At the castle, water poured from arrow loops to protect the gates, but the fire ball continued its way through the enemy.
The castle gates swung open, and Whelan led Montcrag’s defenders on the attack. They drove a wedge through the enemy, killing scores, and sending man and horse tumbling from the road. The Veyrians fled before this attack, turning nothing but their own backs to defend against Montcrag’s swords. Whelan’s men drove the enemy to the Tothian Way before returning.
The fighting had lasted only thirty minutes, but when it ended, burned bodies and battering rams lay in a charred mass before the gates. As many as a hundred more soldiers lay dead along the path and strewn down the hillside. Darik could see none of Whelan’s men among them. A few had sustained serious wounds, but not many. Darik and Sofiana joined the others in a triumphant shout.
“Hah!” Hoffan said when they finished cheering. “So much for the vaunted armies of Veyre.” He clapped Markal on the shoulder so hard he nearly knocked the wizard over, then eyed the man’s withered right hand. Markal staggered under the blow, face completely drained of strength.
“Don’t worry,” Darik offered at Hoffan’s concerned look. “His hand will heal.”
Dawn crept over the horizon. Darik had hoped the victory would send Cragyn’s armies back to the valley, or that they would simply continue along the Tothian Way, leaving Montcrag alone. But instead, Veyrians kept gathering along the Way.
A thunderclap broke the sky. The castle walls shook, throwing men to the ground. Darik staggered backwards and his ears rang. A terrific wrenching sound split the air and the gates burst inward on their hinges. Veyrians rushed up the road from the Way, swords drawn.
Darik looked down at the shattered remains of the gates in dismay. Those doors had stood for a thousand years and yet lay splintered into kindling. He didn’t understand. Markal had declared the doors impervious to assault and nobody had touched them.
Markal answered the question. “The dark wizard.” His face was pale. “He’s here.”
The archers in the tower shot arrows as fast as they could toward the soldiers charging the gates. The man next to Hoffan screamed, an arrow embedded in his neck. A brave enemy archer stood at the base of the Eagle Tower, shooting up at them. Sofiana slipped a bolt into her crossbow, cranked the handle, then coolly leveled the bow at the man and fired. She buried her shot, and the man fell backwards, clutching at his chest.
A steady stream of arrows chopped down the first wave of cavalry, and of the second group, only one reached the green. He was dragged from his horse by half a dozen men and dispatched. By now, however, a perimeter of archers encircled themselves about the outer wall, shooting back at the men above them. They had a decided disadvantage, trying to shoot into the air from an unprotected position, but their ever-increasing strength forced Hoffan’s archers to keep low, and drew away firepower.
A small but growing band of footmen and horse fought their way into the bailey green. At first, Whelan’s men attacked each foe with overwhelming numbers, but soon, the battle broke into a general melee. Now that they were evenly matched, the Veyrians proved their worth. Slowly, the battle turned in their favor.
Hoffan pulled his sword from its scabbard, then turned to Darik. “Can you fight, boy?”
Darik hesitated. No, he couldn’t fight. He remembered his clumsy attack when guildmaster Fenerath took him for a slave in his father’s manor.
“Boy?” Hoffan demanded, sharper this time. He pulled out a second blade, this one shorter, a parrying weapon and held it out to Darik, hilt-first.
“I can,” Darik said, grabbing the sword. He followed Hoffan down the tower stairs. Markal and Sofiana stayed above.
The sword was still too long and it felt heavy and strangely balanced. He’d had training with a rapier as a child, and even a little with the scimitar, but those were stabbing and cutting weapons. This was a chopping weapon, designed to separate bone from sinew. He followed Hoffan onto the green.
The battle was about to be lost. Montcrag still maintained a slight edge in numbers, but they slowly lost ground and men. Some looked ready to flee, although there was nowhere to run. Hoffan bellowed in rage, throwing himself into the fray. The sight of him fighting by their side encouraged his men.
Whelan himself emerged from the rear, fighting into the heart of the enemy forces. His sword glowed in hand. Soultrup cut down any who dared stand in the man’s way. The enemy shrank back and Hoffan started a shout that spread across the green.
