by Джеффри Лорд
Shortly after dawn there was a lull in the bombardment. From the walls, Blade could see all the Wolves' siege machines lined up across the moat, just out of bowshot. The two towers and the three battering rams were in position, ready to be pushed through the gaps in the enemy's trenches and up to the moat. Around them stood the wagons of piled brush and planks for crossing the moat.
Zemun peered through a knothole in the arrow-scarred battlements, then turned to Blade. «Lord Blade, what about bringing up our throwers and trying to hit those machines? A tar barrel or two would be the end of those towers.»
Blade shook his head. «Not yet. Wait until they're up so close to the walls that the Wolves won't be able to use their own throwers. Then we can shoot without being shot at.»
«But they have only a few machines. If-«
«So do we,» put in Blade. «And we can't replace them as easily as the Wolves can.»
Zemun frowned and seemed ready to go on arguing, when suddenly the crunk of a stone-thrower at work floated across from the enemy's camp. Right behind the sound came a large rock, to crash into the wall fifty yards to Blade's right. Dust rose in a cloud and he could feel the ancient stones shudder under his feet.
Here we go, thought Blade. Aloud, he said, «Get some of the archers up into the houses just behind the wall. Have them keep out of sight. The Wolves will be coming at us in four or five places at once, so we can't hope to keep them all out. With archers in the houses and the barricades in the streets, the ones who get in still won't get far.»
The young nobleman nodded. As he did, another stone crashed into the wall, a hundred yards to the left. This one cleaned off several yards of the wooden battlements, and Blade heard screams from the streets below as men were struck down by the falling wreckage.
All morning and into the afternoon, the stone-throwers of the Wizard's army hammered at the walls of Morina. Those walls were massive, but they were also old. They hadn't been maintained very well, either-the Wizard didn't encourage his subjects to keep their walls strong. Under the steady pounding, the walls began to give. In one place an open breach gaped, half-choked with fallen stones but still passable for men on foot. Blade had cartloads of stone and tar barrels pulled into position all around the breach, but there was nothing else to do.
The day was at its hottest when the bombardment finally stopped. The dust cloud hanging over the walls slowly drifted away on the faint breeze. Behind the walls the Morinans finished oiling and sharpening their weapons, tightened their helmet straps, and drank some water. Everyone was hungry, but no one could force himself to swallow a single bite.
Then the creak and squeal of ungreased wheels rose and the siege towers and battering rams lurched forward. The towers swayed like the masts of a ship in a storm, while the battering rams came on steadily, looking like centipedes as the hundred Wolves under each wooden cover tramped along.
At least two thousand Wolves were advancing on the walls of Morina, but only about half of them would be actually fighting. The others were pushing the towers, the rams, and the wagonloads of material for crossing the moat. A thousand Wolves might not be too many to handle.
Now there were creakings and squealings from behind Blade, to echo the ones in front. The Morinan stone-throwers were coming forward, getting into striking range, Blade lay fiat on his stomach on top of the wall, estimating distances. Another few yards and the siege towers would be good targets.
Trumpets blared and drums rattled and thundered all along the line-of the advancing Wolves. On top of the towers men frantically waved the wolf's-head banners. The next moment everyone was surging toward the wall like an incoming tide, and the moment after that they were in range of the Morinan stone-throwers.
Blade sprang to his feet, waving his ax, signaling frantically to the lookouts for the stone-throwers. He saw them reply, then started signalling to the men who'd been waiting out the bombardment of the wall. They scrambled up the inner face of the wall on ladders and dashed out of the battered houses. Most carried bows, all carried axes or spears.
A stone came arching up out of the city, flew over the wall, and dropped into the moat. Muddy water spouted high, drenching a dozen Wolves and making them dance and swear. Blade laughed. A second stone fell more accurately, missing one of the advancing rams by feet. Then Blade could no longer keep track of the fall of each stone, as the attack reached the walls of Morina.
