He took the coupled stars back, then selected the grey, two-spiked instrumentality they got at Drogan. Concentrating hard, he began fiddling with them.
“What’s he doing?” Haskeer muttered.
“Ssshhh!”
Coilla hissed.
They watched him wrestling with the things in uncomprehending silence for over a minute.
“There,” he declared at last, holding up the result.
All three stars were joined, looking like one seamless artifact. They passed it round.
“I don’t get this,” Jup confessed. “I can’t see how they connect, yet . . .”
Stryke nodded. “Strange, isn’t it?”
“How
do
you do it?” Alfray repeated.
“Just playing around with them at first. Then I kind of . . .
saw
how they went together. Any of you probably would too, if you worked on it long enough.”
Alfray stared at the newly constructed object. “I’m not so sure about that. I certainly can’t make out the trick.”
“It’s not a trick. They must have been designed to do this.”
“Why?” Haskeer asked, eyeing the stars suspiciously.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“It stands to reason that they’ll all fit like this,” Jup surmised. “Have you tried, Stryke?”
“Yes, when I’ve had the time. I can’t do it beyond those three. The other one just won’t go. Maybe we need the last star to make it work.”
“But what does it mean? Once it’s together, what’s it
for?
”
If Stryke had an opinion, they were destined not to hear it.
The alarm bells rang out.
“Shit,” the dwarf cursed. “They’re back.”
The township was full of running people and galloping horses. Wagons careened around corners, platoons of defenders jogged to defensive positions, civilians doled out weapons from handcarts.
Stryke and his officers, along with several score grunts, raced to their mustering point in the shadow of the pyramid. The rest of the orcs were already there, or close to arriving. Bellowing over the commotion, Stryke ordered them into their six designated squads of approximately forty troopers each. He, Alfray, Coilla, Haskeer and Jup headed groups one to five. Corporal Krenad had been given command of group six.
With Rellston’s agreement, the squads had been designated areas to fortify, alongside the Mani defenders but independent of them. But they also had a roving brief. They could go where needed to help strengthen the defences.
“Keep an eye on the watchtowers!” Stryke reminded them. “They’ll signal where you might be needed! The alarm bells are a signal too, remember!” It was a far-from-perfect system, but the best they could do. “You don’t move from your positions unless your leaders say so!” he added.
One by one, the commanders raised an arm to indicate they were ready.
“To your places!” Stryke roared.
Coilla’s squad passed his on its way out. “Good luck,” she mouthed.
The six groups set off for their scattered posts. Stryke’s was on the south wall. That pleased him. He’d be facing the main bulk of the attacking army.
He got there in minutes, and immediately started urging the grunts up the many ladders to the walkway. Then he scaled a ladder himself, and spent a moment ordering his squad into position. There were hundreds of Mani militia on the gangway already. Stryke was careful to mix his force in with them.
He spotted a young Mani officer. “What’s happening?”
“You can see for yourself. They’ve been grouping themselves for a couple of hours. Now this.” He nodded at the landscape.
What Stryke saw was not one army but at least four. The Unis had divided into segments, thousands strong, and each was moving towards the settlement. There were covered wagons at the rear of each segment. The divisions on the flanks were going off at tangents, Stryke guessed in order to surround Ruffetts.
“They’re going to hit us on several sides at once,” he told the officer.
“And they’ve held back reserves.” The human pointed.
Thousands more troopers had stayed in the enemy camp’s staging area at the far end of the valley.
“It’s the smart thing to do,” Stryke said. He looked up and down the battlements. “Do we have water wagons nearby?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think you should. Fire’s one of the biggest hazards in this kind of situation.”
The officer went off to sort it out.
Down below, the miniature armies approached. Each consisted of about two-thirds infantry and the balance cavalry. The foot-soldiers dictated the pace of advance, which was consequently slow. But there was something about their ponderous movement that made them seem the more inexorable and threatening.
Stryke walked the gangway, checking that his command was in order. He came to a pair of Wolverine grunts, and felt glad they were there.
