by Anne Logston
“They have no armor,” Sharl said slowly. “No ballista, no trebuchet, not even a siege tower or a ram—or if they do, it’s coming later with the main force. No crossbowmen. That’s good news, I suppose. But just the fact they’ve made it this far means they’ve succeeded without those things—through sheer numbers, most likely, or perhaps their mages are more powerful than I’d thought. I’ve gotten no messages from the north for a long time now. Their close-range strength will be formidable, and a good part of our troops are only half-trained farmers or herders. If they breach the wall or the gates, we’ll be in serious trouble.”
“They’ve got the few bows, and anything as stout as what Chyrie described will have a good range,” Rivkah mused. “But the battlements are complete in most places. Our first line of defense—bows, crossbows, your heavy machines, and my mages—will have to make a decisive strike, and we need to keep them at a distance as long as we can, at least long enough to take the measure of their mages and plan our defense.”
“I’ve had the moat widened and deepened,” Sharl said, “and we have a goodly number of barrels of that foul, sludgy stuff from the swamp that burns so well. We’ll pour it into the moat as soon as we take up the bridge, but even so, there isn’t enough to burn for very long. We’ll hold off lighting it until some of them actually try to cross, for maximum effect. Past the moat are pits filled with wooden spikes, and we’ll scatter caltrops there as well. Both the spikes and the caltrops have been coated with the poisons the elves have been sending. That should keep them back a little longer. But you’re right, Rivkah. Our strength is going to lie in our ranged attacks, and we’ve got to keep them off the wall as long as we can.”
He turned to Rivkah.
“I want you and Loren on the watchtower,” he said. “Valann and Chyrie with you.”
“Jeena should be with us,” Valann said quickly. “She should not be far from Chyrie.”
“I’m sorry, but I need Jeena at the wall,” Sharl said, indicating a spot on the city map. “She’ll be supervising the elven archers, and she’s the only one who can understand and relay my commanders’ orders. With the poisons the elven archers and my own are going to be using, it’s a good idea to have a healer there, too, especially among all those pregnant women. Jeena, make sure your people take plenty of food and water onto the wall with them, and I’ll count on you to know when any of them need to be pulled off their stations and see them replaced.”
“No,” Jeena said.
Sharl stared at her blankly.
“What?”
“No,” Jeena said simply. “I will not do as you say.”
Sharl scowled darkly and opened his mouth, but Rivkah laid a hand gently on his arm.
“Wait,” she said gently. “Jeena, why do you say no?”
“First, this man is not my Eldest,” Jeena said quietly. “He does not order me. And second, Valann is right. I will not leave Chyrie and my son, and I can scarcely take an infant to the wall. In any wise, I must be here at the keep to help Crystal tend any of our people who need me. Lusea also knows the human language; Loren taught it to her as he did to me. I have no doubt she will go to the wall and do as Sharl has described, if he asks her courteously and does not presume to command her.”
“There’s no place for courtesy on the battlefield,” Sharl snapped.
“Then there is no place for my people there,” Jeena said simply. “We are your guests, not your soldiers. Once we cease to be your guests, we will become your enemies. Do you understand that?”
“Foolish clans squabble while the forest burns around them,” Valann said quickly. “I will speak to Lusea on Sharl’s behalf, and Jeena can stay near Chyrie. It is as well, in any event, since Jeena has shown she can add her power to Rivkah’s and Loren’s. Please, let us not spend the precious time in anger at each other, when every moment’s preparation might spare lives.”
“He’s right,” Rivkah said, kissing Sharl quickly on the cheek. “Go and speak to your commanders. I can deal with both the mages and the elves, and my crystal network will help organize.”
Sharl sighed and gathered Rivkah to him, holding her for a moment.
“Thank the gods I have you at my side,” he said. “This city is the stronger for your wisdom. Please keep yourself safe.”
“I have your entire army, the walls of the city and of the keep, and the height of the watchtower between me and danger.” Rivkah laughed. “I could hardly be safer.”
