“You can bet both sides have mages as well,” Piran muttered. “The catapults and archers have a limited reach. If the ships’ catapults manage to cripple ours, there’s no way to keep them from sailing right into the harbor.”
“Actually, there is.”
Everyone turned to look at Dillon. “It’s something King Merrill built not long before the Great Fire,” Dillon said. “We were fortunate enough not to need it, and most people have likely forgotten about it, since it was never used.”
“What kind of defense?” Blaine asked.
Dillon swallowed hard, as if his throat had gone dry. Poor guy was an Exchequer’s assistant, Blaine thought. Now he’s the castle seneschal with a dungeon full of spies and a bay full of pirates. No wonder he looks like he would like to be anywhere but here. Yet despite everything, Dillon’s expression showed his resolve.
“It’s a giant chain, m’lord, a boom,” Dillon said. “And a net of metal cords. Goes from one side of the harbor to the other, and when it’s not needed, it lies at the bottom, below the depth of the keels. King Merrill’s engineers designed the chain and net to be raised by a capstan set into the castle side of the harbor.”
“Where’s the capstan?” Piran asked, peering out at the battle in the harbor below.
“Along the harbor cliffs, there’s a plain-looking stone building,” Dillon explained. “I probably shouldn’t even know it’s there, but I handled the payment to the builders and the blacksmiths who forged the chains. Went down to inspect it myself, since it’s bad business to pay without verifying that the work’s done right.”
“So you’ve seen it?” Kestel pressed. “You know it actually exists?”
Dillon nodded. “But I only visited the once, to make certain construction was complete.”
“Do you know if it works?” Blaine asked. “You said it was never used, but did they at least test it?”
Again, Dillon bobbed his head. “I made them raise it, so I could see for myself,” he replied. “It took four men—the capstan is quite large, and the chain and net are understandably heavy. It’s not a fast process, but the mechanism worked well.” He paused. “I haven’t been down there since the Great Fire. The stone building is above the high-water mark on the cliffs, but sheltered enough that it might have escaped the Cataclysm. As for the chain and the net, there’s no telling whether they’ve rusted solid after all this time. But if you could get it to work—”
“We could trap the ships where the catapults and archers can do their worst, and force them to use small boats if they try to land their soldiers,” Blaine finished, feeling a surge of hope.
“Don’t you think Folville would have used this mechanical marvel, if it still existed?” Piran asked.
Dillon shook his head. “The project was kept very quiet,” he replied. “Most of the harbor work was done at night, with ships blocking the view from the wharf. I was told to say nothing about it, other than to Seneschal Lynge and the men directly involved,” he added. “King Merrill felt the defense would be most effective if it was not anticipated, and he didn’t want the spies at court to send word to their home kingdoms.”
“Can you get us there?” Blaine asked. “If we could take a couple of guards with us and we could raise the chain and net, then Folville and Voss can pound the stuffing out of the enemy ships, and burn them to the waterline.”
Dillon looked scared to death, but he raised his chin and met Blaine’s gaze. “I can lead you down there, and I’ve got the key to get you in.” Dillon had no desire to go looking for adventure, but Blaine knew from experience that the man would finish a task once he was resolved to do it.
“The sooner we can get down there, the sooner we might be able to turn this fight,” Blaine said. “Let’s go.”
Soldiers opened the huge gates of Quillarth Castle’s walls for the small group to ride through, and closed the gates behind them with a resounding thud. Smoke hung in the air from the burning ship and buildings, from the torches and the flaming missiles hurled by harborside and ship-based catapult crews. Four soldiers accompanied them, as well as Dillon, who rode in the front, leading the way.
Their hoofbeats clattered in the night as they rode as fast as they dared down the empty streets. Between the late hour and the danger of invasion, anyone still awake was wisely indoors. Dillon led them to the outskirts of the city, then stopped near the edge of the cliffs.
“We can’t take the horses down the path,” Dillon said, dismounting. “We need to tether them here and go the rest of the way on foot.”
