The Iron Legion

Chapter 3        Sunder approached the crestfallen Earl. He weighed the options in his mind. Too many variables. The keep would not be easy to defend. Not with so many entrances and so few men. The blizzard meant no hope for reinforcements from Ratikhill.      "The situation seems hopeless, Earl Thondred, but it rasps the soul to give up without a struggle, and it would shame us to flee from these curs. Even if we have to give the keep up, we should at least bloody their snouts." Several of the members of the Company murmured their agreement. The Company had a long and proud history. "Worst of all, if they take Kelten pass, Ratik will be isolated between the sea, the Rakers, the northern barbarians, and the southern humanoids."      Thondred turned to face the young mercenary. "Alas, friend Sunder, such has been the fate of the Archbarony for years. Recently, however, our new found alliance with the Fruztii gives us hopes of preserving our sovereignty for years to come."  Indeed, the prior year had seen a joint Ratik-Fruztii raid into the Bluefang-Kelten Pass of the Bone March. The humanoids, led by ogre magi, were soundly defeated. Or so it had seemed. The goblin folk were on the rise again. "Fear not, for Ratikers are a hardy people, and history will see to it that we survive."      Sunder was not so confident. "Do you have any orders for this contingency, Lord Earl? Is there anything else in the keep that must be defended at all cost?"      "Only to dispatch several runners to warn our countrymen. Three should do, I think. And hope that they do not become lost in this blizzard."      Sunder turned to monitor the Ravens' progress. The large Fruztii warriors held up the upturned table while the other mercenaries hastily hammered spikes to block the breach in the wall.      Thondred seemed to brighten up. "In any case, all is not lost, for the watchtowers of Ratikhill stand ever vigilant against an invasion from the March. Men will be dispatched from the town as soon as the spring thaws clear the pass. Archbaron Lexnol will surely mount an expedition to regain Kelten Keep then. Thankfully, the strategic value of the keep lies only in advance warning to Ratikhill, the Archbarony's first defense, and in preserving the pass for the dwindling commerce from the few remaining free towns in the March. Since the coming of the goblin folk, Lexnol has begun preparations to open new avenues of commerce, in anticipation of the imminent defeat of the Bone March." Hasty rationalizations, perhaps, but they seemed to ease the prospect of imminent defeat.      "Our only hope to survive, flee or stay, probably lies on eliminating whatever sorcery the gnolls are using. I believe the best next step is to assume a more defensible position while some of our number scout for their siege engine." Lotheneser and Jisander would be the best choices, Sunder figured. The archer's elven blood would enable him to move silently, while the cocky Nyrondel rogue had learned all the skills of the thieves' craft in the dark, cobbled streets of Rel Mord.      "My lord mercenary, no siege engines do the beasts bring," interrupted the young messenger. "But rather 'tis a sorcerous wand the foul gnolls wield. I have heard of those and even saw one, at a grand fair in Marner, where Archbaron Lexnol hired a powerful sorcerer from the south."      Sunder reconsidered his plan. "Earl Thondred, I fear that as long as they use this vile sorcery, the keep is indefensible. Is there any hidden escape route from the keep?"       "Aye. The runners I will dispatch shall take the hidden tunnel beneath the war room. This tunnel leads far to the north, and should allow them to evade the gnolls."      The situation seemed much improved now. Sunder turned to the messenger. "How many soldiers yet live?"      The young Ratiker did a quick count in his head. "Two score loyal soldiers of Ratik have made it inside the bailey. The enemy numbers nearly a hundred fell beasts."      Sunder weighed the numbers. Forty Ratikers against a hundred gnolls. He looked at the corpses of his fallen comrades. Of the Company of the Raven, only a dozen free warriors survived. They were outnumbered two to one.      