Goldenhold
Chapter 36: Melting Silver
The invaders and the defenders charged at each other valiantly. The invaders, victory so close that they could smell it. They could feel the wealth running down their palms, imagine living in the castles that they would build with it. Many of the younger men imagined hiring a few cute young servant girls taking care of them for the rest of their days. The older ones imagined bringing wealth to their towns, being seen as a hero among many. Zeon’s five thousand were ready for war.
For the goblins, this was a call for worship. Worship by blood. A man could be wealthy by raiding a fortress, but that held no interest with them. They would all rise and fall from power eventually. What mattered to them was their place in the afterlife, and they wished to fall on the right hand of Armok in the end of the day. They were being saints of murder, and would turn into angels of death.
For the defenders, this was their last hope. The adamantine warriors would either fend off the siege- or they wouldn’t. If they won, they would retire for the rest of their lives, glorified in the king’s hall. If they lost, many things would happen. The destruction of their families and their homes. The deaths of everyone they knew. This was a moment of both excitement and dread.
For the nobility, well, they would be proud of the men who died for them, pissing on their bodies and memories as a reward.
Contact. The juggernaughts had abandoned formation, instead each going solo against hundreds. The regular guard simply stuck behind lines, firing with crossbows as support.
At first for the defenders it was going great. Soon it was a game of who can pile the most bodies beneath their feet. Arrows stuck out of corpses as they stepped on them, using them as a hill to get to higher ground. Still, goblins and humans charged, and with each of the adamantine warriors separated a few began to fall. However, it was obvious the invaders would need something else after a few minutes. The defenders started to take shifts between making a fort of bodies in the middle of the room and fighting off the horde. Soon all the dwarves were on the hill, shooting off the bloody barricades down into the crowd below, corpses rolling to the bottom with an expression of surprise on their face.
The captain stood on the hill, yelling out orders left and right, standing there and observing. If he had any sense of self preservation he would have made sure his armor looked the same as everyone else’s, but he had none. While the other’s wore adamantine helms with a larger slit in them, he wore a helm with a thinner slit covered by rubies to make his vision red. The plum on his helmet was of Rac feather, which they retrieved from the bestiary.
Suddenly though, the unique THWANG of siege equipment went off, hundreds of orbs flew in the air and landed on the pile. As they landed they shattered, setting the corpses on fire. A group of Valican’s elite was charging up the ramp to the top of the corpse fort, tripping and falling as they struggled on the rough terrain. The militia tried to run down it, but they only were torn into small pieces with their attempts. An arm flying there, a leg there, maybe even a few heads. Either way, they all rolled to the bottom unless a spear was stabbed through them, holding them to the other corpses corpses. However, they refused to progress to the top where a few of the more courageous dwarves stayed.
The flames gradually moved up the pile, lighting more corpses on fire and sending the stink that only the burning flesh of mortals could make. The smoke scared the flies away that had been having a feast, along with many of the surviving dwarves and invaders that simply could not stand to have their lungs breathe in less oxygen than smoke. Every once in a while a person would jump off the pile, burns running down them and limbs alight. Those who weren’t set alight or flee suffocated on top of the pile, joining the souls of the dead.
The corpses from the fight with the dragon remained, lighting up easier because the fluids had already dried out from them with time. Without the water though the stench from them was worse, and came out much faster because they burned much quicker.
The juggernaughts simply jumped off of the pile and down into the horde beneath them. Each of the warriors must have taken down fifty invaders each, easily. They cut, sliced, and did everything but bash their opponents with their adamantine weapons. Limbs flew into the air only to be followed by several more.
The hordes fell beneath them, corpses seeming to bow down to worship them as demi-gods. It was only worse when they managed to get into a circle, ensuring that they couldn’t be backstabbed.
However, more globes of fire were fired at those small groups, setting them alight and filling their lungs with smoke. Those who weren’t in groups either were struck down or died of simple exhaustion.
But one dwarf remained standing, and this dwarf was Stronghammer. The unique visor had stopped smoke from getting into his helmet, chocking him or blinding him. As he looked the helmet, he cut down several hundred of the enemies.
He swung his sword, cutting straight through the middle of three enemies without making very much of a sound. The blade was so sharp that the breaking of the invaders bones made no more sound than a hot knife through butter. Every time it seemed like he would be taken down, he stood back up, throwing those wrestling him off, and yelling off a roar of doom.
He was one pissed off noble. He was so angry he yelled out something about a mandate for goblets, but no dwarves were there to hear his plead as he snapped the necks of his rivals.
This only sent him into a deeper rage, which made him feel compelled to make a ridiculous demand for vampire eyes. While strange, it was said that the eyes of a vampire could poison a man if turned into a fluid. He screamed this while gorging out the hearts of over a hundred men.
After several hundred demands and even more bodies, he made the final demand for a goblin bone coffin. His final move was cutting through the head of a goblin, killing him. Then he simply stood there, rolling off the small flaming hill of corpses he was on top of, and died.
Goldenhold was open for attack. Valican and Zeon were ready for destiny, trotting over the melting silver beneath their feet.
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Topic: The Age of Myth: Goldenhold (A DF Novel Length Story) (Read 115805 times)