Gorak staggered, slipping away from Nargamon's grasp as a wave of vertigo washed over him. “It always feel like that?” he grunted, blinking in the clear white light of the tower's study, his mind trying to make sense of the instantaneous change in surroundings.
“I hope I didn't upset your delicate constitution,” Nargamon snapped, making a show of wiping his hands on his filthy robes.
“I think I'll fly next time,” Gorak grumbled, ignoring the barb.
“That suits me just fine,” Nargamon said. Relenting a bit, he continued, “The feeling passes quickly. You get used to it after a while.” His complexion, even paler than usual, belied the truth of his words.
“You got someplace secure to stow him,” Gorak asked, pointing at the supine Dwerro, who was peering around Nargamon's study with an interest that was immediately disconcerting.
“Yes, yes,” Nargamon muttered, shuffling across the room to his enormous desk. Flipping closed the covers of several open books, he searched around fruitlessly for a few moments, before shoving aside a stack of parchment and picking up a small hand bell. He waved it twice, seemingly unconcerned that it made no discernible sound.
Leaving the bound Dwerro on the floor, Gorak walked over to the large map on the wall. As he moved, he noticed a series of carvings etched into the stone floor, in a circular pattern, similar, but not identical to the markings they'd discovered in Shalazar. Not really in the mood for a wizardly lecture, he dismissed it from his thoughts and turned to the task at hand, studying the positions of the Dwerro army on the enchanted parchment.
“Don't look like they've moved around much,”
“There's no need. Yet.” Nargamon pointed out. “The bombards have not arrived I suspect.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. At Nargamon's invitation, one of his apprentices entered, a young man, barely old enough to shave. With all of the tact of a drill sergeant, Nargamon issued orders. “Take our guest to the empty room on the third level, and lock him up securely in the summoning chamber. Then find Kaleb and send him up here, with the Captain of the Guard's briefing report for the day. And see if one of the other apprentices will volunteer for tonight.”
“Of course, master,” the apprentice replied, bowing low as walked over to the Dwerro. Hauling him roughly to his feet he propelled him with a shove toward the staircase.
“And Victor,” Nargamon called after him. “I understand about your mother and father, but don't seek to assuage your grief with vengeance. Not tonight anyhow,” he added, with a pointed look at the Dwerro.
“I wasn't going to,” Victor protested, but the slow flush that crept up his cheeks betrayed him.
“Of course not. You are dismissed.”
Gorak snorted. “He wouldn't have been able to hurt that little bastard. He's a tough nut to crack.”
“It's not the Dwerro I'm concerned about. I can't afford to lose any more apprentices, even the stupid ones, and Victor doesn't have the stomach for proper torture. That Dwerro'd be out of his bonds and have his throat cut before he knew what was happening.”
A few minutes later, Kaleb appeared with a sheaf of parchment. Nodding to Gorak, he bowed to Nargamon as he handed over the documents. “The Captain reports nothing of any major import today. Two men killed from a collapsing building, but no contact with the Dwerro. Fifteen more men are off the roster, suffering from dysentery, and the food rations are going to have to be cut again, if we want to last the month. The duty commander reported all clear from the wall half an hour ago, and things seem pretty quite on the line.”
“Yes, yes,” Nargamon muttered absently, skimming over the parchment. Tossing it aside, he looked at Gorak. “So, no time like the present. Let's get this great plan of yours into action. What do you need?”
Yawning prodigiously, Gorak grumbled, “Place ta sleep, for starters. It's been a helluva day, and I need to commune before I'll be ready.”
“Ah, what service I must have done to the lost gods, that they shower me with heroes such as these,” Nargamon replied causticly, rolling his eyes. “Well, I wouldn't want to delay nap time. Maybe afterwards, we can discuss lifting the siege. Kaleb, show Gorak to the sleeping chambers.” Another apprentice entered before they left, a middle aged man, who had the look of a farmer or labourer, more so than a wizard.
“Master,” he said gruffly, with barely a glance to Gorak. “Victor told me you needed a volunteer for this evening.”
