Hunnar was waiting for them, wearing a face that matched September's own. So was Williams.
Ethan had seen very little of the schoolmaster since the fighting had begun. They'd passed in hallways and occasionally joined for a meal. But as their familiarity with the language and people of Wannome grew, the need for the humans to stay together at all times had diminished. Ethan assumed that the teacher had been up in the foundry, helping the tran craftsmen in the vital business of turning out a steady stream of crossbows and bolts. He was a little surprised to see him here.
“It appears they are nearly finished, friend Skua,” said Hunnar in a worried tone. He looked resigned.. “Have a look, Sir Ethan.”
Ethan seated himself behind the crude, baroquely decorated telescope and applied his right eye to the eyepiece.
“The little knob at the right side is the focus, lad,” offered September helpfully.
“Thanks.” Ethan twisted the knob slightly and the image snapped suddenly into sharp relief. It was still fuzzy, but that was due to the crudely ground lenses and not his own eyesight. Considering what the Wannomian lens-makers had to use for sand, the telescope was a remarkable achievement.
Far back amidst the solidly anchored barbarian fleet, a great open space had been cleared. Considerable activity was occurring around a single huge, low raft. Many big logs, like those used in the stavanzer-fighting lightnings, had been tied together with heavy crossbeams. The resultant raft was one huge, crude, open deck mounted on gigantic stone skates.
“We found out about this only this morning,” September told him.
Eer-Meesach spoke from the background. “'Tis fortunate indeed that I detected the vermin, else we should have no warning at all.”
“What's it for?” asked Ethan, without removing his eye from the scope.
“I think it's pretty obvious, young feller,” replied September, “Look off to the left, at that big pile of rocks they've assembled. You might have to move the scope a bit.”
Ethan did. Yes, to the left a swarm of nomads was unloading great stones from heavily laden rafts, arranging them neatly on the ice. Sometimes two rafts were linked together to transport an especially huge rock.
“I see them,” he said.
“They're building a helluva big raft, there,” the big man continued. “Bigger than anything Hunnar or anyone here has seen. Its size and the construction that makes such size possible render it practically unmaneuverable, but that won't matter.” His mouth tightened, the protruding chin cut air.
“They'll load it to the breaking point with rocks and boulders, tons worth, put a couple of monstrous sails on the thing, haul it upwind and let it go. With the wind behind it and a good start, it'll build up a pretty speed, what? It's an obscenely big ram, is what it is.”
“Can it breach the wall?” Ethan asked quietly.
“I fear such is the case, friend Ethan,” answered Hunnar. “There is enough stone assembled now, and still they bring more. I think 'twould penetrate the wall like vol butter.”
Ethan took his face from the telescope.
“Can't you be ready to block the hole with nets and chain once the ram's gone through?”
“There is no other chain like the Great Chain that guards the harbor gate,” replied Hunnar ruefully. “They will come close behind this monster. We will try the nets, of course, but it will be very difficult. We will not know the size of the hole, nor will it be easy to bridge such a gap and secure the nets before the Horde is upon us. And still we must be ready to defend all sections of the wall, lest they swarm over us at some too-weakened point. Once they break into the harbor, we are done. They will attack the town and we will be forced to abandon the perimeter to them.” The knight looked terribly depressed. Ethan didn't feel too good right then, either.
Williams spoke to the ensuing silence: “I think we'd better tell them now.”
“But we have done it only on such a small scale,” the wizard replied. “Still, I must agree with you. It may help.”
“What are you two babbling about?” asked Hunnar sharply.
“The great wizard Williams has shown me many things,” said Eer-Meesach, ignoring Hunnar's lack of respect. “The crossbow of which your archers are so enamored, youngster, is the result of but one such thought. We have something else which may be of some use.”
“But I'm not sure how to apply it!” said Williams almost pleadingly. “We don't have the proper facilities, or time, or anything!”
“Oh well,” sighed September, “let's have a look at it, anyway. You never know.”
Chapter Ten
Many of the people in the city had been working double and triple shifts, day and night, but there was even more activity than normal in Wannome that night. If Sagyanak's spies had been able to see inside the walls of the harbor, they surely would have been puzzled at the activity that filled the shoreline and enclosed ice. Vol-oil lamps and torches shed a cautious light on the scene.
They would have been even more puzzled at the strange activities taking place in certain crannies of the mountains, sections of dark abandoned countryside and old-town, and at the huge bonfires that shocked the main square with light.
In a room far up in the great castle keep, the war council of Sofold was meeting in heated discussion.
“I say 'tis far too dangerous!” one of the nobles exclaimed. He slammed a fist onto the thick table. “'Tis too new, too alien. 'Tis not of us.”
“Nonsense!” countered Malmeevyn Eer-Meesach from his chair near the Landgrave.
“The crossbows are equally new and alien,” Hunnar riposted.
“They are not. They are but variations on our familiar longbow. But this ... this is the work of the Dark One!”
“I'm not at all that dark,” said Eer-Meesach.
“Do not be flippant, old man,” snorted the noble. “I, for one, am not overwhelmed by your learned nonsense.”
