Chapter 18

King Kah was lounging on the royal throne, enjoying a hearty snack of bread and cheese. The day hadn't started that well, but he felt like things were finally starting to go his way. He was determined to hire a judge to handle the Three Cases, which would then free him up for the finer things in life… like hot baths, massages and hunting. King Kah smiled at the thought, and he realised he'd landed on his feet with this gig.

Before he finished his sandwich, there was a commotion in the antechamber, and seconds later a flustered guard ran into the throne room. At the same time, in the distance, King Kah heard the sound of the city's warning bell.

Clonk! Clonk! Clonk!

The bell would have been a whole lot more effective had it been cast from metal, rather than carved from wood, but at least the noise carried.

"What is it?" demanded King Kah of the guard. "What is the alarm for?"

The guard had got his breath back. "An army at the gates, Sire! Soldiers… hundreds of them!"

"So round up the army and fight them off." King Kah took another bite of his sandwich.

"Sire… it is tradition that you lead the men."

"What?"

"You are expected to lay down your life in the defence of Branche's citizens."

King Kah pushed his plate away, having suddenly lost his appetite. He'd met several of Branche's citizens, and he didn't consider any of them worth laying his life down for. "Can we defeat this army, do you think?"

"They number in the hundreds, and have metal armour, metal swords and metal shields." The guard brandished a six foot pole carved from oak. "There are but four dozen guards, and we have wooden sticks."

King Kah frowned, because he felt the man's tone was bordering on disrespect. "Very well, we must do the sensible thing and surrender immediately. But first, I must dress in something more appropriate."

After King Kah found armour and a helmet, he strolled to the city gates, where he climbed a ladder to the top of the wall. It was only about twelve feet high, and many of the poles and planks were loose from years of neglect… and a complete lack of nails.

King Kah reached the top, puffing in his wooden armour, and all of a sudden he realised the situation was not as dire as he thought. Below, lined up on horseback before the large army, were four Mollister knights. Sur Loyne and Sur Pryze he knew well, for they were his trusted friends and companions. The other two, Sur Wendah and Sur Rysis, were lightweights of no importance.

Then he noticed Sur Wendah was slightly ahead of the rest, which was a surprise, for it meant the knight was in charge.

"Sur Wendah!" shouted King Kah. He saw his own men laying down their weapons, and he gestured impatiently, for some were even preparing to open the gates. Then he turned back to the Mollister knights. "Sur Wendah, what is the reason for your presence?"

"Greetings, Sur Kah. We come to sack the city of Branche and carry away all of your valuables."

"That's King Kah to you, sunshine, and you can all get lost. This is my city."

There was a thunk, and an arrow sprouted from Kah's wooden breastplate. He staggered, and would have fallen backwards off the wall if a guard hadn't steadied him.

"Who did that?" demanded King Kah, glaring at the two hundred troops spread out before the city gates. "May the breath of Zephyr smite you!"

Another arrow whizzed past.

"Stop shooting at me!" shouted King Kah, now thoroughly annoyed. He spotted a man drawing back on his bow. "You there! I can see you, you know!"

The man lowered his bow. "You slept with my wife, you cad!"

"He slept with me, too!" shouted a woman, and she let off an arrow that sped so close to Kah's right ear the sound of its passing almost deafened him.

Kah raised both hands. "Can we please discuss this in a nice, orderly manner?"

"No!" shouted the enemy army, and they loosed off their arrows.

King Kah and the rest of the guards ducked behind the walls as the volley rained down. When they raised their heads again, looking over the wall was like peering through a porcupine.

"We want your gold!" shouted a soldier.

"We don't have any!" King Kah shouted back.

"We want your gems and liquor."

The King glanced at the handful of guards who were supposed to hold the gates against the vastly superior force. "All right. We agree." He gestured at his men. "Surrender! Surrender!"

"Yes?" said Sur Wendah.

"No, surrender," snapped King Kah, and he hurried down the ladder to greet the triumphant knights. As the gates opened, and the enemy soldiers poured in, he took off his crown and passed it to Sur Loyne. "You wanted this thing, you can have it."

Sur Loyne looked surprised. "You're abdicating?"

"Henceforth, I shall again be known as Sur Kah," said the knight formerly known as King. And with that, he dashed off to claim some loot before his fellow knights got their mitts on the best stuff.

Sur Loyne eyed the wooden crown, revered symbol of Bark royalty. The people of Branche would need a steady hand to guide them, and since they didn't believe in elections, and no longer had a proper king, he decided he was the best man for the job.

