Magician’s End (36 page)

This was such a mad plan, he thought, and dependent on so many impossibilities. Still, he realized as he cantered down a backstreet from the palace towards the docks, nothing mattered if Geoffrey du Gale couldn’t hold Silden for a week or two.

‘Oil!’ shouted Geoffrey du Gale as the first wave hit the base of the walls. While soldiers were pushing over scaling ladders with long poles, the defenders rushed forward with large pots of sticky oil, two men carrying each pot, and poured them over the wall onto the gathering men below.

‘Torches!’ he shouted and the men below started screaming as the oil was fired by torches cast down from above.

Captain Armand Boucicault ran to his commander and said, ‘They’re withdrawing.’

Looking at the dying men in flames below and those racing away from the wall, pelted with arrows, Geoffrey said, ‘Duke Arthur feeds his militia and foreign mercenaries to the wall without thought of the cost.’

‘What cost, my lord?’ asked the captain. ‘Each death is one less man to pay.’

‘But we lose men, and we spend on arrows and oil.’

‘Shall I send men out to retrieve arrows?’

‘After dark,’ said Geoffrey. ‘A squad of no more than a dozen men, dressed in black, quietly. Each is to gather what they can easily carry and return. If Duke Reginald hadn’t taken every fletcher in the city with him …’ He shrugged. ‘We shall make do until relieved.’

‘You expect relief?’ asked the captain.

‘I expect another attack,’ answered his commander. ‘Return to your position, Captain.’

Geoffrey du Gale, Knight-Marshal of Silden, nephew to Duke Reginald and by circumstance defender of the city, avoided feeling overwhelmed by his duties by the simple expedi-ent of having too many things to think about which gave him no time to worry. But his city had been surrounded for ten days now, and he gave thanks for the seeming incompetence of Duke Arthur of Salador. On three occasions the Saladorian forces had nearly breached the walls, only to withdraw at sunset. It seemed as if Arthur disliked the idea of fighting at night. They had endured three days of rain and Salador apparently also disliked fighting while wet. Whatever the cause, Geoffrey was glad for the time. He knew he needed to hold for a few more days before relief arrived. If it arrived.

He made quick rounds of the key defensive positions and assessed the damage done by the constantly hammering trebuchets of the enemy. The walls of Silden were ancient and had been built when this was the frontier of the Kingdom, when Salador was a trading village. There was a weak spot on the north-east side of the city, where an ancient trading gate had been replaced when it became superfluous because of the larger eastern gate’s creation during an expansion of the city. It had been bricked over and refaced with stone and few even knew of its existence, but Geoffrey worried about every detail. It was possible to move around the entire city of Silden on the ramparts of the walls, save for two places where one could only reach the barbicans over the massive western and eastern gates by descending a flight of steps and ascending another.

It took more than an hour to circumnavigate the entirety of the city’s defences if one was merely walking the route. To stop and inspect and discuss the situation with the commanders of each section took far more time.

When Geoffrey reached the sea-gates, he paused to ask the sergeant in command, ‘Anything?’

‘No, sir,’ answered Sergeant Bales, a gnarled veteran who knew exactly what his commander wanted to know. ‘No sign of anything sailing up from the south.’

Geoffrey removed his helmet and ran his hand through his hair, damp from the warm, muggy evening and his running like a maniac for the last hour. Here was the defensive position he worried over the most. The harbour had once been as heavily fortified as the rest of the city, but in years of peace defence had become an afterthought. Only the recent war with Kesh had made that shortcoming apparent, and it was only in the last few months that action had been taken to defend Silden by sea.

Catching his breath, he said, ‘We have depended on the fleet to keep us safe for too many years, Sergeant.’

The old veteran nodded. ‘No argument from me, sir.’

‘Signal fires ready?’

‘I make sure they’re ready every five minutes,’ said Bales with an evil grin. ‘Annoys the men something fierce.’

Geoffrey chuckled. ‘Which amuses you no end, I’m certain.’

‘A man must grab whatever tiny slice of happiness he can when he finds it, I always say.’

Geoffrey didn’t bother telling the sergeant to stay alert. There was no need. He had put Bales on this post because he was the most reliable sergeant in the garrison.

