Part 8 “The Legend”

(Co-written by Blaze, http://lessthan141.blogspot.com/ )

Dartac brushes off a bench and perches there, “First off, you have to forgive me but I always believed that the Stormguard in the tales was one of my kind, a Dwarf.  Although, his height was exaggerated, I figured that like my nephew Igarr he was just a big Dwarf.”  Drawing out his pipe and tamping then lighting it from the forge, Dartac inhales a huge drought of the smoke and expels it from his nostrils. The pale blue smoke smells of bay and rum and something my nose doesn’t recognize.

“Stormvault,” he began, “was a fatted calf of a city, and the Lord there was a half-elven princeling more interested in his library and his vines than he was in the stewardship of his city, which made it ripe for picking by the likes of a demon spawn general like Adrian of Cliffhaven.  Part orc, part human and all greed the general was always spoiling for the land of his neighbors and he was ready to crack the walls of Stormvault like you’d crack the shell of a crab, to get at the meat.

“The soft folks of the city would have simply opened their gates, except for the mercenary brigade of the Swiftblades.  (Who, forgive me, but I always thought you were all dwarves.)  That aside, as the thousand strong army of the dread warlord Adrian approached the walls of Stormvault, and the civilians huddled in the fragile safety of the inner bailey, Stormguard,” he gestured at the man before them, “well, you.  – Did you have a beard at least back then?”  

I shake my head, beards are a handle for the enemy to grab, and they tend to pinch in the chin strap of your helm or get caught in the hinge-works of your gorget.

Dartac shakes his head sadly, as if beardlessness strikes him as a palsy, and he feels bad for them who do not sport a fringe at their chin.  “Where was I?  Yes, as that ill favored horde of Adrian rumbled endlessly toward Stormvault, the general astride his war wurm, and the goblins and ogres snapping whips at the slaves who dragged the siege towers and war machines inexorably toward the city...” again he drew on his pipe and caused a wreath of pale blue to join the air around us with his words,  “This fellow...  Stormguard, fearless and battle-tempered, strode the palisades about the Western Gate, now called the Lion Gate – on account of his great deeds, giving all his fellows and those few city guards who knew their duty” a cough and a whispered, “dwarves of course,” before he resumed the tale, “hope that they would make it through to the morning.”

I roll my eyes.

“The people of Stormvault were relying too heavily on those walls for too long and on their great Greening Gate.”  Dartac cautioned his workers, “warriors make the battle, and armor makes a warrior better able to do his job.”  He puffed out the words...

“The Swiftblades knew their work, and stretched thin on the battlements, soon they were in the thick of shooting bows, knocking over siege ladders, and dumping flaming oil on the invading foe!  Despite the odds, they were doing a good job of it, too.   But numbers as well as skill have influence upon a battle, and the Adriani Horde was mighty.

“Soon the great adamant gate was feeling the ravening kiss of  battering rams, even though all around siege towers were catching fire from Swiftblade arrows.

“None scored more hits or drew more tirelessly than Stormguard himself.  He was everywhere at once!  Courage!  Courage!  He shouted to his men and to those city guard who had stood their ground (being dwarves.)

“Adrian was not to be denied however, for it was his way to hedge every bet and he was not opposed to subterfuge.  So it was that while Stormguard was deeply engaged with a several imps armed with scimitars, the adamant suddenly began to raise, and came the cry of Traitor!”

“Yes, the evil changelings of the Adriani had infiltrated the populace and now they manage to raise the adamant portcullis.  The bold defenders found access from the wall and interior to the gate house blocked, each door and hatch barricaded.  But our bold Stormguard here, was not to be denied!  Looking down from the wall he knew that the roof of the testudo beneath him covered a ram of enormous dimension, one which would make short work of the metal clad wood once the portcullis was no longer there to hamper ingress.”

“Where others might have hesitated, Stormguard cried out that he had a duty to save the city and his fellows, and he disarmed the imps and lashed them together using their wings he jumped from the battlements, and because they feared death they flapped for all they were worth, bearing him reluctantly to the roof of the testudo!” He mimed an archer pulling, his pipe the arrow, “fell archers drew and let fly at Stormguard.  One hand on the ankle of an imp, and the other holding the haft of his lightning-sword, he twisted midair, dodging the deadly flight. But three imps were not equal to the task and wings torn they plummeted to the ground below.” The dwarf’s eyes glittered in the firelight, “not our lad here!  He twisted in the air like a cat, and landed on his feet, there, before the raised portcullis and the heavy oaken doors of Stormvault, he was all that stood between the gate and the Horde which sought to ravage that fair city.  And well you know, if they took the gate, that would be all... Pale blue lightnings crackled and raised from Stormguard’s sword, skittering and playing on the blade, causing arm hairs to stand on end.

“Yes, Stormguard had a sword that was enchanted, as they say, to the hilt,” Dartac chuckled at his own joke, staccatto puffs of smoke dotting his laughter, “and it was getting ready to work the problem.”  He made a fist, as if he hefted the magic blade himself.

“Now the testudo of Adrian was covering a ram the likes of which has not been seen since.  It bore the likeness of the great head of the dread Pachycephus, the dragon who had battered his way into the vault of Queen Diedre the Miser.  It was the width of two men’s height and it took forty drow-amazons to start its swing.  Inside its frontmost parts was a fire laden kiln, and as it drew back it belched flame and bellowed as if alive.  But Stormguard here?  He had no fear of it, for he knew exactly what was to be done!”

As Dartac looks to me, I find myself wondering what pearl of wisdom this more magnificent Stormguard has than I; because faced with this scenario, I would be put upon to breathe, let alone think.  I nod to encourage him to continue this confabulation.

“Single combat!  He cried, knowing what pride the Captain of the drow women embodied.  Her swords brandished, for she fought with two weapons and no armor, bare-breasted and savage-like she danced forward, all speed and agility.  Stormguard stood, unmoving, and remarkably unmoved by her beauty now I think of it, which would have been remarkable even for a dwarven male, but nigh impossible for a mortal man.”  Here he pats my arm as if to give me an ‘atta boy.’

“She danced the dance of death, her kata, her dark hair flashing around her bare shoulders the blades blood red with ancient magics, and eyes smouldering, like the head of the ram smouldered.  But our hero did not ease his high guard, nor move, allowing her to come to him, to think he must be enraptured, or frozen in fear.  Until she makes her attack.  Then, snicker snack, like a whip cracking his sword moves - no tell to belie its courses, and her head rolls and her body drops. Dead. Dead. Dead.  The vicious Drow who had slain a thousand foes and never taken injury.  Her blood still feeds the small purple flowers that grow at the West Gate of Storm vault.” The pale blue smoke appears again and he waves it aside, “but this was no moral foe, and seeing their captain felled the infantry broke ranks and charged.

“Stormguard, like the farmer culling his wheat, sliced back and forth tirelessly, his strong arm harvesting the heads and limbs of his enemies until the bodies lay thick, and the ground was muddied and even then they came!  But this warrior who was not afraid nor outmatched stood and held that gate until his fellows could slay the traitors within, and drop the portcullis again.

“As I heard it they had to move bodies of the slain out of the way, so that the teeth could find their purchase and be locked.  Stormguard cut the chains from the ram and sent it hurtling down the hill to crush the enemy below, or scatter them, or both.  And then he scaled back to the parapets on a rope lowered by his allies.

“He alone had saved Stormvault.”  Dartac drew in one last lung full, and blew it forth, before tapping his pipe out and wiping his calloused  hands on his thick leather apron.

I wonder if there is a hero’s discount.