“So do I, young friend,” sighed Des. “So do I.”
From the winding stone steps that led to the street below a harried soldier dressed in the brown of a Regular came bounding up. He reached the top, panting and looking about. “Who’s the OC?” he demanded. “Who’s the Officer Commanding?”
Des shot him a sharp glance. “I am,” he said dryly.
“Well, sir,” said the soldier, “Lord Assan is demanding to know what’s going on, what that screaming is.”
Des strode closer to the man. His eyes showed anger. “Oh, he does, does he? Well tell him it’s only a Doomsayer. He should be glad to hear it. After all, a Doomsayer’s not really a man, is he?”
As Des stepped from the shadows the soldier gulped. “Captain Desmond? Is it Desmond?”
Des looked at him sternly. “It is.”
The soldier broke into a wide grin. “Captain, don’t you remember me?”
Des stared at him for a moment. “Should I?”
The Regular saluted. “I’m Merry, sir. Don’t you remember? Some time ago, I was the volunteer you asked to split a beam.”
Des smiled broadly. “Merry! Yes, I do remember. How are you, lad? What are you up to?”
“Well, I’ve earned my first stripe, Captain,” he said proudly. “And I took your advice.” Merry’s eyes drifted to his waist. “And learned to handle a knife. And handle it well, sir. I’ll make the Guard yet!”
Des laughed. “I’m sure you will. But tell me, Merry, where’d you earn that stripe? It usually takes years.”
Merry’s face darkened. “I was in the Southern Forest, sir. With Commander Tagg’s column. It saved my life.”
Des nodded glumly, said no more about it. A soldier never asks another about misfortune.
“But I’m assigned to Headquarters, now, sir,” continued Merry. “I’ve been made a runner for Assan.”
“Well you can go back to him now, and inform him that a Doomsayer went over the wall. And tell him that if I’d had enough men to post along the parapet he never would have gotten over.”
“Yes, Captain,” said Merry, giving a smart salute. “But if it’s all right with you, sir, after I get off duty I’d like to come back here and serve with you, if I might.”
“Well, I’d love to have you, Merry. But you’ll have to clear that with Assan.”
Merry smiled sheepishly. “I’m not much of an aide, sir. Really I’m not. I’m sure he’d let me go. That is, if you’d ask for me. Personally, I mean, sir.”
Des laughed. “All right, my eager friend. Tell Lord Assan that Captain Desmond is making a personal request to have you assigned to his command.”
Merry beamed. “Yes, sir! And thank you, sir!”
With that, Merry skipped down the stairs and ran off into the night. Des sighed wistfully. It was good to see a familiar face after so long, and all that had happened. And Merry would make a good companion, he knew he would.
“He must be a very fine soldier, Captain,” said the young sentry.
Des snapped out of his thoughts and looked at him. “Why is that?”
“Because, Captain, he came out of the forest alive.”
On and off for the rest of the night the Doomsayer’s shrill cries could be heard. Neither Des nor any other man on the wall could close his ears to them. They were pitiful sobs of agony. And Des felt a shiver at each howl. If there were only some way to end it for him. To Des this was one of the longest nights he had ever lived. But at last it was over, the first light of dawn breaking across the eastern horizon. Des paced nervously along the wall. And at last the screams ended. Thankful it was over, he kneeled down and rested for a moment, his back to the wall. His eyes were heavy and all he wanted was to catch a few moments’ rest.
“Captain!”
Des shook out of a half-dream and bounded up. The sentry stood gesturing out at the Plain, his face white as snow. “Captain, for the love of the Fates!”
“What is it, soldier?”
“There, sir. Look!”
Des gasped, put his hand to his mouth. Several hundred paces from the wall a wheel had been dragged. It stood turning on its axle in a slow awkward spin, and spiked to the wheel was the naked body of the Doomsayer. His skin had been carefully shredded from his body; all that remained was a purple mass of blood and bone.
