While the double afternoon blazed, the Tassu host reached Port Rua. They camped in their groundshaking thousands a kilometer from the walls, in an arc between river and bay shore. Their grotesque standards, polemounted animal or ancestor skulls, tails of slain foes, carven totems, made a forest wherein spearheads flashed as if it bore fruit. Their drums fluttered, their horns lowered, they shouted and sang and galloped to and fro in a smoke of dust.
The town walls were banked earth under a high stockade of phoenix, every log sharpened. Flanked by the towers at the corners, bartizans alternated with bastions. Each of the latter held a catapult throwing several darts at once, or a mangonel with incendiary ammunition. Below the landward slope was a dry ditch in whose bottom bristled pointed stakes. Soldiers lined the walkways back of the wall tops, mail and shields burnished, plumes and pennons flying like the banners enstaffed overhead. Spaced among archers were the few who had rifles.
Upon his return here, Larreka had shipped out most civilians, or they had left voluntarily. Those who remained were wives and servants, many native-born, practically members of the legion themselves. Their labor and nursing would be valuable. We’re not in such bad shape, he reflected. Yet.
A horn resounded thrice, and two loped from a gaudy pavilion. The first was a stripling who dipped the_flag he carried in a signal for truce. The second was huge and gold-bedight. Arnanak in person! Larreka thought upon his lofty post. Should I go talk to him? Their ethics wink at treachery.
No, wait, he is a brother in the Lodge.
And, over protests of his officers, Larreka ordered the north gate opened and its drawbridge lowered. Alone he went forth. He left off armor—why broil himself?—and wore simply his Haelen blade, a pouch, and a red cloak. The last was a confounded flapping nuisance, but Seroda had insisted the commandant couldn’t look too shabby when he met their gorgeous rival.
Arnanak spoke to his attendant, who swung flag in salute. He himself stuck sword in soil. With Larreka he exchanged the handclasp and words of their mystery.
Then; “Hail and haleness to you, sir,” he said. “Much would it gladden me if we could lay down the deathspears we bear.”
“Good idea,” Larreka said, “and easily done. Just go on home.”
“Would you do the same?”
“I am at home.”
“We couldn’t set you wholly free anyhow,” Arnanak sighed. “You had that chance earlier. Now I must make an end of the Zera.”
“Go right ahead and try, sonny boy. But then what’re we talking about, when we could be in the shade drinking beer?”
“I have an offer, because you are brave males. Surrender. We will cut off your right hands and keep you fed till you recover, then release you in your ships. You will never solider again, but you will return.”
“Ng-ng.” Larreka grinned into the earnest green eyes. “I could make a counter-offer, though I’d ask for a different pan of your anatomies. But why bother?”
“I would like you to live,” Arnanak urged. “Indeed, we’ll leave whole any who join us.”
“Do you think that kind would be worth having?” Yes, they would be, on account of their skills.
“Otherwise, it is death for all, save those unlucky few we capture and put to work.” Arnanak flung wide his great black hands. Light glinted and rippled off golden armrings. “You have no hope. If naught else, we can starve you.”
“We’re stocked up, including wells that give a better grade of water than you’ll dip out of the estuary. This hinterland’s picked clean where it isn’t burnt off. Want to see who gets hungry first? I’ll race you.”
“Aye.” Arnanak didn’t seem annoyed at having his bluff called. “And you’re in a good defensive position. Nevertheless, it is defensive, you’re bottled, and we outnumber you eight times over. Do you look for help from Beronnen? Let them try it; our shipmasters will be gleeful at the plunder. Do you count on the humans? Why, they haven’t even stirred to rescue those two of theirs that I hold.”
“Don’t underestimate them. friend. I’ve seen what they can do.”
“Do you suppose I worked, fought, schemed throughout these years as I’ve done, without learning a great deal about them and taking it into my reckonings? My hostages only confirm what I knew. They’re here for knowledge, they’ll bargain with whoever can best slake that thirst, and they won’t fight without provocation that I’ll make sure they never get.”
Arnanak paused. “You are right about our not laying siege, One-Ear,” he continued. “We’ll storm you. Unless you take my terms. Can you in honor refuse them on behalf of your folk?”
“Yes,” Larreka said. “I do.”
Arnanak smiled sadly. “I awaited naught else. But I had to try, no? Well, then… Brother Among the Three, I wish you a bold journey into the Dark.”
“And let Them be kindly to you,” Larreka answered, the olden words; whereafter they two embraced as the Faith enjoined, and went their separate ways.
Toward evening the wind shifted around and strengthened, till dust hazed stars and made a thick, hollowsounding darkness when neither moon was in sight. Under cover of this the barbarians moved their gear into position. It included the engines they took from those troopers who went north to regain Tarhanna. At the earliest dawnflush they started shooting, with these and with bows and slings. When the Sun rose, well-nigh red as the Rover, it saw a full battle.
Arrows whistled in sky-covering flights, stones went whoo-oo-thump; a steady barrage to keep down the heads of legionary sharpshooters. Thus halfway protected, Valenneners worked catapults and trebuchets to cast heavy missiles at the walls—every few minutes, a splintering crash, a shudder through the timbers. Howls, screeches, horn blasts and drum-thunder blew from the horde which roiled on the far side of the ditch. Both suns climbed, shadows shrank, heat grew. Grit, borne on gibing air, stung eyes and crunched between teeth.
Larreka moved about to supervise. A standard-bearer on the walkway above him held his personal flag on a long pole. Every commandant adopted an emblem on taking his vows. Among other values, it showed where he was, for those who might want to find him in a hurry. Of course, it attracted enemy fire, too; however, Larreka figured he should be used to that. His device had puzzled many: a hand that pointed a short sword skyward was clear, but not the English motto “Up Yours.”
There were orders to give— “Get these love-tokens collected to send back”—and words to say—“Good work, soldier,” especially if the fellow had been hit—and surveillances to make and occasional things to do himself.
For a time, the archers who could shelter in towers and bartizans repelled attempts to throw planks over the ditch. Naked barbarians reeled back, ripped by shafts and quarrels, or tumbled down the slope to lie impaled as the life ran purple out of them. But they got one trebuchet close and it kept hammering until a particular bartizan and its neighbor sagged into ruin. Nothing covered that sector save the bastion between; and a sleet of arrows had taken its crew.
Larreka watched through a peephole. The second strongpoint went out of action about midaftemoon. Wildly cheering, the horde surged about before making way for a gang who carried long, heavy boards to bridge the gap.
“Okay,” Larreka said. He had his arrangements—a fresh band to handle the mangonel, each member supported by two bearers of oblong shields that would somewhat protect him and themselves. They trotted forth and wound the weapon. Nobody appeared to notice them until Larreka fired a couple of rocks to get the range. Poorly organized, the natives couldn’t recommence a proper barrage in a hurry. Meanwhile the planks had been emplaced and a vanguard of well-armored warriors started across, Larreka’s third and fourth shots were incendiaries. Jars of blazing oil struck, burst, and scattered widely the pitch they also held. Casualties were heavy and the bridge caught fire.
“Best we go inside, sir,” a legionary advised. The arrows were falling in earnest.
“Not quite yet,” Larreka answered. This is fun, sort of. Like old days. “I think we can get that trebuchet, too.”
He needed three shots, and a pair of his males took mortal wounds. Nobody escaped whole-skinned. It was worth it, though. The engine that had been breaking down the defenses of Port Rua turned into a great red and yellow pyre. And the other injuries sustained were trivial—in Larreka’s case, a furrow across the right haunch, easily willed shut.
He got skimpy time to admire his achievement. He had just led his group back behind the stockade, and was
