The three archers released their arrows at the spot where they estimated the fire bladder would appear in a second or so. In spite of Cassandra’s warning, the three men all waited to see the result. The arrows streaked through space a fraction of a second early. Then the fire bladder was on its way as all three missed.
“Run!” yelled Cassandra, suddenly aware that she had become fixated on the target. They all crouched and ran for cover.
SPLAT!
This time, the bladder burst against a narrow slit window to the right of the door, sending a shower of burning oil cascading inside the tower. Merlon’s men hadn’t blocked the window with wet blankets yet; and they heard more shouting from inside, the sound of running, stamping feet and the splash of water as buckets were emptied over the flames. Black smoke billowed from the slit window. She saw a dripping blanket being stuffed into the aperture. Again, the men below cheered.
Thomas caught Cassandra’s eye. “Timing was off,” he said. “Next time we’ll stagger our shots. I’ll count them in.”
She nodded. Instead of all three firing at the same time, if they shot one after the other, they would increase the chance that one of them might intercept the bag of oil. They resumed their position by the parapet, bows ready, arrows nocked.
Thomas spoke to his companions. “I’ll shoot on one. You on two, Simon, and you on three, Dermott.” They nodded their understanding.
The men below could see the archers’ heads watching over the parapet, and they greeted them with cries of derision and contempt. They had seen the roils of black smoke and the showers of flame left by their shots, and they felt they had finally gained the upper hand in this contest. They might not be able to burn the tower down, but they could certainly make things unpleasant for those holed up inside.
The windlass creaked and groaned as the arm was wound back. A fire bladder was loaded into the sling and the fuse was lit.
“Ready . . . ,” said Thomas, and the three bows came up.
SLAM!
“One . . . two . . . three!” Thomas shouted and the three bows spat their arrows out into the space below them.
Thomas’s arrow missed. Simon’s arrow, released on the count of two, flew straight and true and intercepted the distended bag of oil. Instantly, as it burst, the bag seemed to disappear in midair, replaced by a shapeless, spreading mass of brown liquid. Dermot’s arrow flashed through the spreading cloud.
Then the burning wick ignited the volatile liquid and transformed it into a cloud of flame, dropping onto the trebuchet, spreading across the timbers and the rope, reaching under the mechanism with its burning tentacles of fire. Flames set in and the fire took hold, fed by the oil and pitch and racing across the dry wood of the trebuchet and its platform. Smoke and flame billowed up. Cassandra noticed four oil bladders still stacked at the front of the platform and a tendril of flame creeping its way across the timber floorboards toward them. The crew, who had been making a halfhearted attempt to quell the flames, noticed the impending danger too. One of them cried a warning, and they all turned and ran headlong from the trebuchet, heading for the keep tower. The flames reached the stacked oil bladders.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then there was a fierce WHOOSH! of flame, and all four bladders went up, almost simultaneously. Huge writhing coils of smoke billowed into the air as the flaming oil ran all over the framework of the trebuchet, setting it alight in a dozen places. There was no stopping it now, and the fire crackled and snapped as it ate into the timber.
“Oh, well done,” Cassandra said quietly.
The three archers were at first surprised by what they had achieved. Then they took to slapping one another on the shoulder as they watched the fire engulf the trebuchet.
An hour later, Dimon’s siege machine was a smoking, blackened wreck.
15
Once it was fully dark, Horace and Gilan crouched on the southern walkway, with only their heads showing above the parapet. There was a lot of ambient light in the hill fort behind them, with several cook fires preparing food and at least a dozen torches and braziers providing light and warmth for the garrison, and they had no wish to be seen silhouetted against it by those below.
It was just after the eighth hour when Gilan touched Horace’s arm and pointed to his right. “There,” he said softly. “See them?”
Horace followed the direction in which Gilan was pointing, squinting to see more clearly.
“Look a little to the left or right,” Gilan advised him. “Your peripheral vision is better in the dark.”
Once Horace did this, he could make out what Gilan had seen. Half a dozen men were moving surreptitiously out of the camp, heading for the distant tree line. He was watching them when he felt Gilan’s hand on his arm once more. This time, the Ranger was pointing to the eastern side of the enemy camp. Sure enough, another small group was moving out, crouching as they went. If he and Gilan hadn’t been expecting it, Horace thought, they probably wouldn’t have noticed. The campfires in the Foxes’ camp had been built up unusually high tonight, and the glare they created tended to dazzle a watcher’s vision and mask any movement.
