Trial and Glory (11 page)

“I think I can manage something. Last to a hundred has to carry the other man’s dinner for a week?”

Crusher grinned.

They both charged the tower opening.

* * *

Krytien shook his head violently at the swarming mosquitoes while his hands deflected another ball of fire. If he had a second to himself, he could cant a quick spell to rid himself of the most annoying of the One Above’s creations.

Even half a second might be enough,
he thought as several of the flying pests worked their way under his gray robes, biting at his skin.

Earlier, when he saw mages stationed with each of the siege towers, Krytien reassigned those under his command accordingly.

I hope Lufflin is alright.

Under constant pressure, Krytien struggled to fend off the numerous attacks on him. The enemy mages worked well as a unit, keeping their strategy varied.

And apparently there are more of them than we thought.

He didn’t fear the mages, only what he might be unable to control.

What would happen now if Nareash shows up? I’m struggling against a bunch of parlor tricks.

Krytien grimaced as another mosquito bit him.

Quit feeling sorry for yourself. What would Jonrell say if he were here? Or Ronav? Or anybody for that matter? I don’t have to stretch myself to take care of these upstarts.

Krytien refocused himself. Tiny wisps of smoke erupted around him as the mosquitoes disintegrated. He caught the next fireball. Lunging forward, he threw it back in the direction it came from. With renewed determination, he deflected three other rapid attacks of sorcery. Stone, energy, and animal.

He strengthened the shield around himself, pushed up his sleeves, and centered his mind as another series of fireballs sailed toward him. His mouth turned up.

I’ll show them fire.

* * *

In her peripheral, Yanasi saw a flickering orange mass sail out toward the enemy.

I guess Krytien’s done playing around.

Shaking away her thoughts, she sidestepped a thrown spear.

Pay attention.

The doors to two more towers opened at her section of wall. She continued loosing arrows while shouting orders to handle the influx of enemy surging over the battlements. Three empty quivers lay at her feet while a fourth rested on her back.

Despite her men’s efforts, they were being driven backward. They had the advantage of better training, but the sheer number of fresh enemy soldiers was becoming too much. Even bringing up reserves had only prolonged the decision she didn’t want to make.

A knot formed in her stomach. The last time her men faced such a press had been during Nareash’s first attack of the High Pass. She nearly ordered a withdrawal from the outer wall then.

But then Krytien stepped in. He scared them so much that the enemy retreated.

She spared a glance toward the mage as he fought against sorcery thrown at him from multiple directions. Though he looked more like his old self, she knew better than to count on him for relief again.

Last time he thought that was our only option.
She remembered Kaz’s orders.
“Hold the wall for as long as you can. But don’t be foolish. Withdraw across the catwalks before things become hopeless. Otherwise, we won’t have the ability to regroup at the middle wall. We can’t afford to be overrun there as well.”

Yanasi grabbed several of her officers to sound the withdrawal. She sent a runner to bring up fresh reserves to cover their retreat. Another she used to send word to Kaz, making him aware of her decision.

What was it Jonrell once said? “A commander who stops to think in battle is a commander who dies in battle. The thinking should happen before the fighting begins. Trust your gut, and act.”

* * *

Drake’s responsibilities grew more difficult as the hours passed. An engineer was most useful when hammering the enemy from a distance. The closer the enemy got, the more creative Drake had to be with his weaponry. Trebuchets continued to rain rock down on the back lines of the attackers while he adjusted other equipment to maul the siege towers.

The two catapults under his command fired short, high-arcing shots just behind the towers. Stone crashed into those waiting to climb through the wooden structures and up to the walls. Ballista released large javelins into the open mouths of the tower doors. Some of the missiles managed to take out two and even three men at a time.

And despite all that we’ve done, it barely seems like it’s slowing them down.

“Drake!”

He turned toward the shout, and saw a messenger. “What is it?”

“Captain Yanasi is ordering a withdrawal to the middle wall,” he huffed. “She told me to tell you to fall back immediately before you’re unable to do so.”

