by Mark Tufo
“An arm for what?” Lana asked.
“For hurling things,” she answered. That got everyone’s attention.
Construction continued throughout the night and into most of the next morning. The sun had already reached its apex and was beginning its downward trek when a contingent of werewolves began to push seven of the structures out from under the canopy of the forest. Each stood over twenty feet tall, a latticework of heavy beams and rope dominated the sides. The front of the war-machine was guarded by a shield built with six inch thick oaken boards; it would easily thwart the small, 5.56 bullets Bailey’s soldiers were shooting. To the rear of the machine were the arms used for hurling, pulled back into the ready position. A ladle-like apparatus was at the end which appeared would fit some very large, building-crushing stones.
“It would sadden me not to use my new toys,” Lunos said from the safety of the trees. He was in his more traditional, Lycan skin. “Yet I have enough mercy, that if you but release the child to me I will dismantle these mass death-dealing machines and walk away.”
There were more than a few cries from the populace that Lana should do just that. Cries rang out that the babe was not even from Denarth, and why should they spill their blood in a doomed venture to keep him safe?
“Also, while I am feeling so giving, I will allow any citizen of Denarth or Talboton to walk from behind those walls and join me in my crusade to unite our kind. You could be given the gift of near immortality, strength and power which you cannot even begin to imagine. And above it all, freedom. Freedom from the yolk of humanity and its self-serving laws and morals. You do not even know how bound you are until you are truly set free.”
Lana turned to the ones that were starting to create strife. “For too long we have isolated ourselves here. Our previous leaders told us it was for our safety, that isolationism was the way to protect our way of life. We built these walls to keep the enemy out, when in reality it has kept us in. Our fear of strangers, of outsiders, has meant we have turned our backs to potential friends and created for ourselves those very enemies we speak about. We hold a child of six, in desperate need of our protection, and your first inclination is to throw him to the wolves? Shame on you. If that is how you truly feel, if that is the breadth of your cowardice, then take Lunos up on his offer and join his forces. I would like nothing better than to rid our populace of the cancer you threaten to spread among us.”
There were some murmurs, yet no one headed for the gate. The devil you know always trumps the unknown monster in the closet.
“Very well,” Lunos said after a moment. “I will allow you your last meals and we will finish this come sundown.” He strode farther into the woods, out of the city’s line of sight.
“I do not believe my bullets will pierce that wood, Lana. Can your archers make that shot?” Bailey asked.
“Regular archers cannot, but we have a half-dozen or so that are familiar with the longbow. Of those six, only two show any true proficiency, and unfortunately, of those two only one is without injury.”
“Our only chance of stopping those machines is to burn them,” Bailey said looking out over the field.
“Bertram, round up Teasdale, Kirby, Smith, Turner, and Milbourn, tell them to bring their longbows.” Bertram nodded and ran off.
Within a few minutes, the three men and two women she’d asked for were standing next to her.
“Can you make that shot?” Lana asked.
“That is nearly three hundred and fifty yards, councilwoman,” Turner said.
“That is not an answer,” Lana said.
“We had a competition a few months back,” Turner said. “Teasdale won, of course, but we were ranging at no more than three hundred and were just making that.”
“The survival of our city could depend solely on you five hitting another fifty yards,” Lana said. “We need those devices set ablaze.”
“Councilwoman, I understand what you are saying, but not only do you want us to shoot an arrow farther than any of us has ever done before, but we would also need to factor in the added weight of a burning, oiled rag wrapped over the tip. That will also affect its trajectory,” Kirby weighed in.
Only Teasdale had said nothing as he looked out, until now. “I have been working on a new bow; I was not going to unveil it with this lot until we got onto the field of competition. I believe I can make that range easily enough, though that is without the rag. I only have four bolts, as they are very detailed and time-consuming to craft. And alas, the material I need is out there—I do not think our guest will allow me to gather more of what I need.”
