Williams spoke to the ensuing silence: "I think we'd better tell them now."
"But we have done it only on such a small scale," the wizard replied. "Still, I must agree with you. It may help."
"What are you two babbling about?" asked Hunnar sharply.
"The great wizard Williams has shown me many things," said Eer-Meesach, ignoring Hunnar's lack of respect. "The crossbow of which your archers are so enamored, youngster, is the result of but one such thought. We have something else which may be of some use."
"But I'm not sure how to apply it!" said Williams almost pleadingly. "We don't have the proper facilities, or time, or anything!"
"Oh well," sighed September, "let's have a look at it, anyway. You never know."
Chapter Ten
Many of the people in the city had been working double and triple shifts, day and night, but there was even more activity than normal in Wannome that night. If Sagyanak's spies had been able to see inside the walls of the harbor, they surely would have been puzzled at the activity that filled the shoreline and enclosed ice. Vol-oil lamps and torches shed a cautious light on the scene.
They would have been even more puzzled at the strange activities taking place in certain crannies of the mountains, sections of dark abandoned countryside and old-town, and at the huge bonfires that shocked the main square with light.
In a room far up in the great castle keep, the war council of Sofold was meeting in heated discussion.
"I say tis far too dangerous!" one of the nobles exclaimed. He slammed a fist onto the thick table. "Tis too new, too alien. Tis not of us."
"Nonsense!" countered Malmeevyn Eer-Meesach from his chair near the Landgrave.
"The crossbows are equally new and alien," Hunnar riposted.
"They are not. They are but variations on our familiar longbow. But this ... this is the work of the Dark One!"
"I'm not at all that dark," said Eer-Meesach.
"Do not be flippant, old man," snorted the noble. "I, for one, am not overwhelmed by your learned nonsense."
"You'll be overwhelmed, good sir," admonished Hunnar, "if we fail to prepare for when that ram bursts into the harbor tomorrow!"
"Can it truly breach the great wall?" asked one of the knights disbelievingly.
"You have not seen it, Suletja," said General Balavere solemnly. "It will breach the wall. Unless it should hit at too acute an angle, and I think there is little chance of that. Though," and he paused thoughtfully, "once the ram is moving, it would take a thousand men to correct or change its course."
"If this new thing of yours does not work as you describe," said the old mayor of one of the larger country towns, "we shall all fall into the center of the earth."
"I keep telling you," September began, but he halted, spreading his hands helplessly-they'd been through this very question twice a dozen times already. "Sofold is as solid as the Landgrave's throne, and more so."
"All this may be true," replied the old mayor, scratching the back of his neck, "but we have only _your_ word for it. You ask us to believe a great deal."
"I know, I know," September said. "If we had more time ... and this is the only chance I see."
"Yet you say this will not stop the rare from breaching the walls."
"No. There's no way we can stop that thing. I don't think they'd let another night expedition within a satch of the ram. But this may save us all, afterwards."
"And if it should fail?"
"Then you're welcome to whatever Sagyanak leaves of my corpse," the big man finished.
"Fine compensation, fine satisfaction!" laughed the other hollowly.
"General?" The Landgrave looked over at his principal military adviser, thrusting the problem squarely onto his shoulders.
"This is the most difficult decision I have ever had to make," the old soldier began. "More so even than the first decision to fight. Tis because there are questions here that go above mere military matters. I must go against everything I was taught about the world as a cub. And yet ... yet ... our strange friends have been right about so _many_ things. And there is always the outside chance that they will align the ram improperly, or that the wind will shift on them and it will strike the wall at an angle and not breach, mayhap even miss completely."
"Do not avoid me, Bal," chided the Landgrave gently.
The two old tran looked at each other carefully. Then Balavere smiled slightly. "I wouldn't do that, Tor. I recommend Sir September's plan. I should like to see this thing he promises ... even if we do all fall into the center of the world."
"Let it be so, then," pronounced the Landgrave.
All rose.
