“Redirect all aim at those logs!” shouted Tobin.
Arrows flitted down like raindrops near the men. Soldiers fell in droves, and where others could not take their brethren’s place quick enough, logs slammed backward among the enemy’s own ranks.
However, Tobin could not completely discourage their efforts. One-by-one, the logs toppled over to his side of the moat. Warriors managed to roll the logs close together, forming another bridge. Shamans, disguised as members of the regular soldiery, provided protection.
Grappling hooks arced upward, taking hold between the merlons atop Juanoq’s walls. Ladders slammed against the thick stone.
Tobin called out. “Grab spears, and push off the ladders.” He paused. “See to the cranes.”
Men rushed to carry out his orders.
Cranes began hoisting large boulders. A wooden arm swung out over the wall where a release mechanism dropped the stones. They slammed into the embankment, and half-rolled, half-bounced toward the rafts. The first several strikes caused men to lose their balance and fall into the moat. Weighted by their armor, many sunk. A larger stone found its mark, splintering a raft on impact. The man-made bridge faltered.
Other cranes targeted the log bridge. Warriors slipped through the cracks in the logs as falling stone caused them to separate.
Tobin felt a moment of satisfaction as he watched the enemy’s plans spiral.
A roaring growl stole his attention. Instinctively, he drew his sword, and pivoted. Several warriors pushed against a ladder with long spears. At the top, a large wolf with hands and feet somewhere between those of a man and those of an animal, teetered precariously.
The Yellow Clan shamans. Dressed as soldiers like the others so we couldn’t tell them apart.
The wolf leaped from the ladder, cleared the gap, and crashed into the spearmen. The ladder clacked back into Juanoq’s walls. Other beasts clamored over the parapet as the first tore into Tobin’s men.
Tobin remembered the effect fire had on the creatures during the battle on the Yellow Plain. “Dump the braziers on their heads!” he yelled, while running at the first animal.
The wolf man had his back to Tobin, but he could see the only sign of humanity that remained in the beast’s movements was that it fought on its hind legs, leaping from one warrior to another, claws tearing through mail. A pungent smell, similar to that of a wet dog, leaked from the creature.
The shapeshifter’s jaws snapped onto a warrior’s neck and took half the man’s throat out. Tobin slashed down from behind, his blade biting into the beast’s shoulder. The creature howled as it spun, its large paw sweeping out with more speed than Tobin anticipated, raking across his arm. He winced, blood running down his elbow as he pulled away.
Tobin shifted his stance and swung his blade at the beast’s neck. The wolf man dodged, then lunged with claws and flashing teeth. Tobin ducked, twisted his blade around, and cut a line across the animal’s chest. The sinewy hand of the creature caught Tobin’s sword arm.
With his free hand he drew the dagger at his belt and drove it into the animal’s abdomen. The beast yelped, instinctively releasing Tobin to claw at the dagger. Tobin finished the shaman with a sword thrust through the chest.
Tobin wheeled. Several other wolves had crested the perimeter. Regular warriors followed. However, his men kept their wits and working in small teams repelled both wolf and man. Hot coals cascaded over the side of the wall, igniting the dry grass at the base, which in turn spread to the enemy.
Shamans screamed while catching fire mid-transformation. Nearby warriors took their chances in the moat to avoid the licking flames.
Shouts at the gate rose above the clamor nearby. The rolling ramp-like structure had managed significant progress toward the city’s walls. With Kerek coordinating the attacks, men defending the gate had begun loosing arrows. Shamans sent small balls of fire toward the monstrosity, but found little success.
Closer, Tobin saw the genius in the creation. He swore, realizing it to be another bridge—one that if successfully placed would be near impossible to dispose of.
Tobin sprinted toward the gatehouse.
He spun Kerek around. “Who do you have manning the drawbridge?”
Kerek gave Tobin a confused look. “No one, Warleader.”
Tobin clenched his jaw. He wanted to take his anger out on Kerek for not foreseeing Durahn’s tactic, but he had only just figured things out himself.
“Send men down to operate it and a force to protect them. No shamans. They stay up here. Tell them to watch for my command.”
Kerek still looked confused, but quickly redistributed those nearby.
Tobin grabbed a shaman. “What can you do about the earth around the base of that structure?”
“I don’t understand, Warleader.”
“Can you widen the moat and cause a mudslide into it?”
“I-I don’t know Warleader. I’ve never tried anything like that. Nor has anyone else. It will take time—”
Tobin shook the man. “We don’t have time. Get with the others and figure it out. Don’t tell me you didn’t learn anything from Nachun over the last two years. I need it done.”
“Y-Yes, Warleader.”
“Go.” Tobin pushed the shaman away then walked to the edge of the wall.
Warriors released bow and crossbow with a steady measure.
“Reduce your frequency by half!” Tobin called out.
Kerek came up beside him. “The men are in position below.” He noted the change in the archers. “What’s going on? Are we going to send out a sally to take whatever that thing is? If so, I think we should bring more men down—”
“No. That thing is another bridge.”
“What?”
