Trial and Glory (32 page)

Under a murky, overcast sky, he and Larnak sat atop their mounts, waiting as Durahn prepared to lead another assault against Juanoq’s defenses. Despite their efforts, they had not even made it past the towers that led to the moat surrounding the great walls of the city.

“The wind will be a challenge for their archers,” said Larnak. “It’s about time something works in our favor,” the Yellow Clan leader muttered.

“It sounds like you’re losing confidence in our plans,” said Mawkuk.

Larnak looked over his shoulder to where their aides stood farther. He lowered his voice. “Don’t act like you aren’t too. I know you’re keeping up appearances for your men as I am. This isn’t what either of us had in mind when we embarked on this campaign.”

Mawkuk grunted. As each day passed and the failures accumulated, his men showed growing signs of discouragement. He shared their frustration.

I’ll soon lose them without some sort of success.

“No. This isn’t what I had in mind,” said Mawkuk. “I hate to give that whoreson any credit, but Bazraki knew what he was doing when he designed the city.”

“Then what do we do?”

Mawkuk heard the unspoken question.
How long do we give Durahn control of our forces?

“We wait. Durahn said that the far right tower is weakest. Once it falls, the remaining will fall more easily.”

“And how many attacks have failed on it thus far?”

“Too many. But this strategy is different.”

In previous assaults, Durahn focused only on the far right tower, sometimes expanding his attack to the two near it. Each assault ended with Mawkuk withdrawing his men to avoid continued losses.

Days earlier, Durahn convinced Mawkuk to allow him to attack the entire right side at once. If all towers were engaged, they would not be able to support their neighbors as easily. Durahn also demanded that Mawkuk not withdraw their troops, insistent that their previous attacks had failed in part because of a lack of commitment.

Mawkuk acquiesced when word reached him that Walor had made it to the outskirts of the Gray Marshes. Even if Captain Turil did his job, Mawkuk could no longer afford to be patient. Walor would eventually make it through, and they would be caught between an army and the city itself.

Larnak pointed. The yellowed bone that covered his armor clacked. Mawkuk held his breath as he watched the advance of their forces.

Seven groups of one hundred men fanned outward. The outer ranks of each company wore the thickest armor available while holding wide shields as big as men. Concealed within the tightly packed ranks of each group, heavily armed warriors carried thick trees with handles carved into the sides. The rest carried rope and grappling hooks.

Flanking each company, five smaller groups of warriors rolled specially designed mantlets. The wood used in their construction allowed for easy mobility, while its size concealed half a dozen archers under the sloping front wall. Each archer also carried javelins to launch over the giant shields.

Mawkuk doubted the attacks from the ground would be effective in eliminating many from the towers’ windows or other openings. However, he understood the necessity of distracting the defenders.

Each company advanced at the pace set by those pushing the mantlets. Gaps in each group’s lines tightened as the first attacks from the towers peppered the men. The arrows clanged against raised shields while others thudded into the rolling mantlets. Only a few warriors fell.

“Durahn’s plan is already working better than his past attempts,” said Larnak.

Mawkuk nodded.

The first company of men reached the nearest tower. The tightly packed formation split into five groups. They encircled the tower at its base with a mantlet set up behind them. Lengths of rope whipped up the sides of the tower, finding purchase on the roof.

The Blue Island Clan defenders leaned out of windows with spears, or loosed arrows through slits in the tower’s walls. Behind the mantlets the attackers released arrows upward.

Mawkuk glanced away from the nearest tower to check progress on the others. Some showed greater signs of success than others.

One warrior in particular managed to creep upward to an opening. Mawkuk thought the man might make his goal until a spear pierced the warrior in the side. He fell screaming.

A low thudding began at the nearest tower. Those at the entrance hammered the door with their ram. The sound escalated as groups followed suit, falling into the tempo set by the first.

Large, black cauldrons materialized in the openings over the towers’ entrances. Boiling oil cascaded on heavy shields. Steaming liquid quickly found the tiny crevices in each man’s protection. Tree trunks fell as men writhed in pain, tearing uselessly at their armor.