“Noskaa. Finje.”
They returned the greeting.
“What do you reckon they’ll try, sir?” Finje asked.
“If you don’t count that little skirmish last night, this is the first really determined assault. I reckon they’ll stick by the book. Strong contingents to the gates and ladders for the walls.”
“But they’re religious fanatics, sir,” Noskaa remarked. “There’s no telling what they’ll do.”
“It does you credit to realise it, trooper. Always expect the unexpected. But in a siege both sides’ options are limited. We’re in here, they’re out there. Our job’s to keep it that way.”
“Yes, sir,” they chorused.
“Keep an eye on the watchtowers,” he reminded them, “and help out the Manis wherever you can. Providing that doesn’t contravene any order of mine,” he added.
They nodded.
Stryke resumed his inspection. That done, like thousands of others all he could do was watch the attackers nearing.
As the next hour or two stretched out, the four divisions of the Uni army moved into position, facing the settlement from each point of the compass. That meant Stryke and his comrades were looking down on a mass of troops. Those on the battlements and those on the ground jeered at each other and slung insults.
Stryke paced the walkway, dealing out encouraging back-slaps and cheering words. “Steady, lads . . . hold your fire . . . stand solid . . . watch each other’s backs . . .”
Then it went very quiet.
A series of high-pitched piping notes rose from the besieging armies, made by reed whistles.
“That’s their signal!” Stryke barked. “Prepare to repel!”
A deafening roar went up from the attackers and they flooded in on all sides. The defenders sent up their own answering cries and the siege proper commenced.
The first priority was to stop the attackers reaching the walls. Mani archers took the brunt of that, loosing arrows by the hundred down on the charging infantry. Shields went up below and bolts rattled off them. But many found their fleshy targets. Soldiers fell with pierced eyes, throats, chests. Some unfortunates in the front ranks were peppered by numerous arrows and went down to be trampled by the troops behind. Horses fell, spilling their riders, and they too succumbed to the rain of spikes.
A party of enemy archers, hundreds strong, tilted their bows skyward and loosed their own swarm over the walls.
“Incoming!”
Stryke bellowed.
Everybody who could, took cover. Scores of arrows showered on the walkway, killing and wounding, but most overshot and fell into the settlement itself. Reservists and civilian auxiliaries caught the storm. Men, women and pack animals collapsed under the downrush. People ran for cover, some screaming. Field-surgeon teams began dashing to the wounded.
Stryke heard the blasted bells ringing everywhere. He looked up to the nearest watchtower, but none of the lookouts was trying to signal. Then again they had their own problems, with dozens of enemy archers trying to pick them off. He stayed put.
He realised he was crouching next to the young Mani officer. He looked scared.
“First siege?” Stryke asked.
The white-faced officer nodded, too nervous to speak.
“They’re just as frightened as we are, if it’s any help,” Stryke told him. “And remember that your men’s lives depend on you.”
The young man nodded again, with more resolve, Stryke thought.
“We’re likely to see nothing more than an arrow exchange for some minutes yet,” he explained. “They’re trying to keep us pinned down so they can get close enough to start scaling.”
The Mani archers knew that. They were popping up at random to fire their arrows, then ducking to reload.
“Can we hold them off?” the officer said.
“No. Not unless both sides have an endless supply of arrows. Even if they did, their officers are going to be urging them to the walls soon.”
Stryke looked down into the settlement and saw a water wagon drawing up, pulled by oxen. It was essentially a huge barrel on wheels, with rows of wooden buckets swinging on its sides. Arrows clattered on and around it. A couple pierced the oxen’s backs and they lowed pitifully.
A shout went up from the battlements, not just Stryke’s but all around.
“They’re bringing in the ladders!” somebody yelled.
Stryke braved the fusillade and peeked over the wall. Hundreds of ladder carriers, working in pairs, were racing towards the fortifications. As he watched, at least three of them went down. But their numbers, and the covering fire, meant a goodly portion would get through.