She turned to Val, Chyrie, and Jeena.
“You may want your packs and some of the furs from your room,” she suggested. “I’ve already had a shelter set up on the top of the watchtower, and the servants can bring food whenever we need it. The wounded will be brought to the keep. Those of your folk who can’t leave the keep can stay with the healers, helping if they can, even if it’s nothing more than tearing cloth for bandages.”
Jeena, Val, and Chyrie hurried back to their quarters to collect their belongings and leave Jeena’s baby, whom she had named Ruri, with one of the Black Feathers who had recently given birth. Lusea was only too glad to muster every available archer from the elves’ quarters; they had all been chafing at the inactivity and confinement, and worry for their clans had made the waiting doubly hard to bear. All the elves fit to serve at the wall quickly donned leathers waterproofed with beeswax, seized their packs, and hurried out with Lusea to find the wall shelters where they would wait, and the other elves moved their belongings into one room, to make space for the wounded to be brought in.
As Rivkah had said, a comfortable enough shelter had been set up atop the watchtower, with a large hide tent. There were several guards stationed there now, and Loren had set up his bowls and bottles in one corner of the hide tent. Two small, careful fires burned in covered braziers, one at the battlements and the other inside the tent.
Val and Chyrie picked a corner of the tent for their pallet and packs, and helped Loren and Rivkah to do the same, and then there was nothing more to do.
“It’s the waiting that’s hard,” Rivkah said in a low voice, staring out over the battlements. The city was lit with fires and torches, and hurrying figures could be seen everywhere. “I’ve already checked the crystal network. There’s still hours to wait. Why don’t the two of you get some rest while you can?”
“That is wise,” Valann agreed. “Come, love. If we draw the flaps of the tent and bring the brazier out, it will be quiet and dark inside.”
Chyrie agreed, and despite her anxiety, she felt safe and content in Val’s arms, snuggled in the warmth of their furs, listening to the rain tapping on the roof of the tent. When Val’s hands slid smoothly over her skin, however, Chyrie chuckled.
“I thought we came here to rest,” she whispered.
“I said nothing of rest,” Val corrected. “I said only that it would be quiet and dark in the tent, and indeed it is. But if you feel disinclined—”
“No.” Unspoken between them was the realization that in the danger of the coming battle, this might be their last night together. “Only be careful, love, for my time is near, and we must be quiet, or we will embarrass Loren and Rivkah.”
But if Loren and Rivkah were embarrassed that night, they did not say so.
Chyrie stood beside Rivkah, staring at the grim scene below. The barbarian tents were so thick that the once-green plain had turned brown. Some of the barbarians merely slept where they came to rest on the ground, despite the rain. Most were awake now, despite the late hour, once more trying the strength of the walls as they had for the past day.
The first attack had been brief and easily repelled. The first barbarians attempting to cross the moats died horribly when a single fire arrow ignited the swamp sludge floating on the water. Others never made it as far as the moat, falling into the pit traps or treading on the caltrops and dying of the poison only moments later. The moat fire quickly extinguished in the continuing rain, however, and the barbarians soon learned the locations of the pits and the properties of
the caltrops.
While the barbarians attempted to cross the moats, the archers and crossbowmen on the battlements were far from idle. Volley after volley of arrows and crossbow bolts thinned the ranks of the attackers. Sharl held back the trebuchets and ballista, there being no central target, but so far the invaders had produced no weaponry more sophisticated than the few stout bows Chyrie had seen. The battlements offered adequate protection against those, although one careless guardsman quickly proved that the heavy bows and proportionally thick arrows were more than a match for the troops’ armor.
By midafternoon, however, the moat had become choked with corpses, and the attackers could cross easily. The archers were hard put to keep sappers from reaching the walls with their hammers, drills, and chisels, and it took several caldrons of boiling water and heated stones and sand poured from the hoardings before the next wave was driven back.
