The Crown and the Sword

CHAPTER TWENTY — FIVE

Six perfect spheres of stone, each weighing well more than one hundred pounds, soared lazily through the air. From a distance they looked harmless, like a spray of pebbles tossed by a child. But as they neared, they grew in apparent size even as their flight remained deceptively lyrical. Ultimately the rocks crashed only a few dozen paces before the line of Blackgaard’s pikemen, striking with enough force to send tremors through the ground.

One of the balls landed in a low, wet swale and simply vanished into the mud with an audible plop. The other five missiles struck harder patches, and they bounced and tumbled irresistibly forward. Momentum carried them onward, not at all lazily now, thumping and pounding the ground as they rolled. In scant moments they tore through the tightly packed ranks of human flesh and wooden shafts. Pikes splintered and snapped, bones shattered, and flesh was crushed by the irresistible mix of mass and momentum.

Wherever they hit that line, the heavy balls simply burst through, following the trajectory imposed when they blasted out of the muzzles of the bombards a mile away on their mountain ridge. They came up against no obstacle that could obstruct them or even seriously impede their progress. Any stick or body in the way of the flying boulders was simply borne along as the balls blasted through the line and tumbled across the grass to settle at the rear. Thus, human heads, torsos, arms, legs, and sometimes complete bodies, were blasted away, swept like grains of sand propelled by a broom, leaving a gory wake of body parts in the path of each of the five balls. The unbroken line of leveled pikes wavered as five distinct gaps were instantly carved in the previously unbroken formation.

Most of the spherical missiles rolled far enough to end up between the large, dense blocks of Ankhar’s troops, assembled a hundred paces or more behind the pikes. One rolled in a seemingly gentle fashion up to a column of goblins. A gob raised a foot in a casual attempt to bring the ball to a stop as it approached, only to have both of his legs torn away by the shot’s weight and thrust. By the time the stone ball came to rest, in the middle of the column, a dozen more goblins were down with broken legs or crushed feet.

Now another boom sounded from the ridgetop. Smoke tinged with angry yellow flame billowed from the six barrels, and six more balls exploded on their trajectory toward the distant line. There were slight variables between the paths of the two volleys-the kegs of black powder did not possess identical explosive force, and furthermore the heavy wagons had been jolted back by the recoil of the first round. When the hill dwarf gunners rolled them back into firing position, the barrels were not aimed exactly as before.

The result was the shots of the second volley landed in slightly different places. Two were lost to soft ground, but the four that rumbled onward tore through the shaken line of pikemen in different areas. Before the men and their startled officers could even grasp what was happening to them, four additional holes had been punched through the line-the line that depended on unbroken integrity for its battlefield effectiveness.

Now the horses of the Solamnic Knights picked up the pace of their advance. They trotted, the thunder of many thousands of hooves reverberating across the distance between the two armies. The gap was narrowing so the armored lancers were only a quarter mile away from the pikes. Still, they came in a measured, far from hasty charge.

The thunder of the hoofbeats was nearly drowned out by the stunning explosive noise when the next volley blasted from the bombards. Officers in the line of pikemen had recovered their wits and were frantically ordering their men to fill in the gaps in the line. These efforts met with some success until the next, stronger volley ripped through.

One of the shots took off the head of a veteran sergeant major just as he was trying to rearrange his men into some semblance of order. The corpse of the grizzled warrior fell, blood spouting from its neck, and a hundred men who had witnessed the decapitating blow dropped their pikes and fled to the rear. They left a wide gap in the center, and the men of the neighboring companies nervously shifted their eyes among that breach, the approaching horsemen, and the imagined safety far behind them.

The guns belched again, their position clearly marked by the cloud of smoke that blossomed across the ridgetop. More balls ripped through the line, even as another volley boomed forth. Now the gray, churning smoke all but enveloped the ride and nothing else could be seen, except for the repeated flashes that burst through the cloud, bright as the fires of the Abyss.

Then the battle began in earnest as the captains of the knights raised their lances, shouted their battle cries, and all their armored warriors spurred their heavy warhorses into a gallop.

“What are they doing to us?” demanded Ankhar, watching in horror as dozens more of his pikemen were punched out of the line by a strange new power he still could not comprehend. He glared up at the smoke-shrouded ridge, certain that the explosive noises up there and the lethal destruction in front of him were related somehow. But aside from the flashes of flame, he could make out nothing within that murk.

And he couldn’t understand what was happening!

“Some kind of projectile weapon,” Hoarst speculated, his tone surprisingly dispassionate as he came up beside the army commander, giving Ankhar a start. “It’s launching those stones like it was a giant sling… or a tremendously powerful catapult. They’re flying a mile or more before they come down.”

