When it finally released, the ball sailed upward and out of the fort, whistling toward the enemy’s camp. Stiger tracked its path. In a rather anticlimactic fashion, the ball landed somewhere in the middle of the camp. He could not tell if it had done any damage, but hoped it had.
The artillery duel continued for more than an hour. Lieutenant Tride stood atop the north wall with a pair of white flags. He used them to signal the crew below in an attempt to direct the fire towards one of the enemy machines. The more he worked at it, the more it seemed the fire became evermore erratic. To Stiger’s disgust, the friendly shot landed farther and farther away from the intended target.
“They don’t seem to shoot fine,” Eli said as he and Stiger gazed upon the catapult.
“Did you mean good?”
“Yes,” Eli said, “that is the word. They are no good, yes? The Common Tongue is a little confusing. It’s not like Elven.”
“They are rear echelon auxiliaries,” Stiger said, hoping the elf caught his meaning so that he did not have to explain further.
“There are auxiliaries and then there are auxiliaries,” Eli said.
A crack from the tower signaled another bolt loosed. Stiger followed the deadly missile’s flight as it shot toward the same target. It impacted the ground around ten feet away. The crew reloading their machine paused only briefly before returning to their work.
The bolt thrower was a relatively accurate machine. However, like the catapult, the crew operating it did not appear terribly skilled. Stiger considered sending his men up to take charge, but disregarded the idea. He would step on Tride’s toes if he did so. Besides, with so few machines in operation, the artillery duel would have little impact on the overall assault other than a psychological one. Sending his men up to the tower would put them at risk, and right now they were safe. Not only that, it would violate his orders from the prefect. Stiger’s men were the reserve. They would be needed when the enemy tested the walls.
Another ball sailed overhead, whistling. It passed through the roof of one of the barracks with a tremendous crash, partially bringing the roof down and nearly demolishing the entire building. A heartbeat later, a ball smacked loudly into the fort’s wall off to the right. Crouching behind the barricade and peeking over the top, Stiger had to admit that he did not much enjoy being on the receiving end with not much to do other than spectate.
Prefect Merritt visited the wall, making a point to speak to his men as he worked his way along its length. Like Stiger, the auxiliaries huddled for cover. They had placed their shields against the lip of the barricade in the hopes that, should it be pierced, they would have some limited protection.
At one point, Stiger even saw the tribune come out and climb up the rampart to look from the wall before returning to his quarters. Since he had been relieved of command, Declin had remained out of sight. Whether by design or from shame was debatable.
“Looks like they are finally getting ready to make an assault,” Merritt said, coming over. He had brought Tride, Teevus, and Hollux with him. Merritt stood in plain view of the enemy, even turned his back as a ball whistled close by. Stiger ducked with the other officers, seeking the shelter of the barricade. Merritt was the only one who refused cover, even seemed to disdain it.
“Gentlemen,” Merritt said, “do try to set an example. Stooping behind the barricade every time a ball sails in doesn’t exactly inspire courage or confidence, now, does it? If it has your name on it, there’s nothing you can do. So, I ask you, why hide? It is not like those infernal machines are terribly accurate, especially from this distance. The men should see you standing tall and unafraid.”
A little shamefaced, Stiger and the other officers stood, fully exposing themselves to the enemy’s fire. Stiger looked across the field. Formations of men had been marching from the camp for some time, moving around the fort. Stiger had counted nine enemy companies moving into jump-off positions. A large number of covered wagons had followed behind each company.
“I fear they mean to assault our walls, even as they go after the gate,” Merritt said, eyes sweeping the enemy formations that were preparing to attack. “Hollux, I want your bowmen over the gate. They are bound to make a go for it. No matter how successful they are, that mound of dirt piled up behind the gate will keep them from getting through. We might as well bleed them as best we can. See that you do so.”
“Yes, sir,” Hollux said.
“Tride,” Merritt said. “I will take the north side and the west. I want you on the other two sides. Take Teevus here with you. Keep an eye out for trouble. Send for reserves should you need them.”
