It was not a mastark that had struck the fatal blow to the wall, but another missile from the ballistae. A second blast struck home even as the defenders were recovering from the first, the huge, wooden projectile smashing into the rock right where the largest faults had spread.
The defenders’ catapults were of dubious use, for the enemy was too close. The senior officer mustered his fighters as the enemies poured through. Both ogres and minotaurs rushed through the makeshift entrance, eager to be the first to claim blood inside Sadurak.
Jod’s fighters met them, their desperate momentum briefly shoving the attackers back to the wall. A moment later, more than two dozen corpses lay under the struggling feet of the combatants, and the ranks of the dead doubled with each new clash.
On the walls, some of the archers turned to fire upon the intruders, but they proved as deadly a menace to their own. Jod’s second in command roared for them to aim their shots outside, but his voice was drowned out by the battle and by the recurring thunder of the walls being bombarded.
A sudden surge by the attackers forced the defenders back again. Legionaries and traitors flowed into Sadurak like a river of death.
Among them came a young warrior around whom the other traitors seemed to unite.
As with Jod, the senior officer knew the face of the ogre warrior: Atolgus. He once had been considered as loyal to Golgren as Sadurak’s commander, but clearly led the traitors. As was plain even to his enemies, Atolgus fought with a speed and skill astonishing for a chieftain so young.
Jod’s second in command bared his teeth as he charged at the rebel leader. Atolgus would be rewarded for his betrayal with his head atop a pole.
The veteran warrior slashed his way past an eager traitor wielding an axe. The young chieftain, in the process of dispatching one of the guards, appeared oblivious to his advance. Jod’s second in command lunged toward the traitor as he neared, certain that he could put a quick end to Atolgus and, if he was any judge of battles, the momentum of the attack.
Even though Atolgus had appeared to pay him no mind, the rebel leader’s sword suddenly whirled around to meet the other ogre’s. The startled commander stumbled back as his target beat down his weapon.
“Jod is dead! Surrender and bow to me!” Atolgus demanded with a fierce smile.
“Golgren is my master!” retorted the other. “As he was yours!”
The traitorous figure laughed. His foe flinched as Atolgus’s glaring eyes shone gold at the edges and his pupils seemed to all but fade away.
“Golgren is dead,” Atolgus replied. “He is f’hanos.”
Although certain his adversary was lying, the loyal officer could not help reacting angrily. He lunged again at Atolgus.
The younger warrior easily beat back the second attack, and thrust his blade deep into the shoulder of his adversary’s sword arm. The older ogre lost his grip on his weapon.
Atolgus added a second wound to the officer’s other shoulder. As the latter struggled, Atolgus set the point of his blade at his foe’s throat.
“Sadurak is falling,” the young ogre said, staring off as if speaking to some invisible figure. “She will be pleased that he is pleased.”
Jod’s second in command had a good understanding of Common, but what Atolgus had said made no sense at all to him. He also knew that the young chieftain had not spoken so crisply in the other tongue when they had last met.
With a wide grin, Atolgus repeated, “Golgren is f’hanos.” He raised his blade and brought it down with such swiftness that no one could have dodged the blow. “But he does not know that yet.”
Jod’s second in command did not reply, for his head was no longer attached to his neck. Atolgus watched with mild interest as the head rolled several feet away from the collapsing torso, before he eagerly moved on to finish the taking of the city.
Another with a loyalty to Golgren and an antipathy to Atolgus angrily stalked across the unforgiving landscape of old Blode with his tiny troop, wondering all the while if it was to be his destiny to perish so ignominiously out in the wilds.
Since escaping the betrayal of his force, Khleeg had tried to find a way back to Garantha-despite his sense of loyalty tugging him in the direction he knew Golgren had gone. Khleeg was aware he could serve his master best by seeing that the capital remained a stronghold against the Grand Khan’s enemies. He was doubtful that, for all his resourcefulness and skills, the younger Wargroch was capable of protecting Garantha from the unexpected threats that had arisen. Against warriors alone, perhaps Wargroch would have triumphed. But there was Titan magic involved, and Khleeg trusted only himself to do the best possible against the sorcerers.
The three other surviving ogre warriors kept pace behind him, their lives entirely in his hands. They would do whatever he commanded, not that he had any commands to give them except staying alive. They had been without water and food for several days, and the former was a more desperate need than the latter.
Twice, Khleeg had attempted to steer the survivors to known water sources, but Rauth had moved faster, sending bands of fighters to guard those places. Being kept far from water also meant that finding food was harder, for most plant and animals in the region generally stayed near few pools and streams.
It had been some time since Khleeg had seen any sign of the traitors, but he led the others as if Rauth both dogged his steps and rode ahead plotting ambush. It made the going slow, but the bulky ogre told himself to be patient for his vengeance.
“Ishraali…” muttered one of the warriors, forgetting his Common.
Khleeg snapped to attention. Ishraali. Dust.
Dust as in riders or some great force on the move.
He surveyed the distant cloud. It lay far to the south, more in the direction of Garantha. His first thought was that Wargroch had sent out another hand-but he had given the officer explicit orders to protect the capital. Sending out even one hand would dangerously impair Garantha’s safety.
Another, more ominous notion occurred to him: They were other traitors moving to join Rauth. With a low growl, Khleeg waved the others to crouching positions. The dust cloud was fast approaching. Surely there would be scouts ahead of the main force. Common sense dictated that the four act warily.
But Khleeg could not forget his duty to his Grand Khan. While he intended to be as cautious as possible, he had to know to whom the hand was loyal-or if, by some terrible magic it was even Atolgus’s force. If it proved to be the missing hand from old Blode and the young warrior was riding at its head, Khleeg would have to do something to impede his progress.
And if there was any chance of killing the traitor, even at the cost of losing his own life, Golgren’s second in command was willing to take that chance as well.
With renewed purpose, Khleeg guided the others around the nearest hills. He felt certain the riders were headed to the west of his position. He would try to scout them from behind.
As he and his small party maneuvered around, he wondered at the immense size of the dust cloud. It gave every indication of being a force greater than the twelve hundred warriors of a hand. It looked worthy of at least twice that size.
He pulled out the crystal and muttered Wargroch’s name. When after several moments he still did not receive an answer from the other, Khleeg repeated the call.
Still, no reply. Whatever magic had granted the crystal its amazing powers before, it appeared to have vanished.
Spitting with frustration, Khleeg put the piece away again. There would be no warning Garantha.
His wide nostrils flared. There was a slight scent in the air.