Glancing one last time at Elwydd's headless form, Sunder made his decision. "We must make for the war room. Jord, Arngrim, Asharak! You three are with me at point!" The three barbarians, having finished with the makeshift barrier, turned to ready themselves for the retreat. Burly one-eyed  Arngrim drew a heavy two-handed blade. With a gold-bracered arm, he straightened the long braid of flame-colored hair which had become loosened during the battle. His cousin Jord, no less massive, readied a wicked-looking double-bitted axe. He flashed Sunder a boyish grin through a blonde beard. His handsome looks, widely admired by ladies all over the Thillonrian Peninsula, contrasted sharply with the dark, swarthy look of the Chakyik savage beside him. The short, wiry Tiger nomad clutched his horn bow. Tiger tails and pelt adorned his plain scale mail, and a pointed open helm crowned his slanty-eyed face. Sheathed tulwar at his side, the Baklun barbarian stroked his long, thin mustaches.      "Keras, you are in charge of the rearguard with the rest of the lads. Lotheneser and Durlan, keep your bows at the ready to assist Keras." The dour Yeoman grunted his assent, and turned towards the rest of the Company. "All right, lads," the battle hardened sergeant began." You heard the Captain. Grab your gear and prepare to move out." The Ravens hastened to comply.      Captain! Gods, a dozen men is nowhere near a full Company, Sunder thought wryly. Ah, Elwydd, Elwydd. I shall miss you, my friend.   -----o-----        Lotheneser shouldered his pack in silence, then nocked an arrow, his keen elven senses focused on the task at hand. As the Company of the Raven swiftly prepared to move out, he heard the Earl issuing orders to his men. "Dispatch Wilfrick, Stefan and Dannil. At least one of them should make it through to Ratikhill. Lieutenant, prepare to cover our retreat, and have your men follow soon after. The keep cannot be defended against this assault." The Ratiker soldier saluted and began to relay the orders.      Lotheneser performed a hasty inventory of his gear. Less than a dozen arrows remained from the initial attack. He hastily exchanged the quiver for that of a fallen comrade. They would be of no use to the dead, and there would be no use in loading himself up with gear. They would have to move fast to escape the fell beasts.      The half-elf brought up the rear with Keras and Durlan. He was glad to have their company. Keras was a quiet man, whose presence, whether in combat or playing the flute over a warm campfire, evoked a sense of peace and reassurance in the young archer. The stocky Yeoman was also a reassuring figure. Durlan was sergeant and weapons master, as well as father and mother to most of the Company. Equally adept with sword, quarterstaff and bow, he had trained them to fight as a unit.      As they raced through the torch-lit corridors of the keep, Lotheneser watched the soldiers preparing to defend their lord's retreat. With the gnolls' sorcery, it was a truly hopeless enterprise. Fortunately, both the Earl and Sunder had realized the futility of a defensive stance. There would always be time for retaliation if they but survived.      A thunderous crash and a cloud of dust interrupted Lotheneser's reverie. A blast of frigid wind extinguished the torches, plunging the bailey into utter darkness, as dying screams and beastly growls drowned all other sounds.      If we but survive, thought Lotheneser grimly...   -----o-----        Gorbag sat by the fire in the ruined keep, absently munching on a roasted leg. He spit out bits of chainmail armor and counted the bodies before him. Too few. Grahluk had expected more to defend the mountain-lair. He would be displeased when he arrived.      One of the pack's hunters approached, speaking in the growls and barks that comprised the gnoll language.      <Gorbag, we followed the trail of many man-things into a side cave. Their fear-scent lingers there, but they are not there,>" he bit into a piece of Gorbag's meal.      The fear-scent lingered, Gorbag thought.      "<Fool!>" Gorbag barked, standing up and flinging aside the bone. "<They must have dug a hole, like a cornered badger. Find them!>" he howled. "<Find them all!