The invaders seemed inexhaustible. As the sun set, the attack continued undiminished—no subtlety, no strategy, only a continuous rain of bodies thrown at the city’s defenses. The archers and wall guards wearied and were replaced, but there seemed an endless and eager supply of barbarians to test them. All through the night, the pattern seemed a stalemate—another wave of barbarians would fling themselves at the wall and the gates, only to be slaughtered. A short time later, another wave would follow.
Rivkah had kept her mages busy, but to little effect after a brief but successful initial strike. They had managed to get a few bolts of lightning through, and the barbarian mages had hurled a few balls of fire, but for the most part, they only countered each other harmlessly. This troubled Rivkah deeply; she had had no idea that the primitive mages could muster enough power to stalemate her own.
By night, more forces had arrived, and the narrow strip of land was crowded with as many invaders as it could hold, and now some of their heavy weapons began to appear. There was no siege tower, but Allanmere’s farseers saw several wooden ladders, two catapults, and four ballista, plus carts loaded with heavy boulders. To Sharl’s dismay, the barbarians did not wait for dawn to begin a distanced attack; worse, one of the catapults was stationed near the weak section of wall.
The machinery had likely been captured, but apparently the barbarians had been no slow learners of how to use it. A lucky strike from the northern catapult struck the uncertain section of wall squarely, and it groaned ominously but did not break; an answering strike from Sharl’s trebuchet, with some helping guidance from one of the mages, struck that catapult a glancing blow, crippling it. Ballista and catapult attacks on the main gate and southeast section of the wall did minimal structural damage, although several of the wall guard were killed. Sharl tried to keep the enemy’s catapults firing, hoping to exhaust their much more limited supply of boulders, but the barbarians opted for another try at the wall, this time under cover of their own archers and more flaming attacks from their mages. While the wall troops fought off this new incursion, Sharl rode back to the keep to meet with Rivkah on the tower.
“They rely heavily on fire,” Sharl said, gesturing at a new rain of fire arrows from the invaders. “The arrows, pots of burning pitch catapulted or thrown over the wall, fiery missiles from their mages. If we had more wood in the city we’d be in serious trouble. Thank the gods for those tile roofs and the rain. We’ve been trying the same tactic, but their wet hide tents don’t burn any more easily than our stone. Have you had any luck spotting the mages?”
Rivkah shook her head unhappily.
“They’re protected from magic-spotting just as we are. I’ve been watching the magical attacks, though, and they seem to come from near some of the larger campfires. I think their magic itself is fire-based. It’s all we can do to block the attacks and try a strike now and then, and of course keep the rain coming down. Wilar tells me he’s been trying any number of offensive spells, but they’re countered almost immediately.
Loren’s getting some interference on his crystal, too. I think they’re finding a way to block the seers.”
“Suggestions?” Sharl asked.
“Concentrate your fire on their campfires,” Rivkah said.
“Especially the larger ones. Maybe you’ll take out some of the mages. More poisoned caltrops thrown over the wall might take some of the pressure off the wall guards. It worked well enough the first time.”
“What about you?” Sharl turned to Chyrie. “What if you flew a bird or two—messenger birds, maybe—out over the army and see if you can spot the mages and the commanders?”
“If a bird should fly low enough to see as you wish,” Chyrie said patiently, “they would simply shoot it from the sky for meat. Nor would it be simple to coax the bird to fly so low, into such danger. You must understand that I do not have the strength to force, only to ask. And we have no birds here that are accustomed to fly at night, in any wise.”
“Can you at least contact Dusk?” Jeena asked thoughtfully. “It has been a day and part of a night. Perhaps he has tidings for us.”
“That would be wise,” Chyrie agreed. She composed her mind and reached through the resting brighthawk. It was a long moment before Dusk responded, and the tone of his thoughts was very weary, heavy with despair.
(At least you are safe,) Dusk thought in answer to her alarm. (We cannot stand against these barbarians for another day. They fall in great numbers, but where one falls, ten come to take his place. They throw themselves upon us faster than our archers can reload their bows. Many of the border clans have been driven from their lands inward, and still the invaders press forward. We cannot hold against so many. In some places they have burned parts of the forest, despite the rain.)