The wagons of brush and planks came up to the moat, and the archers on the walls opened fire on them. Dozens of Wolves fell as they tried to manhandle long planks and huge bundles of brushwood into place. The archers supporting them fired back, and men fell from the top of the wall. The planks slammed down, and shouting Wolves ran across the rickety bridges, some carrying scaling ladders. Behind these men the brushwood slowly piled up, filling the moat.
Now the rams came on at a run. The man guiding one didn't keep his mind on the job. The ram dashed up to the moat and kept right on going, plunging the leading bearers into the filthy water. They floundered, screaming and choking as they tried to get free of the ram. Slowly and with a horrible inevitability, it tilted forward, pushing them under like a giant hand. The screams and the choking died away, and only a few bubbles came up from under the submerged end of the ram. The bearers at the other end, luckier than their comrades, scrambled out from under the wooden cover and joined the men crossing on the planks.
The other two rams came up to the moat where the brushwood offered them a safe crossing. This did one of them no good. The first bearers were just stepping on to the brushwood when a heavy stone crashed down on the wooden cover. Splinters and planks flew, men screamed, and the ram stopped. Then the bearers began scrambling out from underneath. Blade saw the lucky hit had snapped most of the ropes supporting the iron-headed wooden beam of the ram, letting it sag and break in two. The whole machine was now so much useless lumber.
The third ram was the only one to reach the wall. The iron head began crunching against a section of already cracked stones. Blade could see large chunks coming loose and tumbling down to the ground, or bouncing off the wooden cover. The men on this ram seemed to be tougher than their comrades, and they kept at their work.
Those men would get through, Blade realized. He could only hope the men at the barricades and the archers in the houses could hold them. He had too much to do here on the wall. On either side of him the heads of scaling ladders were sprouting, then the armored heads of Wolf leaders. One rose almost at Blade's feet, turning from side to side as if the man was trying to get his bearings. Blade brought his ax down on the helmet as hard as he could. The Wolf leader threw up his hands and toppled backward off the wall, taking three comrades and the ladder with him.
Another ladder rose beside Blade. He kicked at it and saw it fall backward. The Wolves on it leaped clear and landed safely-for a moment. Two archers fired down at them and one Wolf sprawled on the ground, writhing and kicking until he writhed himself into the moat. The fighting was now so mixed up that the Wolf archers on the ground could not fire safely. The Morinans had no such problem. Anyone coming at them across the ground outside the wall was an enemy, and often a fine target as well.
Another ladder, and another, and a third. The man on the first ladder had his visor open and Blade's ax split apart his sweating face. Blade was turning to the second ladder when someone drove a spear down between it and the wall, then heaved. The man on top of the ladder slashed at the spearman, laying open his unarmored stomach. He gasped and put all his strength into a last desperate heave. The ladder went over backward with a chorus of screams, then the dying spearman toppled off the wall and landed on top of his victims.
Blade was about to attack the third ladder when he heard a gruesome chorus of screams from beyond the moat. Blazing tar from a well-aimed barrel was covering the top of a siege tower with a crown of flames and dripping down the sides. The Wolves hadn't taken the precaution of wetting down the tower's sides or covering them with leather. It was going up like
a pile of kindling. Blade saw writhing bodies among the flames on the top, and saw others jump, hair and clothing aflame. He also heard more screams from those unlucky enough to be inside the tower and unable to get out. They went on screaming for quite a while, until one side of the tower cracked open like an eggshell. Flames roared up, curling around the blackening timbers and mercifully drowning out the last of the screams.
With other men than the Wizard's Wolves, Blade might have expected the burning of the tower to be the end of the attack. Few men would come on unshaken by seeing and hearing their comrades roasted alive. But the Wolves were fighting not only for victory but for their own lives. It was kill or be killed for both sides.
So the Wolves came on. A column marched toward the breach in the wall and started scrambling up the tumbled blocks. The footing on the loose stones was so precarious that the leaders in their heavy armor could not climb. The men-at-arms scrambled up, some falling with arrows in them, others pushed back by spears, a few simply losing their balance. Some got through-and then a vast cloud of smoke billowed up, as tar barrels were ignited in their faces. Blade sent a messenger off with orders to the stone-thrower crews, to aim one of their machines at the breach and keep it firing as fast as they could.
