by Garon Whited
Leisel chose that moment to dump the oil.
The piping in the bridge walls led through the stone drawbridge supports and into Bridgefort. The funnel was high up in one of the towers to maximize the pressure gravity provided. The flammable mixture flowed down through the stone and jetted out at the near end of the bridge. As the rest of it passed on down the pipes, it jetted out of holes farther along, until it spewed some at the other end of the bridge.
I don’t know who flung the torch, but it lit the whole bridge on fire. Men screamed and ran. Crossbows on the towers had a view from the sides and could see beyond the ram. They shot men down as they fled. Every minute or so, Leisel had another bucket of liquid poured in, keeping the fires going around the ram. It looked as though it would catch and burn on its own, but there was a hired wizard or two in the crusade.
They don’t cast spells quickly around here, which, I think, is why they rely more on enchanted objects. Still, they can cast spells, and the one he picked was interesting. It blew a concentrated, powerful wind along the bridge, sweeping the flames up and whirling them forward, splashing them against the wooden drawbridge. The fires and the wind continued for a bit, but Leisel elected not to continue feeding them. They died out, mostly, leaving both the ram mildly on fire and the drawbridge charred and smoking.
Crusaders charged forward with buckets of water, but also unchocked the wheels and drew the ram back to avoid risking it. They withdrew in good order, but still took casualties from the towers. Not as many as I expected, though. The smoke obscured the archers’ view, I think. They shoved it back down the road and around the bend to do some repairs.
Shortly thereafter, men advanced with shields again. This time, they clung to the edges of the bridge, using the walls as cover, and advanced slowly. I had to pan around to get a look at what they were doing. The holes letting the oil out onto the bridge weren’t large, so they were taking wooden pegs and driving them in, blocking them up—corks! It worked, too. The pressure was only from gravity, not a pump, so pouring more oil in wasn’t going to pop the corks out.
I applauded their ingenuity and wondered what was next. The ram, probably. It was still their best hope of breaching the drawbridge, and they didn’t have supplies for a protracted siege. I might have considered building a siege tower, instead. I could roll it up to the edge of the drawbridge, drop the whole forward face of it, and use that as a ramp to the top of the wall. Getting past the withering crossbow fire was the key. It would cost, but it could work. I doubted the local siege warfare was up to it, though, so my money was still on the ram.
Yep. The ram rolled forward around the curve again. I was glad I had a slight grade to the road and bridge. Moving the thing into place had to be exhausting, and they didn’t include a good way to harness a horse to push. It was all men, all shoving, all grunting, and some swearing. And this was the second time in as many hours they had to shove the thing uphill.
I wish I’d made it steeper. Ah, well. I was thinking of commerce, not warfare.
As they approached, a mist rose from the gorge. There was water down there, somewhere between a stream and a river, so it developed a natural fog on some days, but this was unnatural. It foamed upward like smoke, roiling and churning, until it was like a cloud come down from the sky to lie in a rocky bed. It was thick enough to block vision beyond a few feet. I switched to thermal and watched anyway. The archers didn’t have my advantage.
The ram’s forward braces hit the drawbridge. Wooden chocks locked the wheels in place. The wooden doors on the ram were pulled aside and back to clear the way for the ram. Men heaved and let the ram fall back, swinging into the wooden barrier.
Interesting. The enchanted ram didn’t pierce the wood. I’d expected something so pointy to stick in, maybe even get stuck. Instead, it communicated the force to the wood in a thin layer, perpendicular to the stroke. The outer quarter of an inch or so blasted away in all directions, like ripples on the surface of a pond, fluttering down in the still air like snowflakes—or sawdust.
Boom! Another layer of the drawbridge whiffed away. Less of it went, though. The first hit took off the charred outer layer. The second hit affected mostly solid, undamaged wood. It would take a while to bash through the whole door like that, but when it finished, the entire opening would be free, not simply a narrow, irregular hole. It wouldn’t leave debris and be awkward to charge through. There were advantages to the idea, but I didn’t like how much time it would take to do it.
Leisel liked the delay. After the fifth hit, the drawbridge was over half an inch thinner, but the defenders volleyed buckets of flammable liquid out over the ram. Some of it hit the shields and ran down, some of it splashed over and behind, onto the ram and the men working it. Another bucket volley sluiced more oil over the ram, but no one lit it. Instead, the attackers unchocked and fell back again, protecting their asset. I think that was the idea.
Once they withdrew to the bridge, a volley of flaming quarrels scattered all along the bridge. With the majority of the fuel now farther away, random shots could set it all alight without risking more damage to the drawbridge. The makeshift bridge also burned, but when the crusaders’ wizard or wizards started up their burning wind spell, most of the fire was too far away to affect the drawbridge. A couple of buckets of water every minute or so kept the vertical drawbridge relatively intact while the fire continued on the bridge-logs.
The wind dissipated the cloud spell, however, and some crossbows fired at the ram. Sadly, shooting into the wind was not as effective as one might hope. Ah, well.
