Valkyrie's Shadow

Chapter 11

On the way to the fifth hold, Falagrim’s forces caught up to the trailing fringes of the council’s forces. They consisted of novice soldiers with poor conditioning, the injured still awaiting their turn for healing, and the clansmen who stayed behind with them. As the Undead came closer, they stopped to take up hasty defensive positions in the buildings lining the street.

Falagrim stepped forward and raised his voice.

“You know the drill,” his words carried down the street. “You’re either labour, or you’re entertainment.”

He didn’t stop to see what their response was, though the Human looked as if she was about to cry as the Dwarves threw down their weapons.

“I know how you feel,” Velgath said in conciliatory tones. “But we don’t have time to enjoy ourselves.”

“Huh? No! That’s not what I…”

Hopefully, the Human girl wouldn’t be too bad of an influence on his daughter.

“My prince,” a grey robe walked up beside him.

“The psionic interference in the area is dissipating. Have you any orders?”

“Are things clear enough for telepathy?” Falagrim asked.

“Not enough to communicate ahead of our advance,” the grey robe answered. “Everything behind us, however…”

“Search for any Felhammer holdouts that we might have missed,” Falagrim said. “Organise them the same way as before, but keep any new military forces back to maintain order instead of catching up with us.”

“I hear and obey.”

Life wouldn’t just magically become worry-free after the council was removed from Felhammer, so roughly half of their liberated clansmen went straight back to work even as fighting continued across the principality. Critical industries needed to be restarted and the clan’s logistics network had to be restored or their momentum against their enemies would falter.

When they arrived at the fifth hold, they found Daergor Deepingstone waiting for them. He was seated on a stone bench at the bottom of the hold’s main approach, tearing away at a haunch of roast Nuk. The freshly-taken heads of six Dwarves dangled from his belts by their beards, creating a pool of blood on the pavement.

Falagrim leaned slightly to get a better look at one of them.

“Isn’t that…”

Daergor reached down with his free hand and held the head up by the black quarrel still buried in its forehead. The Human dashed off to empty her stomach.

“Yup,” he said. “Prince Shalegrinder. One of his people insulted one of my people once about seventy years ago, so I figured I’d return the favour.”

“Where did you find him?”

“Hardar Bridge,” Daergor said. “Looks like they were responsible for maintaining the lines going out of there. We found this guy when we took the gatehouse, and now my people are harrying his clan between here and Hardar. Easy pickings with them stretched out like that. Got plenty of our people coming back.”

“Good,” Falagrim nodded. “We’ll be securing Hardar Gate eventually, but don’t overdo it. Any idea where the council’s keeping all of their heavy hitters?”

“I’m not sure whether the clans sent that many at all. It wasn’t that sort of campaign in the first place, if there are any, they should be with the council’s main army.”

When considering the big picture, keeping the strongest members of the clans at home was the most prudent move. As Daergor had mentioned, the campaign against Clan Felhammer demanded broad force projection. All they needed was to bring enough powerful individuals to keep those of Clan Felhammer in check.

Any external threats to Khazanar that required an army to defend against would be detected far in advance and threats that required heroes to defeat would hit too hard and too fast unless a defender was already present. Similarly, if additional heroes were needed in Felhammer, it wouldn’t take anywhere as long to bring them over as it would an army.

And then there was the fact that putting powerful people from different clans within spitting distance of one another was a recipe for disaster. Heroes tended to develop a complex about their strength and friction tended to result between them if they were left to their own devices. The last thing the council needed was random duels between Khazanar’s most powerful individuals happening in the middle of their invasion of Felhammer.

“And what is the council’s main army doing?”

“They didn’t come running over to secure their only way off of Felhammer,” Daergor said, “so our moves to cut off their lines of communication have probably worked.”

Meaning that the council’s armies continued to do whatever they were doing. Falagrim considered how he would approach his remaining enemies.

As he had suspected, the council had maintained their siege of Felhammer Citadel with a small force while they dispatched the other armies to stop the Undead. That besieging force had been reinforced by the remnants of the armies that had withdrawn from the underway exit. A breach had already been made sometime before their arrival. Since they didn’t see them anywhere else, he assumed that the heroes the council had brought with them were spearheading that assault. This meant the battle was probably already over.

Additionally, somewhere on the opposite side of the citadel was the other half of the council’s remaining strength. They were still too far away for reports detailing their numbers and positioning to arrive, but they could arrive at any point to cause trouble for Falagrim’s siege of his own citadel.

