Trial and Glory (39 page)

“Warleader, should we redistribute any of the men near the gate?” asked Teznak.

“No,” said Tobin. “All men are to hold their current positions. Run ahead and tell the archers to loose when Mawkuk’s men are in range.”

“Fire arrows?” asked Teznak.

“Yes.”

The captain ran, shouting orders to those armed with long and cross bows. Tobin followed more slowly so he could gauge the enemy’s advance while monitoring the mood of his men.

Archers congregated near the braziers, stabbing burning coals with their arrow points. Warriors loosed their arrows in clusters. The blurs of blue shafts, smoking red at their tips, sailed through the air, punishing the enemy. Watching the mix of Kifzo, regular army, and the watch work as one brought Tobin a level of satisfaction he had not expected.

Most of my best might be with Walor, but these are by no means without skill.

Though some arrows sank into the open ground, many thudded into wooden logs and rafts. Tobin had hoped the hot coals would ignite the wood. However, the glowing tip of each arrow did nothing more than tease him.

The wood is too fresh. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Durahn soaked it before advancing.

Tobin turned back to his messengers. “Get word to stop wasting the coals. Switch back to normal arrows for now.”

The rolling ramp continued its journey with little fanfare other than the creak of its large wheels.

Mawkuk’s men placed their rafts into the wide moat. Tobin expected men to foolishly board the rafts and attempt to steer them to the opposite embankment. Instead, warriors hammered long strands of rope to the ground and tied them to the first row of rafts. Once secured, men boarded the crafts with more rafts in hand and tied them to the first set while men with wide shields stood over them.

I never thought Durahn was that creative.

Teznak arrived, out of breath. “Warleader, the men want to know if they should use the cranes.”

“Not yet. Durahn doesn’t know about them. Let him think that he only needs to worry about the arrows. Tell the captains that the cranes are not to be used until all of the rafts are connected, and the enemy begins crossing the moat in full force.”

Teznak conveyed his orders.

Enemy arrows arched over the wall, whizzing by Tobin’s head. He ducked under the projectiles, watching those carrying logs stop near the opposite side of the moat. They placed one end of the poles into the ground and then walked the long tree trunks into a vertical position. The first of the logs crashed down over the moat, bridging the gap between banks.

“Redirect all aim at those logs!” shouted Tobin.

Arrows flitted down like raindrops near the men. Soldiers fell in droves, and where others could not take their brethren’s place quick enough, logs slammed backward among the enemy’s own ranks.

However, Tobin could not completely discourage their efforts. One-by-one, the logs toppled over to his side of the moat. Warriors managed to roll the logs close together, forming another bridge. Shamans, disguised as members of the regular soldiery, provided protection.

Grappling hooks arced upward, taking hold between the merlons atop Juanoq’s walls. Ladders slammed against the thick stone.

Tobin called out. “Grab spears, and push off the ladders.” He paused. “See to the cranes.”

Men rushed to carry out his orders.

Cranes began hoisting large boulders. A wooden arm swung out over the wall where a release mechanism dropped the stones. They slammed into the embankment, and half-rolled, half-bounced toward the rafts. The first several strikes caused men to lose their balance and fall into the moat. Weighted by their armor, many sunk. A larger stone found its mark, splintering a raft on impact. The man-made bridge faltered.

Other cranes targeted the log bridge. Warriors slipped through the cracks in the logs as falling stone caused them to separate.

Tobin felt a moment of satisfaction as he watched the enemy’s plans spiral.

A roaring growl stole his attention. Instinctively, he drew his sword, and pivoted. Several warriors pushed against a ladder with long spears. At the top, a large wolf with hands and feet somewhere between those of a man and those of an animal, teetered precariously.

The Yellow Clan shamans. Dressed as soldiers like the others so we couldn’t tell them apart.

The wolf leaped from the ladder, cleared the gap, and crashed into the spearmen. The ladder clacked back into Juanoq’s walls. Other beasts clamored over the parapet as the first tore into Tobin’s men.

Tobin remembered the effect fire had on the creatures during the battle on the Yellow Plain. “Dump the braziers on their heads!” he yelled, while running at the first animal.

