~ ~ ~
4th Waning Frost Moon
There was a hammering on his door as he startled awake. Through the cracks in his shutters, he could see it was still dark; dawn had not come yet.
“Elias, wake up! We need you now!”
Scrambling out of bed, he drew on his tunic and unbolted the door. He pulled it open to reveal Jenna, armed and armored.
“The Northerners are back, and there are more of them than ever. They have the city entirely surrounded!”
Elias cursed, and grabbed his boots and hurriedly drew them on. “Are they attacking?”
Jenna shook her head. “No, not yet. They seem to be just showing us that they are here. They're just outside of an arrow's flight away.”
He tied his boots and reached for his dragonskin tunic. He favored it over his plate armor, especially when there was little time to prepare. “Are the gates barred?”
Jenna nodded. “Yes. All of them. Quartz sealed off the smaller gates before she left, and the main gate is barred and blocked. Nothing short of a siege ram or a dragon will get through it, and we haven't seen either.”
“Good.” He drew the tunic on over his head and dropped it into place. Grabbing his vambraces and sword, he followed Jenna out of his room. He had had his old home restored, the burned wood replaced, and a new roof added; it was where he slept and kept his personal belongings. It was close to the great hall, which made it ideal for traveling to and from the chambers they used for planning.
However, that put him a good distance from the wall itself. He walked, keeping pace with Jenna. She was still moving slowly, but had insisted on resuming her duties as soon as possible. Around them, men and dwarves ran from one post to the next, carrying out orders and preparing for battle. Archers lined the top of the walls, torches spread out amongst them like beacons in the darkness of the night. Stones were being carried up the stairs to the walls to repel anyone trying to scale them, and at each tower, vats of oil sat over the fire pots to boil.
“Where is Jonas?”
Jenna pointed to the eastern wall, where she and Elias were headed. “There, above the gates. He is overseeing the siege preparations.”
Elias took the stairs two at a time, finally outpacing Jenna. When he reached the top of the wall, the sight that greeted him made his heart drop.
Campfires. Thousands and thousands of campfires dotted the landscape, as far as he could see to the north, east, and south. Spaced fairly regularly, standing amongst the campfires and illuminated by torchlight, Elias could see tall wooden beams, one end lashed to the ground, while the other was hoisted high into the air, pivoting on a triangular base. The high end of the beam had a large box hanging from it, with thick iron straps securing it to the timber.
“Trebuchets,” said Jonas from Elias's right. “Dozens of fucking trebuchets. Maybe even a hundred.”
Elias cursed, and leaned his sword against the battlements. He drew on his gloves as he spoke to Jonas. “How did they get here under our noses without us seeing them? Have they made any attacks against us yet?”
“My guess is Drakhus again. And no, not yet. All they've done is lit every fire in the kingdom right outside our walls. I think they're just letting us know they're here.”
Gripping the blue cord laces, he drew them tight, not bothering to try to tie them. “Then I expect they'll let us know soon. If they were just going to attack us, they wouldn't have bothered with a show of force, or letting us prepare.”
Jonas paused for a moment. “Elias...”
Elias turned to face the older man. “What is it?”
Jonas looked out over the field. “We can't win this one. There's just too many of them. Estimates put them around twenty thousand, maybe twenty-five. We can't count them in the dark, but we know there is a whole boatload of shite more than we expected.”
Elias set his jaw. “Has there been any sign of Sargoth?”
Jonas shook his head. “Not since the fire witch turned him away.”
Elias gripped the battlements. “He would have come in very useful right about now.”
He made his way to the main gate of Valtheim, where more campfires dotted the landscape than any other side of the city. Eira already stood there with Martin, surveying the army massed outside of their walls.
“Good of you to join us, Elias,” she said, icily.
Elias frowned. “I came as soon as I heard.”
She gestured to the field. “They have been here for some time.” Shaking her head, she crossed her arms, putting her hands in her sleeves against the chill of the night. “So, my general, what do you propose we do?”
