The men nodded or grumbled their agreement.
The trees grew nearer, and the men pulled their bowstrings tight.
'Wait for it.'
The tree rose, reaching up for the top of the wall and revealing beneath the goblins who held it aloft.
'Fire!'
Arrows rained down again, puncturing the goblins' soft bodies. They fell over, dead on impact, slumping to the ground like blades of grass under a huge foot. The tree grew unbalanced as fewer hands steadied it. It swayed sideways, then toppled over as they lost control. It rolled as it dropped to the ground, crushing the yellow-skinned goblins underneath it and exposing those who had previously enjoyed its cover.
A cheer went up from the wall as the tree fell. The goblins scrambled around beside their makeshift ladder, trying to lift it back into place, but the archers on the wall picked them to pieces.
'They're coming!' came a shout, followed by two huge thuds and the sound of wood splintering.
Turning around, Purdun's blood ran cold. Two trees had gone down under their concentrated fire, but the other two had hit home. They rested against the outside of Zerith Hold, a line of goblins climbing through their branches on their way up.
'Pour the oil!' ordered Purdun.
Four huge men made their way down the platform. They carried between them a thick log, from which hung an iron caldron bubbling over with animal fat, tree sap, and oil. They moved carefully, for the caldron had been hanging over an open fire. One misstep and they would be scorched on the slick metal—or worse, under a flood of scalding, sticky oil.
The goblins charged up the side of the trees, quickly drawing closer to the top of the wall.
'Hurry,' shouted Purdun.
The caldron arrived just as the first goblin topped the tree.
Dropping his bow, Purdun pulled his long sword out of its scabbard, cutting the yellow-skinned vermin in two with his draw. Stepping up on the crenellation, he took down two more goblins, knocking them off the tree to their death far below.
'Pour it,' he shouted, jumping back down to the archer's platform.
The four men lifted the log and tipped the caldron over the side. The melted fat and oil oozed out over the stone and down the side of the tree. A gush of foul broth splashed over the climbing goblins, blistering their flesh, cooking them alive. Their skin sizzled as the oil and pitch stuck to their bodies, and half a dozen goblins toppled away from the wall.
Purdun grabbed a lit torch from a nearby sconce and tossed it onto the toppled tree. The oil ignited, catching slowly at first, but then erupting into a huge blue flame.
As the flame followed the oil trail down the trunk of the tree, forcing the goblins to abandon their climb to the top, a second cheer went up along the wall.
But the celebration was cut short by the sound of swords clashing and men dying.
Goblins had reached the top of the second tree, and they poured over the crenellation onto the platform. The first few to reach the top had been cut to shreds, but their numbers quickly became overwhelming. Guardsmen thrashed about, goblins hanging from their shoulders and backs. Crusaders engaged three and four of the invaders at a time, cutting them down as quickly as they could. But they kept coming, flooding over faster than they could be killed.
A roar filled Purdun's ears as Jivam Tammsel bounded into the fray. With each swipe of his hand, he killed a goblin. With each step he took, another fell from the wall. With each breath, he bit down on another of the invaders, tearing its flesh from its bones.
The men rallied behind the half-elf, half-steel dragon, drawing strength and courage from the crusader's raw anger and power.
The goblins seemed to sense the shift in the tide of the battle. They began to scatter, running down the platform, dropping their weapons and looking for places to hide. Crusaders and guardsmen chased them down, cutting the goblins to pieces as they stopped to cower in the corners or against the stone.
Tammsel cut through three more goblins before taking a huge step and leaping over the edge of the wall. His broad shoulders disappeared from view, then the sound of goblins dying drifted over the crenellation.
Landing firmly on the leaning tree, he let out a second roar—right in the face of the oncoming invaders. A few had the courage to face the half-steel dragon, and they were rewarded with a quick, painful death, their bodies torn 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.
