Return of the Damned dad-9 Page 3

  "When did you become so fancy?" quipped Whitman.

  The gnome stepped over and shook the dwarf's hand. "When I became the head of the duke's elite guard."

  "Very fancy indeed," said Tasca, taking another bite of his meal while admiring the ring.

  The gnome laughed. "If I didn't know you so well, Tasca, I might have thought I detected a hint of jealousy."

  "Ah, you know elves, Gohem," interjected the dwarf. "If they're not looking at themselves in the mirror, they're coveting your coin sack."

  "I see you two haven't changed," said the gnome. "If you're done with your meal, Regdar, the duke would like to have a word with you." He turned to Whitman and Tasca as they started getting up. "In private."

  Regdar grinned at the other two, then turned to Captain Masters. "Lead the way."

  Whitman and Tasca returned to their meals.

  The gnome traversed the courtyard, dodging torches, dancing maidens, and drunken merchants. Regdar followed as closely as he could, but Gohem's small stature allowed him a much freer path through the crowd. Near the eastern wall, still seated, Duke Christo Ramas watched them approach.

  As they drew closer, the duke waved his hand, and several people standing near him, his daughter included, moved away, leaving only a pair of armed guards in the duke's immediate vicinity.

  "Regdar," he said as the two men came into earshot, "how are you enjoying the feast?"

  Regdar lowered himself onto one knee and bowed. "As usual, the meat is exquisite, and the ale cool and frothy." He stood and smiled. "Please give my compliments to your chef."

  "I'll do that." He turned to Captain Masters and nodded. The gnome made a whistling sound, and the soldiers guarding the duke disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two men alone.

  "Please," said the duke, indicating a place at the bench with an open hand, "sit down."

  Regdar did as he was told.

  The duke took a sip of ale from an ornamental stone mug, then set it on the table with a resounding thud.

  "You know, when I was in the military, I used to hate these parties," said the duke.

  Regdar was surprised. "Why, my lord?"

  "Because those damned dress uniforms are so itchy and stiff," replied the duke. "No matter how much ale I drank, I never got comfortable. I was always glad to take it off at the end of the night."

  Both men laughed.

  The relaxed demeanor of the duke put Regdar at ease. "May I ask you a question, Duke?"

  "Of course."

  "The bottle we retrieved. It felt so… unnatural… strange…"

  The big fighter fished for the right words. "It was as if it was trying to speak to me," he blurted. He looked to the duke then shrugged. "What is-"

  The duke cut him off with a stern look and a shake of his head. "Let's just say, it's important that it stays out of the wrong hands. It's best if we leave it at that."

  Regdar nodded, a little irritated at being brushed off.

  "Now can I ask you a question?"

  "Of course, my lord," Regdar replied.

  "Drop the formal crap for now, Regdar." The duke sat up straight. "Tonight we talk like soldiers, fighting men enjoying their ale together." He pushed a mug toward Regdar, who scooped it up.

  "All right, Christo." He raised his mug. "What do you want to know?"

  The duke's smile turned into a grimace. "Why do you keep volunteering for these suicide missions?"

  Regdar wiped froth from his upper lip. "I didn't know you considered my missions suicidal."

  "What else could I consider them?" replied the duke. "Sending a small group of men into the ruins below the city…" He shrugged. "If that bottle hadn't been so important, I wouldn't have asked anyone to go down there."

  "Would you have rather sent someone else, someone with less experience?"

  "Frankly, yes," replied the duke. "Regdar, you are a terrific soldier and a fantastic fighter-"

  "So what's the problem?" Regdar raised his voice. "I got the job done."

  The duke chuckled. "Yes, you did. Calm down for a minute and listen to me." He looked Regdar in the eyes. "You're a captain, Regdar. Anybody can smash a door and kill an orc, but it takes a real soldier to lead men into battle." He sighed deeply and patted Regdar on the shoulder. "I didn't make you a captain so you could get yourself killed by volunteering for every dangerous mission. I made you a captain because you're an excellent leader. Your job is to command others and send them on dangerous missions. If you're gone, who's going to keep order in the barracks? Who's going to see that the new recruits are properly trained and motivated? Who's going to inspire the men to defend our homes?"

