“Er, end of the corridor,” said Carakas. “Boarded up don’t you know. Could be taken down if you had the tools. Have to be quiet about it though. Nasty Descendant guards everywhere now.”
Metris released him, and patted his clothing back into place. The others tried not to laugh.
“Up there,” said Carakas, pointing to the roof of the cellar. “Everywhere up there don’t you know.”
Metris looked at Menon.
“Could you take a moment from your work – and it’s very valuable work I’m sure,” said Menon in his most reasonable voice, “and show us the ports?”
Carakas consented, after muttering something about the importance of the notes he was taking. He picked up the oil lamp, and led them out into the corridor.
“There must be tools down here?” queried Menon. “To build and maintain the wine vats, surely?”
“Oh yes,” said Carakas. “Very useful don’t you know. There’s some under the steps leading down from the warehouse.”
Metris nodded. When they got back to the room they would find another lamp, and then they would go and search for those tools.
The hoist port took the squad the best part of the next day to open, making sure they were completely silent every step of the way. But finally the entrance into the cliff face was clear.
“Godsdammit,” said Menon, looking over the wooden lip and down the bluff. “What is that, Metris, a couple of dooplehuel masts in height?”
“More,” said Metris, “but once the militia had ladders in place they could come up the cliff face and through the hoist port two at a time.”
“And there’s enough room down here to hide a hundred fighters or more easy,” said Menon, “until it was time to burst out of the cellars and into Roum above.”
They looked at each other in excitement. They had a solution to their problem. This would work!
“How are we going to contact Hudnee?” said Metris.
“With one of the oil lamps and something to put in front of it,” said Menon. “But we’ve got to have a code he will recognise. A blinking lamp could mean anything.”
“The Shellport homing call,” said Metris promptly. “Everyone knows that signal. It’s used when a bonfire is lit to guide sailors in after storms. The big hide block is raised twice after every count to twenty. We can work the lamp at the same rate!”
Menon laughed, and slapped him on the arm. “Perfect,” he said.
And so it was that a light appeared mysteriously in the bluff below one side of Roum, repeating the Shellport homing call through the night.
In the darkness of early morning the squad finally saw an answering light. Shortly after that there was a soft halloo from the base of the bluff.
Once Menon had identified himself, and a communications link with Hudnee had been established, plans for the taking of Roum moved rapidly ahead.
CHAPTER 26
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Hudnee awoke to the sound of someone rapping on the door poles of the militia headquarters, and realised he must have dozed off. He gave permission for the runner waiting outside to come in and then, still groggy, found it hard to believe what he was being told.
A lamplight code was coming from the bluffs, and it was sending the Shellport homing signal. That had to mean it was Metris’ militia squad. Hudnee hoped it was, anyway. The men had been in the back of his mind since they were captured by the Descendant guards.
Then he was told a squad was already on its way to track down the source of the signal. Hudnee nodded. The night watch were on the job.
He looked outside at the stars, and decided it must be past midnight. The first thing he did was to send a runner to call Habna to his headquarters. While she made the short journey, he set up some of the hot datum-leaf tea that would wake them both up.
When Habna arrived he told her the intriguing news, and she smiled in anticipation. If this was a back door into Roum then the odds of success had just swung strongly in their favour.
“It must have been Menon’s doing,” said Hudnee in awe. “How in all the hells did the squad manage to escape from the guards, stay out of sight in Roum, and then signal us?”
“I knew he’d do it,” said Habna simply. “I’ve known him from birth. He’s always been one of the most self-reliant of the Sea People.”
Hudnee tried to calculate her age from that information. She looked to be only in vigorous late middle-age, but she must be much older than that. This woman was full of surprises.
Then a runner came in from the squad that had gone after the lamp signal. Hudnee shook his head at the news. The militia could store a hundred people or more in the cellars under Roum, and attack the defensive walls simultaneously from inside and out. It didn’t get any better than that!
Hudnee took a moment to mentally congratulate Menon on the success of the squad, and then he sent a runner to let Menona know that her mate was alive and well.
The next task was to ask Habna where the Human medical team would be during the attack on Roum.
“They will have a base just behind the front lines,” she said. “If we can get our wounded back to them with any sort of pulse, the medical team say they can save them, regardless of the injuries they have sustained.
“One of them confided in me that if a person’s heartbeat had stopped within the last few minutes even, the medical team could still save them in most cases.”
It was an astounding revelation to those used to the deaths of so many from any problem that was more than an infection, or a clean break. Hudnee was suitably impressed.
“They have also changed their appearance,” said Habna. “I don’t know how they’ve done it, but they look more like the people of Hud now. They still look like skinny adolescents to our eyes, but at least they won’t be so out of place on the battlefield.”
