Mallus said:
(this thread is like an addcition...)
In the interests of handing out a little more crack (which, come to think of it, is a good analogy for paladin threads), I bit the bullet and started writing the conclusion to the siege. So here is the first part. Random swipes/stealing at/from
Henry V and
The Two Towers may not be completely and utterly accidental.
* * * * *
“Spare a drink?”
The soldiers, tired and dirty and nearly all wounded from the long day’s battle, look up in surprise at the speaker from the campfire where some awful mixture brews in a battered cauldron. The figure’s features or shape are indiscernible under his hooded cloak, only a pair of battered boots visible in the flickering light. Just behind him stand two women in ragged clothing, from the looks of them a pair of the few camp followers who failed to flee before Kurgash’s army arrived.
“We’ve got no booze here,” growls a veteran, a bandage attached to what remains of his right cheek. “If you want some, try begging it from the lords up at the palace!”
Another man leers past the hooded figure at the women. “But you can leave those two behind when you go.”
As the women respond with expletives and rude gestures, the figure quickly steps forward towards the fire and leans over the cauldron. A couple of the soldiers begin to shout, but he ignores them and takes a deep sniff. Then he pushes back the hood to reveal Cedric’s grinning face. “Firstly,” he says, “Stay away from my dates. And secondly, you lying sons-of-bitches have at least a bottle of brandy in there.” He sniffs again. “And you’ve put some … wait … rashaki in it? Rashaki? For cooking? All right – that’s blasphemy!”
The stunned silence around him finally ends as one of the soldiers – now all on their feet – points at the veteran. “Ced…Sir, it was his – Arja’s – idea!”
The man identified as Arja glares around and begins to stammer an apology, but Cedric waves him into silence, turning the gesture into an invitation for the women to join them. While the two drop into seats vacated by the soldiers, Cedric picks up a ladle and one from a pile of battered helmets near the fire and spoons some of the concoction into it. He takes a careful sip, looks surprised and takes another. “Damn! That’s not bad, actually. Mind if we have a bit?”
Heads nod vigorously and Cedric smiles. “Thanks. I’ll even add a bit.” Producing a small sack from under his voluminous cloak, he reaches in and drops a few things into the cauldron. The men’s eyes light up as they see vegetables and a couple of pieces of meat. Seconds later, a significantly improved scent wafts from it. “Excellent! Give it a couple of minutes.” Cedric rises and takes a seat, adding in explanation, “They’re serving tripe up at the palace, as you called it, so I thought I’d take a walk and see if anyone was doing better.” Cedric winks at the two women. “And I picked up a little company along the way.” As they giggle, he indicates that the soldiers should sit down. After some hesitation, they do so.
Once they are all seated, Cedric places an arm around the waist of each of the woman now seated beside him, and says, “You guys are among Saren’s crossbowmen, right?” As the men nod, he continues, “You did some really nice work taking out the ogres pushing the makeshift rams in the evening. I was pretty impressed.” Smiles spread across men’s faces and eyes light up at the words. Arja grunts, “Thank you, sir.” He hesitates and then says, almost questioningly, “I didn’t think any of the commanders really noticed.”
Cedric just smiles and points at his battered boots as he crosses one leg comfortably over another, “Do I look like I’m being paid enough to be a bloody commander?” There are a few chuckles, and he continues, “I did notice, but I was a little busy to tell you at the time. That ogre commander was trying to kiss me at the time, and we’d only just met! Disgusting!” He looks down at his legs again, this time mournfully. “Bastard had better boots than me too. Anyway,” he smiles around, “Have you heard the one about the ogre and the elven debutante? No? Well…”
Fifteen minutes later, Cedric is walking away with his two companions in tow, leaving behind a group of men who are now talking animatedly, laughing and tucking happily into bowls of soup. As he glances back, a flash of sorrow crosses his eyes.
I can’t make sure you’ll be alive tomorrow, but I can bring you some soup. Then he turns, raises his hood again and walks towards the next of the fires.
