One of Lampte’s lieutenants called up to him. When the Governor looked his way with a hand cupped to his ear the man pointed to the harbor channel. He looked. The chain was no longer stretched across the water, and the ships that Lampte had presumed were doomed to destruction were now leading the remainder of the invasion fleet inside the harbor. Three liberty boats had been put in the water, and some forty or more of the invading seamen were pulling up next to the windlass with the obvious intention of guarding it. Lampte sat down on the side of the wagon. He hung his legs over the side and emitted a long and labored sigh.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Jo-Dal saw Palto looking skyward. He imitated the actions of his second in command and was pleased to see that time was still on their side. One of his lookouts who was stationed in the third floor of an inn had sent word that the chain obstacle had been defeated somehow, and Fauwler’s fleet was now entering the harbor.
Now it was time to pare down the enemy numbers and inspire fear and confusion among their ranks. He pulled in the hundred warriors who had been sent to secure the piers. There were too many pirates guarding them to be overcome.
Jo-Dal had reluctantly admired the defenses that the town guard had been able to erect so hastily. They had obviously stashed the needed materials in the seafront area so such an event could be readily accomplished. The open ground of the pier area was also well chosen. It gave them a wide field of view to avoid being approached without detection. Yes, their plans had been well conceived.
Once again, however, the pirates had planned only on repelling an attack from the sea. Since this attack was coming from the opposite direction they had made one massive mistake: The harbor area was at sea level. That meant that all of the land of the town was above it, and the ground beyond it slanted down toward the sea. Jo-Dal now decided to enlist a soldier named “Gravity” into their ranks.
While two thirds of the invading warriors were busy guarding against a possible enemy attack, the other third had been at work gathering needed materials. Wagons, hay, alcohol, kitchen grease and even unused wheels had been collected and stored in a large intersection a few streets back from the edge of the waterfront. At Jo-Dal’s signal they were all carried forward. The amassed material had been worked and transformed into objects that they hoped would be helpful to their cause. Now there were teams gathered at each opening between the town buildings which faced the sea. Palto received the signal from his commander and nodded. He raised his left arm over his head, and fires were sparked all around the waterfront.
***
From his perch on the tall wagon which was located on the seawall, Lampte saw smoke. It began to seep up from every street which faced his forces.
“What now?” he asked himself. “Why won’t the damned outlanders just attack?”
No sooner had he asked himself the question than a large ball of tied and burning twigs, small branches and hay came rolling down from the elevated city streets. The flaming ball traveled slowly and eventually stopped twenty yards from their front lines. It remained there burning brightly but doing no harm. The pirates and citizens of the town guard began laughing. Lampte joined in. This was good. It exposed the invaders to be capable of failure. There had been damned little of that thus far this morning. Several of the seamen looked up to where he sat and pointed back at the burning ball, still laughing.
Then a single wheel with hay and twigs sticking out a good two feet on either side rolled toward them. The wheel was traveling at a rapid pace and it was casting off flaming grease and alcohol as it spun. Some of the pirates stopped laughing when it became clear that the wheel was coming straight at them and, instead of slowing, it was speeding up as gravity pulled at it.
Then pirates were now jumping and running and fleeing the wheel’s path. Most escaped the burning liquids that it was spewing, but two men were blocked from escaping by others. The wheel crashed into their backs, and their clothes were soon aflame. They yelled and started to discard their clothing as many of their brethren laughed at their distress. The flames from the wheel were igniting portions of the barricade upon which it had come to rest.
Up on his wagon Lampte had a bad feeling. He stood up to see the city’s edge more clearly. There was more smoke up there now.
Even before the two afflicted pirates could completely extinguish their flaming clothes, another object came rolling toward them. This was a small wagon that had been packed with dry branches, twigs and hay. All of it had been drenched in flammable liquids. The heavier weight of the little wagon gathered speed more quickly than the first two objects. It also cast off more flaming grease as it rattled and sped forward than had the others. The front line of the town guard that was in the path of the wagon was not laughing now. The men in that position were quickly plotting the course of the flaming wagon and making certain that they were well clear of it.
Now other wagons were being rolled from the heights of the town down toward the pirates. Six, then eight, then thirty more of the wheeled weapons bounced and clattered down the descending cobbled streets which led to the piers. The tongues of the wagons had been wired to ensure that they rolled in the direction in which they had been aimed. Each wagon trailed a plume of heavy, black smoke behind them.
A sort of pandemonium broke out among the pirates. Men who had been deployed to the front lines were now hopping over their own barricades and trying to get back among the men in the deeper lines. The wagons were now fully engaged in flames and still bouncing over the cobbles, heading toward the piers. Some of the pirates who had been designated as supervisors shouted for their people to stand firm, but they were shouting it while they, themselves, sought safety so their words were ignored.
The first wagon crashed into the nearest defensive position. The men had already fled its path, but it plowed heavily into the debris and scattered it into the air. Soon, that portion of the barricade was burning.
