whoever
is standing closest to him and within moment he is covered in blood, both the
enemies and his own. After a few minutes, he backs out of the fray to take
his place beside Tolarin once more, fighting calmly again. He doesn't look
at the House soldier stadning beside him and neither doe she offer an
explanation for his actions.
A huge picta warrior rushes up at Tolarin,
virtually throwing himself over the defensive wall and exhaustion weakens the
Dar’Kath as he unsteadily raises his blade to face this massive opponent.
Suddenly, the warrior collapses forward and a shadow rises up from behind
him, gleaming swords in its hands.
Blinking the sweat away from his eyes,
Tolarin can see that the shadow is Perian, his cloak torn and blood running from
a long cut across his forehead.
“The picta have ………… taken
……………… the transport circle,” he says, his voice calm despite his
appearance. “I ……………
suggest ……………… we do not let them keep it.”
“What?” barks Netsu. “Tolarin, if we lose control of that circle, those bastards
could take as many warriors as they want right into the heart of the town.
We’ve got to get it back from them or we are all dead!”
“Sar’Donnath to me!” Tolarin shouted
in a voice that carried over the battle. “To
me!”
It takes a few minutes for the House
soldier to disentangle themselves from the fighting and make their way to
Tolarin and when they do, he can see the losses that they have taken already.
Two good men lie dead, another is so badly hurt that it is doubtful if he
will ever fight again, and another two are in no condition to battle any more
this night without magical aid.
“You three get back to the barracks and
find a healer,” Tolarin tells the wounded men.
“The rest of you, with me.”
Turning, Tolarin is about to ask the
StillWalker about the number of the picta at the circle, but Perian has already
vanished into the night again.
“Please,” mutters Netsu. “We’ve got to hurry!”
“I wish he wouldn’t do that!”
snarled Tolarin as he led his men through the dark streets towards the transport
circle. “I really wish he
wouldn’t!”
When dawn
finally breaks, and the picta retreat back from the fighting, the soldiers of
House Sar’Donnath finds themselves sitting alone by the transport circle.
Every one of them have taken wounds and are exhausted, but the dead picta
give credit to their fighting skills.
“You’ve done well, men,” Tolarin
announces in a voice that trembles slightly.
“We’ve all done very well, but it’s not over yet.
Those scum will be back tonight, so I want you all to go back to the
barracks and get some rest. You’ve
earned it.”
He watches the soldiers leave before
slumping down beside Netsu again.
“”Will the picta be back?” asks the
Sul’Kath.
“Aye, no doubt about it,” replies
Tolarin wearily. “And the next
battle will be far worse that this. This
was just a test, just them looking for weak points in our defences.
Tonight is going to be harsh! Now,
where’s that bloody StillWalker?”
“I am here,” announces Perian from
behind them. “The picta have
…………. retreated ………………. to their camp and they will not
attack again today. They are performing some ……………… Ritual
………………… but I could not get close enough to see what it was.
I will ………………. return …………….. to them and let you
know if I can discern what they are doing.”
The StillWalker has many small wounds on
him and the swords that he carries are covered in blood but he still walks
smoothly and quietly. Both Netsu
and Tolarin watch him move easily through the streets and turn to look at one
another. Both shrug.
During the day, the citizens of
Kirkjuvargr begin the evacuation. They
are crowded onto boats, taking the bare minimum off possessions with them,
leaving almost everything behind. The
soldiers of House Sar’Donnath watch this exodus with some pity, every one of
them has been through this at least once before and they know how hard it can be
to leave behind everything that you have worked for.
It is never easy to move away from your home and a hundred times harder
to do when you are being chased out by an enemy.
By the time that dusk falls again, the
majority of the citizens are gone but there are still enough left in town for
the soldiers to have to fight to protect them.
The town seems strangely quiet without the normal noise of people going
about their business, but everyone knows that it is just the calm before the
storm. When the picta attack it
will be anything but quiet.
Throughout
the night Tolarin and Netsu lead the House soldiers against the picta again and
again, but it is a battle they cannot hope to win.
Steadily, the defenders of Kirkjuvargr are pushed further and further
back, falling back to makeshift barricades that have been put up in the town
during the day. Dead bodies litter
the streets and exhaustion is taking its toll.
“We swear that that’s the second time
we’ve killed that man!” gasps Netsu in a brief lull in the fighting.
“Guess that we must be more tired than we thought.”
For a moment he looks across at Tolarin as
the realisation of what he’s said sinks in.
“No, damn it,” he mutters, as much to
himself as to the Dar’Kath. “We're
not imagining it, that’s what the Ritual was!
They’re raising their own dead to fight against us.
We kill them and their Ritualists bring them back again!”
Tolarin nod wearily.
“It would explain a lot,” he agrees.
“We’ve not seemed to have had any effect on their numbers, and now I
know why.”
He wipes blood from a small gash on the
side of his neck and looks down at in surprise.
“Didn’t even notice that one,” he
laughs. “Lordhel must be watching
over me.”
The night is
a long one and the arrival of dawn is a glorious sight to everyone.
