Chapter 10 - The Lone Tower

“More bolts!” Private Geoff cried out. “More bolts, over here!”

Although he wasn’t sure if it even mattered at this point. He glanced over the wall. Most of the gnolls had already pushed through the winding canyon below to make it to the front gates. Now, there was just that big bastard of a giant down there still. Throwing boulders up at the fort, and so Geoff was still raining bolts down on that bastard. But now he was wondering if he should have joined the other crossbowman up at the front gates. There was only him and a few other stragglers left on the back side of the fort now, and he wasn’t sure if their bolts were doing a lick of good to that damn giant.

Geoff fired his crossbow anyway. Even a couple hundred feet down, that big, dumb bastard was easy enough to hit. The giant held its arm up over its face, as the bolt came down like it was little more than an annoyance. Geoff had lost track of how many he had shot at it now, at least a quiver full.

“More bolts! Need more bolts over here!” Where was that damn runner? Just one bolt left now. He’d make sure he’d shoot that giant right through the eye. Make this last one count.

Geoff leaned over the wall to fire. The giant wasn’t covering its face anymore. It was holding a boulder. The giant roared as it spun around, launching it at the wall. Geoff watched as it sailed slowly through the air. At first it didn’t even look real, too big and traveling too slow to really be moving through the air, but as it got closer and closer Geoff’s eyes went wide, realizing it was coming right for him.

Geoff looked around to his left and right. The others had already all ran while he froze with indecision. Left or right? Either direction would have sufficed, but he couldn’t decide. Left or right, he couldn’t make his feet move. Geoff opened his mouth to scream, his chance to choose had passed.

*******

Morten licked his dry lips, swearing he could taste the copper tinge of blood in the air along with the smoke. Morten ran on with the others, favoring his left ankle. They were almost to the western tower now, he could see it just up ahead. Thankfully, it was still in one piece, although they had run past several sections of crumbled walls.

Even though his heart was still pounding in his chest, he took some small measure of reassurance seeing the faces of the rest of the squad. He was relieved they had all managed to make it past the front gates still in one piece. Everyone except Corporal Higgins. There was no telling whether he was dead or if that coward had just ran off somewhere and hid.

Morten looked up and saw a scattered handful of soldiers on the wall above him shooting crossbows, but most of the soldiers had left to defend the front gates. He wondered how the fighting was going there. He doubted he could see anything from here, but turned to steal a quick glance over his shoulder while he ran.

There was a sudden crash right next to him. Then the wall exploded in a rain of bricks. A crossbowman above him let out a scream that was quickly silenced, as he disappeared in the explosion of bricks. Morten threw himself forward, landing hard on his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs.

A giant boulder made a dull thud that shook the earth as it landed behind Morten, rolled a few paces, then stopped. Bricks clattered as they slid down into a pile on the ground. The wall was little more than a pile of bricks and rubble now, half the height it just was.

“By Vesenia, come on! We have to hurry before it takes the tower down too!” Sergeant Donovan yelled, then stepped forward, kicking the tower door in. Morten swallowed, trying to ignore how close the boulder had landed to him. Then he got up and followed the others inside the tower.

Morten could tell something was off as soon as he entered the tower. He was greeted by a chill breeze and the metallic tinge of blood was thick in the air.

“Well, that’s new.” Finn said.

Morten wasn’t sure if he was referring to the gaping hole in the wall opening out into the night sky, or the giant boulder sitting in the middle of the two cells.

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” Big Duncan pinched his nose.

“Giles?” Morten ran up to the cell, grabbing the iron bars and peered inside. Black ichor spread out in a pool, glistening with reflected moonlight. A strange shape covered in shadows, stuck out from one side of the pile of rocks. Morten leaned forward on hands and knees to take a closer look. It was Giles, or what was left of him. Only his body from the shoulders up lay outside the boulder. His arms were broken, bent at too many angles, and splayed out in front of him like he was futilely trying to crawl away. A few fat flies buzzed lazily around what was left of his face. Morten tried not to look at it, didn’t want to remember him like that. What was left looked more like a swollen plum that had fallen from a tree than a person. But it was seared into his mind now, branded right behind his eyelids, even sharper and clearer than the fuzzy memories left of his mother’s face.

“Oh, hello!” A voice called from out of nowhere.

Morten jumped as the Inquisitor’s prisoner came out of the shadows in the corner of his cell then leaned nonchalantly against the iron bars. His skin was pale and gaunt in the moonlight.

“This was the Inquisitor’s prisoner you were talking about?” Finn asked.

“Yeah. What should we do with him?” Morten asked, he had nearly forgotten about him.