The sentry retched, then vomited. Des grabbed him by his hair and forced him to look. “Last night you asked if the dogs were barbaric,” he hissed. “Does this answer your question? Take a good look at him — a good look at what they did.”
“Please, Captain — I — I can’t stand it!”
“You’re a soldier, aren’t you? A soldier has to see these things.”
Des let go of the youth. The lad stood whimpering, sickened. “Can’t we at least go out and bring back his body?” he asked.
Des suddenly felt sorry for the way he had just acted, the way he had taken out his own anger on this blameless boy. “I’ll try to arrange a party to retrieve the body,” he said. “I guess that’s the least we can do.”
A bugle sounded, and then another, and still another. From the streets below soldiers came pouring out of their barracks, scrambling onto the walls.
“That’s General-Alert, sir,” panted the sentry.
“I know that!” snapped Des. “You stay here. I’m going to find out what’s happened.”
He raced down the steps three at a time and finally managed to collar a Guardsman. “What’s going on?” he shouted.
“It’s the East Wall, Captain. Near the corrals. The dogs’ve breached the defense wall and they’re trying to get to the cattle!”
Without so much as blinking an eye, Des told the Guardsman to take command of his wall and then raced like a madman down the streets. All around him other Guardsmen were dashing frantically to the East Wall. He climbed the steps in a sweat, clambering between a hundred bustling soldiers. Merry stood at the end of a line of archers, loading his bow. “Am I glad to see you,” said Des, catching his breath. “Are the dogs in the city?”
“Only the low wall,” said Merry. “We’ve got fifty bowmen pounding volleys into them. I just hope it’s not too late. The soldiers down there are trapped.”
Des peered down. There was an open yard about three hundred meters wide. Nestled close to the East Wall, the high wall, were the sprawling corrals jammed with cattle. But about two hundred meters in front of them was a narrow low wall no taller than a man’s chest. About two dozen defenders were bravely holding it against a regiment of dogs who were leaping and jumping around them. Another several dozen men were lying dead, scattered across the yard. And the defenders were being pressed closer together with each passing moment. Soon they would be completely surrounded, with no avenue of escape. Only the archers from the high wall slamming arrows into the dogs had kept them alive even this long. Fighting birds were valiantly swooping down, trying to help. But it was no use. Slowly the defenders, what was left of them, were being pressed farther back to the makeshift barricades and fences built around the corrals. A few of the defenders were taking up strong positions on the thatched roofs of the corrals and tried to provide cover for their retreating companions.
Des groaned. He knew that if this fight were lost and the cattle stampeded, the Haven would be dealt the severest of blows. Any hope of having enough food for the winter siege would be lost. They would all starve.
“So that’s the Master’s plan!” he shouted.
Assan, dressed in full battle armor, was standing at the edge of the wall, directing the archers. Des drew his sword and rushed up at him. “Let me scale the wall and aid the defenders,” he panted.
Assan shook his head. “No, Captain. You’ll stay here and help direct the bowmen.”
“But that won’t do any good! At best we can only hold them off for a few hours. Soon the whole yard’ll be jumping with dogs. They’ll stampede the cattle and slaughter every one!”
Assan clenched his teeth. “It’s too late already,” he wh
eezed. “The first perimeter of barricades has already collapsed. And it would take more than a hundred men to block the breech, men we can’t spare.”
“Then give me a dozen men,” pleaded Des. “Or a half-dozen. Don’t you see? If we lose the cattle the Master will starve us out!”
“Don’t you think I know that? Damn it, man! I don’t want to lose them any more than you do. But human life must come first. Any man who goes down there is going to die. Look beyond the wall. There must be a thousand dogs!”
“Let me have a few volunteers, then!”
“Captain, we’re doing all we can,” he said, gesturing to the rows of archers pounding arrows into the fray. “Up here we’re safe. But down there? I’m sorry, Des. But the dogs’ve got too great a grip on the compound.”
Des looked over the wall again. Assan was right, there was no denying it. One by one the defenders were falling, being set upon by six at a time. It did seem hopeless.
“Then at least let me try to save the lives of our men!”