Other wagons slammed into the barricades. Most of the defenders were able to get out of the way of the wheeled weapons, but some had been caught in their path. Several men screamed in agony as they implored their friends to help them discard their flaming clothes. Most of those friends were too busy trying to avoid winding up like them.
All up and down the first line of barricades flames were raging out of control. It got so bad that the entire first line of defense was abandoned and allowed to burn.
Lampte rubbed his chin as he oversaw the damage. “Not too bad,” he thought. It certainly could have been worse. They had lost a few dozen men to burns, but that was not crucial. They still had superior numbers against the invaders. The Governor took in a breath of relief. No, that was not too bad at all. True, they’d lost a defensive line. No worries, they had three more. This only served to make those lines stronger. Lampte tried hard to convince himself that such was the case.
An hour passed with no more attacks. Most of the first defensive line now lay smoldering and consumed by the fire. The pirates began to relax. Some even began heating water for tea.
Then more smoke rose up from the town.
Fifty large round balls of flaming and wired hay, grease and twigs came speeding from the town down toward the defenders. The pirates barely had time to notice their presence and react before they rolled and bounced over the remains of the first barricade. They then smashed into the second defensive line spewing ignited grease and alcohol over everything in their path.
The first such ball had been made too large and heavy. Upon seeing the performance of their test weapon these following fireballs had been constructed to be smaller, lighter and faster. Instead of running out of speed before reaching their target, these performed effectively.
Just before the hay balls struck the second barricade, a volley of two hundred arrows was released from the Olvioni lines. Being too far away for accuracy the volley had been directed high up into the air to drop down upon the town guard’s positions at maximum range. Most of the pirates were paying attention only to the approa
ching fireballs and were caught exposed to the rain of deadly shafts.
A second arrow barrage was launched before the first one had even struck.
More confusion erupted in the lines of the defenders. The first arrow assault had killed or wounded forty six of Lampte’s fighters. The second caught thirty two more.
The fire balls took out an additional seven and ignited most of the second barricade.
Lampte was furious. He yelled for his men to answer the assault with an arrow attack of their own. The archers regained their composure and launched their own potentially lethal shower, but they mostly struck the exterior town walls behind which the Olvioni forces were hiding. None found flesh. Infuriating laughter was heard coming from behind the buildings.
Lampte knew something must be done. His plan had been to hold his position in the hope that the outlanders would attack his fortified defenses. Failing that, he had counted on being able to launch effective night raids on the enemy, reducing their numbers and denying them sleep. This steady hemorrhage of fighters, however, had to stop!
***
Dwan improved quickly after regaining consciousness. She was still lying with her head in Taggart’s lap and sipping water from a cup that he held to her lips. His other hand continued to stroke her hair.
Outside, the sounds of combat grew louder. The waterfront was only two streets north of their position. The smell of smoke was noticeable in the cellar.
Dwan watched her man’s eyes every time there was an increase in the noise. He would temporarily stop stroking her hair and try to identify the sound.
Dwan pushed herself up into a sitting position, ignoring his protests that she must lie still and rest.
“I’m adequately rested, My Love.” Her voice was hoarse and scratchy from the assault, but she was feeling stronger with each passing moment. She took his hand in both of hers. “And I have several trained healers here among us who can provide any further treatment that I might require. Now go do what you are so eager to do.”
Taggart searched her eyes for a sign that she was delirious, but he saw nothing to indicate it. It was true that he wanted to join the fight. Most of the warriors out there were risking their lives for Dwan and the other women. He felt compelled to share the danger they were experiencing, but how could he leave her after being separated from her for so long? He shook his head.
“We have a thousand warriors out there. One man will make no difference.”
“One particular man will. Remember who you are, Tag. You are The Legend, the mighty and mythical warrior returned from the past to lead the people of Olvion to victory. Your presence alone will give them courage.”
Taggart started to protest again, but Dwan put her finger to his lips. “These warriors are here for us. They risk their lives for us. Some are dying for us. If you can help them in any way you must.” He began to interrupt her, but she shook her head. “Don’t worry, the universe is not so cruel as to separate us again after asking so much of us.
Taggart was not as certain as she was about the kindness of the universe. After all, he had been taken from her just as their future together seemed assured. He knew, however, that her spirit and sense of honor would demand that they share the risk of the rescue effort. He kissed her forehead for the hundredth time since she had awakened. Then he slowly unwound his large frame from the floor and stood. Two healers moved in immediately to attend to her. Dwan smiled at him and made a shooing motion with her hands.
Lyyl, Geraar and Tay started strapping on their weapons. Lyyl moved stiffly owing to his wound. Taggart raised a hand to still their efforts.
“I know this is a lot to ask of a warrior,” he said, “but I need you all to stay here and protect them.” His hand waved across the room to indicate the former captives. “They are the reason that we are here. If they are not protected then all who died will have done so in vain.”
The disappointment showed plainly on their faces. It was not the way of the warrior to stand by while their brothers and sisters died in battle. Fortunately, they also had the discipline of the warrior. Taggart was their Sub-Commander, and he had given them an order even though he had phrased it as a request. They would obey. The rescued women would be protected even if it cost their lives.
