Authors: Angus Wells
“T
he streets are clean now.” Nestor filled a goblet and passed it to Talan. “Swept with fire, eh? And the only gate’s sealed and held by your men. The walls are manned, and no barbarians shall enter here.”
Talan took the cup and settled in a high-backed chair and drained the wine in a thirsty swallow. There were no servants left, so he held out his goblet to Nestor to refill as he asked, “And the clans? And the citizens? And those god-cursed soldiers with only one hand? Don’t they still fight?”
“But the important ones are dead.” Nestor filled the king’s cup—a small obeisance in light of what he’d win. “Shara and Ellyn are slain, so we face no magic. And within this citadel, we’re safe. We can hold off the clans, and all the rest of that rabble. Heed me, eh? They’ll break against the walls.”
“They’ve not so far,” Talan grunted.
“But they will now.” Nestor smiled at his protégé: another ambitious kingling ripe for plucking to the Vachyn cause. Indeed, already won. “The clans are gathered against us—and are decimated ….”
“They own Chorym!” Talan wailed.
“They entered the city, but save they take the palace they’ve nothing.” Nestor filled his own goblet. “And how shall they take the palace? It’s but the one gate, and high walls. And you’ve enough men behind them to fend them off, even without my help. Listen—we’ve gathered them all together—the clans and my sister; Ellyn and her guardian; every old soldier who fought for Andur; the Hel’s Town
pirates …” He laughed. “The god’s know, even Mother Hel herself—all of them!
Every one who might dispute your rule.
Let them come against us now, and we shall destroy them all—and you’ll own Chaldor, and the Highlands and Hel’s Town. We cannot lose!”
“You’re sure?” Talan asked.
Nestor lowered his head in agreement. “It’s what I planned: to slay all your enemies in one fell swoop.”
Talan smiled and stroked his golden helmet. “I owe you much, my friend.”
Nestor shrugged negligently, thinking:
Your soul, fool.
W
e found the clan chieftains at the gate. The smoke was cleared here, the worst of the Vachyn’s magicks delivered against the lower tiers of the city. Mattich waited for us, and Jaime and Roark. I was somehow surprised to find Devyn there, for I had forgotten that I was, since slaying my brother, equal to Mattich and the others—a clan chief. It was good to breathe clean air, free of smoke and the stench of burning flesh and buildings.
“We caught Egor Dival,” Roark said.
Mattich said, “But the others hide behind those walls.”
Jaime said, “How can we cross them?”
I looked at the high gate and the parapets beyond. Danant’s men stood there, and were their catapults and trebuchets useless at such close quarters, still I could see no way we might gain entry.
Kerid said, “We’ve the grappling irons.”
And Mother Hel—who I was surprised to find with us—said, “My pirates can climb those walls. They’re not so different from a ship’s side.”
“Save you’ve Nestor on the other,” I said. “And do we assault the gate or try to climb the walls, he’ll deliver more fire and lightning against us.”
Mother Hel nodded. “Aye, there’s that. But what else?”
Kerid said, “We’ve come too far now to give up.”
I sighed, staring around. The citadel was ringed with
clansmen and Hel’s Town pirates and Chaldor’s one-handed soldiers and citizens. Not all had fled Nestor’s burning. There were enough still loyal to Ellyn’s cause that we had an army of disparate purpose, but enough to win.
Save Nestor deliver further Vachyn magicks against us.
Then Shara said, “We attack. What else?”
I looked at her. She could barely hold her feet steady. Her face was pale, and her eyes were narrowed with concern. I thought that if I let her go, she’d fall down, but she pushed clear of my arms and faced us all.
“I’ll break the gate and we attack.”
I drew her away as arrows flew from the palace. We gathered behind the shelter of a fire-blackened wall and I said, “No! You’re too weak, and do you use your talent then Nestor shall find you again.”
“He’ll be weakened now.” She squared her shoulders. “Those magicks he’s used must drain him.”
“Even so.” I shook my head, looking from her weary face to the walls. “There must be another way.”
“Then name it.” She laughed bitterly. “Sooner or later I must face him, for I’m the only one here can hope to defeat
him.”
I looked into her tired eyes. “I could not bear to lose you now,” I said. “I’d sooner die myself.”