Archers reappeared and focused on silencing those wailing screams.

Larnak swore. “They haven’t done that before. Things had looked so promising. We should recall the men.”

Mawkuk remembered Durahn’s request. “Not today.”

Larnak turned in his saddle.

“We let Durahn continue.” Mawkuk’s tone said that the matter was not up for discussion.

Don’t you fail me.

Farther up in the ranks, Durahn gestured violently with his hands, pushing messengers off in several directions. Small heavily armored units ran up. The groups spread out quickly, reinforcing the efforts at each tower.

Fresh reserves cleared a path at the tower’s entrance, hauling away the dead. The loud pounding returned as new units battered the doors.

Defenders disappeared inside the windows, returning with more steaming cauldrons.

Larnak swore again. “He’s throwing away our men.”

The fluid poured. Mawkuk squeezed his reins in anger as he waited for his men’s bellows of pain. The liquid never reached them, trickling instead over an invisible barrier erected around the group.

“He placed a shaman in each group of reserves,” said Mawkuk.

“Why didn’t he use them to start with?”

“A question for later,” said Mawkuk, wondering the same.

A man in blue robes appeared in each tower above the entrance.

Large pieces of stone tore away from the tops of each tower and floated in the air. Shamans flung their arms down in exaggerated motions. The heavy blocks of granite crashed into Mawkuk’s men. The invisible barrier that had protected his warriors from the liquid could not hold up against the chunks of rock.

Mawkuk winced at the impact from such punishing weight. Despite the assault, the ram’s rhythmic pounding quickened.

He felt pride at the resiliency of his army.

The Blue Island Clan shamans raised their hands for another attack, but for many, their efforts came too late. A chorus of cheers erupted in several locations. His men dropped their rams and rushed inside. Enemy archers ceased their efforts, pulling away from the windows. Mawkuk could only imagine the carnage inside as warriors fought in such tight quarters.

One by one, the rest of the towers fell. The sounds of men dying echoed over the land.

Finally. Something positive.

Mawkuk clicked his reins, and turned his mount.

“What are you doing?” asked Larnak.

“There’s nothing more to see here. It’s time we assess our losses and speak with Durahn.”

* * *

Tobin spat over the side of Juanoq’s walls. His hands dug into the stone battlements as he rolled his neck back and forth. Listening to the enemy celebrate their victory made him sick.

He had known it was only a matter of time before Durahn managed to capture some of Juanoq’s towers. In fact, he had planned for it. Yet, losing them affected him more than he thought they would. The desire to seek retribution ate at him until his chest burned.

Recognition of that sensation gave him pause. He had felt the same way during the campaign against the Red Mountain Clan.

Calm yourself. You don’t want to regret any more of your decisions.

Closing his eyes, Tobin took several deep breaths. The knots in his shoulders released. Anger remained, but it no longer consumed him. He felt encouraged by the change.

I
can
be better.

“Captain,” Tobin said in a low voice.

“Yes, Warleader?” Teznak immediately stepped forward. Tobin had come to rely on the man since the siege began.

“Reshuffle the warriors among the towers still under our control. Abandon those to the far left and instead reinforce the towers closest to the road leading to the main gate.”

Teznak bowed and ran off.

Tobin turned from the view of Mawkuk’s camp.

Men surrounded him in a shroud of silence as they awaited orders. They stared at the ongoing celebration, expressions mixed with disappointment, embarrassment, and anger. Tobin singled out one of the younger warriors—a boy recently made Kifzo.

No doubt confused about how this could happen,
thought Tobin as he remembered his own optimistic thoughts at that age.

“What’s your name?” Tobin asked.

The boy looked up, realizing the question had been meant for him. “Feruq, Warleader.”

“Feruq. Why do you hang your head? Are you not proud to be a Kifzo of the Blue Island Clan?”

The boy stood straighter. “It won’t happen again, Warleader.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Why did you hang your head?”

The young Kifzo hesitated. “Because they won, Warleader.”

“Is that all?”

“No. I was taught that we are the best. Yet, we hide behind walls. Now, we’re pulling men back and conceding the towers taken from us.”