“You must make those four count, Teasdale,” Lana said.
“We’ll have to set up outside the gates,” Teasdale said.
“Nonsense. You’ll shoot from here,” Lana informed him.
“I have to lay on my back and use my legs to cock the string.”
Lana calculated that he would have room to do that on the parapet, but that his arrow tip would be scraping the wall.
“This may get interesting.” Lana looked to the werewolves. “Teasdale, take whoever you need down with you. I will have ten guards escort you. Bertram, please let Bailey know what is going on. Ready everyone on the battlements; as soon as Lunos sees what we are up to he will attempt to thwart us.” Lana watched nervously as Teasdale and his escort walked out below her. They stopped once about ten yards from the wall. He looked to the siege machines for a minute or two and then went another ten yards. Lana’s heart rate increased.
“That’s far enough,” she whispered. Teasdale didn’t think so; he crept forward another ten yards.
“He keeps going and he’s going to be able to place a burning log against it...though at that point he will be surrounded by werewolves.” Mathieu echoed Lana’s concerns. “Should I go out there and protect him?”
“Your place is here,” Lana told him, somewhat selfishly, she thought.
Teasdale finally felt as if he were in a good enough position to make an attempt. He took a moment to show the men he was with how to properly attach the rag so the arrow would still fly true. He lay down with his feet against the wood of the bow, then he sat up, grabbed an arrow and nocked it. He next grabbed the bowstring, as thick as rope, as he sat all the way back, stretching the bow to its full extension. A man with him placed his torch against the front of the wrapped arrow. Lana thought Teasdale took an inordinate amount of time to line up his shot; perhaps because she held her breath. A loud twang fluttered up from where he’d loosed the arrow. The flame was pulled down the shaft as the burning spear flew through the air. Halfway to its mark, the flame went out. A second later there was a loud thwack as the arrow hit home.
Lana heavily sighed when she realized the fire wasn’t magically going to reignite. Mathieu tapped her shoulder. People on the other side were now taking notice of what was happening, though none were yet moving in their direction. Teasdale wrapped another, thicker cloth around the next arrow. Quicker than the first time, but still entirely too slow for Lana’s liking, Teasdale lined up his next shot and fired. Again mid-flight the flame began to sputter.
“Stay lit!” Lana urged. Another loud thwack echoed across the field as the arrow made its mark. A tiny flicker, no bigger than a moth, licked at the wall of the machine. The small flame took root and spread tendrils of fire away from its initial source. “Burn.” Lana was concerned; if a person made it to the machine with a canteen they would still be able to put the infantine blaze out. Lunos was now standing with his guards, he became increasingly agitated as they were getting him up to speed on what was happening. The flame’s hunger increased and it moved along larger swaths of the wooden wall, wrapping around the sides like a passionate lover’s embrace. Not long afterward the entire structure caught in a wild blaze, a giant funeral pyre.
Teasdale had not waited idle, savoring his victory. He was already moving farther away, up and to the side to get another shot off. Lunos had seen all he needed to. People by the score began to turn into werewo
lves and run toward the small contingent. Bailey’s men were ready, sending a hail of bullets into the approaching horde. Teasdale’s next shot came up three feet short of its mark, the grass wet enough that it would not catch afire. He was repositioning his last arrow, moving still closer to his target.
“Get out of there!” Lana shouted as more werewolves were sent across the field. Archers and riflemen released everything that they could to keep the approaching enemy at bay. Werewolves fell to the side with a half dozen arrows protruding from their bodies. Heads erupted in a splattering of blood and bone. Chests were ripped open, legs were blown off, and still they came in greater and greater numbers.
