They were met at the entrance to the palace tunnel by two men swiftly coming their way. One was the minister, Sebelius, the other a tall slim man who walked with a slight limp. The prince looked closely at the second man. “I know you!” he said astonished. “You are one of those from across the sea!”
Trevor bowed and nodded. “I am, my lord.”
The prince turned to his minister. “What is this man doing here? Have you lost your senses, Sebelius? Get above!”
Sebelius crossed his arms over his chest. “Hear me out first, my liege! This man can be of value to us.”
“Him?” laughed a captain. “Does he know the battlefield better than we?” He looked at Trevor with unmistakable scorn.
“No, but he can be of service,” insisted Sebelius.
Sumavand scowled. “I think you were better off when the Rani put you under lock and key!” he barked. “Now leave here at once lest I regret having freed you!”
Sebelius gazed harshly upon the prince’s face. “I will go, my lord. But I beg you, not for my sake but for Satra’s, listen to what this man has to say.”
Trevor boldly stepped forward. “The minister has let me study the drawings of your system of canals and dams. I understand how you draw your water supplies.”
“So? What has this to do with our urgent needs?” demanded Sumavand.
The Valley soldier gazed evenly into the prince’s doubting eyes. “I am an engineer, my lord. I understand such workings. Your spillways —”
“Make your point, master engineer!” the prince huffed.
Trevor took a deep breath. “I want to smash your dams and flood the Black Canyon,” he replied boldly.
Sumavand acted as though the air were knocked out of him. “Do I hear you properly, engineer?”
Trevor nodded. “Yes, my lord. There is enough water in your reserves to flood the river ten meters above its banks. We can let loose a torrent that will spill from here to Kuba.”
“And swallow Satra with it!” barked a captain. “This is foolish talk, my lord! If this plan could work, our own engineers would have thought of it long ago!”
“Satra itself will not be flooded, my lord,” replied Trevor as coolly as he could. “I propose that the dams be broken only past the second lock. Satra will be safe; we can dig a channel.”
The prince toyed with the edge of his drooping mustache. “It sounds a clever plan, master engineer,” he conceded. “But we have no time to dig channels! We have no time to even properly bury our dead! The enemy presses on our heels. By morning they’ll be upon us.”
“Give me a hundred men!” begged Trevor. “I assure you Satra will be safe. Your buttress wall will hold back the current behind, and your valves will be broken to release the reservoir basin. The fury of that alone will smash the locks and break the wooden walls of your canal. Look, let me speak with your own engineers at once. They’ll understand my plan. Let them tell you if it makes sense.”
“At least do that much,” pleaded the minister.
“I have grave doubts,” replied Sumavand, “but I suppose we have little to lose.”
“If it works, we can place our entire army in defense of the gates,” said one captain thoughtfully. “It will take every man we can muster just to hold the Nomads back.”
A single front! thought Sumavand. Satra might have a chance for survival after all. That is, if this scheme could work. The prince glared at the stranger. “How do I know I can trust you, master engineer?”
“I know your predicament, my lord,” Trevor replied. “My companions and I are as trapped here as you are. And our throats cut as easily as your own. We’ll have to trust each other.”
Sumavand smiled grimly. “I am a desperate man, master engineer. Do your work well and you’ll find my gratitude has no bounds. But if you try to make a fool of me —”
He did not have a chance to finish his words. At that moment a shrill blast sounded from above. Soldiers began running through the tunnels. The first attacks at the gate had begun.
*
The High Cavern that was the entrance to the southern gate of the city was a kilometer wide and twice as long. Sheer stone walls rose in places up to a height of fifty meters. The gate of the shala, two huge doors of meter-thick solid oak, stood firmly hinged with iron along a high wall of stone solid bedrock.
Along the crenellated wall five hundred Satrian soldiers watched as the distant entrance grew dark with swarthy Nomads easing their way inside and setting up battle lines. The barbarians began to pour through, axes gleaming, spears sharpened to fine points. Catapults lumbered; wheels groaned. The deadly war machines were lined in a row; broad shouldered barbarians, muscles bulging, began bringing forth large heavy stones to load them.