  "I understand," said Regdar, looking down at the table.

  "Being a soldier is never going to be without risks," the duke added. "Now that you're a captain, you need to be careful about which ones you take on yourself."

  Regdar was silent, deep in thought.

  "Look." Duke Ramas opened his hands wide. "This wizard you faced in the ruins isn't going to be the last. There will always be another threat to New Koratia just waiting around the bend, and I need commanders who can handle the troops. Losing soldiers in battle is unavoidable, but losing valuable captains to an umber hulk under the city isn't. You see that, don't you?"

  Regdar looked up from his ale and nodded. "Yes, Duke, I do."

  "Good." The duke smiled and lifted his mug. "To your successful mission." He took a big drink.

  Regdar looked up into the sky. Perhaps being a captain wasn't what he wanted after all. He sighed.

  A high-pitched whistle shrieked over the barrier wall to the north, followed quickly by a massive fireball.

  Regdar launched himself from the bench and dived on top of the duke.

  The fireball smashed into the table, turning it instantly into an inferno and vaporizing Regdar's ale.

  2

  Ladies in fine dresses and merchants in feathered hats ran every which way. Screams echoed inside the protective walls of the duke's keep. The delightful celebration dissolved into chaos as New Koratia came under attack.

  Regdar lifted himself off of the duke while pulling splinters out of his ceremonial uniform and feeling his exposed flesh for other wounds.

  "Damn," hollered the duke, still flat on the ground, "where did that come from?"

  "We're under attack from the north," answered Captain Masters, who had appeared suddenly after the blast.

  "Why didn't the guards sound the alarm?" barked the duke.

  "The attackers came down the river on a raft." The gnome waved two soldiers over to help lift the duke from the ground. "No one saw them coming. They just appeared out of nowhere."

  The duke got to his feet and brushed himself off.

  Regdar shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears while he listened to what Captain Masters had to say.

  The gnome straightened up to his full height. "We need to get you to safety, my lord. They're attacking the keep directly." He ushered the duke toward the inner keep. "They're on the other side of that wall." He pointed to the north, indicating the corner of the courtyard not more than a hundred feet from the duke.

  Regdar didn't wait to hear any more. He sprinted across the courtyard, dodging or bowling over panicked guests on his way to Whitman and Tasca. The two fighters met their captain halfway, hammer and sword already drawn.

  Regdar shouted to be heard above the screaming and chaos. "Whitman, you help direct the guests back inside the inner keep. Then find Krunk and meet us at the north wall."

  The dwarf grunted and jogged away, herding panicked partyers to safety.

  "Tasca," Regdar shouted, "have you seen Clemf?"

  The elf nodded. "Right behind you."

  Regdar turned around. The big man with the longsword tattooed on his forearm stood behind him. He wore the same military dress uniform as the rest of the soldiers, but the sleeves were torn off, exposing his enormous biceps.

  "So much for formality," mumbled Regdar. He grabbed the big ma
n by the shoulder. "Follow me."

  Another huge fireball screamed over the north wall and impacted the stage in the middle of the courtyard where the bards had been performing. Flaming splinters of broken instruments fluttered in every direction. All three men ducked to avoid the missiles.

  "What do they have against music?" asked Clemf.

  Regdar looked at the big man and shook his head. "Come on," he yelled over the roaring flames. Then he ran toward the north wall.

  The noise from the crowd had died down now that most of the guests were safely inside the inner keep. Only soldiers or guards remained in the courtyard.

  The top of the wall buzzed with the sound of bowstrings. At the farthest northern point, where two walls met to form the top corner of the diamond-shaped courtyard, two armed guards stood near a wooden sally port. Regdar ran up behind them with Tasca and Clemf in tow.

  "What's the story, Plathus?" he asked.

  A tall elf wearing the colors of the duke's elite guard and peering out through a bolt hole in the wooden door answered. "There's a raft full of soldiers preparing to climb the wall," he said. "As you've probably guessed, they're accompanied by wizards."

  "How many wizards?"

  "Two that I can see."

