"Your casualties were light, they tell us," said Melidofulo.
"Yes, Master."
"Congratulations," said Utnapishtim. "Thru Gillo, we see you brought in some prisoners."
"One of them was wearing this on his helmet." Thru showed them the red plume he'd snapped off General Uisbank's helmet.
"Excellent, a commander of some high rank. We will interrogate him immediately."
The captive men were being led rapidly up the road toward the gate. They passed behind the mot regiments set out on the plain in front of the walls. A lot of unkind comments came their way, which they understood all too easily, despite the different language. Ahead of them the city gates were half-open. Within they saw a city street, buildings, a crowd of monkeys.
Thru Gillo had moved on. He was studying the men on the top of the dunes. A line had been formed up there at least one hundred men long. But it didn't seem to indicate an imminent attack. The men seemed content to hold the top of the dune. It was just as Toshak had predicted.
"Cut off the head, and their army will fall onto the defensive. The initiative will pass to us."
And indeed, that was what was happening to the army of Shasht. By some strange and terrible circumstance, the ranking officers of the army had been caught together and slaughtered.
The army had been decapitated. General Uisbank had even been captured. General Raltt, who had been organizing the food supply on the beach, was now the ranking officer. Frantic signals were sent posthaste to the fleet command.
Thru had to take a few deep breaths and concentrate. The feeling of triumph was just a little too intoxicating.
"Well, Thru Gillo, you're in command. Shall we attack them again?"
It was the Grys Norvory, titular commander of the regiment they had readied for the attack. For a bare second or so, Thru felt the old bitterness; then he dismissed it. There was a war to win, and personal feelings had no place in it.
"No, Toshak said to wait."
"But there's just a hundred of them up there. We could take them like we took the first lot."
"There's a hundred we can see. I would rather trust to Toshak's instincts. He understands these things. He was trained at Sulmo."
"I have received training as well."
"And Toshak is our commanding officer. We will wait on him. That is an order."
The Grys looked at him, and something hard glittered in the eyes for a moment. The others, a mixture of officers who were elected by the mots of their commands or appointed by the King's Commissioners, looked on with interest. The Grys had chafed before at being subordinate to Thru Gillo.
That hard feeling in Norvory's eyes provoked something in Thru. He was ready to drop everything and punch the Grys silly, right there.
And then Toshak appeared, breathing a little hard from having run most of the way. His staff were still toiling up the path through the woods.
"Congratulations, Colonel Gillo. Your attack went perfectly."
"Thank you, sir!" Thru went to attention and saluted, far from expert in either activity.
The Grys stood there stone-faced.
"Whatever is wrong with you two? You look as if you were about to attack each other when I came up."
"Uh, nothing sir!"
For a moment Toshak stared at them. He looked to Thru for an explanation, then motioned to the dunes.
"Must take a closer look." They set off up through the heather to a vantage point on a rock that broke above the tangled vegetation. Toshak studied the top of the dune with his spyglass, then he turned it on the plain off to one side. The regiments of men had retreated and formed a defensive position across the plain from the bottom of the sand dunes to the top of the beach.
Toshak returned his gaze to the line of men atop the dune. Clearly there were more men waiting just over the top of the dune.
"I think it's clear that those men up there are supposed to be a lure. They are hiding several times that number on the farther side of the dune, hoping we will attack when they can crush us."
The Grys Norvory stared at him. Then he looked back to the dune top and studied it more carefully.
"I have a better idea," said Toshak in the quiet voice that Thru had begun to recognize as signaling something important.
"We will attack, but not just yet. Better to let those men wait up there for a while. Make them get impatient. Make the others behind the dune relax. Give them an hour or two. Meanwhile, we bring up some catapults, then attack under cover of their fire."
"The mots are fired up, ready to go now. We can take them," said the Grys Norvory.
"We can't risk failure. We'll use the catapults to break up their line and attack at the same moment. The Assenzi may be able to help us again with a spell. They seem to distract these men very well."
And so the battlefield remained quiet. Boats rowed to and fro the big ships and the beach while the men held their positions, keeping about three hundred paces from the line held by the mots along the road.
The mots were still eager to attack again. Their first heady victory had taught them that they could wage war, and there was a fire now burning in them, a fire that cried for vengeance.
Four of the small-size catapults, capable of firing seven-foot spears a distance of four hundred yards, were brought up by a sweating army of youngsters now working in Graedon's Engineering Corps.
While the catapults were reassembled in the heather, Thru made sure that the mots in his regiment received some food and water. He took the opportunity to check with his scout parties set out to the south near the hamlet of Welgen. Parties had ranged well out on that flank, climbing to the top of the dunes about a half mile farther south, where they began to decline in height and mass. Thru understood that the enemy was holding his positions defensively. His main force had moved back to form a line with the force on top of the dune. There were still boats plying to and fro the shore, and the ships could be seen, lined up out into the bay.
