The Last Siege

Chapter 1: The Scout and the Rider

The wind rushing past his ears all but deafened him to the world. The bobbing head of his mount rose and fell before him. The bird showed signs of tiring so he spurred it on with a barked word and the pressure of his knees. He had tossed his armaments to give the Mammothrich as little burden past Marcus’s own meager weight. What pursued Marcus and his great riding fowl could now be heard above the rush of cool air curling over his ears. It was the thumping of damp earth and the huffing of labored breath. The hoots and cries of the lesser monsters that ran at his heels were drowned out as the Mammothrich raced forward in a panicked sprint.

The woodlands had slowed Marcus’s hunters as well as himself. Yet where the monsters floundered under and over fallen logs or were ensnared by roots or bramble his mount had prevailed. The bird could move swiftly through the undergrowth and manage the tangles and pitfalls more dexterously. They had emerged from under the forest canopy into the light gray glow of day. Beyond was the length of grass fields and small hillocks. Along the open track the creatures and the bird were more evenly matched. The space they now raced over separated the forest edge from the distant wall who’s safety Marcus desperately desired. In the distance, no strain on his keen vision, was the wide uniform darkness between the mountains. The outer wall and bastion against that which sought to run him down. The last hope of his people against such creatures. The great fortress of Lone Gap, the stronghold of the Forty Kings.

Marcus ignored the howl of frustration that echoed from his hunters. The urgency of their pursuit registered in the sudden quickening of pounding earth. The Titan Dog had increased its efforts as blood lust and anger overtook what little sense the creature was capable of. He knew his bird was tiring yet still begged with near hysteric screams for more speed. No man, regardless of gifts in the strength of his legs or the sureness of foot, could out run a Dogman. The Mammothrich birds allowed scouts like Marcus to match or exceed a Dogman in swiftness. Yet the Titan that chanced the foot race with him now had lost its self to frenzy and pushed ever faster on both fore and rear legs. Marcus closed his eyes as he now felt hot, foul breath, wafting about him.

His bird became aware of it as well. The fear of prey rekindled in the domesticated Mammothrich and it kicked to greater speed for a moment only. Fear could drive the elegant running creature to swiftness for a time. In the end acid filled muscles and wind burnt lungs would fate the majestic bird and its rider to a grizzly end. Knowing this, Marcus sought to push aside his fear. To meet death with some dignity.

A cry, not from Marcus or his mount pierced the air. The Titan Dog behind him wavered for a moment gaining Marcus’s steed precious steps. The cry was clear to any that served at Lone Gap. It greeted one each morning and called one to ground each night. It instilled fear in all those that called the ground their natural world. Marcus did not dare look to the sky where the scream of anger and pride had come from. He bent his head and pushed his bird on, encouraging it, comforting it. He knew they had both just been saved by a child.

Jemmar turned his Falcon into a bank. Listra had his wing. She flew swifter than he did on the lighter bird, she was also a half stone slighter than himself. The scouting teams had reported strange sightings all morning but nothing that warranted sending up of the Alert Wing. Morning had bled into afternoon and Jemmar and Listra had taken up their positions as the Alert Wing for that shift at the Northern Aerie.

Jemmar had never much cared for the duty, though it was arguably the most important. An Alert Wing had to have experience and top awareness. Only the best were assigned the station. Yet rarely did they ever have to act. Jemmar preferred when he’d been a scout. He was just eight when he’d started his training. They’d called him a swifty, meaning he’d learned quick the trade of the Falcon Rider Corps and was fast on the back of a bird. Now at twelve he knew his growth would soon kick in and he would be too large to ride Coloss-Falcons and glide across the sky. His brief time as a Falcon Rider Corps ace had left him without seeing any action at all. Until today.

The wall scouts had blown their whistles from below on the walls of Lone Gap. The watchers at the Northern Aerie had confirmed what the scouts had sighted. A single Sortie Scout had come racing out of the line of trees that marked the forest of the Dogmen. The scout’s bird was running hard and swift as Jemmar and Listra had been called up to ready their own birds. As they were clipped into the delicate leather straps that carefully rigged the large birds Jemmar heard others calling back and forth. The Sortie Scout was being chased.

The Master of Flights came marching up to Jemmar and Listra. They were not yet fitted to their birds. The Falcons still sat hooded. “Rider Jemmar, are you ready?” The Master patted the side of his bird.

“Yes Fight Master.” Jemmar said.

“And you First Wingmate?”

“Yes Flight Master.” Listra winked after she echoed Jemmar.