“You'll be overwhelmed, good sir,” admonished Hunnar, “if we fail to prepare for when that ram bursts into the harbor tomorrow!”
“Can it truly breach the great wall?” asked one of the knights disbelievingly.
“You have not seen it, Suletja,” said General Balavere solemnly. “It will breach the wall. Unless it should hit at too acute an angle, and I think there is little chance of that. Though,” and he paused thoughtfully, “once the ram is moving, it would take a thousand men to correct or change its course.”
“If this new thing of yours does not work as you describe,” said the old mayor of one of the larger country towns, “we shall all fall into the center of the earth.”
“I keep telling you,” September began, but he halted, spreading his hands helplessly — they'd been through this very question twice a dozen times already. “Sofold is as solid as the Landgrave's throne, and more so.”
“All this may be true,” replied the old mayor, scratching the back of his neck, “but we have only your word for it. You ask us to believe a great deal.”
“I know, I know,” September said. “If we had more time ... and this is the only chance I see.”
“Yet you say this will not stop the ram from breaching the walls.”
“No. There's no way we can stop that thing. I don't think they'd let another night expedition within a satch of the ram. But this may save us all, afterwards.”
“And if it should fail?”
“Then you're welcome to whatever Sagyanak leaves of my corpse,” the big man finished.
“Fine compensation, fine satisfaction!” laughed the other hollowly.
“General?” The Landgrave looked over at his principal military adviser, thrusting the problem squarely onto his shoulders.
“This is the most difficult decision I have ever had to make,” the old soldier began. “More so even than the first decision to fight. 'Tis because there are questions here that go above mere military matters. I must go against everything I was taught about the world as a cub. And yet ... yet ... our strange friends have be
en right about so many things. And there is always the outside chance that they will align the ram improperly, or that the wind will shift on them and it will strike the wall at an angle and not breach, mayhap even miss completely.”
“Do not avoid me, Bal,” chided the Landgrave gently.
The two old tran looked at each other carefully. Then Balavere smiled slightly. “I wouldn't do that, Tor. I recommend Sir September's plan. I should like to see this thing he promises ... even if we do all fall into the center of the world.”
“Let it be so, then,” pronounced the Landgrave.
All rose.
“By your Patience, gentlemen,” said September, “the wizard Williams and I must get down to the landings. We've a great deal to do ere the ice disgorges the sun.” He turned to Ethan. “Young feller, you'll see to the assembly of the material?”
“Right away. Oh, du Kane wants to help, too.”
“Not really?” said September. “Well, take him with you, then. I can't have the old bastard underfoot, but it's encouraging to see him recognizing the real world, at last.”
But as he started off down the hall, Ethan found himself sympathizing with du Kane and not September. He knew the financier wasn't useless, only a victim of culture shock and belief in his own omnipotence. He'd felt more than enough of similar emotions ever since they'd smashed into that first little island.
The wind from the west the next day was powerful and steady — perfect for the nomads' needs. Ethan hugged the castle wall against the gale.
The great ram had been completed some time during the night and moved out of range of even the wizard's telescope.
“Shifting it far enough to the west to get room for building speed,” Hunnar explained. “It will take that monster a dozen kijat just to build to raft speed.”
“I don't know why they bother,” said Spetember. “Even half that should be enough to knock down the wall.”
“With all respect, friend September, I suspect they desire not merely to knock down a section of wall, but to make a clean breach large enough to drive a good-sized raft through.”
“You don't think they'll try to come in on rafts, do you?” September asked. “Not that we could change things now anyway.”
“No. That would require skillful handling indeed. Even a few good-sized rocks could catch a raft, tumble it, and block the breach. As we might try to do. But individual warriors could get through despite such obstacles, and before we could bring up anything to block the gap.”
“Think not encountering something like that will make 'em suspicious?” continued the big man.
“Sagyanak, or Olox, or one like those might be taken by such thoughts. But I do not think those murderers so brave that they will be in the front line of attackers. The simple warrior will see naught but open ice between himself and the defenseless city. For animals like these, that is an irresistible temptation.”
“Let's try that flasher once again,” suggested September.
“Very well.”
There were two of the brightly polished devices at their observation position high up on the castle's south parapet, in case one should fail or break. September gave orders to the two operators.
“Tell Williams there's still no sign.”
Immediately the skilled communicators had the flashers in operation. Side mirrors brought the sun into the central reflector. An answer was blinking at them from down in the harbor almost before they'd finished.
“They acknowledge ‘very good and waiting,’ Sir.”
“Fine. Thanks,” replied the big man.
They had another hour to wait before the ram was sighted. The nomad soldiers were drawn up in their familiar crescent parallel to the harbor wall. As it had been days ago, the line was solid and unbroken. There was no indication of where the ram would come from. The concentration was, as always, heavier on the south side. No one expected the ram to come from the north or the east, into the wind. There would be no feint to this attack.
Despite the toll they'd taken among their tormentors on that first terrible day, the Sofoldian defenders were still badly outnumbered. But there were heartening signs in the barbarian line. It was still unbroken, but it no longer seemed to stretch to infinity as it had that first time.
As usual, it was Hunnar who made the first sighting.
“There! Over their heads by that dark spot on the ice.”