But, as the sun rises higher and higher, the picta show no signs of
giving up their attack.
“Sir?” asks one of the soldiers.
“What’s going on? I thought they would give up the attack?”
“So did I,” replies Tolarin.
“But it looks as though they’re not.”
He searches for some words of reassurance
to give the men but can come up with none.
What is there that he can possibly say that would help.
“They have ………….. exhausted
………… their Ritual,” says a familiar voice from behind him.
“They cannot bring any more of the ………….. dead …………….
back to life so they have no need to withdraw to strengthen their forces.
They will keep on attacking until the town is ……………….
destroyed.”
Tolarin and Netsu turn to look at the
StillWalker and see that even he is showing signs of tiredness. He has a rag wrapped around his left thigh as a makeshift
bandage and his armour is ragged and split in many places.
Around noon, the garrison commander comes
up to Tolarin, He is exhausted and
soot has left a stain down the side of his face.
“We’ve got most of the citizens
away,” he says in a ragged voice. “The
town is almost empty. All we need
is an hour to get the last of the wounded away in the ships and we can leave
this place to the dead.”
“But…..?” asks Tolarin as the
commander pauses.
“Aye,” he sighs.
“The but is that the picta aren’t going to give us enough time to get
away. As soon as we pull back to
the harbour they’ll be on us. We
need some time to get the wounded away. We
need ……”
“I know what you need,” mutters the
Dar’Kath as he looks over his remaining men.
“You’ll get the time you need. Go
and deal with the wounded commander. We
can do what needs to be done.”
The garrison commander open his mouth to
say something but then thinks better of it.
He simply nods at Tolarin and then turns and moves back into the town.
Very little is left of Kirkjuvargr, what little hasn’t been destroyed
in the fighting has been set alight either by retreating Wolves or by the
advancing picta.
Standing up, Tolarin gathers the five
remaining House soldiers to him and calls forward Netsu and Perian.
Every one of them have wounds that would take them out of any battle in
normal times, but these were not normal times.
“We have a problem,” announces
Tolarin. “You can all see that
this town is lost, we failed. But
we did buy enough time to let most of the citizens escape and that’s why we
were really here. But it’s over
now, and we need to get the wounded away. Only
one thing stops us doing that, the picta!”
The small attempt at humour gets a laugh
from the soldiers. They
can all see what is coming next and none of them are in a hurry to face it.
“As soon as we move back to the ships,
the picta will be all over us. They’ll
kill us and I dread to think what they’ll do to the captured wounded.
You’ve seen them in battle, do you think they’ll be likely to give
quarter to the wounded? So, this is what we’re going to do.
“The Wolves are going to pull out and
while they’re doing that, we’ll take the battle to the picta. We attack them, get as close to the centre of their camp as
we can, and the confusion that causes will give the Wolves time to get away from
here. We move out in ten minutes,
so make your peace with Lordhel and sharpen your blades. This is not going to be easy!”
“Kill them all,” snarls Netsu
suddenly. “Drown them in their
own blood, choke them with their own entrails!
Kill them all!”
“Ahh, yes.
Fine,” muttered Tolarin as he begins to draw a whetstone over his
sword.
“Will you be joining us for this
one,” he asks Perian as he turns to look for him, but the StillWalker was
gone.
“I really do hate it when he does
that!” cursed Tolarin.
The fighting
was fierce and the House soldiers battled like heroes of old.
Behind them were trails of picta dead and chaos and confusion reigned
supreme in the town. Fires were
everywhere, the smoke blinding and choking and long ago Tolarin has ordered the
men to tie dampened cloths around their faces.
Only Tolarin, Netsu and two soldiers
remained now. The Picta were
closing in on them and it was only
a matter of minutes before it was over. They
had been fighting in the narrow streets and alleys of the town for almost an
hour now, hounding and harassing the picta whenever they could, using hit and
run tactics and never staying in one place long enough for the enemy to strike
back at them.
A dark shaped dropped from a roof in front
of Tolarin and the Dar’Kath has his blade drawn back and was ready to strike
before he recognised it as Perian.
“The Wolves are …………… gone,”
the StillWalker gasped, real exhaustion showing clearly on him.
“I’ve …………… cleared ……………. a path back to the
transport circle and it is ready to move us back to Malar.
If we go now, we ………….. might ………….. get back to the
House.”
Every man here had resigned themselves to
dieing so that the Wolves could get their wounded out but now, now they had a
chance at survival.
“Ok,” commanded Tolarin. “Lead the way, StillWalker, get us out of here!”
Moving through the narrowest alleys and
often stopping to let picta patrols pass, the House soldiers made their way
through the town and back to the transport circle.
Dead picta lay all around it but Netsu could clearly see the glow of
power emanating from the circle. It
was ready to be used, ready to take them out of here.
Exhausted, wounded but somehow alive,
Netsu led Tolarin, Perian and the two soldiers away from Kirkjuvargr and back to
Malar. As the circle closed behind
him, Netsu was certain that he heard a voice screaming in rage but he wasn’t
sure if it was a picta or just a figment of his imagination, he would never be
sure.