* * * * *
The next night…
The triple-barred door and the barricade behind it shudder at the constant pounding but hold for now. Even so, there is no hope in Orion’s gaze as he looks at them, with eyes like hollows in a face streaked with dirt, sweat and blood. The expressions on his men’s faces are no better. They have fought through the day and the night, performing acts of incredible bravery, and all to no avail. Now, penned in the last surviving tower of the fortress, with Kurgash’s troops battering at the door, whatever little hope had once existed is now extinct.
Then someone laughs behind Orion. He turns to see Cedric looking up at the faint light of the dawn coming through one of the high windows above, his head cocked to the side as if listening to someone whispering in his ear. “What the f*ck are you laughing for?” growls Orion.
Cedric turns, the laugh fading, and smiles. “Language, Orion! And I just received a message from … well, elsewhere. And I have a plan.”
“A plan? For what? We have nowhere to go and nothing we can do but wait till they break in. And then we will die.” The watching men stare at their commander, but he says nothing that they have not already thought, and they go back to looking wearily at the door.
“Perhaps,” shrugs Cedric, “But nevertheless I have a plan. We still have some of the mages, don’t we?”
“Three. They’re upstairs. But they’re completely out of spells, haven’t had a chance to rest, and are down to what scrolls and wands are left. Why?”
Cedric just winks. “Let me talk to them first.” He turns and heads for the stairs leading up, trotting up them as if he had freshly woken up.
He returns a few minutes later and, without a word to Orion, bellows, “Everyone, gather in here!” Surprised soldiers stand up and those in the adjoining rooms walk in. “I’ll make this simple,” says Cedric. “We’re going to attack!”
“WHAT?!”
Cedric just glances at Orion, gestures for silence, and continues, “That bastard Kurgash has moved into the courtyard below to watch his troops kill us. The only way any of us are getting out of here alive – and the only way the kingdom will be safe – is if he’s dead. So that’s what we’re going to be doing. We don’t have enough options to take him from a distance and if we stay here, they’ll break in eventually and we’ll die. So I say we take it to them. Now! They’ve killed our friends. They’ve killed our brothers. And now they expect us to die like rats in a hole. I say – No! Are you with me?”
There is a second of silence and then a grizzled armsman lifts his sword. “I am.” Immediately, more weapons rise and voices answer. “And me.” “Me too.” The cries of affirmation rise to a crescendo, momentarily drowning out the pounding at the door. Cedric nods and smiles fiercely, but just for a second Orion catches the flash of what he thinks are tears in his eyes. “Make ready,” says the paladin. “Ten minutes.”
Then he turns and walks over to Orion, gesturing to a secluded corner. As the befuddled commander follows him, Cedric says quietly, “Like I said, I have a plan. And for it to work, I need a small group to stay here and hold the stairs leading up. I want you in charge.”
“But … you’re insane! If you’re doing this, I’m coming with you.”
Cedric smiles grimly. “I’d love to get you killed along with me, but I need someone here who I know will hold the line. And I can’t stay. You have to.”
Orion growls angrily. “Fine. Fine! You know you can talk me into anything. Just tell me – what’s this damn plan?!”
“Okay. I’m going to kill Kurgash. And here’s how…”
* * *
The ogre in the front pulls back his greatclub and then pauses, a confused look on its face. His hearing might not be the most acute, but even over the sound of the cheering goblinoids behind him, he’s quite sure that he heard thick bolts slamming back. He turns to mention what he heard and then the great doors swing back, revealing a charging mass of men.
In the lead is a man on a horse, albeit a fairly sickly one. The ogre barely has time to think,
How did they get horses up here?. A split second after the thought passes through his head, so does a gleaming sword.
The goblinoids behind him, most of whom had not been expecting to get through the doors any time soon, scream in surprise and terror as a storm of cursing and stabbing men breaks over them. The soldiers, driven beyond tiredness by hate and a blind desire for revenge, rip into and through their enemy’s ranks.
The initial assault drops goblinoids in droves, and the surprise and close quarters aids the small group of attackers as they push forward, fleeing enemies running into others and confusing them. Nevertheless, the numbers opposing them take a toll, man after man dropping as they battle through the corridors and halls littered with the bodies of their comrades. Only the example of Cedric, driving constantly forward, foes falling at every second beneath his sword and Beobarius’ hooves, keeps them moving.
