Book 2 : Chapter 25

Jungfrau, Nussegrund

Orrin the Paladin

A ghoulish, avian cry jolted him from his charcoal sketching, making his hand jerk in place, leaving a dismal mar across his ongoing work. All around him, men snapped to attention, freezing in place and giving their attention to the airs above, like a herd of deer alerted by the break of a dry branch.

Marcus stopped in his orations of arcane command- his directions belted towards local men on how to repair the damaged catapults- and raised his staff in wary patience. The stale, death-laden breeze that wound through the streets brought his short greying hair to a gentle flutter, and his deepset eyes shot piercing glares to the sky. 

Orrin slowly set his page and stick of charcoal aside, rising to his feet and bringing a hand to the hilt of his sword, twisting his head as he listened for the sound again.

There was stillness in the courtyard that stored the damaged artillery, several long seconds passing, and then another piercing cry of some gnarlish beast. 

Then another, overlapping with the first.

“That’s the drake- they have two drakes now!?” One of the artillerymen cried out in fear, and a panic began to break out amongst the gathered men. 

“Panic later- get those catapults repaired!” Marcus roared over the notes of rising alarm, waving a hand in an authoritative manner. Suitable for a war-wizard, the Imperial man had a talent for bombastic declarations- the kind that men needed to hear when violence was soon to come. The greying wizard turned to him and shouted another commandment, beginning a hobbled and hurried walk away from the center of the yard. “Orrin, with me, to the walls!”

A more prideful man might have bristled at the order, but Orrin was humble enough to be aware of his limitations. A clever man, he was not. Lir and Marcus were both very clever men, and so Orrin felt little shame in following their direction.

He nodded at once, making a note to return for his book of sketches later, and dashed over to match pace with the war-mage’s hobbled sprint. “To the walls? You suspect an attack then!” 

If they intended to attack- that wasn’t good. His zenith of strength was long passed at this point. Not that there was any use in whining about such a thing- he could hardly expect the enemy to be sporting and only strike when he was most-ready to combat them. 

“Or they’re just crying out to unnerve us.” Marcus growled, narrowed eyes squinting in thought- ah, no, Orrin misread the expression. It was one of building pain. Each strange step of the warmage’s bounding caused another jolt to rush through the man’s body, and another tiny flinch.

Marcus, when pressed to move quickly, used his staff as a replacement for his bad leg- pushing himself off the ground with it and keeping the bad leg raised, then stepping on the good leg, then using the staff again. Akin to tiny polevaults, if Orrin were to give an example. It was faster than a base walk, but slower than a man at full sprint, and far slower than his own maximum pace.

He slowed his run, keeping by the warmage’s side as they moved towards the stairwells that led up to the walls. The artillery was kept near the center of the city so it could be sheltered from enemy attacks, which meant the walls were very far away indeed.

At their current pace, the battle might be over well before they arrive! He pondered the dilemma as they moved, and as the warmage kept speaking.

“The artillery isn’t repaired yet, perhaps soon if the men do a rush-job of it.” Marcus growled, skipping over blocks of roadwork with both hands on his banded staff. “The Heroine and Lady Benedicia can, at best, cover two flanks, preferably one. If I can cover the other flank, then the cult won’t be able to continue their previous strategy to wear them out.”

“Sensible enough, good Marcus!” Orrin nodded firmly, wiggling his upper lip in consideration. They were going entirely too slow, but the wizard could only move so fast thanks to his hobbled leg. It would be a simple matter to lift him and carry him to the walls, but the last time he did that the warmage growled and swore and ranted about it for days after.

Sir Mallorn seemed much more like Lir, thankfully, willing to be tossed if that completed their shared objective faster. Still, he should probably make a formal apology the next time he saw the elf…

…Wait no, he did that already, didn’t he? All is well then!

Another ghastly, birdlike scream echoed through the air, rolling over the walls from a great distance away. It provoked a shiver in his spine, that such a horrible sound could be produced by any creature- almost like his sister’s flutework!

Orrin chuckled about his private joke. Marcus shot him a glance, and he quickly answered with another thought he was having. “Marcus, good wizard, I could carry you to the walls you know-”

“I know, you damned gorilla!” Marcus growled as he vaulted, looking pointedly away from him and towards the distant walls. “I told you not to do it again!”

“And I said I would ask permission if the situation warranted it.” Orrin replied calmly, nodding at the walls. “This situation certainly might!”

“The dead don’t move that quickly, we’ll be at the walls slightly before they are, if they move as they did earlier.” Marcus grumbled. “I’m not a fool-”

“Of course you aren’t, you’re a warmage after all!” Orrin reassured his old friend.

“Former warmage.” Marcus corrected- a bit of a sore point of the man, that his injury prevented him from doing work in the legions any longer. For as much as he was intelligent- there was no man that longed for the frontlines of demon country more than he, at least no men that Orrin knew.

