Fortress Draconis (28 page)

It had been determined that the pirates would assault the island at the northernmost point, instead of the natural harbor on the eastern shore. The harbor itself had been closed after the evacuation ships had been sent out. While no one discounted a feint at the harbor, the simple fact of the matter was that the taking of the harbor would not guarantee Vilwan’s fall.

The island’s geography created a valley that ran from the north down toward the southeast, between two ridgelines. While gaps in the two ranges did exist, defending them would not be difficult. The valley provided the only route to the island’s heart, where the central town existed. On the way the invaders would have to lay siege to the Magister of Combats’ tower, since it choked the valley like a bone in the throat. Still, it lay almost five miles distant from the shore fortress, up a rise that would make taking every inch of it costly. Troops had been stationed at key defensive points all along that route to exact the blood-toll that would break Chytrine’s forces.

Not that I will be allowed to make them pay.Fury shook Will. He’d not minded off-loading ships and moving supplies around, since he knew they’d need them for the fight. He could even understand the wizards husbanding their magickal strength for the coming fight. The fact that this made manual labor the order of the day, and enlisted him as a laborer, he could accept. He even understood when many of the younger Apprentices and other folks were evacuated from the island, despite the fact that their departure increased his workload.

What he hated, though, was being relegated to the status of a noncombatant. Resolute had made that decision, and had refused to listen to any of Will’s arguments as to why it was wrong. When he tried to appeal to Crow, the man had just shrugged. He explained that while it was indeed true that Will had acquitted himself admirably in the various skirmishes they’d fought over the last month, each of those battles had been against small, poorly organized forces.

It didn’t take a Grand Magister to figure out that the fighting would be nasty. The very idea of mounting an invasion of Vilwan seemed insane, but Will didn’t doubt there was some sort of logic behind the action. One of the more effective distractions that could be used in cutting purses was to act insane. While the victim did his best to figure out why a person was mad, or just to get away, they lay vulnerable.

That hardly mattered to Will, however, because his life on the streets had taught him more than just that lesson. When in a fight, he’d learned, there was no holding back. You went out and did as much damage as you could to the enemy. And the way he saw it, the more men on the line, the more damage could be done. He wanted to be one of those men.

An Adept down at the waterline shouted something that Will couldn’t quite understand. The Apprentices nearest the water stepped out of line and began hauling sloshing buckets of water directly up the way. The Adept waved them on, so Will joined the others. He carried his last bucket up, mildly annoyed that the recall happened right before it was time for his line to trade position with the guys in the empty bucket line at his back.

The ascent, though fairly short, was not easy. The rocky shoreline rose sharply over wave-smoothed stone that was very slippery when wet. It didn’t offer much in the way of cover for troops advancing up it, and the only logical paths narrowed to a couple of choke points. A lot of blood would flow in those places, and as long as there were defenders able to load ballistae and other siege machines, the attackers would be hard-pressed to gain anything approaching a foothold.

Up at the top of the hill, Will emptied his bucket into the cistern. He tossed the bucket onto the cart where others were piling theirs, then he located the little nook where he’d put his belt with his longknife and bladestar pouch. He buckled the belt on, inched the longknife into place over his left hip, then looked toward the tower where he’d seen Resolute and Crow.

With a creak and a clank, a man eclipsed his view of the tower. “You’re Will?”

The youth nodded and tried not to stare. “That’s me.”

“I’ve been sent to show you your place. Follow me.” The man turned away and started walking off away from the tower. Will wanted to protest, but the man—no, he’s ameckanshü—held such utter fascination for him that he couldn’t help but drift in his wake. The man’s left leg, from mid-thigh down, had been replaced by metal posts and gears. Wires and tattered bits of ringmail hung about it like lace. His left hand and forearm had likewise been replaced with an articulated claw that had two fingers and a thumb. Over the arm and thigh, and even on up to the shoulder, mail had been grafted onto his flesh.

Will had long heard ofmeckanshü but had not seen them before. A company of them had arrived from Fortress Draconis late in the night, landing on the north shore. How Dothan Cavarre, the Draconis Baron, had known to send them no one could even begin to guess, but they had been welcomed. From what little conversation he’d heard repeated, most of themeckanshü viewed their defense of Vilwan as a defense of their homeland, though none of them had actually come from there.