(Have you learned anything that might be of use to us?) Chyrie begged. (Any small weakness, any vulnerability that we could use against them?)
(We took five captives,) Dusk thought wearily. (Fortunately I studied the magic Rivkah used to teach you her language, and we were able, after many efforts, to use it to learn their tongue. The truth spell in Rowan’s speaking hut served us well then, although our captives took much—persuasion—before they would speak.)
(What did you learn?) Chyrie asked eagerly.
(Little that we did not know already,) Dusk told her. (They are primitive folk who cannot count their own numbers. They follow the directions of their commanders blindly. I did learn, however, why they had come. It served little purpose, but I will tell you.
(They come from far to the north, from beyond a range of great mountains,) Dusk told her. (Their legends tell that once they lived south of those mountains, but that the land was cold and filled with ice. They worshipped a god called Gax, the ice warrior, the sworn enemy of the fire god of the southern peoples. In time, however, the fire god drove their people north, melting the ice until the children of Gax were forced to pass the great mountains to the cold steppes. There Gax battled the fire god and defeated him, although Gax was greatly weakened by the battle, and imprisoned the fire god under the ground and bound him there as a slave to serve Gax’s people. Since that time fire has been their servant, to stoke their forges and to be molded by their mages.
(At times, however,) Dusk continued, (the fire god fights to break free, strengthened by the worship of its followers to the south. At such times the ground shakes mightily, cracks open in the earth, and some of the mountains spew flame and ash into the air as the fire god thrashes under the ground. At such times Gax’s followers must flee their land lest the fire god break free and destroy them, and they journey south to slay the fire god’s worshippers both to weaken the fire god and as sacrifices to Gax. Their women and children follow some distance behind, gleaning whatever loot is left in the plundered towns. The warriors continue to do battle until the cold season comes, a sign that Gax has once more gained control over the fire god and they may return.)
Dusk was too weary for further conversation, and Chyrie released her touch on the brighthawk to tell Sharl what the Gifted One had said. Sharl shook his head disgustedly.
“Ice warriors and fire gods,” he said. “There’s no chance we can hold out until winter. Rivkah, is there any way you can turn this storm into something colder, an ice storm, snow?”
“Sharl, it’s almost summer” Rivkah protested. “Snow? Not a chance.” She paused thoughtfully. “But maybe hail. I don’t know if that would be enough, but it’s worth a try. Jeena, Loren, and I together might be able to manage something.”
“You’ll have to distract their mages,” Loren told Sharl, shaking his head. “Anything as powerful as a weather change is certainly going to draw their attention to us, yes, indeed, and we can’t cast the spell and defend ourselves at the same time.”
“How long?” Sharl asked worriedly.
Rivkah frowned and thought.
“Nearly an hour,” she said. “That’s just casting the spell. Then it’ll take a little time for the storm to change. Can you—”
A huge crash, like the loudest thunder, interrupted their words, followed by a horrible groaning rumble. Even before they reached the battlements, Val and Chyrie could see what had happened—the barbarian mages had changed tactics and were now hurling their flaming balls into the wall itself, to devastating effect. The weakened section of the northeast wall had fallen, and two other sections were cracking under the assault.
“I’ve got to get troops into that gap,” Sharl said urgently, taking Rivkah’s hands. “We need that hail. Can you do it?”
“We’ll do it,” Rivkah said firmly, kissing Sharl quickly. “Now go. As long as the mages are working on the walls and the catapults are south, we’re safe enough. Just an hour, that’s all I need.”
Rivkah and Loren started the spell immediately, Jeena waiting quietly by until her strength could be of use. Val and Chyrie stayed at the battlements, watching fearfully as another section of wall fell under the onslaught of the redoubled magical attack. Wind gathered around the tower as the spell progressed, and Val and Chyrie fetched their furs to keep them warm as they continued their vigil.