“Indeed, and you drew the short straw did you? Hold up a minute you two, you can help put Kautter to bed.” Gorak was about to reply but Nargamon didn't give him a chance, continuing without pause. “Very well then.” Nargamon gestured at a chair. “Let's get it done.” Nargamon muttered a few arcane words as the man sat down, then placed his hand on the apprentice's forehead. Instantly, the man slumped over, snoring loudly. Looking immediately refreshed, Nargamon dismissed them with a few final commands for Kaleb. “Get him downstairs and show Gorak to an empty room. I need to continue the preparations, which will require some things from the library, so find me a runner and then get some sleep.”
Seizing the unconscious man by the belt and slinging his limp arms over their shoulders, they hauled him to his feet. As they carted him down the stairs, Gorak asked, “What's all that about.”
“A most fortunate discovery of Nargamon's; a simple spell he came across quite early after his arrival. It allows him to steal the sleep from another so he himself does not require rest.”
“I can see where that would be useful,” Gorak grumbled, shifting his weight to get a better hold on his burden.
“Definitely. It allowed him to spend countless hours in the library, devising ways to protect the city.”
“No doubt,” Gorak rumbled, suspecting that more than simple altruism drove Nargamon.
“It's not without drawbacks however,” Kaleb continued, breathing heavily as he struggled to keep up with Gorak and not send the sleeping apprentice tumbling down the stairs. “It requires a willing subject and without true rest, it becomes impossible to commit the complex arcane formula to memory, so it cannot be used indefinitely.”
A few minutes later, they arrived at the base of the tower where the sleeping chambers were located. After heaving the sleeping Kautter onto a bed, Kaleb directed Gorak to an empty room. Exhausted, he shrugged off his pack and collapsed on the bed, not bothering to undress. He slept long and deeply, despite being inside, having not really rested since the battle two days before.
He awoke the following day, stiff from his long slumber, but feeling immeasurably better. In the windowless room, he couldn't see the sun to tell the time of day, but his own internal sense told him it was well past noon. Sticking his head out the door, he accosted a passing apprentice. “Where's Nargamon?” he asked gruffly.
“How should I know?” the apprentice replied disdainfully.
“Go find him and tell him I wanna talk to him.”
“I don't take orders from the likes of you. Maybe if I see him, I'll pass along the message,” the man retorted.
Seizing the man by the front of his robes, Gorak jerked him forward, so close his tusks were practically gouging him. “Don't think of it of it as an order,” he growled. “Consider it a friendly suggestion in the interest of your well being.” He released the man with a shove, sending him stumbling backwards. Returning to his room, Gorak knelt down and cleared his mind of all distractions, seeking strength from the ebb and flow of the world around him. Some time later, a tentative knock on the door broke his calm and brought his foul mood back. Rising to his feet, he opened the door to find the sullen apprentice standing outside.
“Nargamon's at the top of the tower, in the observatory. He says to meet him up there.”
Brushing past the man without a word, Gorak took the steps two at a time. Despite his hardened physique, by the time he reached the landing at the top, he was breathing heavily and slick with sweat. Grabbing hold of an iron rung embedded in the wall, he climbed up the short ladder and pushed open the trapdoor above him.
The observatory was a simple, nondescript circular room roughly twenty feet across with a single window adorning the north wall. Nargamon was seated at a small writing desk, surrounded by books and strange mechanical devices whose purpose was unknown to Gorak. It barely seemed to warrant the name, but considering that Khalid never spent any time looking at anything other than books, maybe it did, Gorak thought to himself.
Nargamon looked up from the device in his hands. “So, now do you want to tell me what your brilliant plan is, oh great saviour?” he asked, not even making an attempt at pleasantries.
“Sure,” Gorak grunted. “When those cannons arrive, I'm gonna fly out there and rust the barrels. If they try to fire them after that, they'll simply blow apart.”
Nargamon blinked. “You're going to fly out there.” He pointed toward the window. “Into the middle of the entire Dwerro army.” He paused dramatically. “Land beside their most potent weapons.” Gorak grunted. “And cast a spell?”
“Ayup.”
“That's a terrible plan.”
“Don't you think I know that?” Gorak growled through clenched teeth. “We tried the good plan already, and you saw how that worked out. We don't have a lot of options left if we're going to save this city and all these people. And besides,” he sneered contemporaneously. “At least its better then hiding behind the walls of this tower, getting ready to run.”