Still, the ram was on fire. While not enough to destroy it, this did cause a number of the metal shields on the front half to ping and sizzle, loosening or even removing them. From the look of it, I think the fires damaged the ropes holding the main log, too. They pushed the ram back around the bend again to make more repairs. They let their wind and cloud spells lapse.
With the smoke and fog now cleared away, the attackers could see what was happening at the drawbridge. The drawbridge kept getting wetted down while their own temporary bridge continued to burn. The commander didn’t like that. Rows of men with two shields each formed lines, covering the top and sides, forming a narrow tunnel for men with buckets. They slowed the fires this way, trying to put out their bridge while the crossbows kept up a steady rate of fire. At last, the wizards came up with something. A big blob of water rolled up the road, hit the drawbridge, and exploded like a water balloon. That put everything out.
The shield-tunnel fell back, bringing their dead and wounded with them. Those crossbows were murderous beasties. I was proud of the engineers who designed them.
The rest of the day was relatively quiet. The crusaders repaired their ram and added more shields, extending the coverage farther back along the thing. The defenders lowered ropes and hooks, lifting some of the logs and toppling them into the gorge. The crusaders saw this, naturally, and cut more logs to fit. They had to go farther afield to get lumber, but they were in no danger of running out of trees.
I spotted a wizard next to a command group. Berenor, two other Firsts, and all seven priests were sitting around some camp tables under an awning, arguing. I should have built the parabolic microphone, dang it. Still, watching them argue, the priests seemed insistent and Berenor seemed firm. At a guess from angry gestures, the priests wanted him to attack some more, continue attacking, and attack until he achieved victory. Berenor, not being a fool, was telling them to butt out of warrior business. Good for him. I tried to get a closer view and actually hear what they were saying, but the wizard was obviously on scry-shield duty. It wasn’t a spell I knew, exactly, but I recognized the disruption it caused when I got my sensor too close. Ah, well.
In addition to the wizard doing anti-scrying duty, there were another three wizards in their camp, chanting and carving and handwaving over both ram and logs. Fireproofing, I’d say.
I wouldn’t count on it, Firebrand offered. Fire resistant, maybe, but fireproof is some
thing I’ve never seen.
“Fair point. Where do you reckon these guys sleep?”
Watch and see. Bet you it’s one of the fancy wagons.
“No bet.”
Somewhat after sunset, the wizards did, indeed, retire to a pair of the residential wagons. I noted with some interest they, like the other mobile homes, had metal tubes through the roof—stovepipes! After playing with the baby for a bit, I prepared a couple of explosive charges, opened two gates, dropped one in each, and watched on the sand table as the wizards’ wagons went from wooden to splintered.
I don’t think anyone in their camp slept well for the rest of the night. On a more positive note, now the siege would be something for warriors to settle.
Hmm. I probably need to set up the rest of the explosives in the western tunnel, just in case. I’ll go do that. The little person doesn’t seem to want to sleep, so maybe a ride in the night air will help. Going for a drive is supposed to help. Maybe a horsey-back ride works as well.
The rest of the explosives are buried, embedded in the rock, along the floor of the tunnel. If we have to detonate them, I doubt they’ll bring down the tunnel, but they’ll go off twenty feet inside the mouth of the tunnel and at twenty-foot intervals thereafter. In the enclosed space, it should be lethal to everyone.
And yes, a horsey-back ride does seem to have a soothing effect on non-sleepy babies. This one, anyway.
I carried her up to the workroom, sat down, put my feet up, and called Leisel. She was awake and poring over a sand table of her own—a mundane one. It was a flat tray with the basics of the Bridgefort, bridge, and road drawn in sand.
“How goes the siege?” I asked.
“You ask like you haven’t been watching.”
“I’d like your opinion.”
“I think they’ll give up and go home.”
“Really? I’m not sure.”
“They can’t keep a bridge laid down for their ram,” she pointed out. “They can’t keep it close for long enough to bash through the drawbridge. At least, they have to believe that.”
“Oh? Are they wrong?”
“We don’t have an infinite supply of that oil. We can still set everything on fire, but we can’t keep it up.”
“Ah. So, if they make a determined assault…?”
“They’ll get through the drawbridge. But, as I said, they can’t know that.”
“True. They’re out of wizards, too, I think.”
“They—? How? What happened?”
“It didn’t seem fair for them to have wizards on their side if I wasn’t going to participate on ours. So now they don’t. At least, I don’t think they do. I might have missed one, but if I did, I think he’s going home.”
Leisel made a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a hum. I’m not sure if it was disapproval or what.
“My Mazhani, you know I would never say something simply to hurt you, do you not?”
“Sure.”
“Then, in that spirit, understand when I say you desperately need to learn to be more human.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Did you or did you not just say you casually eliminated the wizards in the enemy forces, simply because you thought they weren’t fighting fair?”
“Uh…”
“Well?”
“Maybe. Yes. I suppose I did.”
“And you thought you were being reassuring, perhaps?”
“I thought so, yes. Doesn’t it reassure you they don’t have wizards doing unnatural things in their favor?”
