paces from the wall, and the bows would need almost no arc at that range.
The time for orders and questions had passed and every soldier on the wall kept silent, while the war cries and challenges from the warriors mixed with the neighing of the excited horses. Esk kar saw the war chief ’s standard rise up as its bearer raised it aloft. Then it dipped and the line of men and horses burst into a gallop, the riders’ shouts suddenly muted by the thudding hooves.
Totomes, in charge of the bowmen, took command. His orders echoed along the wall. “Draw your bows…” the same words and cadence used in a thousand practice sessions.
“Aim…” the riders were past the first mark. No one had loosed an arrow that Esk kar could see. Hours of relentless practice ruled out any time for thoughts or worries.
“Fly!” and two hundred and fifty arrows were launched at the rapidly approaching horsemen. “Draw… aim… fly.” The chant repeated, again and again.
Esk kar watched the oncoming riders, saw some go down as the first flight arrived, but not as many as he had expected. The next flight did better. The third flight looked a bit ragged, as the more proficient men worked their bows a little quicker, but it was fired with the bows almost level and its effect was devastating. Horses and men went down all along the line, though the Alur Meriki ranks had opened up somewhat.
The fourth wave of arrows struck fifty paces before the riders reached the ditch. Now arrows flew both ways. Esk kar saw an archer go down, struck in the forehead, even as he heard something hiss over his own head. But most of the Alur Meriki’s shafts struck the wall, making a dull snapping sound as they struck the hard surface. The barbarians had only a small target to aim at, the upper bodies of the men on the wall, and they had to find that target while aiming and loosing their shafts from horseback at a dead run.
Then the enemy reached the ditch. Some riders showed their skill by jumping their horses off the ten — foot drop. Most of the horses, however, balked at the descent, stiffening their legs as they stopped at the very edge in a spray of sand and dirt.
Esk kar saw three riders tossed forward, one going headfirst into the ditch, the others clinging to their horses’ necks. Arrows rained down on the warriors, as every soldier worked his bow as fast as he could. They didn’t need a cadence now.
The Alur Meriki plied their own bows, some from horseback, others dismounted by force or choice, kneeling on the ground and loosing their shafts at the defenders. At least a hundred warriors jumped from their horses, leaped into the ditch, and raced to the wall.
Esk kar heard the thud of the first ladder as it slammed against the wall, saw the tip of it a few steps from where he stood and walked over to it, drawing his sword as he did so. He had already started to swing the blade with all his strength when a head appeared. The heavy weapon cut through the man’s arm and into his head with ease. Twisting the blade loose, Esk kar dug the tip into the wooden ladder and pushed with all his strength, sending the ladder as well as the next warrior sailing backward into the ditch.
Looking out over the plain Esk kar saw another Alur Meriki standard on the move toward him, the men moving quickly to support the first wave.
Totomes’s voice rose up over the din, taking control again. The archers stepped back from the wall and notched their shafts to the string. “Draw… aim… fly!” The chant began again, as the bowmen’s shafts sought out those across the ditch. Volley followed volley and the Alur Meriki reinforcements erupted into a confused tangle of men and horses crowding against one another. The Alur Meriki bowmen got caught by the confusion, and for a moment, few arrows flew toward the wall.
Villagers did their work, using the forked sticks to push away the ladders and swinging axes at any head that appeared. Totomes’s commands kept sounding. Flight followed flight, fi red together and on command, the shafts sent into the crowded mass of men and horses, with practically every arrow hitting something, man or beast.
The men began to cheer. Esk kar saw the barbarian bowmen were finished, broken by that deadly fire, their reinforcements driven back in confusion. His archers kept up the pace as the Alur Meriki wheeled their horses and rode back to safety. Arrows whistled overhead, but fewer now, as the barbarians continued their retreat, leaving those in the ditch the difficult task of climbing back out.