“Before you go getting all high and mighty, you'd better take a look at this.” Nargamon picked up a spy glass from among the many artifacts on the desk and handed it to him. With a word, the grey stone walls became as transparent as glass, offering a sweeping panoramic of the city and the army that surrounded it.
Gorak raised the bronze tube to his eye and scanned the troops below. In their midst, at intervals around the west and north side of the city, Dwerro soldiers were swarming around five structures that hadn't been there the day before. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he kept searching, finally seeing the remains of the caravan, now stripped down and mostly dismantled.
“Damn it,” Gorak swore. “I wasn't expecting them to get here that quick. This is gonna be harder then I thought.”
“Indeed. I suspect there are dead pigs littering the road from here to Draknor.”
“Five buildings,” Gorak spat. “Clever bastards. Now even if I can figure a way to get close enough, I gotta avoid the decoys.” Peering through the spyglass again, he studied the wooden fortifications. As he watched, a crow, circling over one of the buildings swooped low, trying to land on the roof. Instantly the air was filled with crossbow bolts, as the Dwerro sentries took aim and fired. The dead bird plummeted to the ground. Gorak let loose a litany of vile epitaphs.
“Now what?” Nargamon asked, not even bothering to look up.
“They're on ta me,” Gorak growled. “One of the survivors musta seen me shift and now they're using any bird that comes within a hunnerd feet of those buildings for target practise.
“So, what will you do?” Nargamon asked.
“Gotta try,” Gorak grunted in reply. “If I can get to just one of them, it might buy some time.”
“Suit yourself.”
Unwilling to concede to Nargamon's pervasive pessimism, Gorak left the observatory and headed back down to the courtyard. On his way out, he passed Kaleb, returning from some errand in the city.
Braver than most, Kaleb chanced Gorak's foul expression with a passing greeting. “Headed out to scout the army?” he asked.
“I'm gonna do more than scout 'em, if I get the chance,” Gorak growled, not breaking stride.
Kaleb turned and fell into step beside him. “While Nargamon may not show you any gratitude for your presence here, your efforts have not gone unnoticed or unappreciated,” he offered. “Good luck, with whatever you have planned.”
“I'll need a damn sight more than luck to do anything useful out there,” Gorak muttered.
“Well, it's not much, but there are a few things I could do to aid you.” He stopped, and cast a spell, touching Gorak lightly on the shoulder as he finished. “In the unlikely event the Dwerro have magical concealment at their disposal, that should reveal any hidden foes.”
Gorak grunted, “Speaking of magical concealment, Khalid knows this spell...”
“Invisibility? A staple for any wizard, I assure you. But I doubt I have the ability to maintain the spell long enough to allow you to complete your task.”
“I can move pretty quick,” Gorak rumbled. “When I have to. Come with me.”
They left the tower courtyard and pushed through the huddled mass of refugees camped near the tower. In time, they came to the ring of outer defences near the city wall, where tired soldiers, almost as miserable and wretched as the people they protected, waited for the next assault to begin. Weary beyond even curiosity, the men ignored them as soon as it became clear that no new orders were forthcoming from the pair. Stopping at the base of the wall Gorak searched the sky above the army, among the kites and crows that circled endlessly overhead. He located a suitable candidate, and studied it closely for several minutes. Satisfied, he grunted, “Alright. Do your thing.”
“You are aware of the other limitations of the dweomer?” When Gorak nodded, he launched into the spell, while Gorak shifted form, mimicking the form of a huge vulture As he took flight, Kaleb called after him, “Start counting. When you reach two hundred and fifty, you'd best be out of bow range of any Dwerro.”