While Falagrim was reasonably confident of victory, his current dilemma had to do with the various outcomes that would result from his actions. Half of Felhammer was still occupied, and, if he played things poorly, it was possible that the council forces would give up on victory and butcher their captives out of spite. That represented a substantial hit to the economy, which was to be avoided if possible.

“My prince.”

“Hm?”

He looked up to find a newly arrived scout.

“Report from Felhammer Citadel.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“The council’s finished moving all their forces and supplies into the citadel.”

Falagrim narrowed his eyes at the massive stalactite that loomed over the centre of the principality several kilometres away. Even given what they surely knew by now, the commander-in-chief of the council forces still insisted on taking up a defensive position. Were they that confident of their ability to hold the Undead off, or had they decided that they couldn’t escape over Hardar Bridge in time?

“Change of plans,” he said. “We’ll ignore the citadel for now. We’re sweeping the remaining council forces in the city into the citadel along with their friends. Daergor, find us our quarry.”

“Yes, my prince!”

The Lord of Deepingstone turned to address his officers.

“Set up pickets all along Hardar Way. No council stooge crosses over to our side. Send up a signal if there are any major attempts at a breakthrough. We’ll fly some reinforcements over.”

“Want us to tighten things up behind the main force as they advance?” One of the officers asked.

“No, maintain those positions,” Daergor told them. “Our forces aren’t large enough to cover the width of Felhammer, so the Undead are bouncing all over the place. I’ve seen those Lesser Graveyards do their thing a few times now – you don’t want to get caught up in that.”

Daergor’s forces dispersed, vanishing into the darkness in every direction. There hadn’t even been a dozen present, but Falagrim knew that the entire clan would be aware of their Lord’s orders before long.

After briefing the defenders of the fifth hold, Falagrim headed toward Hardar Way. Daergor’s Deepwardens had long since taken their positions and an officer jogged up to make his report as soon as Falagrim started crossing the ancient thoroughfare.

“We’ve found them, my prince,” she said with a salute. “They’re coming toward the citadel along the north side, halfway between the western column and the cliffs.”

“Numbers?”

“About the same that was sent to hold you at the other underway entrance. They’ll arrive at the citadel in six hours.”

“That’s quick,” Daergor raised an eyebrow. “Did they set up some sort of relay to get information back and forth?”

Felhammer was just over forty kilometres from end to end, so having an army on the opposite side of the principality react within a day of Ironfist’s forces being routed was indeed quick. Unfortunately for them, he was much faster.

“We’ll ambush them two hours out from the citadel,” Falagrim said. “Put out any eyes they’ve sent ahead of themselves.”

“The Zombie forces will not be available at your proposed interception point,” an Elder Lich sergeant noted.

“That’s fine,” Falagrim said. “We don’t need the coverage. They’re already setting themselves up nicely for us. Call in the Elder Liches. Have them bring their summons along.”

Four hours later, Falagrim patiently waited at the intersection directly between Felhammer Citadel and the approaching army. Of course, they were so numerous that, when they appeared, it was not just from the street directly in front of him, but a half dozen to the north and south, as well. They quickly moved to encircle him and the two Country Destroyer Sets at his back.

A woman’s voice boomed from the other side of the intersection.

“Stand down and accept your punishment, Grimmantle traitor!”

Apparently, they still had no idea what they were up against. Maybe they should have put more effort into advertising who was laying the council low. He didn’t like it when others received credit for his work.

“I don’t believe I know that voice,” Falagrim said.

“Hmm…I think that’s the debutante from Clan Gloomgranite,” Daergor told him.

“Debutante?” Falagrim frowned, “What’s someone like that doing leading half of the council’s forces?”

“She’s supposed to be some once-in-a-generation strategic genius. It’s not saying much considering the quality of Khazanar’s opponents recently, but she has a flawless twenty-year war record.”

“That so? Well, then…”

Falagrim raised his voice in response.

“I have a proposal for you, er…”

“Oeligar,” Daergor supplied.

“…Oeligar.”

“Heligar!” The woman shouted back.

“Whatever,” Falagrim said. “Become my son’s concubine or you die like everyone else.”

“HAH? Have you gone crazy, you–”

He turned his back on the woman’s furious screeching.

“Scour this filth from my streets.”

Heligar’s voice trailed off as an unsettling clattering sound came from above. Then, the combined shouts of a hundred thousand Dark Dwarves rose into the air as they were buried in a flood of bones.

“If they’re called Lesser ‘Graveyards’,” Falagrim muttered, “then why do they fly?”

“Because they are supposed to,” one of the Elder Lich sergeants replied.

The damned things didn’t even have wings. Things were just like that sometimes, he supposed.

