A Different World: Part 1 - The Siege of Penthorpe Keep - 7. Chapter 7: The Siege of Penthorpe Keep

A shiver ran up Skold’s spine. It was impossible to tell if it was from the cold or excitement…or a mixture of the two. The opposing force drawing ever closer, though made of tens of thousands of bodies, moved like a single organism. The blast of horns cut in and out, carried by the wind, occasionally deafened by ominous cracks of thunder. The sky was so dark with heavy clouds it was impossible to see the moon. Sleet fell relentlessly from the sky.

In the courtyard, General Cevna strolled back and forth. His eyes we're focused on the force gathered before him, whose sole task was to keep their enemies at bay for his long as possible. His mouth open and closed, his eyes blazed, but his words were lost on Skold's despite is impeccable hearing. Whatever he was saying it mattered not. Up here, on the walls of Penthorpe Keep, Skold was in command and had duties of his own.

Bows were lifted up. Arrows were drawn and knocked back, some shaking unsteadily with the hands holding them. Everyone's eyes were on Skold, waiting for him to give orders; some were as calm and unemotional has his own, while others were wide and glassy with fear. A majority of those who stood with him - their names were not known to him. He would only ask their names if it was absolutely necessary to do so. And still they would do as he commanded, just as they would die for Yaldon, who also did not know their names.

Beyond the walls of Penthorpe Keep, a ball of burning fire burst into the sky with a loud crack, followed by the wail of a trumpet - a signal for the siege of Penthorpe keep to begin. From the courtyard General Cevna looked up at Skold. Their eyes met. He nodded as if to say, You know what to do.

In one fluid motion, Skold unsheathed his sword and held it up in the air to catch everyone's attention. Scanning the faces of his men, including Sonja and Konstantine, he shouted “Get your arrows ready!”

Immediately the tops of barrels were being ripped off. Arrowheads were dipped into dark murky oil. Whispers of “Fuere!” were hissed from multiple lips. Hundreds of arrowheads began to dance has flames sprang into life, casting faces in dancing shadow and light. With his sword still held up towards the heavens, Skold turned to face Paladin’s army. Here we go, he thought. He brought the sword down. “Fire!”

Hundreds of arrows arced through the air and plummeted down like birds of death. Skold watched as enemy shields were lifted up to meet the barrage of lethal projectiles. Most of the arrows hit metal but several bodies fell to the ground like lifeless ragdolls. If Paladin's troops we're not killed by the arrows themselves then they were trampled into the soggy ground by their comrades, who apparently did not care enough to help. Skold exchanged a brief glance with Konstantine, who was apparently hell bent on staying by his side if at all possible. Konstantine smiled, having chosen to put their quarrel behind them, for the moment at least, should there be a moment beyond this night. Skold turned his attention back to the matter at hand. He sheathed his sword, grabbed three arrows from the quiver he'd set against the wall, doused them in oil, set them a flame, and fired them all at once. The first one struck the front of a shield, bouncing off with a loud pinging sound; the second one pierced through the eye of an orc, the sharp tip bursting out the back of his large head; the third one went through an elf’s throat. He dropped to the ground, clutching helplessly at his throat.

Skold had enough sense and experience not to feel triumphant just yet - there were simply too many adversaries and not enough arrows, even with all the time that had been spent preparing for war. One way or another Paladin’s army would get into the castle.

No matter where he looked there were no banners, no signs that Paladin, Yaldon’s rebel, was among his ragtag army of elves, orcs, and hellhounds. Of course not, Skold thought sarcastically, shaking his head to get his matted bangs out of his face. Why would Paladin fight his own battles? He lets his army do the fighting for him, something his father and he have in common. He released a second torrent of arrows in rapid succession and more bodies dropped to the ground. Yet no matter how many arrows he fired, no matter how many marks he hit, it seemed more of Paladin’s armies kept popping into view; for every enemy he brought down another two or three would appear.

In the courtyard the gates were being reinforced with anything that could be lifted, moved, and nailed down: pieces of wood, carts stacked with soggy bales of hay, all a means to buy more time. Even as Skold did his part to keep his adversaries from getting inside the castle, he thought: What is the point of any of this? It was not a thought of wariness, only the acknowledgment of a fact. Why try to stop the inevitable when there was no stopping it?

