by Bill Fawcett
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At dusk, the barrage began. No one approached Cragsclaw, but the arrows, fireballs and stones flew over both walls much more thickly than ever before. Most flew over the walls themselves to smash into what was left of the buildings, buildings that were filled with the wounded and children. The fortress had been crowded when the siege started and now all but the stone buildings had been lost and most of their roofs had been burned away. The stretched blankets that served to stop the snow offered no protection from the missiles.
On the west wall Sruss stood directing the remaining archers. Talwe knew they had plenty of arrows, thanks to Reswen’s caravan, but fewer than a hundred skilled bowmrem remained to fire them. Highland and desert mrem arrows clattered off the wall around her. A defender shrieked as he clutched his side and fell from the wall to land with a sickening whump near Talwe on the road before him. Looking up, Talwe saw that the Dancer seemed calm and unafraid, fully in control. He suddenly envied her the chance that she might die in battle. He might fall to an unseen boulder, but her death would come from an arrow through the heart.
To die in battle now seemed like a dream. There were steps nearby and Talwe took them up to the top of the wall. Crouching, he looked out into the swirls Mithmid had conjured.
Then, suddenly, Mithmid’s mist failed.
In the sky the moons flared, full and bright. Across the fields they cast their light, and from the walls of the fortress the enemy was plain. From the west came shouting, as Sruss’s archers began to fall. From the east came only the sounds of mrems’ screams.
“Liskash!” they wailed, and they fell to the ground. Talwe raced to the walls. On each defender he laid a hand, and he spoke to their fear. Calmly he told them that the fortress would hold. At the sound of his voice some returned to their posts, but many refused to raise themselves up. “They will eat us,” came their sobs. ‘They will tear the hearts from our bodies.” Then Talwe lifted them and struck them, and some stared in terror and fled.
He leaped to the wall and took charge of the bowmrem Sruss had sent to assist him. “Aim for their throats!” he shouted, for he knew that even a liskash can be killed. When the first liskash fell, green blood streaming over its chest, a cry of sudden victory went out over the fortress. Then the mrem who had fled rejoined the battle, and Talwe was free to search for the wizard.
He found Mithmid lying against a wall. A guardsmrem’s black cloak covered his face, and his hands were clenched tightly at his sides. Talwe lifted the cloak. Mithmid’s mouth hung open. Fearing the worst, the mrem placed his cheek near the fallen magician’s mouth. He still breathed. Talwe found he was relieved, not only because they needed this mrem’s powers, but because he valued him. The darkfur lifted the small figure and carried it to his quarters.
Once there he gave him water, but the wizard did not drink. Then he covered him with blankets, and lay upon him to warm him more quickly. The Ar-mrem’s body was as cold as the air.
He closed Mithmid’s mouth and strode back into the streets. Talwe found he was tired, tired of watching mrem die. He longed as he stood there for his old village, as it had been, for Orrintar and the clean glory of the Hunt.
Then he remembered Ondra.
He had left with Crethok, or at least so Orrintar had told him. With Crethok, who now fought just outside the walls. If he was there, Morian would know, and if they could reach him....
Talwe bounded up the stairs and onto the west wall. Behind the wall of archers he raced, until he stood face to face with Sruss. The Dancer was shouting, and for a moment she refused to hear him. But Talwe grabbed her shoulders, and at last her eyes met his.
“I have no time!” she protested. Her voice was like gravel.
“You must,” he argued. “I need your help.”
She shook herself free. “There’s a battle going on,” she said angrily, “and I seem to have to be the one who has to conduct it. Now get out of my way, and let me do what I must.”
“No!” he demanded. “I need your help.”
She faced him, and her eyes blazed. “What do you want?” she asked, and Talwe was quick to answer.
“Reach Morian,” he said, “and tell her to find a mrem named Ondra.”
Sruss shook her head. “Who’s Ondra?” Her voice was quieter now.
“Remember back in the village?” he replied. “Orrintar told us that Ondra had left with Crethok. He said he’d left willingly. If I can find him, he can help us.”
