by Ben Marshall
Similarly, the ladders began to slowly rise from the earth below the Southern Wall, and the captain bellowed the same warning that his counterpart within the western defences had given. Again the archers, what few remained from the initial fifty upon that flank, moved towards the dominating towers, while the skirmishers again continued their barrage, although less considered the swordsmen a threat than those upon the Western Wall, and all javelins targeted those below, and several of the Camentari warriors who were hoisting the mass of wood fell from the injuries they sustained. Teetering as the dead warriors pulled away the supports that balanced it, one of the goliath-proportioned ladders slowly yet forcibly clattered back to lay upon the ground once more. Each ladder was equal to several joined both end to end and side to side, and could have spanned several metres along the wall had it been fully raised. As it was, however, the mass of wood brought its human load down with it, to many yells of fear and anguish as a great number of warriors felt the immense series of timber beams attempt to force them though the very grass upon which they cowered helplessly. Though the sight was sickening even for those high upon their walls and towers of hefty stone neither side could dwell on the event, and the skirmishers took up another of their javelins from each man’s dwindling supply. Now each shot was critical, as the Camentari reorganised so that those supporting the ladder had shield-bearing comrades positioned facing all angles of fire from the defenders, and the ladder began to rise again, now slick with blood from the fallen warriors of Camentar. The Berinain archers, with slimmer and slightly more plentiful shots remaining, became vital once more to try and break through the defences, while the skirmishers continued to strike down the attackers surging about the battlefield beneath them. Though that ladder had been prevented the first time, those beside the other segments of the besieged walls had not been similarly repelled, and they landed upon the battlements with rattling thuds, although little could be heard over the commands and roars of the defenders and the battle-cries of the Camentari.
The swordsmen who had perched upon the ladders as they began their lethargic rise from the milling throng below now leapt over the topmost end, and were met evenly by the Berinain, their battleaxes swinging in arcs as the two sides met. The strikes were devastating, with the chaotic joining of the forces meaning that many Camentari shields had moved in too close, and the curved and polished blades of the defending axes struck beyond the wooden implements, severing wrists or slicing through the armour around the attackers’ midriffs. The spearmen, each with at least one spear left for them, held the weapons before them as the attackers tried to swarm over them. Many of the weapons pierced flesh, and a number of dying soldiers fell to the ground below the ladders, unable to have gained a footing on the battlements before a spearhead had sneaked beyond their defences. No longer faced with the possibility of being able to throw their weapons to stem the flood of the enemy, the skirmishers could only watch beside the axe-wielding infantry as the soldiers below them began to mount the ladders behind the comrades who had been borne aloft, and the sea began to tilt below them.
The same events were transpiring upon the western flank, and many were thankful that the archers still had a supply, however short, as they unleashed a volley upon the exposed climbers, pinning a number to the rungs upon which they lay. The runners now revealed upon the two walls what they had brought out in the early stages of the assault, and the smoking cauldrons were tipped over the crenulations, spilling the boiling oil over the attackers below. A multitude of screams erupted from below the walls as searing pain engulfed any who felt the scalding liquid touch them. Chain mail was no defence against such a weapon, and many fell into nauseating unconsciousness from agony few men had ever witnessed and fewer men would ever live to feel again. Some of the oil fell upon the ladders, and the heat caused many rungs to disintegrate dangerously, effectively halting the climb until the Camentari could grasp the area again. Taking full advantage of the situation the remaining archers struck out again at the undefended attackers, though several sections of the Southern Wall had felt no benefit; the infantry surrounding the ladder too compacted to have allowed the cauldrons to have stood so long, and their cauldrons had already been emptied before the ladders had even started to rise. The melee was furious, and both sides had taken a harsh beating, yet from both sides the numbers kept pushing forwards, the Berinain just able to prevent the Camentari from getting any sizeable numbers over the perimeter.
As if the battles for control of the walls were of little concern, the two lieutenants commanding the forces within the camp behind the walls calmly signalled for the archers within their ranks to form up, and each collection turned as a block to face their respective walls, and a call of “archers assembled!” carried across the night sky. With a responding command of “infantry to the towers” the captains brought their troops into two bodies beneath the domineering figures of the towers, and the Camentari surged into the openings, believing them to have beaten back the defenders.
