Chapter 32 - Enemy at the Gates

“If you must strike your foe, do not do it in half-measures. Do it right and do it completely.”

- Taliesin the Stormlord, Archmage

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The icy wind cut across the hilltop without mercy. Taliesin bundled his cloak tightly about himself as he stood in knee-deep snow, but otherwise ignored the chill. Runolf and a half-dozen varingjar stood at the ready along with an equal number of the Jarl’s House Guard in a loose circle. Beyond the protective ring was a steep hillside covered in deep, unbroken snow.

“That is… a lot more gnolls than I’d hoped for,” said Jarl Gunther. He stood with Arbiter Katla, and along with Taliesin, the three looked down into the gully beyond the steep slope where the gnoll army had gathered. In warmer months, these open fields were some of the most fertile in the area. Now, hundreds of gnolls worked to tear down the surrounding forest that separated the northern approach of the town from the open field.

The trees were being transformed into crude fortifications, with massive yeti hauling roughly trimmed tree trunks, and teams of horse-sized goats with sharp horns hauled sledges full of branches to the smoky cookfires around the large camp. A massive tent made of animal skins stood in the center of the activity, with dozens of smaller ones surrounding it in a disorderly manner. Spiraling out from this primary tent group were dozens upon dozens more, each with a large tent at the center of small tents.

Intermixed with these warbands were large numbers of yeti, easily in the dozens. These massive, hairy beasts had no shelters or organization. Rather, they seemed to listen to the gnoll shamans to the exclusion of all else, including each other. Many labored to lift massive logs to create simple barricades around the camp. Others gathered large piles of stones torn from the low rock walls that had once separated different farm fields.

Most disturbing out of this arrangement were the war totems. Each totem was a t-shaped construct of wooden posts planted in the ground and had tattered hides with arrangements of large bones and skulls tied on them. But what was most prominent was that each war totem also had a complete human skeleton, the joints carefully tied with leather strips to maintain the shape, and strapped to the wooden posts.

Despite the seemingly haphazard arrangement, the army moved with an efficiency that worried Taliesin. They had systematically torn through the countryside, and the town was filled to the brim with refugees from this campaign of terror.

“They are far more organized than I had hoped,” said Jarl Gunther. “They are gathering stones?”

“The yeti are their artillery and shock troops,” said Taliesin. “They’ll attempt to bombard the town, and batter down the walls.”

“Will the wards withstand it?”

A loud series of yips carried across the frozen fields before Taliesin could reply, the noise barely audible but obvious. A gnoll shaman was shaking his bone staff in their direction, and several yeti and a dozen gnolls started moving towards the base of the hill.

“Shall we continue this conversation somewhere safer?” asked Taliesin. “[Greater Portal].”

Taliesin’s own staff glowed as a runic circle on it activated to support the immensely powerful spellform he’d cast. That was the only indication that he’d cast anything at all, until a tear in the world opened to reveal the road just before the Jarl’s manor. Taliesin stepped through, followed by the Jarl and Arbiter Katla. The Runolf and the varingjar hustled through right after, and Taliesin swiftly shut the portal with a shaky sigh of relief.

“That is an impressive spell, Stormlord,” said Arbiter Katla. “Can you cast it at will?”

“Hardly,” replied Taliesin. “That is my most taxing spell at the moment. It takes all my concentration just to hold it for a scant half a minute.”

“It hardly looked like any effort at all,” observed Jarl Gunther.

“Preparation and the right tools can make anything look simple. To truly take advantage of portals, you must invest significantly in permanent installments, complete with many complex enchantments, rare materials and large power sources. I used such a gate to help my people escape the end of our world.”

Arbiter Katla did a double-take. “You… what?”

“Ah, I was hoping to catch you all,” came a voice from behind the group. Runolf and the varingjar drew weapons at the intrusion, where Sheriff Hallfred’s pet mage stood with his bejeweled hands raised and a self-deprecating grin on his face. “I don’t know if I’ve formally introduced myself, but I am Magus Gundovald of the Obsidian Enclave.”

“I recognize you, servant of Hallfred,” said Jarl Gunther stiffly. “State your purpose.”

“Peace, milord,” the fat magus said. “We are on the same side.”

“Are we?” said the Jarl.

“With an army of gnolls that wish to sacrifice us to their dark Olympian gods, I’d say absolutely. Despite the feud between yourself and Hallfred, the Obsidian Enclave is not your enemy, and I am completely loyal to the Enclave. Rather simply put, I prevailed on the dear Sheriff that a truce is in all our interests, with the enemy at the gates. I wish to coordinate with you so that the walls can be properly defended.”

Arbiter Katla stepped forward into the magus’ personal space, her face mere inches from the man. She stepped with such speed and grace that Gundovald flinched at her movement, but he did not react otherwise. “If this is your true purpose, swear it to Forseti, on your life.”