“Yes, sir,” Tride said.
“Stiger.” Merritt turned to him.
“Sir?”
“You are our reserve. Tride and I will send for reinforcement should we need it. However, I expect you to look for trouble and dispatch men as you see fit. Take the initiative, son.”
Stiger nodded his understanding.
“With the exception of the gate,” Merritt said, “should the other sides of the fort come under direct assault, we shall conserve our short spears. Use as few as possible in ranged attacks. It is the enemy’s second and possibly third attempt at forcing the walls that will prove most serious. Understand me?”
There were nods all around.
“Gentlemen,” Merritt said, “we have to hold the wall. There is nothing more important. The Third should be here at the earliest this evening. I expect you to set an example for your men to follow. Show them why we are their betters and why we lead. Are there any questions?”
There were none.
“See to your duty, then,” Merritt said stiffly.
The officers broke up. Instead of returning to his men, Stiger elected to remain at the wall to watch. Standing in full view of the enemy, he did his best to keep from cringing every time a ball came whistling in. Just to be safe, he made a point of watching for them as they were launched and sailed through the air. Even so, he moved about frequently to keep from being targeted. He noticed the eyes of fearful auxiliaries who were crouching down behind the barricade track him as he moved by.
After a time, Eli left their original spot and joined him. The elf was carrying a short bow, with a quiver full of arrows slung over his left shoulder. Stiger offered a nod as another ball whistled in. It impacted the wall a few feet to his left, and he felt the vibration through his boots.
“Have you been through this before?” Stiger asked Eli.
“Trapped in a fort, hopelessly outnumbered, and surrounded by an enemy army with no relief in sight?”
Stiger gave another nod.
“I have seen much over the years,” Eli said, “but this is a first for me. It will be something to tell tales about, eh?”
“I wish we could silence that artillery,” Stiger said with some frustration.
“What do you have in mind?” Eli glanced out into the field.
Stiger had not expected the question. He felt his brows draw together as he gazed out over the machines. It was an interesting question, but one he thought academic. With the enemy massing around the fort and preparing for a direct assault, there would be no way to get at the enemy’s artillery. Any attempt would be spotted the moment they left the fort. Besides, any assault force would have to cross the two bridgeless trenches. By the time a team could clear both, the enemy would easily be able to counter such a move, and with superior numbers to boot.
Stiger pursed his lips. He could not see anything that could be done. He glanced over at Eli once more and chewed his lip as a thought occurred to him. He turned back to the artillery and almost chuckled. Eli gave him a curious look.
“A few days ago,” Stiger explained, “my company assaulted an enemy encampment in the Cora’Tol Valley. During the attack, the fields of wheat around the encampment caught fire.” Stiger gestured out into the field. “Those machines out there are sitting smack in the middle of a wheat field. If we could somehow set the wheat afire, the enemy would be
compelled to either abandon or withdraw their machines.”
“What an excellent idea!” Eli reached up and pulled an arrow from his quiver. The long shaft was bright green. The feathers on the end were brown and from a bird Stiger was unfamiliar with. Where there should have been a sharpened point, he saw only a rounded tip that was surprisingly thicker than the rest of the arrow.
Before Stiger could question the elf’s intentions, Eli’s hand brushed the end. The tip of the arrow exploded into flame, which hissed and smoked menacingly. Astonished, Stiger simply stood and watched as the elf calmly nocked his bow. Eli drew the string taut, as if he had not a concern in the world, and then released.
Trailing a line of bluish-gray smoke, the arrow arced up high into the air and landed several feet from the nearest machine. Having followed the missile’s path, Stiger almost missed Eli firing a second arrow and then a third in rapid succession. Each time, the elf simply touched the end of each arrow. Obligingly, they burst into flames. Eli shot a fourth missile before lowering his bow and making a show of admiring his work.