The wolf man had his back to Tobin, but he could see the only sign of humanity that remained in the beast’s movements was that it fought on its hind legs, leaping from one warrior to another, claws tearing through mail. A pungent smell, similar to that of a wet dog, leaked from the creature.

The shapeshifter’s jaws snapped onto a warrior’s neck and took half the man’s throat out. Tobin slashed down from behind, his blade biting into the beast’s shoulder. The creature howled as it spun, its large paw sweeping out with more speed than Tobin anticipated, raking across his arm. He winced, blood running down his elbow as he pulled away.

Tobin shifted his stance and swung his blade at the beast’s neck. The wolf man dodged, then lunged with claws and flashing teeth. Tobin ducked, twisted his blade around, and cut a line across the animal’s chest. The sinewy hand of the creature caught Tobin’s sword arm.

With his free hand he drew the dagger at his belt and drove it into the animal’s abdomen. The beast yelped, instinctively releasing Tobin to claw at the dagger. Tobin finished the shaman with a sword thrust through the chest.

Tobin wheeled. Several other wolves had crested the perimeter. Regular warriors followed. However, his men kept their wits and working in small teams repelled both wolf and man. Hot coals cascaded over the side of the wall, igniting the dry grass at the base, which in turn spread to the enemy.

Shamans screamed while catching fire mid-transformation. Nearby warriors took their chances in the moat to avoid the licking flames.

Shouts at the gate rose above the clamor nearby. The rolling ramp-like structure had managed significant progress toward the city’s walls. With Kerek coordinating the attacks, men defending the gate had begun loosing arrows. Shamans sent small balls of fire toward the monstrosity, but found little success.

Closer, Tobin saw the genius in the creation. He swore, realizing it to be another bridge—one that if successfully placed would be near impossible to dispose of.

Tobin sprinted toward the gatehouse.

He spun Kerek around. “Who do you have manning the drawbridge?”

Kerek gave Tobin a confused look. “No one, Warleader.”

Tobin clenched his jaw. He wanted to take his anger out on Kerek for not foreseeing Durahn’s tactic, but he had only just figured things out himself.

“Send men down to operate it and a force to protect them. No shamans. They stay up here. Tell them to watch for my command.”

Kerek still looked confused, but quickly redistributed those nearby.

Tobin grabbed a shaman. “What can you do about the earth around the base of that structure?”

“I don’t understand, Warleader.”

“Can you widen the moat and cause a mudslide into it?”

“I-I don’t know Warleader. I’ve never tried anything like that. Nor has anyone else. It will take time—”

Tobin shook the man. “We don’t have time. Get with the others and figure it out. Don’t tell me you didn’t learn anything from Nachun over the last two years. I need it done.”

“Y-Yes, Warleader.”

“Go.” Tobin pushed the shaman away then walked to the edge of the wall.

Warriors released bow and crossbow with a steady measure.

“Reduce your frequency by half!” Tobin called out.

Kerek came up beside him. “The men are in position below.” He noted the change in the archers. “What’s going on? Are we going to send out a sally to take whatever that thing is? If so, I think we should bring more men down—”

“No. That thing is another bridge.”

“What?”

Tobin pointed as the top of the ramp began to rise off the ground. The attackers had positioned the structure in such a way that they could tip it over as others had earlier with the individual logs.

“They shouldn’t have the strength to do that.”

“They’ve either got a large winch or something behind the structure that I think is pushing against it.” He watched the bridge rise higher. “Quickly, get within earshot of those working the drawbridge. When I give you the command, tell them to bring it down halfway as fast as they can.”

“Halfway?”

Tobin’s tempered flared. “Go! I don’t have time to explain everything.”

He turned his attention back to the shaman. “Have you figured out the task I gave you?”

“Soon,” said the man while discussing the matter with other shamans as arrows arced overhead.

“You have twenty heartbeats,” he snarled.

The frantic tone in the shamans’ voices rose as they continued preparations. The bridge rose higher, almost vertical. Tobin shouted, “Now, Kerek!”