“Besides, if this proves to be just a move to disturb us, then I’ll have been carried for no good reason at all!” Marcus continued his grumbling as they moved. Another terrible set of screeches filled the air.

“That sounded much closer, good Marcus.” Orrin noted with a frowning mustache. 

“I know!” Marcus snapped at him, then after a moment, the wizard turned forwards and muttered a gentle relent. “...The chances of this being just a bluff are decreasing…” 

They continued to run as fast as Marcus’ gait would allow them- a flash of gold caught his eyes. Orrin turned his head slightly, and peering through the gaps between the buildings of the town, he spied the broad head of Sir Mallorn’s golden axe dashing across the walls. 

If the elf was headed in that direction, then there was either the Heroine or the winged abomination about to arrive there- his ears were better than any of theirs. Orrin smiled and nodded in firm understanding. 

If the elf and heroine took that side, then Orrin and Marcus could take the other side- they’d cut down the entire horde between the bunch of them! Lir might only arrive in time to hit the retreating necromancers! A perfect snare-trap to end the siege and capture the perpetrators for interrogation.

Doubtlessly, this was part of his old friend’s strategy. Lir probably figured something like this would happen, which is why he approved of their riding ahead. Setting himself into position to hit an enemy in a situation that hasn’t even come to pass- it was just like their games of strategy together.

Up ahead, an explosion of stone-dust burst from the top lip of the walls, scattering rubble down on the streets below. Both of them snapped their attention to it- and then to the other bursts of stone dust and shattered rock that began all along the walls. 

“They’re already in range to hurl those stones?!” Marcus hissed, figuring out what was happening several moments before Orrin did. “They must have sent the bone giants ahead- their longer legs let them…”

The warmage cut himself off, then snarled. “Damnation- Orrin, take us there!”

“With pleasure!” Orrin roared, reaching over to snag the warmage by his belt, toss him up to land upon his shoulder, and start a full-tilt sprint. Immediately their speed doubled, then tripled, as he let the full force of his stride unleash.

With it being well after noon, he could not crack stone and leap over houses as he normally might, but he was still more than strong enough to lift one wizard and outrun a horse at the same time.

“Gah- have you somehow gotten stronger since last we worked together, I nearly hurled when you tossed me!” Marcus complained from atop his shoulder, clutching onto Orrin’s collar with a weathered hand. Not that Orrin was going to drop him anytime soon. 

Using his other hand, he reached for his horned helmet and removed it from his waistbelt, lifting it up and shrugging it on over his head as he dashed. A quick leap carried him over an obstruction in the road- a cart pulled by a particularly slow man and his donkey.

Marcus, naturally, wailed like a prodded hog as they soared across the barrier. 

“Perhaps a smidge- When was the last time we worked together? I can hardly recall.” Orrin asked, sliding across the stone road for a moment, then bouncing back into an extended dash. His legs pumped like bellows as he thundered along the road, eyes narrowed at the bursts of stone and now old gore that bloomed along the walls. 

They were certainly attacking in force now. Another calamitous shriek rippled through the air. Orrin glanced behind him to see a horrid sight- a two-headed winged thing of pale hue menacing the walls to his distant right-hand side. The source of the screams, doubtlessly, and now harassing a section of the walls between beams of searing light.

They were attacking Lady Benedicia- and possibly the Heroine, and he was running towards an entirely different section of walls!

“Keep going!” Marcus growled another order at him. “By the time we make it over there, whatever battle will have been decided. If we stay to the course then we can at least save these men.”

“Very well, I’ll trust your judgement!” Orrin boomed, turning ahead again. They were soon to reach the walls, galloping as hard as he was. As they approached, Orrin remembered something.

“Oh- it was that business with the hill giant!” Orrin snapped his gauntleted fingers. “Do you remember, Marcus?”

“I remember.” Marcus grumbled, after another moment of running, the warmage continued. “You challenged him to a contest of strength- which proved his guilt because he somehow decided to play along like a fool.”

“It was a dispute over a case of hog-theft, if I recall.” Orrin chuckled. “The giant, lying through his tusks, claimed that there was simply no way he could lift such prize-winning hogs, and there was no real way to prove it.”

“Then you challenged him- that if you could lift the hog, then surely he could to.” Marcus shook his head. “Why in hells he chose to lift the damned thing after you showed you could, I’m still baffled by.”

“Because his pride was on the line, good Marcus!” Orrin declared confidently, leaping up to hook a hand against a roof, swinging around to toss the wizard up, then kicking off the roof to catch his friend again and cling to another, higher section of roofing. It was much faster than going for the stairs. “No respected hill giant would dare lose a contest of strength to a smaller man! He’d be the shame of his community for decades to come. After I proved I could lift it, he had to lift it faster.”

He tossed the yelping warmage again, kicking off a tile roof to follow, catching both the wizard and the lip of the battlements in the same instant. 

“It’s a man’s pride!” Orrin boomed out, pulling both of them up with one easy flex of his arm and into view of the battlements. Immediately upon their arrival, Orrin saw a potential problem.

