Page 37 of Tribute to the Alien Warlord

"We need to dry this," I told Ammalia, "lest somebody slips and breaks their neck."

"Yes, Lady Alahna," she said, pulling out a small notepad.

Soon, water dripped down the walls, and I realized we must be underneath the Dark Sea, and shuddered.

"This needs to be fixed," I pointed at the dripping water while Ammalia kept up with her notes. I wondered when last somebody came down here. Brogan's palace was built in part atop the basement. If the foundation cracked, it could take the entire stronghold down.

Thankful to have something else to think about besides the Vandalls, I kept following the servant until we reached an enormous room, where she turned a knob and lit the first gas torch. Instantly, the others sprang to life, going down a wall so long, I couldn't see the other end of it.

Bunkbeds, four layers high, stood on each wall, in rows of two and in the center, filling the space for I don't know how many yards.

On top of each bunk stood a small trunk, which I suspected all held the same contents. I opened the one closest to me to find a pillow, furs, and blankets. The trunks were sturdy enough that I doubted any water would have gotten into them, but it was damp and cold down here.

"Are there any fireplaces?" I asked the servant.

She pointed at the ceiling where I now noticed long pipes running up and down. "We need to turn the main burner on. It will warm the water inside the pipes,” she explained while leading me to another room, which was not as massive, but housed a burner taking up the entire space.

She fiddled with more knobs while I watched her before she opened a hatch to light a fire inside.

Thyre was blessed with a seemingly endless reservoir of gas, deep down in the planet's core. It had been discovered long ago and was now used as the main source of light and warmth, at least here in Grymburg, and I suspected in the other domains of the warlords as well. We still used wood and candles at Dreaming Summit.

While the girl showed me more rooms—which included a leisure room large enough to accommodate many of the incoming guests, as well as toilets, and washrooms—I instructed the others to take inventory of as many trunks as they could to ensure none of the items had been damaged.

Thewindhowledmercilesslyaround me, so strong it even lifted my heavy fur cape occasionally, but I was too preoccupied to notice or be annoyed.

"There have to be hundreds of them." Cassair cursed, handing me the spyglass back, through which we had been observing our enemies' progress.

They floated silently on their large longboats, propelled by the wind, closing in on our beach.

"Are the archers ready?"

"They are awaiting your command, Warlord," Cassair assured me.

I had ordered all the battlements to be manned by archers instead of meeting the enemy on the beach. Over the course of many seasons, we had trained for various scenarios of an enemy attacking my stronghold. One such scenario called for spreading my soldiers out along the shoreline. Unfortunately, the amount of longboats indicated an army too large for us to fight off at the beach.

Even if we slaughtered the majority of Vandalls, too many would make it up the incline for us to fight.

I had never seen a Vandall army this large, and even though my blood pumped hotly inside my veins at the prospect of a good fight, as any warlord's would, I wasn't about to send my warriors out to be slaughtered when Grymburg Stronghold could hold them off easily enough for at least a season.

"Did the messengers make it out?" I asked Cassair.

"First thing, Warlord." He nodded. "I saw them personally off."

"Good."

The riders were already on their way to our khazar and closest warlords to request assistance and to warn them of the army assembling at my coast.

It would take the riders longer than normal to reach their destination, if they made it at all. The cold season was merciless, and no male could withstand it for longer than a few hours at a time, which made me wonder how the Vandalls had fared during their journey and why they would come seeking a fight in the middle of the cold season. It was unheard of.

"That is a large army," Cassair muttered, and I agreed. Each longship held a crew of at least fifty, and there were hundreds of them. Too many for me to fight alone, no matter how great my warriors were.

It would take weeks before reinforcements arrived, maybe even longer. Nobody had ever raised an army during the cold season, not in recent memory anyway.

"Why would they possibly attack now?" Cassair voiced my thoughts. "They have to be losing males by the hundreds every day."

"Something is off," I remarked, noting the minimal movement on the ships. The dreaded longboats were close enough to see with the naked eye now and should be teeming with Vandalls taunting us and crying their eerie war cries that could chill the blood of the most seasoned warrior.

Instead of pulling to the shore, the ships began to anchor just out of range of our archers, otherwise, I would have already ordered fire volleys to rain down on them. Burning their ships from a distance appeared to be the best option, although not honorable.

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