by AC Cobble
Behind the wall, the first blocks of buildings were evacuated then boarded up. Temporary watch towers had been erected on the roofs. Ben could see they would be used as archery platforms. Narrow walkways were placed between some of the rooftops where men could retreat if the walls fell. The sound of hammering filled the air as men scrambled across the hastily erected structures, making last- minute adjustments and extending the fortifications deeper into the city.
On the streets below, wagons, barrels, furniture, and other heavy debris was cobbled together to block off avenues. They would funnel the demons into dead ends where men from above could rain death down on them.
It was all cleverly designed to create confusion in the simple creatures and lead them into situations where men wouldn’t have to engage hand to hand.
Ben saw hunters with tightly packed groups of soldiers clustered around them. Discussing tactics, he surmised.
“Demons are common in the Wilds,” explained Franklin, “but most of our soldiers serve around Northport or to the south. Some have faced demons, some have not. We asked the hunters to give them any insight they can.” He shrugged. “You folks know, fighting a demon isn’t like fighting a man.”
As they walked, Franklin started to fidget nervously. They began looking at him strangely. Finally, he asked, “Will Lady Towaal fight with us? We heard she has been ill since you returned.”
“Our quest took a lot out of her,” acknowledged Rhys. “She is resting now and has no intention of leaving before the attack. Honestly, I am not sure what she will be capable of in the next few days, if anything. If she is able, she will assist.”
Franklin nodded, not entirely pleased with the answer, but obviously glad to have it in the open.
Every two hundred paces, they passed an open platform holding artillery. A heavy guard stood around each of the massive weapons and a bristle of polearms leaned against the battlement, making them look like wild hedgehogs.
Amelie peered closely at baskets of ammunition set behind the artillery.
“Expecting intense fighting around these?” asked Rhys, gesturing to a looming catapult.
“A human opponent would focus on these weapons as soon as they got close,” answered Franklin, “but a typical demon isn’t tactically minded. We are not sure they will understand the significance of the artillery.”
“I think we should assume they will,” advised Rhys. “The swarms we faced had limited tactical knowledge, but it was more than I have ever witnessed. If there is an arch-demon mature enough to lead thousands of its brethren, it’s likely to be very intelligent. Plan for the worst.”
Franklin nodded. “Based on your report of the ambush, we’ve tried to account for more than just animal instincts. If they are smart enough and a large enough number…” The seneschal left the rest unsaid. They all knew that if the demons displayed the intelligence of a human commander, Northport might not win the battle.
Near the end of the tour, Rhys turned to Ben and Amelie. “I think we have two choices. We could join a flying company and respond to whatever threat is most urgent, or we could protect one of these artillery weapons.”
Amelie responded, “Let’s protect the artillery.” Quietly she added, “I have some things I want to try. It will require a great deal of concentration and I want to be stationary.”
Ben nodded. “That sounds good to me.”
“All right then,” replied Rhys, clapping his hands together. “We’ll figure out which one is closest then wait for the bells to ring.”
15
A Ringing Bell
Ben was nervous. Two days after the tour of the wall, the preparations around Northport continued with no sign of the demons. That morning though, he learned there was also no sign of Captain Ander or the remaining soldiers from Skarston. The assumption was they didn’t make it out in time.
“Do you think they will really attack in one large swarm?” asked Ben.
He was doing some light sword practice with Amelie. He wanted to spend more time adjusting to the weight and feel of his mage-wrought blade, and she could use all the practice she could get with her two blades. They kept the exertion minimal to not wear themselves down. It was more about staying sharp than developing anything new.
“I don’t know,” she answered, breathing heavily. “Each swarm we faced in the Wilds had an arch-demon, but the one at Snowmar didn’t. I don’t know what that means. Is it even possible for that many demons to work together?”
“I don’t think they have before,” answered Ben. “But who knows.”
“Maybe Towaal will find something out,” responded Amelie.
“Maybe,” replied Ben doubtfully.
Days earlier, Towaal had ensconced herself in the library. They heard she was making the Librarian’s life a hell. Supposedly, Lord Rhymer himself had to go down and instruct the man to continue assisting her. The Librarian had been outraged when they returned from the Wilds and related their story. When Towaal demanded more access to his stacks, he became apoplectic. He was rather fussy when it came to his books and seemed to take it personally they had destroyed the Rift without consulting him further.
“Has Rhys said anything?” inquired Amelie. “He’s rather old, isn’t he? And he lived in Northport for a time. I would think that he knows something. Anything could help.”
Ben shrugged. “He’s been closed in with Corinne. I’m not sure if they’re discussing battle plans or, uh, something else…but he hasn’t told me anything. I get the impression when he lived here, he spent most of his time carousing.”
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” muttered Amelie.
The sun fell behind the walls of Rhymer’s keep. The courtyard they were practicing in fell under a shroud of twilight. The keep was built of dark stone. As soon as the sun vanished, it turned into a rather creepy, gloomy place. Ben thought that if he lived there too long, he’d grow depressed. Maybe that was why Rhymer was such a lush. The thought of being home and sober was too much to take.