>"   -----o-----        "Stay together, lads. Hold on to the harness of the man in front of you. Anyone lost in this hellish snow-storm is as good as dead!!" Sunder gave the order as soon as they emerged into the blizzard, some distance north of Kelten Keep. The entrance to the tunnel had been spiked shut, and that should deter the creatures from pursuing them. Fortunately, Earl Thondred had kept a small chest full of dried phostwood branches inside the tunnel. The wood's cold blue light had lighted their way through their harrowing escape. "Lotheneser, strain your elvensight to our rear, let us know if any of the dogs follow. "      Soldiers kept pouring out from the secret tunnel, but many had died covering their escape.      "Durlan," Sunder told the shivering Yeoman, who clutched a dark woolen cloak over a worn steel breastplate. "We must find a defensible position to the west and hold until dawn if we are followed. Though I wager the beasts will have a hellish time attempting to track us in this foul weather. The blizzard will cover our scent as well as our tracks."      Durlan scratched his beard and nodded. "Aye, Captain. It shall be as you say. Aldwyn, Branmor, you will defend the Earl. The rest of you move out!"      The two lads were fine warriors, and wore the heaviest armor in the Company. Aldwyn of Rel Astra wore a bucket-shaped helmet and full plate-and-mail armor, while Branmor wore half-plate over leather, a combination favored in his native Rauxes.      Come morning, we will see how this mess really stands. Then we'll plan our counterattack, Sunder thought grimly.    -----o-----        Lotheneser doubled back a small distance from the tunnel's exit to spy upon the keep. His keen elven sight pierced though the darkness and the swirling snow. He could make out the shapes of the gnolls swarming over the keep. But that did not worry the half-elf. The hundreds of torches lining the southern mountains over the keep did. Reinforcements, he thought, the beasts ARE numberless, as we feared. I must warn the others.      As he turned to race back towards the camp, he became aware of the snarls and growls coming from the tunnel. Ralishaz's luck was with them, it seemed. With fleet feet, Lotheneser raced for his life.   -----o-----        Keras pulled the fur cap tightly over his shaven head. This hellish weather was both their doom and their salvation. The gnolls could not track them, but neither could they light a decent fire to warm themselves over. He really detested the cold weather. It seemed like they had been cold forever, first with the long ride from Ratikhill and now fleeing from the gnolls. He sighed. At least they had had no time to unpack at Kelten Pass, so they had managed to salvage their belongings. Even the Raven Banner was safely tucked in his pack.      He had no idea how they would go about regaining the keep. Only a score or so soldiers had managed to escape the gnolls, and barely a dozen members of the Company along with them. He eyed the Earl, sitting on a rock, discussing strategy with Sunder. At least they had managed to save the Earl. Yet another deed he could account for in his life. One more payment on his Debt. He felt tired, and so much work was yet to be done.      Keras looked up to see Lotheneser racing toward the camp. The half-elf seemed to glide over the snow. Yet another example of the man's faerie heritage, a lightness of step no man could accomplish. And behind him&ldots; Rao be merciful!      "Sunder, rally the Ravens! We are under attack!" Keras rose and freed the sword from the staff once more. This time there would be no escape, only a final stand.      "Vatun's beard!" cried Jord, raising his battle axe. "I thought the storm would keep them away."      "I'll miss your endless whining and complaining, cousin, but perhaps we'll meet again in Kord's hall," dour Arngrim barked in his gruff voice. His comment belied his affection for his jovial blonde haired kinsman.      "Aye, I'll miss your sour disposition and grumbling too, One-eye!" Jord replied in his usual mischievous tone.      "Stand ready!" came Durlan's order. "We'll make short work of them, lads."      "Oh, it'll be short work alright," muttered gloomy Eliazar. The small Keolander was a pessimist by nature. Clad in clothes as black as his hopes, and clutching a short sword and a dagger, he appeared a most unimpressive opponent. Until he entered battle, Keras thought. A most deadly fighter, to be sure.      