he held before his chest.
As they met, the lead man raised his sword to strike, and Alodar jarred himself into action, pushing his own blade up with arms extended. The blow landed near the hilt and the edges grated along one another until the guards locked with a dull clank. Alodar felt his elbows begin to bend from the downward pressure and struggled to push them straight.
He drew his thoughts away from the others immediately behind and looked into the eyes staring back from a face ringed with mail. He saw the beginning of a smile as his arms trembled and bowed even more. With a sudden wrench, he twisted his sword free and danced aside as his opponent's blade flew past his shoulder to strike the ledge with a numbing clang. Alodar slashed down on the exposed arms and, though it did not break mail, the force of the blow pitched his adversary forward, sprawled at his feet. Hastily he glanced back upward at the other five who collapsed upon him.
'Stand aside, journeyman,' he heard suddenly over his shoulder. Before he could react, he was knocked from his feet. In a blur he saw the red surcoat of Feston streak by and several more heads bob up through the platform opening.
Feston did not hesitate. Lunging low with the impetus of his initial charge, he speared the first man he encountered with the point of his sword. He raised his shield to ward off a blow from a second on the left and slammed his steel-capped knee into the groin of a third on the right. Freeing his sword, he slashed savagely down on the neck of the man as he stooped in reflex and then pirouetted to drive his blade into the face of the next. The blue surcoats hesitated and Feston sensed his advantage. Yelling loudly, he raised his sword overhead and, with swift right and left slashes, tore through their ranks. The men just exiting the belfry saw their comrades in front fall and hastily climbed back inside. The others on the platform, sensing the desertion behind them, turned and ran for the protection of the tower and shut the doors, Feston laughed a deep booming laugh as the followers ran up with opportunity to strike only at Alodar's foe still sprawled on the walkway.
'Quickly, the rocker,' Festil commanded as additional men rose to the top level, carrying barbed iron spikes and long coils of rope. The men spread out into two lines on either side of the belfry, uncoiling the rope as they went; while Feston strutted, guarding the doors, each line was tied to a spike driven into the belfry's frame. Then one group pulled the rope taut with a sudden jerk, rocking the tower a little to the side. As it swayed back the other team pulled in synchronization and added to the magnitude of the swing.
'And heave, and heave,' Feston marked the cadence. With each thrust, the belfry rocked with greater amplitude upon its base.
Alodar picked himself up from his dazed sprawl and glanced over the wall to the ground below. 'Of course, Morwin,' he exclaimed. 'The wheels move it forward and back. We could but push the belfry from the walls with a direct thrust but not topple it But from the side, it sits firmly on the ground and cannot compensate for the motions we force upon it.'
As he spoke, the top of the tower oscillated in wider and wider arcs. Finally it tipped over in a huge swing and continued on, to crash upon the hard ground, like the last tree logged from a forest. With a sharp wrenching growl, it splintered into several parts, throwing men, steel, and dust high into the air.
The defenders down the wall gave a shout and increased the vigor of their thrusts. The knots of men started to grow smaller as the attackers now began to inch back slowly under the intensified assault. A second shout went up as Alodar saw the other belfries also begin to rock, pushed by beams thrust through the archery loopholes one platform below. As with the first, each shove swayed the belfries more and more from a stable footing. Bandor's men gave back more ground to the press, casting anxious glances over their shoulders.
In a moment, a trumpet sounded on the plain, and the disciplined circles of blue and silver dissolved into masses of fleeing men. Swords, shields, and fallen comrades were abandoned in the rush, as if they stung to the touch. From the distance, Alodar saw the confusion as they raced for the belfries, leaping from the wall into the open doors as the towers tore free and began to pull away.
As the belfries withdrew, a third shout, the loudest of all, coursed along the wall. 'We are thin,' Feston yelled waving his sword above his head in defiance, 'but not so thin that we cannot stand against a mere three belfries. Thus be the fate of whomever tries the walls of Iron Fist.'
