Across the floor Toria had taken charge of everyone in the room and had them blocking and reinforcing the two smashed doors again. The war was still raging outside and they had to ensure that no one else came to hurt them. Tay was busy binding Lyyl’s wound with torn strips of towels.
Another healer stepped forward and spoke to Taggart. “You can stop now,” she said gently, “She’s…”
“No!” Toria pointed a finger at the healer. “She’s not!”
The young woman nodded and stepped away.
Tinker now slinked her way through the many legs surrounding Taggart and Dwan. Her path was blocked, but Pan appeared beside her. His muscularity served to force some of the women aside giving them access. Both animals now sniffed and nuzzled Dwan’s head. As Taggart and the other healer continued their efforts, the Mountain Children took up a position next to her. Both laid down and placed a paw on her forehead, far enough up that they did not impede Taggart’s efforts.
The women watched in astonishment as the animals touched their whiskered muzzles to each other and closed their eyes. All movement of the two creatures ceased. Even their breathing seemed to stop.
“Join with me,”
“I have joined. You have been in her mind before. Show me the way.”
“The path is narrow now, but it is still open. Stay close, My Love.”
“Lead. I will be there with you.”
The path of which they spoke was an imagined tunnel in a cavern, created by Tinker as a means by which she could connect with Dwan’s mindscent. That mental signal was present in all sentient beings at one level or another. The white Mountain Children had been endowed with the strongest mindscent of all living things on Olvion. The gift was critical to their abilities to connect with other living creatures. When Tinker first was brought into the company of Dwan she conjured up the image of the tunnel as a means of linking up to the young woman’s mind. The actual neural pathways of the human brain were so complicated and numerous that no creature, not even a Mountain Child, could follow them for long. So the creatures created imagined pathways which took the place of the brain’s actual physical construction. They weren’t always tunnels. Sometimes they were hallways in a home or branches on a tree, but, since this path had already been laid by Tinker, they followed it saving precious time.
With her eyes shut, tinker imagined herself snaking through narrow burrows and wider caverns. Pan followed her up and down, left and right. Tinker had been worried that his abilities would not be up to the task yet; he was still so new to his tasking, but his natural strengths emerged and he was able to stay directly behind her. It was a good thing. A Mountain Child who had insufficient mental strength could get lost in the imagined matrix and never be able to extricate themselves. Tinker knew this was a risk, but she would need his strength.
“I feel it just ahead. Can you go on?”
There was a pause which concerned her. Then:
“I …am with you. Lead, I will follow.”
Tinker felt a flood of concern for her mate, but squelched it. There were more important tasks at hand.
The tunnels turned upward then down. Then there was a glow up ahead of them. They lowered themselves to squeeze through a narrow passage.
Then they were through. The images before them now were of a nest. It had an appearance much like the nest of a seabird composed of string and sticks and vines. It lay in a wide cavern with a ceiling high over their heads.
They approached. The nest had numerous orbs within. They were of different colors, and all of them glowed. Weakly.
Tinker crossed to one side, making room for Pan on the other. They both stretched their small, human-like hands out over the nest.
“They are barely here. I see no means to help her.”
“Life still persists within her. The humans are breathing for her, making her heart beat, but she has no strength.”
Pan moved his hands over the top of one orb. It was the dimmest of any within the nest. As he watched, the sphere would fade almost to darkness then struggle back to a pale glow.
“We must choose one with which to link. We may be able to instill some energy within it.” She held her hands over each of the globes, discerning the purpose of them. “Here, this is the heart. Help me to energize it.”
Tinker placed her hands on the orb. She waited to see her mate’s hands on the other side. A moment later she spoke again. “Pan, help me. I cannot do it alone, the damage is too deep.” She looked across the nest to where he was standing. His hands were still above the weaker sphere. His face wore an intense expression. Pan, time is critical. Help me.”
Tinker’s mate was now placing his hands directly upon the dimmest of the imaginary orbs. His eyes were closed, and he lowered his forehead to touch it.
Tinker was anxious, but also intrigued. Something was happening that she did not recognize.
After a moment Pan lifted his head. His eyes opened. He looked at Tinker’s mental image. “It is this one.”
With reluctance she abandoned the heart sphere and leaned forward to position her hands over the other. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to read the weak signal emanating from within.
Then she found it.
She looked across the nest to her mate, and her delicate face reflected their version of a smile. “It is her will to live. She treasures it, but is not fighting for it. Her reason for continuing has left her.” Tinker placed both hands directly on the pale ball. The light from within, already pale, was waning. “It is too late. There is not enough of it remaining.”
Pan’s strong hands covered hers. Tinker was astonished at the surge of power that flowed from her mate and into her mind. The strength of it was almost overwhelming.
“It is for me to do.”
***
Jile stood on the forecastle of the Dreadnaught and directed the actions of his helmsman. The treacherous reefs were tricky to maneuver even under the best of circumstances. He motioned for a sharp turn to port, and the ship began its quick response. Jile marveled at the maneuverability of the ship. It was an absolute joy to command.