Sumavand watched from the parapet, barking commands, instructing junior officers how best to deploy their forces. Trumpets blared, and Satrian banners were raised high. Defiantly they blazed in the faces of the enemy.
The prince paced the wall, hands behind his back. A flurry of noise caught his attention, and he turned to see his guards grappling with a giant of a man straining to get past them.
“What goes on here?” demanded Sumavand.
The guards bowed. “This man, my lord, demands —”
It was Alryc, Sumavand saw. Alryc of the Blue Fires, standing a full head above his soldiers, his eyes burning with anger, his muscles straining to break free.
“Release him,” said Sumavand.
The soldiers complied. Alryc looked at him and glared.
“Why have you left your quarters, stargazer?” asked the prince. “Have you come to see our city fall?”
Alryc stood to his full massive height. “I came to fight. I and my companions demand that you let us join you in battle. If we are to die, it will not be while locked in your palace rooms! Now give me a weapon!”
The prince turned sourly to his officers. “Give him a sword.”
“My lord!” The officers were aghast.
“Give him one! We need every hand we can get. If he wishes his own death, so be it!”
Alryc was handed a scimitar and he took it with a smile. He ran his thumb across the edge of the blade. “A sharp blade,” he said. “Now, what about my companions?”
Sumavand looked behind Alryc and saw Melinda and Robin standing near the top of the stairwell. Instead of their saris they were once again dressed in Ranger tunics, and each was holding a crossbow. “You wish to fight also?” he asked incredulously.
Melinda came to the landing and threw back her head. “That’s why we’re here. Shaina got us our bows back. Now if you’ll kindly have your soldiers bring some arrows.”
“Very well. Good archers are valuable. Have my captains position you along the wall.”
The girls bowed, then turned on their heels to follow the captains.
“Where shall I fight?” growled Alryc.
“Next to me, stargazer. A man of your size will draw many spears away from me.”
The large man grinned, and his eyes sparkled. “It will be a pleasure. But there is one more request, my lord.”
“And what might that be?”
“The red wolf, Cicero. Remove his chain and bring him forth. He will stand beside us, also.”
With a shrug, the prince said, “Why not? This is a day filled with ironies, and I can think of none greater than having a wolf fight at my feet.” Then to his startled aides, “Do as the stargazer asks. Release the wolf and bring him here. He wants to fight.”
“My lord?”
Sumavand grinned bemusedly. “No, I haven’t yet lost my mind. But do as I say and be quick! Our Nomad friends grow restless!”
*
Glumly the soldier held his torch low, flames dancing in darkness. Trevor ran his eyes over the ancient plans of the underground water system. There were two large reservoirs, it seemed, each connected by the canal, each with long spillways running toward the Black Canyon. A series of locks regulated the flow from the river.
He ran his finger lightly over the lines of the canal and traced the river down from the surface of the mountains. It was a complex system, he saw, one that must have been conceived, planned and executed over many, many long years. At length he glanced up at the two solemn-faced engineers at his side.
“How long are the spillways?” he asked.
“A thousand meters each, Commander. They join at the first lock.”
“And how many locks?”
“Six in all.”
He smiled grimly. The plans indicated the locks were low walls intended only to regulate a planned flow of water. Free the floodgate completely, and the surging rush of water would smash them into splinters. “You understand what we’re going to do?” he asked.
Both engineers nodded hesitantly. “Allow the current to run wild.”
“Right. It’ll tear down the spillways, flood the canal, and the first lock will give way under the pressure. By the time the water reaches the second lock it will be out of control. By the time the fifth and sixth locks are reached the full force of the river will run rampant through the Black Canyon. Anything alive from here to Kuba will be drowned in water ten meters high.”
“It can also flow the other way,” added one sourly. “All Satra might be flooded.”