“If he left willingly,” she argued, “why will he help you?”
“We were friends,” was all Talwe replied.
Sruss stood in thought, despite the din of battle that filled the air around her. For several minutes she was silent, and Talwe stood beside her, afraid to break her thought. At last she spoke, and her voice was strangely soft.
“Ondra awaits your word,” she said.
Talwe smiled. “Tell him that the bundor are ours to command.” When the whitefur’s eyes questioned, he nodded his head.
“It is done,” she said after a few minutes silence. “Morian has done as you have asked.” Then she turned her back and surveyed the field, and when he heard her voice again it was filled with the force of command.
Talwe looked out over the wall. The highland catapults still flung fire, while their bowmrem fired clouds of arrows. There was no charge yet from the swordsmrem, no attempt to climb the walls, but into place now Crethok rolled a massive engine of war. As Talwe watched, a boulder was lifted onto it, and suddenly he saw the missile hurtling toward Cragsclaw. When it hit the wall, ten paces away and halfway up, huge pieces of stone broke away. Now he knew why they had concentrated their attack on this one wall.
A second boulder hit, and then a third. Each time, the wall shook harder, and Talwe had to pull himself back to his feet. He looked at the archers and saw the panic in their eyes, and then he looked for the Dancer and he saw that she was hurt.
Her left arm hung limply at her side, and blood dripped from a tear on her neck. She dropped to one knee and put her hand to her head, and Talwe started toward her as the fourth boulder struck. Before he could reach her, a piece of the wall came loose above her, and he watched as it glanced off her back, throwing her against the battlements to fall unconscious.
Talwe took command of the wall. He ordered the Dancer freed and carried to his quarters, and ordered her placed beside Mithmid and cared for. Then he looked to the eastern wall and saw that the mrem defending it were holding, despite the fire and arrows that fell endlessly from the sky. For a moment he thanked Inla for their warriors’ courage.
The wall shook again. Two archers fell as it collapsed beneath them. Talwe looked out and saw the enemy marching at them. In the moonlight they looked numberless, their ranks an endless blur.
Some highlanders led. They rushed forward with ladders and ropes, and all of Cragsclaw’s mrem could not hold against them. They swarmed up the west wall, and more came behind them. To Talwe, watching from the wall, it seemed that few enemies were falling from the archers’ arrows. But it was simply that there were so many approaching and so few archers left. Then a few clansmrem gained the top of the wall, and more crawled through where it had fallen, and Talwe’s sword swung desperately in Cragsclaw’s defense.
Then, miraculously, the highlanders stopped coming. Those on the wall screamed and jumped down, while those who had already entered fell to the remaining defenders. His sword dripping blood, Talwe climbed into the breach and stared over the fields.
The eastern army had brought more chariots, and had kept them out of arrowshot. Now the sleek beasts and their drivers lay dying. Talwe thought he could distinguish the burly form of Reswen where the fighting was the most furious. The relief column from Ar had finally arrived.
The army from Ar struck hard, smashing into the rear of the clansmrem attacking the western wall before they could reform to face them. In the
first heartbeats a hundred of Crethok’s warriors fell. Before an hour was out, the highlander army had been driven up the valley and stood arrayed on the mountainside, still battling the relief army from Ar. This meant that the two forces were still split and to his right Talwe saw that a mass of brown mrem blocked the narrow portion of the valley. There was no sign of the liskash among the dark-furred mrem. But a familiar twitching warned Talwe that danger still threatened. Quickly he ordered the remaining mrem on the west wall to form behind him.
Then Talwe heard screaming. Over the roofs of the broken houses the east wall burned, the flames lighting the sky. Archers jumped off, moaning as bones broke when they hit the ground, and Talwe heard pounding outside the eastern gate.
He led his force through the streets at a fast run. A few fell behind, but every mrem heard the sounds of pain and the crackle of flames. He ran full out and leaped over the bodies of those slain in the streets, but when he arrived the top of the wall was a mass of flame. A dark liquid still trickled from a barrel that had been thrown too far. The hunter bent to smell it.