He turned to the officer and held his gaze. “Our best chance is to make sure as few of them as possible get over. Just a handful can cause mayhem if they’re determined enough.” He heard the blood-chilling war cries of the besiegers. “And this lot are determined if nothing else.”
The tops of ladders showed above the battlements, swaying as the men holding them below struggled to get them against the walls. The Mani archers, and spear-throwers too now, began targeting the holders. They were particularly vulnerable and succumbed in droves.
But inevitably more than half the ladders slapped against the walls, their tops visible above the screen. Defenders moved to dislodge them.
One crashed into place next to the officer and Stryke.
“Come on!” he said.
They scrambled to it and grasped its uprights. With a mighty heave they pushed it away. There was nobody on it. They watched it fall back and the soldiers below scattering.
Other ladders were being climbed. Lines of Unis swarmed up them with swords drawn and raised shields. Stryke and the officer rushed to help topple them. The first one they reached had three or four of the enemy more than halfway up. With a couple of grunts aiding, they managed to push the ladder clear of the wall. It swayed for a second in an upright position, then went over with its screaming load.
There was no respite. Numerous ladders were clamping themselves to the wall now and the defenders who weren’t hurling projectiles or firing arrows dashed from one to the other. Stryke knew this was happening all around the settlement. He just hoped there was no weak point that would allow a major breach.
As he had the thought, the first Uni got to the top of the wall and began scrambling over. Stryke bounded over to him and slashed his face to ribbons. The howling man fell, striking his fellows on the lower rungs, and they all plunged together.
Now another Uni head appeared, and another, and several more. In the space of a few seconds a couple of dozen made the top and many got on to the walkway. They had to be dealt with. Stryke barrelled into one, blocked his cross and gutted him. The man fell into the settlement. A sword swished over Stryke’s head. He turned and felled the attacker, kicking his corpse over the side. The young officer was engaged in a fight himself, and giving a good account. He despatched his opponent and turned to face another. Stryke got involved with his own duel.
There were brawls all along the walkway, and bodies of Unis, Manis and orcs plunged screaming from the height. A ladder poked up at an unattended stretch of wall. A Mani defender, not much more than a boy, threw himself at the man who jumped over from it. He was outmatched. The officer saw what was happening and ran to help. A furious exchange with the invader showed that he was no match for him either. Three or four passes into the duel, the Uni buried his sword in the officer’s chest. The Mani went down. The interloper returned his attention to the boy.
Stryke raced over and commenced battering at the invader. It took him half a minute to break through his defences and see him off. Kneeling by the fallen officer, Stryke immediately realised he was dead. “Shit!” he hissed. The boy was looking at them. “Do your duty!” Stryke yelled. The boy rejoined the fray. A grunt caught Stryke’s eye and nodded. He went to shadow the youngster.
Stryke took up his sword again and cleaved the next head to show.
Coilla was on the other side of the settlement, helping defend the opposite wall.
The position was similar to Stryke’s. Ladders were slamming against the battlements. Grappling hooks flew over. Perhaps ten Unis had made the walkway and they were being engaged with vigour.
Coilla ended combat with a foe by hewing deep into his neck. Then she went straight on to the next, hacking at his shield like a mad thing. That was finished for her when a grunt cut down her opponent from the rear.
As she backed off, a clay pot sailed over the wall and shattered on the gangway. The oil it contained immediately ignited, sending a sheet of flame over the boards. Another pot landed on the gangway behind her.
“Hell’s teeth!” she exclaimed. “
Get some water up here!
”
Fights boiled on despite the flames. Some Manis and orcs tried beating out the flames with blankets while they dodged arrows. Then the colony’s fire-fighters arrived and got a chain going. Slopping buckets of water were passed up the interior ladders to be emptied and thrown back.
Coilla left them to it and skirted the fires to engage a fresh batch of Unis. She downed one instantly as he straddled the wall. The next got over and put up a fight. He couldn’t match her speed or fury and took a stroke to the heart. A third was sent howling back to the ground with her dagger in his chest.
She didn’t know how much longer they could hold them off.