“Not with our new wall.” He glanced behind at the hundred or so soldiers busily placing stones and beams of thick wood across the concave entrances that led back to the tunnels. “We’ll have our side sealed tight as a drum.”
“These new walls of yours are hastily built. If the spillway waters hit with too much force, they’ll be smashed as easily as the locks.”
“They can take the stress. Everything I was ever taught about water pressures tells me they can hold. I feel confident.”
An eerie silence prevailed as the last echo of his voice dimmed. A sudden dread and horror fell over them all. Far off in the distance there was a low rumble, so faint they had to strain their ears to hear it. The sound of the marching thing army, now more than halfway to Satra.
“Let’s get on with it,” said one of the engineers in a barely audible whisper. His hands were shaking.
“Good,” Trevor said. “All right! Everybody back to work! Every minute counts!”
The ensuing hours passed quickly. The new buttress wall across the tunnels was completed. Guards stood at their posts; the engineers took their places at the valves of the reservoir. Trevor climbed atop the wall and signaled for the Satrian soldiers to put down their tools and take shelter. From his position he would take full view of the cavern, the spillways and also the approach to the canal. Beyond that there was only the edge of the Black Canyon itself and the dread that lay beyond. The rumble of things began to grow in intensity; he realized that the first wave of attackers was no more than minutes away.
The captain of the Satrian troops came to his side, sword in hand, beads of perspiration dotted across his forehead. If something went wrong, if the plan did not work, he had but one hundred men to fend off thousands of the dark enemy. With Sumavand directing the battle above, there would be no aid to help them in their fight.
The guards at the outermost post near the first lock of the canal suddenly came running. “They come!” cried one, gripping his scimitar and clambering up the handholds of the new wall.
Trevor gritted his teeth. Each second brought the things closer, and he wanted the impact of the water to hit with full intensity upon their first ranks. “Have they reached the approaches to the canal?”
“By now, yes!” panted the guard.
Trevor swung around and looked at the Satrian engineers. “Now! Open the valves!”
The men grappled with the wheel; Trevor heard the slow groan as it began to turn. The gate began to open and water raced down along the spillways — a steady stream pulsing and surging forward. But not enough to flood.
Something was wrong!
With fright in his eyes he confronted the engineers. “Open it all the way! All the way!”
“We can’t!” shouted one. “The wheel’s stuck!”
He leaped to the handholds and dropped down onto the floor. Wild water splashed from the side of the spill-way. The captain of the Satrians was right on his heels.
“It won’t open!” cried the engineer. “It’s stuck! Gates of Satra, it’s stuck!”
Trevor saw that the gate was up about a third, and no matter how much the engineers strained it would raise no farther. He heaved and tugged at the wheel. It gave a little, then jammed tight.
Grunts and growls came louder and louder. A band of things, fangs bared, rock swords and spears held high, came lunging forward. They were met by a handful of Satrians who had jumped down from the wall. Metal clashed against rock; echoes filled the air. The first things fell quickly, slipping in mud. But on their heels were more, and behind them would come their entire army.
In desperation Trevor grabbed a scimitar from a nearby soldier and looked wildly about. “Where are the chains?” he cried. “The chains that lift the floodgate!”
“Beside the valve!” answered the engineer. “But you can’t reach it! You’ll have to climb onto the spillway — and you’ll be drowned!”
Trevor spun around as a hideous dark beast lunged for him. He swirled his scimitar and almost severed the thing’s head from its shoulders. Then, without even pausing to take a breath, he leaped onto the spillway itself, feet trying desperately to get a firm hold. Waist-deep in rushing water, he fought to reach the gate. For an instant the scimitar was nearly flung from his hand by rushing water. But he held. He fell, was submerged, and it took all his strength, every ounce within him, to right himself and battle forward.
He fought against the increasing current to reach the gate and the heavy chains on its sides. He hacked and hewed with his blade, frantically struggling to see as the water began to sweep over his head. Again and again.