The Flight Master took a look at their birds and then bent down to inspect the talons that were tipped with brightly polished steel. Jemmar and Lista carried no weapons. They wore only fleece lined silk suits than ran from their toes to their neck. Goggles covered their eyes from the wind and a small stiffened leather guard covered their mouths to make breathing in the rush of wind possible. The number one rule of flight in the Falcon Rider Corps was weight. You did not leave the Corps, you weighed out of it.

“We’ve little time so your briefing is just this. Harry the lead dogs that chase our man. Above all he and whatever information he carries must make the safety of the wall’s shadow.” The Master met their eyes in turn and as each nodded he waved to the Coup Wrangler. “Send them out!”

Jemmar struggled to keep himself calm. He’d waited his whole life for this. Nobody had used a Coloss-Falcon in battle for nearly a generation. Jemmar was about to be the first in all that time.

He launched with a jump and plummet from the Aerie. The bird dropped like a stone and him with it. Then the majestic beast spread its wings and Jemmar’s stomach sank low as it always did. He recovered quickly and urged the bird west over the plain. Slowly he eased it up higher into the sky to gain a good vantage of the action below.

Jemmar spotted the fleeing Sortie Scout. His bird was flagging and the Titan Dog would be on him in moments. The beast was large. Larger than any Dogman Jemmar had seen while scouting. He’d heard tale of the Titan Dogs but the reality was now before him. The beast was wider than three full grown men. Taller than the tallest and horribly savage looking. He tipped his wing to Listra and gave her the hold signal. She pulled lightly on her reins which forced her Falcon to nod briefly acknowledging that she understood his direction. She was two years his junior but already a brilliant flier. Her skills and low weight had earned her place among the Alert Wing.

Jemmar indicated he would take the first dive. Buzz the Titan and fly off, nothing more than to get its attention. It would give the fleeing Scout the lead he needed to get under cover from the wall. Every rider also knew that to dive and hit a Titan was pointless. The Coloss-Falcons could do little to harm the giant, distorted Dogmen. If the Titan didn’t pause long enough he’d signal Listra to do as he’d done.

Jemmar yanked twice to force his bird to roll its head. Once he was sure the raptor had sighted the large target below, he tapped twice against the birds neck to give the signal to call. The Falcon let out a scream as Jemmar tucked in and held on for dear life, giving the bird the go ahead to swoop. The pull of the world fell away and Jemmar’s stomach flew into his throat. There was no sound for the blasting air deafened him completely. There was no sight for his head was buried in the plumage of his mighty companion. There was only the counting in his head and the feel of the soft leather in his hands.

He did not want the bird to strike, but to swoop and glide off. The trick was always preventing the Falcon from doing what it so desired to do, strike. From the height at the start of the dive Jemmar had calculated the distance and knowing the speed of his bird had set his count to three. The Falcon was also trained to hesitate in its dive, just for a moment. The brief and slight opening of its wings would signal Jemmar that it was a moment away from laying its talons into the target. As Jemmar reached three he felt the small shift in flight and lifted his head and pulled lightly on his reins.

Sound returned as the crush of air wavered and nearly ceased. The deafening wind was replaced by another piercing cry from his Falcon. Jemmar felt the powerful wings beating hard for altitude and he turned to look back. The Titan Dog roared at him as he flew up and far out of its range. Jemmar shifted his attention from the enraged creature to the Sortie Scout. The delay in pursuit he’d afforded the running bird had worked. The Sortie Scout would out distance the Titan now. He would reach safety. The mission was a success. Before he could even grin to himself at his combat success a wail crashed over him. The scream call of a swooping Falcon.

Jemmar watched as Listra dove in after him, right at the seething Titan. Thinking quickly he turned his bird to glide over the field and waved his hands wildly to ward off Listra. The Titan was aware of them now. Nothing more could be gained from further distraction. Yet Listra couldn’t see him. She was tucked in tight and lost to senses as Jemmar had been during his dive. Jemmar counted in his mind the few beats that would end with Listra’s dive. Yet Listra’s Falcon did not pull up sharp and beat wing away from the Titan as Jemmar’s had done.

He watched in horror as Listra’s bird crashed steel tipped talons into the shoulder and upper arm of the Titan. In a swift motion, before the bird could snap its beak or remove its dagger sized claws from flesh, the Titan bludgeoned the bird with its free arm. Even from Jemmar’s height he heard the sharp crack of hollow bones as the Dogman crushed the Falcon’s wing. The bird gave an ineffectual flap with its one good wing to be free of the creature then tumbled to the earth. Screaming all the while in pain and concern. Listra could do nothing, tied into the bird as she was. Jemmar thought to swoop himself. To save her. Yet he did not have the altitude or angle. Yet his head knew what his heart refused, there was nothing he or his bird as weapon could do to save her.

