“Some wretched dog the Reborn King sent from down Angrääl. A man named Lord Ziri.” Lanson spoke the name with contempt. “If I could only live long enough to see him dance on the gallows.”
“You will, my friend,” promised Lee. But he struggled to put any real conviction into his voice. He knew that time was fast running out. The smell of death was thick.
“You never could lie to me, Starfinder” said Lanson. “But still, I thank you. Now stay and talk with me for a while. I miss intelligent company.”
They spoke of good times past until Lanson’s eyes were no longer able to stay open. Millet and Lee were just rising from their chairs when Jansi entered. He looked at his master with a pained expression before speaking.
“Barty and Randson are waiting for you in the parlor,” he whispered.
After leading them through the halls to the opposite end of the house, he showed them into a small room with a fire burning cheerily in the hearth. The walls were lined with paintings of Lanson’s family going back at least ten generations, while the floor was covered with a thick Dantory rug woven into hundreds of undulating swirls of color and form. Lee had admired this rug several times in the past, and even offered to buy it once.
Sitting on a couch in front of the fire were Barty and Randson. As soon as they caught sight of the arrivals they leapt to their feet and ran across the room, embracing them both in turn.
Barty had not changed, but Randson seemed older and more careworn. They were clad in black shirts and trousers, and each carried a dagger on his belt.
“It is good to see you both,” said Millet.
Barty bowed. “We are grateful to see you still alive, My Lord. There were rumors that you and Lee had been killed.”
Millet smiled. “The enemy certainly did try. But now is not the time for tales. We need to know where Angrääl keeps these new weapons that Lord Brimm spoke about.”
Everyone took a seat by the fire.
“They had been keeping them all together in a small building near to the main gate,” Barty began. “But since they heard about the elves coming they’ve spread them around to each catapult along the north and east walls. Mostly on the north. They figure the east approach is too hard for an army of any size, and the west is impossible.”
“How well are they guarded?” asked Lee.
Barty shook his head and sighed. “I’m afraid that each machine is guarded by at least ten men, and there are more than twenty machines in all.”
“With just the four of us,” said Millet, “I don’t see what we can do.”
“We have a few stout lads,” said Barty. “Friends of my son. They’ll help if needed.”
Lee thought for a moment. “How far apart are the catapults on the east wall?”
“Quite a long way,” replied Barty. “Five hundred feet or more. But they are light and easily moved. It only takes one man to use them.”
Lee recalled the catapult he had seen atop the barracks in Angrääl. “That leaves nine men to deal with. Tell me more about the weapon itself.”
“No one knows very much,” said Randson. “I’ve tried to find out, but they’re made in Kratis and then shipped south on the Goodbranch. Whatever they are, they can destroy stone, steel and wood as if they were parchment.”
“If you had one, could you use it?” asked Lee.
Randson thought for a second. “They don’t seem complicated. If they were, I doubt these dolts could use them. As far as I can tell you just need to light the wick. As soon as it burns inside the wrappings – bang - it goes off.”
“I think we’ll need your friends,” said Lee. He stood up. “The elves will be here by midday tomorrow, so we have only until then to prepare.”
Chapter 18
Lee, Randson and Barty, together with the seven men Randson had brought along, lay down in a group atop the roof of a small house near to the east wall. From this vantage point they could see the catapult clearly. It was situated about twenty feet back from the wall’s base - far enough to give plenty of clearance to launch a bolt over the top, yet near enough to ensure that most incoming arrows would fall well behind them.
Just as Randson had reported, ten men surrounded the device. Beside it lay a neat stack of white balls standing four feet high.
The remainder of Randson’s comrades were at the Brimm estate guarding Lanson, as well as a very unhappy Millet. He had argued vehemently that as Lord of the House Nal’Thain it was his duty to do his part. Nothing Lee could say would sway him. It was Randson who stepped in to remind Millet that he had not yet legally named a successor to his lands and titles, and therefore it was his duty to stay alive until he could do so. Lee could hardly contain his laughter as Millet stood speechless in the face of Randson’s irrefutable logic. More than once had Millet told Lee the very same thing during his younger and far more foolhardy days.
By using his half-man senses Lee could easily hear the conversation of the Angrääl soldiers. They were apparently unconcerned about the coming siege; their confidence in the new and deadly weapon at their disposal was absolute. In fact, many times they mentioned how they wished they’d been assigned to the north wall, just so they could see the bodies of the elves being blown to bits. Lee felt his blood boiling at such casual callousness.
He calmed his anger. The sun was now high in the sky. It was time for action.
His original plan was to have had Barty and all the others on the roof fire arrows at the soldiers, then he would charge in at ground level and quickly finish off any survivors. But Randson had come up with a better idea, and produced two stolen Angrääl uniforms that he and Lee were now wearing.
“Are you ready?” Randson whispered.
Lee nodded. The pair of them slipped down to the rear of the house, where they crept to the corner and waited. A patrol came by this spot every twenty minutes and another one was almost due. Right on schedule, three soldiers passed. They gave the catapult crew a half-hearted salute before continuing along the wall.