“Captain!” The voice was edged with concern. Jile looked aloft and saw the watch crewman in the crow’s nest. “Barricade ahead!”
Jile whipped out a scope and opened it. He searched the channel until he spotted it. A heavy chain had been stretched across the harbor approach. It was just above the surface of the water.
“Drop sail!” the master seaman yelled. “Drop all sail now. Signal the other ships. Black pennant, black pennant!”
The crew of the Dreadnaught were the best in the pirate fleet. They sprang into immediate action, releasing the lines which held the sheets aloft. The air was dumped and the Dreadnaught bled speed. There was still a gentle breeze from behind them, however. That, combined with their momentum, was propelling them onward.
The safe route of passage through the harbor channel was narrow. It was barely the width of two normal ships. Before the obstacle was sighted there had been eleven ships which had already entered the approach. The others now used their speed and quickly altered sheets to swing away from the mouth of the harbor. That still left Jile and his other ten ships heading for destruction on the chain before them.
“Rig the sea anchor!” the old captain ordered.
A sea anchor was a device that was tethered to the ship by rope and was tossed overboard. The weight of the construct combined with the wide wooden slats served to act as a brake to slow a ship in times of emergencies. Jile judged the rate of the ship’s speed against the distance to the chain. In his judgement they would just be able to avoid crushing their hull against the blockage. That would not be the end of their danger, however. The channel was lined with sharp reefs on either side. With no sail to maneuver by, the ships within the harbor approach would eventually be pushed by the wind into one of those reefs. Their hulls were strong, but no ship could withstand that type of battering. Unless something changed quickly they were doomed.
; ***
Jo-Dal’s point scout returned and advised him of what was waiting for his forces at the harbor. The report of the strip of hay was expected. It was one of the defenses that Captain Fauwler had contributed to the plans for the defense of Kylee.
He now moved his forces toward the waterfront. He did this in increments advancing a hundred forward then allowing those warriors time to take up defensive positions before moving up another hundred. In time the Olvion invaders were all in position. They were deployed along the seaward side of the town, using the outlying buildings and houses for concealment and protection against any unexpected attack from the pirates. In effect it was providing them with their own fortified position.
Jo-Dal felt the sea winds on his face. He examined the fortifications. They were well-conceived and constructed. The town guard had erected multiple rows of barricades. Bales of hay, overturned wagons and anything else which could serve as a hindrance to an attack had been used. The layout of the defenses allowed for the pirates to resist attack while causing the Olvionis to bleed troops trying to overcome them. When one layer of defense fell, the pirates could simply fall back to the next layer and begin the process all over again. The idea was to whittle down the numbers of Jo-Dal’s forces until they were eventually small enough to be overrun.
Over to the east stood the warehouse. It was a huge, hulking affair made of wood. The years of exposure to the sun and the ocean wind had served to dry the timbers. Jo-Dal could see the large numbers of archers positioned there, protecting the eastern flank of the seawall. The opposite flank was protected by the harbor channel. He looked to the east and saw his warriors poised at the edge of the town awaiting his direction.
The Aspellian Sword of the King decided to address the eastern flank first.
The military term of “flanking” an enemy’s position merely referred to the act of getting around one side of their formation. The pirate commander had sought to prevent being flanked on the east by putting his archers in the big warehouse, thus preventing the Olvionis from approaching their larger units from that direction. The reports from Jo-Dall’s scouts contained an observation that, if true, might make things a bit more complicated for the town’s defenders.
Jo-Dal stood and raised his hands in front of himself, arms crossed like an “X”.
From the eastern edge of the town, a hundred flaming arrows streaked out, trailing smoke. Many of the arrows had their flames extinguished by the sea breeze, but many more had not. These struck the old warehouse and continued burning. Then another volley buried themselves in the old building. Then another.
Flames slowly spread from the embedded arrows to the dry warehouse walls. Some of the arrows had entered the open doors and windows and smoke began to seep out from within.
The archers inside the doomed edifice began their own barrage. Their shafts mainly struck the buildings and homes behind which the warriors were concealed. Only the occasional fortunate missile found flesh.
In minutes the warehouse was on the way to becoming fully engaged by flames. Screams were heard coming from the upper levels. Pirates began jumping and fleeing from the old building. The Olvioni archers targeted them as they ran. It was a grim task, but the warriors were trained soldiers. They knew that every enemy fighter who made it to safety could be the cause of the death of a fellow Olvioni. Emotions had to be set aside in such a circumstance in favor of protecting one’s own.
Lampte stood on top of a high-wheeled wagon and watched the carnage occurring to the east. He was furious, but, more than that, he was afraid. The warehouse had figured prominently in their plans for defending the island. With the western flank protected by the harbor, the warehouse was meant to confine the invaders to a single line of attack. That plan had failed in spectacular fashion in mere moments.
The Governor wondered how these invaders from a foreign land had rendered that plan useless so quickly and with so little effort. Then a recollection sprang forward in his consciousness. The originator of the warehouse plan had been the traitor Fauwler. He had cautioned the other implementers of their defenses that the old building must first be splashed with water to prevent just such an atrocity of events. Lampte looked about himself, wondering how many others recalled that fact.