Other scouts reported back from the southern end of the dunes. There was activity aboard the ships, one of which had moved closer inshore. There were no men on the southern dunes, and it did not appear that the men were concerned about attack from that direction.
All four catapults, along with two dozen spears apiece, were hidden in the heather within two hours.
Still they waited while Toshak studied the positions from the wall and discussed the targeting with the catapulters.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The ancient beings came to her once more in the little room where she was kept under guard.
"Good day, Simona, we hope we find you well." They spoke perfect Shashti, better than Thru, and they had learned it from just listening to her. Such ability was faintly terrifying.
They still seemed like the demons on the Hell Wall, but she had learned how different they were from each other. The one named Utnapishtim was the take-charge one. His huge eyes were very pale, and he wore the glowing blue gem at his throat. Melidofulo wore black, and his thin face was a beacon for anxiety. The other one, called Master Graedon, wasn't with them this time. He only rarely appeared; Utnapishtim always excused him at the beginning of the conversation, saying that he was busy on some project or other.
"Yes, ancient Masters, I am well. I heard there was fighting today."
"Yes, dear, the Shasht fleet has landed an army outside the city."
It was what she had feared. And when they conquered the mots and found her in this cell, what would they do to her?
She could see the priests with their knives all too clearly in her mind.
"We have come to you, Simona, in the hope that you will be able to help us identify a prisoner."
She hesitated. Were they asking her to betray her people?
"I would like to help, but I cannot be a traitor."
"We understand that. But you know that many men will die before this war is over."
"Yes."
"We want to bring it to an end as quickly as possible. Th
at will save lives."
"Yes, I see."
"If we know this man's identity, then it may help us in getting him to talk to us. So far he refuses to speak."
Simona nodded. The arrogance of the men of Shasht was boundless. If all they wanted was to talk to this man, then that she could do.
"I will help. I would do anything to stop this senseless fighting."
She followed them through the corridors and staircases that filled the building. They paused outside a door two floors up. Utnapishtim pulled something out of a pocket in his robe.
"The battle has not been decided, but we were fortunate in capturing this man. He had this plume on his helmet."
At the sight of the crushed red plume Simona shivered.
"It is from either a colonel or a general, but I'm not sure which."
"Would you come in with us and take a look at this man? Do not fear, he will not be able to see you."
For some reason her heart pounded at this thought. To see a man of her own people, after these weeks among the mots and brilbies?
"Yes," she heard herself say, but fear left her trembling.
"Come, my dear, wear this raiment. Cover your head and hair. He will not know you."
Utnapishtim handed her a cloak made of fine wool, very soft and light. The hood came over her head and she wound a flap across her face.
"It will only be for a moment," said Melidofulo. "Do not fear. He is restrained."
Utnapishtim surveyed her before opening the door.
"You will appear as no more than a strangely dressed mot."
General Uisbank's head jerked up as the door was opened. His guards stepped forward a moment and stepped back when they saw it was the Assenzi. Uisbank was sitting on a stool with his hands bound behind his back and his ankles tied to the legs of the stool. A lantern hung directly over him, bathing him in light.
Uisbank saw that the demons were back. They spoke Shashti with a lack of accent, but they spoke Shashti. He didn't know how—unless some prisoner had talked. But that was close to unimaginable. Any man taken would have preferred to die in the grace of the Great God than teach these demons Shashti.
The usual pair of demons were there, accompanied by a third figure, covered head to toe in brown. God damn! The fucking monkeys wore nothing but brown wool. They were so goddamn primitive they hadn't got around to putting a little color into their clothes.
Uisbank looked down at the wide beams of the polished wooden floor. Why didn't the God-damned, fornicating monkeys just kill him and get it over with!
Then his head jerked up again. There was something odd about the figure in the brown robe's movement, something that spoke to him on a level below conscious thought. And a moment later he knew.
"Traitor!" he screamed. He tried to leap to his feet and attack, and the stool rocked violently in place. The guards moved to hold him down.
"Filthy, fucking traitor, the priests will have you! They will flay you alive. You will die screaming for the mercy of the Great God."
Despite the priests, Uisbank was rocking the stool up and down, it fell with a crash, and he rolled back into the wall. The guards bent over him.
Simona turned and stumbled out of the room, barely able to see, shaking with terror.
He had seen her. He was a man of Shasht; he would always know a woman of Shasht. The priests would have her! There was no mercy in their world.
His name was Uisbank, she was sure. Of the Gofft clan, and recently promoted to command of the landing army. Filek had told her that he was a complete dolt, promoted because he was completely trustworthy. She had seen him on the women's deck of the Anvil.
Outside, in the hall passage, she leaned against a wall and shivered.
"He sensed you in some way that we do not understand," said Melidofulo stroking his tiny chin.
"He is a man, I am woman. That is all it took," she said bitterly.
"Ah," said Utnapishtim. "Sexuality is an area in which we are weak. Being nonsexed ourselves it is a thing we can only guess at. However, he still does not know your identity, and he is still our prisoner and so he will remain."