Surging into the air under the strength of his large wings, Gorak raced for the nearest building. Silently counting off the passing seconds, he fought through the slow burn of unused muscles in his chest. As he hurtled through the air, a flicker of motion caught his eye, at the edge of his vision. He craned his long neck around, searching the sky, but whatever it was, it was gone. Dismissing it as a case of overactive paranoia, he cursed himself for wasting precious seconds. Flying over the heads of the Dwerro troops, he closed in on his target with somewhere shy of a minute left on Kaleb's spell. Flaring out his wings, he glided down to the roof of the building, perching above the barred double doors. A few of the more astute Dwerro sentries glanced around at the faint sound, but, seeing nothing, turned back to the city walls. Drifting to the ground, Gorak quickly circled the structure, becoming more infuriated with each passing second. It became immediately clear that the Dwerro had carefully planned and constructed the defences with all of their considerable engineering skill. The doors were tightly sealed, with barely a crack beneath them. The planks of the walls had been sunk into the ground, and thick hide had been stretched across them, to fireproof them and seal the gaps around the roof. The few windows that had been cut into the frame were covered with a fine steel mesh and shuttered from inside, so he couldn't see what lay beyond. He could hear Dwerro moving around through the tiny opening, but still had no idea if one of the cannons housed in this building. It must have been dreadfully unpleasant inside, judging from the heat that vented out from the windows, but it probably made the Dwerro feel right at home, in the sweltering darkness.
As the seconds of Kaleb's spell ticked away, Gorak finally had to admit his plan was hopeless. Even if he could find an opening big enough to slip through, he didn't have the strength to shift his form enough times to get inside and then escape, even if he could survive long enough to complete his casting. To try and get close to the bombard would be nothing short of suicide. His only remaining hope was to wait until the cannons were unveiled, and the final assault commenced.
Thwarted, Gorak turned back to lend his strength to the defence of the city. Flying over the walls, he spent a few minutes inspecting the meagre fortifications, trying to decide where best to direct his efforts. As he circled, a nagging doubt began to worm its way into his thoughts. Finally, unable to ignore it any longer, he banked sharply and flew toward the centre of the town, heading toward the tower. Not willing to risk blundering into any of the tower's warding spells, he landed outside and reverted back to his own form.
Immediately, he knew something was wrong. The gates to the courtyard were ajar and no guards were in sight. Drawing out his cudgel, he moved quickly through the grounds and approached the tower. His fears were confirmed when he saw the stout oaken door shattered on its hinges, and smeared with blood. And even though he was expecting trouble, he was completely unprepared for what happened next.
Out of the darkness of the tower, materialized was what, at first glance, appeared to be a woman. Long black hair, glistening with an oily sheen, hung down to her waist, framing her voluptuous figure. Her chalk white skin was marred by a thin band of scales that crossed beneath her naked breasts, over the taut muscles of her stomach and wound around her shapely legs before vanishing into the fur of her cloven hooves. Her features would have been beautiful, if they were not twisted with unholy cruelty. Two tiny ivory white horns with crimson tips emerged from her forehead, just above her brow. Like Vestalt, her eyes were blood red orbs, bereft of pupil. Shifting the burden she carried in her arms, she stopped and regarded him with a look of utter contempt.
“Stand aside, Orcling.” she hissed. “I will brook no interference with my task.”
Gorak struggled to fight down the unnatural lust that seized him, even through fear that had his heart hammering in his chest. He knew he was facing an opponent beyond his measure. His mind raced as he considered his options. Focusing on the burden in the creatures hands, he realized what she had come for. He slowly started to raise his hand, the words of a spell on his lips.
Recognizing his intent, a pair of huge leathery bat like wings unfurled from the succubus' back, and closed around her protectively, shielding the unconscious son of Martok she carried. “Raise your hand against me and you will grovel at my feet and beg for death before I finish with you. Your time is up mortal. Stand aside or die.”
With a curse,Gorak abandoned the spell, and grudgingly moved back out of the devil's way. The succubus shifted the wounded Dwerro in her arms, and walked past Gorak without sparing him another glance. She stepped over the twisted metal of the ruined portal, and flexed her legs, springing high into the air. The huge bat wings sliced through the air, driving her high up into the clouds and out of sight.
Exhaling slowly, Gorak watched her leave, then walked up the steps to the tower door, kicking aside the wreckage. The scene that greeted him inside was the stuff of nightmares. Blood coated the walls of the entrance, and he had to step past the bodies of the two guards that usually stood outside. One looked as though he had been flayed alive, but not before he'd disembowel the other with his sword. Beyond, two apprentices were locked in a death's embrace. Gorak recognized one of them as the boy, Victor. His hands were wrapped around the other man's neck, having managed to strangle him before the dagger buried in his stomach ended his life. Glancing down one of the long hallways on the main level that housed the sleeping quarters, Gorak called out, “Anybody alive in here?”
