The general’s troops were garrisoned on the lower level of the royal palace itself. His two thousand dwarves were the elite of Jungor Stonespringer’s army, veterans of the battles that had brought the king to power; rewarded well for their service; loyal, like him, to the last drop of blood to the king and his noble, god-blessed cause. Right at that moment they were proving their mettle-rallying, arming themselves, pouring from their barracks, forming into companies and regiments under prodding by sergeants and captains.
Ragat could see from his vantage that the three main gates on the south side of the city, the portals connecting Norbardin to the environs of the Urkhan Sea, had all been breached by a swift and aggressive attack. He was at a loss to understand how all three bastions could have fallen so quickly and simultaneously. He wondered what had happened, and though he suspected sorcery he knew that there was nothing he could do about that, not anymore. Instead, he had to act fast and contain the damage.
“Sergeant Major!” he barked as the dwarves of his division formed up before the royal palace.
“Yes, General!” said Barx Standfist, the veteran centurion who had served with Ragat on every campaign over the past three decades. Standfist, already wearing his plate armor, with his mustache and beard waxed stiffly, stood at attention just a few steps away. The general couldn’t repress a smile at the display of his old sergeant’s readiness.
“I want every reserve company in Norbardin mustered at once. Have them report to the training yard on the other side of the palace. Then put out the word to the quartermasters. We will need a new draft of recruits; have them start the processing immediately.”
“Aye, sir. At once,” replied the veteran sergeant major. Instead of starting away at once, however, he cleared his throat, shuffling his feet.
“Yes?” asked the general, knowing from experience that the old veteran wouldn’t waste time with delay or idle conversation.
“Every one of the south gates fell,” Standfist said. “Do you think … well, might it have been treachery?” he growled.
Ragat could only shrug. “Either that or wizardry. No, I can’t think of any other explanation. But now is not the time to worry about spilled milk. Go!”
“Aye, sir. I’ll start the mustering right away.”
With that, the loyal subcommander departed. Ragat turned to study the battle that was spreading across the terraces of the great plaza.
Clearly, the unknown enemy was attacking with three distinct columns. One of the formations seemed to be made up of Klar berserkers. Their whooping and howling, the gleeful, almost musical, sounds of their wild fighting carried clearly to Ragat’s ears. The Klar were advancing rapidly into the plaza, but already some of the impetus of their charge was seeping away as the notoriously unreliable troops stopped to loot the shops and stalls or wandered into the side streets and alleys leading to the taverns of one of Norbardin’s seedier neighborhoods. Ragat knew the Klar would not be the worst threat, at least not right then.
The force to the right was coming up against a solid formation of the royal guard. The guard formed a line of shields linked together almost like a wall. Ragat suspected that the surviving troops of the initial garrisons had banded together under an intrepid captain and, rather than dispersing themselves against the great numbers of the enemy, had concentrated their strength in that fashion. To Ragat’s practiced eye, the shield wall looked like a good tactic, and the garrison dwarves seemed to have a reasonable chance of holding firm.
That left the middle prong of the enemy attack as the main threat. Ragat could see that it was the most numerous of the three columns and included a mix of several troop types: he noted crossbows launching lethal volleys of missiles, burly axemen charging in a wedge, and infantry advancing in a line, also with linked shields.
By the time he concluded his survey of the battlefield, the front rank of the royal force was already advancing, lightly armed skirmishers forming a line that bristled with the steel tips of short, deadly spears. Ragat raced down the stairs and out the palace gate, where he found the company commander. The general waved him forward, using both hands to signal the charge. Immediately, the spearmen charged into the square, their battle cry-“For Reorx and Stonespringer!”-roaring from five hundred throats.
Even as the first rank charged, the other regiments of the division tightened behind the spearmen. One by one, they girded themselves, standing shoulder to shoulder, and they started across the plaza. In a matter of a few minutes, Ragat could see the front rank of the attackers brace and halt, staggered by the sudden counterattack.
As the rest of the division marched forward, the momentum of the battle shifted, and the attack was broken.
Then the rest of the royal garrison spilled out of the palace. When Ragat sent those fresh troops surging into the fight, he knew that the city of Norbardin would not fall, not on that day.
FIVE
Willim looked over the battlefield with steadily mounting frustration. The Theiwar commander stood atop a captured gate tower, a vantage with a view across the entire Center Gate of the city’s main defensive line. The troops of the rebel forces held the gate, the towers to either side of that wide portal, and the minifortresses carved into the bedrock of the cavern in support of those gate towers. From each fortress, a narrow, lofty bridge arched toward Norbardin’s wealthiest districts. Below, the wide plaza, usually a scene of vigorous commerce, spread out as a ravaged battlefield, marked by upturned carts, wrecked stalls, and many dying and dead dwarves.
For hours that fight had raged back and forth across the square. The energy of the Klar charge had been dispersed on the right flank as the undisciplined troops had broken away from their companies to plunder and drink. Roaring laughter and bawdy songs rose, incongruously, from many of the taverns and ale stalls on the fringe of the square.
Willim knew there was no point in even trying to rally those troops until the plundering and the carousing and their aftereffects had passed.
In the center and to the right, the more disciplined formations of Hylar, Theiwar, and Daergar troops had battled themselves to exhaustion against the firm stand of the Royal Division. Casualties had been heavy on both sides, and a lull had settled over that area as both offensive and defensive troops sought the rest, water, and food that was necessary before they could resume the fighting.
With a muttered curse, Willim teleported to General Darkstone’s headquarters, hastily established on the second floor of a masonry shop at the edge of the square. From there, the veteran commander could observe the royal palace nearly a mile away.
“Why aren’t you pressing the attack?” demanded the black wizard, materializing next to the general, who didn’t flinch at his sudden appearance.
“We carried the outer defenses in the first rush, my lord,” General Darkstone reported stolidly. “But the city defenders rallied surprisingly well. They have met each of our probes with fierce counterattacks. We cut them down by the dozens, but they bring up replacements by the hundreds. Now, in the center, we have two full divisions standing against us.”
“Then kill them by the hundreds or the thousands!” Willim snapped, gesturing irritably.
Darkstone, no fool, bit his tongue rather than make an impertinent reply. Instead, he stared as though thinking before nodding tersely.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “We hear them still invoking the king’s name, Master. It would seem that the assassination attempt was not successful.”