Tobin pointed as the top of the ramp began to rise off the ground. The attackers had positioned the structure in such a way that they could tip it over as others had earlier with the individual logs.
“They shouldn’t have the strength to do that.”
“They’ve either got a large winch or something behind the structure that I think is pushing against it.” He watched the bridge rise higher. “Quickly, get within earshot of those working the drawbridge. When I give you the command, tell them to bring it down halfway as fast as they can.”
“Halfway?”
Tobin’s tempered flared. “Go! I don’t have time to explain everything.”
He turned his attention back to the shaman. “Have you figured out the task I gave you?”
“Soon,” said the man while discussing the matter with other shamans as arrows arced overhead.
“You have twenty heartbeats,” he snarled.
The frantic tone in the shamans’ voices rose as they continued preparations. The bridge rose higher, almost vertical. Tobin shouted, “Now, Kerek!”
Chains clanged as the drawbridge rapidly descended. The top hammered into the rising structure. Wood snapped and creaked upon collision. The weight of the drawbridge caused Durahn’s creation to fall backward. One of the wheels gave out. The whole thing teetered unsteadily.
Archers picked off those running out from the structure in a panic.
Tobin signaled Kerek to raise the drawbridge. He looked to the shamans. “Now!”
Sweat beaded on the shamans’ heads. The air briefly thinned. With arms raised, white tendrils of sorcery flashed like lightning toward the opposite embankment. A thunderous roar sounded at impact. Tobin’s ears rang.
Dirt flew into the air, pelting him in the face. The remainder of the wooden structure slid down into the moat until it rested half-submerged—useless to anyone.
Tobin looked away from the gatehouse, scanning the rest of the wall. Enemy ranks retreated in haste. The logs and rafts used as a means of crossing the moat had been decimated. Their remains drifted toward the gatehouse, becoming entangled in the debris of Durahn’s creation.
He had to give the traitorous Kifzo credit. Creative. But ineffective. And that is why you never became warleader,
Durahn.
Chapter 28
Durahn wanted to heave one moment and lash out at his men the next. He felt the eyes of his captains on him as their forces retreated battered and beaten. His plan should have succeeded.
How did Tobin do it?
“Warleader,” one of his captains said in a low voice. “What are your orders?”
Durahn picked up the uncertainty in the man’s voice.
He now doubts my ability to do what I said I could do.
Durahn hid his emotions. “See to the wounded. We’ve learned a lot today about the defenders. We’ll begin preparations tomorrow for our next assault now that we know their weakness.”
There was a long pause.
“As you say, Warleader.”
The captain left.
I haven’t learned anything about Tobin’s weakness. Only ours.
His blood boiled at Tobin thwarting his plans almost as much as at his men for having failed to execute his strategy.
If I had Kifzo I would have won. But instead I’m stuck with lesser warriors.
He strode toward his tent, worried about how he would correct the setback.
I must appear in control.
* * *
Mawkuk watched in horror as the wooden monstrosity Durahn had created, slid into the moat. The massive, rolling bridge with its hidden battering ram underneath had been destroyed by the drawbridge they had hoped to decimate.
How did Tobin do that? The timing . . .
“I didn’t think their shamans were powerful enough to pull off such a display with Nachun no longer with them,” whispered Larnak.
Mawkuk heard the helplessness in the Yellow Clan leader’s voice. “They are still far weaker than ours. The sorcery wasn’t what defeated us. By the time they struck the embankment, Durahn’s creation was useless.”
“What do we do now?”
Mawkuk shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Could we have done any better? Can we do any better now?”
“Are you giving up?” Larnak snapped, his voice finding life.
Mawkuk’s anger had driven him to this point. His need for revenge had given him purpose. Yet, as he watched the army he had assembled retreat with little semblance of order, he could do little else but hang his head.
Larnak grabbed his arm and swore. “You dragged us into this. Find a way out. If not, Tobin will come down on us with everything he has once Walor manages to get through your swamps!”
Larnak’s crushing grip jolted Mawkuk. He blinked.
Don’t give up, you fool. If you had not rolled over so easily last time, your children might still be alive. You promised them revenge. Give them revenge.
Mawkuk found his strength, sat taller in his saddle, and jerked his arm away. He narrowed his eyes at Larnak. “Don’t presume to touch me again. The last thing I plan to do is give up. Go and salvage the morale of the men. Lie to them if you must. Make them believe this was all part of our plan. I don’t care.”
Mawkuk turned his mount.
“And where are you going?” asked Larnak.
“To my tent. Do not disturb me. I’ll find a way out of this.”
I hope.
* * *
Jober straightened his legs, slowly massaging his thighs. He knew he should stand and walk his cell, but his motivation to do anything had waned with each passing day. He stared at the plate of untouched food not far from him. Starvation would be a slow death, yet he wondered if it was better than the alternative.
Better than knowing I’ll never see my family again. At least my death would give them some closure. Hielle could move on, and find someone worthy to be her husband.
He rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands as a sob caught in his throat.
It had been too long since he last spoke with Lucia. Though he had already admitted much to her, he still could not bring himself to open up about what had truly happened to Kaz.