At the end of the hallway, a door creaked open slightly, and Kaleb poked his head out. “Gorak!” he practically sobbed in relief. “Is that thing gone?”
“Yeah,” he grunted in reply. “She got what she came fer. Where's Nargamon?”
“I don't know,” Kaleb said shakily, as he approached Gorak, eyes darting nervously around. The blood drained from his face as he walked into the main hall. “I was in my chamber sleeping when she showed up. I opened the door and saw one of the guards being...being killed.” He shuddered. “She walked right past, to the stairs, like she knew what she was looking for. She glanced at me, and I could feel her, in my thoughts, beckoning me to join her, to serve her, and for a moment, I almost did. But then somebody screamed and it broke the trance. I barricaded myself in my room while the others...” he trailed off. “After a while, the screaming stopped, but I just couldn't bring myself to leave.”
“Smart move,” Gorak growled. “You couldn't do anything out here but die.”
“After it got quiet, I heard some explosions from up in the tower. If Nargamon's anywhere, he'll be up there.”
“Let's go then.” Without waiting to see if Kaleb followed, Gorak took the stairs two at a time. At the second level, he stepped over the body of what looked to be Kautter, but since the corpse was missing its head, he couldn't really be sure. On the landing of the third level, where the Dwerro had been kept, the door had been torn asunder and the bodies of two more guards were piled on top of one another in a bloody mess of limbs and entrails. Without pause, Gorak headed up past the library on the floor level, to Nargamon's study on the fifth. The door to his room was intact, and tightly barred. The runes around the edges of the frame were glowing slightly. “Nargamon,” Gorak yelled, not willing to risk banging on the door. “You still alive in there?”
“Gorak? Is that you?” Nargamon called out weakly.
“Yah. Open up the door.”
“How do I know you're not bewitched by that devil?” Nargamon challenged.
“You don't. But that bitch is gone and if you don't open up this door, I'ma gonna use Kaleb to bash it down and come in anyhow.” Gorak growled, ignoring the squawk of protest from Kaleb. Behind the door, Nargamon muttered an arcane word and the runes slowly faded. Gorak raised the latch and walked in.
Nargamon was curled up on the floor, propped against the leg of his desk, clutching at his stomach. His robes were shredded from shoulder to hip, and stained red with his blood. His face was ashen grey and he was breathing in short, sharp gasps. Gorak knelt beside him and pulled away his hands away from the wound. Holding Nargamon by the shoulder, he muttered the words to a spell, and plunged his other hand into the wound, eliciting a harsh grunt of pain. As the magic took effect, Nargamon's breathing evened out, and colour returned to his face. Standing up slowly, he leaned heavily on the desk for support.
“So she got what she came for then?” Nargamon asked.
Gorak nodded. “The Dwerro.”
“And my apprentices?”
“Dead. Guards too. Except for Kaleb here. How'd she get inside?”
“I don't have mastery over all of the tower's defensive spells. By the time I realized what was going on, she was halfway up the stairs. I was not prepared to fight a creature like that.”
“Now what?” Gorak growled.
“Kaleb and I are leaving. I don't care what you do. Flee, or stay here and die with the rest of the city. I have done all that I can but the outcome was never truly in doubt. Although, thanks to your efforts, it came a little sooner than I was expecting. I strongly suggest you leave the tower however, as I have no intention of allowing it to fall into the hands of the Dwerro.”
“So that's it then?” Gorak growled, still struggling against the obvious truth in Nargamon's words.
“The siege of Caer Morag is over. You would do well to accept that and move on. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to finish gathering up what we need.” Turning away from Gorak, he picked up a piece of parchment of the desk and handed it to Kaleb. “Go to the library, and find these tomes, then meet me in the observatory.
Frustrated and despondent, Gorak stomped out of the room and down the stairs, heading for the city walls. The panic down on the street was almost a palpable thing now, swirling around the huddled mobs like a foul wind. Fighting through the milling crowds, he approached the western wall, and climbed up on top of a nearby building, to get a better look. Along its length, he could see soldiers, gripping weapons tightly, pointing out into the field. If Gorak had hoped to find more courage among the guards, he was sorely disappointed. From their vantage point, they could see the beginning of the end.