Now the second siege tower was crossing the moat. It wobbled and swayed drunkenly as it crossed the precarious bridge of planks on top of brushwood. The archers on top ceased firing, too busy hanging on for dear life. Then the tower was rumbling steadily toward the wall. A tar barrel came smoking down from the sky and Blade held his breath, hoping it would land on the tower. The barrel bounced off the side of the tower, scattering flaming tar over the dead and wounded, then rolled into the moat in a cloud of steam.
Blade could now see where the siege tower was going to reach the wall. The archers on top were firing again and the Wolves on the ground were crowding around. The men on top were pushing out a heavy wooden plank. It swayed in the air as it reached for the wall.
Blade started running toward where the plank would drop. He saw Zemun Bossir running toward the same place from the opposite position. Arrows and bolts whistled around the young nobleman as he ran, but none of them hit him.
«No!» Blade shouted. «We shouldn't both be here, you young idiot! Get back!»
If Zemun heard Blade's shouts, he ignored them. There seemed to be a battle-madness in him, that made him totally indifferent to the world around him. No, that wasn't quite true. The wild eyes in the grimy faced were fixed on the siege tower as if it had some hypnotic attraction. Zemun stopped, waved his sword, shouted curses, ignored more bolts and arrows-then the heavy plank swayed one final time and crashed down on top of him. Even over the uproar of the battle, Blade heard Zemun Bossir's skull crack.
Blade covered the rest of the distance to the plank so quickly that he was there before the first Wolf crossed it. Blade met that unfortunate Wolf, his ax swinging in both hands. The man flew off the plank and landed very nearly in two pieces The second man was a Wolf leader. Blade smashed his shield with one swing, his shoulder with a second, his face with a third. The Wolf leader collapsed on top of the wall, falling almost beside Zemun Bossir.
Blade killed three more Wolves with his ax, then the handle cracked. He grappled a fourth man with his bare hands and heaved him backward into his comrades so that three of them fell off the plank. More Wolves scrambled up into the tower from the ground, but by now Morina's defenders were swarming up to meet them. Now Blade was in the middle of a swirling hand-to-hand combat where men hacked, kicked, and thrust at each other, and threw each other off the wall when they couldn't do anything else.
Suddenly the Wolves stopped coming across the plank. Blade snatched up a fallen mace and ran across the plank to the top of the tower. A Wolf leader's head poked up through the hole in the wooden floor, and Blade's mace crashed down on it. Then three Morinans ran up along the wall, carrying a huge iron hook tied to a hundred feet of heavy rope. They tossed the hook to Blade, who swung it down and drove it firmly into a joint in the floor under him. Then he ran back to the wall and threw the plank down. Every man who could grab the rope did so, someone started a chant, and the men began to pull. As more Wolves scrambled out on top of the tower, it swayed farther than ever before, hung precariously for a second, then went over with a crash. The Wolves on top jumped, but misjudged their distance. They landed safely, but a second later the falling tower landed on top of them, mashing them into the ground. Blade called for torches and tar barrels to burn the tower, then ran back along the wall to his former position.
Blade alternated between being a fighter and being a general all the rest of the afternoon, because the Wolves went on attacking as if they still had some hope of winning. Blade couldn't see how they could believe this, with so much of their siege equipment smashed and the Morinans still holding as firm as ever. Were they hoping for the Wizard to come to their aid, or did they perhaps hope the Morinans' courage might still crack? Certainly there seemed to be no end to the Wolves, so the reinforcements from the north had probably arrived.
Afterward, Blade couldn't have told a coherent story of the rest of the afternoon's fighting for a million pounds. It was just one endless slaughter, the Wolves corning on, the Morinans holding, and the men on both sides dying. There were times when Blade wondered if perhaps he'd died and gone to Hell. It was hard to believe there could be this much blood, this much killing, this many screams of pain and rage anywhere else.