Once the patrol was out of sight, Lee and Randson moved out from behind the corner. It took a moment for the soldiers guarding the catapult to notice them, and even then they only glanced up casually before continuing with their conversations.
They didn’t look up again until Lee and Randson were only a few feet away. And by then, even if the soldiers had suspected what was about to happen to them, it was far too late.
In unison, Lee and Randson drew their blades. Randson stepped left and Lee to the right, so leaving a clear shot in the center for the others who were now aiming bows from the roof. A series of whizzes and thunks sounded as the missiles found their targets. Those soldiers not hit were quickly cut down before they could make a move or sound the alarm. Lee had to restrain himself from cutting them to pieces. But they needed the uniforms, and too much blood would be hard to hide. Within seconds, all of the soldiers lay dead.
By the time Barty and the others joined them, Lee and Randson were already dragging the bodies into the house. The severely dilapidated property had been abandoned some weeks ago; a stroke of luck, Lee considered. And they would need all the luck they could muster that day if they were to succeed.
While they waited for the signal announcing the arrival of the elf army, the regular patrol passed the catapult they were pretending to guard three more times. On none of these occasions did the soldiers notice that the faces of the crew were now different, or that there were blood stains on most of their uniforms.
Then they heard it. From the north wall a trumpet sounded, warning the troops that the elves had arrived. An eerie hush settled over the city.
Lee smiled warmly at Randson, Barty and the others. “Well, this is what we've been waiting for. Let's make the most of it.”
* * * * *
Gewey raised his arm, bringing the army grinding to a halt. The walls of Baltria were every bit as impressive as he had been told, and the approach equally as treacherous. He walked forward for another fifty yards, unconcerned th
at this now brought him within range of the enemy bows.
Kaylia walked beside him, her mind focused and strong. But the mood inside the city was not as Gewey expected. Normally an elf army would illicit dread and panic, but the Angrääl soldiers seemed relaxed and eager for the battle. And that did concern him.
He’d expected a few arrows to come flying his way, but none did. Instead, he heard a loud creaking and the clank of metal. Moments later, half a dozen white balls flew up from behind the wall, each with a wisp of smoke trailing behind it. Gewey almost laughed. None of these shots were going to hit him; he didn’t even need to use the flow. All of the missiles struck the ground a few yards ahead of them in a rapid succession of deep thuds.
It was then Gewey noticed a small wick protruding from one of the bolts quickly burning shorter. Something wasn’t right. Instinctively, he moved to push Kaylia behind him, but his hand had barely touched her arm when there was a huge flash and a tremendous ball of fire.
Gewey felt as if he’d been rammed by a bull.
And then there was nothing but blackness.
* * * * *
The moment the trumpet sounded, Lee and the others each grabbed two of the catapult bolts and set off speedily to their respective targets.
He arrived at the catapult nearest to the gate just as it was releasing a bolt. Hiding behind a nearby shack, he cursed the fact that he had not got there a few moments sooner.
As soon as the missile had been launched, the operator began rapidly spinning a small crank handle until the launching arm was pulled back in position ready to fire once again. From a metal tube positioned alongside the cradle, another bolt then dropped into place. Lee couldn’t help but admire the skill that had gone into the machine’s construction and design.
A series of thunderous explosions sounded, raising loud cheers from the soldiers.
“What were you thinking about?” shouted a laughing soldier atop the wall. “Did you and your woman think we would allow you to march right up to the gates by yourselves? Look at you now, fool.” He turned to the men on the ground. “If this army is full of idiots like that, it will be a short day, lads.” His mocking words were met by more harsh laughter.
Lee could guess what had just happened and dread gripped his heart. Gewey and Kaylia must have marched ahead of the army in order to break down the gates.
“Too bad we can’t shoot any farther,” said another soldier in a thick northern accent. “If we could, this would be over in time for dinner.”
Using a flint and steel, Lee quickly lit the wick to one of the bolts he was carrying. It sparked to life and a metallic smell filled the air. He waited until the wick had burned down to less than an inch long, then stepped out from behind the shack and heaved the fizzing ball at the men.
Cries of alarm instantly sprang from the soldiers as the weapon landed right amongst them. Panicked and fearful, they jostled amongst themselves in their efforts to scramble away. But it was too late. The bolt exploded, blowing them apart and their catapult to splinters. The remaining bolts beside the weapon were scattered about over a wide area. Several of them were already beginning to smolder, warning Lee that he needed to get away fast.
He had only made it a few yards when he heard the first of the bolts exploding. He grinned with satisfaction. There was no way he would be able to destroy all of the catapults, but he had one more bolt tucked firmly under his arm. And he knew exactly where he was going to put it.
More blasts rocked the city as Randson and his comrades began setting off their own bolts. Now if only Gewey is not dead, we stand a chance, Lee thought grimly. But the soldier’s mocking words were still echoing in his head. He forced them out of his mind, knowing that he mustn’t lose focus.
While winding his way through the streets he passed hundreds of troops racing in the opposite direction toward the north wall. Not that it mattered. Still in the stolen uniform and looking as if he were hurrying to obey an order, none of these gave him as much as a second glance.