“Is it magic?” demanded the half-giant. “Can you fight it with spells?”

Maddeningly, the Thorn Knight merely shrugged. “I don’t see how-not from here in any event. However, I came to speak with you about another important matter-the wand.”

“What?” Ankhar was so distracted that he had to think for a moment to realize what the Thorn Knight was talking about. “Yes, my mother tells me it has been finished.”

“Yes. I should be able to use it to command the elemental king… even better than before. We will have the monster to lead us in battle again.”

“But I must have an army left for that to happen!” roared the half-giant. “Look at the line! You must go up there and try to destroy those… things!” ordered Ankhar until he was distracted by an even more immediate threat. “Damn them! Look, the knights!”

The armored knights were bearing down on his army now at breakneck speed, riding shoulder to shoulder, heavy lances leveled. The pike line was a shambles. Many men had fallen, but even more of the troops had panicked and run. Huge gaps had opened up and the galloping knights poured through these openings. Once through, they curled around to the right and left, stabbing with lances, hacking with swords, and the footmen could not possibly wield their cumbersome weapons fast enough to defend themselves.

The principle behind the pike formation was the uniform presentation of a line of the weapons. Once the line was ruptured, however, the individual pikeman was almost helpless against an enemy on horseback-a soldier wielding a twenty-foot shaft of wood with a steel blade on the end could do very little against a close, mobile opponent. And even if a lone man tried to hold a horse at bay with a pike, the knight could easily bash the tip of the ungainly weapon to one side or the other then ride in for the kill.

And kill the Solamnics did, along the whole breadth of the once-formidable line. The horsemen trampled the pikemen. When they were too close to use their lances, the knights drew massive swords and cleaved the helpless pikemen. The horses kicked and reared, stomping on the men of the infantry, further smashing the crumbled line.

At the same time, the thunderous assault continued and adjusted to the shifting battle. Now the balls flew over the heads of the knights and pikemen, thumping to the ground and rolling through the rear formations of Ankhar’s army. These were spread out enough so that many shots fell between the units, but whenever a tumbling ball crashed into a tightly packed column of warriors, it inflicted terrible carnage. Ankhar was shocked to see an ogre blasted in two by a hit in his belly, and he could only gape in horror as the same ball rolled on to knock down a dozen more of the brutish warriors.

“Rib Chewer!” cried the half-giant, summoning his goblin warg rider. He pointed at the melee, where the last of the pikemen were frantically trying to form squares or circles to hold the swarming knights at bay. It already seemed a losing cause.

“Attack the knights! Break up that charge!” ordered the army commander. “We need time!”

“Yes, lord!” cried the venerable captain. He raced away atop his wolf, howling for the attention of his men.

Soon a tide of savage cavalry was loping toward the front of the half-giant’s army.

Once more the terrible weapons on the ridgetop roared, fire flashing through the clouds of smoke. Ankhar remembered his command to the Thorn Knight and turned to repeat the order. But Hoarst had disappeared.

Dram was pacing up and down behind the line of bombards, encouraging his gunners and occasionally running forward far enough to watch the shots land. As he scurried back to the ammunition wagons, amidst the swirling smoke a flash of white caught his eye, and he veered toward the familiar, alabaster figure.

“Lady Coryn!” he exclaimed, recognizing the white-robed wizard as she materialized to the rear of the cannons. She was holding her hands to her ears, and her face-like Dram’s and everyone else’s-was streaked with soot and sweat. Her robe, somehow, remained as white as a blanket of new-fallen snow. “What are you doing up here?”

“Looking for trouble,” she replied after lowering her hands. “I have a feeling you’ve attracted Ankhar’s undivided attention.”

The mountain dwarf grinned. “Yeah, they’re doing the job, aren’t they,” he said proudly, standing beside her as he watched the nearest bombards-the only two he could see because of the thick smoke-get loaded for their next shot.

“Very impressive,” Coryn said.

Dram had good cause to be pleased. The tubes were all holding up well. His armorers periodically tightened the clamps on the steel straps holding them together, and none had shown signs of failure. If anything, the steady firing was turning out to be harder on the wagons supporting the bombards than on the weapons themselves.

“Cover your ears!” he warned, doing the same as the fuses were ignited.

Moments later the massive weapons belched their lethal balls into the sky. At the same time, the heavy wagons jerked backward, as they had with each shot, rolling several dozen feet before stopping against the heavy chains that anchored them. Dozens of hill dwarves swarmed around each wagon, turning the great wheels by hand, laboriously pushing them forward into firing position.

