by Duncan Lay
‘I don’t care what happens to them!’ Sumiko interrupted.
‘Sensei, give Sendatsu more time. He will find what we need!’
Sumiko paused, while new plants burst into life, slicing and shoving others aside to gain space for themselves. ‘We shall give him half a moon. We cannot afford any more. Be ready when I send for you,’ she said finally. ‘If Sendatsu cannot help us, we shall have to kill the Council and seize power ourselves.’
Asami struggled to keep her face impassive.
‘With the clans left leaderless, we can gain the books and use them to show the people we had no choice. Would the likes of your father support us then?’
‘Perhaps,’ Asami hedged.
Plants sliced each other apart behind her.
‘Find out. Carefully. And then tell me.’
‘Yes, sensei.’
Sumiko parted the plants, allowing Asami to leave the garden safely, and watched the girl walk away until she was out of sight.
‘Can we really kill Jaken?’ Oroku broke the silence.
‘Let us pray to Aroaril that it does not come to that.’
‘And Sendatsu?’
‘He is either dead or as good as. We must plan to take over without his help. We have half a moon to be ready before we strike.’
It could have been a panic. It nearly was a panic. In no time at all, everyone could see just how many Forlish were out there — and what they were bringing with them. There were more than two hundred of them, all carrying shields or helping wheel three huge machines closer to the village. The catapults were obvious enough, while the giant battering ram’s intent was all too clear.
‘Calm down! Everyone keep calm!’ Huw had to use every bit of his voice to bring things under control. ‘Now, we need women and children to head home and stay inside. Those catapults are to damage and bring down the walls, as is the ram. But we don’t just have crossbows this time — we have elven bows. And we don’t just have one elven warrior, we have scores of elven-trained warriors!’
With the help of Glyn and Kelyn, they managed to move the women and children to houses at the far side of the village, further away from the catapults.
‘They’re setting up camp directly opposite the main gate,’ Glyn reported. ‘Where we don’t yet have a ditch.’
‘Perhaps we could try and get the women and children clear — put them on the horses and send them out the back,’ Huw suggested.
‘And by the time we get them through the ditch and holes we have dug, the Forlish will be upon them,’ Sendatsu pointed out.
‘Should we send out a parley, seek to get safe passage for the women and children?’ Rhiannon wondered.
‘I’m sure they would agree. And then as soon as the women and children were out there, they’d be killed,’ Sendatsu spat. ‘Remember what they did to the women and children in Rheged?’
‘What do you think they will try — and how will we stop them?’ Huw asked.
Sendatsu sighed. ‘It seems obvious. They will use the catapults to damage the inside wall, try and bring down as much as possible. Then they will advance behind shields, push that ram right up, carve a huge hole in the first wall then flood through. It’s a good strategy and I don’t think we can stop it. There is nothing we can do to keep the catapults far enough away from the wall — and they will have made shields strong enough to withstand the elven crossbows.’
‘So that’s it then?’ Glyn asked dispiritedly.
‘Not at all.’ Huw clapped his hands. ‘We plan for them getting in — and counter that. We’ll use the space between the walls, hit them from either side. The elven crossbows will sting them, the bows of the dragons will hurt them. But we also need to plan for them getting inside. We’ll block off the spaces between huts, create another wall there. The village still has all the Forlish weapons from the first attack. We’ll be able to arm enough men with swords as well as crossbows, so we can meet them on equal terms, at least.’
‘Let them inside?’ Glyn asked in horror.
‘Well, we shall try to keep them out. But we have to plan for them doing enough damage to the walls to get past,’ Huw said.
‘Then what good are walls? Why did we spend so long trying to build the blessed things?’ Glyn snorted.
Huw hesitated. ‘The wall was never going to hold back the Forlish forever,’ he finally admitted. ‘It is perfect for small groups of bandits and raiders. But the Forlish are too used to breaking through walls of wood and stone. Our only hope is to use a wall of men to keep them back — the dragons.’
‘Nice to know that now,’ Glyn grumbled.
‘Well, that wall saved your life before. And it might just do so again — for they will not be able to see what we are doing behind it,’ Rhiannon reminded him.
‘When will they attack?’ Kelyn asked.
‘Tomorrow. They’ll want to give us some time to worry, to let fear eat away at us,’ Sendatsu predicted.
‘So it looks like a busy afternoon and night,’ Glyn said with forced cheerfulness.
‘What I would have given to see their reaction when we walked out,’ Broyle gloated.
‘Why didn’t we strike when we saw them riding? We could have taken them!’ Hector muttered. He had been forced to see his daughter ride into that filthy Velsh village. What if a catapult hit her? What if some lust-filled soldier grabbed her?
‘They would have escaped. There were too many of them and we don’t have many horses,’ Broyle dismissed him. ‘Besides, we want to destroy the village. We want the Velsh to know their new warriors and flag and weapons won’t save them.’
Hector said nothing. Broyle’s desire for revenge was dangerously close to obsession. But if it meant the return of his daughter — and she was not too soiled — then he was willing to tolerate the madman. After all, Broyle had managed to bring together this little army from beaten remnants. And they acknowledged him — a mere sergeant — without question. Of course the king’s seal had helped but mostly it was pure Broyle.