The front of the surge had reached the Keeps door at last. A group of burly elves heaved a massive oak trunk, using it as a battering ram against the barred gates. Hellhounds padded back and forth with a grace that was both primitive and graceful, yipping and growling with anticipation as spittle dripped from their mouths. Smoke plumed from their nostrils and muzzles, carrying with it the smell of sulfur and ash.They were no doubt starving for the taste of elven flesh and blood. There was no end to their appetite. They would eat anyone or anything except for their master and the ones their master commanded. Even then they could never be fully domesticated. Like any predatory animal they were wild at heart.

“We need more barrels!” Skold shouted.

“Aye!” Sonja shouted.

Several of Skold’s soldiers worked quickly, setting more barrels down and ripping the tops off. The tops of torches were quickly dipped in the oil and lit with fire. With a blazing torch of his own in hand, Skold kicked a barrel over with the heel of his boot. Oil sloshed over the side of the wall, splashing the heads of elves and orcs alike. Skold felt a smile touch his lips; his eyes, as silver as the moon itself, reflected the dancing flames of the torch. He tossed it casually into the air and watched it drop into the swarm.

The fire sprung into life and engulfed several unfortunate souls. Limbs flailed helplessly to no avail. Not even the sleet helped to put out the flames. Smoke spiraled into the air. Skold’s nostrils flared at the smell of burning flesh. On both sides of him, those who fought beside Skold were doing as he’d just done, flinging torches at their adversaries. Skold felt a boundless joy. Nothing made him feel joy the way war did, not even sex.

He stopped. He felt the impact beneath his feet a second before his sharp-tipped ears prickled and registered the sound: the gate had crashed.

Penthorpe Keep had been breached.

                        …

Maeglin could hear the sounds of war waging outside the castle walls: shouts, curses, the clang of metal on metal; however good his hearing might have been however, his eyes did not provide him with the information he needed. He’d sent a scout out of the room to see how bad the situation was but until she returned, they were blind.

Fifty of his men, including himself, guarded the doors of the chamber room. It was now more imperative than ever that they protect King Yaldon’s three counselors. If need be they could take the emergency passageway out of the castle and run for safety. Maeglin hated the idea as much as he hated waiting inside. It was the equivalent of having your back pressed up against the wall. King Yaldon might as well have signed our death warrants by sending us here, he thought.

Everyone waited tensely with their hands on their swords. Several of them had a bow and arrow, with arrow quivers strapped to their back. While they did not say a word their body language spoke volumes: The stiffness in their shoulders and backs, their clenched jaws, the way their eyes occasionally darted to him, as if searching for comfort. Not more than a day ago Maeglin had accused Skold of being a cold creature, incapable of offering words of comfort or emotion at all, but now his own mouth failed him, marking him as a hypocrite.

It was Viktor who broke the silence. He shoved his way to Maeglin, a shrewd demanding expression on his face. “What are we doing just standing here? Shouldn’t we be making our way to the passageway and getting as far away from this place as we can?”

Valyuun took a small, almost imperceptible step closer to Maeglin, as if to offer protection from Viktor’s wrath. Maeglin felt a glimmer of appreciation towards his ward. Up until this moment, ever since the commotion had started, he’d almost forgotten his ward existed.

“Yes we should,” Maeglin said, using all his will to keep his voice neutral. “But my scout hasn’t returned yet and we have no idea how bad it is out there.”

“If she hasn’t returned yet then she surely must be dead,” Viktor spat. “There’s no point in waiting around just to end up like her.”

“I’m giving her a few more minutes,” Maeglin said. “If she doesn’t show up we’ll make a run for it. But the job of my people and myself is to protect you. For the moment, at least, it’s safer in here.”

Viktor opened his mouth to argue but Alagossa stepped into the fray, cutting him off. “Maeglin has protected us for years and been successful doing so. Not once has his judgement been wrong. If he says we wait for his scout to return then we wait.”

Viktor glared at her grudgingly but stepped back and remained silent. While Viktor’s back was turned Maeglin gave Alagossa an appreciative nod. Althon had remained silent through the whole quarrel. His face was expressionless, as if this was all just a dream soon to pass. Maeglin only wished he could exert the same outward calm. Suddenly a mighty crashing sound pierced the uneasy silence that had so briefly taken rehold of the chamber. A second later someone was hammering on the door.

“It must be Edrea,” Valyuun said.

“Let her in,” Maeglin said.

Two elves stepped swiftly forward, removing the bar that reinforced the doors. Edrea shoved her way inside, her golden eyes immediately finding Maeglin’s.