"By your Patience, gentlemen," said September, "the wizard Williams and I must get down to the landings. We've a great deal to do ere the ice disgorges the sun." He turned to Ethan. "Young feller, you'll see to the assembly of the material?"
"Right away. Oh, du Kane wants to help, too."
"Not really?" said September. "Well, take him with you, then. I can't have the old bastard underfoot, but it's encouraging to see him recognizing the real world, at last."
But as he started off down the hall, Ethan found himself sympathizing with du Kane and not September. He knew the financier wasn't useless, only a victim of culture shock and belief in his own omnipotence. He'd felt more than enough of similar emotions ever since they'd smashed into that first little island.
The wind from the west the next day was powerful and steady-perfect for the nomads' needs. Ethan hugged the castle wall against the gale.
The great ram had been completed some time during the night and moved out of range of even the wizard's telescope.
"Shifting it far enough to the west to get room for building speed," Hunnar explained. "It will take that monster a dozen kijat just to build to raft speed."
"I don't know why they bother," said Spetember. "Even half that should be enough to knock down the wall."
"With all respect, friend September, I suspect they desire not merely to knock down a section of wall, but to make a clean breach large enough to drive a good-sized raft through."
"You don't think they'll try to come in on rafts, do you?" September asked. "Not that we could change things now anyway."
"No. That would require skillful handling indeed. Even a few good-sized rocks could catch a raft, tumble it, and block the breach. As we might try to coo. But individual warriors could get through despite such obstacles, and before we could bring up anything to block the gap."
"Think not encountering something like that will make 'em suspicious?" continued the big man.
"Sagyanak, or Olox, or one like those might be taken by such thoughts. But I do not think those murderers so brave that they will be in the front line of attackers. The simple warrior will see naught but open ice between himself and the defenseless city. For animals like these, that is an irresistible temptation."
"Let's try that flasher once again," suggested September.
"Very well."
There were two of the brightly polished devices at their observation position high up on the castle's south parapet, in case one should fail or break. September gave orders to the two operators.
"Tell Williams there's still no sign."
Immediately the skilled communicators had the flashers in operation. Side mirrors brought the sun into the central reflector. An answer was blinking at them from down in the harbor almost before they'd finished.
"They acknowledge `very good and waiting,' Sir."
"Fine. Thanks," replied the big man.
They had another hour to wait before the ram was sighted. The nomad soldiers were drawn up in their familiar crescent parallel to the harbor wall. As it had been days ago, the line was solid and unbroken. There was no indication of where the ram would come from. The concentration was, as always, heavier on the south side. No one expected the ram to come from the north or the east, into the wind. There would be no feint to this attack.
Despite the tol
l they'd taken among their tormentors on that first terrible day, the Sofoldian defenders were still badly outnumbered. But there were heartening signs in the barbarian line. It was still unbroken, but it no longer seemed to stretch to infinity as it had that first time.
As usual, it was Hunnar who made the first sighting.
"There! Over their heads by that dark spot on the ice."
Ethan leaned over the wall, squinting. Almost immediately the enemy began to move away, split. A huge gap opened in the lines.
The ram was a tiny dot at first, but it grew rapidly larger. Soon it seemed as big as a stavanzer, though it was not nearly so. Still, it was plenty big, bigger than the biggest raft Ethan had yet seen. It sparkled oddly in the sun-glare.
"What's that reflection from? Not the stone, surely."
"It is and it isn't, friend Ethan," replied Hunnar evenly. "They've taken meltwater and poured it over the stones. Letting it freeze has turned the load into a solid, unbroken mass."
There was silence among the Wannomian watchers, human and tran alike. The ram moved closer and closer with the deliberateness of an eclipse. No sound came from the distance, no pounding engines, no flaming rockets. The juggernaut moved mute.
Without turning, September spoke to the flasher operators. "Signal `standby' to the wizards."
