apart by claw, tooth, or sword.
'Throw me a rope,' shouted Tammsel, bashing aside goblins as he made his way farther down the tree.
Lord Purdun obliged, finding a coiled pile of woven hemp wrapped in one of the battle boxes on the back of the archer's platform. Twisting the end into a quick knot, the crusader twirled the rope over his head and let it fly.
Tammsel grabbed the flying rope out of the air. He was about a quarter of the way down, and he dived in, disappearing among the thick branches and needles, dragging the rope with him. A moment later, he came out the other side, the rope wrapped around the trunk of the tree.
Tying it securely, Tammsel dashed back up to the wall. Behind him, the goblins filled the vacated space, not quite sure what to make of the rope. A few stopped to pick at it, but the rest clamored on, for the inside of Zerith Hold.
Leaping over the wall, Tammsel grabbed the other end of the rope and ran down the platform.
'Pull with me,' he shouted.
Lord Purdun wrapped the rope around his arm and leaned back. 'You men there,' he ordered, 'grab hold. We're going to pull the tree sideways and free it from the wall.'
Archers dropped their bows. Guardsmen sheathed their swords. All of them chipped in to pull the tree away from the hold.
'One, two, three,
The men added their strength to that of the two crusaders, one after another grabbing hold of the rope. They lined up along the platform, pulling the tree toward the south end of the wall, hoping to dislodge it.
All the while the goblins continued their climb.
'Pull!'
The men groaned as they struggled against the hundred-year-old tree. It was thick and heavy, and it was wedged hard against the stone wall.
'Harder!' shouted Purdun.
The tree lurched a few feet, shaking loose a handful of goblins.
'Again!'
The goblin climbers reached the top of the tree and dropped inside. Swarms more approached the top, and behind them, a hundred others. Gone were the deep green needles of the ancient tree-replaced by a sea of yellow, sloshing up the crude bridge.
'If you want to live to see another day, then pull, damn you!' shouted Lord Purdun.
The rope creaked under the strain. The men gasped and wailed, giving everything they had, pulling with all of their might. Purdun's knuckles grew white, his face red, his legs wobbling from the strain.
There was a deep, hollow grinding sound, and the men all fell backward, the rope going slack as the tree tore loose. They could hear the goblins scream as they plummeted to the ground.
Then the rope went taut again as the falling tree continued on.
'Let go! Let go!' shouted Tammsel.
The men did as ordered, releasing their grip on the rope and letting it slide away.
The rope slithered down the platform, picking up speed as it went. Its tail whipped back and forth, snapping and tearing at the flesh of the guardsmen and crusaders as it sailed past.
A coil at the end wrapped itself around a soldier's leg, binding then dragging him along. The poor man let out a shout of surprise, then he was gone, pulled over the side by the weight of the ancient tree crashing to the ground.
Lord Purdun got to his feet, charging into the thirty or so goblins who had managed to make it to the platform before their crude ladder was pulled sideways. His sword and bow lying somewhere on the ground, he had little choice but to fight with his fists.
Balling up one hand, he punched the first goblin he encoun shy;tered right in his crooked, pointy nose. The little yellow beast squealed as it was knocked backward onto its rump.
'Sword!' shouted Tammsel.
Lord Purdun turned around to see a polished steel long sword flying through the air. Grabbing it out of the sky, he turned back to slash down two more goblins-one on each side of him.
The other crusaders and guardsmen had gotten themselves up off the floor and were wading into the fray as well. The half-steel dragon joined in, and they pushed the invaders back. Step by step they cleared the archer's platform, tossing the bodies over the side and into the moat as they went.
When the final goblin had been dispatched, Purdun dropped to one knee to catch his breath. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and brushed his sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes with his other.
Tammsel handed him a sheepskin full of water.
Purdun nodded his thanks as he looked up at his long shy;time friend. They had been in a lot of fights together. Most of them had involved defending then-Baron Valon Morkann from the Duke of Dusk and the agents of Tethyr. The cru shy;saders had stopped four attempts on Valon's life. They had kept him around long enough to see him become king of the newest nation in Faerыn-Erlkazar.
Now here they were, defending their new country from deep inside its borders.
Purdun poured the cool liquid over his face and into his mouth. It mixed with the dirt and perspiration, turning it salty.
'Do you think we'll ever see the end to the fighting in Erlkazar?' he asked, handing the skin back to Tammsel.
The half-steel dragon shrugged. 'Maybe not in our lifetime.' He took a drink of water. 'It's hard starting a new country, and the Baron Valon-'
'He's
'Ah, yes,' replied Tammsel, 'I've called him 'baron' for so long, I still haven't taught myself to make the change.'
'Just don't let him hear you say that.'
Tammsel smiled. 'He hasn't had the title even a year. I suspect he sometimes makes the mistake himself.'
'They're coming over the back wall!' shouted a messenger in the courtyard.
Lord Purdun jumped to his feet and grabbed Tammsel by the arm. 'Come on.'
The two crusaders ran down the steps, through the courtyard, and directly into the center of Zerith Hold. The interior was quiet and unoccupied. The grand halls and ornately appointed dining rooms had been left as they were before the goblin army had reached the gates. It felt odd, seeing the tables set for dinner and the tapestries neatly hanging on the walls, while outside a war raged.
Through the reception areas, Purdun and Tammsel ran for the other end of the hold, toward the armory and barracks. The doors to all the officers' quarters were open with no one inside. The sound of fighting echoed down the stone hallway as they closed in on the back gate.
Through the stables, the two men burst out into the mustering grounds. One of their fellow crusaders, Rysodyl Boughstrong-the most muscular elf Purdun had ever encountered-was leading the defense. He had a sword in each hand, and pointed one at an oncoming goblin, then lopped its head off with the other.
The mustering grounds were used exclusively by Lord Purdun's army. Mounted units gathered there before heading out on patrols. It had been added onto Zerith Hold when it became clear that the army was going to outgrow the two-hundred-year-old keep's existing barracks.
The gate was heavily guarded, but the wall wasn't as high there as it was at the portcullis off the main court shy;yard, or the rest of the hold. The original, higher wall was where the stables emptied out and was a fallback point in case the mustering grounds were overrun-and that time was at hand.
Goblins rolled over the wall at two points, dropping down in front of the blades of the troops waiting below. So far, they hadn't managed to get more than a few of their number over at any one time, and Boughstrong had the situation well in hand. He stood beside the other men, slicing up the goblins one at a time as they came.
'How are they getting over the wall?' shouted Purdun, his voice competing with the squealing of a dying goblin. 'The tree ladders again?'
Boughstrong shook his head. 'No. They're forming goblin pyramids, kneeling atop each other's backs to let others climb over. It's not happening everywhere yet, but only because the main force hasn't figured out they can