Assan looked at Des curiously. “How?”
“Let me group them together and try to form a retreat onto the roofs of the corrals.”
“It won’t work.”
“But let me try!”
Assan searched Des’s anxious face. “All right, Captain. Do what you can. Call for volunteers.”
Without so much as a hasty salute, Des spun around and called for men to climb below. Within moments about twenty, Merry among them, were set to go. Ropes were thrown over the sides and the rescue party scrambled down. Des dropped softly onto one of the roofs and lowered himself to the ground. A few limping soldiers were retreating to the relative safety of the corrals. “All wounded, get inside!” he barked. The men looked at him with surprise. What was he doing here?
As the volunteers reached the ground, Des banded them into two groups. “All of you hold the line at the fences,” he said. “The rest, follow me!”
Bows sang and swords flashed as the group fought its way toward the low wall. Des reached down and picked up a heavy chain from the ground and swung it above his head. A fierce dog leaped high. The chain whistled and slammed across the animal’s face, sending him sprawling. The defenders cheered. Reinforcements had arrived! And Captain Desmond was in the lead! They might still have a chance. His very presence gave them hope and encouragement.
“For the Haven!” came the cry. “For the Empire!”
And dogs were sent reeling in every direction. After a few bloody, bitter encounters, Des and his men reached the low wall. There were about ten defenders left. A swarthy man wearing the brown of the Regulars looked up and grinned. “Bless my boots!” he cried. “I never expected to see you.”
Des grinned back. “Well, I should have known! Dunbar! Who else but you could have kept this fight going?”
“It’s a long way to go until it’s done,” replied Dunbar. “But what’s this? Is that Merry at your side?”
Merry slapped his drill instructor on the back and laughed heartily.
“They’re coming again!” someone called.
A hundred Warriors bounded across the wall, eyes blazing, fangs dripping saliva. The defenders met them head-on and held their ground. As each dog leaped, he was met by cold steel. But they were not to be so easily defeated. They probed one wing of the wall, then the next, constantly testing for the weakest point. But with Des and Dunbar in command, resistance was stout and they were unable to penetrate beyond the already fallen barricades. Thousands of arrows sailed from the East Wall, stopping every thrust. Assan brought up every archer in the Haven and kept a constant barrage, never ceasing, as though the sky were raining arrows.
All through the day the defenders managed to hang on. By dusk the fighting had tapered considerably. Des dashed from post to post giving varied instructions and raising spirits. Assan had watched all this in awe and was heard to say: “By the Fates, I’ll bet he’ll save the men and the cattle, too!”
Night came swiftly. Des looked about nervously. All around him were corpses of dogs and defenders. Those still holding the corrals and fences seemed safe enough, but his own position was precarious. For he knew what the night would probably mean.
“Merry,” he said, “run back to the corrals and bring me all the old rags and oil you can find.”
The soldier looked perplexed. “What for, Captain? What good are rags?”
“Please, Merry, do as I ask. And be quick about it I’m expecting company.”
Merry took several men with him and soon returned with a heap of old cloths and small cans of oil from the lamps. Des spread the rags across the ground. “I want each man to find a stick of wood,” he shouted. “We’re going to make some torches.”
Wrapping the rags over the wood, Des sprinkled the oil over them and handed each man a torch. “Now,” he asked, “who’s got any flints?”
A couple of the men reached into their tunics.
“Good. Very good.”
“Torches won’t scare the dogs,” said Dunbar with a scowl.
“They’re not meant for dogs,” replied Des.
Merry glanced about, confused “Then what are they for?”
“Night-Birds,” said Des somberly. “If I know the Master’s tricks, round about midnight he’ll set them on us. And all of Assan’s archers won’t be of much use then.”
The defenders kept a lonely vigil. The yard became quiet, the stink of death filled their nostrils. And about midnight, as Des predicted, the bright sky turned dark as a low black cloud came sweeping down from the east. Merry looked up in horror. “Is that them?”
