magician fell to the stone floor, gasping for breath that would not come and in a moment his face turned blue and he died, eyes open.
‘Why?’ demanded Martin.
‘Because,’ said Miranda, ‘he was a traitor. And who can you spare to guard him? He may have been beaten within an inch of his life, but you have no one besides Nakor and me who could deal with his magic once he recovered.’
Nakor nodded. ‘I knew him; he was not what I would call powerful, but he had tricks that would hurt you if he used them behind your lines.’
‘What would you have us do, stand over him so that if you somehow survive this war we can take him back to Stardock so he can be tried and executed there?’ asked Miranda.
Her eyes fixed on Martin and suddenly he knew fear. There was something behind those eyes that was powerful and unnatural and he wished no part of it. ‘Fine,’ he said sharply. He could not be distracted by this now. He turned to Brendan and said, ‘Find someone on the staff to dispose of this body. I fear we’re going to have many more to add to the pile before this fight is over.’
Brendan nodded, turned and headed to the rear of the kitchen just as the alarmed-looking staff began to return. He pointed to the corpse of the traitor and said, ‘See to that, then get ready to care for the wounded!’
Then the two brothers raced toward the coming battle.
Martin ordered the men off the wall and stationed two lookouts on rooftops behind it. The Keshian trebuchets were merciless. At this distance they looked almost like child’s toys, but there was nothing remotely amusing about them. Large towers with an asymmetrical swinging arm and a basket full of heavy rocks at the short end, and a sling at the long end, they could hurl a boulder it took four men to lift as a child would throw a pebble.
There were four of them on the crest of the road, and they flung their heavy missiles in order, the farthest to the left first: one, two, three, four; then over again, the first being reloaded by the time the fourth had released a massive stone. To those in the city it felt like an endless barrage. Those stones that struck the wall bounced away, showering the ground before the city with masonry dust, dirt, and shattered builder’s blocks. Those that hit the gate caused the metal hinges to protest with a shriek while the wood groaned as ancient grain was parted and splintered.
A few stones topped the wall to bounce into buildings or careen down boulevards and an unwary defender was lucky to be spared a shattered leg or crushed skull as the boulder bounded by. A few were not so lucky and were carried to the mayor’s house or the inn across the street, where those detailed to receive the wounded waited to care for them.
Brendan and Martin stood exposed and wary in the main street, ready to duck around the corner should they have to avoid a boulder. Martin had ordered Bethany and Lily to care for the wounded and protect them should the Keshians get that far into the city. Bethany had appeared ready to be defiant, but at the last had merely nodded and left to do as asked. Martin couldn’t be sure that would last. He also knew it futile to order her out of the city. She was her father’s daughter and she would fight until the last. She also would be disinclined to let the Keshians take her alive; she knew what happened to attractive young women taken in war; if she and Lily survived the rape of the city, they would be bound for a slaver’s pen in Durbin. It would be a miracle if anyone informed the commander that she was the daughter of nobility and worth a ransom, and Bethany would certainly not say a word while others around her faced such a fate.
A stone smashed into the gate and the entire front of the wall trembled. ‘A few more of those and they’ll come charging in,’ said Brendan.
Martin shouted up to the closest lookout, high on the rooftop above, ‘Do you see horse?’
‘Just now, my lord,’ he replied. ‘They’re riding slowly around the siege engines and taking up position. They do not appear to be in any hurry.’
‘They can wait,’ said Brendan. He glanced at the sun and said, ‘Why wait until noon to begin the assault? Why not attack at dawn?’
‘Darkness means confusion and terror, and that benefits the Keshians. Had he begun at dawn, the gates would be down now and we’d have had time to organize defensives throughout the city. Now if we try that, it’s in the dark.’
‘How long can we hold?’
Martin said, ‘I don’t know. Every man and boy is willing; this is their home they’re defending and the Keshians lost many men with that demon attack. If we can wear them down between here and the city square …’ He was silent for a minute, then said, ‘Get a company. Go find anything, furniture, shelving, storage crates, whatever is at hand and build a barrier in the square.’ He knelt and drew a semi-circle in the earth. ‘Here is that weaver’s shop, the one with the green door? Start here and stretch it across to here, the butcher’s. I want it twelve feet high with whatever you can stand on behind it, so that it’s a breastwork.’
‘The miller’s!’ Brendan exclaimed suddenly. ‘There are hundreds of bags of grain spoiled for sitting there and no way to get it out of the city! That’ll make a sturdy breastwork, Martin!’
Martin smiled. ‘Good. Build steps behind so a man can fire a bow over it. When I give the order here, I want the archers to fall back and be ready there to shoot crossing the square. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Brendan.
As he was about to leave, Martin seized him by the arm. ‘That odd little ballista from LaMut, where is it?’
‘We moved it a couple of times. I’ll find Sergeant Ruther, he’ll know. Why?’
‘Take a wagon and put it in the middle and if you see any heavy horse ride into that square, use it on them. They’ll be bunched up and unable to spread out, so that might prove a nasty surprise. Go, and spread the word.’
Brendan nodded once then dashed off.
Boulders thundered into the walls and the air became thicker with stone and mortar dust. Hours dragged on and the sun crawled across the sky.
Martin waited patiently until with an ear-shattering twist of wood, the gate on the right pulled loose from its upper hinges. Martin shouted, ‘Return to the walls!’
He saw the two elves and waved them over. There was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on about the one called Arkan, but Calis had been a family friend since the time of his great-grandfather and namesake. When they reached him he said, ‘I have a favour to ask of you.’
Arkan said nothing, studying the young leader. Calis said, ‘Ask.’
‘I plan on leaving that wall quickly and retreating to a secondary position within the city square. We have many inexperienced youngsters up on the wall. If you would each take one side of the gate to ensure they do not waste arrows or freeze and do nothing, and then make sure they leave quickly when the order is given, I would be in your debt.’
Calis said, ‘Of course.’ Arkan looked at Martin and something akin to approval crossed his face briefly, and he nodded.
They hurried off to opposites sides of the main boulevard into the city, while Martin reviewed his strategy. His plan was to bleed the Keshians with two or three volleys of arrows as they charged the gate, confident he’d have enough time to retreat to the barricade Brendan was now finishing. He had dispatched runners with his final plan. He hadn’t really had a plan until a few short time before, but he told the men he didn’t want to confuse the orders until the last minute. Sergeants Magwin and Ruther were both positioned with flying companies at the first intersection of streets behind Martin’s position, to encourage the Keshians along the path of least resistance.
Then Martin heard the horns. The Keshian commander was ordering the advance.
‘Archers! To the walls!’ Martin bellowed and his own voice sounded strong and confident to his own ears, which surprised him as he felt anything but strong and confident.
He hurried forward through a cloud of dust and saw that the gate on the right was almost off its hinges and realized that the Keshian commander had made his first mistake. It was a natural choke point as no more than two or three men at a time could climb into the city through the gap between the edge of the gate and the wall. The Keshians would try to flood the breech, for to wait for horse and chain to drag away the gate risked losing it to a defenders’ rally. As Martin hurried up the steps to the wall, the nearest lookout shouted, ‘They’re bringing a ram, my lord!’