“How is it out there?” Maeglin asked.

She stopped, giving a quick bow at the counselors and then at him. “Not good, sir. Paladin’s forces have penetrated the castle...”

That would explain the tremendous crashing sound we just heard, he thought.

“From what I could see, Paladin himself is not present. I could not find his banner.”

Of course not, Maeglin thought. He’s never present for his own battles. “Thank you Edrea.” Her news helped him to come to the decision: If he was going to lead the counselors to safety the time was now.

He gave the orders. The doors to the chamber opened to the corridor which, for now at least was deserted. Swords drawn, everyone filed out. Though the corridor was quite wide everyone stood shoulder to shoulder, something that could pose a tactical problem should they meet any enemies. Fortunately the passageway wasn’t far and they reached it in minutes. At all times, the counselors were kept in the middle of the line so they were protected from all sides.

Lighting several torches, Maeglin opened the passageway and began to lead them into the dark corridor, and if the spirits of Vahalla were willing, to safety.

                        …

The opposing force flooded in through the gates of Penthorpe Keep. Warcries broke out from both sides. Cevna’s army stepped forward to intercept Paladin’s, the shouts drowned out by the crash of metal on metal. Swords clanging, shields bashing into plated armor. Arrows whistled in the air. Apart from the orcs it was impossible to tell who was who.

Skold’s orders were to stay atop unless Cevna fell in battle. With a brief glance he was able to pick Cevna out amongst the two battling forces. The general weaved in and out of view, blood flying from whichever direction his sword cut.

“Skold!” Konstantine shouted.

Skold met the eyes of his third-in-command just as a grappling look gripped the side of the wall, claws sinking in. Orcs were starting to scale the wall of the castle. Skold had a brief flashback of standing atop the church in Boar’s Head. Skold ignored the wave of deja vu he felt and cut the rope with a swipe of his sword. The severed rope made a loud snapping sound and an orc plummeted twenty feet to the ground.

“They’re trying to climb the castle walls!” Skold roared. “We mustn’t let them!”

Half a dozen more grappling hooks snared the wall and were immediately cut down. Still this seemed to do little to deter the bloodthirsty orcs from trying to breach the castle. For every rope severed, three or four more grappling hooks appeared. Skold fought without thinking, his body doing the fighting for him, doing what Solomon, his father, had trained him to do, being the weapon he’d been made to become. But even a weapon such as himself could only do so much.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a large shape leap through the air. He turned just in time to see the bristles of its hairy back, to watch one of his soldier’s become pinned to the ground by the massive paws of the hellhound; Skold’s sharp ears did not miss the audible crunching of bone. Before Skold could leap forward to come to the elf’s aid the hellhound’s head darted down. For a second, just a second if that, Skold saw the flash of the hellhound’s white teeth, and then they disappeared, sinking into the elf’s shoulder. The elf let out a shriek of pain. In another flash, the hellhound bit down again and tore her head off. Blood spurted out from the rigid stump where it had been; a distant part of Skold realized he could see hints of bone.

Several elves ran towards the hellhound - and then stopped as if uncertain they wanted to take the beast on. The creature turned its hate-filled eyes on Skold and zeroed in on him. The eyes glinted like glowing red rubies. Smoke shot from its nostrils as it exhaled. Its mouth opened and Skold managed to bring up his shield as flames shot from its throat. Falling to his knees, Skold made himself as small as he could behind the shield. The heat from the flames enveloped him, so hot it seemed to make the very air boil. Fresh beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, his back. Not even the cold night air or snow could cool his brow. As soon as the flames died, Skold tossed the shield aside and grabbed a nearby spear leaning against the wall. The hellhound’s eyes narrowed. Skold sensed a predatory intelligence within the way it watched him. It’s fur bristled once more, perhaps in anticipation. It settled back on its haunches, ready to spring. Skold remained completely still, his muscles tensed, his eyes taking in every blink of the hellhound’s eyes, the way the its sides heaved in and out with every breath it took. Skold readied himself for the fight, one-on-one if it must be. For the moment, the world and the war itself had ceased to exist.

Then the hellhound changed.

Just as it charged, Skold sprinted forward, shoulders pulled in at the sides, a weapon in both hands. The hellhound’s shape loomed larger and larger until it was all Skold could see. The world had grown silent, all but the pounding of his heart, the rushing of blood through all his veins. Within these tiny little micro-moments he felt pure exhilaration, like the releasing of endorphins after an orgasm - the ultimate vice.