Darik still stood next to the bailey, unsure what to do. A man in black and gold spotted him and came to attack. He was taller than Darik and wore a breastplate and helmet and showed a gap-toothed grin as he sized up his opponent. He swung his sword at the boy’s head. Darik lifted his sword just in time, but was driven backwards, jolting his shoulder. He attempted a counterattack, but the man knocked it aside easily. His enemy brought the sword around again, and this time Darik stood on uneven footing and fell to his knee. With a shout of triumph, the man swept aside Darik’s sword and prepared for the killing blow.
Whelan appeared from nowhere, driving the man backwards. Whelan’s second blow broke down the man’s defenses and the third finished him. By now, Hoffan’s men regained the upper hand and sealed the entrance to the castle with more burning oil.
Montcrag’s archers dropped the enemy with a steady rain of arrows. At last, Veyre’s captains ordered a retreat. The green was clear again. Hoffan’s men let out another shout, but much weaker than before. There was no attempt to drive the enemy back to the Tothian Way a second time. It would not be long before Cragyn attacked again. Indeed, the enemy gathered just out of bow shot, organizing into ranks, and bolstered by more giants.
Whelan found Darik. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you stay where it was safe?”
Darik struggled to regain his breath. “Hoffan needed me.”
“He did? Is that what he said? I’ll wring his neck.” He turned to go.
“No,” Darik said, catching him by the arm. “I wanted to help. When everyone else is fighting for their lives, I can’t hide in the corner.”
Whelan considered for a moment, then nodded. “Well said. Where’s Ninny?”
“In the tower. With Markal.”
“Good. Stay here. If you’re going to fight, we’ll get you a proper sword and armor. Oh, and teach you how to hold that thing. You can’t swing it around like a stick.” He ran toward the gates.
Darik stood gasping, struggling against the shakes. The man who’d nearly killed him swam in a pool of blood a few feet away. That dead body could have been his own.
He was stung by Whelan’s criticism, but also hoped he’d crossed a hurdle in the man’s eyes. Darik had hardly proven himself a hero, but he’d stood next to the men and fought, and it was exhilarating. And, Whelan had as much as promised to train him in swordsmanship.
Darik joined the others at the gates. They pulled a cart in front of the door and stacked enemy bodies into a makeshift wall. Almost twenty of Montcrag’s men lay dead, far fewer than the enemy, but Hoffan had started with fewer than a hundred defenders, while the enemy had almost unlimited resources.
Hoffan was giving the order to bring barrels to the barricade when the third attack came. Darik joined the row of pikes bristling through the wagon. He took up a pike and braced himself. Grim faces surrounded him, dirty, wounded, and tired. Some of them were criminals or escaped slaves from the khalifates, and like Darik, knew what awaited them if captured. They’d be led in chains to Veyre and sent to the mines. If lucky.
It started with a fireball against the cart. The cart burst into flames, filling the air with smoke and the stench of burning bodies. The heat drove them back from the barricade, and shouts sounded from beyond the destroyed gates. Arrows flew through the air from walls and through the gates and an instant later three giants tore apart the remains of the makeshift barricade. Footmen and cavalry burst through the wreckage and grappled with the defenders
. Veyrian cavalry impaled themselves on the defensive perimeter of pikes, but sheer numbers drove the pikemen back into the bailey.
“The towers!” Whelan shouted.
Darik and the others fought their way to the towers. The archers on the walls stopped trying to keep the enemy from reaching the castle, concentrating instead on protecting the men fleeing to the towers. Upon reaching the towers, the defenders pulled the doors shut and barred them. Darik made his way to the top of the Eagle Tower and joined his companions.
The enemy didn’t immediately assault the towers, but took the lower buildings against the walls, and positioned themselves behind a wall of shields.
The green was unrecognizable from yesterday. The ground was torn and muddy, while dead men and horses lay everywhere. Broken bits of the cart still burned inside the gates. Wounded men from Cragyn’s army hurried to the protection of the buildings before the archers could finish them.