“That’s them, all right,” sighed Des. “But don’t be frightened.” Then he signaled to his men. “Get your torches ready, but don’t light them until I give the order.”
They all waited breathlessly as the black cloud began to break and the Night-Birds began to descend. Soon Des could see the glow of their eyes, the points of their fangs.
“What are you waiting for?” someone called. “Give the order! They’re almost upon us!”
Des readied his flints, took a deep breath. “Steady, men! I want them to close in, first. I want them. Now!”
Flints sparked all over the yard, flames danced to the sky. Bats dived and dodged as the flames singed their wings, and their ranks began to break. Des lit his bonfire of rubbish and dried cattle dung; the whole yard brightened like the day. And from the East Wall Assan again was able to direct the archers. A hundred crossbows twanged, a hundred longbows whistled. The bats that had not been killed shrieked and flew back into the dark.
The defenders cheered joyously. “They won’t be back again,” laughed Dunbar. “Not on this night, anyway,” said Des. “They’ve probably heard what happened to their brothers in the forest, and they’ll know better than to come again at us like that.”
For hours the torches remained lit and the bonfire burned. In the small hours before dawn the last of the flames died. But the job was done — the Night-Birds would be returning to their dwellings. The defenders rested for the first time as best they could. With dawn would come another attack by dogs.
“Why don’t you catch an hour’s sleep, Merry?” said Des. “I’ll stand guard.”
Merry smiled weakly, took a sip from his water flask, then handed it to Des. “I don’t think I can sleep,” he answered after Des took a long draught.
“I know what you mean. It’s been quite a day. But you did well, Merry. I doubt any Guardsman could have fought any better.”
Merry beamed and gazed down at his bloodstained tunic. “I sure wish we had something to eat,” he said “My stomach’s growling.”
“You can eat dog, it’s quite tasty, you know. Every Guardsman has. It’s part of his training.”
Merry glanced at the slain corpses and grimaced. “I think I’m going to vomit,” he said.
Des laughed. “I’m only teasing you, Merry.”
From deep among the corpses two great dogs leaped from their hiding place. Des stared, frozen.
Merry screamed and tried to grab his dagger. “Merry!” shouted Des, regaining his senses and brandishing the chain. Bows sang from the high wall, letting loose a terrible barrage. The two dogs were smothered under the volley — but not before Merry was sent reeling. He fell to the ground, his face and neck bloodied.
“Get a physician’s aide down here!” shouted Des frantically.
Dunbar kneeled down beside Merry, glanced at the wounds and shook his head slowly. Merry lay wheezing and gasping. “He’s hurt bad, Captain. Those cuts are deep.”
Merry stared glassy-eyed at Des; he tried to smile. “We gave them a good fight, didn’t we, sir?”
Des nodded sadly. “We did, Merry. We surely did.”
The youth smiled. “Funny,” he whispered, “but I’m not scared. You’d think I’d be scared.”
“A Guardsman controls his fear,” said Des. “Remember? I taught you that.”
“And you were a good teacher,” answered Merry. “I’ll never forget.”
And then, as if going to sleep, Merry closed his eyes and died.
Des covered his face with his hands and cried as if the youth had been a younger brother.
“He was a quick learner,” muttered Dunbar. “As fast as any I’ve seen. He was with me and Tagg in the Southern Forest, and I’ll tell you, that lad fought with distinction. I was proud of him.”
Des took his hands from his face and looked at Dunbar through bloodshot eyes. “And he survived all of that for what? To die like this, in a yard?” He looked about bitterly, then spit on the corpses of the two dogs at his feet. “I’ll make them pay for this,” he whispered. “I don’t know how, but when the time comes, I’ll make them pay.”
Dunbar grimaced. “You may have your chance,” he said. “Look over the wall, Captain.”
From the Plain came a racing horde of dogs, fresh troops, ready and eager. Des’s face grew dark, his eyes hardened. “Weapons ready!” he called. Up and down the wall the defenders stood and drew their swords; the archers on the wall formed into ranks and took aim.
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