The man glanced back over his shoulder at Will. “Come on, boy, I’m not limping too fast for you, am I?”

Will shook his head and caught up quickly. “I never …”

“I can tell by the gawk.” The man sighed. “It’s this way, Will. I was a miller’s son in Gurol. About your age, maybe a bit older, I fell into the stream, lost my arm and leg to the wheel. No elves around to fix me, so my family sold me to the Draconis Baron.”

“Sold you?”

“Stipend, for my services. They knew I wasn’t coming back. I wasn’t good but for begging, so they took the gold. I wanted to go. Up there, at the fortress, the Draconis Baron had all sorts of magickers—elves, men, urZrethi—working on us. The last time Chytrine tried to take the place, she used a spell that reversed the healing of the wounded. Well, each of us is crafted individually. One spell won’t take us down. She’d have to know us each to undo the magicks.”

Will blinked his grey eyes. “Can you feel with those things?”

“A sense of where they are, yes, but hot and cold, soft, no.” He shrugged. “The magick helps me keep my balance, but we all train a lot. Not very quiet, so we’re not good at sneaking, but in a standing fight, we do just fine. Name’s Gerhard.”

“Will, but you know that.”

“That’s a fact.” Gerhard led the way down a broad stairway that switched back and forth, and across a courtyard to a thick, squat building with narrow windows. A stout bit of wall came out and around at a right angle to shield the north-facing doorway. They passed through into a round foyer about twelve feet in diameter, then up a narrow stairway that opened into a large room. To the right and left more stairways led upward.

A blond Adept waited at the top of the stairs. “Thank you, Captain.”

“My pleasure.” Themeckanshü gave Will a curt nod. “You’ll be here with Adept Jarmy.”

“I want to be out on the line.”

“I’m sure you do, son.” Gerhard brought his left arm up, slowly opened his claw and then snapped it shut. “Everything in its time, everyone in their place. Your place is here. Keep him safe, Jarmy.”

Will watched the soldier leave, then turned to face the Adept. He dimly recognized him. “So, have a broom for me to do some sweeping up?”

The Adept’s brown eyes narrowed for a moment, then he nodded. “Oh, yes, yesterday, at the docks. No, nothing like that. Come with me.”

Will followed up the stairs, past one floor to the uppermost level. They walked south along a corridor, then turned right into a room with a low ceiling. A long slit, akin to an arrow port but running parallel to the floor, had been carved in the north wall. They moved to it and through it Will could see the fortress wall, the moon-washed ocean, and a bobbing legion of lights marking the incoming fleet. Will swallowed hard. “That’s a lot of ships.”

“It is, and not even all the ships Chytrine has.”

“What do you mean?”

Jarmy’s jaw muscles bunched. “Some ships have made it to Sanges. The pirates were out among them, destroying boats. They were making war on children, so there will be no quarter given here.”

“How many were lost?”

“We don’t know. Too many.” Jarmy pointed to the north. “It is starting.”

Will frowned. “And we wait here?”

“Until it is time, yes.” The Adept looked down at Will. “They might not need us.”

“And if they do?”

“We will stop them.” The Adept turned his face to the north and Will leaned forward against the stone. Out there, in the darkness, he could make out little, but things soon resolved themselves in stark detail.

One ship had turned itself to parallel the fortress. Before Will could even begin to wonder why it would do that, three gouts of flame erupted from each of the fore and aft decks. A heartbeat later a volley of thunder shook him. Down below, at the wall, a projectile hit a merlon and shattered the stone like glass. The soldiers who had been standing near it simply disappeared, while others went down, writhing, torn by stone fragments.

Another projectile missed the wall, but slammed down into the catwalk beyond it. The stone skipped off it, leaving a small crater, then bounced down through the courtyard. It clipped a running man, tearing away his right leg, then vanished from Will’s sight. The remaining shots hit the fortress wall, spilling people to the ground, but not killing them.

“What was…?”