Lamp oil!
The eastern army had flung barrels of lamp oil onto the wall and then lit the oil with torches. The fire burned fiercely, and the defenders were being driven from the wall. Talwe wondered what their attackers had gained. They couldn’t survive those flames either. Then the gate groaned, as a great weight struck it.
Seeing a portion of the wall where the oil had burned clear, Talwe ran through fire at its base and scurried up the still steaming stair. The stone was painfully hot under his bare pads, and the dark-furred mrem knew he dared not stop or his fur might catch fire. Talwe raced through the dying flames to the wall above the East Gate and looked down on a terrifying sight.
The liskash stood waiting in the field outside the gate. There were not many left, less than six tens, but all of the reptiles were huge. Over them hung a magical haze that melted the snow. Below him ten more liskash held the thick trunk of a giant songomore, and with a merciless rhythm, they battered at the thick wooden gate. Already the wooden doors were beginning to crack. He could hear the tortured wood splinter with each strike of the ram.
Then suddenly a golden flame flew from the wall beside him and set on fire the nearest end of the songomore trunk. Talwe whipped his head around, and he saw Mithmid on the wall. The wizard staggered as the bolts left his fingers, but he crawled to his feet and sent another streak of fire. This ignited the other end of the trunk, just as the liskash managed to extinguish the first flames. This fire spread rapidly. Shrieking they dropped the ram and milled in confusion. When the first archers braved the blazing oil and began to fire at them, the surviving liskash lumbered away.
Talwe tried to cheer, but his throat was too dry. All that came out was a hoarse croak. Then he realized they had won just another hollow victory. If the relief army did not vanquish the highlanders soon, it would be too late. Beyond the retreating liskash, dark-furred mrem began to advance toward the wall. Talwe looked around. Even with the mrem he had brought, there were fewer than fifty bowmrem and a hundred spearmrem left to defend nearly a hundred paces of wall. They would fail. The castle would fall to the army of the Eastern Lords. The relief column from Ar would be trapped between Cragsclaw’s walls and the remaining clansmrem.
He watched the dark ranks of the eastern mrem form into three ragged lines just beyond bowshot. He noticed they had no fear of the retreating liskash. Rather the desert mrem bowed to the reptiles, as if paying homage, as the hideous creatures passed close to them. The sight sickened him. Talwe paced the wall, enraged by his own helplessness. He was too drained to even attempt the Call of the Hunt. Nor was the dark-furred mrem confident it would still hold its power of old now that his hatred was fading. They were going to lose after so much sacrifice. Instead he opened his mouth to scream a curse directed at Inla. But before he could finish the blasphemy, the ordered lines of attackers were struck from behind by an army that plunged down the mountain accompanied by the war cries of the highlanders.
Had some new army arrived? Talwe was confused. Three armies had fought this battle, the mrem of Cragsclaw, the highlanders and the eastern liskash and mrem. A fourth was the relief force, but that was barely able to keep the highlanders away from the breached west wall. Who was this fifth army emerging from the trees on the slopes across from the eastern wall? Were the victors already falling out over the spoils, even before the castle had fallen? If these were the clansmrem, who was fighting the relief army outside the western wall? There seemed no answer.
The highlanders rolled over the liskash in the rear and tore into the ragged line of the eastern mrem. The thick mass of highlanders smashed through the center of the less well-armed eastern mrem and then turned to roll them up from the center. The remaining liskash giants milled about, as perplexed as the castle’s defenders. They were trapped between the eastern wall and this strange new army assailing their own mrem. Then the reptiles formed themselves into a circle and moved slowly toward the force that was slaughtering their auxiliaries.
