The roar about him grew louder. A huge gust slammed into him, the hands of the wind grabbing at his legs. Suddenly Shim was pulled down the wall a few inches. Argoth reached out and caught his arm.
Shim grasped his other arm, then pulled himself back, the wind raging over them.
Argoth turned his head slightly, and he must have exposed a gap, for, with a whoosh, the wind suddenly filled his helm. And then the helm was gone, exposing the mail hood, goggles, and scarf. The grit in the wind bit into his exposed cheeks, and he turned his face into the corner of the wall. And there he clung to Shim and the knotted cord for what seemed like an interminable length of time.
And then the roar lessened. He waited for it to increase again, but this time it lessened again. And lessened some more. Surely, Mokad had been given plenty of time to cross the field and bring its ladders close. They would come to stand a few dozen yards outside the edge of the skir winds and wait. But he didn’t move. Many Skir Masters often made the defenders think the wind was leaving. The defenders would then rise only to have the winds descend upon them again in full force. And, indeed, a few moments later another large gust tore through the fort, but then the roar lessened and faded almost altogether.
The cord in his hand tugged three times. Argoth tugged back to indicate he’d received the message, then tugged on the three cords in the other hand. Two of them tugged back. The third did not. When he pulled on it separately, he found the cord had been cut, probably by the metal or wood flying in the wind. He tugged to let the other terrormen know, then rose. Shim rose with him.
The wind still blew. And the dust made it impossible to see more than a dozen feet along the parapet, which meant the stormwatchers outside had probably moved forward of the ditch in order to see.
A ladder banged up against the wall. Argoth peered over to see who it was and saw the stormwatchers, scrambling up. Argoth looked down the wall, and saw another team scrambling up the ladder they’d taken with them to the ditch.
The dust was beginning to thin, allowing him to see out into the field. It was eerily quiet. Nothing but the sifting dust and the stubble of dirt-drifted grass and scrub.
Below in the courtyard, a horn sounded. Then another and another. Argoth looked back. The floor of the fortress was drifted with dirt and sand. In many places, all trace of the trenches were gone, smoothed over with dirt so that it was impossible to know an army lay there. And then the dirt began to move. Men began to push the sacks away and rise from their graves, helping comrades, digging others out where the dirt had drifted deep.
The first stormwatchers scrambled over the parapet and drew their ladders up after them.
And then the horns of Mokad sounded, and their soldiers roared. It was a sound to stop the heart and melt the spine. A few moments later, the masses of Mokaddian troops rushed into view through the dust only a few dozen yards out from the walls, pushing their ladders before them.
In the courtyard men began to shout. Others began to run to the walls or gate. Shim bellowed for his soldiers to get to the walls and form up.
* * *
The wind ran at the slot canyon like a screetching she-demon, throwing dust and grit like pins into the eyes of Black Knee and the others working there. The gale of dust thumped and howled through the crevice on the cliff face, then down the path. It knocked one of the Burundians off the top of the plug of boulders. It tried to carry the scaffolding away.
Black Knee hunkered down behind a small outcropping of rock next to Russet and Fish, the other two men Flax had sent with him.
The wind continued to howl and pluck until Black Knee wondered if this was his end, and then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind was gone.
Black Knee waited a moment, then wiped the grit and dust off his face and raised his head. He felt dizzy. Felt a bit sick.
“Goh,” said Fish, but he sounded all muffled.
“Just be grateful you weren’t one of those sods out in the fort,” Russet said.
Black Knee turned his head and knocked the dirt out of his ear.
“That wasn’t natural,” he said, a huge foreboding welling up in him. “This place isn’t natural.” And he knew something was behind the boulders. Something waited there.
The Burundian the wind had knocked off the boulders lay at the foot of the ladders dead, his neck at a bad angle. Another man that had taken cover close to the trio grunted, stabbed in the forearm by a length of wood carried in the wind.
Black Knee exchanged glances with Russet and Fish. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Fish said, “I never trusted that Kish.”
“I’m not worried about him,” Black Knee whispered. “There’s something on the other side. Can’t you feel it?”
The three of them looked up at the ladders and scaffold. Commander Eresh was climbing back up, moving lively as a monkey, calling for the rest of the men to hurry back to finish the ladders.
The Burundians went back to their work, lashing together the ladders that ran up the scaffolding, fitting them with pins to keep it all stable. This side was complete, but the top was easily thirty feet up, and the men would need a scaffold and ladders down the other side.
“Shoka,” one of the Burundians shouted at Black Knee. “Don’t just stand there; fetch those poles!”
Black Knee went to a bundle of poles the army had carried for building a camp and hefted one up. Soon the way would be finished. And Shim’s army could escape.
But something about it was all wrong. Black Knee felt this deep inside him. A warning had been pressing into his mind.
Death waited for the men on the other side of those boulders.
The Famished were back there. He was sure of it. And if the men clambered over those rocks, they’d be climbing right into the hands of those hungry souls.
The Famished would enter the men and destroy their souls. Then the Famished would climb back over the ladders in the bodies of those first men.
Building these ladders would unleash that darkness upon the land. And when they’d emptied this land, they would get on ships and spread to others.