“Nothing. We’ve no time to babysit and have our own mission to take care of.” Sergeant Donovan’s voice boomed from behind him.

Heimrich looked up at the stone ceiling. “The structural integrity of the tower is still intact... for now, but we need to hurry and move the ballista before it collapses.” Then he looked at the prisoner. “If it does... In all honesty, it’s probably a better fate than whatever the Inquisition has in store for him in Castillea.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve contemplated taking a swan dive out that hole a few times already. Haven’t quite worked up the courage yet, but... the night is still young.” The prisoner said, with a strange grin that unnerved Morten. How could he smile at a time like this? And with Giles’s smashed body right next to him.

“Come on, let’s go.” Sergeant Donovan said. Then he went up the stairs, and the others shuffled behind him. Morten started after them, but paused in the doorway, looking back at the prisoner.

“Listen... I don’t have a key, but if we survive the night... I’ll make sure you aren’t forgotten about in here.” Morten’s cheeks flushed red as soon as he finished saying that. He wasn’t sure why he did, he was just a Private after all, not like he could make any decisions about anything, but he couldn’t help but feel pity for the prisoner.

The prisoner let out a hollow laugh that echoed throughout the room, then ran his long, slender fingers over the iron bars. “Oh, I’m probably safer in here than you are, from the looks of it. Might be nice to have these bars between me and the gnolls once they make it inside. They can save me last, for dessert.”

Before Morten could think about the truth to what the prisoner just said, there was a sudden, bone-shaking crash that rocked the foundations of the tower. Morten fell forward, grasping the iron bars just in time to stop from sprawling forward on his face. Bricks fell from the crumbling hole in the wall, and it was several long seconds before the tower stopped shaking.

“Come on, Private Morten! Let’s go!” Sarge’s voice bellowed from the stairwell.

“Don’t waste your time worrying about this miserable wretch.” The prisoner said, then he nodded towards the stairs. “Best go follow your friends.”

Morten turned and shuffled up the stairs, trying to ignore the pain in his ankle.

*******

Morten crested the top of the stairs, nearly crashing right into Big Duncan.

“Hey, watch it!” He said as he lumbered past, carrying two big wooden crates stacked on top of one another.

“S-sorry.” Morten took a step back down the stairs to make room before climbing up. It was dark and cramped in here, full of stale, dusty air that smelled like rotting wood and old leather. It was lit only by a few small windows above them and Sarge’s guttering torch, which cast long, flickering shadows around the room.

“Come on, Morten, give me a hand with this, will ya?” Finn said, motioning to a wooden box. Morten went to help him. Even though it was the same size of just one of the boxes Duncan was carrying, it took the two of them to lift it.

“Where the fuck is Corporal Higgins? Gods dammit!” Sarge yelled, smashing his fist on a crate next to him. “I’ve had it with that coward! If I find out he’s alive after this, I’m going to see to it that he’s locked up in there next to Giles!”

“Hurry and finish clearing a path. I’ll start getting her ready.” Heimrich said. He squeezed through the stacks of tightly packed boxes, making his way towards a strange shape in the corner, covered by a dusty, brown tarp. Heimrich pulled the tarp from it, filling the room with a cloud of dust. Morten started coughing, nearly dropping the box he and Finn were carrying.

Once the dust finally cleared, Morten took a moment to stare at the ballista. He couldn’t help but admire it, it was as much a piece of art as it was a marvel of engineering. Far beyond compare to any machine he’d seen created by human hands. The sleek, curved metal of the bow arms, the sturdy, angular frame, even the intricate gears of the cranking mechanism, all had a slight greenish tinge; a dwarven alloy Heimrich had said was called mithril. Besides the standard bow arms on the sides, there was a third one that ran vertically for extra power. On the front of the ballista, where the three arms intersected, was a figurehead of a dwarf’s bearded face, hammered from a solid piece of mithril. The bolts were loaded through a slot in its mouth, and all fired under its stern and watchful gaze.

Although the entirety of the machine was scrawled in ornate runes embossed in silver, there were others by the cranks and levers that were painted bright red, orange, or yellow; command runes that explained the operation of the device.

Only Heimrich knew how to read any of those. Heimrich had explained some of them to Morten once, and now he desperately wished he had paid more attention. Just a bigger version of a crossbow... Morten almost laughed at his thought from earlier. This was not as simple as pointing and pulling the trigger. He wasn’t even sure where the trigger on this thing was.