They were several hundred feet closer to the wharves than the catapult towers, but even so, the sound of large war machines’ constant bombardment was like rolling thunder, echoing from the cliffs. One of the enemy ships was fully ablaze, and between its fire and the moonlight, there was enough light to pick their way down the steep path without needing lanterns, sparing them worry about attracting attention.
The ground underfoot was rocky, and shifting pebbles made footing treacherous. They made their way down cautiously, holding on to the rocks on the cliffside, acutely aware of the sheer drop on the other side. This close to the battle, the smoke was thick, drifting through the air like low clouds.
“There,” Dillon hissed, pointing toward a nondescript, squat stone building that sat carved into the rocky cliff. It was high tide, and the waves lapped not far below them.
“Get us in,” Blaine murmured. Dillon found a concealed path that led to the building, a rocky goat trail nearly hidden by scrub bushes that looked as if no one had passed that way in a very long time. They had to move carefully, flattened against the cliff one person at a time, but soon they were all gathered on the outcropping that held the mechanical building.
“We’re going to need light,” Dillon said, withdrawing a small glass lantern with shutters, which he lit, as the others stood between him and the edge of the outcropping, blocking anyone’s view of the building. Dillon withdrew a heavy iron key and turned it, but the door stuck closed.
“Let me throw some weight behind that,” Piran offered, ramming the door with his shoulder. It grudgingly gave way, and a dark opening yawned before them, its stale air heavy with mildew.
“Let’s see if this marvel still works,” Blaine murmured as Dillon led them into the building. The windowless square room was barren except for a huge capstan in the middle. Dillon hung the lantern on a hook as one of the soldiers pushed the door closed behind them.
“Well, there it is,” Dillon said. “At least we know it survived the Cataclysm.”
“What do we need to know to operate this?” Piran asked, walking in a circle around the capstan. “Any traps? Release levers? Magic wards?”
Dillon shook his head. “No—at least, none that were on the plans I saw during the project.”
“I doubt that anyone bothered to set magic wards around something like this,” Kestel said. “And if they did, after the Cataclysm, any wards that might have been set would have been broken when the magic failed.”
Piran had completed his examination. “I don’t see anything that looks like a trap or a lock. It looks like the rest of the siege machines I’ve seen—big, brawny, blunt tools without a lot of finesse.” He grinned. “Kind of like me, come to think of it.”
“Let’s start trying to move that capstan,” Blaine said. “If it hasn’t been used since before the Great Fire, it might not move even for oxen.”
“Was that directed at me?” Piran asked with a straight face.
“Kestel—better watch the path, just in case. It’s probably going to take all of us to even budge this thing.”
The men put their shoulders to the wheel, even Dillon, as Kestel took up watch at the door. Dillon had said the mechanism required four men. All seven of them managed to find a place along the capstan’s spokes, pushing with all their might.
“Nothing,” Piran said disgustedly.
“This time, let’s pull,” Dillon suggested. They adjusted their stance, and lent the
ir weight to the effort, pulling for all they were worth. The mechanism creaked, gave a few inches, and stuck fast.
“If we had flat ground and a little more room to maneuver, I’d hook up a horse to it, just to get it going,” Blaine mused.
“We’re not going to get a horse down that trail, and mules are in short supply,” Piran replied.
“It moved that time,” Dillon said. “Maybe we can jostle it loose.”
They got into place once more, working the capstan forward and back until the mechanism gave another rattling groan and began to move, making them work for every inch.
“Danger!” Kestel shouted, and the next thing Blaine knew, there was a flurry of motion at the door to the mechanical room.
“Keep it going!” Blaine ordered. “Piran, and you,” he said, pointing at one of the guards, “with me!”
Blaine, Piran, and the guard ran toward the fight. Kestel already had one man down, but more were on their way. Unwilling to be trapped inside the mechanical room, and wanting to give Dillon and the others cover so they could raise the boom, Blaine and Piran ran through the door with a bloodcurdling war bellow, with the guard following hard on their heels.