As quickly as they had come, the surviving siegecraft rumbled back to the precise line of mangonels and trebuchets. The scaling crews, who had never got a chance to plant their ladders, scurried alongside, shields on their backs to protect against the renewed rain of arrows from the wait. All was quiet for a moment; but once the formation was reestablished, the throwing engines resumed their bombardment.
The missiles again filled the air, but Alodar felt the tension of the morning dissolve away; the downward crash of rock seemed less potent a threat than enemy towers at the very edge of the wall. He looked about him and reassembled his gear. Ducking for cover during the volleys, he made his way methodically back and forth along the three levels of the walkway, repairing injury from the abortive thrust as he found it. Morale was high with the first success of the entire siege. The sergeant's dire prediction of the day before was nowhere to be heard. The men babbled away about the tower's great crash, and Feston's feat grew larger with each retelling. As Alodar trudged along, the day fell into the routine of the many that had proceeded it. The exchange of stone and arrow continued, but the men laughed and sang, choosing to ignore that the ring grew still tighter, and that on the morrow many more than three belfries would come.
Alodar worked his craft in reverie, wearily unmindful of the passage of time. With the setting of the sun, he and Morwin returned their gear to the cart and fell into line for their daily meal. His stomach growled, his muscles ached, and his fatigued mind had had enough of siege. As the ladle was pouring its watery contents into Alodar's bowl, he saw again the red surcoat bounding across the courtyard.
'Father, have you heard?' Feston boomed. 'Hero of the day. Vendora herself pinned the ribbon on my sleeve. Ah, would that every day might present such opportunity. Then there would be no doubt as to who is most worthy to be hero of the realm.'
'Well done, my son,' Festil replied, matching stride and pounding him firmly on the back as his group merged with Feston's. 'Surely you distinguish yourself above all others here. If only the fair lady would choose now, there would be no other choice but you.'
'Yes, a virtual demon of swiftness,' one of the accompanying retinue broke in, 'Seven men felled with but one mighty blade.'
'Only seven?' Feston turned to stare at the praise-giver. 'I distinctly remember nine.'
'Oh, nine surely,' the man quickly amended. 'Nine men down and the tide of the attack turned. A tale for the sagas with no doubt.'
The group marched for the northwest tower, cutting through the queue in which Alodar stood. The line parted in deference and reformed as a throng, lining the course of the men-at-arms. Alodar heard murmurs of admiration and girlish giggles as they passed through with purposeful tread and clink of mail.
'But you know, father, the competition runs keen for Vendora's hand.' Feston laughed. 'I was but the second man to challenge Bandor's vassals on the high wall. Some fool thaumaturge was there before me, somehow planning to stop the rush with but a single blade. I suppose to be fair, I should have given him his chance first.'
'Yes, it would have served him right to take on such pretense as to be a man-at-arms,' Festil replied. 'These people have their uses, but they should also know the limits of proper behavior.'
Alodar flung his half-filled bowl of swill to the ground, red flushing his cheeks, too fatigued to let the irritation pass by. 'The defense of Iron Fist rests as heavily on our shoulders as it does upon you lofty lords,' he blurted. 'Without the thaumaturge, carpenter, and smith, these walls would have fallen long ago. Fault me not for picking up a sword when it was needed. It is far more than I have seen you do when the rubble was cleared or the horses fed.'
The crowd fell abruptly silent, and Feston turned to see who accosted him. 'Well, well, if it is not the budding hero?' he said. 'And what would you have done with your great prowess at arms? Dispatched a dozen men to my nine or ten?'
'I claim no great skill at arms, my lord Feston,' Alodar said slowly. 'Thaumaturgy is my trade and I am here only by chance. I follow an itinerant master from settlement to outpost, earning what we can by applying our craft where it is needed. Had not the siege doors slammed shut, we would be long gone from this place and our paths never crossed. But we are here, all of us together, lord and man alike. And each of us, mason, carpenter, smith, tanner, and flockmaster, aids our common cause as best he can. I do not envy you your skill at arms, only question