Something gave. The fury of the water lashed like a whip, and the gate itself went flying from its foundation. Trevor plunged underwater and lost all balance. With all his strength he grasped the top of the wall and heaved himself over the side of the spillway. He fell into thick mud and lay gasping, safe.
Water raged through the cavern spillways and down into the canal. Terrible screams changed to gurgles, and drowning things clawed at the walls. It was like the sea itself, a roaring tide. The first lock cracked like balsam, the second gave way like paper. On and on it went. The third lock flew high in the air. There was no force on the face of the earth that could stop it. Millions and millions of gallons, now freed, running wild and savage, dealing death and destruction. It broke through the fifth gate like a demon, ever rising, pulsing, growing. The sixth gate crumpled under the weight — and now the water was truly free! Nothing for league upon league to hold it!
The main body of the thing army had yet to reach the canal. But what they saw coming sent fear through their hearts. It was a tidal wave, pouring over them like the winds of a hurricane. They threw down all weapons and raced back into the dark, back toward the fallen Kuba, back toward the deep bowels of the earth in which they lived. But their speed could not match the speed of the water: they were picked up and flung against the walls, limbs broken and shattered. Heads were bashed, limbs nearly torn from their sockets. The tide swelled and swelled, carried them back, flung corpses pell-mell before it and washed them away in a raging fury.
Ever onward, ever onward, the Black Canyon became again what it had been countless eons ago: a deep river, a treacherous, swirling current.
*
Great rocks flung from the catapults came crashing down on the Satrian wall. The impact threw many archers off balance and sent them hurtling to the earth below. A thousand frenzied Nomads attacked in waves, swinging axes and swords, whooping foul warcries. Torrents of arrows came whistling down over their heads but were blunted by the animal-skin shields the barbarians held. Then, hauling rope ladders over the top, they began scrambling up the wall. Satrian swords heaved at the ropes and split them
asunder. Nomads fell by the score. But no sooner had one rope been cut than another was flung to take its place. Others of the enemy crawled to the foot of the gate. And there, pressed tightly against the wall so that none of Sumavand’s archers could see them, they waited with gleaming axes for the battering ram to be brought.
It was a great ram, as long as the walls were high, needing almost a hundred men to carry it. And at its head was a forged fist of iron, so thick and so heavy that twenty men groaned under its weight.
Spears flying right and left, Sumavand dodged and peered over the wall to see the dark, lumbering menace approach. The mere sight of it made his troops quiver. They knew if the gate were breached, the wall could not be held. They would have to retreat behind the second wall of the city, the lower wall, and there rally to make a last fight. And if this second wall were breached as well, there would be nothing at all to stop the enemy from reaching the passages to the floor of the mountain and the shala itself, where the city was ripe for the taking.
Melinda and Robin, casting fear aside, stood boldly and openly at the far end of the wall, making every arrow count. Wave upon wave the enemy continued to press until hundreds had reached the wall. Shields held high, they gave good cover to those carrying the battering ram.
Sumavand shouted for all arrows to be directed toward them. But for every Nomad that fell there seemed to be ten replacements. The battering ram drew closer with every second.
“Behind you!” cried Alryc to the prince. In his concern Sumavand had not seen the three wild-eyed barbarians who had managed to climb over the wall behind him. They brandished their weapons above their heads, swinging them recklessly. As the prince swerved to blunt the blow of the first, Alryc plunged his blade deeply into the back of another. Seemingly from nowhere, Cicero sank sharp fangs into the first attacker’s neck. But one barbarian remained. With eyes aflame, he knocked the prince off his feet with the hilt of his axe. It was Cicero who ripped out the wild man’s jugular before his blade could descend upon the prince.
Sumavand dizzily and slowly rose to his feet. He was astounded, not because the Nomads had almost killed him but because it had been a wolf that had saved his life. A wolf! He wanted to thank him, but before he could the wolf growled and turned to deal death to other attackers along the wall.
Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1) Page 34