She will never forgive me for it.
Jober looked up as he heard a door open in the distance. Time passed slowly since his arrest. He kept track of the days by the frequency of his meals. He eyed his untouched dinner from the night before and realized it must already be morning. The guard would be carrying another fresh plate of food to spoil.
He rose to his feet, ignoring the shooting pains traveling down his half-asleep legs as he bent over to pick up his dinner tray. Though the tray on its way would simply take the place of the one in his hand, he knew better than to force the guard to change them out for him. He still carried a bruise over his left shoulder where a strike had reminded him that he did not dictate the rules.
When did I ever? Even in the stables, I was just another hand.
As the footsteps neared, Jober noticed the out of time cadence that signified a second set. Moments later, he blinked in surprise as Lucia appeared. She carried his breakfast plate.
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Jober croaked through a dry throat. He had drunk almost as little as he had eaten over the last day.
She ignored him and faced the guard. “Leave us. I’ll be fine.”
The guard cast Jober a look then walked back up the hallway. Lucia took a step closer to the cell door, placed the tray on the floor, and slid it inside.
“Eat,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“The guard told me you haven’t touched your food in two days. Eat now or I promise I will leave and never return.”
Panic bubbled up in his gut. He placed the tray from the night before down, and picked up the fresh food Lucia brought, and began to eat. He chewed slowly, afraid how his stomach would react after his fast.
Before he realized it, he had cleaned his plate, downing the remaining skin of water brought to him yesterday.
Lucia nodded in approval. “Good.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about our last conversation.”
“So have I.”
Jober raised an eyebrow at her serious tone. “Oh?”
“Yes, it seems that thinking is all I do these days now that I have someone else’s needs to put ahead of my own.” Lucia rubbed her stomach.
Jober breathed a sigh of relief. A part of him had wondered if Lucia would make the right decision when it came to her relationship with Tobin, but it seems she understood that like Bazraki, Tobin would not be a good father for his child.
I can find peace in that at least.
“You’re making the right decision,” said Jober.
Lucia tilted her head. “I don’t think you understand. I’m going to marry Tobin.”
Her words hit Jober like a hammer blow to the head. Despite having recently eaten, his legs felt weak. He staggered over to a wall.
“Why would you do that?” he finally managed to ask. “Kaz . . .”
“Kaz is dead! Nothing I do will change that.”
“That’s still no reason to make such a huge mistake,” pleaded Jober. “You know what kind of a person Tobin is.”
“Yes. And based on what I’ve recently learned from you and Tobin, I know that Kaz was not much different. Yet, I loved him with all my heart.” She chuckled. “I can’t even hate him now. Despite his flaws, I know I knew the real Kaz. And, I think the same holds true for Tobin. He has his faults, likely from Bazraki, yet he is trying to be someone better. I think I can help him be that.” She looked down at her stomach. “We can help him be that. I want my child to have a father.”
“You can’t do this!”
“I can, and I will!” Lucia’s face twisted in anger. She stormed off.
She means it. Nothing I say can change her mind. His stomach lurched. There is something. But Hielle and the children. . . .
He felt like vomiting. He had put Hielle and his family ahead of everyone else for too long.
If I had said something sooner, how much destruction and misery could have been avoided?
Jober realized that at least in part, he had justified his willingness to protect Lucia as a form of pe
nance—a way to look out for the most important thing in Kaz’s life.
I have to tell her. No matter the consequences. It’s the only way to make things right.
Jober took a deep breath. “You would change your mind if you knew what really happened to Kaz,” he yelled.
Lucia’s footsteps came to a sudden stop. There was a short pause before the sound of her footfalls grew in volume.
She reappeared outside his cell, her face flashing with every bit of the anger she left with. “What are you talking about?” she snapped. “I was there when you told Bazraki. I heard everything.”
“You heard what I was told to say. Everything I said then and most of I’ve said since about that night was a lie.”
“And how do I know that you won’t lie now?”
Jober shrugged. “I don’t know. Just . . . just let me tell you what really happened. I’ll let you decide for yourself.”
“Fine.”
Jober held nothing back as the words spilled out. He stared at the floor, while telling Lucia the story of Kaz’s disappearance, and all of the events before and after relating to it. Jober had no way of knowing how long it took him to tell the story, but by the time he had finished, his throat felt as dry as tree bark. Lucia hadn’t said a word the entire time.
“I take it by your silence you don’t believe me,” he rasped.
“No,” she croaked. “I believe you.”
Jober looked up for the first time since he began, and saw Lucia’s face contorted in a mix of pain and sorrow. She had been crying for some time. Tears soaked her face. Through puffy eyes, a hateful stare bore into him.
“I had no choice,” said Jober.
She leaned forward, and spat through the bars. “I trusted you.” She shook her head, sobbed, and hurried down the hallway.
Jober plopped to the floor, head in his hands.
* * *
When the last of the enemy soldiers screamed his last breath atop the walls, Tobin allowed himself to relax. Durahn had thrown his best at him, and failed.
Trial And Glory (Book 3) Page 31