Before the hellhound could collide with him, crush him under its immense weight as it had done to its last unfortunate victim, Skold threw himself back and slid down on his knees. Now directly underneath the beast’s belly, he lifted his sword and cut a long, horizontal line down its belly. He stood up and turned to face the beast once more as a sharp whimpering sound came from the creature’s muzzle. It took a limping step forward. Its eyes, still fixed on him, had a weary look to them that was almost human. Then its belly opened. Blood, intestines, and pulpy swaths of guts poured out of its chest, steaming.

Again, Skold sensed movement towards him before he heard the growl. He spun, dropping into a kneeling position once more and threw his spear at the hellhound that had come to take revenge on him for killing one of its kin. The spear found its mark and the hellhound went down, skidding to a stop at his feet.

“Skold, watch out!” Sonja shouted from in front of him. She was running towards him, sword swinging with every step, but it was already too late. The claws of a hellhound hit from the side with the force of a solid wall. For a heart-lurching moment Skold flew through open air. The ground of the courtyard came up to meet him. He tensed his muscles, closed his eyes, and prepared himself for the impact. He slammed into the top of a wooden cart, covered with bales of hay tied together with rope, hard enough to break it.

Unconsciousness took a hold of him. He was floating, falling. He didn’t want the darkness of unconsciousness to take him. I must keep on fighting! He thought. I must!

The necromancer’s voice echoed through the dark, as if coming from a dark chamber with high ceilings: “Get up, little elf...Get up and fight...”

And Skold found himself clawing his way up, spurred on by the necromancer’s voice. He gasped, taking in air like a drowning man.

Just as he dug himself out of the wrecked remains of the cart, a hellhound, perhaps the same one which had attacked him from behind perhaps, slammed into him once more, pinning him to the ground. It’s paws were so heavy it was impossible to breathe. He planted his feet against its belly and tried to push it off but it was no use. Its mouth opened. The putrid smell of its breath hit him full force. He managed to brace a hand against the hellhound’s neck, keeping its snapping teeth just inches away from his face. Droplets of spittle splattered him. Skold’s free hand scrabbled helplessly for his sword.

Someone whistled.

The hellhound and Skold looked in the direction from which the sound had come from at the same time.

Sonja stood just feet away, crossbow in hand. She pulled the trigger without blinking. The arrow flew through the air and punched through the hellhound’s right eye, straight into its brain. It whimpered once and then toppled on top of Skold.

With Sonja’s help he managed to push the hellhound’s lifeless bulk off him. He staggered to his feet, wheezing.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “It’s not the first time I’ve saved your ass.”

To this, Skold only glared at her.

There was no time for further conversation. Already an orc was running towards them, mace in hand.

“I’ll let you get this one to redeem some of your former glory, commander,” Sonja said, before leaping back into battle.

Though orcs were generally taller than elves, more muscular and brutish (more so the males than the females), elves were quicker and catlike. Spinning around quickly, Skold lashed with a kick that caught the orc squarely in his midsection. The orc stumbled back with a grunt, regained his balance, and charged forward. Skold easily dodged the orc’s meaty fist and impaled the orc with his sword. He had to press with his foot to get his sword out. The blade was covered with dark ichor.

WHOOOO! WHOOOO!

The blaring of the horn filled the court yard.

“RETREAT!” the thunderous voice of an orc roared. “RETREAT!”

Immediately orcs and elves alike were beginning to run out of the courtyard. Why they were leaving when the fight had just gotten started, Skold didn’t know, but the only thing he could think was, We can’t let him leave.

He ducked under the slash from an oncoming elf and decapitated its head from itshis shoulders with a single swing of his blade. He impaled another from behind, the blade going in through its shoulder blades and out through its chest. In the back of his mind, Skold knew there was no stopping Paladin’s forces from retreating: There were simply too many of them. But the battle-ingrained part of him knew to take out as many of them as he could before they left. He spun, lashed out, slashing with his sword, like a malign dancer. Limbs parted and bodies dropped. Wherever he went much blood was spilt.

Then they were gone.

He stood in the middle of the court yard, surrounded by dead bodies, by those he’d fought with. Then, leaping up the steps three at a time, he stood atop the castle walls, watching Paladin’s forces retreat. They were retreating fast.

“Why are they leaving?” he heard someone say.

“I guess they got what they came for,” someone else said.

“What would that be?”

No one answered.