  Regdar turned around. Whitman had arrived with Krunk-a white-bearded dwarf with a mace in one hand and a symbol of Pelor in the other.

  Regdar smiled as he looked at the four men assembled behind him. "You know the first rule of combat."

  "Kill the wizard," replied all four in unison.

  Plathus moved aside and Regdar nodded. The heavy wooden crossbeam complained as it was drawn open. When another fireball screamed across the wall, the door to the sally port swung inward with a loud creak.

  Five soldiers of the duke's army of New Koratia dashed out of the keep and straight into a wall of black-clad soldiers. The tiny northern embankment of the duke's island swarmed with them. Their raft was made from logs as big around as Regdar was tall. If he had to guess, he would have estimated the thing could hold as many as forty or even fifty heavily armed soldiers. Right now, he didn't want to think about that. It was him and four of his best men, in their fancy dress uniforms, against a force almost ten times their size wearing spiked scale mail.

  The odds didn't look good.

  A glob of magical energy sizzled past Regdar's head to smash into the wall of the keep. The stone where it impacted smoked and hissed.

  That really didn't look good.

  Regdar's greatsword came out of its scabbard in a flash, and metal rang all around. The melee ensued in earnest as the small band of fighters clashed with the invading army and their wizards.

  Whitman's hammer smashed into a black-clad chest plate, and he tumbled forward into another opponent. The first man doubled over, his collapsed armor squeezing the life out of him. The second stumbled and tripped over the dwarf's well-placed kick. A third stepped up, preparing to take a swing at the now-prone dwarf.

  Tasca lunged forward. The blade of his rapier glittered in the moonlight. Its tip slipped between interlocking metal plates into soft flesh. The impaled man gave out a tremendous cough, spat blood, then let his upraised sword fall harmlessly to the ground next to Whitman. The dwarf rolled away from the tumbling body.

  Clemf dived into the battle as well. The big, tattooed human waved his bastard sword like a wand, leveling black-armored fighters with each swing. He moved exceptionally fast for a large man. Each lunge covered twice the ground a dwarf might in the same number of steps.

  Krunk waded in behind Clemf, clearing away with his mace those left in the wake of the fast-moving human. Though his legs were short, his arms were mighty, and a large, oval clearing appeared rapidly in the middle of the opposing soldiers' line around the huge barbarian and the dwarf.

  Another fireball exploded inside the keep-this one on top of the wall. Bricks and flaming limbs rained down the embankment. The fires were extinguished as they cascaded across the damp ground, and the debris made squishy, thumping noises as it came to rest. Regdar was far into the enemy line, but he could hear bricks-or what he hoped were bricks-landing behind him.

  Some of the black-clad attackers were not as fortunate, and were hammered to the ground by the grisly rain.

  As the flaming downpour tapered off, Regdar's greatsword swept round in a whistling arc. It smacked aside a defending longsword and cut a deep wound into the belly of the man before Regdar. The soldier squealed as he lowered his sword and fell to his knees, bloody hands desperately grasping at his guts in a vain attempt to keep them from spilling onto the ground. Regdar stepped past the screaming attacker and kept fighting.

  Two more soldiers lunged forward from both sides at once. Regdar retreated, knocking aside one blade while trying to be mindful of the wounded man behind him. A sharp pain in his right hamstring forced Regdar down onto one knee.

  The gutted man behind Regdar had fallen sideways, but his sword, still tightly gripped, was poised with its point in the air. That point was now jabbed into the back of Regdar's leg. Pain shot up through the limb, through his lower back, and right on into his shoulder. Regdar managed to keep hold of his sword as he let out a roar that echoed above the sounds of battle.

  The sword slipped free of Regdar's leg, and the searing pain gave way to a dull throb. Despite the pain and loss of balance, he managed to drop to the ground in time to duck beneath the swift, flat swing of another sword that was aimed at his neck. Three heavily armored men approached from the direction of the riverbank.

  Regdar hopped backward and bashed away two blades with one swing, but the exertion sent tremendous pain ripping up his leg. He continued hobbling backward, hoping the attackers would be slowed by their heavy armor in their ascent up the slope.