With one word, the lieutenants signalled for their troops to attack, and astonishing waves of the feathered shafts flew into the bodies that had been revealed to them, clearing many sections in the first strike. It is difficult to imagine the bewilderment that will have been felt by the attackers that remained at the base of the ladders, when they suddenly saw their comrades collapse as the infantry moved into the towers, splitting so both the upper and lower levels were guarded. All the while the archers bombarded their foe, from their fortified positions within the towers and the barbican halfway along the Western Wall, safe in the knowledge that the openings through which they fired were too slight for an attacker to risk an attack against them directly. The final ballista still survived, but the available operators had now been slain, or had routed under the assault by the crossbowmen. The powerful weapons now turned their full potency upon the soldiers, and few Camentari survived for long if they lingered within the defenders’ sights. The archers upon the crenulated tops of the towers and barbican had again began to set their arrows aflame, using the fire that engulfed their victims to try and provide some respite for the defenders as the attacking Camentari again surged onto the now abandoned battlements. Fully reloaded, the archers within the town awaited the order from their lieutenants, and as the wall became covered once more the waves of feathered shafts began to soar again. Simultaneously, the dog handlers released their charges, and the hounds bayed with anticipation as they ran to the foot of the stairs that led to the walkway upon which many dead and dying soldiers had shed their blood. A command from the handlers halted them, and they stood leaning towards the town perimeter, their ears held flat against their skulls and their hackles raised. The handlers that stood near the towers led their hounds through the entrance and past the small group of Berinain that had been tasked with the prevention of an enemy penetration should the gate be breached. The hounds were led up to the doorway that, now barred, had been used by the infantry to enter when they had been ordered to withdraw from the wall. Then they began to wait once more, knowing that no attacker would attempt to enter the town by the steps adjoining the walkway, for the chiselled stone had been cut to a very steep gradient, and the troops within the encampment would easily overwhelm them as they exited the narrow path.
Any hope of breaching the defences of the barbican dashed by the disappearance of the last warriors skilled in the operation of ballistae, the Camentari captain of the western flank had no option but to continue with his men surging onto the battlements, though he knew all too well that the defenders were waiting. Having recovered from the initial shock of the tactical thinking by the Berinain general, he moved to the front of his ranks, drawing his broadsword and bringing his kite-shaped shield before him as he did so. Bolstered by his movements, the wavering soldiers under his command felt renewed courage in their veins, and pressed forward beside him.
“When you reach the top, be sure to get your heads down immediately,” he commanded, his voice quiet yet every word was p
icked up by the soldiers as he led the charge for the ladders, and each man brought his shield into a defensive position as he gripped the rungs and began to climb beside the commander, believing that events could change now. They knew that their commander never committed himself until all possibilities had been considered and his options weighed. Having passed beyond the sights of the crossbowmen, and with the absence of the skirmishers, few projectiles struck them during the ascent, though everyone had by now realised the predicament that awaited their completion of the climb. Each rung drew them closer to the devastating waves that had felled their comrades, but the climb was the only option open to them. Aithan Curith’s attitude towards deserters and, to his mind, cowards was known throughout all provinces within the lands of Camentar and its two neighbours. The memory of the torture he had wrought upon his own troops during the time he was at war with Olgerd drove them on, and the crenulations were soon within reach, causing more than a few men to blanch at the sight of blood that clung stubbornly to the weather-beaten surfaces, mingling with the last few traces of the boiling oil that had taken so many casualties.
Shields covering their backs, only the soldiers’ limbs remained as targets for the few archers that still held them within their line of sight, and it was this that allowed the Camentari commander to form his tactics as he looked down at his men. Though weary from both the physical and emotional strain over the hours upon this battlefield, to a man there wasn’t a single eye that didn’t seem to sparkle with the inner passion all warriors felt when the adrenaline was pumping.
“Camentar!” the commander roared as he leapt over the ladder top, his soldiers echoing him as they followed suit. The archers drew their bows again, hearing the war-cries, but were shocked when the scaling soldiers dove to the ground, falling out of their sight due to the slight rise of stone to the rear of the ramparts. The dogs were now called upon, and with a series of whistles the handlers ordered them to attack the cowering foe. With a multitude of growls and barks, the sleek beasts bounded up the steps, while the archers upon the towers kept the Camentari heads down, though the commander managed to glance up as the first of the war hounds emerged from his climb. Gripping the hilt of his blade fiercely, the warrior thrust his blade through the roof of the animal’s maw, causing it to fall where it stood. Somehow his actions hadn’t revealed any critical areas of his body to the waiting archers, though several of his warriors were not so lucky. The hound the commander had slain had been swiftly followed by a dozen more of his kin, and each one barrelled into a prone warrior. Ten of the soldiers repeated their leader’s actions, with varying levels of success, but two attackers were struck before they could react sufficiently. Several limbs were torn before many blades found their marks, but one warrior had his throat torn by the hound’s claws before a comrade brought his blade out to strike the beast’s flank, piercing a lung. The aided soldier instantly brought his hands over his wound, having been turned to his side by the strike from the beast. The motion was futile due to the severity of the injury, but little mattered as a dozen Berinain arrows struck his exposed body, and he succumbed to terrible death almost instantly.