So, after a moment's hesitation, he slipped the crown on.

— ♦ —

Wiltred's catapults were not coming along at all well. The elves didn't know a hammer from their elbows, and the number of bandaged fingers and foreheads was reaching epidemic proportions.

Oh, they were willing enough workers, but they refused to obey a mere human, and so Wiltred was forced to communicate his wishes through the aged elf, Oakwander. Thanks to the elves' strict hierarchy, Oakwander would then pass these wishes on to Longroot in the form of a vague suggestion. Longroot, as prince, would then bellow the mangled instructions in the elvish tongue, which clearly had no equivalent of 'be careful', 'stop hitting me with your hammer' or 'pass me another bandage'.

Despite the setbacks, the first catapult eventually rolled off the production line… and kept rolling straight down the hill, thanks to the lack of brakes. When it reached the riverbank the wheels came off, literally, and the rest tumbled into the river and broke apart into an assortment of logs, rope and elven sweat and tears.

"Fudd it," muttered Wiltred.

"It's a nice day for some casual copulation," said Oakwander to his young prince.

Longroot yelled a string of elvish, and everyone adjusted their bandages, downed tools and paired off, heading for the nearby homes arm in arm. They emerged half an hour later, looked flushed and considerably happier.

In the meantime, Wiltred had been down to the river to save what he could of the first catapult. He dragged the logs back to his workshop, fetched the wheels, and then sat down to design a rudimentary braking system.

"This is a chock," he said to Oakwander, who had been the last elf standing when everyone else paired off. He'd even given Wiltred the eye, but the human had other concerns. Now, Wiltred was holding up a triangular piece of wood. "You shove a pair under the wheel, one behind, one in front, and it'll stop the catapult rolling away."

"Chock," said the elf carefully.

"Good. Cut twenty more the same shape and size, and be quick about it."

While the elderly helper wheezed and groaned over the saw bench, cutting chocks from a thick piece of timber, Wiltred went to inspect the frames for the other catapults. He frowned as he saw the shoddy work, tutted as he saw several pieces fitted backwards, or nailed into unnatural angles, then felt better when he remembered that was his plan all along. He wanted the things to fail, because he didn't want the bombardment of innocents on his conscience.

Still, there was bound to be a test-firing, which meant he'd need at least one of the big machines to hurl a rock or two before it collapsed in a heap. So, picking out the only base which didn't look like it had been nailed together by a three-year-old with both arms tied behind their back, he set to work.

— ♦ —

Hal jogged beside the others as they made their way along the riverbank to the ocean. They passed the fisherman with his boat, and they saw Sur Cumfrence lurking on the opposite side of the river, but nobody got in their way or tried to halt their progress.

Just as well, because now that they'd rescued Berry, the Methusians were in no mood for delays.

"Onwards!" growled their captain, Borosin, and everyone increased their pace. Runt had to run full-tilt to keep up, his little legs flashing.

They reached the beach and signalled to the cutter, which was maintaining position just beyond the breakers. Fortunately, there was no sign of the dwarven army, and as the cutter headed towards them Hal realised they'd got away with it.

"Three cheers!" shouted one of the sailors. "Three cheers for our success!"

"Shut up, you fool!" hissed Borosin. "Do you want the dwarves to hear us?"

"Actually," said Runt, between deep breaths. "It's the elves who have good hearing."

"Elves?" said Borosin.

"Yeah. Way too tall, pointy little ears, blond hair and a dead eye with the bow." Runt eyed the boat which was putting in to shore. "You know, I'm done with the sea. If it's all right with you lot, I think I'll make my own way from here."

Berry smiled and clasped the halfling's hand. "I know we had our differences, but you're a stout fellow. Be safe!"

"And you," said Runt. Then he frowned at Borosin. "Wait a minute… where did you encounter dwarves? They don't show themselves in these parts."

"There's an army two hundred strong in the next bay."

Runt turned to look at the headland dividing their own cove from the next. "Two hundred dwarves? A whole army of them, just the other side of that?"

"Indeed. They chased us and tried to kill us."

"Bye!" said Runt, and he turned to jog up the beach.

Hal considered following him, but he knew nothing of this land, and the warship, though dangerous, was at least familiar.

The boat grounded, and everyone piled in. The Stalyans greeted Berry and Dallow, then clapped the Methusians on the back and thanked them. As the landing party found their seats, there was even less room than before, and they were still organising themselves when there was a deep boom from the next bay.

Hal turned to look. "What the hell was that?"

"The Intrepid," said Berry urgently. "She fires a warning signal!"