“Deep thoughts?” asked Amelie.
Ben smiled and shook his head. “No, just thinking that I’m ready to get out of this place.”
“Me too,” agreed Amelie. “Come on. Let’s find something to eat.”
The mess hall was near the center of the keep and Ben found it more pleasant than the formal dining room where most of the courtiers ate. In the mess hall, it was guards, maids, masons, blacksmiths, and other craftsmen who kept the keep running. Ben appreciated being around the people who got their hands dirty. In the courtiers’ dining room, he always felt like he was being watched. Amelie had not publicly announced herself, so speculation was running high on who they were and why they seemed to have Rhymer and Franklin’s ears.
Ben led Amelie to the mess hall. She smiled at him but stayed silent. She was perfectly comfortable in the dining room and didn’t mind the stares. She’d grown up in that environment.
They walked to the front of the room to collect trays, plates, a mug of ale, and an overflowing ladle of soup. Soups and stews were common in the mess. It was easy for the cooks to make a large batch and keep it going throughout the day. The dining room had finer fare that was cooked to order. Ben did miss that.
Sitting down to eat, Ben spooned up his first bite then dropped it when an incessant clanging started.
Amelie’s startled eyes met his and they both stood up.
“That’s the signal,” he declared needlessly.
All around them, guards and soldiers were getting to their feet. Other staff was quickly scooping up what remained on their plates before leaving to their stations. Chambermaids and farriers would become nurses and stretcher-bearers once the fighting started.
Amelie grabbed a loaf of bread and Ben chugged down half a mug of ale before they scrambled to follow the soldiers out the door.
The keep was organized chaos. Everyone had an assigned role, but the eve of a battle was still frantic. They passed several people who seemed to have lost their nerve.
One young soldier was getting sick out a window. A maid stood beside him, encouraging him to get it together, to be brave. Young lovers, thought Ben. He hoped the man made it back to see his girl.
Outside the keep, they rushed down the main thoroughfare, joining a host of soldiers headed in that direction. Coming the other way were townspeople who had not yet evacuated their residences. Their faces were painted with nervous panic. Many of them were carrying armfuls of valuables and supplies.
“They should have left earlier,” remarked Amelie, observing one woman struggling to keep her two crying children with her and not drop a cloth-wrapped armful of candlesticks and food.
Ben nodded in agreement.
Torches flared into light ahead of them. Men rushed through the flickering flame lit streets to ignite more of them. Ben could see atop the city walls that the bonfires were burning high in the giant braziers as well. In darkness, the demons had the advantage.
Rushing up the steep stone stairs to the top of the wall, Ben almost forgot to be nervous about the height. A shout from below drew his gaze down. He quickly leaned against the cold stones of the wall as they made it the rest of the way up.
On top of the wall, the pace of the soldiers was slower. The men who’d made it there were in place and ready. Soldiers checked over bows strings and adjusted armor. For them, it was now a waiting game.
“Hurry up and wait,” remarked Rhys when they found him already stationed near the catapult.
Two dozen soldiers and half a dozen artillery men also stood on the platform. Ben walked to the battlement and looked out through a crenellation into the quickly darkening fields below. The last slivers of sunlight were falling away as the sun ducked below the city behind him.
Huge bonfires were placed in the killing field. They lit the archer’s stakes but not much else. As far as Ben could see, there was nothing to see.
“Are we sure the demons are coming?” he inquired.
A man bearing the rank of a sergeant rested his forearms on the battlement beside Ben. “Aye, they’re out there.”
“I don’t see anything,” remarked Ben.
“Cords were placed throughout the forest,” explained the man. “Long, thin cords tied to flags at the tree line. Half a bell ago, those flags started getting pulled down, like a big force was moving out there and knocking down all of the cords.”
Ben stared hard at the dark forest, still not seeing anything, but confident the man’s explanation was correct.
Amelie was sitting near the back of the wall. She was cross-legged on her cloak and had her eyes closed.
Rhys caught Ben’s look and shrugged. She was trying to do something magical, Ben guessed. Given her skill, maybe she didn’t want to over-promise. Anything would help. They still weren’t sure if Towaal was rested enough to fight. She hadn’t left the library even for food in over a day.
Bells passed. The men rustled about nervously. On the platform, every few minutes, someone would go look out into the darkness. Then they would turn and shake their heads to their companions. Nothing to see.
Some of the men told dirty jokes under their breath, so Amelie couldn’t hear. Others pleaded with their fellows to relay messages to loved ones if they didn’t make it. Rhys lay down with his head on his cloak and took a nap.
The soldiers stared at him. Ben shook his head ruefully. He wasn’t sure if his friend was trying to show off, be calm and reassure the soldiers, or if he really was napping. It was hard to tell with Rhys.
Further down the wall, watchtowers poked upward. They would be the first to spot anything. Some of them even had far-seeing devices. Those would be nearly useless, he knew. It was a cloudy night and the light was low.
Amelie remained silent with her eyes closed, focused on whatever she was doing.