Unperturbed by events, the commander ordered his men to turn to face the doors that led into the towers, and the carpet of men obeyed without rising. Again the arrows thundered against their sturdy shields, but none harmed the prone men beyond minor injuries. As the volley ended and the archers reloaded, the commander ordered the charge, and the force within his section of the wall split as both groups ran at the barred oak doors, those in front preparing themselves as they threw their entire body weights behind the strike. Within the tower several of the Berinain began to waver as the securing bar, which was constructed from an immense plank the same depth as the door it secured, groaned deeply and a split appeared within the centre, so colossal was the impact. Hearing the collision, the archers attacked again, but the attackers’ shields were still positioned upon their backs, and the doorways were covered by tiled overhangs, so none of the men was a target save to the archers within the courtyard. The attackers upon the exposed flank, positioned so that they were defended on all sides by their comrades’ shields and by the tiles, brought their shields around so that few if any arrows actually penetrated sufficiently to pierce flesh. Thus prepared the two columns charged again, though this time the forward ranks drew their swords, and as the bar gave further ground under the assault the defenders gripped their axes in holds that brought their knuckles instantly to a pearly-white hue.
Upon the third impact the bar gave in and the doors entering both towers that could be reached by the commander’s section swung inward, though one tower had half the doorway collapse with its hinges torn from the walls due to the ferocity the attackers had displayed. Instantly filling the gap they had created, the attackers’ cold steel rang shrill against the wood and iron of the Berinain weapons. Having expected the defenders’ ambush, for that was how he viewed the tactic, the Camentari commander easily dodged the axe that was aimed at his skull, ducking low as his blade swung upwards in a vicious slash that sliced through part of the chain mail that the defenders wore beneath their silver surcoats; slicing through part of his opponent’s abdomen. Moving further into the tower the commander withdrew fully from the sights of any archers, and he wielded his blade defensively while he brought his shield around from his back so that it might now serve as some protection against the axes that filled the area and those he knew from experience would be waiting upon the other levels.
Things had scarcely improved for the attackers upon the southern side of the attack, though the group leader was beginning to realise what was required of his troops if they were to gain a foothold similar to that of his counterpart. The number of men under his command had dwindled rapidly since the ladders had been raised, but he mustered his remaining troops and, shields held in a tortoise-shell formation, they marched for the ladders, any missiles bouncing away or embedding harmlessly in the rigid defences that surrounded the warriors. Beginning their climb, the lieutenant in the lead, they swiftly reached the ramparts without incident, their shields held over them so that the archers had no sight of the soldier beneath the heavy kite-shaped implements. Reaching the wall’s rampart, the southern host now of such a size that only one section out of the seven that the Southern Wall was comprised of could be seized, the attackers re-formed their defensive formation, absorbing the impact from the archers within the town’s courtyard before charging at the doors.
To the surprise of half the troop, the doors of the left-hand tower swung inwards as the charging column reached it. The men at the front of the charge, pushed on by those behind them, continued to move into the shadowy interior. Lit only by dimly flickering torches little could be discerned from the gloom until General Barinya, resplendent in his surcoat of finest gold, strode towards them, a hefty battleaxe in his strong grip. While the Camentari recovered from the shock of another surprising tactic by the Berinain commander, Barinya brought his weapon swinging in a swift horizontal curve to strike at both of the nearest soldiers. The first soldier struck was knocked from his feet as the axe wrought a deep crease in the hastily-positioned shield, wrenching it from the warrior’s grasp, as he was thrown backwards by the axe continuing its strike, passing beyond the second man’s defence to cleave deep into his flesh before passing out again with the swing complete. Looks of surprise, mingled with agony, were etched onto their faces as they sank to the ground, their strength passing with their lifeblood.
Those who had followed the unfortunate pair now faced several ranks of fired-up Berinain, their assorted axes and polished shields reflecting what little light was offered. With a guttural roar of “Vengeance!” Barinya led his men in a mighty charge, and the Camentari found themselves struck from all sides as those gathered pressed against them, weapons slashing at their flesh as they tried vainly to bring their shields into position, but shock was proving rapidly to be a fatal disadvantage. A few soldiers managed to bring down their nearest o
pponents, but for every defender that fell there were always more waiting to strike, and the melee lasted mere minutes before the surrounded soldiers were destroyed. Some Camentari tried to surrender, but the defenders had no patience for them and the bloodlust drove them on to cut down any who wore the colours of their enemy.
The remaining division of the southern flank of the Camentari offensive was having far better luck and, despite their troop being smaller than the defenders’ force, they had seized the chamber the doors had opened into, and had proceeded rapidly to move into the upper corridors. The southern flank’s commander led this division, ordering a wall of shields to be at the head of the formation as they took up a swift trot through the passages. This defensive formation had two uses; to fend off any attacks by the Berinain, and to bring a lot of force against any obstacles. The pace barely lessened as they took the winding stairs between levels. As they reached the uppermost quarter of the tower, the attackers heard a cacophony of noises behind them. The defenders from the lower levels were coming after them, trying to prevent their attempts at gaining a maintainable hold within the town’s fortifications. The sounds of the war hounds snapped at the soldiers’ heels as surely as the beasts would if they came within striking distance before the upper levels could be cleansed of defenders.