“Chief!” It was Sulfie, dashing through the smoke, looking for Dram.

“Over here!” he bellowed.

The diminutive gnome came trotting up to him, out of breath. She was covered from head to foot in soot and grime, looking as if she had tumbled into a coal pit. But her eyes were bright with excitement, and she flashed incongruously white teeth as she smiled momentarily.

“Hello, Lady,” she said to Coryn. “Welcome to the battery!”

“Hi, Sulfie. You and your brothers have made quite a contribution,” the white wizard replied.

“Yes,” the gnome said, her expression showing melancholy for a moment. “I wish Carbo and Pete could be here to see this.”

But then she remembered her news and frowned seriously. “We lost a wheel on Number Two!” she reported. “Broke it on the recoil.”

“Damn!” snapped the dwarf. Dram nodded to Coryn. “I’d better go have a look, see if we can get it up and firing again.”

“Good luck,” she said. “I’ve got things to do. See you later… maybe.”

The dwarf nodded and took off at a jog. For the first time, he became conscious of his own fatigue-he was sweating like a blacksmith on a summer day-and when he reached the disabled bombard, he had to stop and lean against the frame for a few moments just to catch his breath. The smoke clogged his lungs, and he felt grit on his tongue and in his nostrils.

He saw immediately that the rear axle of the heavy wagon had snapped in two, leaving the bed sagging to the ground and the barrel canted upward toward the sky. “I’ve got some spare axles,” he told the crew captain. “You work on getting this thing jacked up, and I’ll send a replacement up from the supply park.”

Although he was reluctant to leave the scene, he didn’t trust anyone else to make sure the proper piece was sent forward, so he departed at a trot. The replacement wagons, as well as spare powder and ammunition, were parked beside the newly made road, several hundred yards down the back side of the ridge, since there hadn’t been enough room for all of them on the summit. It would take only a few moments, he hoped, to bring the spare part forward.

He moved quickly and after a moment had moved from the stinking, stinging cloud into a mountainside meadow of bright flowers, a splashing brook, and-most amazingly-fresh air. But he couldn’t pause to enjoy it, and moments later he was huffing and puffing around the last switchback. He located the wagon with the spare axles in a flash, and he quickly got the attention of several teamsters.

“Get this up to the ridge,” he ordered. “Take it right to Number Two.”

“Gotcha, Chief,” replied the wagon drivers-humans who had been farming on the Vingaard Plain, but they had signed up to make good money working at the Compound. They quickly headed for the pasture to collect a team of draft horses.

Satisfied, Dram turned back up the hill. He could only move at a walk, and beside the brook he decided to stop, kneel down, and take a refreshing drink of cool water.

It was a drink that would save his life.

Coryn felt a tingling sense of alarm. Something was terribly wrong, and that something involved magic. She spoke a word and immediately disappeared from sight. Cloaked by invisibility, she strode behind the thundering bombards, peering through the smoke with her magical acuity. She didn’t know the nature of the threat, but every one of her senses told her to beware.

She enchanted herself with spells allowing her to detect magic and also to see invisible objects or beings. She knew the damage these great weapons were doing to the enemy army, and she did not think that Ankhar or his Thorn Knight would allow this assault to proceed unchallenged. But what could they do? How would they strike?

A breeze came up, incongruous and even refreshing; the gentle wind served to clear some of the smoke away, though each new volley spewed fresh, stinking, sulfur-tainted fog into the air. But for a moment she could see all the bombards at once as the five active weapons were rolled into place for another shot. She could see, too, a team of hill dwarves frantically working the screw of a huge mechanical jack, lifting up the bed of the disabled bombard.

The white wizard saw someone coming directly toward her-it was the little gnome, Sulfie-and Coryn nimbly moved her invisible form out of her path. Sulfie was hurrying to one of the massive ammunition wagons, where casks of the black powder were stored, to be brought forward as needed to the bombards. Coryn watched her go then stiffened.

Something else was moving toward that wagon!

Her magical sense was tingling, though she couldn’t make out the details. It was a shapeless thing, like a blob in the air-not exactly invisible. Abruptly that cloud took shape, and she saw the Gray Robe of a Thorn Knight appearing. He had traveled up here under the concealment of magic, rendering himself by potion or spell into a gaseous cloud of ephemeral vapor that cloaked him until he arrived at the site of the thundering battery.

The Gray Robe’s hand was already raised, and he cast a single, lethal spell before Coryn could react. A tiny pebble of light appeared at his fingertips, a little marble-sized glob of fire that drifted, unerringly, toward the powder wagon and its great stack of casks. Sulfie was up on that wagon, barking orders to several hill dwarves as they manhandled the large kegs of black powder.