But he was right. The Company would face its last battle here. And they all knew it.   -----o-----        Sunder spun into battle whirling with a dancer's grace. A wordless song escaped from his lips. A mixture of the elven bladesinger's dance and the culmination of the sword arts of the fierce Oeridian tribes, who had waged war upon the Oerth for countless centuries, brought death to the gnoll horde. The battle-dirge sung by the Fruztii warriors beside him resounded in a strange counterpoint to that otherworldly tune. It was hopeless. Many warriors had now fallen to the gnolls. They were outnumbered and would soon fall.      Suddenly, gruff voices cried in the darkness.      "Baruk! Dwur Baruk!"      "Dwur Baruk, Dwur Kadar!"      Small, yet broad shapes darted in the darkness, double-bladed battle axes bit deep into gnoll flesh.      "Baruk, Baruk! Dwur ai menu!"      "Dwur Kor! Kadar ar Baruk! Dwur Baruk!"      The cries of the gnolls drowned the cries of their saviors. Jord and Arngrim laughed. "The dwarves are upon us! Aye, little cousins. Dwarven axes, dwarven might!" The barbarians of the Thillonrian peninsula claimed kinship with the dwur, and indeed had incorporated many aspects of dwur culture into their own.      Perhaps they would yet live, thought Sunder. Perhaps.   -----o-----        "Hâl Ghallar Lyrkeram! Khûn Thorin, Khûn Narsi, Khûn Narvald, Khûn Yggdras! Dwur Kadar! " The dwur gathered around one of their number, who brandished a mighty warhammer over the corpse of the largest gnoll.      "That one they call Ghallar, Hammer of the dwarves," Arngrim translated for Sunder. "They list his ancestry. He seems to be their leader."      "Sunder," interrupted Lotheneser. "We cannot wait. We have to move out. Hundreds upon hundreds of the beasts are coming. They must be at the keep by now, and they are bound to have heard this battle. We'll be dead if we stay much longer."      The dwur seemed to be thinking the same thing. The one called Ghallar approached and spoke in the same obscure language. Fortunately, both Jord and Arngrim seemed to understand him. These dwarves were different from those he had met in his travels. These must be mountain dwarves. Secretive and xenophobic by nature. From what he knew of their hill dwelling cousins, they valued honor and courage. But could he trust them with the lives of his men?      "Sunder," Jord translated. "The dwur offer safe passage to the city of Ironforge, which lies to the east, near to Ratikhill."      "They could take us by underground routes, away from the gnolls," added Arngrim.      Sunder glanced at Earl Thondred's corpse, impaled by a gnoll spear. He could still save the other men. A howling coming from the south meant there was no more time to spare.      "Fine. Tell him we accept, Jord. I mean to see these men safely to their homes. Incabulos take the cursed keep and its mangy occupants!"   -----o-----        Keras didn't like this. Not at all. Since joining the dwarven party, the Company had journeyed down dark caves and passages and nothing was going as planned. They had been forced to take an alternate route due to an unexpected collapse, or so the dwur had said. Then, after hours of crawling through the darkness, lit only by the lambent glow of the phostwood branches, they had met another group of dwur.      Only these brought even worse news. It seemed that the city of Ironforge had fallen under a gnoll attack similar to that which had struck them at Kelten keep. So they had been forced to change course once more. Now they headed for another city beneath the Rakers. Cragholme, he believed the dwurs called it. He had noted a troubled look on their guide's face. Ghallar was not happy with the turn the situation had taken. And there had been much arguing in muffled tones among the dwur when their new course of action was taken. Even the Fruztii had no idea what was going on.      Lotheneser looked very uneasy as well. "Elves do not walk in the dark," or so the saying went. It seemed to apply to half-elves as well.   -----o-----        Down secret winding tunnels and dark caves were they taken. Down to the ancient dwarven city of Cragholme, lit by coal-filled brass lanterns, past iron doors and great stone halls guarded by carved dwur warriors, keeping a silent watch. Past large fireplaces carved to resemble the mouths of gigantic dwur heads. Past grand smithies with huge vats of molten ore, where hundreds of craftsmen labored incessantly. The ring of stone hammer on iron anvil echoed past stone cauldrons hanging from great chains. Past dark mine shafts and bright feasting halls, down to the great Hall of Ulgrim, King of Cragholme.   -----o-----        "<You have broken a great law, Thane Ghallar,>" Thundered Torvald, son of Bergi, son of Braki, son of Ungar, son of Ragnar, Lawkeeper of Cragholme. Great bonfires burned at both ends of the large throne room. Hundreds of dwarven elders had gathered for this meeting. "<You have brought these&ldots;these MEN into our holy city!>"  Torvald gestured at the ragtag band of weary travelers: the Company of the Raven.      "<Why have you involved yourself in the affairs of man, Thane Ghallar?>" Ulgrim, son of Angdar, son of Nori, son of Ulgar, son of Thelgar, son of Olgar, son of Nolgrim, King of Cragholme, shifted uneasily on his great stone throne. "<Our scouts report that Ironforge is fallen, and we must gird ourselves for war against the foul goblin-folk. We must retake the city.>" After a pause he added: "<We have no time to involve ourselves in the affairs of men.>"      Ghallar gnashed his teeth. "<These men fought bravely against the gnolls. The Lyrkerami of Ironforge have long been friends with the men of the eastern lands. The Ra-tik and the Fruz-tii,>" Ghallar struggled over the foreign words, "<have always been welcome to their city.>"  True, such visits to the dwur realm were rare, but they were not prohibited.      "<The holy city of Cragholme is NOT Ironforge!>" Torvald interrupted angrily. "<The law is clear.>"      "<I have given my word to deliver them safely to Ironforge. To deliver them to their homes.>" Ghallar pleaded, but knew his words would carry little weight.      "<It saddens me that your honor is compromised, Thane Ghallar, but Lawkeeper Torvald speaks truthfully. The Law is clear on this matter.>" King Ulgrim rose slowly from his stone throne to deliver his judgment.   -----o-----        "This is not good," muttered Arngrim under his breath. "Not good at all."      "Come now, One-eye," Jisander whispered, his blonde goatee and hair were uncharacteristically unkempt. The cheery rogue prided himself in his appearance and fastidiously groomed himself at every opportunity. The long journey had prevented him from attending to his looks, but that did not dampen his good humor. The opposite of Eliazar, the Rel Mordian was the eternal optimist. "Surely you exaggerate. Your grim disposition and morbid fascination with your barbaric doom-laden heroes must be coloring your judgment. I'm sure it's not as bad as you say."      "He may be right, Jisander," Jord muttered his agreement. The usually jovial barbarian did not look happy either. "I think our future looks very grim indeed."      "Our friend from the battle, Ghallar, seems to be on our side. But those other two are not happy with our presence here at all."      Eliazar muttered sullenly. "There are more dwarves here than there were gnolls out there. We've gone from the frying pan into the fire. That's all we need, our heads chopped off by some dwarven executioner."      "Now, now, Eliazar, really," Jisander admonished him. "I'm sure it can't be that bad."      " 'Hear the judgment of King Ulgrim, men of Ratik,' " Arngrim translated for the benefit of his companions. " 'You have broken the Laws of Cragholme. No one but the sons of Lyrkeram may gaze upon our sacred city. You are trespassers here. It matters not that some were foolish enough to bring you here.' " Upon saying that, the king glanced briefly at Ghallar. " ' We shall be merciful and you shall be spared the ritual execution.' "      "See, Eliazar? What did I tell you?" Jisander grinned.      " 'Instead you are never to leave the city again.' "      "Oh, great! Now we rot in this dwarven hole! Good call, Jisander." Eliazar muttered darkly. "What in the Nine Hells are we supposed to do now, Captain?" he asked Sunder.   -----o-----