The ram grew larger, seemed to leap into sharp focus. It passed through the waiting gap in the nomad ranks. Rocking with sheer speed, it came hurtling on at close to 200 kph. With a roar, the barbarian crescent started forward in its wake.
"Brace All!" sounded the cry from several places along the castle battlements.
The ram struck.
The concussion climbed the walls and threw men within the castle to the ground. Ethan could heal- masonry falling in the inner rooms, an occasional tinkle of breaking glass. A section of wall two towers west from the main gate erupted in a shower of stone shards. The sound of damned stone crawled inside the head and battered ears from both sides.
A rain of rock and wood splinters descended and everyone covered as best they could. Large chunks were thrown all the way across the harbor into the far wall, taking pieces out of the interior side.
The ram slid two-thirds of the way across the harbor toward that interior wall on its five remaining runners, trailing two broken masts and a sea of shredded pika-ping sailcloth. Boulders and raped wood formed ugly blemishes on the clean ice.
A clear gap showed in the wall, broad enough for tran to chivan through twenty abreast. A close-packed mob of screaming, ax-waving barbarians, thousands strong, had followed close behind the ram. They reached the walls and the breach.
Dozens of grappling hooks and scaling ladders assailed the walls, ropes were snugged tight. Bowling bloodthirsty cries, others swarmed into the gap, ready to overwhelm any attempt to close it.
Those at the walls climbed up, and over. They found only empty spear-slots, deserted battle-towers. Deafening cheers rose from the entire perimeter. The interiors of the great gate towers were gained. The Great Chain was melted into place, but the antipersonnel netting was cut loose and a fresh stream of angry warriors poured in via the main gate.
Ethan saw a gaudily armored officer gain the open gap, hesitate, and look about him uncertainly, clearly puzzled at the absence of the defenders. Ethan's hand tensed on the castle parapet. But the cautious officer was swept away and into the harbor by the tight-packed river of attacking nomads.
Some of the barbarians began to run along the tops of the walls toward the castle and the city. They ran because the icepaths had been melted and hacked into uselessness. They reached a point where the wall entered the castle itself: and were halted by a solid barrier of stone and a hail of arrows from above. A few began to batter ineffectually against the walled-up entrances.
Some tried to climb the raw stone itself. They were easily picked off by the archers above. Post turned and, spreading their wings, dropped in a semi-glide to the uncontested ice below.
The harbor was rapidly filling with screaming, thrashing warriors all milling about and looking for someone to fight. Confusion and uncertainty was beginning to take hold. The mass vacillated, shifted. Then, as one, they rushed on toward the undefended city with a horrible cry.
The entire remaining strength of the Sofoldian army met them at the shoreline.
Camouflaged barriers of rock and lines of sharpened stakes appeared, tied together by cables of barbed pika-pina rope. The tough, nearly unbreakable cord had been laboriously studded with sharpened bits of glass, wood, and metal. September and not Williams had been the one who had shown the locals how to make a fair imitation of concertina wire. A hail of crossbow bolts and arrows and spears felled hundreds of the surprised enemy in that first startling counterattack.
But it was only a last-ditch defense, screamed the nomad officers to their men! One more effort and the soft city-folk must surely collapse! The great wave swept forward again to lose more hundreds to a barely covered deep ditch filled with sharpened stakes, tipped with vol dung, and other poisons. The concealed moat was quickly filled with moaning, twisting bodies.
Yes again, urged the garishly garbed captains, the resplendent field officers! A last charge to sweep away the fatally weakened defenders! Yet a third time the nomad mass trundled forward, slammed into the Sofoldian line. hand-to hand combat sprang up at isolated points along the shore, the barbarian Horde gaining a centimeter at a time, the length of every spear and sword bitterly contested.
From high on the castle battlements, September calmly said, "Ready now" to his communicators. An acknowledging series of flashes came from a tiny house now perilously close to the front line.
Meanwhile more of the enemy poured into the harbor, slowed as they ran into their fellows. There must have been ten thousand pressing inexorably against the thin Sofoldian defenses, with more arriving each second, every tran a pillar of hatred and fury.