Gundovald swallowed, then said, “I swear on my soul, to Forseti, god of truth and fairness, that I wish to coordinate with your faction in order to defend this town and defeat the gnolls.”

Katla stared into his eyes for an uncomfortably long time, before nodding. She returned to the Jarl’s side. “He speaks honestly.”

“Honesty and intent are not always the same thing,” said Taliesin. “But needs must.”

“I agree. You may attend us, magus, and we shall coordinate the defense of this town.”

The group walked into the Jarl’s manor with the magus in tow. They went to a smaller dining hall in the old wing, and gathered around a table holding a crude map of the town. Walls protected the north and east sides of the settlement, while the steep banks of the river to the west and a wide creek to the south prevented easy access from those directions. The Jarl took his place at the head of the table before looking at the Obsidian Enclave magus.

“We shall start by sharing information. What have you learned?”

“Our observations are mostly from the wall,” said Gundovald. “We do not have a good count. However, we have observed they are clearing specifically towards the north gate. Also, I can tell you more of the nature of gnolls.”

“Go on,” said the Jarl.

“These beasts are commanded by the Hellenic deity, Boreas of the North Wind, and rumor has it that the Keres may soon be released to his command as well. But for now, the gnolls are beasts of deep winter and high mountains, and follow the old ways the Olympians prefer. They sacrifice their victims to their gods, and gain divine favor and power in return. Those they do not sacrifice, they enslave and work to death. Few humans can survive long in the harsh lands they inhabit. For these zealous monsters, they attack because their gods demand it, and will not stop until we are all dead or sacrificed.”

“Hmm, a powerful motivation,” said Taliesin. “With such an impetus, it will be hard to make them retreat.”

“We were able to observe them directly, and came up with a rough count of twelve or thirteen hundreds, and several dozen yeti. They have built a crude encampment on the northern fields, beyond the treeline. We saw more parties arriving from the north while we watched, so there will likely be more before the day ends. I’ve sent out scouts to report on their movements and to get a more accurate count.”

“With those numbers, they outnumber us five to one,” said Gundovald. “There are around three hundred militia, between the Sheriff and yourself.”

“I have my varingjar, and around thirty recruits,” said Taliesin. “So call that fifty.”

“And I have fifty of my own House Guard.”

“Are you sure we can afford to ignore the river and the southern stream gate?” asked Arbiter Katla. “We should keep a token force there, if only for warning.”

“Yes, we can set some boys there with a few old men. The elders will keep the boys in line, and the boys can be runners if we need to reinforce the gates. But the river is too cold and swift, and the clay banks too slippery, to make for a good route into the town. Not to mention, the banks are too steep to climb easily in mid-summer, much less in winter. I’m far more worried about the damaged wall west of the North Gate,” replied Jarl Gunther. “You didn’t answer before, but how well will the wards hold?”

“The wards work by strengthening the material. So a wooden fence becomes as strong as a palisade, and a palisade becomes as sturdy as a stone wall. The section that was damaged was unwarded, and it is too late to complete it. I’d need at least three ward stones, and we’d make little improvement to such a brittle barrier. Rather, I built a stele last night. It has a shield spell that can magically interpose itself in front of the damaged wall. It will need recharging every night, assuming they don’t batter it down during the day.”

“The Sheriff is willing to reinforce the North Gate, and will patrol the northeast corner of town along the walls to protect the granaries,” offered Gundovald. “We’re far less worried about the northwest corner of Buverik.”

Taliesin frowned. The northwest town held the poorest populations and the most refugees, while the northeast had most of the merchants.

“I’ll hold the East Gate and patrol the east wall,” said Jarl Gunther. “Indeed, I’ll rally the longhouses around my manor as well. We should be able to gather a fair number who’ve participated in viking raids in the past.”

Gundovald’s face soured at that, and Taliesin could well understand why. The other major clans in town were in the southeast corner, and it was a bastion of old money and power that had so far gone untapped by either faction. Taliesin was about to make it worse.

“I will bring my forces to protect the northwest wall around the damage. I can help mitigate any attacks that might bring down the wall, and protect the refugees as best I can,” offered the Stormlord. “Since I have the least amount of forces, this way the Sheriff and the Jarl can protect the gates and food supply.”

“Surely your magic is better served with the Eastern walls?” suggested the magus, displeased with his faction being bracketed between the archmage and the jarl.

“This is a good plan,” pronounced Arbiter Katla boldly, cutting off Gundovald’s objections. “I will fight where the fighting is thickest, and bring glory to the goddess. May Odin strengthen our spears, and Freya guide our swords in this holy contest of the gods!”

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“Will it work, milord?” asked Runolf, with a note of wonder as he looked at the glowing block of iron and stone in Taliesin’s hand. “You made it rather quickly.”

The artifact looked like a squat pyramid on top of a square base, a homogenous chunk of granite [Shaped] into a magically significant shape. Iron runes and sigils wound their way around the object in a complex pattern. Taliesin smiled.