Three more enemy soldiers were heading their way, and Blaine glimpsed more climbing the rocky path. It was clear from the soldiers’ surprise that they had not expected to come under attack, but they launched themselves into the fray without hesitation. Eight soldiers struggled up the trail from the foot of the cliff, and Blaine bet that one rowboat had made it to shore from the invading ships.
Eight against eight should have been an even fight, except that Dillon was no swordsman, and four of Blaine’s men were inside the mechanical building forcing the balky capstan to raise its burden. Then again, with one attacker already down, that made it seven to four. Shoulder to shoulder with Kestel and Piran, Blaine did not give the odds another thought.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Blaine grunted as he swung his sword at a rangy soldier with enough force to sever a limb. “Go back and leave us alone.”
“Too late for that,” the soldier replied, blocking Blaine’s swing and answering with a forceful press of his own that made Blaine step back to remain clear of the man’s blade.
Blaine felt his battle magic awaken, giving him a few seconds’ prescience to warn him of his attacker’s next move before motion signaled the blow, increasing his reflexes just a bit more than a well-trained mortal. He moved slightly ahead of the next swing, brought his sword up to block, and tore back and down with the knife in his left hand, opening a deep, bloody tear across his opponent’s ribs and belly. Warm blood splattered his face and arms as the soldier gasped and dropped to his knees. Blaine’s sword swung again, and the headless corpse thudded to the rocky ground.
“I warned you,” he muttered to the dead man.
Piran was holding off two attackers, and by the look of it, he was getting the chance to work off his frustrations with the ambassador’s delegation. Piran’s sword training came from the Donderath army, but his fighting techniques were learned in the alleys of Castle Reach. His opponents were competent with their blades, but it was clear they had little experience with combat that did not follow formal rules. Piran was not much of a believer in rules of any kind.
Piran dove, skewering one attacker in the nuts. He swung at the second opponent while the soldier was distracted as his comrade fell to his knees, howling in pain and shock, hands gripping his groin. Too late, the second soldier saw the sword coming for him. He blocked badly, and Piran’s blade knocked his sword away, slipping between the man’s ribs.
Piran walked toward his first opponent, who was rolling back and forth in a bloody pool, sobbing with pain. He raised his sword to dispatch the man as Blaine looked up.
“Leave one of them alive!” Blaine yelled. “I’ve got questions for them.”
Blaine’s new opponent took his eyes off Blaine for a fatal few seconds to glance at his downed companion. Blaine swung hard, getting under the soldier’s guard, opening his belly with one savage slice.
“You’re not the one,” Blaine said as the man grabbed at his spilling entrails with a gasp of pain and shock. Blaine’s second swing took the man’s head from his shoulders.
From the mechanical building, Blaine heard the steady clanking of gears and the grunts of the men pushing the balky capstan. It was impossible to see whether their efforts were paying off, since the water beneath them was black in the darkness. Blaine hoped that Dillon was correct about the boom and its functionality. He had no desire to retake Castle Reach street by street from a foreign invasion force.
The area outside the mechanical house was narrow and covered with gravel, but the four defenders managed to block the doorway. The guardsman and his attacker circled one another, looking for an opening. The Cross-Sea soldier swung, and Blaine’s guard evaded the strike, taking advantage of the soldier’s overreach to sink his blade into the man’s thigh. Hobbled, the soldier swung badly, and the guard’s sword thunked into his shoulder, severing the man’s sword arm. Soaked with blood, screaming in mortal fear, the soldier collapsed to the ground, waiting for the deathblow as the guard stepped forward and thrust his sword into the soldier’s heart.
Two of the soldiers approached Kestel, and one had the bad luck to snicker when he realized she was not a man. “I’ve got better ways to spend time with you, pretty lady,” he said.
“I don’t.” Kestel came at him in a flurry of motion that forced him back into his companion. Before her hapless opponent realized he was in trouble, she had scored a deep gash on his right shoulder and a wicked cut across his ribs.