Morten couldn’t believe the dwarves had just given away something so priceless as a gift. Heimrich had said one of the dwarves they’d rescued was the son of some rich dwarven king or merchant or merchant-prince, he couldn’t remember. Wasn’t sure how Heimrich even knew how to speak dwarven in the first place and had never thought to ask. He’d have to make sure he did if they survived the night. He’d make a better effort to get to know everyone from his squad if they survived... even Finn.

“Hey! Come on! What are you waiting for?” Finn’s voice piped. Morten hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving completely.

“Sorry.” Morten mumbled, then continued walking backwards, carrying the heavy wooden crate. He couldn’t help it, the bigger the danger, the more his wandering mind searched for ways for him to escape from the present.

They stepped onto the wall outside into the chill air. There was a narrow walkway, with several wooden crates already stacked on the far end. Morten walked backward towards them as quickly as he could.

Smoke hung thick in the air, obscuring the view to the front gates, but he could still hear the clash of steel, screams of men, and howling laughter of the gnolls from here. He was grateful he wasn’t at the front gates, even though he still knew an errant boulder could crush him at any moment. At least it seemed, they had stopped for now.

Morten smiled as he mused at the strange twist of fate. They had saved a group of dwarves from a gnoll ambush, and now the dwarves’ gift would be saving them from the gnolls. He wondered what the Inquisitor would say if he knew their only hope for salvation tonight came from the dwarves.

Morten wasn’t an overly devout person and held Vesenia in the same regard as the other gods and goddesses of Ossory. He hadn’t really questioned his religious beliefs too deeply before, and probably wouldn’t have at all had the Inquisitor not shown up on the same night that they needed to use a dwarven ballista.

Morten wondered how the dwarves and other sub-humans could be as bad as the Inquisition said, if they could create things as intricate and beautiful as this. The Inquisition said that dwarves were nothing but greedy, covetous miners; focused only on worldly riches and nothing else. Yet, they had given them this ballista as a gift.

“Hey! Watch out behind you!”

Morten cried out in pain as his already injured ankle smacked against something hard, wrenching him sideways. He toppled over, dropping the wooden box and falling toward the ledge. A nauseating wave of vertigo pulsed through him as he watched the crate fall down into the courtyard below before shattering in an explosion of wood and horseshoes. Finn’s hand on his shoulder had been the only thing stopping him from tumbling over the edge and joining the smashed box below.

“Come on, Morten, watch where you’re going. Get it together!” Finn said.

“T-thanks Finn.” Morten said sheepishly.

“Come on, let’s go.” Finn said. Morten followed him back inside the tower.

There was a path for the ballista cleared now, no doubt mostly all thanks to Big Duncan, who leaned against the wall breathing heavily. Sarge stood over the ballista, holding a torch for Heimrich, who labored over the machine with the care and patience of a midwife.

“Almost ready.” Heimrich said. He poured some oil on the gears of the machine, then checked the cables connected to the bow arms. Once he was satisfied, he nodded at Sarge, then pulled one of the side levers.

“Get pushing, lads!” Sarge said, holding his torch aloft.

Morten grunted as he pushed on the front of the ballista with Finn, but it wasn’t until Big Duncan lent his strength that the heavy metal contraption creaked and finally began to budge. Heimrich steered it from the back while the other three pushed on it from the front.

There was a dull rumble, and then the entire tower floor trembled.

“What was that?” Morten asked.

“You felt it too?” Big Duncan asked.

“There it is again!” Finn yelled, as the foundations of the tower trembled a second time. A thin stream of dust fell from above, leaving a silver thread through a beam of moonlight from the window. Then it came again a few seconds later, shaking the entire tower. It was a different kind of tremor than the boulders. Not as severe, but more constant, every few seconds, with a steady, thumping cadence, like a marching drum.

“Get that fucking thing outside now! On the double!” Sarge yelled. “Whatever that is, it doesn’t sound good.”

*******

This doesn’t sound good.

Malfus braced himself against the side of his cell. A few loose bricks tumbled from the broken wall between the cells as the shaking grew stronger. Even the boulder next to him trembled with each new shake, making a sickening, wet sound as it ground the corpse underneath it into a fine paste. The entire tower was shaking now, like a twig swaying in the breeze. Malfus could hear something else now as well, a strange sound coming from below, like two rocks being cracked together.

Go on. Look outside, just take a tiny little peep.

Malfus ignored the voice inside his head and pressed himself further against the wall. There was a growing pit of dread sawing his stomach in half as each second in between the shaking of the tower stretched out for an eternity.