Even though Kaz had presented the option of withdrawal, his chest clenched anyway. His men stopped their duties, waiting for his orders. He hadn’t felt so helpless since Cathyrium.

We lost a wall then and won, but we needed Jeldor to bail us out. There isn’t anyone to bail us out now.
He grit his teeth.
Kaz will figure something out. He has to.

“You heard the man. Janik, set the equipment on fire so they can’t use it against us. Everyone else, grab what you can, and let’s get out of here before we’re left behind.”

The messenger continued to gulp air as he looked over the teaming mass of soldiers fighting below. “Sir, I don’t know if I can get word to Raker.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll figure it out in a minute. Worry about the rest of your orders,” he said, slapping the soldier on the back.

Behind him, flames found life amid the wood.

* * *

Raker noticed the fire from Drake’s position. He swore realizing what had happened.

“Senald! Loose whatever you can, wherever you can, as long as it isn’t aimed at us. Then douse the equipment with oil, and dump the braziers on them.”

“Wait, what?” He looked over to Drake and then down to the men under Yanasi’s command. “Oh. Aye!” he yelled and set to work.

Raker situated a shield on his half arm, thankful he still had enough there to strap one in place. He unlooped the mace at his belt and secured it in his good hand. He looked forward to taking out his anger at losing the equipment.

Raker leaned over the side of the tower, trying to get a feel of the best route to the nearest catwalk. He spat.

None of it looked easy.

He opened his mouth to yell for them to move out, when furious movement amid the enemy caught his attention. He squinted. Bodies lay in heaps around a lone figure fending off attackers from all sides.

Kroke’s having one of his moments.

Raker wheeled.

“Quick Senald, load me up one more ballista, and swing it around this way!”

“We just set the last one to flame.”

He dropped his mace. “Load one up anyway. Quintuple time!”

“Quintuple time?” one of the other engineers asked.

“That means fast like your life depended on it, idiot. Move!”

Men scrambled to obey. They shouted in anger while avoiding the growing flames. Raker aimed the ballista himself, despite the fire licking against his skin. He took sight with smoke watering his eyes.

“He better appreciate this,” he mumbled as he pulled the release.

Raker hurried back to the merlons, peered over the side, and smiled.

I bet the kid couldn’t make that shot.

He grabbed his mace, ignoring the blistering on his hand, and gestured to Kroke. They exchanged nods.

Raker called out to his men. “Alright, let’s get our hands dirty.”

They headed for the stairs.

* * *

Blood covered Kroke's hands, oozing down his arms and dripping off at his elbows to the stone beneath his feet. It joined the blood pouring from the bodies piled around him. Some bled from wounds in the side or gut, others from the chest or neck.

Plenty bled at his feet, still alive, but incapacitated. Those had angered him and he chose not to finish them off, crippling them instead with severed tendons, stabs to the groin, or slices across the eyes. The wail of their screams became his battle cry for he refused to issue one himself.

The eagle-hilted blade in his right hand came down, catching the shaft of a thrusting spear. It jammed the spear against the ground while his other knife sliced into the attacker’s arm. The spear fell.

He stepped into the spearman while avoiding a sword stroke and finished the first man with a jab to the throat. Kroke’s arm swept out, blade biting into the side of the swordsman. He climbed up the man’s back, rammed his knife into the base of his skull, severing his spine. He lashed out at the next nearest man.

Blood, flesh, bits of bone, and other human insides caked Kroke’s light armor, none of it his. He had lost himself in the moment. He knew it had already been hours since the attack began. Yet he could continue the dance until sundown.

Others must have sensed his confidence as the enemy came at him with more hesitance, eyes wide with fear. Some men shuffled away, but Kroke pursued, leaving behind one pile of dead only to start another.

A flaming shaft zipped by, inches from his face. It struck, piercing three men cowering to his right. The missile passed so close, he had felt the warmth of the fire against his sweat-soaked skin.

He followed the path of its origin.