She felt a tiny flash of sympathy for poor Uisbank. No harder fate could she imagine for a leading warrior of Shasht. How he must long for death!
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
"Go!" said Thru and, with little more than whispers down the line of command, they did.
Once more the Assenzi had laid a spell over the scene. The men lined along the top of the dune were distracted by distant birds circling over the city, pointing to the dozens of white birds and crying out to each other that it was an omen.
An omen that they misunderstood, to their cost.
Nine hundred mots, organized in three columns, twenty mots abreast, were churning up the dune. At the front of the columns were teams of the strongest brilbies and mots.
Most of this front rank had acquired steel helmets and heavy shields. They were armed with two spears, one a lighter weapon for throwing, the other a heavier spear with a long steel head designed to be wielded overhand, thrusting and jabbing for the eyes of the opponent.
Behind them the catapults were armed and ready, just waiting for the command to fire.
For Thru, in command of this amazing moment, it was agonizing. How long would they have? For second after precious second the columns charged up the slope unseen. Willing them on, he watched while each stride they made ran off his tongue:
"Nine... ten... eleven."
Still the whirling white birds above the city caught the men's eyes. Not one had spotted the massed columns of mots running up the slope toward them.
Thru kept counting, kept praying, and the spell held while the columns covered three hundred feet of clump grass and compacted sand.
There were maybe a hundred feet to go, when someone looked down from the birds and gave a shriek.
The men had barely time to pick up shields and yank spears out of the ground. Officers were screaming the first orders, something about "forming up," when the catapults let go and seven-foot-long spears hurtled through the line atop the dune. It was a shock to everyone's system, the last thing they'd expected. One spear missed, going too high by a foot, but the others struck men and hurled them back off the dune.
"Close up!" roared a sergeant.
There was something terribly sinister about the silence with which the monkeys came on. They came at them like assassins, on silent feet.
At ten feet's distance the leading line threw their javelins, then slammed in with shield and spear. The massive impetus of the brilbies and mots was enough to drive the men back before them while the harsh sound of war rose up and bugles started shrilling.
The men on the farther slope had been waiting quietly out of sight for hours. They only awoke to the peril when the fighting started above their heads. Suddenly, with loud crashes, a couple of men were hurled back down the duneside. There was a glimpse of something whirring by above them. One of the fallen men had been spitted by a prodigiously large spear.
They came to their feet, grabbed their weapons, and started up the dune to reinforce the line while the bugles screamed.
But the line had already shattered. The young brilbies had smashed open further gaps in the line, and behind them came mots and brilbies boiling with a rage to avenge the dead of Tamf and Creton.
The line of one hundred men dissolved, and the columns surged over the top and down into the three lines of men who had been waiting below. The impact came almost before most men had recognized that it was coming. There was barely time to do more than get the shield up and take the blow.
A shattering crash rang up and down the dune top as the columns bit into the lines of men. Most men would have broken and run for their lives, but these were the Blitzers, rested from the fight that morning and angry about how it had gone. Their pride sent them toe-to-toe with the onrushing hordes, and they knocked aside spears and turned shields and thrust home with their own weapons. For a few seconds the fight
teetered there, but then over the dune came the third column, falling right on the men's right flank. The flank collapsed, the lines bent back farther. The slope of the dune completed the disaster because there it grew much steeper for a few feet and the men could not hold their footing. The lines fell back downslope with roars of rage and bafflement, but despite everything the mighty Blitzer Regiment could not hold its position.
Behind, on the top of the dune, they left twenty cut off, still battling.
"Surrender!" shouted a voice in clear Shashti. "Surrender and your lives will be spared."
"We will never surrender!" bellowed several men.
"Is that your answer then?"
"Go fuck yourself with a javelin's end you filthy, fucking monkey!"
"So be it."
Archers shot some of the men down, the rest were buried under a wave of spears and shields. None of the twenty survived.
Only on the shingle top of the beach did they finally make a stand. And as if by a miracle they were greeted with the sight of a dozen boats putting in with the first reinforcements. Red tops were drumming frantically while hundreds of men formed up on the beach.
With a great shout the Blitzers greeted these reinforcements.
"For the wrath of He who Eats!" screamed a voice.
"Kill!" they roared back.
And they went back at the monkeys who were coming right up against them. This time the charge was disorganized, and instead of columns it was as two broad masses that they came.
The impact came with a solid ringing crunch up and down the line, and the familiar roar of war arose. The men of the Blitz Regiment set to showing the monkeys how men really fought.
In a few moments the onrush lost impetus and came to a halt. Two walls of shields faced each other at spear's length while rocks and arrows flew overhead. Thru, at the same spot on top of the dune where General Uisbank had once stood to survey the city he intended to capture, saw at once that the charge had died out.
He ordered a retreat to the top of the dune, which they would hold. Catapults would be brought up to fire on the beach below. Unfortunately, his regiment had dissolved into a roaring mob with no sense of organization at all. And now the men from the boats came running up the shingle and pushed through the Blitzers to get at the monkeys.
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