Teasdale laid down and had his arrow lit on fire. He shouted at his contingent to run for their lives. None did, creating a phalanx around him as he took his final shot. The arrow grazed the head of the nearest werewolf, lit pitch from the rag engulfed his entire head as he flailed about insanely. The arrow struck the wood, splattering the remains of the burning material all across the face of the wall. This shot, unlike the first one, immediately caught flame and was burning. The ten soldiers around Teasdale fought savagely to defend first their archer, and then themselves. It was a doomed, albeit heroic event, as the eleven were washed over by a hundred or more werewolves. Now that they’d tasted blood and were in the heat of a battle, they lost all manner of reason, attacking the very gates of Denarth.
Barbaric war cries arose from the werewolves as they smashed against the walls, some scrabbling halfway up before they were met with a hail of bullets and arrows. Dead and dying were strewn haphazardly. A low, barely audible whistle pierced the din of battle. At first, the werewolves did not heed the call to return, so intent were they on laying open their opponent, then the calls became more insistent. Reluctantly, they returned, still under intense, ferocious fire from the city. A loud cheer issued forth from the victors as the werewolves loped away.
Lana quieted them down and pointed to the spot where the newest heroes in the war to stop the Lycan had perished. The surge of adrenaline changed instantly from victorious glee to longing sadness for those lost. They would not be the first to die and certainly not the last, but each merited a moment of mourning. Lunos and Lana watched the structures burn to the ground, the armies of both having long since returned to pre-battle status.
“Perhaps he will need to move them closer for them to be effective,” Bailey said.
“Perhaps,” Lana answered, though neither believed it. She wondered if it would be flying boulders that crushed her city or burning embers that consumed the structures. She was wholly unprepared for exactly what it would turn out to be.
The next morning yielded the horrors of the previous evening. Flocks of birds fed well on the broken bodies of the people who had turned back to their human forms in death. Pulling eyeballs free from their sockets, piercing leathery stomach skin with their sharp beaks in order to get to the softer, tastier internal organs housed within. Fights erupted among the flying carnivores as they ripped bloody shreds from the bodies. They were pulled and pierced by so many birds at once that they were given the illusion of movement, that perhaps they were not quite as dead as they appeared, making the sight that much more grisly.
“Is it not a beautiful morning?” Lunos called out. Lana had to be stirred from her sleep; she’d stayed up late into the night believing that Lunos would wait until the darkest hour to begin his assault. She should have known he was much more into the theatrics of war and would like everyone to be able to view the stage he had set.
“Long night?” he laughed when he saw Lana come up onto the wall.
“Say your peace and be done with it,” she responded.
“I will give you one last chance to release the boy, that’s it. Give me that thirty-pound sack of meat and I will leave. The rest of you can live out your enslaved little existences without interference from me.”
“That is the difference between you and me, Lunos. He is not a sack of meat. He is a boy, a human boy who is already more valuable than you can ever be. You will not have him, ever.” The threat was clear; she would kill Gabriel before he could ever fall into the hands of Lunos.
“You would not. You could not,” Lunos laughed. “It is not in your feminine nature, nor in the weakness of Humankind.” Lunos said the words but he was also concerned. Ganlin had told him that the boy was the key to absolute victory and he believed him. And with the prize so close, he could not fathom it slipping through his fingers at the martyred hands of a waif of a woman.
“Try me, Lunos. You’ve shown your hand. If you think I am going to give you something that you so desperately want, you are sadly mistaken.”
“We will see.” He motioned to the werewolves around him; they began to move closer to the siege machines. Bailey’s gunmen forced them to approach from behind the wooden walls they’d erected. Naught could be seen, but plenty could be heard; though no one was familiar with the ratcheting sounds they were hearing.
“BRACE!” Bailey shouted as the first arm swung into view.
Lana was momentarily confused as the ball traveled away from the machine and towards them, almost as if in slow motion. She realized it was neither stone nor burning matter, but rather a tightly woven ball of heavy branches. She could not fathom what hideous damage it would be able to inflict upon impact. Every soldier turned to watch as the projectile sailed over their heads and landed in the square harmlessly, smashing the thick branches against the rough cobblestones.