Ten minutes later, the Lesser Boneyards flew off again. Falagrim strolled over to the other side of the intersection. The street was paved with the bodies of boneless Dwarves, stretching beyond the range of his Darkvision. Rivulets of blood joined into torrents that flowed down the gutter running down the centre of the road.

“I’m sure there’s a business opportunity in this somewhere,” he said.

“I prefer my meat on the bone,” Daergor said, “but you may be on to something. So, just the citadel left, huh?”

“There’s still Hardar after that,” Falagrim replied. “We also probably have days of council reinforcements still en route.”

“That’ll be child’s play for your new Undead friends. What I’m asking is what you plan on doing in the long term.”

“That depends on what we learn. Regardless, we’ll have to get everything up and running again and finish up Baerwynn’s original plan.”

Beyond the possible reasons why the council was absurdly overprepared for Clan Felhammer’s move to cut itself off from the rest of Khazanar, he hadn’t thought too deeply about the far future. All of his time and energy had been focused on systematically eradicating the vermin infesting his home and getting their domestic affairs back in order.

There was, of course, the matter of the Sorcerous Kingdom, but he already had a good sense of what they were after and how they could be kept at arm’s length in terms of influencing Dark Dwarven policy. In fact, they were the ones that operated at arm’s length in the first place when it came to their foreign relations. All of their overtures thus far suggested that they saw other polities as potential economic clients and they had next to no interest in those clients’ political affairs so long as they didn’t run afoul of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s regional goals.

To Khazanar, which almost exclusively kept to itself and its own sphere of influence, it was a highly workable scenario. The reserved stance of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s representative and the language that surrounded the terms of the Undead lease lent to the impression that the Sorcerous Kingdom saw each of its clients as a bundle of economic inputs and outputs and the fact that they were not willing to invest in systemic change as far as those clients were concerned so long as their relationship remained ‘profitable’. As such, managing the Sorcerous Kingdom’s economic expectations of Khazanar and satisfying those expectations would be key to maintaining its independence.

With the council’s western army obliterated, he assigned most of his Dark Dwarven forces to sweep through the remainder of the principality while he brought the Undead to bear against Felhammer Citadel. Their arrival at the central hold of the principality confirmed what he had already suspected.

Felhammer Citadel was a colossal stalactite that dangled between the two main columns of the principality. Its magically-reinforced structure was five hundred metres wide at the root and hung half again as long to the capital below it. The tip of the tapering structure was fifty metres above street level and the main method of access was through a set of lifts that took one from the city to the first gatehouse near the bottom of the citadel. From there, one would have to make their way up a long, winding ramp to the main entrance near the top of the citadel.

The new occupants had, of course, raised the lifts. This normally resulted in an impossible obstacle to overcome, as attackers would be limited to whatever they could deliver to the fortifications above via flight magic. Any powerful individuals sent up to take control of the lifts would be met by an equivalent force plus the army supporting them.

Unfortunately, this only applied when it was one clan against a handful of rival clans that somehow fought their way up to the city layer. The overwhelming and swift retaliation sent by the council also meant that an overwhelming number of heroes could be sent against the citadel to take control of the lifts, and this, by all appearances, was what happened.

Falagrim looked up at the gatehouse and its lifts.

“What do you see up there, Deepingstone?”

“Place is filled with defenders,” Daergor replied. “Looks like they captured the artillery emplacements intact.”

“Well, that’s a problem,” Falagrim crossed his arms in thought.

“The Death Knights did not have any issues defending against the artillery deployed against them before,” one of the Elder Lich sergeants noted.

“That’s because they were essentially field works,” Falagrim replied. “They’re made mundane because they don’t have a long life expectancy. The best one can do is try to enhance their performance with enchanted bolts and alchemical rounds. Permanent emplacements like the ones above us are powerful pieces of equipment. Combined with the ammunition that they use and a highly-experienced artillery crew, the Death Knights will get cut to pieces in no time.”

“In that case,” the Elder Lich said, “what are your orders?”

His eyes went past the front gate, following the ramp as it spiralled up the citadel.

“Velgath,” he said, “have they made any big changes to the defence scheme?”

“Nothing’s changed that’s required it,” his daughter replied.

“Then we’ll skip the entire gauntlet,” Falagrim said. “We’ll fly the Undead up to hit the main gate directly.”

A gross overextension like that would normally see a hero isolated and overwhelmed, but that didn’t apply when one had over three dozen beings of similar strength.

“If we do that,” Velgath said. “Most of us will still be stuck on the ground.”

“We can use those summons, can’t we?” Falagrim jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “They’ve gotten damn huge and they can still fly.”