Out in the field, where Eli’s arrows had landed amidst the wheat, thick smoke rapidly billowed upward. A few heartbeats later, flames could be seen licking their way amongst the wheat as the fire hungrily spread.
“How did you manage that?” Stiger asked, nearly agog.
“Magic,” Eli said with a closed-mouth grin. “High Born magic.”
“Really?” Stiger had seen small trinkets and lanterns that were true magic. Curiosities more than anything else, these were generally owned by the wealthy as mere status symbols with little use. Stiger had never seen actual magic in use for a practical purpose. Wizards, being the only ones capable of making magical items, were few and cared little for mortal affairs.
“I’ll never tell.” Eli winked.
“Can you shoot more like that?” Stiger asked.
“Sadly, those were the only special arrows like them that I had,” Eli admitted with a slight shrug. “Truthfully, I’ve been saving them. It seemed like a good time to see how well they worked.”
“Fire!” someone along the wall shouted.
Auxiliaries who had been sheltering behind the barricade popped their heads up over the wall for a look.
Great clouds of smoke were rising upward from around the enemy’s artillery. The flames were rapidly spreading. The crews of three of the machines ran for cover, almost as if the flames were chasing them. The crew of the fourth machine worked desperately as they prepared to tow it out of danger. A team of horses was run up. Men set about hitching it up, even as flames started hungrily on the other end of the machine. Stiger wondered if they would be successful at saving it as they pulled away, part of the catapult on fire.
He swept his gaze beyond the artillery. Unfortunately, the fields that bordered the fort had been devoted to other crops and appeared to have already been harvested. There was little chance they would burn. They’d been lucky the enemy had set up their artillery amongst the wheat.
“Did you do that?” Merritt had come up. He was looking to Eli for confirmation.
“It was his idea,” Eli said, pointing at Stiger. “You can blame him. I only executed his plan.”
“Good show,” Merritt said, patting the elf on the shoulder as he looked out at the burning machines. “I should’ve thought of that myself.”
A horn from the enemy sounded, one long, steady note that seemed to go on and on before finally falling silent.
“Here they come,” came a shout from off to the right.
A large mass of men was moving forward toward the first trench. From the wagons they pulled large bundles of sticks, which they hauled forward and then threw into the trench to act as a makeshift bridge. Others laid planks across. Similar bridges were being built by the enemy at several points along the trench. In a shockingly short time, the first trench was bridged in several places. The shouts of alarm coming from the other side of the fort told Stiger that a similar thing was happening there too.
Those creating makeshift bridges crossed and moved on to the second trench.
“Had we more bowmen,” Merritt said, “I would make that a very costly endeavor.”
Three heavy infantry companies were arranged neatly in long blocks, their standards fluttering in the breeze. They waited for the work to be completed, having lined themselves up behind the budding makeshift bridges. A shout came from the other side of the fort, calling for the prefect.
“I best go see to that,” Merritt said. “Stiger, I believe it’s time for you to get with your men. I am sure you will be called upon soon enough to reinforce the walls.”
“Yes, sir,” Stiger said. “Um, a question, sir.”
Merritt nodded.
“I am curious, sir,” Stiger said, a thought occurring to him. He realized that he was more than a little curious now that he got around to asking it. “I’d like to know, why is this place called Fort Covenant?”
“Stiger, I’ve been here ten years,” Merritt said. “In all that time, no one has been able to tell me beyond the fact this fort was built over the remains of an older one of the same name. If you ever find out, I’d like to know too.”
“Yes, sir,” Stiger said.
Merritt left them, running down the slope of the rampart and making his way across the parade ground to the other side of the fort.
Stiger turned his gaze out into the burning field. The flames had thoroughly overtaken one machine and it burned fiercely. Two others were on fire. The fourth had been pulled to safety. It was still on fire, but men were busily shoveling dirt onto the flames. Stiger glanced over at Eli. “What are those magic arrows of yours called?”
“I don’t think there is an exact translation in the Common Tongue. However, it comes close to roughly burning glory.”