For a brief moment he caught her young eyes looking into the sky for him. She did not cry or scream. Her face looked apologetic. Then the Titan was on her and her Falcon. Blood and feathers flew as the hulking creature battered both bird and girl into a smear upon the muddy ground.

Chapter 2: The Commander General

Matking had been walking the lower grounds of Lone Gap when the whistles first blew alerting all to the plight before the fortress’s walls. Matking often undertook such inspections. Few saw the need of it, Matking hardly knew why he bothered other than of habit. He’d been in the Outer Bailey, the killing ground between the Outer and Inner walls. When the whistles called he’d been ushered away by the Command Guard. His personal escort everywhere he went.

Lone Gap was built in steps. The lowest was the Outer Bailey bordered by the Outer Wall. The first defense of the pass. The wall was three stories high and the longest run of wall in the fortress. It was half again as deep into the earth to reach the bones of the mountains’ bedrock. The Dogmen were diggers so the wall must keep them out above as well as below. Every ninety paces was a supply hold. With sleeping cots, a simple serving area and weapons, mostly stones, weights, arrows and bolts. The common munitions to defend against a wall siege. The Forward Gate was the main entrance or exit through the Outer Wall. To the north and south were the Sortie Gates but they were smaller and as much defended by the steep incline ramps to reach them as the Cavalry Forts they led into. The only way into the first step of the fortress was through the Forward Gate or over the high Outer Wall.

Once breached the enemy found themselves where Matking had been overseeing. The Outer Bailey was hemmed in on all sides. The break walls to north or south and the Inner Wall that dominated, looming over the bailey menacingly, encapsulated the area. The Inner Wall was nearly four stories high and to reach the Far Gate at one end of it required a force to cross the killing field under the Inner Wall’s defenders. The Inner Wall also had several artillery emplacements. Each could fire the wooden or bell canons down into the bailey or over the Outer wall with ease, from their elevated position. More traditional catapults were also present along with a slew of scorpions most aimed down into the bailey.

“Come.” Amoon, The Last Blade and commander of Matking’s guard was ever sparing with his words. He moved the General and the guard in a quick march to the Far Gate in the Inner Wall.

“Of course, lets discover the cause of this distress.” Matking said. Before his guard forced him through the Far Gate he looked up to the Southern Aerie. The round tower rose off the side of the mountain perched a bit further back than where the Inner Wall met the rock. He could tell from the distant movements that the Alert Wing riders there would be getting ready to take flight. He glanced back through his guards and saw those of the Northern Aerie had already taken to wing. The two young riders worked their birds, gaining altitude, Matking spied them just before being rushed under the raised door of the Far Gate.

The heavy steel grating was half way up, high enough to not force him and his guards to bend their heads to clear it. Above them threatened several murder holes where bolts, oil or pitch could be dropped on attackers who breached the outer door of the Far Gate. Such a thing had never been done. He and his Guard marched swiftly beneath these and through the fully raised grate and open door at the other end.

With the Far Gate clear they emerged into sunlight above but remained cast in shadow. Defiance Keep rose in its three tiers dominating the view before them. They took the wide stairs up and onto the main Inner Bailey proper. The stairs rose them nearly two stories above where the Far Gate exited before it leveled off. They still had a forty or fifty paces before they reached the Keep and its safety. For the Commander General must always be kept safe. Matking scoffed but let himself be led into his own keep. Whatever was playing out before his walls he would soon discover.

Scout Marcus had given a quick debriefing when he’d rushed through the North Cavalry Gate. They had seen to his bird and the man’s needs. He had insisted upon delivering his report immediately but his superiors had refused him. He would be calm, rested and dressed appropriately when he stood to report fully before the Commander General of the Stronghold of the Forty Kings. The man tasked with the protection of all the nations. The first and greatest defense against the packs of savage Dogmen.

Commander General Matking tapped his finger against the single sheet that had been hastily written of Scout Marcus’s debrief. What was claimed was too grave to act upon without hearing the entirety of what the man had witnessed. He’d already had to deal with the tragedy of the Falcon Rider Corps child. He did not wish to compound it by acting upon incomplete information, which was all the Falcon Corps scout wings had been able to provide.

Yet Matking could not deny that some doom had fallen upon his mantel. In the long line of Commander Generals few had ever faced more than a scatter of packs united to attack Lone Gap. Such wasted efforts were easily rebuffed. Accounts of his predecessors regarding these skirmishes gave him little insight for what to expect if the Sortie Scout’s words were true.