After subsuming the bones of the council’s forces on Felhammer, some of the Lesser Graveyards had grown large enough to fill the volume of several large buildings. The Elder Liches turned to regard their summons, which started changing shape as they figured out how to fulfil Falagrim’s intent.

Eventually, they settled on shaping them like ships. Falagrim boarded the largest one using a bone ramp that extended out of its side and looked over the railing at the others.

“Flying on a vessel fashioned out of the bones of your enemies,” he said. “Not a bad way to travel.”

Once his escort and the Undead forces boarded their respective transports, the Lesser Graveyards slowly rose into the air. The floodlights from the citadel followed their ascent.

“Those siege engines have a range of over one kilometre,” he said. “Keep us well away from them until we need to make our approach.”

The Lesser Graveyards drifted further away from the citadel. Their ascent was slow in general, though it was still far faster than trying to fight their way up conventionally.

“We need some eyes on the main gate,” Falagrim said. “The Death Priests can summon as well, right?”

In response, a few sets of Wraiths materialised over the deck. They were sent out in the direction of the citadel, but their efforts weren’t as successful as he had hoped.

“The alertness level of the opposing force is proving to be problematic,” an Elder Lich sergeant reported. “Our reconnaissance elements are being intercepted on their approach to the target area.”

“Intercepted by what?”

“Projectile attacks. The profile matches those of crossbow quarrels.”

“Distance?”

“Between three hundred and four hundred metres to the target structure.”

Falagrim looked over at Daergor.

“What do you think?”

“I’m thinking that the commander-in-chief of the council armies kept all of the strongest forces to themselves,” Daergor replied.

Given the nature of the punitive campaign against Clan Felhammer, that only made sense. It was less of a military venture and more of a political one, and how their forces deployed reflected the political landscape of Khazanar.

Ironfist was clearly on its way out. He wasn’t sure if the prince was just getting too old or he had simply been outmanoeuvred, but seeing him on the fringes of the principality laying siege to a minor hold wasn’t something that would have happened in the past. The girl leading the western army was probably placed in a similar position to keep her from gaining too much acclaim with Khazanar at large.

The lion’s share of the spoils and renown went to the faction with the greatest political power and thus the influence to place themselves in a favourable position with the best forces. It was only when the situation turned dire for the council that Ironfist and the girl were conveniently recognised for their talent and put in command of their ad hoc armies.

Was Khazanar always like this?

It was always a place of treachery and intrigue, to be sure, but he wasn’t sure that it was always so impractical. The present state of the principalities probably had something to do with the holdfast faction and Clan Dirgehall rising to prominence.

Falagrim shook his head to clear his thoughts. Those musings helped little with the obstacle presented before them. The slow speed of the encumbered Lesser Graveyards meant that they were in very real danger of being knocked out of the air before arriving at their destination.

“Well, I never expected a flawless victory, anyway,” Falagrim said.

“What do you have in mind?” Daergor asked.

“Just going back to the old-fashioned way of doing things,” Falagrim answered. “We’ll sacrifice some of our troops to make the landing.”

“I volunteer Uncle Daergor,” Velgath said.

“Hey!”

“We’ll need more than that,” Falagrim said, turning to an Elder Lich sergeant. “Can the Lesser Graveyards function as shields?”

“They can,” the Elder Lich replied. “However, an increase in size does not equate to an increase in durability. The summons will perish just as quickly as they would in their original form.”

“What will happen to all the bones that they ate?”

“While they will no longer be subject to the control of the Lesser Graveyard, they will also not vanish along with it.”

“Great. Consolidate the crews. Reshape all of the unoccupied Lesser Graveyards into shields and layer them in front of us. We’re going into that landing at full speed.”

The Lesser Graveyards drew together as the Undead moved to carry out Falagrim’s orders. All of the leased Undead boarded his vessel while the eleven other summons formed their multilayered defence in front of them.

“Your forces await your command,” one of the Elder Lich sergeants said.

“Full speed ahead,” Falagrim said. “Make sure our shields don’t get too far ahead of us.”

No sense of acceleration accompanied them as they slowly drifted their way forward. They were picking up speed, however, and soon the sounds of quarrels and ballista bolts striking the Lesser Graveyard at the fore filled the air with their racket. Within seconds, the first Lesser Graveyard was destroyed, sending a wall of bones sloughing off to disappear into the darkness below.

“That was quick,” Velgath said. “Will we make it?”

“We will,” Falagrim told her. “That attack was preloaded.”

The sound of projectiles striking their makeshift shields diminished as the defenders stopped to reload. Their second shield shattered twenty seconds later.

“Distance?” Falagrim shouted over the clattering cacophony.