Before Elias could respond, three points of light broke from the field of campfires, and moved towards the gates. They were torches, borne by horsemen. Elias recognized the horseman in front; it was Carloman himself. On either side of him were two other mounted riders that Elias did not recognize, each bearing torches, and behind them was a fourth rider, wearing a heavy black cloak, reins clutched in red-gloved hands.
“Drakhus,” Eira muttered, clenching her fists.
The four riders drew up to the gate and stopped, about thirty feet back. Carloman looked up, his eyes resting on Eira, and grinned.
“It's good to see you again, my queen, and in good health.”
Eira stood, a stony scowl on her face, and didn't speak.
Carloman chuckled. “I see the same warmth inhabits you still. I was sad to see you go, but I am confident that you will reconsider your residence and my offer.”
Eira stood a little straighter, looking down at Carloman. “I would rather stand atop my own pyre and light it myself.”
Carloman sighed. “Well, my dear, if you decline my offer, that's exactly what you will do. My offer is the same as the last time we were here. You come with me, your men lay down arms, and let my soldiers occupy Valtheim, or I will make sure that no stone remains stacked on another. I will erase Valtheim from existence.”
Eira scoffed. “You said that before, and I chose not to test your ability. My people did not know who I was, and I chose to keep it that way. This time, I have no such qualms.”
Drakhus stepped his horse forward. “And neither do I, milady. If you must make this a contest between mages, then I will oblige you.”
Eira lifted her chin, looking down her nose at the mage. “So be it.”
Carloman smiled slightly, narrowing his eyes. “So be it,” he echoed. Turning his horse, he spurred it back to his camp, the other three following him.
Eira and Elias departed the gate, walking swiftly to the southern staircase.
“Elias, be prepared for anything. Valtheim is going to be hit hard. Whatever it is that we do, we must bring down those trebuchets before they do any major damage, especially to the walls.”
Elias nodded. “That will be our first concern.”
They descended the stone steps, Eira in front of Elias. “I have my work to do. I will be in my chambers in the great hall. If they wish to make this a wizard's battle, then they shall see what that truly means. Drakhus is powerful, yes, but he is also arrogant. He has been learning his craft for far less time than I have been learning mine.”
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Elias fell into step beside the queen. “Can you beat him?”
Eira chuckled. “Directly, head to head? No. But the winds are seldom a direct thing. I have my ways, Elias. This city will not fall while I still draw breath.” She paused, turning to face Elias. “It would seem that every single enemy we have in the Northlands is at our gate. Carloman, Adalhard, and Gerulf, as well as Drakhus.”
Elias shook his head. “If Sargoth were here, we'd stand a much better chance. He could destroy those trebuchets before they could be brought to bear against our walls. As it is, I have an idea.”
Eira nodded, and continued walking. “I hope it is a good one.”
~ ~ ~
The air was cold, colder than any day yet in the autumn of the Northlands. Small flurries of snow fe
ll intermittently, dusting the top of the wall and the courtyard, but the stiff winds kept it from sticking. It formed tiny piles in corners, swirling in the eddies and currents of the wind.
The walls were packed with men, elves, and dwarves. Each tower had a single ballista and a supply of arrows; the dwarves were busy making more ammunition, operating the city's forges with much greater skill and speed than the men who were now assisting them.
It was at one of these ballistas that Elias stood, clad in his plate armor with his dragonskin underneath. He was at the tower just south of the main gate, with a full crew to help him operate the spear throwing engine. A more experienced man was at the handles, aiming the weapon, while he was to man the winch that reset the machine.
Carloman's forces hadn't attacked yet, and though the sky was covered in thick clouds, it was well past dawn, and light enough to see, yet Carloman's soldiers held their positions. They were standing in formation outside of arrow range, dressed for battle, and armed to the teeth. Elias didn't dare fire the first shot and spark off the assault. Not before they were ready.
He glanced back at the great hall. From the uppermost room, there was a soft white glow from the windows, shuttered though they were. Eira was nearly ready. All he had to do was wait for the signal.