He was interrupted from his gloom filled thoughts by his Keep Commander Garyong who ran the day to day operations of the Keep. “Commander General sir, the Sortie Scout First Grade, Marcus Tillerfoot is here to be presented for his official report.”

“War council assembled?” Matking asked.

“Yes Commander General, however two are missing.” Matking suspected he knew one of the absentees and voiced it requesting knowledge of the other. “The Master of Arms sir. Torimecktu sir. She informed us that there was need to ready the wall defenses for a protracted siege.” Garyong said. Tori was diligent to her duty. Whatever more the Scout would report would likely not change what actions she should take. Yet he could have used her keen mind when discussions and disagreements broke out among the others. Matking shrugged at this misfortune, a minor one in much larger affairs, and rose from his chair.

“Let’s begin then. Also send for the Master of Words. I will need to send messages immediately following this council.”

“Yes Commander General.” Garyong said.

Matking stood up from his chair and made his way to the right door of his offices. The large iron studded work opened into the wide receiving hall for strategy and all reporting and discussion of Dogmen activity. The room was windowless. Deep within the center of Defiance Keep and reachable only by three heavy doors such as the one the Commander had come through. Unlike the Commander General’s own door, the two others were shorter. This forced a Dogman to come through with head bowed or on all fours. Allowing a single soldier with ax or halberd to quickly fill the doorway with corpses should it be breached. Two such poleaxe wielding Footmen stood at each door. Matking’s entrance was guarded by a single man, the Last Blade and captain of the Commander General’s personal guard. The man was tall but slight of build. He moved in flowing motions much as he fought. Once a chief’s son, Amoon had come into Matking’s orbit long before they’d arrived at Lone Gap. Back when they’d been young men and eager for adventure.

He nodded to his Last Blade. “Amoon.”

“Commander General.”

Matking whispered his question. “How do they seem?” A long tradition and confidence he held with Amoon of the southern Marshlands. “Rising.” Amoon said with a grin. The Commander General had long grown use to the Marsher’s humor. If the mood was well it was ‘calm’, agitated it was ‘chopped’. The worst was when it was ‘rising’. Something the Marshers knew from storms out to sea when the water rose in their land. A portent of dangers to come.

Matking surveyed the room for himself. Grim faces met his own. A few discussed matters among themselves. The High Raptor, commander of all the Falcon Rider Corps sat silently between the Far Seeker, commander of the scouts, and the First Spear, commander of the cavalry. The latter two were engaged in heated yet whispered debate.

The Commander General guessed the course of their discussion. He’d heard as much in passing when he’d gone to meet the High Raptor following the unfortunate loss of one of the Alert Wing. The cavalry had wanted to ride out and meet the rabble of Dogmen that where chancing the Scout Marcus. The Far Seeker had advised against this as they would never have reached the man in time. The Alert Wing had already been mobilized and when it was clear no ground relief would be sent had been given the order to intervene on the Scout’s behalf.

Tactically Commander General Matking agreed. Even the swiftest light cavalry would not have made it in time. The decision had been the right one. Yet the loss of a Falcon Rider Corps child was always felt keenly. Adults did not approve of children dying in their place. Yet the First Spear’s criticism had likely extended beyond the immediate ill fortune. The Scouts had been suffering losses or disappearances for many days now. This had been the reason the Far Seeker had sent out the bulk of their stationed Sortie Scouts. To see what had become of the Fixed Scouts, the other Sortie members and what the Dogmen were ultimately up to. They now had an answer. One earned dearly in blood both of scouts and now the child Falcon Rider.

The Commander General noted the two neglected seats. The Arch Clapper and leader of the Spear of Light, the defensive order of the Church of the Two Bells, was absent. As he’d suspected. Matking suppressed his displeasure at this while refusing to let his worry over the lapse infect his glare at the vacant seat. The clerics from the church would be needed here and in the battle to come. Whatever had kept her could not possibly have been more important than this council.

Before the Commander General reached his seat he called out, “Bring him in!” His raised voice silenced conversation and squabbles. Day to day command of the many branches that ran the defense of all civilized peoples was not the purview of the Commander General. Yet one had to be set above the rest. When the time came for him to exercise his authority, all were expected to listen.

The Sortie Scout Marcus entered in a well tailored full dress uniform. He looked cleaned up if not well rested. Heavy bags shown under his eyes that were riddled with pink veining. Likely the import of what he had to present had kept the succor of sleep from him. His state and the reason for it unnerved Matking. What was to come would pale all in the room.

“Proceed with your report Scout.” The Far Seeker instructed. As Marcus was her man it was proper that she should command him.