“Hellcat,” the second soldier snarled, moving to box Kestel in. She hardly took her eyes off her first opponent, flicking her wrist with the accuracy of deadly practice. The soldier had taken two more steps from sheer momentum before he realized he was a dead man, with a knife hilt-deep in his chest. He drew a hideous, gurgling breath and toppled like a felled tree.
“Do you have a live one?” Kestel yelled to Blaine, eyeing her prey with malicious amusement. The soldier had lost all his former arrogance, and by the smell of it, had soiled himself in the bargain.
Piran walked over to the man he had skewered in the balls. The wounded soldier howled as Piran towed him with his boot. “Yeah, if he doesn’t bleed out before we get him back to the castle. Damn, and I thought scalp wounds were bad!”
“Want a spare?”
Blaine eyed the man Piran had wounded. Piran was busy tying the man’s wrists together and giving the captive one of his fallen comrade’s wadded up shirts to press against the wound. “Don’t think so.”
“Please!” the last soldier begged. “I outrank that man. I know things—I can tell you more plans than he can. And if you don’t stab me, I won’t bleed to death before you can ask me all your questions. I can be very helpful!”
“Oh, all right,” Kestel said. “Drop your sword.” The terrified man complied. Kestel kicked the sword out of reach. “Hey, Piran, how about tying this one up, too.” She kept her sword point against the terrified soldier’s jugular until Piran had securely tied the man’s wrists and hobbled his ankles.
“You didn’t tie your prisoner’s ankles,” Kestel pointed out.
Piran raised an eyebrow. “I damn well made sure he isn’t going to run away from us. We’ll be lucky if we don’t have to carry him.”
Blaine walked up to where the defeated prisoner knelt. “How many were on your ship?” he asked.
“Three hundred,” the man replied tonelessly. “Same for the other ships. Mostly conscripts. Things are bad at home. Not enough food, not enough work. The king rounds up men and carts them off, then gives them uniforms and sends them to war with all the neighboring kingdoms. I guess he figures most of us won’t come back.”
“What was the battle plan?” Piran asked.
The prisoner gave a bitter laugh. “Plan? Survive the voyage, hope to Raka you had more food than we did, and steal anything we could sen
d home.”
“Were you sent to occupy Donderath?” Blaine asked, and Kestel nudged the man with her sword’s point when he hesitated.
“Yes, if it was worth it,” the man admitted. “Meaning—if you had food and weren’t living in burned-out ruins. Looks like you did better than we did, so yes—if those ships land, they’re going to do their damnedest to take what you’ve got.”
“How does your king hope to control a conquered nation an ocean away?” Kestel asked. “Fifteen hundred soldiers could overrun the city, but our armies are much larger. You couldn’t hold on to it for long.”
The prisoner sighed. “We hadn’t counted on you having armies,” he said. “I doubt it occurred to the king that you weren’t at least as bad off as we are. He probably thought we’d sail in here without any trouble, march around and intimidate the locals, and start shipping anything useful back home.”
“Surprise,” Piran drawled. “We’ve already chewed up and swallowed much scarier enemies. I’d almost feel bad for you, except that you were planning to loot the city we just got cleaned up.”
“Tell me about your mages,” Blaine said. “How many? How strong? What kind of magic?”
He had not thought it possible, but the man looked even more scared at the mention of magic than he had before. “I stay away from the hocuses,” he said, almost stammering. “Nothing but trouble.”
“Answer the question,” Kestel prodded.
The captive swallowed hard. He was trembling with fear, and Blaine felt a stab of pity, since he was obviously not cut out for soldiering. “There’s a hocus on each ship, I heard the sailors say. They don’t like that one little bit.” He took a deep breath. “Never saw the one on our ship do much of anything, tell you the truth. But I’ve heard all kind of tales.”
His words tumbled out, and perhaps he thought that the better his answers, the more likely he was to remain alive. “They say our hocus can call down lightning, and throw fire from his fingers,” he said in a rush. “One of my mates said he heard the hocus can kill a man just by looking at him, and set a fire with a thought.”
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