Roland of the High Crags - Books 1-3

Chapter 2-1

War is a terrible spectacle to behold

War is a terrible spectacle to beholdWar is a terrible spectacle to beholdFROM THE BOOK OF ST. ALBANS

FROM THE BOOK OF ST. ALBANSThe death of a city is a grim and terrible spectacle to behold. Terrible knowing all your efforts to save it were for naught. The thundering crash of masonry. The searing heat of ravaging fires hungrily consuming the city. The billowing smoke filled with terrible smells.

But worst of all, the cries of the dying. Innocent victims caught up mercilessly in a quest for conquest that could only mean, for them, either death or the cold iron shackles of s*****y. And through the smoke, the ghastly beauty of a phalanx of marching dragons.

Bristling death.

Gigantic porcupines of spear-carrying infantry. The Clan Hartooth were the masters of a battlefield. In one hand, they carried vicious steel-tipped pikes twelve feet long, lowered and flashing like thousands of diamonds through the smoke. In their other hand were their distinctive clan dragon shields. Each clan had their own unique shields. Clan colors, with their clan motifs, all could be plainly seen on their lozenge-shaped shields. They are made of wood and leather. The leather came from the carcasses of their fire-breathing Winged Beasties, making them extremely difficult to cut through. The shafts of wood which composed the dragon pike were made of Hack wood. A musky, aromatic wood almost impossible to break and incapable of burning. One could smell a phalanx of pike approaching long before it was seen if the wind was right.

Yes.

There was a precision and unity in the way dragon pike arranged themselves in their traditional checkerboard formations. They seemed to flow like the waters of an unstoppable flood across a broken and confused field. Watching them approach through the flames and smoke of the dying city was a surreal fascination. Especially so when eighteen thousand pike were marching straight toward you.

But pike usually never entered a battle alone. They were only half of the dual threat the enemy brought to bear against those they wish to destroy. Imagine Winged Beasties, the long-necked, bat-winged, fire-breathing flying dragons of ancient lore, with their Great Dragon bowmen riding in their saddles, filling the skies above the battlefield. From the saddles of their terrible mounts, dragon riders assail the enemy in front of the advancing infantry with clouds of deadly crossbow bolts. Whistling death from above pins down a hapless foe into a defensive formation which that protects them from the skies. But not from the assault of advancing infantry.

With the mailed fist of dragon pike commanding the ground, coupled with the inspired terror of Winged Beasties and their riders controlling the skies, one could understand how the dragon dominated mankind on the battlefield. For a thousand years, the armies of the human kingdoms—kingdoms that once filled the forest and plains below the High Kanris like grains of sand on a tropical beach, tried to defeat the dragon foe. All failed. All the kingdoms of man were swept away in the process.

But on this day, standing with bow in hand and looking over the stone ramparts of the last castle of the dragon Clan Anktooth, I had to stop and openly admire the precision and the malevolent grandeur in which the ancestral enemy of humanity made war.

Above me, I heard the fire-breathing roar of Winged Beasties on the attack. Looking up, I recognized the dark, mustard yellow and green Winged Beastie called Uaala—“Dark Warrior” in Great Dragon tongue, along with his master swirling around above the castle walls. The Beasties’ master was a dragon warrior who called himself Uccmoth, hailing from the Clan Hartooth. He was Captain of the Guards for Baron Hartooth, his ancestral liege. But there was also the cardinal-red Upahil. . . “Daemon Kind”, and its master Ussal, also from the Clan Hartooth. Two renowned warriors, blood kin to the ancient First Clan of dragonkind, leading three-hundred Winged Beasties in the final assault on the breached walls of the last city of the House of Anktooth.

Uaala—Upahil.The city was in its death throes.

Flames leapt into the sky from all parts of the city. Thick black smoke swirled in angry updrafts into the morning sky. Before me, in the open plains stretching out beyond the city, six months of c*****e lay in ruins. The bodies of dead Great Wings, the giant hawklike birds human warriors from the High Kanris rode into battle, littered the field. Along with the bodies of hundreds of warriors, both dragon and human. Smashed siege engines, water-filled trenches, and all the flotsam a long siege creates lay scattered around the battlefield like discarded toys.

But it was the screams of the dying which affected me the most. The Hartooth were plunging through the gaps in the thick city walls, burning and pillaging with a dragon’s fury. It was evident the baron planned to raze the entire city and take no captives. So the innocent, the old, and the young, both human and dragon, were put to the sword with ruthless intensity.

I stood on a portion of the castle keep’s outer walls—a small castle in the heart of the burning city—knowing the battle was lost. For almost a year, the few Great Wings, and the warriors who rallied to the call of the dragon house of Anktooth, fought valiantly to keep the skies above the city of Ank free from Winged Beasties. But for every Great Wing, there had been six of the magnificent, flame-throwing winged dragons. For every human or dragon warrior who fought underneath the blue and gold banners of the House of Anktooth, the Baron Hartooth had ten dragons loyal to his banners of maroon and gray. It was a lost cause from the beginning, and all who heeded the pleas of the House of Anktooth knew it.