“No!” cried the White Robe. She raised her own hand, her lips shaping a spell that would strike the Thorn Knight down-but in that same instant the man disappeared, teleporting himself away from there.

In the next breath, his fireball spell exploded.

Jaymes was watching the progress of the battle with satisfaction. He sat astride his roan with several signalmen; the Freemen of his bodyguard were also mounted and arrayed protectively around him. They were atop a low elevation that gave him a good vantage over the field. He could observe the battery in action, and he also had a good view of the charge of the knights. Coryn had left his side to go keep an eye on the cannons, while General Weaver charged ahead with the heavy cavalry. Generals Dayr, Rankin, and Markus were at the heads of their respective armies, awaiting orders.

The effectiveness of the bombards had exceeded the lord marshal’s wildest expectations, and the charging knights had wasted no time in utterly destroying the line of pikes. Now the knights were checked momentarily, as they swirled through a melee with Ankhar’s wolf-mounted goblins. But the heavy horses showed no fear of the snapping, lupine jaws, and the countercharge failed to deter the mounted men.

Jaymes gestured to three signalmen, who snapped to attention.

“Raise the banners for the Sword, the Rose, the Crown,” he said. “Signal a general advance.”

The men dutifully hoisted their pennants, the battle flags snapping and blowing as the breeze grew stronger. They dipped their poles forward and repeated the signal. Jaymes was satisfied to see the three great columns respond immediately, thousands of infantry starting toward Ankhar’s army at a steady march.

A clap of thunderous noise suddenly overwhelmed all the chaos of the battle. It was louder by far than any volley of the guns or, for that matter, anything Jaymes had ever heard. The lord marshal twisted in his saddle and looked toward the ridge.

He saw the aftermath of a tremendous explosion, a vast column of smoke churning into the sky. Several wagon wheels spun out of the murk, and one of the massive barrels tumbled into view, rolling down the ridge like a runaway log. Other things were flying through the air, too, and he grimaced with the realization that they were bodies, dozens of gunners, teamsters, and others caught up in the blast like rag dolls.

He knew that Dram and Sulfie had been up there. His next thought was that Coryn had been going to that place as well.

“He did it!” cried Ankhar, pumping his fists in the air. He watched in exultation as the ridgetop exploded and all the enemy’s terrible weapons erupted with all the violence of a volcano. Fire spewed into the air in great, roiling balls, and smoke billowed and surged upward so quickly that, in moments, the pillar of darkness extended more than a mile into the sky.

Ankhar blinked in surprise as Hoarst materialized before him. “Well done!” he roared, only with difficulty resisting the urge to embrace the man.

“Yes-the weapons are destroyed, and those who wield them have been killed,” Hoarst reported. He staggered slightly, and the half-giant reached out a hand to support him. “Is that enough to win the battle?” Hoarst asked, his voice a hacking croak.

“No,” Ankhar conceded. He gestured to his stepmother, who crouched on her haunches nearby, as he addressed the wizard. “But it was a tremendous blow, and now we are ready for the next step. Make ready your wand.”

“I am ready.”

“Laka will release the king. You will drive it forward.”

“I will give the device to you,” the Thorn Knight objected. “You should carry the wand yourself, my lord.”

“Me?” Ankhar responded, shocked.

“You can do it exceedingly well, I am sure,” Hoarst replied, coughing spasmodically for a moment. He wheezed, recovered his breath, and looked at his skeptical commander. “There is no magic use required. Simply brandish the device. The repulsion spell is inherent and will drive the elemental king away when you confront him.”

“And you?” growled the half-giant, squinting at his Thorn Knight suspiciously. “What will you do?”

“I will seek out the enemy commander, the lord marshal. It may be that I can strike him down with my magic-as he tried to strike me down with an arrow to the heart.”

Ankhar pondered this for a moment then threw his head back and laughed, a great bray of sound. “Very well. I will hold the wand, and you will seek the enemy commander. And we will let the king do the wholesale killing!”

Hoarst removed the slender stick of wood and handed it to Ankhar, watching closely as Laka opened the lid of the ruby-covered box. Instantly the twin specks of fire emerged, swirling upward, glowing brightly against the backdrop of a sunny sky. The shaman cackled with glee as a great spume of black smoke billowed upward, following the twin sparks into the sky. That was when the massive torso took shape, blocking out the light of the sun. The limbs of tornado and cyclone stretched outward and down. Sound wailed, a shrill keening of wind and water, and a deeper, more visceral power.

And once again, the king of the elementals took shape upon the surface of Krynn.