As they began to move, the largest moon rose and illuminated the battlefield with silver light. Talwe thought he could distinguish a tall mrem in a dark cloak gesturing for those clansmrem near him to form to receive the liskash’s charge. He ran along the wall ordering the archers who had returned to the wall to shoot at the exposed backs of the liskash. The whir of arrows grew louder as more archers returned to their places on the ramparts. Runners, mrem too young to fight, rushed to bring more arrows. The mrem on the wall shouted in triumph when the first giant reptile fell.
The charging liskash hesitated. Many turned to face the new menace from the castle walls. With a hissing growl, audible even over the sounds of the battle, a few raced toward Cragsclaw. More followed, and then more still until the whole mass began to roll once more toward the East Gate. Talwe realized that by attracting the liskash they might have saved the new army, but at the cost of losing Cragsclaw.
Mithmid placed a hand on Talwe’s shoulder. Steadying himself, he began to chant, his eyes narrowed and his voice took on a distant, eerie quality. A small trickle of blood ran from the wizard’s nose, but he continued the chant, swaying in rhythm with the words.
As Mithmid’s chant continued, the aura of enchanted warmth covering the liskash began to dissipate. To Talwe it seemed to be torn apart by a wind that emanated from the chanting mrem beside him. With their protecting warmth gone, the liskash begin to slow. A confused, almost pitiful squeaking replaced their growls. Still Mithmid chanted until the last vestiges of their magical warmth was lost against the slope of the mountains across the valley. Then Mithmid simply seemed to fold on himself and collapsed at Talwe’s feet.
Seeing his opportunity, the dark-caped mrem ordered those clansmrem he had rallied to charge into the liskash approaching the fortress. Talwe wondered at their courage. He had been terrified to face just one liskash. These mrem were charging a forest of them.
But the highlanders swept down on the liskash, bellowing their war cry and brandishing their axes and swords. An axemrem made the first kill. Dashing ahead of the others, he dodged easily under the half-frozen liskash’s clumsy thrust. Before his opponent could recover, he buried his war-axe in the beast’s chest. It dropped into the bloodstained snow with a gurgling yelp. Soon five of the massive liskash had fallen, then ten. At this point the reptiles had absorbed the impetus of the clansmrem’s charge. They had even managed to turn their line so their greater size gave them some advantage. Even moving more slowly, the sheer strength of each liskash made every stroke deadly.
Talwe leaped down. Arrows had become too dangerous, each one as likely to fell a clansmrem as a liskash. He raced from warrior to warrior, ordering them to follow him. Every mrem who still stood poured from the wall and followed him into the courtyard below.
They struggled to open the damaged gate, but finally with a frenzied cry they dashed out into the corpse-strewn fie
ld. With their own war cry the defenders slammed into the melee with the liskash.
Several of the massive reptiles fell before they could react to yet another unexpected attack. Those which remained began to run, their scales covered with blood, running as hard as they could from the valley of Cragsclaw. Seeing this, the desert mrem who still stood bared their necks in surrender. Talwe pushed past the chaos, searching for the green-clad highlander who had led their saviors.
Then, roaring its hate, the dragon came out of the east. Mrem screamed and fled back toward the forest or the castle. Talwe rushed for the gate and with a sickening lurch remembered Mithmid had fallen. Behind him streamed the remainder of the garrison and those highlanders that for some reason had come to rescue them.
As the last hurried through the East Gate, the crowd of guardsmrem and clansmrem closed it firmly behind them. But the dragon needed no gate, and it flew effortlessly over the wall. Then it circled the fortress and stopped in midair, hovered just beyond bowshot and with a maddening scream raced out to the west.
TALWE FLEW up the stairs and looked out over the wall. Crethok’s highlanders had attacked at the first sight of the dragon. The monster had swept down, and massive claws gouged pits in the earth where moments earlier Ar-mrem had stood shooting arrows into those highlanders who fought for the Eastern Lords.
The huge creature rose again, its screech rattling the Ar-mrem’s shields. Torn between the renewed battle with the clansmrem and the menace above, the relief army’s formation began to dissolve. With a whoop of triumph, Crethok led his followers after the backs of the fleeing soldiers.