Hudnee nodded. That was another piece of the battle plan that had slotted into place. Everything had to be as perfect as he could make it before the militia launched their attack at midnight on the following day, and it was Habna’s responsibility to keep the leaders of the squads up to date with the changing plans. It was also her job to find out what they needed, and handle any problems.
Sometimes Hudnee wondered how much he contributed to the campaign – it certainly was a team effort – but he figured he was the only person with a good grasp of the overall situation. It was also up to him to make necessary changes as the conflict raged, and that wasn’t easy in the indescribable chaos of war.
He wished Reegas was here. The Human leaders had decided they needed him and Salaan somewhere else, and Hudnee missed him when he was training the troops. The Human didn’t say much, but he always knew exactly what to do when times got tough.
Hudnee realised that in the same way he was a master builder, Reegas was a master military man, with a lifetime of training and experience behind him. While his bosses had taken him away for some reason, it was an encouraging sign of the alliance that they had sent a medical team to help during the final confrontation with the Descendants.
Hudnee turned back to his rough maps of the area. The militia camp had been easy to mark in on the paper, and slowly he had gained more information about the Descendant citadel.
He took a deep breath. It was time to make the final preparations for the militia attack. He would have to be completely focused on strategy from now on.
As midnight of the following day approached, the first of the ladders materialised out of the scrubby cover on the slope underneath the bluff. A moment later it started its climb up the cliff face to the open port. Shortly after that a second one began a similar climb.
Too many squads among the stunted trees around the bluff would attract attention, so small groups were working their way toward the ladders using the cover as best they could. Once they were directly under the cliff face they were safe from observation by the Descendant guards on the walls above, set back from the top of the bluff.
The shadowy shapes of men and w
omen stirred in the late night murk below the hoist ports. Two of the squad in the cellars took the tops of the ladders and fastened them to the wooden surrounds of the hoist ports. The ladders trembled against the entrance as the first of the militia began to ascend.
As they came through the port, various members of Metris’ squad took them to rooms along the corridor. They kept repeating what the militia had been told when they left the main camp on the plains – keep absolutely quiet and wait for orders.
Well before midnight a hundred and twenty seven of the militia had made the climb, and another two hundred or so were waiting to be called forward from their locations below.
Their purpose was two-fold. The first wave would take a defensive position inside one of the more prominent buildings in Roum, and draw as many of the Descendant guards away from the walls as possible. Then a second wave would time their attack on the weakest point of the wall to coincide with a frontal assault by Hudnee and the bulk of the militia.
It was a plan that could fall apart in a hundred different ways, as all plans could, but at least the militia would have the advantage of surprise.
Metris had been thinking of ways his squad could create a diversion before the first wave poured out of the cellars. He had been talking with the older man the squad had met at the alehouse in the workers’ quarters. He had felt honoured when the older man finally introduced himself by his Hud name, Tumbril. It was a touching indication of trust.
There were a few others in Roum that Tumbril thought would help him create a diversion, and he had promised to organise something to distract the Descendant guards when the time was ripe.
The original plan had been to take the weapons they all needed from the guard armoury, but the militia had brought weapons for Metris and his squad. Tumbril would have to solve the weapons problem on his own. Metris had eventually given him a time when the diversion would be needed, and left him to organise it.
As midnight approached, Menon and Metris moved into Carakas’ room to work out the final details in the quiet there. The leader of the militia in the underground rooms followed them.
Carakas continued to scrawl away on his parchments in one corner, and seemed to have little idea of the preparations that were taking place.
“Lookouts still reporting nothing?” said Menon, more anxious than his composure suggested.
“Runner just reported in, saying all quiet,” said Battrick, the militia leader. “Can you give us some idea of what they should be looking for?”
“Not really,” said Menon. “Just a diversion of some sort. A fire would be easiest, but our allies among the locals would have to be ready to put it out – Roum would burn to the ground if it spread.”
Another runner appeared in the doorway. “There’s a disturbance in the direction of the Descendant offices. It’s hard to hear what the commotion is about from this side of Roum, but there’s something going on.”
“This could be it,” said Menon sharply, getting to his feet. “Let’s prepare to move out. We’ll have to make our move at midnight anyway, diversion or not.” They headed for the stairs out of the cellars.
In the darkness inside the warehouse, Menon could just make out two sentries on either side of the loading bay that opened into the street. He moved across to join them as the militia came out of the underground cellars on the run, forming up into squads.
It took a long time before the cellars were emptied of fighters, and the warehouse was full of the men and women of the militia.
Each squad contained a mix of the strongest, the most experienced and the quickest – often the women. Hudnee had changed tactics for the assault on Roum, with its much greater number of Descendant guards, and he had drilled the squads to work as teams.
The strongest were the ones most heavily armoured in hide jerkins and carrying shields, and they would lead the attack. The more experienced would engage the guards as they were pushed into the pockets between the squads, and the quickest waited for opportunities to mop up the remainder when they were disorientated from the fighting.