“Commanders.” Marcus began then cleared his throat. “I fear my report may sound like exaggeration. I am only grateful, very much so,” he spared a glance at the High Raptor who did not meet his eyes, “to be here, to be alive. Again I do not wish to understate-”

“Start from the beginning. Speak of the first significant thing that you witnessed following your departure.” The Commander General said. He kept his tone soft as he interrupted. Others around the table had been growing restive. Best to direct the young man before one of them chose to berate him.

“Yes of course. Commander General.” Marcus stood a little straighter and his voice took on a more conventional soldierly tone. He was reporting to his superiors now. “We first spotted dog-sign when we went to inquire with the Fixed Scouts at Leenward Log. The second station before no man’s land. The station was intact and mostly unspoiled. Some salted meat and weapons were missing but most of the long stay provisions, pickled things, arrows and the like, were undisturbed. But there was not a man to be seen. Tracks there were aplenty, but all scraped over in a futile attempt to obscure them. Dog-sign led in every direction. The beast-men had come at them from all sides and left from all sides. Blood, hair, refuse and leavings typical with Dogmen attacks were not present. It was as if they had removed everything they could of themselves.”

“A moment Scout Marcus. I know of no instance when Dogmen have cared to clean up after themselves. Does the Codex of Records have anything that coincides with such a claim?” The Rain Bringer, commander of artillery, asked. Marcus made to interject then realized in who’s company he was and wisely held his tongue. The Commander General let it play out. He’d been over the accounts. Yet the Codex of Records, master librarian of all recordings and history and accounts from the daily bread usage to the many battles would know for sure. Of all those assembled only he had a small army of attendants behind him. The Codex was getting on in years. It was typical to have specialists accompany him when his own memory so often failed. After a whispered discussion the Codex waved his hand at one of the attendants who then stood up and spoke.

“There are some short entries from Sortie Scout reports that show Dogmen, have in the past, attempted to conceal their travel. These attempts were often crude. Traveling in a stream, spreading filth in several directions, even scratching at their own tracks. Yet not entirely like what the Sortie Scout describes. Always were the attempts middling and ineffectual.” The apprentice said.

“Thank you ‘prentece.” The Codex of Records smiled triumphantly as if he himself had delivered the information.

“So whatever this is it is difficult to-” Before the Rain Bringer could finish the Commander General asserted his authority.

“Continue Scout Marcus. You were saying there was dog-sign leading in all directions from the station.”

“Commander General. Yes sir, it was everywhere. Lacking better options my captain set us into four groups of two and we spread out north to south within smoke sighting. That’s just off the horizon from a direct glass-eye aid. We were only to signal if we noticed anything dangerous and could not signal otherwise. If we came across Dogmen one of each pairing was to report up and down the chain, less they be the far end of the line. Then one man would be sent south or north.” Marcus took a long shaky breath. “On the forth day riding north northwest we found something. My pair and I were not the first to notice it. We saw a smoke sign from the south that morning on the forth day.” Marcus said. He then wiped his mouth. There was no moisture to it that the Command General could see.

“What did you notice Scout?” The Far Seeker asked.

“We saw the signal and discussed if one or both of us should head south to see what had triggered it. We decided that one of us should go north to inform the others. They were out of smoke sign from the south. So my pair elected himself to go south and I rode north.” He paused again. His dark skin had been growing ashen.

“It was less than a quarter turn over the horizon for my bird. He’s a swift one that.” The Commander General noted the use of present tense. No one had told this young man his Mammothrich had died shortly after bearing him to safety, burst heart. “I never got to the pair north of us. I was well inside signal range when I saw the smoke from there. I thought this was strange, I was on my way to them to report the signal from the south we had seen earlier.” He drew a breath and his pause went on too long for some.

“Speak up!” The First Spear said.

“Yes sir, sorry.” He licked his dry lips and continued. “I’d been forced to turn a bit east. I’d been riding along a ridge that banked sharply below me to the west. The forest gave way to toughs of grass and rocky parts that gave my bird a rough time. That is when I saw what they had been signaling with those fires. North and South. Below the ridge and down a bit of slope into a wide valley covered in trees and long grass. It moved. The entire place seemed to move.”

The General Commander went numb with the recount. He heard the words that came as did all those in the council. Yet the meaning of them was not readily comprehensible. He’d fought a full pack of three thousand off with ease. The largest attack in years when he’d been a member of the the Footmen of Lone Gap, well before ascending to the lofty position he now held. Yet what he’d heard the Sortie Scout speak of nearly struck him dumb.

“It was all moving, shifting about. It took me a second to focus and come to my senses. I looked through my long glass. Dogmen. As far north and south as I could see with unaided eye and aided. Thousands of them, hundreds of thousands. More.”