Lee’s jaw clenched tight as his target came into view. Three of the faithful were standing in front of their so-called ‘temple’, each one carrying a short sword. He had expected soldiers to be guarding the place, but the mayhem he and the others were causing must have drawn them away. The men left in charge looked nervous. Clearly they were not accustomed to the turmoil of war, and the blades looked awkward in their pale, chubby hands.
Soft, doughy nobles, he thought. So much the better.
The faithful looked up at Lee as he approached with long, deliberate strides.
“It’s about time too,” one of them yelled out. He drew back his hood, revealing pale skin and flat features. His dark brown hair was oiled and pushed back. Without doubt a noble. He glared angrily at Lee. “You can tell your captain that I’ll have him hanged for this. He was told to stay here and....”
The man never got a chance to finish his sentence. In one fluid motion, Lee drew his blade and took the man’s head. The two others froze, staring in horror at the still standing body of their fellow faithful. Before it even hit the ground, Lee’s sword had claimed their heads as well.
At the entrance to the temple he paused just long enough to light the bolt before smashing the thick oak doors open with his boot. Lee could hear a host of people talking and laughing. He gave a sinister laugh of his own before hurling the deadly ball deep within the building.
“With the compliments of Lord Lanson Brimm,” he shouted to those inside.
After waiting just long enough to hear the sounds of laughter abruptly turn to cries of alarm, he turned and ran off in the direction of Lanson’s manor. The explosion, when it came seconds later, filled his heart with a sense of righteous justice.
Upon reaching the house he paused long enough to make sure there were no soldiers about. Happy with the situation, he made his way around to the servants' entrance.
The door was guarded by two of Randson’s friends. They nodded a greeting at Lee and gave him a knowing smile.
“Did everyone make it back?” Lee asked.
“You are the last one we've been waiting for,” replied a tall lad with short cropped blond hair. “Randson and his father are upstairs with Millet and Jansi.”
“And Lord Lanson?”
“He sleeps,” the lad replied solemnly. “Jansi doesn’t think he’ll last until nightfall.”
Lee nodded and went quickly upstairs. Entering the parlor, he saw Millet sitting stone-faced by the fire. He looked up at Lee with obvious relief. The others were talking quietly on the other side of the room.
“It figures that you would be the last to arrive,” scolded Millet.
Lee spread his arms and grinned. “I’m sorry, but I had to leave a message with the faithful before I returned.”
This brought forth smirks and nods of approval from everyone but Millet. Lee sat across from him and snatched up a bottle of wine that was sitting on a small table beside the chair.
“Have you seen Lanson?” he asked.
“About twenty minutes ago,” Millet replied. “I’m afraid our visit has over-exerted him.”
“Nonsense,” said Jansi, crossing the room. “This is the first time my master has smiled in many weeks. Whatever the enemy did to him, it drained his humor and lust for life. It was good to see that return, if even for a moment.”
Hearing this made Lee more determined than ever to get Gewey to his friend’s bedside as soon as possible.
“Is there more we can do to aid the assault?” asked Millet.
Lee shook his head and took a drink from the bottle. “Not unless we charge the gates ourselves. And I don’t think we’d get very far with that. Right now, all we can do is wait until the city has fallen.”
“The sooner the better,” said Jansi.
* * * * *
Gewey’s vision was blurry at first. It took a moment or two before realizing that he was no longer near the vanguard of the army, and had apparently been carried to the rear. As his eyes cleared
further he could see that he was surrounded by dozens of elves, all with looks of deep concern on their faces. On his left knelt Lyrial.
“Kaylia!” he cried out. He could feel her, but knew that she had been injured.
“She is resting,” said Lyrial. “She will be fine. But considering her condition, we thought it best to attend her first.”
Gewey felt a sudden sense of panic. “Our child?”
“Your child is strong,” she replied in a reassuring tone. “Your body took the brunt of the attack and probably saved them both.”
Gewey could hear shouts and orders being given. “What’s happening? How long was I unconscious?”
Lyrial cocked her head. “Not long. Less than an hour. But my people went mad with rage the moment you fell. They have already begun the assault.”
This brought clarity rushing in. He sat up straight, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head. “They must pull back.”
“It’s too late for that,” she responded. “There was a series of explosions just as you were being brought here. Apparently Lee has been busy. Bevaris didn’t think we should wait – not that my kin would have delayed, regardless of his opinion. He ordered trees felled to be used as ladders, guessing that we elves would be excellent climbers. He guessed correctly.”
She handed him a cup of water. “Our bows cleared the ramparts and we were able to scale the wall before the enemy could react. A few of those dreadful weapons came over the top, but nowhere near enough to halt us.”
“Lee must have learned of them and destroyed as many as he could,” mused Gewey.
“It would seem that way,” agreed Lyrial. “Most are now silenced, anyway.”
Gewey put down the cup and struggled to his feet. He reached out to Kaylia. She was resting and relieved to touch his thoughts.
I must end this, he said through their bond.
She did not protest, sending him only waves of love and strength in response.
On approaching the north wall he could see a dozen or more tall trees leaning against it. The elves were scampering up these like squirrels. If not for the occasional body falling after being hit by enemy arrows, it would have been an almost comical sight.
The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 4-6 Page 53