“Dragonels, a half dozen of them.” Jarmy patted the wall. “The Draconis Baron might be stingy with information, but the people we’ve had there creatingmeckanshü have been observant. The dragonels could take down a tall tower, but short and squat like this will slow them down.”

From within the fleet came a dozen long, low ships, bristling with oars. Even at a distance the voices of the oar-masters rang out, exhorting the people to pull hard. The galleys surged forward in a staggered line. Waves slapped hard against their curiously flattened bows. Will didn’t know much about ships, but they hardly looked seaworthy.Good thing they don’t have far to go.

A shouted command from below resulted in a handful of trebuchets launching their cargoes high in the air. Several projectiles burned and one of those shooting-stars slammed into the aft of a galley. The wooden barrel burst, gushingnapthalm all over the aft deck and down into the oarwells. Men screamed and flailed, some diving over the sides, others just collapsing. The helmsman likewise burned, allowing the stricken ship to drift off course as he went over the side.

It smashed into another galley, coming in at an angle that sheered off oars. Worse yet, the oars slammed hard into the bellies and backs of the rowers, shattering ribs and crushing spines. More screams arose from the two stricken ships. One ran aground on a hidden shoal while the other one, burning merrily, infected its foundering sister with fire.

Still the others came on, and a second wave behind them. As the first of the galleys hit the shoreline, their prows rode up over the stone and caught. As hard and fast as they’d hit, Will guessed it would take forever to get them free. About that time it occurred to him that they were never meant to float again.

The flattened bow on each of the galleys exploded outward on a jet of sorcerous green flame. Warriors—men and gibberers—poured out of the holds, yipping and howling as they scrambled up the stone. Morenapthalm barrels exploded, washing stone with fire, or catching the beached galleys. Sailors boiled out of the ships, seeking safety.

But safety wasn’t to be had. Archers came up from the fortress’ courtyard, nocked and drew. A rain of arrows sped through the night. Cloth-yard shafts crossed through targets silhouetted against the burning ships. One man, stuck through the shoulder with an arrow, defiantly snapped it off. As he raised the broken shaft triumphantly, a half-dozen more arrows studded his body and dropped him to the ground.

The dragonels roared again from the ship, crushing stone and scattering soldiers on the battlements. A small portion of the wall crumbled, opening a bit of gap toward the center. It occurred too far to the west to be of much practical use for the invaders, but it showed the power of dragonels.

More galleys drove themselves onto the beaches, and men emerged from them carrying large shields that they fastened together into mantlets. Arrows bristled from them as they advanced. A barrel ofnapthalm exploded near one, igniting it, and a hurled stone smashed another flat on the men carrying it. More appeared and more approached, getting positioned where they could ward vulnerable points on the ascent.

Will watched with fascination and horror, but shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, does it? They still can’t get up the wall. There are too many defenders.”

Jarmy nodded. “That’s my thinking. She’s got nothing to counter the archers save the dragonels, and they’re concentrating on bringing the wall down. So, unless she has something else up her sleeve …”

“Troops with draconettes?”

The Adept shook his head. “Not accurate enough.”

“What then?”

“I don’t… Oh, no, by the gods.” Jarmy pointed toward the sky. “There, by the moon.”

Will looked up and felt his stomach tug tightly into a knot.

A dragon drifted across the face of the moon, trapping itself there like an image struck on a coin. One wing came up, the other dipped, and it descended like a hawk stooping on prey. Two little jets of flame trailed back from its nostrils, flashing brilliantly from gold scales, and caressing reddish black eyes. It swooped low over the wall, and at the point the invaders could reach most easily, it let loose with an inferno.

The liquidnapthalm fire flowed, but the dragonfirehunted. Tongues licked stone merlons into vapor. It curled like ivy around a wall tower, then tightened, and molten rock gushed like juice from pulped fruit. Red-gold flames lapped at men, melting skin from bones, then devouring blackened skeletons. Onemeckanshü who had been metal from the waist down glowed red, then white, before his lower limbs evaporated. He breathed in fire, which silenced his screams, though many other throats gave voice to them, including Will’s own horrified gasp.