‘Get the catapults in position — and start bringing up the stones!’ Broyle waved.
Hector could only stand back and admire the organisation of the Forlish warriors. Men prepared the camp, dug defensive trenches in case the villagers tried to sally out, or dug latrines further back, while others began fires and more prepared the catapults.
‘I don’t think they are going to attack us — I should be so lucky — they won’t be mad enough to. But there is no reason not to take them seriously, rather than just a bunch of farm boys led by an elf,’ Broyle confided.
‘So you are confident of getting in?’ Hector asked nervously. He was only too aware of how long it had been since the king had sent him off. Would Ward have forgotten about them by now? Would he have found a new favourite? Would he welcome their return with open arms or with a horrible punishment?
‘By about the third or fourth cast, we’ll have the stones landing on the wall,’ Broyle said confidently. ‘Catapults are tricky things — not bothered much by the wind, of course, but the weight of the stone can affect the range dramatically. We try to find stones all about the same shape but there is no such thing. So we’ll damage a good hundred yards of the inside wall and then send in the ram, with the men around it. Once we have smashed a hole in the first wall and can get inside, then all their building work becomes our friend — for they cannot get out. We hunt them like rats!’
‘But no women are to be killed — my daughter cannot be harmed,’ Hector said hurriedly.
‘I know. The men will have their orders. No women dead — and no fun until you have been reunited with your daughter.’
‘The king wants her for himself — so tell them it is King Ward they will answer to if she is harmed,’ Hector insisted.
‘I’ll tell them. But I do wonder if the king will still want that filly, after she’s been ridden by half of Vales.’
‘How dare you!’ Hector snarled, going purple in his anger. ‘She will be the consort of the king hi
mself — and it is he you insult, as much as her!’
‘Seems strange to champion her virtue on one hand, when you plan to sell her to the king with the other,’ Broyle said calmly.
‘Have a care, Broyle — you go too far!’ Hector threatened.
Broyle stepped in close and Hector subsided.
‘You’re not so big a fool as to threaten me,’ Broyle said softly. ‘And if my men hear you trying to order me about one more time, I shall see you hung from a tree with a noose made from your own guts. Understand?’
Hector nodded swiftly.
‘Good. Now stay clear and let the real men go to work. I’ll send for you when we have the village in our hands and you can get your daughter again in yours.’
Hector shook with rage as Broyle walked away. How dare the man! Once they were safely back in Cridianton, he would speak to the king about the sergeant’s attitude. Well, probably.
The gap between the two walls took advantage of the natural upward slope and Glyn and Kelyn had made sure the two gates were not facing each other, which would force any attacker who got inside the first wall to cross the open ground and run around before attacking the second, inner gate to get access into the village itself.
‘This is clever work,’ Sendatsu approved, standing on one of the fighting platforms and looking down. ‘The only problem is, they may not come in here.’
‘Well, they have to tell us where they plan to break in,’ Huw said with a confidence he did not entirely feel.
‘Really?’ Sendatsu smiled.
‘The catapults,’ Glyn breathed. ‘Where they breach the inner wall will show us where they will attack.’
‘Their arrogance is also their weakness,’ Huw predicted.
‘Well, we shall see,’ was all Sendatsu said.
Meanwhile, both dragons and villagers tore down fighting platforms and used the timber to block the spaces between huts, to create a final position.
‘I hope we never have to use this,’ Rhiannon commented, as she helped organise the women.
‘We shall do everything we can to hold them at the walls. But they have spent a moon getting ready for this — they will not be easy to stop. We have to break them apart, give the dragons a chance to use their skills. The huts will help do that — and then we have our best trick as well,’ Huw said loudly. There was plenty of fear in the village. Apart from battle, there was the sense of being trapped. Huw had never felt sympathy when hunting rats in a granary before — but now he could imagine the sensation of having no escape from the doom coming for you.
He was trying to inspire the people, although, like trapped rats, they would have no choice but to fight. And they knew their fate should the Forlish win.
‘This is all a huge risk,’ he whispered to Sendatsu. ‘Have we made a mistake?’
‘Ask me in two days,’ Sendatsu grunted. ‘I would have been happier had we got the women and children to safety. I would have been far happier to have the rest of the dragons here. It was always their plan to attack here. Which means Rhiannon’s father must be out there, driving them. You need to tell her.’
‘Not now,’ Huw said worriedly. ‘We have to concentrate on winning this battle. Rhiannon is doing a wonderful job with the women …’
‘You keep finding excuses to not tell her. You need to find a way to say something,’ Sendatsu said bluntly.
‘But I have a far better idea,’ Huw claimed. ‘Once we have won here, I shall tell her that I do not want to wait for Midwinter to Walk The Tree with her. Instead we shall go out there and become married — and then I can tell her.’
Sendatsu whistled softly. ‘Well, she won’t run then, it is true. But I should prepare myself for many nights sleeping out in the kitchen, rather than in bed with her.’
‘I have it all worked out,’ Huw insisted.