The dark wizard strode through this wreckage. Darik recognized him immediately from his commanding presence and by the swirl of light about his body. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t so much light as something that sucked the light from the sky. Unlike his men, he stood in the open. Arrows flew at him from all around, but they dropped harmlessly at his feet.
“Watch the wizard,” Whelan warned.
“He’s spent,” Markal said. “He used it to break down the gates. No, he has no more magic than I do right now.”
“But the arrows can’t hit him,” Darik protested.
“An illusion of power. He’s wearing a magical cloak, as a shield. Perhaps the wizard made the cloak, perhaps it is a relic like Whelan’s sword, but it is the cloak itself turning our arrows.”
Hoffan ordered his men to stop shooting. Emboldened by Markal’s words, he leaned over the edge of the rampart. “You might take us,” he shouted to the dark wizard. “But it will cost you dearly. Why not continue on your way? We’ll agree not to hinder your men.”
“So you will swear your allegiance to me?”
Hoffan balked. “I didn’t say that. I bow to no man.”
Cragyn laughed. “Then we have no deal.”
Hoffan let out his own laugh, which sounded more confident than Darik felt. “Very well. I promise you will leave Montcrag a shadow of your former strength.”
If Hoffan meant to cast doubt, he succeeded. Some of the attackers murmured amongst themselves. They did, however, keep entering the green.
Hoffan turned to one of his men and said quietly, “Tell the men not to shoot until I give the word. Let the enemy pack the green and every one of our arrows will draw blood. If they storm the towers, we pour burning oil down the stairs. We’ll cut off entry or exit from the green and slaughter them to the last man. Thrice beaten, they won’t attack a fourth time. Go.”
Hoffan’s man climbed down the stairs, emerging on the castle walls a minute later, where he spread the news. Hoffan looked back to Cragyn. “As soon as you’re ready, we’ll continue our slaughter of your men. We have powers we’ve only begun to tap.”
Cragyn looked unconcerned by Hoffan’s speech. “I suppose you’re talking about that old fool Markal. Yes, that’s right, I see you up there, wizard. I also know about your meddling in Balsalom. The stench of your weak magic was all over the place like a dog who pisses on every street corner.”
Markal smiled. “Still bitter that we cast you from the Order?”
“The Order? A bunch of old men fretting over power they don’t dare to wield. Following a dead philosopher who was only half a man when he was still alive. And you, wizard, shouldn’t you be hiding behind Chantmer the Tall?”
Markal’s voice grew cold. “You overextend yourself. And you peril your life by maligning the Order.”
“Overextend myself? Peril my life? Look east, you old fool.”
Darik followed the gaze of the others and was dismayed by what he saw. Dark shapes flew in the east, soaring up from the plains toward the castle. Dragon wasps! A dozen of them, ridden by their masters, the dragon kin, who were themselves armed with spears. As they approached, wasp and kin screamed in unison. Wails of despair sounded in the towers and on the walls, while the enemy below shouted.
“The bows!” Whelan cried. “You can bring them down.”
They drew their bows too late. The dragon wasps drew upon them. One of the creatures landed on the walls, knocking an archer from his feet. Its snakelike neck darted back and forth, jaws clamping down on the man’s face and neck. The dragon kin riding this beast jumped from his mount to finish the archer with his spear. Other dragon wasps darted at the men on the walls, knocking some over the edge, and overwhelming others. The archers got off a few shots, but the defense was wild. Back and forth wasps swooped in a series of crazy, high-speed assaults.
The dragon kin might have been human, but their face paint and ragged, dyed hair made them look like demons. One leered at Darik as it swooped past. Sofiana shot at it with her crossbow, but the shot went wide.
As the archers stood to shoot at the wasps, Cragyn’s bowmen launched waves of arrows. Below, Cragyn’s men broke from their defensive positions to rush the towers. Hoffan’s men fought them back for a few minutes, but with the archers on the walls beset from two directions, Veyrians gained the lower levels and fought their way up. Hoffan and Whelan ran down the stairs to join the battle. Markal overlooked the battle with a grim look on his face, while Sofiana shot her crossbow with little success.