“Of course it will work, Runolf. It is a fairly simple enchantment. It only has the shield spellform and a few basic protections against dispelling and disruption. Once I install it on the wall and turn it on, it will need to run out of power to turn off again. The only thing I can do with it is recharge it while it is operational.”

“That would make it hard to sabotage,” said Runolf.

“I hope so, my friend,” said Taliesin. “Is Viggo levying the local men to assist?”

“He’s doing it now. We should get another fifty or so men, and the women and children can help keep us resupplied.”

The full complement of varingjar and recruits followed the Stormlord to the damaged northwest wall. Everyone was armed and armored as best they could. Runolf and his two top men, Broddi and Sven the Silent, were all wearing the new manasteel breastplates. The rest of the varingjar were geared up in a mix of chainmail and hardened leather armor overtop padded gambesons. The recruits, on the other hand, had little to no armor. A scant few had stout leather jerkins that could turn aside a blade. They carried spears and daggers or long knives. Most also carried a sturdy club tucked in a belt, and all of them looked nervous. They were peasant farmers for the most part, and a few weeks of training was hardly enough time to make proper warriors out of them. There was a grim silence, and more than a few of the recruits were pale and sweaty with fear despite the cold weather. The varingjar joked amongst themselves with dark humor, but nervously checked their own gear as they did so.

When they arrived, Runolf organized the recruits to help repair access to the wall top while Taliesin worked. The ruined wall section had held a narrow walkway which was now unusable. Unfortunately, it had also held the steep steps to access the top as well. So the recruits were put to swift work rigging up new ladders for either side of the wall.

Taliesin’s work was far simpler. He [Shaped] a simple stone bracket to hold the artifact, then held it in place with a thin stone band to prevent it from falling out before he activated it. Then he fed mana into the activation sigil, and an audible thrum of magic presaged a bluish mana shield appearing on the outside of the wall. The shield reached just to the top of the palisade, and extended a dozen yards in each direction.

“Just as I expected. That overlaps onto the warded sections of the wall,” said Taliesin with no small measure of relief. He’d been working on little sleep and a fair bit of guesswork when he slapped the shield stele together. “It’s a shame I can’t just shield an entire kingdom…”

“The ladders are up, milord,” said Runolf.

Aina materialized out of thin air next to Runolf, who startled at her sudden appearance.

“Sheriff Hallfred, the magus and the big warrior are on the northeast wall. His men are at the gate. Arbiter Katla is also heading this direction with a group of Jarl Gunther’s militia.”

“Excellent. I need you to watch our backs. Hallfred’s coterie are being far too cooperative right now, and I don’t trust them,” said the Stormlord. Aina nodded and faded back out of sight. Taliesin saw the aether swirling around her as she moved away.

“The magus swore an oath to Forseti, though,” objected Runolf.

“Gundovald’s oath was to coordinate a defense, not withhold his blade from our necks,” said Taliesin with a wry smile. “And Hallfred swore nothing at all.”

Runolf scratched his beard with a frown. “Tricky. I missed that one.”

A deep rattling racket sounded from beyond the wall, as if small branches or stones were being shaken inside of big wooden bowls. The sound was low and menacing, and a beating of drums soon added to the commotion. Taliesin levitated himself to the walkway as Runolf and several varingjar followed up the ladders.

Beyond the wall, the gnoll army was emerging from the tree line. Hundreds of armed and armored warriors marched forward, with a central entourage of elite gnoll warriors and yeti surrounding a group of shamans. At the center was a grand shaman riding on a palanquin, carried by six human slaves.

The leader of the gnoll army motioned towards an unarmored gnoll beside him, who stepped forward and yipped something. From behind the grand shaman’s group, some shuffling happened that Taliesin couldn’t quite make out. Then three bruised and beaten men were dragged out in front of the gnoll forces.

“That’s one of the Jarl’s scouting parties,” said Runolf grimly.

The gnolls shove the men to the ground before the grand shaman. The shaman shook a hand covered in bangles above his head, and yipped in the gnollish language for a moment, before swiping down with his fist. Without any warning, the gnoll guards stabbed all three scouts in the neck. Their lifeblood spurted out into the dirty snow, and the gnolls howled their religious fervor as this sacrifice to their gods, and all the drums and rattles came to a stop.

“At least we know where we stand with them,” observed Taliesin, a dark look in his eyes.

The grand shaman’s servant then walked forward towards the gate, a dirty white scrap of cloth in his hands in mockery of the human white flag before battle. Once he was within earshot of the walls, the gnoll began a thickly accented speech in the norse tongue.

“Your dooom has arrived, herrretics! You arrre enemies of the gods, and we arrre their sworrrd. Know you will die now, and yourrr blood will be ourrr divine sacrrrifice as we purrrge these lands. Your hourrr of rrreckoning is at hand!”