Raker stood with flames at his back. He pointed at him with his mace then off to his right. Kroke followed the gesture to where Yanasi led a withdrawal across the nearest catwalk. Kroke saw Kaz doing the same on the opposite side of the outer wall.

Kroke realized that he had been fighting as an island, though he couldn’t say for how long. He became aware of the fatigue in his limbs and the aches in his muscles. He couldn’t fight like this until dusk, regardless of his earlier thoughts.

He nodded to Raker, and the engineer disappeared.

Now I just have to clear a path to join the others.

* * *

Kaz stood at the center of the catwalk. A wall of five men to either side interlocked their shields with his. They stabbed with swords through small cracks underneath each shield, blades piercing the groins and thighs of the enemy. The men behind Kaz jabbed spears over the front row’s heads, points targeting faces and necks.

Lacking quality armor, weapons, and even training, the enemy suffered greater casualties from the assault. Yet, their resolve could not be deterred. Kaz only assumed such resiliency had to do with the tribes of Thurum forever being at war with their neighbors.

They don’t know when to quit.

Sweat poured over Kaz’s brow. He smelled garlic on the breath of the man he fought. The warrior screamed violently at Kaz in an unfamiliar tongue. A spear point disappeared inside the man’s gaping mouth. It retracted, and the man fell dead. Another took his place.

The enemy surged. They pushed Kaz and his men back. He glanced over to either side, noting the blank expressions on each of his soldier’s faces. They continued to kill, but each thrust seemed mechanical, out of an inability to do anything else rather than out of passion for their cause.

They’re exhausted. Did Crusher make it over to the other catwalk? Or can we expect the enemy to come up from behind us at any moment? Where’s the signal?

As if on cue, the sky darkened. A red mist trickled down on the enemy. Panic filled their eyes. They may have been willing to throw themselves at the bite of steel, but like all men not talented in the arts, sorcery played on their darkest fears.

Especially, having seen that sorcery first hand.

The enemy climbed over each other to get away from the strange effects in the air. They screamed hysterically. Kaz wished to push forward and reclaim the first wall, but saw the mistake in that.

Even with the mist, our losses would be too heavy. And it isn’t a guarantee we’d succeed. This is our best chance to pull back.

“Withdraw!” he yelled.

His men retreated to the middle wall. A glance over his shoulder told him the enemy had begun to figure out their ruse. The mist did nothing but hang in the air. They turned furious and humiliated eyes on Kaz and his men when the catwalk erupted.

Thousands of bits of granite and limestone blew skyward. Descending like hail, it pelted both sides,
clinking
off armor and shield. Clouds of smoke and dust replaced the red and black mist. As the air settled, a forty-foot gap in the catwalk separated the two armies. The other catwalk suffered a similar fate.

Surprisingly, the enemy didn’t bother trying their luck at the stairs leading to the killing ground between the outer and middle walls. They retreated, confused by the explosion and lack of death from the red mist.

A lone figure dressed in blue and gray appeared on top of one siege tower. Guwan barked orders and jumped down afterward, losing himself among the masses.

The enemy began dismantling their towers while others protected them with raised shields against arrow fire ordered by Yanasi. They managed to kill a few warriors here and there, but not as many as Kaz had hoped. Slowly, the enemy erected an interior wall of wood to protect them from Kaz’s men stationed along the middle wall.

Yanasi saw the futility in continuing to waste arrows and called for her men to stand down.

All the while, Kaz continued to the think about the lone figure issuing orders. It still surprised him that Guwan led Nareash’s army.

I always assumed someone like Durahn would be the one to betray our people.

It all made him think more about what had happened in Hesh since he left.

And why hasn’t Guwan used the Kifzo more? I hate to admit it, but they would have taken the outer wall long ago.

He shook away his thoughts. Satisfied that Guwan would dig in before mounting another offensive, he turned his attention to his men.

His captains had the army working frantically to prepare for the next assault, bringing in fresh barrels of arrows, racks of javelins, and wood for braziers. Nora, one of the younger mages, led several crews of healers, each carrying stretchers, as they moved the wounded to safety.