“He is as dense as he is ugly,” Mathieu said a moment before something under the branches stirred. “What wizardry is this?” he asked as he watched a werewolf rise up from underneath the shattered brush. This one was immediately followed by another. “The enemy is inside!” he shouted when he realized what was happening. Two more balls had crashed close to the first.
“Shoot the balls!” Lana ordered when she saw that werewolves had been placed inside the branched enclosures in an effort to protect them as they were sent in. A few were injured beyond fighting capabilities, but within five minutes twenty very angry werewolves were inside the city and hand to hand combat had ensued. The clash of steel and the cries of men dominated above all. Bailey’s men targeted the incoming projectiles while Lana’s dropped down to help out in the town square where werewolves struck out and killed anything that got in their path. More Trojan spheres were launched but by this time Bailey’s men were ripping through them with lead, so before they landed, all that was left inside were remains.
By the time Lunos stopped catapulting his troops over the walls, more than forty werewolves fit for battle were within the city limits. The carnage on the Denarthian side was beyond compare. Civilians who had never known a day of war in their lives were rendered open from groin to sternum. Werewolves loped through streets like rampant gangs, occasionally kicking in doors and ransacking homes, killing and eating everything, including family pets and livestock; nothing was immune. If it had a heartbeat, it was on the menu. The only thing that seemed safe from their wrath were young boys—they were being scooped up and wrapped in large thick arms. Any werewolf that found a prize would immediately seek a way out. This usually entailed climbing the rampart stairs and jumping over the wall. A dozen werewolves had found what they’d been sent in for and were even now heading back across the field. “Shoot them!” Lana ordered.
“The children,” Bailey offered. “They could be harmed.”
“And what do you think is going to happen to them when Lunos finds out they are not the ones he is looking for?” Lana answered.
“Target the retreating werewolves!” Bailey ordered. There were looks of hesitancy among her men. “Now!” She put her head down as the rifles fired. Lunos sent more werewolves out in an effort to save the children.
“Lana?” Bailey asked when two boys, no older than five, were out in the middle of the field crying, their werewolf kidnappers lay near them, either dead or dying.
“Run!” Lana begged the boys, who could do not
hing except stand there and shiver in fear.
Bailey’s men had been trying to stop the new wave of werewolves but were unsuccessful. Lana could not bring herself to kill the boys. Her head bowed, the two were picked up and rushed back to Lunos.
“He will torture and kill them so that we all can hear,” Lana said.
Bailey and Mathieu said nothing as there were no words that could offer comfort. Pockets of battle still waged inside the city as Lana’s soldiers tracked down and fought with werewolves on their kidnap and destroy quests. Three more werewolves had attempted to escape with children but were gunned down immediately. One of the boys had died with a bullet strike through his neck; the other two were completely unharmed and returned to their mothers. Within hours, order had once again been restored within the walls, but casualties had been high—nearly a hundred people had been killed or injured. The uproar over Lana’s decision to fight was immediate.
“I will not suffer revolution at this most volatile of times. I want the rebel ringleaders arrested and jailed,” she told her guards as she stormed back to her office. She figured she had time before Lunos would be able to launch another strike and she needed to be alone for a moment. She was not sure if she wanted to weep inconsolably or destroy whatever she could get her hands on. Either way, she did not want an audience for her tirade. She made her way inside, and with a strong bit of self-control, she pulled the door shut slowly. By the time she’d made it to her chair she was shaking with an impotent rage. She sat down, placed her forearms on her desk and clasped her hands to keep them from doing any damage.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Lana?” It was Mathieu.
“I suggest you go away, my love. I am afraid that the anger contained within me will boil over and burn you.”
“I have suffered through worse,” he said as he opened the door.
“Is Lunos preparing another attacking wave?”
“Not that I could see; all seemed quiet when I came in here.”
“My people are turning against me, Mathieu. Have I erred so deeply in my desire to keep the boy safe?”