“That’s fitting,” Stiger said. He took one last look out at the field before he started working his way down into the fort. Stiger sensed Eli following. With the threat of the enemy artillery removed, the auxiliaries stood boldly in view, grimly prepared to receive the coming assault. It was a little thing, but at the same time, Stiger understood that Eli’s work with his bow for the defenders was a big thing morale-wise.
Chapter Eighteen
“How goes it up there, sir?” Tiro asked as Stiger made his way around the keep to where his men were sheltering from the artillery. “We’ve not heard any shot come in for a good bit.”
“Eli’s work, I’m afraid,” Stiger said. “Three of the four machines are out of action and the fourth is burning, thanks to his magic fire arrows.”
“Magic?” Tiro asked of Eli. “I’ve never seen you do magic before.”
“I thought you said how I moved through the forest was ‘a magic unto itself’?”
Tiro grinned at Eli. “You never tire of patting yourself on the back, do you?”
“I don’t see anyone else rushing to do it,” Eli said.
“Well,” Stiger said, “there is no reason to keep the men sheltering here. Let’s move back to the parade ground.”
“Aye, sir.” Tiro saw to it that the company was moved out into the center of the parade ground. Once there, Stiger allowed the men to sit, relax, and rest.
“Tiro,” Stiger said with a glance around at his men. They were tense, grim even, though there was some talking and light banter. It was clear they knew the stakes of what was to come. He could well imagine that several of his men had upturned stomachs, a result of nerves rather than the normal culprit—undercooked food. Many had likely skipped the morning meal for fear of embarrassing themselves with the runs or upchucking. “The men are to eat and drink. There is no telling when they may get the opportunity once the action starts.”
“Yes, sir,” Tiro said. “Best to have something in the belly to keep ‘em going.”
Stiger saw Varus emerge from a barracks building, Nera from the farm at his side helping him walk. His head was wrapped in a gray dressing and he appeared more than a little unsteady. It was clear tha
t he had not yet fully recovered. The corporal wore his armor and carried his shield. It heartened Stiger to see him on his feet. He held an auxiliary helmet that he had obviously requisitioned under his free arm.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” Varus said, shooing Nera away and attempting to stand on his own. He wavered precariously.
“You are not fit for duty,” Stiger informed him, with a glance over at Tiro. The old sergeant nodded his agreement.
“Sir,” Varus said, “I can fight.”
“Varus.” Tiro lowered his voice. “You’d be more a danger to yourself than to the enemy.”
“Please, sir,” Varus said quietly so that the men could not hear. “Shortly, you will need every man. We all know this. I can’t sit this out. Don’t ask me to do that.”
“I’m not asking,” Stiger said, hardening his voice, though he wanted nothing more than to give in to the man who had almost been killed as a result of his orders. “You will stand down, Corporal.”
“Sir—”
“Varus, I have no doubts on your capabilities as a fighter. When you’re fit, you may return to duty, not before,” Stiger said. “I have made my decision and that is the end of it.”
Varus’s shoulders slumped, and the movement almost made him topple over. Nera stepped in close, supporting him.
“Make your way over to the keep and remain there,” Stiger said. “The prefect has designated it as a hospital. Since you can’t fight, perhaps you can at least help by caring for those who need it.” Stiger softened his tone. “Can you do that for me? Some of our boys will end up there soon enough. Knowing that you’re looking out for them will be a comfort.”
“Aye, sir.” Varus sounded a little better, but still disappointed. “I don’t like it much, but I will do what I can.”
“Very good,” Stiger said. “I will check in on you later.”
With Nera’s assistance, he hobbled off toward keep.
Stiger’s men were busy pretending they hadn’t witnessed the scene when their officer glanced around. Tiro stepped nearer.
“It was the right proper thing to do, sir,” Tiro said, voice a little gruffer than normal. “And I appreciate you sending him off. He is the best friend I have. Varus would end up dead if he took his place in the line, sir.”
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