A giant of skeletal impression, with a skull wrought of a leering elk’s head and limbs cobbled together of smaller arms and legs. It was clad in tattered black cloth and bands of leather, clinging to the side of the wall and using one immense arm to swing at the scattering defenders. Not quite the size of a proper, mountain giant- the bones were in the general form of a hill giant, or perhaps a troll.

Naturally, Orrin threw himself forwards at once.

His fist crashed into the great, boney limb. A sharp crack of bone and metal rang out as their blows met. What should have happened was that the giant, being much larger and heavier, should have thrown him to the side.

What happened instead is that he only slid for a few feet. 

The giant was much, much lighter weight than he was expecting. Orrin grinned underneath the visor of his helm.

Throwing himself forwards and snatching onto one of the long stretches of woven bone that served as its forearm, Orrin pulled himself back- fingers stretching for the edge of the walls. “A good welcome to you, giant!” He boomed out as the tips of his fingers reached the edge.

Looking back, he gave a jape at the straining colossus of mixed bones. “Let Orrin be the first to offer a proper, Imperial handshake!”

With that, he flexed hard, ripping himself towards the edge and pulling the forearm as hard as he could in the process. The giant, lighter than Orrin expected initially, was pulled towards the wall until its ribs strained the outer edges of the battlements, and it could go no further forwards.

But further forwards Orrin pulled, flipping around to dangle off the edges, hooking one leg around the top of the walls.

“TALLY-HO!”

One great flex, throwing his whole body back into the pull, and the limb of woven bone tore free from its loose banding of cloth and sinew. The giant could not scream, but Orrin certainly imagined one for it.

He fell back against the wall, throwing the six-foot limb back behind himself as he did. The only thing that prevented him from slipping entirely off the wall was the leg he had hooked around the edges- a flex pulled his entire weight up and then forwards, letting him roll into a charging leap at the recoiling giant.

With no time to draw his sword at such an awkward angle, Orrin simply slammed a fist into the giant’s hooded face. 

The fragile bone shattered loudly, like pottery flung against a brick wall, and the beast slipped off the walls entirely. Orrin kicked off the corpse as it tilted back, and caught himself along the lip of the walls again, hoisting himself up and over the edges.

There were many, many more giants out there, all climbing up the walls with reaching limbs. Orrin frowned as he counted them, and then counted how long it took to fell the single abomination.

One, two, three, four…. It would take nearly an hour for him to kill them all himself! Perhaps a tenth of that if the timing was right- but he simply wasn’t at his best right now.

“-A FIREBALL!” A booming shout, one he had somehow completely missed in the excitement, called out from the side. A brilliant red star flew out in an arcing descend, flashing forwards to smash into a giant climbing up the walls some distance away from them.

Marcus had began to cast almost the exact moment he had reached the top of the tower, then, and simply trusted Orrin to hold the giant back long enough to complete his spell. Orrin grinned, narrowing his eyes to protect them from the wave of light and furious heat that followed as the fireball struck the giant. 

A boom loud enough to shake the senses echoed, and a ripple of damage spread throughout the walls, but the giant was reduced to naught but scattered, charred bones that rained down towards the base of the walls. 

“An excellent shot, good Marcus!” Orrin complimented, finally having the time to draw his sword. A short, hacky thing- if he tried to use a blade as long as Lir’s, it would just snap. A shorter, more durable blade was his general preference. 

Marcus immediately began the chant again- wisps of smoke swirling around the tip of his staff and re-igniting into a building sphere of destructive flame. There was a brief nod towards him in acknowledgement, then another nod towards the men around them.

A clear direction for Orrin to focus on protecting while the warmage cast his spells. He gave a quick thumbs-up and- after checking their section to make sure no giant was close enough to interrupt the warmage, picked up a stray block that had been broken loose from the battlements.

Tossing the little bolder in his hands, testing its weight, he drew it back and aimed with the tip of his blade.

“TALLY-HO!”

The stone hurled through the air, far less impressively than the fireball, but hefty enough. It smashed into the brow of another giant attempting to rise up the walls, caving in its abominable skull and sending it tumbling back to the ground.

“More stones, men!” Orrin called out to the soldiers around them, clutching crossbows, bows, and bolts of flaming pitch. There was a moment, and then a rush of activity as men scattered to gather up loose bricks and haul them over to him.

Orrin took up another loose stone, smaller than the first, took aim, and tossed it.

A bad throw- he only struck the shoulder of a giant this time, and made it flinch instead of falling off. Giant skulls began to turn towards him, ponderously, and they disengaged their current targets to start thundering towards him. 

Excellent! He loved a good brawl! Raising his sword, and making sure that everything in a mile could see him, he roared out.

“TALLY-HO!” 

Along the walls, soldiers began to echo his cry.

“Tally-Ho! Tally-Ho! Tally-Ho!”

And the dead continued their march against the defenders.