Taggart noticed that Toria was not among them. He searched the room and saw her on the floor near the stairway. She was sitting cross-legged rocking gently back and forth while tears dripped from her eyes. In her arms she cradled Pan who laid there motionless, his small jaws agape. His eyelids were slightly open, and the whites of his eyes were all that was showing. Tinker was standing on hind legs with her nose to Pan’s cheek.
Taggart knelt beside her. Tinker was perched on Toria’s knee, her nose nuzzling her mate’s cheek. For the first time Taggart recognized the feeling of his little friend’s emotions being projected to him. The depth of Tinker’s sadness was almost overpowering. Taggart did not know whom to comfort first.
“Is he…?” He let the sentence go unfinished.
Toria looked up as if noticing him for the first time. She shook her head slightly. “I can still feel his little heart beating. He is breathing…only very slowly.” She hugged Pan to her chest gently, then she pointed to Tinker. “She told me that it was his first time inside an injured human’s mind. He used up so much of his strength in saving her that he didn’t have enough left to find his way back.” Her chin quivered. “She told me in words, Tag!”
Taggart nodded. He knelt down and stroked Tinker’s head with two fingers. That action usually elicited a purr of pleasure from the little creature. She showed no reaction now. After a moment she turned her furry little head to him. A blast of images and emotions enveloped his mind. In the space of a heartbeat Tinker relayed to Taggart all that she believed about their situation. She believed that Pan would either live or die, and there was nothing that Taggart could do to help him. She would be mentally joining with her mate again shortly when she had fully recovered from her first effort. They would either find their way out of the mental maze that they had constructed together or they would both surrender their bodies and their lives to the struggle. Either way they would be together.
She also informed him that his presence was badly needed in the battle outside, and that he should go and join it at once. Pan had completed his tasking and his sacrifices should not have been made in vain.
Taggart took a moment to contemplate the knowledge that she had gifted him with. Then he nodded. He picked up Tinker and hugged her to himself. He felt her chest rising and falling. She looked in his eyes and gave him a short purr. He recalled the tumultuous days after his first arrival in Olvion, the hunger and the fear which quickly left him after meeting up with his little animal friend. He remembered how that purring sound had served to calm him when he longed desperately for his old life. Taggart said a quick prayer that this would not be the last time that he heard that sound.
Then he rose up, kissed Dwan, gathered his weapons and left through the cellar door.
***
Jo-Dal saw the movements within the pirate lines. His military mind read them like a scholar would read a book. He turned to seek out Palto on the eastern flank. When he had the man’s attention he gave the signal to prepare for an infantry attack. Palto nodded. Jo-Dal knew that the signal had probably not been needed. As a seasoned veteran of the Great War, Palto had most likely already recognized the enemy’s actions. Military protocol was to leave nothing to chance and assume nothing.
Once the Aspellian Commander knew that his flank was ready he began deploying his portion of the invading force. He took full advantage of the surrounding homes and businesses that lined the waterfront. He placed his archers in the uppermost rooms and rooftops. He saw to it that they were supplied with all of the arrows that they had brought with them.
The remaining warriors were stationed as strategically as was possible. He longed for more javelins and spears, but they had few of those weapons. The terrain over which they had tr
aveled made it difficult to bring them. They had gathered up as many of those items as they could from defeated and captured pirates, but they could have used more.
He sorely felt the absence of the one hundred warriors that he had left at the first barricade to watch the prisoners. They would be useful now, but it was just not in them to murder defenseless prisoners. It was not in their code of honor.
The only good thing that they had going for them was the fact that the pirates were leaving their hardened defensive positions and bringing the fight to them. That would allow the Olvionis to turn the tables and defend themselves behind fortifications. They were still outnumbered almost three to one, but getting the pirates out in the open would be helpful. Jo-Dal studied the enemy movements for clues as to where they intended to strike. He took specific note of the smoke rising from numerous sources.
Over on the eastern flank Palto knelt and watched the movements of the pirates. The soldier had a scar on his left shoulder which always seemed to itch every time he faced danger. The greater the danger, the more it itched. He realized that the sensation was probably more mental than physical, but he noticed that the scar was itching furiously now.
He looked back over his shoulder. The hundreds of warriors which he oversaw were well-positioned to repel an attack. If the numbers were even he would be comfortable of victory. Even at two-to-one odds Palto would take wagers on their success. However, he had been in battles before with the Grey Ones and having three enemy fighters for every one friendly were daunting odds.
Palto sighed. Such was the life of a soldier. His wife and daughters knew that there would likely come a day when he would not return. The kingdom would see to their support with a nice pension so he had no worry in that direction. He thought of his wife, Io. She was a beauty. He frowned. They lived next door to a widower named Ronge. Palto did not like Ronge. He was always coming around to “help” Io when Palto was deployed. If he fell today, Palto prayed that Io would find someone…anyone…other than Ronge.
The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion Page 45