“Perhaps you shall, Gailard my love. Perhaps we both shall, and Ellyn, too. But what other choice have we? It’s as you said—we’ve only victory or defeat ahead.”
I swallowed, wondering if the sour taste came from the ashes I’d inhaled or the fear I felt. Her eyes were fierce for all their weariness, and I could only sigh and shrug, and grant her sway.
I
t was a suicidal venture, and I could envisage little hope of success. But neither could I suggest any alternative, and I knew that we could not linger. So …
Highlanders and citizens gathered timber—doors and shutters, broken fences—anything that might be quickly
fashioned into crude, movable barricades as the Hel’s Town pirates spread around the walls. It took what remained of the day and most of the night, and our assault was planned for that hour before dawn when the light is grey and even watchful soldiers grow sleepy.
I prayed that Nestor needed sleep like any mortal man; and doubted he should.
Then a horn sounded, answered by the others around the citadel’s walls, and the assault began.
There was a great roar as the rough screens were carried toward the gate. I heard the song of arrows, invisible in the dim light, and the distant thud of a battering ram against the portal. Kerid whistled, and the Hel’s Town pirates set to whirling their grappling irons in wide circles before the barbed hooks went sailing upward, over the ramparts. Highlanders sent arrows flying as the pirates began to climb.
Stones rained down upon them, and great cauldrons of boiling water and oil. They screamed and fell, and those who survived the descent were oft as not picked off by the arrows of the defenders. I could not bare to stand idle now, and so I had a bow and stared into the opalescent light, and when a Danant man showed at an embrasure, I sent a shaft into his eye. He screamed and fell back, and all around him more shafts lofted, sent by the clansmen. But Talan’s folk were well guarded by the high ramparts, and I could not envisage the Hel’s Town pirates succeeding—so it would be as Shara had said. And that assault I feared far deeper than to take one of those ropes in my hands and attempt that impossible climb. Kerid barked an order and a horn sounded, and the pirates left off their hopeless assault.
I glanced at Shara and Ellyn, who both nodded grimly, and set to their work.
It was a grim business, bloody as any of Nestor’s handiwork, and as it continued I waited in horrid anticipation for the Vachyn to strike against them. It took little time, but all the while I felt my heart thud heavy against my ribs as I expected the counterstrike of Talan’s mage.
I watched as they angled their hands toward the battlements of the citadel. I heard them cry out, but I could not comprehend the words—only observe the effect.
It was as if a great incandescent ball of light burst against the ramparts. As if the sun fell to earth and broke. This was not akin to Nestor’s indiscriminate fire, but concentrated on a single section, that exploded in a mass of sharded stone. I saw blocks melt and run, the wall shattered. The sound of it dinned against my ears, but even so I thought I heard the screaming of the Danant men consumed in that terrible destruction. Then—the gods willing, before Nestor had time to retaliate—we were all charging toward the rubble.
It was difficult going. The stones were jagged and hot under my booted feet, and I supported Shara on one side, Ellyn on her other. A few arrows flew toward us, but most of the defenders were dazed by the explosion, and we gained the parapet.
I stood with the two women, my buckler raised to defend them. Kerid stood with me, and his tobacco-chewing cohort, and we were joined by pirates and Highlanders even as the main part of our force spread to either side.
“We’d best not linger.” Shara’s voice was husky with the effort of her spell. She was panting, sweat beading her face. Nor was Ellyn in much better condition. “Move on swift now, lest Nestor locate us.”
I looked about. Pirates and Highlanders drove the defenders back toward the two watchtowers set either side of our space of wall. Stairs ran down from those small bastions to the inner yard, where soldiers came running in support of their beleaguered comrades. They fell back as arrows and javelins rained from the occupied parapet, and Kerid shouted for his men to clear the watchtowers.
“You know what to do,” I said.
He nodded, still grinning, and clasped my hand a moment. “The gods be with you, Gailard.”
“And you.”
The gods knew, it was a desperate plan, but it was all we had. I snatched a livery from a fallen soldier and draped it around Ellyn’s shoulders, set another about Shara, a third about my own. They were all bloody and rent, and we crouched against the inner wall, amongst the bodies, as Kerid took our invaders away.