The boy had found his voice, and like many others his age, the young Kifzo could not hide self-confidence that more closely resembled arrogance.

He hasn’t been truly tested.

Tobin knew from experience that others shared the youth’s opinion out of ignorance. He faced one of the more senior Kifzo, one who had trained with Tobin as boys. “Kerek, how many soldiers were stationed in each tower?”

“Between twenty-five to thirty-five. Some also held a shaman.”

“And how many towers fell today?”

“Seven.”

“So, we lost approximately two hundred warriors. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Warleader,” said Kerek.

Now,” said Tobin as he came to a halt in front of Feruq. “How many men would you say the enemy lost before today?”

“I could not give an exact number, Warleader. Hundreds.”

“How many men, Kerek?”

“Approximately five hundred forty,” said Kerek.

Tobin grunted while he glared at Feruq. “How can you contemplate strategy without knowing the losses of our enemy?” Feruq’s jaw tightened. “Now, how many would you estimate the enemy lost today alone?”

“The enemy lost nearly as many today as they had in the days prior, possibly the same,” answered Feruq.

Tobin nodded. “A fair guess.” He began pacing again. “So the enemy has lost more than five times as many as we have. Why? Because we are better trained and better skilled? Yes. But also, because we had the better position. Each of you knows that.”

Tobin heard a few grunts in agreement.

“Yet, some of you are letting pride get in your way. We are better, but we are not invincible.” Tobin pointed. “Look. The enemy beat itself senseless to gain piles of rock. Why would we do the same to recapture them?”

“To honor those who died,” said Feruq.

“Those men died doing what they had been trained to do. If you were to die in battle, would you want hundreds of your clan to die needlessly in order to honor you?”

Feruq looked away. “No, Warleader.”

“I would hope not.” Tobin raised his voice, looking around. “You want to honor those men? Then fight as they did. With patience. Our time will come. I promise you. Let them come to us. And when they do, let’s make sure the odds are even more greatly in our favor.” He paused. “Everyone get back to your posts. I don’t expect another attack today, but that doesn’t mean we have an excuse to grow lax.”

Tobin hadn’t received quite the reaction he had hoped for, but then again he knew most would not be satisfied until they saw action themselves. Though he had managed to control his own anger, he too had grown tired of watching other men fight.

I need a break. I’ve been at the wall for days now.

“Kerek.”

“Yes, Warleader?”

“You have command of the wall. I’ll be at the palace tonight. Send for me immediately if there are any changes.”

The Kifzo bowed. “Understood.” He straightened and began yelling at those not moving fast enough in their duties.

Tobin took another glance at Mawkuk’s forces before descending the winding stairs that led to the bottom of Juanoq’s walls. Months earlier, he had wondered where he would find his next challenge. He never expected the challenge to come to him.

Tobin knew Mawkuk wanted revenge for the deaths of his children, but the Gray Clan leader would need to learn the lesson that Tobin figured out long ago.

How much someone wants something has little to do with whether they get it.

He let out a long sigh while finishing his descent. Lucia and their child dominated his thoughts as he drifted through the city.

* * *

Mawkuk stood at the back of his tent, thin hands clasped behind his back and tired eyes focusing on the flaps at the entrance. He had summoned Durahn some time ago. The large Kifzo had not responded to his call.

Durahn’s delay spoke volumes.

He still thinks that this is his siege, his moment.
Mawkuk scowled.
He will not take this from me. No one will.

Just as Mawkuk took a step forward, ready to send his personal guards out to recall Durahn, a meaty hand pushed aside the tent flaps. Durahn strode inside, a mixture of sweat and dirt covered his armor. The pungent smell of the Kifzo’s musk permeated the space. The Kifzo wore a grin, thick lips parting to reveal a row of bright teeth.

“I expected you some time ago,” said Mawkuk, once again taking up his stoic stance.

“I was celebrating with the men. You should be doing the same. Your men fought hard today, and we took a huge step forward as I told you we would.” Durahn grabbed a skin of wine without being offered. He tilted his head back and squeezed.