"A warning about what exactly?"

He needn't have asked, for at that moment there was a distant roar from further along the beach, and everyone stared in horror as the dwarven army charged towards them, battleaxes and armour flashing in the sun.

Runt had only made it halfway up the beach, and he now turned back and sprinted for the boat. On the way he hitched up his pants until the trouser cuffs were above his knees… much good that would do him. "Take me with you!" he shouted. "Don't leave me behind!" He reached the sea and ran straight into the ocean, leaving a foaming V-shaped wake as he disappeared under the waves. Someone reached down and hauled him into the boat, where he lay in the bottom spitting seawater into the air like a novelty fountain. "Me, I love the sea," he declared, once the water inside him was outside again. "Can't wait to sail around on it some more."

Most of the crew were aboard now, leaving only Dallow, Berry and the Methusian captain on the beach. They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the onrushing dwarves, and as the enemy got closer Berry took careful aim with his pistol… and fired.

There was a loud crack, and one of the dwarves fell. He was immediately trampled by the rest, who took not the slightest notice of their fallen comrade. Dallow fired his pistol, which missed, and then both Stalyans turned and leapt into the boat.

Captain Borosin stayed behind, a frown on his face. He was not one to flee from an enemy, and so he drew his sword and advanced up the beach, straight towards the rampaging horde.

"Where the spit is he going?" cried one of the sailors.

"Make your escape!" shouted Borosin over his shoulder. "Make your escape while I hold them up!"

Everyone stared at him in horror, for he was about to sacrifice himself to save them all.

"Well he's gained us about two and a half seconds," said Runt, who was now sitting up in the bottom of the boat. "Oops, I guess I just wasted it speaking."

Two sailors pushed the boat off the beach and leapt in, and then, as the boat reversed into the waves, the dwarves reached Borosin.

He stood no chance. His sword flashed once or twice, and then he was overrun as though by a steamroller with a dodgy handbrake, running uncontrolled down a particularly steep hill. With an elephant perched on the roof.

Axes rose and fell, and Hal winced and turned away.

Meanwhile, dozens of dwarves waded into the shallows, shouting and brandishing axes. Borosin had managed to thwart them, though, for his sacrifice had held them up just long enough.

There was dead silence in the boat, apart from the creak of the oars. The Methusians were stunned at the loss of their captain, and the Stalyans were eying them in concern, ready to offer support and sympathy… in between oar strokes.

Berry stood in the bow, one foot on the seat as he struck a pose, and his face was grim as he gazed upon Methusian and Stalyan alike. "We will honour Captain Borosin's memory, for he was a true hero. He saved every one of us."

"Aye," muttered the boat's crew, and the Methusians nodded.

Hal was still in shock at the violent death, and said nothing. He'd nearly stayed behind in this savage place! What was he thinking? He watched the dwarves, who were still gesticulating and shouting, and then he saw something that made his heart leap. Several dwarves were tossed aside from the thickest part of the crowd, and he saw Captain Borosin regain his feet! His smart red jacket was torn, there was a cut at his temple, and he'd lost several shiny little buttons off one sleeve, but as his sword flashed and gleamed the dwarves surrounding him backed away, brandishing their axes.

"He lives!" shouted Hal.

"He will live forever in our hearts," intoned Berry.

Everyone nodded.

"No, he really lives!" shouted Hal. "Look, over there on the beach!"

Everyone turned, and there was a gasp. Borosin was making his way to the ocean, fighting a rearguard action. As he reached the water's edge, he sprang up with a tremendous leap, landing with one foot on a gesticulating dwarf's shoulder. Then he leapt again, reaching a second dwarf who was up to her waist in the sea. Finally, he reached the last line of dwarves with the biggest leap yet, and after pushing off, sinking a hapless dwarf, he plunged into the ocean with a graceful dive.

He swam strongly for the boat, still clutching his sword in one hand, and willing hands dragged him on board. Meanwhile, the incensed dwarves ignored their injured and fallen comrades, and threw their axes as far as they could. The weapons raised waterspouts all around the boat, with one burying its edge into the woodwork next to Hal with a solid thunk.

The crew set to their oars like fury, until they were well out of range. Then they pulled for the headland, and the warship Intrepid waiting in the next bay.

"What an escape!" breathed Berry. "Sir, that was amazing. Breathtaking!"

"They don't know how to fight," said Borosin, with a shrug. "All show and no blows."

"Three cheers for Captain Borosin!" cried one of the Stalyan crew… and this time everyone joined in.

The angry roar from the dwarven army barely registered.