Out in the field, the Dwerro bombards had been assembled and were slowly being dragged into position behind teams of huge pigs, struggling under the massive weight as they churned through the muddy fields. Hundreds of Dwerro, marching in lockstep beside, kept a wary vigil on the city and the sky. The siege engines were manoeuvred into a low hill, well beyond bow range and the draft animals were unhitched as Dwerro artillery men began to load the first of the devices.
Gorak saw the flash of fire and cloud of smoke an instant before the huge iron ball slammed into the wall, in an explosion of dust and rock. Leaping down from the rooftop, he ran past the dazed soldiers near the impact, and up to the wall. It was buckled dangerously inwards, the huge stones shifted and fractured from the force. Placing his hands on the wall, Gorak muttered a few words, and the stone began to flow together, the cracks disappearing under his touch. In a few seconds, the wall was repair, straightened and strengthened under the power of his magic. A few nearby guards gave a half hearted cheer when they saw what he was doing. Gorak almost allowed himself to hope for a second that they could prove Nargamon wrong.
But the Dwerro engineers, having found the range with the first shot, quickly extinguished that brief spark. Almost in unison, the three cannons fired. The first shot clipped the top of a wall, and in an instant, half a dozen soldiers vanished an a fiery blast of iron and stone. The second shot demolished a weakened guard tower, anchoring a section of the wall, and the third hit right beside it, sending stone shards flying into the stunned guards and opening an enormous breech in the wall, fifty feet from where Gorak was standing. Shaking his head to clear the confusion, Gorak stumbled away from the site of the damage. Through the shattered gap in the wall, he could see the Dwerro preparing another volley, as the clans formed up for the attack. Gorak was finally forced to confront the fact that nothing he could do, would stop the inevitable.
In a grim punctuation to the thought, in the centre of the city, Nargamon's tower vanished in a deafening roar of fire and stone, that sent debris raining down over the city. With a heavy sigh, Gorak shifted his form and took to the air, while below, a few dozen soldiers watched him fly away, the same expression of hopelessness and fear mirrored on every face.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Anything?” Shayla asked, her voice heavy with concern.
Khalid held up the tiny voodoo doll and concentrated. Having never really used it before, he wasn't sure what to expect. “Ah, yes, perhaps.”
“That thing work if'n he's dead?” Azarek muttered curiously.
Shayla shot him a look filled with venom, while Khalid grimaced. He was wondering the same thing himself. “Ah, yes, well, I'm not exactly certain.” He held the doll up a little higher and tried to sharpen the image of Gorak he held in his mind. “It seems to be directing me toward the city. Yes, quite.”
“Maybe it points to the biggest piece of him,” Azarek mused sagely.
“Enough,” Shayla cursed, punching him in the arm.
“Ah, yes, wait, it seems to be moving now.” Khalid said with relief, as an enormous weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. “Yes, quite. He's definitely on the move.”
They turned around and headed back into the forest, following the magical pull of the voodoo doll. In a little less then an hour, the found Gorak sitting on the ground beside a small stream, his chest bare and dripping with water as he washed the dust and grime away.
Shayla practically flew into his arms. Burying her face in his muscled shoulder, she whispered, “We were so worried. We thought you were dead.”
“Indeed,” Khalid added.
“You should know by know it takes more than a Dwerro army to do me in,” he rumbled with a tired smile.
“So jus whut in the hell happened in there?” Azarek rasped curiously.
“We can talk about it as we move,” Gorak rumbled. “The Dwerro are gonna be busy for the next little while, and we should use that time to put a little distance between us and them.
Following Gorak's lead, they moved along the edge of the forest, parallel to the city. The inexorable thunder of the Dwerro bombards dogged their steps, heralding the end of the months long siege. As night fell, they emerged from the trees, and stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the sooty orange glow of the funeral pyre that was Caer Morag spread across the horizon. Unable to do anything but mourn the pour souls trapped within, they turned they backs upon the city and once again set their feet upon the road.