To pass the time, Ben wandered over to inspect the catapult they were guarding. It was a massive thing, nearly the size of a house. Twisted ropes pulled back the lever arm, storing tension that, when released, would fling the arm forward and launch rocks or heavy iron balls out into the field in front of them. A team of a half dozen men was standing ready to winch back the arm and reload it.
Firing as quickly as possible would be critical because the weapon was difficult to aim. Once the demons passed through its range, it would be rather ineffective. After that, they had a rack of crossbows leaning against the wall. The artillery men would switch to those when their catapult no longer served its purpose.
“How far does it shoot?” Ben asked of one of the men.
“About four hundred paces,” answered the man proudly. He laid a hand on the weapon. “We haven’t gotten to use her in real combat, but she works great in practice.”
The man went back and hefted one of the head-sized iron balls. “These things’ll break limbs, crush heads, and can blow a role right through you if it’s a direct hit.” He pointed to a separate pile of rubble. “We got rocks, too, if we run out of proper ammunition.”
Ben walked over and lifted one of the balls. He nearly dropped it on his toes. The thing was heavy!
“They keep rolling,” said the man, smiling. “That’s why we like them more than the rocks. Hit the first line and roll back into the second, breaking legs, making 'em trip over the balls. It’s nasty but effective.”
Ben stumbled forward and dropped the ball back into a basket full of them. Who in the hell carried those up the stairs, he wondered.
Late in the night, the moon was passing overhead. Fatigue was starting to creep in. Well past when they would normally be in bed, the men were getting agitated at standing and waiting for something they could not see. The commanders would not risk opening the gates and sending scouts to confirm the demon presence. They would not release any of the men, either.
Ben heard mutters and grumbling, but the threat of demons was enough to keep everyone on watch. So far, no one near him had tried to sneak away.
Suddenly, a shout rang out from one of the watchtowers.
Ben and most of the other men rushed to the battlement to see what was happening.
At first, he couldn’t see anything. Then a flash of darkness swept through the light of one of the bonfires. The shape crashed into the fire, scattering the big pile of logs and sending them toppling over.
The fire flickered out on some logs as they rolled across the ground. The little light they had in the field got a bit smaller.
A score of arrows flew into the air. The captains called for the archers to halt. The dark shape had pulled back, and the arrows fell harmlessly around the burning logs.
Down the line, another bonfire was hit and its logs also scattered.
“Making it harder to see them,” grumbled the sergeant standing again at Ben’s side. The gruff soldier looked back at his squad. There was nothing for them to do. Launching the catapults at an individual demon would be a waste of ammunition.
A quarter bell later, all of the bonfires were knocked over. Many of the logs still burned, but the light they threw off was lower, less concentrated.
“Smart.” Rhys sighed, surveying the darkened battlefield. He’d finally risen from his nap when the shout had gone out from the watchtower.
Further down the wall, a shout pierced the night. It startled Ben and the men around him. He turned but couldn’t see what happened. The soldiers shifted nervously. Then behind him in the other direction, another yell tore into the air.
Nothing was moving in the field below them. He couldn’t see what was attacking the men.
“Flying demons!” bellowed Rhys. “Look out above!”
Ben swept his sword out and stepped away from the battlement.
Heartbeats later, a shape swooped in silently out of the night. It violently crashed into a man ten paces away. The man flailed backward and flipped over the back wall with the force of the blow. The creature sailed away into the darkness. The man shrieked on his way to the hard cobblestones below. His yell ended in a crunch. Ben winced and cowered down, looking into
the black sky.
All of the torches and braziers the men had on the artillery platform were lit, but in the middle of the night, they couldn’t see anything above them that was outside of the firelight. Ben realized that by the time one of the flying demons entered their circle of light, it would be too late to react.
Looking around wildly, he saw the polearms sticking out from the crenellations of the platform. They were there to prevent the creatures from scaling the wall.
“Raise the polearms!” he called.
The sergeant broke his scan of the blackness above and looked at Ben uncomprehending. Ben grunted in frustration and ran to one of the nearly six-pace-long weapons. He pulled it up and set the butt of the weapon on the stone floor. Angling it up and out, he positioned it so any flying demon coming in from outside of the wall would run straight into it.
“That’s right,” said the sergeant, looking on, finally understanding. He turned to his squad and shouted, “Treat it like a cavalry charge. Set polearms.”
All down the wall, other men heard, saw what was happening, and started raising their own weapons. The walls of Northport grew spines like an angry porcupine.
Near Ben, a winged demon came swooping in and slammed into one man’s polearm. The momentum of its flight snapped the thick wood in two and the creature crashed onto the walkway atop the wall. A yard of sharp steel and broken wood stuck out of its torso. The man holding half of a broken polearm stared at the creature in shock.
Other men scrambled forward and thrust swords into the demon’s twitching body. The beast made one last attempt to move, but two more swords stabbed into it, pinning it to the ground where it quickly fell still.
A cheer went up from the nearby men before their officers admonished them to remain vigilant and keep the polearms up.