Sendatsu just shook his head.
‘Look,’ Huw said gently. ‘This could be our last night together. I don’t want to spend it apart, in anger and fear and hurt. If we get through the next day, then I have all the time in the world to tell her.’
Sendatsu looked at him, then nodded reluctantly.
‘Go then,’ he said. ‘Enjoy your night. But don’t let anyone else hear you talking like that!’
25
Naturally I ordered Naibun to investigate what happened, why two Council Guards of my own clan tried to kill me. Naturally, as he was the one who had ordered it, he was unable to tell me anything useful.
But the failed attempt on my life snapped me out of my grief. I began reviewing all the plans for the final withdrawal back into Dokuzen. At first these seemed to be ordinary enough but, as I read further, I began discovering strange details, odd discrepancies and events that seemed impossible. It became quickly clear that things had not been going as planned. I went to speak to old friends and allies — and found them almost all missing, dead or withdrawn from public life. Too late, I listened to all the stories being spread, heard of all the human deaths. Even then, in the face of the mounting evidence, I wanted to believe Naibun.
Only days remained before the barrier went up and I tried to confront Naibun with my concerns — only to find he had journeyed into Vales. Determined to confront him and discover the truth, I hurried after him. But first, just in case, I spoke to the Magic-weavers.
The next morning was dull and cloudy, the promise of rain on the air. To those inside the village, fearing it was the last day they would see, the dark clouds matched their mood perfectly.
To the Forlish, it was just another day. They had spent too many days and nights before battle to be worried about a small village with a couple of flimsy walls. They expected to have a hard morning reducing the walls, then a short fight followed by plenty of plunder, drink and women — not necessarily in that order. Besides, Broyle had them primed for revenge, thirsting to pay back these impudent Velsh who had defied the might of Forland, used trickery to kill their friends in the night.
Once the light was enough to judge the cast of stones, Broyle signalled to his catapult crews.
‘Loose!’
The first two stones landed short, one sinking into the turf outside the outer wall, the other landing somewhere in between.
‘Ten yards closer, and smaller rocks,’ the catapult captains called.
Many hands moved the catapults closer, while others greased the wood with lard. They had cut the wood only a moon ago, tried to let it season as much as possible — but it was still dangerously green and, they feared, ripe for cracking. None wanted to be near one when that happened.
Broyle had wanted to use the catapults to crush every hut in the village, to spread fear and pain long before his soldiers broke through the wall. He had been bitterly disappointed when the catapult captains had warned him the machines would be lucky to last long enough to do sufficient damage to the wall. The stones they were loosing were as small as they dared to use, little larger than a man’s head. But even that weight put huge stress on the throwing arms.
They wound the catapults back and then stood well away for their second cast.
‘First was close!’ the spotter, high up in a nearby tree, called. ‘Second hit the wall!’
The Forlish cheered lustily as the catapults were adjusted, more grease applied — and slightly heavier stones chosen this time.
‘Loose!’
‘Both hit!’
The crews on the catapults slaved hard, stripped to the waist, taking it in turns to wind and load.
Broyle watched grimly, not allowing even a small smile on his face. His men were watching for his reaction and he would give them nothing yet. But when they saw the first section of the inner palisade tumble down, hit by a second stone in a row, he allowed a quick grin at the crew of that catapult.
The catapults gnawed away at the inner wall, bringing down one or two or more logs with every hit. But then the main beam snapped on the first catapult, the wood breaking under the strain, sending thick splinters in all directions, making men duc
k for cover and leaving one of the crew screaming out his last.
‘Keep going. Every stone that hits is worth it,’ Broyle ordered curtly.
So the remaining catapult worked on, flinging stones into the damaged inner wall, knocking more logs askew, snapping others and causing damage even when it bounced in front and then sprang up. Broyle was just beginning to relax when everything stopped.
‘What is it?’ Broyle stormed down there, to see the men gathered around the catapult.
‘Cracked through. It just couldn’t take that much strain.’ The crew captain shrugged. ‘Nothing we could do.’
Broyle resisted the temptation to have the machine try to hurl the man at the village.
‘Shields! We assault now!’ He signalled.
The men gathered around the battering ram, forming up to protect the men who would be wheeling it forwards. Broyle had built two types of shields — the usual sort, which could be held with one hand, as well as bigger ones, which would cover men from head to toe. These were massively heavy, difficult to drag across rough ground — but they would get his men safely to the wall. Once there, they could be discarded and the normal shields would come into their own. He wished they had body armour but he had neither the tools, materials nor the time to make that. Besides, once inside the wall those damned crossbows would lose most of their effect.
Broyle took his place in the middle of the men, near the ram, and hefted a shield. They would ensure this would be a slow advance but a safe one. They had the giant ones at the front, then men in the second and third ranks carried the smaller shields, which could be held up high to stop anything falling from above.
He wanted a simple attack route, rather than anything fancy. The damned shields were too heavy to try anything else. The track to the village led not to a gate but to solid wall. But that was fine by him. He had the catapults demolish chunks of the inner wall behind, now the ram was pointed at the part of the outer wall shielding that breach.