“From a warrior’s standpoint, yes. From the standpoint of a mortal being? Not so much.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe you’re used to being… whatever you are. Too used to it, maybe. Things you find casual and matter-of-fact are things of power and mystery to the rest of us.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Obviously.” She rubbed her face with both hands for a moment. “Look, I have a siege to think about, so I don’t have much time to spare. Try to think of everything you do that isn’t something mortals can do. Now pretend you are impressed by them. Now pretend the rest of us don’t comprehend them in the slightest and are afraid. Better yet, pretend you are a god and you’ve come down from the realms of heaven and are trying not to overawe us with your divine potency.”
I might have winced a little at the last suggestion.
“Got it,” I told her. “I’ll try. Be human. Blend in. Pretend to be just another mortal.”
“You try to do that already,” she pointed out. “Do better.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I guess you don’t want to counterattack tonight?”
“No. I’m still hoping they pack up and leave in the morning. Did the defense teams bring you any of the infiltrators?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The people in the mirror room have been tracking mountain climbers as they worked around us to get into the valley. I have teams out there to intercept them. They’re supposed to bring them to me, but I’m not sure they all realize I’m here, not there.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“No, please. I’ll call and ask directly. You shouldn’t… you need to work on being more human before you get out and about.”
“Okay. But if the siege doesn’t go away tomorrow, we counterattack tomorrow night.”
“Yes, sir.”
We signed off and I called god.
“Evening. What’s on your mind?”
“Entirely too much, but I’ve got a handle on most of it.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Actually, what can I do for you?” I countered. “I’m checking to see if I need to do something magical to ease your way for the miraculous.”
“We already set up the icons or idols or whatever they are,” he replied. “I’m in good shape. A couple of them have been destroyed, but most of them are intact—people are worried I’ll take offense.”
“Do I need to make an example of those who destroyed them?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m planning on dreams where those people figure prominently as being in disfavor. Social pressure will seem like divine retribution.”
“If you say so.”
“How’s the Battle of Bridgefort going?”
“Pretty good. Leisel thinks they’ll pack it in tomorrow.”
“Are the priests still there?”
“How did—? No, you would know something like that. The priests are still there.”
“I suspect they’ll still insist on fighting.”
“Me, too.”
“Great minds.”
“Yeah. I was also wondering if I could trouble you for more divine wisdom.”
“Uh… if I can?” he replied, doubtfully. “I mean, I’m not exactly a font of wisdom.”
“Make it celestial eyeballs, then.”
“Oh. Sure.”
“You have a hard time seeing into the world, right?”
“It’s an effort,” he agreed.
“The sand table uses a mini-gate in my Ring of Spying to access the celestial realm you’re in. If I made a larger opening, could you look through it more easily?”
“Hmm. Probably. I haven’t messed with your mini-gate connection because I know it’s how your communications setup works. I have to tell you, it’s a hole into a higher-order energy state plane. Power is flowing from this plane to that. I doubt you can really sense it, mostly because you don’t see things in that spectrum.”
“I can sense it when it shines on me,” I pointed out.
“Ah. Yes, at night, I’m sure you can, much the way a blind man can find a burning coal.”
“Very similar. That’s why my ring is sitting in the recess in the edge of the table. I should probably enchant the table with a micro-gate of its own, somewhere on the inside.”
“Whatever’s convenient for you. But you’re right. A bigger gate will be more dangerous because it will allow more power to flow through. And even though you
can’t see microwaves, you get enough of them and they’ll cook your brains.”
“Fair points.”
“You are also correct,” he went on, “that a gate would let me look at something and perceive it more directly. If you have something you want me to examine, you can leave the Ring of Spying running and aim it at the subject—during the day. I’ll look through and see what I can see.”
“Is this dangerous for the subject?”
“For you? During the day?” He thought about it. “I wouldn’t think so. Any subtler damage will regenerate at sunset. When your chaos infestation takes over, it should wipe out anything, returning you to the precise form you had as it establishes equilibrium again. For another living being, though… I’m not sure.”
“Now I’m concerned about any celestial gates. How dangerous are these energy-plane environmental radiations? Even plugged into the sand table, is my ring irradiating the room? Do I need to put up shielding between the table and the infant?”
“I wouldn’t think so. She’s not in the line of fire, and the energies are being directed into the table’s enchantments. She should be fine. But a bigger gate will have a bigger output.”
“Okay. In that case, never mind. I’ll muddle through on my own.”
“Suit yourself. I’ve got dreams to send. Anything else?”
“Nope—wait. There is one more thing.”
“Shoot.”
“The Temples of the Empire. The priests are worshipping ancestors as the gods of a particular caste or whatever, right?”
“It sure looks that way to me.”
“Can you send the priests dreams—not now, maybe, but after you gain a bit more of a foothold?”
“Uh… I suppose. To what end?”
“Right now, a lot of them are probably legitimate believers. Others are charlatans, con men, grifters feeding at the trough of religion. If they can be converted to a true belief, you already have a head start on being head of the pantheon. With their gods looking to you as the eldest, maybe we can expand the pantheon to include you. It’s a long-term strategy to upend the social order here and keep the religious nuts off my back.”