There was a flash from the highest peak of the building, and the clouds parted over Valtheim. Swirling around the city, the clouds grew dark, and thunder rumbled directly overhead. Elias turned to the soldier aiming the ballista, and nodded.
The soldier struck the pin, and the ballista jolted, hurling the spear so fast Elias almost couldn't track it with his eyes. The head of the spear slammed into the nearest trebuchet, glancing off one of the beams, sending splintered wood flying. Carloman's men at the base of the siege weapon scattered for a moment, before they rallied back to the trebuchet. Elias hurriedly turned the winch, pulling the straps tight again, to reload the ballista. Once he got the firing cup pinned, another soldier slapped a spear in place, and the first soldier took aim. Elias could see sweat forming on his brow, despite the frigid wind that was whipping about them. He set a hand on the man's shoulder.
“Steady. Steady now. Fire true.”
The man took a shaky breath, turned the ballista slightly to the left, and fired again.
Elias watched the spear as it soared over enemy lines, and struck the axle of the ballista, where the firing arm and counterweight connected to the support beams. The spearhead smashed through the wooden rod, splintering it. Slowly, with a mighty groan, the trebuchet toppled over, narrowly missing several soldiers as it fell.
There was a short cheer amongst the men on the wall as Elias hauled on the winch, resetting the ballista. He shouted to them, “We can celebrate when we're done! We've got more of those things to turn to kindling!”
As he set the pin for the firing cup, he heard a strange thudding noise, seeming like it echoed through the valley, but off rhythm. He looked up in time to see a boulder the size of a man sail almost lazily through the air, followed by six or seven more. He watched them fly over the wall, and fall into the city, crushing several smaller buildings, destroying stone and timber walls, and caving in roofs. The sound of screams and shouting reached him from the inside of the city, and he gritted his teeth. He pounded his fist on the ballista, shouting to his soldiers.
“Down! Bring them down before they can reload!”
Carloman's men were already hauling on the firing arm of the nearest trebuchet, hoisting the counterbalance back down. Cursing, the man behind the ballista took aim and fired. His shot went wide, landing in the enemy camp. Perhaps he speared a man there, perhaps three, Elias couldn't tell. At this point, it didn't matter. What mattered was bringing down those trebuchets.
By the time they got the ballista reloaded, the trebuchet was lashed back into place, and the men were loading another stone into the sling end of the arm. Elias stepped clear, letting the soldier controlling the ballista to take aim. Elias could hear him utter a short prayer, and strike the pin. The ballista jumped again, and the spear flew forth.
This time, the missile struck the axle, but glanced off, flipping into the forest beyond. Carloman's men finished their task, and they fired the trebuchet. The counterweight came swinging downward, but as it reached the bottom, the axle snapped off, causing the arm of the trebuchet to drop. The sling held the stone instead of releasing it, smashing it into the ground with great force, crushing a soldier where he stood.
Elias glanced to his left, towards the next tower. A fallen trebuchet lay in the field, meaning that the team there was making progress.
It wasn't enough. The battery of siege weapons unleashed another volley of stones, some large, others a collection of smaller stones, that hurtled over the walls, pounding the buildings inside Valtheim's walls. They weren't trying to bring down the walls; they were trying to destroy the city before they even entered it.
The icy wind intensified, and there was a deafening crack above them. Looking upward, Elias saw blue sky over Valtheim, the shadow of the thunderous clouds falling directly on the walls, leaving them out of the sun, while Valtheim itself was bathed in light. Lightning flashed in the storm heads, and thunder rang out again, shaking the walls with its proximity.
Hail began falling, small at first, then the size of rocks, then fists, then cannonballs. As the ice fell from the sky, Carloman's men held their shields up, crouching beneath them, most of them able to fend off the blows. Some few fell, but not enough to thin the ranks or stop the trebuchets. As Elias's ballistas kept trying to pick them off, the war machines hurled stone after stone over Valtheim's walls, though the rate was slower under the hailstorm.