"Now," said September quietly. The message was flashed to the waiting receivers. The flasher operators had guts. 'they didn't drop and kiss stone until they were certain the command had been received.
There was a pause.
For one terrifying moment, nothing happened. Ethan raised his head slightly and peered through an arrow slot.
The ice convulsed.
Concussion lifted him from the ground and slammed him back into unyielding rock. He felt wet stickiness on his cheek, but he'd only scraped himself. A microsecond later he tried to metamorphose into a tiny ball. Down came a bitter squall of ruptured ice, mixed with pieces of barbarian armor and pieces of barbarian.
Far out on the southwest icefield, Eorda-Lane-Anst, knight of Sofold, felt the ice-earth shake under him, saw the huge column of flame and smoke erupt in the harbor, of his home. His mind rejoiced because the magic of the alien magician had worked. But deep inside he was frightened near to death.
The earth did not open beneath them. Pulling at the pure white cloak that he'd been lying under all morning, he rose and waved his sword to right and left. Then he and six hundred picked Sofoldian troops spread their dam and started grimly for the rear of the nomad encampment. All carried torches in addition to swords and spears.
The Dantesque scene in the harbor was revealed as the smoke was borne away by the wind. There was no dust, but stinging, blinding particles of ice still hung in the air, and Ethan was grateful for the goggles.
Below, an awful cacophony had begun, not of defiance this time, but of pain and fear and terror. The two humans watched, completely oblivious to the antics of Hunnar. Usually dignified to the point of coldness, the solemn young knight had shed his reserve and was leaping about like a cub, hugging every man-at-arms within reach and whooping with joy.
Uncountable multitudes of barbarian soldiers, who had stood within the harbor a moment ago, now lay dead or dying from terrible wounds. The ice sheet had cracked from the hundreds of charges but had not broken through to the freezing depths below. Eer-Meesach and Williams' estimates had b
een proven correct. The ice was much too thick here to be affected by such ancient explosives.
Not as sound was the harbor wall, which had been subjected to another violent shaking. Several sections looked dangerously near collapse. The schoolmaster's fuse and firing mechanism, cannibalized from the wrecked lifeboat, had done its task efficiently. The hundreds of charges had gone off within seconds of one another.
During the night, funnel-shaped holes had been melted in the ice, then filled* *with glass, metal, bone, and wooden fragments, and a year's accumulation of bronze, iron, and steel filings originally destined for re-melting in the volcanic forges. Filled with anything that could cut or rend or tear.
Water had been poured over the pockets of crude shrapnel and allowed to refreeze during the early morning. The barbarians had been cut down like grass.
Now the battered, weakened army off Sofold came boiling out from behind its barriers and temporary ramparts, howling and shouting as barbarically as their supposedly less civilized tormentors. Axes, swords, and spears fell indiscriminantly among healthy and wounded alike.
Ethan stood shakily and turned away from the sickening slaughter.
Many of those who'd survived were in shock. They were completely incapable of putting up effective resistance to the ready, prepared Sofoldians. It must have seemed like a hundred lighting bolts had landed among them.
Now archers and crossbowmen broke from the castle and the stone barrier at the other end of the wall, began retaking their positions atop the ancient masonry. Only now they were firing into the harbor, picking of: those still fighting and any trying to retreat.
The still considerable body of enemy warriors surged dazedly back and forth, with dozens dropping every minute.
Ethan stared .out over the now cleared ice. Then he turned and got September away from his survey of the massacre.
The enemy raft fleet was burning. Some were raising sail and struggling to escape even as they went up in flames. Fanned by the uncaring, indiscriminate wind, the blaze spread rapidly from one raft to its neighbor, thence to three or four others. Ethan saw one sail rigged, only to be struck by a ball of flame blown from a burning storage craft. Pika pina and mast went up like match and paper in the thirsting wind.
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