Darik froze, torn between staying to help the girl and wizard with his short sword, and going after Whelan and Hoffan. From the ever-closer shouting and clanking of swords below, the battle would reach him either way. Dragon wasps swooped again and again at the walls. Two archers atop the Eagle Tower itself fell to assault, leaving only Darik, his two companions and a single bowman.
From the mountains at their back, a scream, high and inhuman. A moment later, an entire chorus of screams. And then he saw them, coming over the mountains, shimmering white and oh, so gloriously beautiful against the sun. An entire flock of griffins. Head and front legs of an eagle, and back haunches of a lion, they were as big as horses, but graceful as Whelan’s falcon as they wheeled in the air. Each griffin held at least one man on its back, sometimes two, and these men shouted as the griffins swept into battle. Their mounts joined them in another ear-splitting shriek. This time the dragon wasps and their riders lifted up from the walls to meet them.
Markal broke from his stupor. New hope brushed across his face. “Flockheart! He’s come!”
There were only a dozen dragon wasps, compared to twice as many griffins; the wasps and their riders, so fearsome a moment earlier, looked weak and pitiful in comparison. Some of the griffins wheeled immediately at the dragon wasps, while others dove for the green, attacking Cragyn’s men with claw and beak.
Two griffins seized a dragon wasp in the air overhead. One tore at its eyes with its beak, while the other raked its belly with claws. The griffin riders dragged the dragon’s kin from his mount and hurled him to the rocks below. The wasp followed its rider, broken and dead. One of the griffins dropped to the Eagle Tower and Darik and Sofiana instinctively shrank back.
Two men rode the griffin and one slid free, sword in hand. The man remaining on the griffin looked bird-like himself. He’d slicked back his hair like the curved feathers around an eagle’s ears and he cocked his head and eyed Darik before turning to the wizard.
“Flockheart,” Markal said. “You’re just in time.”
The second man, to Darik’s surprise, was Whelan’s brother Ethan. He looked different than when Darik had seen him in the tavern a few days earlier. He wore Eriscoban leather armor, covered with sheets of metal scale. Ethan slid his sword back into his scabbard, hung over his shoulder in the same way that Whelan wore his blade. From its battered, overly polished scabbard, Darik guessed it had seen plenty of battles.
“Well met, Ethan,” Markal said. “How did Flockheart know we needed him? He’d have no news of this battle in his aerie.�
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“I met Saldibar’s agents soon after you left. They were looking for you, thinking you Veyrian spies who’d set fire to the Slaves Quarter. We exchanged a few, uh, pleasantries until we properly established identities. I’m afraid I left them somewhat worse for the wear.”
“But alive, I hope,” Markal said.
“Yes, of course. So they brought me to the grand vizier in the Tombs of the Kings and he sent me to catch you. I’ve been riding hard, and I met Flockheart and his flock chasing a pair of dragon wasps who’d stumbled into the mountains and stirred up trouble. So we already rode in force.”
“Where is my brother?” Ethan asked.
Sofiana said, “Down below.”
“As should I be.” Ethan turned and ran down the stairs. Darik took up Hoffan’s short sword and made to follow, but Markal stopped him.
Dragon wasps killed or driven away, the griffins swooped at the attackers, lifting many into the air to tear apart or dash on the rocks. Hoffan’s men fought free from the towers. Victory for Cragyn’s army turned into a rout. Yet again, the Veyrians fled down the hill.
Darik, Markal, and Sofiana made their way to the green, where Darik returned his sword to Hoffan, embarrassed at its lack of use. But the big man hugged him and grinned. “Well done.” He eyed the griffins with a curious look that encompassed both awe and fear. “All those sheep paid off after all.” He turned and shouted instructions to organize his men against the next attack.
“No,” Markal shouted after him. “It’s over. We can’t win, not even with the griffins.”
“Are you asking me to abandon Montcrag?” Hoffan asked.
“No, I’m telling you to abandon Montcrag. The griffins can carry us to the top of the mountain and we can hike to Eriscoba from there. We have no choice. This defeat is just a sting to the enemy, while we’ve lost half our men, dead or injured.”
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 293