T
he ram struck the gate and Jaime cursed as the shock jarred his arms. He wiped a thread of blood from his face where an arrow had grazed him, and ignored the broken shaft that stuck from his side. It had not gone in too deep and he doubted he lost much blood—and by all the gods, he’d see that gate shattered or die in the attempt.
On the other side of the pole Mattich shouted, and the timber was drawn back to hammer again.
“Soon, eh?” He bellowed loud enough they all hear. “Not long and we’re through!”
He turned as his shieldman loosed a liquid sigh and pitched onto his back with a shaft driven clear through his neck. A pity that; Massos was a good friend. But the Dur were committed now, and Ellyn was—the gods willing—inside the citadel, and soon the gate would break. When the fighting was done and the clans went home, he’d see his friend’s widow compensated. But now … He roared again: “Break it! The gods curse you—break it!”
R
oark clenched his teeth and leaned into the effort as arrows flung past him. A man screamed, falling with a shaft sprouting from his chest; another grunted and staggered away as a spear dug into his thigh. He risked a glance around, checking that the rough-made shields took the worst of the defenders’ shafts. Ellyn was likely inside now—save she be slain on the wall. In which case, he vowed, he’d have the heads of both Talan of Danant and the Vachyn sorcerer. Or die in the attempt. And did they all survive, he’d ask Ellyn for her hand in marriage—even were she Chaldor’s queen.
He lent his voice to Mattich’s. “Onward the clans! Break the gate and win!”
The gate shuddered, splinters sharding where the ram pounded, and Mattich bellowed, “Again! We’re almost through!”
M
other Hel watched nervously, hiding her discomposure from the few guardsmen she retained. Where was Kerid? Did he live still, in the midst of this insane adventure? Or was he slain? She hoped not, and blushed despite herself as she realized he meant more to her than she cared to admit. The gods knew, but it was not expediency alone that had persuaded her to take sides in this landsman’s war. It was equally Kerid, with his love for Chaldor and his smile, and …
She set those thoughts aside, and asked the gods to let him live and be victorious. She knew that if they failed, she and her Hel’s Town pirates—all who supported Ellyn—would surely become objects of Vachyn revenge, become subjects of Talan Kedassian.
She stared at the wild men pounding their ram against the gate, seemingly oblivious of the missiles that fell on them, and wondered at their bravery and their insanity.
“W
hat is it?”
Talan woke from drunken sleep to find Nestor scowling at his bedside. He heard a distant sound, muffled by the curtains and his aching head. He rose groggy against the pillows as Nestor said, “Do you know what that is?”
Talan shook his head, and wished he’d not. “What?”
“They attack.”
“So?”
“They’re inside the walls.”
Talan sat higher. “What?” He flung the sheets aside and clambered naked and confused from the bed. “You promised me …” He crossed to the window and saw chaos on the battlements of the citadel.
“They assault the gate,” Nestor said, “and there are too many come over the walls.”
“But …” Talan stared in amazement at the fighting. “You said … You promised … This cannot be!”
“I …” Nestor hesitated. “I had not known they were so strong.”
Talan rounded on him. “Send your magicks against them then! Sweep them clean, as you did the streets of the city!”
“That would be difficult.” Nestor smiled obsequiously. “Cleansing the streets drained me, and it shall take awhile before my strength is again gathered. And …”
“What?” Talan snarled.
“Do I sweep the walls,” Nestor said, “then I must sweep them—clean of attackers and defenders, both. Better to trust in your own men. Else there’ll be none left to defend you.”
“By all the gods!” Talan fumbled for his clothes; it was hard to dress without the aid of servants. “You promised me victory, and I find all Chorym raised against me.” He danced on one foot as he tugged on his undergarments. “Is your cursed sister working her magic better than you? Is El-lyn working against me?”
The Vachyn nodded sullenly.
“What?” Talan stumbled as he tugged on a boot, falling back across the bed. Supine, he glowered at the sorcerer. “You told me they were slain”
“I thought they were.” Nestor’s voice was a snarl of pure rage. “The gods know they should be.”
He flung a linen shirt at Talan. The Lord of Danant and Chaldor pulled the garment on and gaped at the Vachyn. “But?”
“Magic’s broken the citadel wall and let in your enemies. And, listen …” Talan cocked his head. He heard shouting, the clamor of battle, a steady thumping sound. “They bring a battering ram against the gate,” Nestor said.