Malfus choked on his breath, his throat was paralyzed with fear as he watched something slowly rise into view from outside of the hole. At first it looked like another section of wall, or a massive gray stone being pushed up from the outside. It kept moving upward, higher above the ledge, rising in time with the tremors shaking the tower until it began to cover the hole, slowly blocking the moonlight from outside.

A smaller sphere of glistening black onyx appeared on its surface as more of it rose into view. Malfus squinted from the shadows, trying to take a closer look at the strange stone. Then the dark sphere rotated around inside the larger gray stone, and... blinked.

That’s no rock. Malfus swallowed and pushed himself so hard against the bricks behind him he could feel their jagged edges dig into his back.

More of the giant’s terrifying visage game into view. Another black eye, then a craggy outcropping for a nose, and finally, a mouth twisted into a sneer on its rocky face. Its head was nearly as big as the hole itself and even taller than that big brute of a soldier than was just in here. Big enough to swallow me whole, at least. Hopefully, he won’t even have to chew very much.

Its black eye squinted as it and peered in at its earlier handiwork. Then the tower shook as it moved its head away from the hole. Bricks crumbled around the edges as the giant stuck an outstretched finger through it, as wide as a tree trunk. It touched the rock, rolling it forward. There was a faint popping sound as Giles’s head burst like a ripe melon. The giant let out a laugh that started as a dull rumble that grew into a roar that sounded like a landslide. Malfus covered his ears as the terrible sound shook the walls of the tower and reverberated in his ribcage.

Malfus coughed suddenly. The laughter stopped. Malfus quit covering his ears and covered his mouth instead, pressing himself against the wall and thinking very small thoughts. Thinking about being a tiny louse hiding in the dust. He was just a tiny insect. Too small and insignificant to be seen.

Go on. Jump out and wave your arms. Show him you’re here. Give him something else to laugh about. He can smash you like the tiny bug you are and make sure your time with the Inquisitor is at an end. No more Inquisition to worry about. No torture. Just a little squish. Malfus shook his head, tried to shake the thought away as he covered his mouth. Shut up! Shut up!

It stuck its nose through the hole, sniffed once, then again. Air rushed past Malfus, pulling at his long hair and tattered robes.

Then the giant paused, a silence stretched out, as the giant didn’t take another breath. Malfus didn’t dare breathe either, even though it felt like his burning lungs were about to burst. Malfus closed his eyes and pressed against the side of the wall until his face hurt. He wished he could turn himself incorporeal like a wraith and slip right through the wall.

The silence was finally broken as it took another deep breath and then exhaled a gust of wind that filled the entire tower floor with a foul odor that smelled like sour milk and wet earth. It muttered something to itself in its language that sounded like rocks grinding together. Then the tower started shaking again.

Malfus held his breath for a few more seconds, until his lungs felt like they were about to burst. Then he finally allowed himself a few short, rasping gasps. His legs were shaking uncontrollably, and it was several more seconds before Malfus gathered the courage to look over at the hole again. The giant’s face was no longer there. Instead, just a wall of gray flesh, as dark and hard as the stone bricks around it. The torso slowly moved higher as it climbed up the tower.

Ugh... I hope I don’t have to see its giant...

*******

“What is that?” Morten asked, looking up.

“I don’t know! But it’s getting worse!” Finn squeaked as he looked around at the walls frantically. The whole tower was swaying now like a shaft of wheat in the breeze.

“Hurry up, lads! Get this thing outside!” Sarge yelled. The flame of his torch guttering as he motioned to the door behind them.

But Morten and the others had stopped pushing and were looking up. The bricks of the wall above them pressed inward, like a potter pushing his thumbs into wet clay. Dust fell from the ceiling as wooden rafters creaked above them. Then it got dark as something covered one of the windows.

Heimrich clutched onto the ballista as he looked at the mortar crumbling off the bricks. “Get away from the walls!” He yelled, but it was too late.

A crash split the air like thunder, as the wall of the tower exploded in an eruption of bricks and a blur of motion too fast for the eye to follow. Morten turned away and covered his face with his hands as rock shards pelted him. Wooden boxes splintered and cracked apart, and then there was a hollow pop followed by a wet, slapping sound. Something warm sprayed his face, and he backpedaled until he tripped over a crate and sprawled on his back.

When the dust settled, he wiped his face with his hand and saw blood. Then he looked up to see a pair of legs standing where Sergeant Donovan had just been, but the rest of him... was just gone. All that was left was a pinkish smear of meat and chainmail splattered on the far wall across from them. A crimson spurt of blood arced up toward the ceiling, then the legs toppled over, falling onto the floor, kicking like a headless chicken.

Then Morten saw the giant’s horrible face leering at them through the new hole in the side of the tower.