“We need to take the ladders down,” he said.
“Did something hit you in the head?” the Burundian asked.
“We’re going to die,” Black Knee said.
“If all of Shim’s men are like you,” the Burundian said, “we surely will. Now get out of the way.”
There’s no time to make them understand, the warning in him said. Look, Commander Eresh is climbing the ladders. A man with such power—the Famished must not take his body.
“Commander!” Black Knee called.
But Eresh ignored him.
There’s no time, the warning said.
Black Knee’s mind felt cloudy. He shook his head trying to clear it. If the Famished were trapped in the belly of the mountain, why would they be on the path up the mountain?
There’s no time! The warning shouted.
He imagined the Famished even now approaching the Burundians on the other side of the boulders. Fear shot through him. Flax had warned him, and the horror was unfolding before his very eyes. He carried his load to the base of the scaffold and spied a Burundian bow set to the side. He walked over to it and picked it up, nodded at Russet and Fish.
The commander must not reach the other side. Black Knee had to protect him. Protect them all.
26
Assault
A LADDER SMACKED up against the wall a few yards down from Argoth. Big wooden arms in the shape of hooks had been lashed to the top of both rails to prevent the ladder from being simply pushed away. The Mokaddians below lifted the ladder up, then hooked the arms over the crenellation. Another ladder appeared farther down where the top of the wall had been smashed by one of the volleys sent over by the stone giants.
The ladder by the gap was the bigger threat, so Argot
h dashed to it. Other soldiers covered in dirt rushed up the stairs from the courtyard, but Argoth could not wait for them. Two men were already climbing up the ladder. They both held shields above them with one arm. The first held a battleaxe by its head. The second held a spear.
The trick to climbing ladders in an escalade was to climb with speed. It was the job of the archers, slingers, and javelin throwers below to keep the walls cleared. However, the men on the ladder still needed to work as a team. One way to do that was to give the second man a short spear. Should someone try to attack the front man, the spearman could reach out and stab at the defender’s face, giving the lead soldier time to get up and over the wall.
But Argoth wasn’t going to wait for them to approach the top. He had been building his Fire for quite some time now, and his full might was upon him. He squatted down and grabbed a rung of the ladder with both hands, then lunged up and backward, pulling the ladder up and the two men with it.
He continued to pull the ladder back, then felt the weight and tug of other Mokaddians jumping on or pulling back. He shouted for help, and three Shoka rushed to him.
A storm of arrows shot up through the gap.
Argoth pulled to one side, but a number of the arrows still struck him, clattering off the ladder and his armor. A couple pierced through his breast plate. A few pierced through the mail underneath as well and partway through the padded tunic and pricked his skin.
He yanked with all his might and succeeded in moving the ladder up another rung, but could not budge it farther. Then the Shoka were there. Three of them formed a wall with their shields, blocking the storm of arrows. Two others grabbed the ladder and pulled with all their might. The ladder moved, but it was heavy, and the Mokaddians were still on it and climbing.
Another Shoka grabbed the top rung, and then four more were there, and they too grabbed the rails, and it was enough to break the hold of the men below, and the ladder top swung down. The bottom pivoted up, revealing three attackers clinging to it. One Mokaddian dropped back down. The other two saw their predicament, but instead of letting go, they scrambled forward with a yell.
Argoth and the others heaved and pulled the ladder, bringing the men closer.
A javelin with a barbed head struck one of the Shoka shields and pierced through it. A cord had been attached to the end of the javelin. And the men below yanked back on the cord, dragging the Shimsman and shield off the wall.
The archers below released more arrows into the opening. But another Shimsman stepped up, and the arrows thudded into his shield, turning it into a pincushion.
“Tip it!” Argoth shouted, and then he and the others heaved on one rail, tipping the ladder upside down. One of the attackers fell off the ladder. The second clung to one of the rungs. Then Shoka archers hit him with arrows, and the man fell into the mass of men below.
“Get rid of this ladder,” Argoth commanded the Shoka with them, then dashed back down the wall to the another ladder where a Shoka lay on the wall walk pierced with arrows. Another was wounded, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his arm. Two other men were trying to hack through the wooden ladder hooks. One soldier held a shield while the other struck at the hooks, but the attackers would be up before they would finish that.
Argoth drew his axe and yelled for them to stand back, then jumped to the top of the embrasure and brought his axe around one-handed and swung at the lashings holding the hook of the nearest rail. The axe bit in and severed the lashings holding the hook.
Below him the Mokaddians shouted and a number of archers released their shafts. But Argoth sprang back down to the wall walk, then up to the embrasure on the other side.
The Mokaddian archers were waiting for him and released their arrows.
But Argoth jumped onto the ladder itself.
Arrow shafts flew past him. One glanced off his leg.
Below Argoth, a number of men, shields raised, had already started to scramble up the ladder. Argoth called for the defenders to push the hooks back up. Then he held the crenellation and with all his multiplied might pushed sideways on the ladder. The top of the ladder began to scrape across the front of the wall. He pushed harder. The ladder scraped farther, and then it passed the balance point and began to fall on its own accord. Argoth hung onto the wall while the ladder crashed down, taking the men with it.