“Three hundred metres,” an Elder Lich sergeant replied.

“Looks like we’ll have plenty of shields to spare,” Falagrim said. “Send four Lesser Graveyards in to disperse their attacks. Keep announcing distance to target.”

“Two hundred fifty metres.”

Another Lesser Graveyard broke apart just after the two-hundred-metre mark. The ramp leading up the side of the stalactite appeared below them at a hundred fifty metres.

“Slow us down if you can,” Falagrim called out, “but not too slow. Death Knights, once we make the–”

Incandescent blue light blinded him as a bolt of Lightning thundered over the deck. Daergor and Velgath deftly dodged the spell, but it pierced through Falagrim, Agni, an Elder Lich, and several members of his Dwarven escort.

“Fifty metres,” the Elder Lich said.

“Son of a bitch!” Falagrim roared, “Scratch that! When we land, transform this ship into a ramp straight to that fucking grey robe!”

Seconds later, they smashed into the ground in front of the gate. The attacks from the wall ceased as the defenders took cover from the tide of bones washing up against the wall. Falagrim rose to his feet, his shield held overhead as he charged.

“Crush these fools!”

Unearthly howls joined with Falagrim’s battle cry as the Death Knights followed him up the rapidly-forming ramp of bone. He paused for just long enough for an overeager defender at the top of the wall to send his Greataxe through the air in front of him, then he hooked the back of his neck with his warhammer and sent him tumbling over the battlements. Fireballs blossomed in his peripheral vision as the Elder Liches worked to suppress the Dwarves defending the other sections of the fortification.

Falagrim’s sabatons scraped against the stone as he leapt off of the ramp and onto the wall. He sent a glare at his surroundings, taking all of two seconds to locate his target.

“YOU!”

He pointed his warhammer at the entrance of the gatehouse tower. Within, two grey robes turned to point their fingers at him. His hammer came flying in, smashing one grey robe’s head against the wall behind her. Falagrim grit his teeth as he ran forward, taking another bolt of Lightning before swatting the second grey robe aside with his shield. He retrieved his warhammer and split the stunned caster’s head open.

A third grey robe poked his head down the stairwell. Then she shrieked as Falagrim rushed up and ended her, too. He looked around for any other Grey Robes that might have been the source of the first bolt of Lightning before gazing out over the parapet of the tower at the crescent-shaped sequence of walls and towers.

“Hold the battlements and the gate,” his voice carried over the expanding battlefield. “Don’t let a single one of those vermin escape!”

Sets of Death Knights stormed over the stone fortifications, overwhelming any and all of the defenders’ attempts to regain control of the chaos. One of the surviving Lesser Graveyards had completely engulfed one of the towers, sending snakelike tendrils of bone into the arrow slits to devour the Dwarves within.

Five minutes later, Agni, Daergor and Velgath joined him atop the gatehouse.

“Injuries?” Agni asked.

“Nothing serious,” Falagrim answered. “What are our casualties?”

“Seven Fifth-tier summons,” the Cleric replied, “and some singed Dark Dwarves. You didn’t give the council any chance to muster an effective defence.”

“Then let’s keep moving,” Falagrim said. “I can’t wait to see who has their ass planted on my throne.”

Once his forces assembled at the inner gate, he gestured to the arrow slits above either side of the gate.

“There’s a walkway behind each of those arrow slits,” he said. “They run all the way along either side of the Hall of the Ancestors. The council will have snipers and casters positioned to ambush us as we break in. Send our Wraiths through there at the same time we force the door open. Also, it looks like they’ve settled on using electrical attacks. Get Protection Energy – Electricity on our vanguard.”

Falagrim placed a gauntleted hand on the enchanted adamantite doors, issuing its password through his thoughts. The portal glowed dimly before swinging open.

“Go!”

The vanguard of Death Knights charged into a storm of enchanted quarrels and Electrospheres. Above them, the dominated Wraith forces flowed through the wall, quickly suppressing the attacks coming from above. Falagrim walked in slowly after the expanding wave of Undead rolled through the hall, facing the grim gazes of his ancestors for the first time in over a century. He wondered what they thought about the whole turn of events.

“Father,” Velgath called from behind him.

“What is it?”

“You should come and see this.”

He frowned over his shoulder at his daughter, who was still standing at the entrance to the hall.

“What am I looking at?”

“Not in here,” she said. “Outside.”

He stomped out of the hall, following Velgath back to the top of the tower gate. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the cause of his daughter’s concern. Smouldering orange light danced in the distance, too far north to be on Felhammer.

“Grimmantle is burning,” Velgath said.

Falagrim smirked. The day just kept getting better and better.

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