  The fastest of the soldiers lunged for Regdar's injured leg. The blade stabbed deep into the front of Regdar's thigh and scraped against the bone. Nearly blinded by the pain, he reeled back and released one hand from his greatsword to steady himself.

  Expecting Regdar to fall, the enemy fighter sprang forward with his blade raised high. To his shock, Regdar didn't fall. Instead, the heavy, steel pommel of a greatsword gripped in a massive fist smashed into the man's helmet, crunching the dark steel inward against the side of his head. Blood gushed from the faceplate of the collapsed helm.

  The injured man gurgled out a panicked scream. On his knees he clawed at the ruined helmet with both hands. Eventually he pried it loose with a soft, ripping sound from the hair that was tightly pinched in the metal. Blood poured out of the metal pot, and the man's face seemed strangely elongated.

  The other two men stepped blithely past their comrade with the broken face. Regdar hopped away while trying to put pressure on at least one of the wounds in his leg, but the two pursuers were gaining ground. With no good choices left, Regdar knew he had to stand his ground. Falling in the fight would be far better than being stabbed in the back trying to escape. He turned and pointed his greatsword at the oncoming attackers.

  The first one attacked high. Regdar parried the swing easily with an upward strike. It was only a feint. The second attack came low. A less experienced warrior would have died there and then, but Regdar knew the danger. His leg seemed afire as he shifted his weight to block the second blade. Steel rang against steel, and a terrific growl roared through Regdar's clenched teeth. Still, the pain was too much. The doubly wounded leg collapsed despite Regdar's will and toppled him off balance. The next attack cut a large gash in Regdar's shoulder as he fell to the ground.

  Despite the pain, Captain Regdar's mind was crystal clear. He rolled onto his back in the mud and gripped his greatsword in his right hand. Holding the weapon defensively over his chest, he looked up at the two black-clad soldiers. He couldn't see their faces through their helms, but after a hundred battles, he knew how they would look. There was just room for one deep breath and one powerful, perfectly timed swing. The blade whistled in a level arc just inches above the ground.

  Another fire
ball exploded above the keep. The flash of light lit the ground and the red spray arcing out behind Regdar's glinting blade where it sliced cleanly through three ankles. One soldier toppled to the ground, screaming and clutching at the stumps of his shins. The second was made of tough stuff. He bellowed off his pain and anger, stamped his bleeding left ankle into the soft ground, and somehow kept his balance.

  Now Regdar could see the man's eyes grow narrow through the helmet's faceplate as he glared down at him. The blade rose, the eyes grew wide, and the sword plunged down. In that second, Regdar hoped that a cleric might find him before his soul departed forever. He heard the sound of a blade slicing flesh and saw the sword drive deep-into the mud beneath his armpit!

  Regdar craned his neck. The black-clad soldier fell to his knees, then collapsed across Regdar's chest. Behind him stood Tasca, his rapier dripping the dead man's blood.

  A pair of strong hands slid under Regdar's shoulders and struggled to drag him from under the slain enemy.

  "Use your feet, you big sack of meat," chided Whitman from behind Regdar. "You're not the only one who's hurt, you know."

  Regdar breathed a sigh of relief and lifted with his uninjured leg. Once supported by Whitman, the big fighter looked around.

  At least fifteen of the attacking soldiers lay dead in the mud along the small, northern embankment around the sally port. The wizards still lived, however, along with at least thirty more black-clad soldiers, all of whom seemed to be granting Regdar and his men a wide, clear space. Farther down the wall, some had managed to secure a pair of heavy ladders against the bastion, but their attention was fixed on Regdar and his irregulars.

  A loud crash turned Regdar, Tasca, and Whitman to their left.

  An attacker tumbled sideways down the slope and splashed into the water. Clemf burst through the space where the soldier had been standing. The burly, tattooed human bulled his way toward Regdar, slashing and clubbing anyone impetuous enough to try barring his way. Clemf's dress uniform, already missing its arms even before the battle, now hung in tatters. He looked like a wild man raised by wolves, dressed in the rags of his formerly civilized clothing. Cuts and bruises covered his body. Sweat drenched his brow and dripped from his limbs. With an enormous swing, he cleaved one more soldier in two, then stepped up next to his three compatriots.