Blade did know that in time the attacks came to an end. No more Wolves stormed forward over the heaped bodies of their comrades. No more bolts plucked men off the wall beside Blade. From inside the city he could hear the sounds of minor skirmishing. The mounted guards and bands of civilians under Haymi Razence were hunting down the last Wolves who'd managed to get past the walls. There weren't many of those Wolves left, and the sounds of the fighting were scattered and faint.
In fact, there weren't going to be many Wolves left anywhere. Blade didn't know how many men this day's fighting had left dead or maimed, and he couldn't even force his numbed brain to make a guess. He did know that Morina had given the Wolves a second hammering, and from this one they could never recover. The armies of Rentoro would now outnumber the Wolves eight or ten to one. With that kind of odds in their favor, they could march out and meet the Wolves in the open field. No more Rentoran cities would have to stand these murderous sieges, see their women and children crushed under falling houses, and have their cobblestones turn dark with blood.
Blade was just getting used to the relative silence that was falling over the city, when suddenly it came apart all over again. There was a frantic boiling of movement all around the Wolves' camp, with men on foot and men on heudas dashing about. No two of them seemed to be moving in the same direction. Some of the riders went down, others trampled Wolves under the hooves of their mounts. A vast cloud of dust rose as the Wolves' heudas stampeded, and the thunder of their stampede drowned out all the other sounds.
Suddenly Blade realized what was happening. He sprinted to the nearest stairs, plunged down them to the street, and ran to the nearest saddled heuda he could find. He vaulted into the saddle and wrenched the animal's head toward the nearest gate, just as Serana ran up. She was in hacked and dust-covered armor, and there was blood on one cheek and on the sword she waved.
«Someone's attacking the Wolves' camp!» Blade shouted. «I have to ride out there and find out who's leading them!» He waved his mace at the gate guards. «Pull those wagons clear, now! Move!»
The wagons blocking the gate rumbled aside, the gate creaked open, and Blade spurred his heuda up to a gallop. He pounded through the gate, leaving Serana staring open-mouthed after him. He was glad to have an excuse not to talk to her. She'd done her share of the fighting and certainly nothing about Zemun Bossir's death could be blamed on her. Still, the deaths of both Count Drago and his grandson would make the succession of the Bossirs in Morina complicated, to say the least. Blade didn't want to say anything abou
t the matter to anyone until he had time to put his own thoughts in order and find out who was out there, joining Morina's battle at the last moment.
Blade thundered out of the gate and crossed the moat on one of the Wolves' piles of brushwood and planks. He passed several small clusters of Wolves. They stood watching him in numb silence, like men who'd been hit over the head but hadn't found time to fall down. Blade did see one Wolf leader topple over as he passed, a man apparently quite unwounded. Sunstroke, probably. The Wolf leaders had been fighting all day under a broiling hot sun, encased in full plate armor.
By the time Blade came up behind the Wolf camp, most of the heudas were long gone and the dust cloud was settling. The mounted men were riding about, chasing those Wolves who hadn't run off after their mounts. Some of the Wolves were trying to surrender, and a few of them were actually succeeding.
The mounted men were mostly small, wiry types, in weather-stained dark clothing, mounted on thin, nervous heudas. «Where's your leader?» Blade called out.
One of them jerked a thumb after the fleeing heudas. «Gone t'run down Wolves.»
Blade spent a frustrating couple of hours trying to catch up with the leader of the new arrivals. Three times he reached the place of a battle just after the fighting ended and the leader rode off after more Wolves. It was getting dark and Blade was several miles from Morina before he finally caught up with the man.
The leader was a man about the same size and shape as Zemun Bossir. He sat on his heuda as if he and the animal were a single body, and his entire face was covered by a black leather mask. Blade realized this must be the leader of the northern outlaws, Arno of the Mask. Well, the man had said he was riding south to help Morina. He'd also said he'd guarantee them victory. In a way he had-the Wolves wouldn't even be able to make a safe retreat with their heudas driven off. But Arno and his men would be wise not to claim too much credit. After all their losses, the Morinans would not much care for that.