And finally, they emerge through the tower’s shattered outer doorway onto the ramp beyond, to find an army awaiting them. Hobgoblins form a thick semicircle around the ramp’s bottom, spears raised in readiness. Ogres stand among them, straining forward in brutish eagerness. Goblin archers stand around them, and others circle the area on their worgs. Thousands of figures are crowded into what remains of the fortress. And right in the center of them, surrounded by a score of ogre bodyguards, leaning back at his ease in a makeshift throne, is the huge armored form of Kurgash. The mighty warlord smiles in amusement as the small force halts for a moment, and then raises his hand. Then he pauses in surprise, as all of them turn and run back into the tower, leaving only a single man on a horse. Who then charges his army.
The goblinoids and ogres watch, unable to believe what they are seeing, as Beobarius races down the ramp. Cedric bends low in the saddle, whispering, “Sorry, old friend. This is going to hurt – a lot. But I have to get as close as I can.” Beobarius neighs back and Cedric feels a warm mental touch of affirmation and acceptance. The warhorse lengthens its stride and then, just as it is about to reach the end of the ramp, hurls itself forward and upward. It is an incredible leap and for just a second, as he rises into the air, the watchers imagine that the horse can fly. But then he reaches the apex of his leap and comes down, right into the spears of the outer rank of hobgoblins.
Celestial flesh rips and tears as half a dozen spearheads rip into the horse and Cedric feels something go cold inside him as Beobarius screams. In his mind, through the empathic link, he feels his mount’s agony, but he restrains himself as the horse’s dying bulk smashes a dozen hobgoblins to the ground. Then, in the last split second, Cedric wishes Beobarius away, sending him back to the celestial realms to recuperate.
Cedric lands heavily on the fallen hobgoblins and then leaps forward, sword slashing left and right. Beobarius’ sacrifice has taken him almost all the way through the hobgoblin ranks, and as the last two drop beneath his sword he leaps into the space beyond. Only to find hundreds of the enemy swarming in to block his way.
Close enough – I hope! Cedric stops, raises his sword in the air and shouts, “Kurgash! I challenge you!”
Less than ten seconds later, Cedric stands before Kurgash, blood running down his face from where an overeager hobgoblin landed a hit before the warlord could call them off. Kurgash, eyes bright with amusement and curiosity, looks him up and down. “Why should I accept your challenge, manling? I have won here! I am Kurgash! You are nothing!”
Cedric grins.
As long as you’re talking, I have you! “Yes, you are Kurgash. And yes, you have won here. But your victory is not complete till you kill me. And should not Kurgash do that? Or are you Kurgash the coward? Maybe you fear me because I am a paladin of the High Lord.”
This time there is no amusement in Kurgash’s face as he leans forward, growling, “I am Kurgash Giantslayer. I fear nothing. Paladin? I have slain your kind before.”
“Words!” laughs Cedric. “Words like a woman hides behind. Just as you hid from the battle today, letting your followers fall before my people’s swords. Face me and show your army that you are truly Kurgash! Or let them all see that you feared to face a single human!” By the time he finishes, Cedric is shouting, and he notes with pleasure a low rumble that runs through the ranks beside him.
So does Kurgash. He growls angrily and then raises a gigantic arm, causing silence to fall. “Yes! I will fight! And today I will eat you for dinner.” The warlord rises ponderously, spreads both his arms and roars. Thousands of voices rise in response.
Cedric looks up at Kurgash’s mountainous form, nearly twice his height and four times as broad. Apelike arms as thick around as Cedric’s waist stretch to fists bigger than his head. The warlord’s gigantic form is covered in shining ebony armor, his breastplate of a size and thickness that Cedric would rather expect on a war elephant. There is a grating metal sound and the paladin’s eyes quickly focus on the weapon Kurgash has picked up. It looks like a small battering ram, a ten feet long cylinder which is slightly thinner at one end, made of darkwood studded with metal spikes the size of daggers.
Yeah – I’m f*cked!
To be concluded...