As Elias secured the firing cup again, there was a flash behind him that lit up the battlements as if the sun had fallen on the city behind him. He turned to look, shielding his eyes, to see a beam of light from the great hall's highest room, where Eira was, hurtling into the sky. It was as wide as the room itself, and crackled as if made of lightning, bolts of electric energy writhing over its surface. It continued skyward unabated for as long as Elias watched. The men on the wall around him stared in awe, until he tore his gaze away.
“Men, keep firing!” he shouted, loading the ballista with a spear. The soldier who fired the machine was still dumbstruck by the sight of Eira's signal, so Elias pushed him out of the way, and aimed the ballista himself.
The nearest trebuchet was perhaps four hundred yards distant, and Elias lined up the shot as best he could. Pushing the butt of the machine down and to the right, he lifted the nose upward and to the left, adjusting for the wind. He looked around for the hammer, but couldn't find it, so he hammered his fist against the plank that the firing pin was connected to. The spear snapped away, the ballista jumping from the force. Elias watched the spear as it struck the axle of the trebuchet, causing it to break and topple over as the others had, but not before it threw its stone.
This stone did not arc as high as the others, and by the time Elias knew it was heading directly towards them, it was too late to shout a warning. Grabbing a soldier with each hand, he dove to his right just as a stone nearly as large as he was slammed into the ballista, destroying it. Wood and metal were hurled around the surface of the tower, several men being struck by shrapnel from the shattered weapon.
Elias picked himself up and assessed the situation, dismayed. There were still trebuchets on this side of the city, and they were still hurling stones. However, instead of arcing towards the city itself, they smashed into the wall, causing it to shudder under the assault. Quartz hadn't reinforced this section; it hadn't taken any damage during the previous battle. However, the stone was weathered, the mortar was old, and the trebuchets were causing a lot of damage.
Elias cursed quietly to himself as he started issuing orders to the men around him. If they couldn't deal with those trebuchets, and soon, Valtheim's walls would fall for the second time in a week, and there would be nothing to stop Carloman's men from sacking the city.
> There was a resounding crash from his left, and the sound of splintering wood. He knew what was happening before he even looked; the trebuchets had been turned against the gates. It sounded like someone was beating a huge barrel with a club, as stones slammed into the thick planks and beams.
Elias sprinted down the stairs, towards the gates. As he drew near them, the hammering of stones became louder and louder.
“Shore up the gates! Set beams against them! Shore them up!” he shouted as he ran.
A group of men near the gates heard him, and started wrestling a beam into place. Tossing his greatsword to the ground near the wall, he grabbed one end, lifting it by himself, gritting his teeth under the weight. It was perhaps a foot on a side, and twenty feet long; he lifted it from the middle, taking most of the weight himself, while three men grabbed the back end. Lifting it as high as he could over his head, he jammed it against one of the solid wooden doors under the beam that barred it, and held it while the three men set their side down, digging it into the ground. He turned to grab another beam, when there was a crash behind him, and he was thrown to the ground.
Dazed, he rolled from his back, and pushed himself up. Directly in front of him was an arm, white skinned and half clad in shredded chainmaille that had been pulled up the shoulder like a half removed sock. Its fingers were bent back at an awkward angle, mangled by whatever had struck it. Glancing toward where the shoulder should be, all he saw was bloody, ragged armor, and no body. He forced himself to his feet, and turned towards the gate.
The top of the right door, which had no beam supporting it, had been destroyed, throwing shattered wood into the men attempting to reinforce the gates. Elias was lucky, and had only gotten knocked down, but the man next to him had been hit by the trebuchet shot directly.
Elias shook his head, trying to clear the daze. He picked up his sword and rolled his left shoulder, where he had been struck. While it was sore, and popped a few times, it didn't feel broken, though his pauldron was severely dented, limiting his range. He drew his knife and cut the straps that held it on, letting it fall to the ground. Lifting his arms, he had full movement again. He could still fight.
Thunderbolt (Dynasty of Storms Book 2) Page 28