Ethan leaned over the wall, squinting. Almost immediately the enemy began to move away, split. A huge gap opened in the lines.
The ram was a tiny dot at first, but it grew rapidly larger. Soon it seemed as big as a stavanzer, though it was not nearly so. Still, it was plenty big, bigger than the biggest raft Ethan had yet seen. It sparkled oddly in the sun-glare.
“What's that reflection from? Not the stone, surely.”
“It is and it isn't, friend Ethan,” replied Hunnar evenly. “They've taken meltwater and poured it over the stones. Letting it freeze has turned the load into a solid, unbroken mass.”
There was silence among the Wannomian watchers, human and tran alike. The ram moved closer and closer with the deliberateness of an eclipse. No sound came from the distance, no pounding engines, no flaming rockets. The juggernaut moved mute.
Without turning, September spoke to the flasher operators. “Signal ‘standby’ to the wizards.”
The ram grew larger, seemed to leap into sharp focus. It passed through the waiting gap in the nomad ranks. Rocking with sheer speed, it came hurtling on at close to 200 kph. With a roar, the barbarian crescent started forward in its wake.
“Brace All!” sounded the cry from several places along the castle battlements.
The ram struck.
The concussion climbed the walls and threw men within the castle to the ground. Ethan could hear masonry falling in the inner rooms, an occasional tinkle of breaking glass. A section of wall two towers west from the main gate erupted in a shower of stone shards. The sound of damned stone crawled inside the head and battered ears from both sides.
A rain of rock and wood splinters descended and everyone covered as best they could. Large chunks were thrown all the way across the harbor into the far wall, taking pieces out of the interior side.
The ram slid two-thirds of the way across the harbor toward that interior wall on its five remaining runners, trailing two broken masts and a sea of shredded pika-pina sailcloth. Boulders and raped wood formed ugly blemishes on the clean ice.
A clear gap showed in the wall, broad enough for tran to chivan through twenty abreast. A close-packed mob of screaming, ax-waving barbarians, thousands strong, had followed close behind the ram. They reached the walls and the breach.
Dozens of grappling hooks and scaling ladders assailed the walls, ropes were snugged tight. Howling bloodthirsty cries, others swarmed into the gap, ready to overwhelm any attempt to close it.
Those at the walls climbed up, and over. They found only empty spear-slots, deserted battle-towers. Deafening cheers rose from the entire perimeter. The interiors of the great gate towers were gained. The Great Chain was melted into place, but the antipersonnel netting was cut loose and a fresh stream of angry warriors poured in via the main gate.
Ethan saw a gaudily armored officer gain the open gap, hesitate, and look about him uncertainly, clearly puzzled at the absence of the defenders. Ethan's hand tensed on the castle parapet. But the cautious officer was swept away and into the harbor by the tight-packed river of attacking nomads.
Some of the barbarians began to run along the tops of the walls toward the castle and the city. They ran because the icepaths had been melted and hacked into uselessness. They reached a point where the wall entered the castle itself: and were halted by a solid barrier of stone and a hail of arrows from above. A few began to batter ineffectually against the walled-up entrances.
Some tried to climb the raw stone itself. They were easily picked off by the archers above. Most turned and, spreading their wings, dropped in a semi-glide to the uncontested
ice below.
The harbor was rapidly filling with screaming, thrashing warriors all milling about and looking for someone to fight. Confusion and uncertainty was beginning to take hold. The mass vacillated, shifted. Then, as one, they rushed on toward the undefended city with a horrible cry.
The entire remaining strength of the Sofoldian army met them at the shoreline.
Camouflaged barriers of rock and lines of sharpened stakes appeared, tied together by cables of barbed pika-pina rope. The tough, nearly unbreakable cord had been laboriously studded with sharpened bits of glass, wood, and metal. September and not Williams had been the one who had shown the locals how to make a fair imitation of concertina wire. A hail of crossbow bolts and arrows and spears felled hundreds of the surprised enemy in that first startling counterattack.
But it was only a last-ditch defense, screamed the nomad officers to their men! One more effort and the soft city-folk must surely collapse! The great wave swept forward again to lose more hundreds to a barely covered deep ditch filled with sharpened stakes, tipped with vol dung, and other poisons. The concealed moat was quickly filled with moaning, twisting bodies.
Yes again, urged the garishly garbed captains, the resplendent field officers! A last charge to sweep away the fatally weakened defenders! Yet a third time the nomad mass trundled forward, slammed into the Sofoldian line. Hand-to-hand combat sprang up at isolated points along the shore, the barbarian Horde gaining a centimeter at a time, the length of every spear and sword bitterly contested.
From high on the castle battlements, September calmly said, “Ready now” to his communicators. An acknowledging series of flashes came from a tiny house now perilously close to the front line.
Meanwhile more of the enemy poured into the harbor, slowed as they ran into their fellows. There must have been ten thousand pressing inexorably against the thin Sofoldian defenses, with more arriving each second, every tran a pillar of hatred and fury.
“Now,” said September quietly. The message was flashed to the waiting receivers. The flasher operators had guts. They didn't drop and kiss stone until they were certain the command had been received.
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