None had made it over the wall. Those mounted barbarians in the ditch found it much more difficult to get a horse to climb up a ten — foot embankment than to jump into it, and all who tried soon had arrows in their backs.
Those on foot found themselves trapped. They were targeted and shot, as archers returned to the wall’s edge and risked exposure by leaning over, selecting a target and loosing their arrows.
In less than a minute, all movement in the ditch had stopped, except for the riderless horses that trotted back and forth, eyes wide and whinny-ing in fear, searching for a way out of the ditch and away from the scent of blood.
“Captain, should I take a shot at the chief? He’s still within range.”
He turned to find Mitrac at his side. Esk kar eyes followed where the boy was pointing. The two chiefs who had been involved in the attack were talking, no, shouting at each other, no doubt each accusing the other of some failing. Esk kar’s eyes hunted for the marker stones and he saw that the two chiefs had halted between the first and second marker. Arrows kept landing near them, and they would move out of range in a moment.
“Yes, take the shot.” Before he’d finished speaking, the lad’s feet were braced and he drew back the shaft, taking one last check of the wind. A fraction of a second to aim and then the great bow twanged. Mitrac immediately drew another shaft, aimed it and let it fly. A third was in the air before the first one landed.
The chief who’d led the attack pitched forward as the long shaft slammed into his back. Three seconds later, the next arrow arrived, aimed at the other chief, but the man’s horse moved and the arrow took the beast in the neck. Mitrac’s next three arrows missed, as the wounded beast reared and lashed out in pain, tossing its rider onto the earth.
Esk kar swore at the bad luck that caused the horse to move. He saw the dismounted chief, stunned for a moment, scrambling to his feet, then falling back, an arrow in his leg. Mitrac kept shooting, but by this time warriors had surrounded the two chiefs and carried them off, though Mitrac did get one more rider before the warriors galloped out of range.
“Fine shooting!” Esk kar shouted, clapping the grinning lad on his shoulder. Esk kar turned back to the wall, leaning over the edge to see what had happened below, then turned his eyes south toward the gate. The barbarians there had already retreated, the hundred or so warriors far too few to force the gate. Esk kar and Gatus had faced more than three hundred men, plus part of another group, and they had still routed their foes.
Every voice on the wall erupted into cheers, shouting and waving fi sts or bows at the retreating barbarians. Gatus appeared, walking carefully along the wall, alertly dodging the excited soldiers, not wanting to get knocked off the back of the parapet. It had happened often enough in training.
“Well, Gatus, you survived another fight.”
Gatus smiled. “Yes, Captain. And you can put away your sword. Better clean it first, though. How did it strike?”
Esk kar still held his bloodied sword in his hand. “Smoothly. Any problems at your end?”
“None to speak of. Most of the attack was here. Shall we go check at the gate?”
That was good advice. But first Esk kar raised his voice. “Silence!” It took three times before the men realized who’d given the order and the celebrations died down.
“You men did well.” That brought another cheer and this time Esk kar raised his hand for quiet. “But this was only a little test, just a push to see what we’re made of. The next attack will be worse, much worse, so stop all this noise and get to work. Where are the ditch men?”
Everyone looked around, but no one answered. “Get them moving. You know what to do.”
The ditch men, mostly young men and older boys, would climb down ropes into the ditch, to recover arrows and weapons, and loot the dead. In a few moments thirty men and boys began sliding into the ditch, armed only with long knives to fi nish off the wounded. Each carried an empty quiver or sack to recover anything usable.
Each shaft was precious. Most arrows would be broken, damaged beyond use, or simply lost. As every person who’d ever drawn a bow knew, nothing could disappear right before your eyes as completely as an arrow falling to earth. You could mark its fall and yet the shaft would burrow itself under the grass or earth, never to be found. But every arrow point was forged of precious bronze and mustn’t be wasted.
Esk kar and Gatus strode quickly to the gate, where they found a smiling Bantor and Sisuthros waiting for them. Sisuthros had a small cut on his cheek that still trailed blood.