Each ship in the harbour had a man aboard whose only task was to watch where Bales now stood watch. If a powder was poured into a signal brazier, it would cause a huge crimson flame to erupt, bright enough to be seen at noon and producing a red plume of smoke. If that signal was sent, every man was ordered to scuttle the ship aboard which he waited, then jump into the sea and swim to shore.

Each ship carried a barrel of Quegan fire oil in her hold, which, once lit, would burn with a fire so hot the bottom of the ship would be holed within minutes, an hour at most. Quegan oil burned without air. Water spread it.

Each man aboard knew he risked his life, for in some cases that oil would explode before the man could swim free of the ship, or even if he did, he might find himself swimming into flaming water.

The strategy was simple. Turn the harbour into a maze of burning hulks that no invading fleet could manage. Deny the docks to Salador’s marines and let Duke Arthur continue to assault the walls. Buy Lord James of Rillanon and his grandson the time they said they needed in which to bring reinforcements, and hopefully to speed the end to this war.

Not for the first time since being placed in charge of the city’s defences, Geoffrey prayed to any god who would listen that Jim Dasher Jamison knew what he was talking about.

On the twelfth day, a messenger came running to the exhausted knight-marshal. The attacks by Salador’s army were unceasing and by Geoffrey’s estimation, both sides were nearing breaking point. Jim Dasher’s intelligence that Arthur of Salador would not attempt a traditional siege, that he had no time for it, proved accurate. He was attempting an onslaught, he had ground down Silden’s defences, and he was verging on success. The last two assaults had topped the wall and only been beaten back by the sheer determination of the city’s commander and her defenders. One more such, with a dozen ladders providing breach points, and Salador would be in the city.

‘Report,’ Geoffrey told the breathless youth.

‘Captain Garton says there’s a breach forming in the north-east wall, sir. He’s trying the best he can, but we’ve no timbers to shore up the damage and a few more strikes from the enemy’s engines will hole the wall. Orders, sir?’

Geoffrey was already racing past the messenger, who stood for a moment in surprise, then ran after the commander. He picked up two soldiers as escorts as he raced along the wall. They cut across the western quarter of the city, the guards clearing a way for him through the throngs who huddled in the streets, seeking shelter where they could.

Reaching the wall, Geoffrey saw what Garton had reported. The captain saluted and said, ‘Must have been a hidden flaw in the masonry, sir.’

Geoffrey saw several stones bulging out of place, and where other stones should have supported them there was crushed rock and earth. ‘A quick fix of an old breach, I think,’ he said to the captain. ‘We need to brace it.’

‘We have no timbers, sir. We’ve used every one long enough to brace the gates. If we strip them away, the gates are going to weaken.’

Geoffrey’s mind was numb from lack of sleep and the stress of repulsing three breach attempts over the last two days. He stood, looking around the city as if seeking inspiration. Down the central boulevard he could see the harbour. After a second, he said, ‘I want you to send runners to every gate, and have them bring one timber here now. Then send a crew into the harbour and start cutting down masts. A dozen of the stoutest you can find and when they are done, bring them here!’

Captain Garton relayed the orders and said, ‘A good idea, sir.’

‘If Salador gives us enough time to use it.’ He saw his own exhaustion reflected in Captain Garton’s face. ‘If this breach fails, I want every other man off the wall and here.’ He pointed to a choke-point in the street behind him. ‘Shield wall with archers on the roofs above. If they get inside the wall and we don’t break them here, the city falls.’

He pointed first one way then the other. ‘Have the men start building barricades at the corners of those buildings; if Salador breaches here I want them funnelled into this street and under the fire of the archers. If they spread out, the city falls.’

He glanced around and said, ‘And find some more arrows. If the archers have nothing to shoot, the city falls.’

Garton said, ‘Boys are out gleaning for arrows now, sir.’

‘How are they getting in and out?’

‘We have a rope over the wall on the east side. No enemy watching there and the boys fill a bucket and we pull it up. The boys have orders to flee to the bay and dive in if they see enemies. They can swim over the harbour chain and get back into the city through the harbour gate.’

‘Good plan,’ said du Gale. ‘Now, let us see if we can hold out for two more days.’

‘Two more?’ asked Garton.

‘I was promised relief would be here in no more than two weeks. That is two days hence.’

The exhausted commander saw things were relatively quiet as Salador was retreating from the wall, no doubt to resume its relentless pounding with stones from their siege engines. ‘I’ll be in my quarters.’

‘Get some sleep, sir. We’ll keep the city safe for you.’