Chains clanged as the drawbridge rapidly descended. The top hammered into the rising structure. Wood snapped and creaked upon collision. The weight of the drawbridge caused Durahn’s creation to fall backward. One of the wheels gave out. The whole thing teetered unsteadily.

Archers picked off those running out from the structure in a panic.

Tobin signaled Kerek to raise the drawbridge. He looked to the shamans. “Now!”

Sweat beaded on the shamans’ heads. The air briefly thinned. With arms raised, white tendrils of sorcery flashed like lightning toward the opposite embankment. A thunderous roar sounded at impact. Tobin’s ears rang.

Dirt flew into the air, pelting him in the face. The remainder of the wooden structure slid down into the moat until it rested half-submerged—useless to anyone.

Tobin looked away from the gatehouse, scanning the rest of the wall. Enemy ranks retreated in haste. The logs and rafts used as a means of crossing the moat had been decimated. Their remains drifted toward the gatehouse, becoming entangled in the debris of Durahn’s creation.

He had to give the traitorous Kifzo credit.
Creative. But ineffective. And that is why you never became warleader, Durahn.

Chapter 28

Durahn wanted to heave one moment and lash out at his men the next. He felt the eyes of his captains on him as their forces retreated battered and beaten. His plan should have succeeded.

How did Tobin do it?

“Warleader,” one of his captains said in a low voice. “What are your orders?”

Durahn picked up the uncertainty in the man’s voice.

He now doubts my ability to do what I said I could do.

Durahn hid his emotions. “See to the wounded. We’ve learned a lot today about the defenders. We’ll begin preparations tomorrow for our next assault now that we know their weakness.”

There was a long pause.

“As you say, Warleader.”

The captain left.

I haven’t learned anything about Tobin’s weakness. Only ours.

His blood boiled at Tobin thwarting his plans almost as much as at his men for having failed to execute his strategy.

If I had Kifzo I would have won. But instead I’m stuck with lesser warriors.

He strode toward his tent, worried about how he would correct the setback.

I must appear in control.

* * *

Mawkuk watched in horror as the wooden monstrosity Durahn had created, slid into the moat. The massive, rolling bridge with its hidden battering ram underneath had been destroyed by the drawbridge they had hoped to decimate.

How did Tobin do that? The timing . . .

“I didn’t think their shamans were powerful enough to pull off such a display with Nachun no longer with them,” whispered Larnak.

Mawkuk heard the helplessness in the Yellow Clan leader’s voice. “They are still far weaker than ours. The sorcery wasn’t what defeated us. By the time they struck the embankment, Durahn’s creation was useless.”

“What do we do now?”

Mawkuk shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Could we have done any better? Can we do any better now?”

“Are you giving up?” Larnak snapped, his voice finding life.

Mawkuk’s anger had driven him to this point. His need for revenge had given him purpose. Yet, as he watched the army he had assembled retreat with little semblance of order, he could do little else but hang his head.

Larnak grabbed his arm and swore. “You dragged us into this. Find a way out. If not, Tobin will come down on us with everything he has once Walor manages to get through your swamps!”

Larnak’s crushing grip jolted Mawkuk. He blinked.

Don’t give up, you fool. If you had not rolled over so easily last time, your children might still be alive. You promised them revenge. Give them revenge.

Mawkuk found his strength, sat taller in his saddle, and jerked his arm away. He narrowed his eyes at Larnak. “Don’t presume to touch me again. The last thing I plan to do is give up. Go and salvage the morale of the men. Lie to them if you must. Make them believe this was all part of our plan. I don’t care.”

Mawkuk turned his mount.

“And where are you going?” asked Larnak.

“To my tent. Do not disturb me. I’ll find a way out of this.”

I hope.

* * *

Jober straightened his legs, slowly massaging his thighs. He knew he should stand and walk his cell, but his motivation to do anything had waned with each passing day. He stared at the plate of untouched food not far from him. Starvation would be a slow death, yet he wondered if it was better than the alternative.

Better than knowing I’ll never see my family again. At least my death would give them some closure. Hielle could move on, and find someone worthy to be her husband.