Only about half of his archers escaped the inferno, and many of those were now badly burned and unable to fight. Now the eastern flank of the battle lines was open and controlled by the enemy. Lampte quickly drew men away from the barricades and shifted them to guard against an attack from that direction. The cries of the injured men added to the confusion at the barricades. They had assembled almost no medically trained people to attend to their wounded because they had not expected to need any. Up until now, all attacks upon the island went no farther than the approach to the harbor where their defenses had stopped all aggressions cold.
The pirate Governor looked to the harbor approach and smiled. At least that had gone according to plan. His plan. The chain barrier was doing its job exactly as he had envisioned. The invading ships within the channel were adrift now and would soon find the submerged reefs.
And, Lampte reminded himself, he still had the firetrap laid out on the field of battle before him. He allowed himself a smile. Now was the time to show these outlanders how to die. He gave the signal to advance.
With the warehouse no longer a concern, Jo-Dal decided to keep his forces protected behind the buildings of the city and watch his enemy. If they were smart they would remain behind their defenses and wait for dark. Their superior knowledge of the town, and the island would allow them opportunities to launch harassing actions against the Olvionis. Their lack of basic combat knowledge had already lost them the warehouse and a large number of archers. If given enough time it was possible they might commit another helpful blunder.
Now he raised his brows as he watched hundreds of the pirates forming up into a skirmish line. Jo-Dal smiled grimly.
***
Taggart continued his efforts to wrench death away from the love of his life. He was unable to stop. No possible chance could be ignored. Miracles were possible, his presence here was proof of that. Anger grew within him. How could he be expected to withstand this? To be given the greatest blessing of his life, a woman that he adored and would die for, then be snatched away from her only to be returned and find her like this. He searched her face after delivering another breath into her lungs. Her beautiful face. The face of the only woman he would ever love. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. Outwardly he was silent, but within his mind he shouted; “No. Not now. I have done all that has been asked of me. This you cannot do!” He bent forward again and breathed for her. He would do so throughout the night if need be.
The two Mountain Children by her head began to tremble.
Tears fell from Dayel’s eyes as she accepted what seemed inevitable. She stopped rubbing Dwan’s arm. She took the woman’s hand in hers and started to place it gently upon her abdomen.
She stopped abruptly. Something…something had happened. Or was it her imagination?
***
Lampte readied his forces. He had designated five hundred of his men to act as the lure. It was few enough to entice them into an attack, but enough to hold losses to a minimum. They would advance upon the Invader’s positions and draw them into a battle. They would hold for a time then pretend to be driven back and retreat until all had crossed back behind the treated hay and the enemy was on top of it. Then the trap would be sprung. The hay would be fired, and the outlanders would burn. Hundreds of them. They would die screaming. Then Lampte’s forces would fan out and attack their reduced numbers and forever end this challenge to his right to lead this island town.
At a signal to his lieutenant, Lampte’s town guard advanced. They were armed with wooden shields and spears. Their heads were helmeted and their arms and chests were protected by chain mail. They employed an advancing tactic that Lampte had devised. They would take a stomping step forward and then chant “Death!” Th
e rear leg was then dragged forward. This they continued with each step. Lampte was proud of the tactic and imagined it would strike terror into the hearts of any enemy who saw his people coming at them.
The pirates were arrayed in five rows of one hundred each. Jo-Dal looked at the man standing next to him. The warrior was nearly as tall as he was, but this man had a set of magnificent bushy and overgrown eyebrows. Palto was Jo-Dal’s second in command. He studied the reactions of the older man as the pirates advanced, each step punctuated by five hundred men shouting “Death” in unison. After a moment of observing the spectacle Palto turned to his commander and laughed loudly. He then walked back to his station over to the east while shaking his head.
The rows of advancing pirates moved across a hundred yards of open territory. The first row stepped on and through the treated firetrap. They moved on, followed by the second row and so on. When the last row of pirates moved into the wide firetrap Jo-Dal waved his sword in a circle above his head.
The Warrior Commander’s forces were still tucked safely behind and within the rows of residences and commercial buildings which fronted the harbor area. Upon seeing their leader’s signal, three hundred arrows were set alight and sent high into the sky. The flaming shafts made for a remarkable sight as they arced out over the heads of the first row of advancing pirates and dropped down behind them onto the treated strips of hay.
The town guard of Kylee had done well in their setting of the firetrap. The hay and other gathered sticks and dry vegetation had been thoroughly soaked in combustible liquids. They caught fire and spread at once. The last two rows of stomping, shouting pirates were immediately engulfed in flames.
All shouts of “death” were abandoned in favor of screams of pain and pleas for assistance from their brethren. The first three rows of attackers had largely been spared the conflagration. Since their boots and trouser legs were saturated with the flammable liquids, they were reluctant to risk sharing the fates of their doomed comrades by getting close enough to help. The noisy and menacing advance of the “bait” had halted as two hundred of their number screamed in agony while they shed their burning clothes. Now, the remaining three hundred pirates found themselves cut off from any avenue of escape by the flames at their rear.
The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion Page 43