Rarely did human and dragon fight underneath the same banner against a common enemy. Rarely did humans and their Great Wings descend into the rolling hills and thick forests below the lofty crags of their mountains. For the most part, humans and dragons were ancestral enemies whose hatred for each other went as far back as either species could remember. But the House of Anktooth, the dragon lords who held the kingdom in the rolling foothills just below one of the few mountain passes that led up into the High Kanris, had over the centuries, forged a somewhat neutral stance with mankind. This noble house had the most contact with the high-country kingdoms of man. For centuries, the Anktooth fought humans and their Great Wings whenever a mountain kingdom lord decided to mount a military incursion into the foothills and plains. It was this house, as was the custom, that provided dragon warlords with troops and expertise whenever a dragon barony wished to test his skills against Great Wings and humans. But between the conflicts, it was the House of Anktooth who quietly tried to set up some kind of communication between ancestral enemies.

I was familiar with the Anktooth. Baron Ahnkar Anktooth was an old and cagey leader who appreciated the fighting abilities of humans and Great Wings. More importantly, the baron admired the artifacts and goods humans created. He was one of the rare dragon lords who thought riches could come by expanding commerce and building trade agreements between human and dragon kingdoms.

When word arrived that the Clan Hartooth had invaded Anktooth lands, I mounted my favorite Great Wing and hurried to their aid. For almost a year, I fought alongside dragon and humans in repelling the forces of the maroon-and-gray-hued warriors of the First Clan. My Great Wing, who called himself Cedric, and I led the small number of Great Wings against the Winged Beasties. We arouse from the upper crenelated towers of the fortress walls and stone keep every dawn to face the winged dragons and their dragon riders. Sometimes, we would take to the skies and fight four or five times a day. But with each sortie, warriors and Great Wings would be missing by nightfall. But now, the last of the Anktooth strongholds was falling. Those of us who fought for a year to stymie the baron’s plans had severely mauled his mighty army. We failed in our efforts. Only hours remained for the once mighty House of Anktooth. Yet, I was determined to fight to the finish.

, Others, however, had plans of their own for me. As dragon pike began to assault the castle keep’s walls, and as I threw what few bowmen I could find into an ad hoc formation for a defense, the rough, dry hand of a dragon warrior loyal to Baron Anktooth gripped me firmly and pulled me to one side.

“You are the human they call Roland of the High Crags? The one who rides the Great Wing named Cedric, yes? You will come with me.”

The din of battle and the spray of crossbow bolts whizzing through the air around our heads created an almost unbearable cacophony. Yet, I heard every word the old warrior said, and I could not protest. The guardsman, whom I recognized as the Captain of the Guards for the baron’s private entourage, was already pushing his way through the thick maelstrom of the battle and heading back to the keep itself.

I paused for a moment, sending two arrow shafts swiftly into the throats of a couple of pike men, and then hurried after the dragon captain. Interestingly, as I was dodging the rain of crossbow bolts hurtling through the air with my shield, I noticed several of the baron’s guardsmen pulling selected human and dragon warriors from the final fray and sending them back into the castle itself. It would be a grim last stand, I thought as I slid through the narrow slit of a partially opened stone passageway the dragon captain held open for me.

It would be a grim last standThe old Clan Mauk guardsman—Clan Mauk, because of the green-and-yellow pebbled skin and three rows of horns on the top of his head—thrust a badly smoking torch toward me, holding one of his own high over his head in the process, and without uttering a word, turned and began leading me up a winding set of dust-covered stone stairs. Clan Mauk dragons, for centuries, had been loyal followers of the Anktooth, serving the more ancient clan faithfully and without hesitation. They, like the Anktooth, were soon to be no more once the Hartooth assault on the castle was completed.

The stairwell, barely large enough for a dragon to slip through, was filled with cobwebs and carpets of dust. Obviously, this hidden passage had not been used for centuries, and as to where it led, I could not begin to imagine. But after a few moments of swift ascent, we suddenly entered a cold and barren aviary once used to house Winged Beasties, but long since abandoned.

As I entered the wide expanse of empty stone floor, my eyes fell on a small group of figures standing in the middle of the room. Guardsmen loyal to the old baron stood close to him, holding burning and hissing torches. Beside the baron was a dragon mercenary captain whom I recognized, and one human mercenary also known by me.

The dragon mercenary of the Clan Horak was a renowned renegade who called no clan’s baron his ancestral liege. He was the leader of fifty warriors and their Winged Beasties, and his reputation was that of a warrior who sold his services to the highest bidder. Only the color of gold held sway over him. I could not trust this creature who called himself Dagan Horak. But it appeared the old Baron Anktooth did.

The human mercenary was a captain of thirty Great Wings. His reputation, like that of the Horak captain, was anything but honorable. Behind a face many regarded as the most handsome in all the land lay a heart as merciless and calculating as that of a viper. He was a skilled courtier, an accomplished diplomat, a superb leader of men, and a deadly swordsman. He called himself Helgar Longhair after his golden hair. The same color of gold found in wheat ready to be harvested. His locks fell to his shoulders, creating a stunning effect for any hapless soul he gazed upon his visage. I trusted the human even less than I did the dragon. But neither interested me nearly as much as the small form standing close to the baron.