They were all doing this for their families now. They were determined to win the stores that would plant their fields once again, and gain the animals that would be the beginning of new herds.
Down at the base of the bluff, the second wave of militia were already climbing the ladders, and filling the underground rooms all over again.
The noises coming from the direction of the Descendant offices had now increased, and it was clear some sort of scuffle was going on. One of the sentries pointed urgently, and Menon looked left toward a faint glow further along the bluff. As he watched, tongues of flame broke through the roof of a warehouse. He hoped the fire could be contained before it spread too far. The militia did not want Roum burned to the ground.
Still, Tumbril had created a diversion for them! He and his followers were no doubt also behind the growing ruckus a few streets over, and Menon raised his short stabbing sword over his head. Weapons clashed once on shields behind him in response, and Menon led the militia force at a run toward the source of the disturbance.
The squads raced through the lanes and alleyways of the workers’ quarters, spreading out into adjoining thoroughfares as they began to bunch up in the narrow passageways. An occasional house or late night business shone a little light in their path, but mostly they ran blind, keeping up with the sounds of the others.
Then, still remarkably together, they burst out into the square in front of the Descendant offices. An oil lamp either side of the main entrance illuminated what was going on.
A dozen guards on night watch had clubbed two men to the ground outside the offices, and the guards were now trying to force an entrance through the main archway that led into the ground floor. A smaller group of men were resisting them with knives and staves as best they could. They were keeping the entrance into the ground floor clear, but they were slowly being forced back.
Menon yelled a challenge across the square, and the guards turned in confusion. When they saw the militia advancing in a solid line across the square they turned, and fled hastily into the shadows.
CHAPTER 27
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The militia picked up the prone figures on the ground and carried them inside the archway. Metris detailed a couple of the militia with some healing skills to look them over.
The small group was indeed led by Tumbril, and made up of people from Roum who were prepared to fight against the Descendants. Together they set about barricading the archway, then occupying the ground floor of the offices and sealing off the other entrances.
Menon sent some of the militia up to the top of the sprawling building to provide him with a better idea of what was going on. The dark shapes of Roum’s buildings, illuminated here and there by oil lamps, spread out below them.
“Well, that was a good start,” said Metris buoyantly, when the ground floor defences were as ready as they could make them.
The fire in the warehouse further down the bluff was dying down, and a lookout reported a number of bucket brigades working on it.
“We’ve been lucky so far,” said Metris, talking about their prospects in the Descendant offices. “I can’t believe we’ve been able to fortify such a central position without greater opposition.”
Menon looked more serious. He knew that the opposition Metris had just mentioned would already be on its way. As if to reinforce the point, company after company of hastily roused Descendant guards marched into the square, dressed in leather jerkins emblazoned with five stars, the sign of the Prophet.
The square filled with many more guards than the militia force had members. Menon looked out at the guards, weighing up the forces arrayed against them – and the militia prepared its first trap.
A full company of guards rushed the archway, and Tumbril and his men, along with some lightly armed members of the militia, fell back before them.
Menon hoped the guards still thought of this as an insurrection made up of
labourers from the workers’ quarters. Since the walls of Roum had not been breached, they wouldn’t be expecting militia to be here in the square. Sometimes we see what we want to see, thought Menon, and willed the guards to believe it.
The guards pushed on into the main corridor as the first line of defence fell back before them. The guards were expecting little resistance, and the fighters inside the building obliged them. The guards discounted the night watch report of dozens of militia as anxiety multiplied by shadows.
At the end of the corridor they followed the retreating fighters into the hall of judgement, where cases against those accused of breaking Descendant law were heard.
Inside the judgement hall they found a dozen squads of well-armed and well-prepared militia. As the guards began to fall back in disarray, the archway they’d come through was sealed off behind them. They were trapped, and more squads burst out of rooms on either side of the corridor, and came clattering down the stairs from the floor above.
Many of the guards were quickly killed, and the rest had no choice but to surrender. The Descendant offices were soon eerily quiet, as the militia prepared for the next attack by the guards.
After a while, the remaining guards began to call to the ones who had disappeared inside the building, but there was no reply. The militia stayed out of sight, and kept silent. The tension in the square increased.
Let them fear us, thought Menon. The fear of your enemies doubles your strength.
Outside, the guard officers had begun to realise this was no simple insurrection by disgruntled commoners. Menon heard a shout from the direction of the wine cellars, and then a growing roar as the second wave of militia, led by Battrick, poured into the streets. They swept the sentries from the side wall of Roum’s defences, and prepared for an assault by the main militia force.
The militia plan had worked, a least in its initial stages. But Menon knew that the euphoria they felt would be short-lived. The bulk of the Descendant forces were about to break upon the squads inside Roum like a flood against a levee. The fighting would be more savage than anything they had encountered on the long road through so many villages to Roum.
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