Arrows smacked into the wall about him. One glanced off his shoulder. Another pierced the metal armor at his back, pierced the mail underneath, and the padded tunic, and was stopped by a rib. He grunted at the pain, then swung his leg up and hauled himself back over the wall.
Out in the courtyard, most of the men were either rushing toward their positions or climbing out of their trenches, but there were still spots here and there toward the back of the fort where the men hadn’t yet gotten the signal and the earth lay undisturbed.
Argoth looked for the firelance teams. Then he saw them waiting to get up on the walls. He yelled at the men below to make way for them.
A horn sounded. Men yelled. Then a storm of stones flew over the wall. One glanced off his mail hood, leaving a smart pain just above his ear, and he remembered he had no helmet. Below in the courtyard, men shouted. Many raised their shields against the rocks, but some were too slow and took blows. One man was hit in the face and fell back.
Argoth rushed to a fallen Shimsman, removed the man’s helmet, and put it on his own head, then grabbed his shield. All along the wall, men yelled out a warning. Argoth looked up and saw a cloud of arrows speeding down through the dust at the defenders. Argoth kneeled and raised the shield over his head. Moments later, arrows thumped into it and clattered all about him.
He didn’t know how many archers Mokad had. But if their army was fifty thousand, then they might have twenty thousand with bows. If they shot nine arrows per minute, that would be almost 200,000 arrows raining down on the fort.
The storm of arrows continued to rain, smacking and clattering on the wood and stone, sinking into exposed thighs, covering the ground with a field of white and gray feathers. Out in the courtyard men cried out in pain. And still the arrows came, pin-cushioning the ground and upraised shields.
“Firelancers!” Argoth roared and saw one of the teams moving down the wall, men carrying the equipment, others holding shields aloft to protect them from the rain of death falling from the sky.
Other groups of men moved in the same manner toward the arrow loops and began to shoot their own arrows back out at Mokad and the men climbing the ladders. Still other groups of soldiers rushed up to try to overturn the ladders and fight the men trying to climb into the fort.
There was a small lull in the arrow storm, and a number of terrormen called out for their archers to shoot. Hundreds of archers responded, sending a cloud of arrows up into the sky to fall on the men outside the wall. Then they quickly raised their shields again as another wave of Mokaddian arrows began to appear, rushing at the defenders through the dust.
Mokaddian soldiers began to reach the tops of ladders. Others were fighting over the portion of the wall that had been crushed by the hoodoo. Down by the gates, men roared. A formation of Shim’s dreadmen spanned the width of the ditch behind the gate there. They were about ten men across and six ranks deep. Shim was there, standing behind the ditch in the center of the line. His men were in good order, shield next to shield. Those behind the front line held their shields, pierced with white- and gray-fletched arrows, over the heads of the formation.
Mokad’s dreadmen charged through the gates at Shim’s line. As they did, soldiers farther back hurled javelins at Shim’s men. Many stuck into the shields, weighting them, making the formation waver. But Shim’s men held. Furthermore, the ditch put Mokad’s soldiers at a disadvantage, breaking their line, allowing Shim’s dreadmen to stab and thrust through the breaks in the line to cut them down as they came. The first bodies fell, creating yet another obstacle for the men behi
nd them, trying to press forward.
But Mokad’s men were dreadmen. And they were smelling blood. The rear ranks took the place of those who had fallen. They stabbed at the feet and lower legs of Shim’s men, stabbed at eyes. They bashed their shields into Shim’s line. A few of Shim’s men fell. Others took their place. Shim’s dreadmen were holding Mokad’s dreadmen for the moment, but they needed help!
Then the firelancers that were assigned to the far side of the gate placed their firelance in one of the embrasures. A moment later a stream of dark seafire spewed out of the mouth of the firelance. It ignited with a roar and billow of smoke. The firelancers moved the stream in wide arcs, spraying the liquid fire upon the Mokaddians trying to fight their way into the fort below.
Men screamed. Shim shouted an order, and his whole formation moved back two steps. The Mokaddian dreadmen at the front surged forward to escape the fire, but there was no order to their line. They crashed into Shim’s men, and the steel blades of Shim’s dreadmen in the front line, and the spears of those in the rank behind thrust and cut them down.
Another firelance team down the wall ignited their lance and pumped a stream of fire onto the men climbing ladders and those waiting below. Then they turned the lance outward and began to spray the archers. The breeze was strong enough to fan the stream, and it fell like burning rain. On Vance’s wall, men with staff slings lobbed the large clay balls of fireshot out into the ranks of Mokad’s army. Others hurled them at the men on the ladders.
Then the wind began to blow. A hissing rose from the field. And a moment later a skir wind plowed into the firelancers at the gate. Their stream of fire was blown to bits and thrown back at them and onto men in the courtyard. Another wind howled down the wall walk. It slammed into a group of firelancers, splashing their fire upon the Shimsmen next to them. A man stumbled, fell against their barrel of seafire, knocking it over. The black liquid splashed over the wall walk and down into the courtyard. A moment later it ignited in a huge flash, turning the firelancers into infernos.
Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 Page 29