‘Thank you, Garton.’

Geoffrey du Gale made his way back to the bakery that had been converted to a makeshift command post. He motioned his aide away and fell face first across the small bed in the back, next to the cold ovens. In his full armour with his sword and scabbard splayed out to one side, the Knight-Marshal of Silden was sound asleep in seconds.

Geoffrey awoke with a start as his aide shook him. ‘The attack is resuming, my lord!’

‘What’s the time?’

‘It’s dawn, sir. You slept all night. I managed to get your sword and boots off, but …’

Du Gale sat up and motioned for his boots, which he put on. He had cotton in his head and his eyes felt as if he’d had sand behind his lids. As the sounds of battle were rising, he dressed quickly and rushed out. Hurrying to the failing breach, he saw that his orders had been carried out and a dozen new timbers had been set to brace the failing wall. A massive shudder caused rock dust to fly off the back of the wall as a boulder struck the other side.

Captain Garton saluted and said, ‘It seems their engineers have noticed the failing wall here, as well, sir.’

‘How long can we hold here?’

‘Perhaps until midday if they keep pounding.’

Geoffrey hurried to the nearest stairway up to the wall, taking the stone steps two at a time. He reached a vantage point and saw three trebuchets on top of a hillside half a mile away and saw them unleash their rocks. The first landed short and bounced into the wall, most of its momentum eaten by the damp soil, and the second sent a boulder hurling over the wall, to crash into a building a short distance away, causing screams of pain and fear to erupt. The third boulder struck within yards of the weak point and Geoffrey turned to Garton, who had followed him.

‘I want those barricades finished.’

‘Almost finished, sir,’ answered the captain.

‘Form up a flying company and place them at the other end of the street, near the harbour, so they are out of reach of those damned stones. If the enemy breaches, I want them to hit the invaders hard and fast until we can pull more men from the wall.’ He pointed to the choke point he had indicated the previous day. ‘We will take a stand there, if we must.’

‘Understood, sir,’ said Garton, running off to carry out his orders.

Geoffrey looked at the three massive war engines and wished he could sally out with a company and burn them … Might as well wish for an extra two hundred heavy cavalry while he was at it.

He turned and gazed out over the city and the harbour beyond. One more day, he thought, and help will arrive. He rejected any thought that Jim Dasher would not live up to his promise, for in that event, Silden would die.

Geoffrey felt his stomach knot as he saw two more trebuchets being moved into place next to the three already there. He could tell from the sounds in the city that the attacks on the western and north-western walls had ceased. Garton was right; Salador’s engineers had seen signs of the failing wall and had interpreted the signs correctly. They were now shifting their attack to the north-eastern section of the city.

Geoffrey judged it would be two more hours before the oxen pulling those heavy machines of war into place would get them situated, their crews would get them locked down in place, and the intensified bombardment would begin.

He hurried down to the street behind the wall, wishing there was a real bailey so that he could stop them at the wall. He might as wish for those two hundred heavy horse again.

He motioned for a messenger, who came and saluted. He was a boy no older than eleven. ‘Orders to the wall. One man in two to stand down and find a place to rest. Rest for two hours. Then they’re to report to Captain Garton down at the harbour end of this street. Is that clear?’

‘One in two,’ repeated the boy so he was sure he got the orders right, ‘then rest for two hours, then report to Captain Garton at the harbour end of Broad Street, sir.’

‘Right. Now run off.’

The boy would get word spread and within two hours Geoffrey wanted as many men ready to come up that avenue as he could spare. He looked around and judged how better he could prepare the battleground, for here, he was certain, the fight would be determined, the outcome decided.

Throughout the day the five war engines cast massive stones at the wall, two out of five hitting close enough that the wall began to falter at sundown. Throughout the night the stones rained down and men died, and throughout the night Geoffrey du Gale kept his men ready. Five hundred soldiers waited at the far end of the boulevard, out of harm’s way from misguided stones and shards of ricocheting rock and masonry. When it was clear that the wall was going to fail near dawn, Geoffrey ordered the remainder of his men off the battlements. He had the rested column brought up, ready to bolster the point of attack for the invaders. Two companies of men took positions behind the makeshift barricades which du Gale had refortified constantly. Any man of Salador who rushed those overturned wagons and bags of sand would die before he cleared them, so the only point of attack was down Broad Street.