“They’re trying to be inconspicuous,” Gilan said. He was whispering, in spite of the fact that the would-be attackers were well out of earshot. “My guess is they’ll circle round in a wide loop and regroup at the base of the north side. There go another lot.” He indicated the west side once more.
He stepped back from the parapet and rose from the crouch he had been maintaining, rubbing the small of his back to ease the slight stiffness there.
“They’ll have to make their way across to the trees, where they’ll be under cover,” he said. “I figure it’ll take them at least an hour and a half, maybe two hours, to work their way round to the northern side of the fort,” he said. “Let’s go check things on the north wall.”
They climbed down the stairs and made their way across the compound to the north side. The entire contingent of archers was there, along with ten of the troopers, waiting for orders. The remaining cavalrymen were keeping watch on the south wall.
Horace stepped forward. “Right, men. Eight of you take the western walkway. Gilan will join you there. The rest of you can join me on the eastern side. The signal to start shooting will be when we ignite the three beacons here on the north side. Understood?”
There was a low mumble of understanding from the archers. The split was uneven, with eight on the west wall and twelve on the east, because Gilan would be joining the western group, and his skill as an archer was equivalent to two or three of the others.
Horace addressed the ten troopers who were assembled. “It’ll be your job to deal with any of the enemy who manage to make it down from the walkway and avoid the sharpened spikes there. They may try to rope down,” he told them. “Use your lances for preference. Don’t let them get into close quarters.”
The cavalry lances were designed primarily for use on horseback, but their long reach would make them ideal for this sort of defensive action.
“May as well get to your posts now,” Horace continued. “We don’t expect the attack to start for several hours. Gilan’s guess is that they’ll wait for the moon to set. So you can sleep at your posts, as long as you leave one man awake and on watch. And keep your weapons handy. All right, get moving.”
There was a stir of movement as the three forces moved to take up their positions, the archers climbing to the walkways on the eastern and western sides of the fort, where they would have a clear shot at the northern walkway as the raiders came over the parapet. They settled down, leaving one of their number to keep watch. The others lay on the walkway or sat with their backs to the palisade. They were professionals, and long experience in the army had taught them to take any opportunity to sleep that arose. Within a few minutes, most of them had dozed off.
On the ground level, the ten troopers settl
ed down as well. Horace and Gilan walked to the north wall. They had left a ladder in place, and the two friends climbed it now, moving to the parapet to study the hill below them. As yet, there was no sign of the raiders forming up.
Horace grunted impatiently.
“They’ll still be working their way around the east and west sides,” Gilan told him.
“All the same, I wish I knew where they are and what they’re doing,” Horace replied. “I’d like to know when they’re ready to start up the hill.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Gilan said and, for the first time, Horace noticed that he had a coil of rope looped over his shoulder. “So I might slip down there and keep an eye on things.”
As he spoke, he moved to the right, to the midpoint between two of the torches burning in the braziers. They were small torches and the light they cast was uneven, leaving a patch of shadow at the middle, where the light didn’t quite reach. Gilan looped the rope over three of the pointed logs that formed the palisade and eased his upper body over the wall.
“You’re going down there?” Horace asked.
Gilan grinned at him. “That’s the general idea. We want information and this is the best way to get it.”
“But what if you’re seen?” Horace asked.
Gilan’s grin turned to a long-suffering look. “Oh, please.”
He rolled over the top of the wall, holding the rope tight and avoiding letting his silhouette show. Then he lowered himself quickly down into the darkness. “I’ll whistle when I’m back,” he called softly. “Stay there and wait for me.”
And he began to ghost his way down the hill, moving swiftly through the long grass. Horace was able to follow his progress for a minute or two. Then he was distracted briefly by the cry of a night bird. When he returned his gaze to the spot where he had last seen Gilan, there was no sign of him.
* * *
• • •
It took Gilan fifteen minutes to reach the base of the hill. He was guided by the campfires of the observers who were posted there. He angled away from them so he would be approaching out of the darkness. Mindful that the raiders would also be approaching from below, he stayed several meters uphill. The last thing he wanted was for one of the Foxes to stumble over him. When he saw one of the sentries pacing nervously by the campfire, five meters away, he dropped into cover and lay still, watching and listening.
He lay there for half an hour before he heard movement. Looking up, all the while making sure to keep his face in the shadow of his cowl, he saw a group of six men making their way toward the campfire from the eastern side. A few minutes later, another small group came into sight, this time slipping in from the other side. He heard a voice, pitched low but obviously annoyed, from one of the men in the first group.
“Where have you been? You took your time.”
“We had farther to come than you,” came the reply. “The trees were a good fifty meters farther away, and the tree line fell away to the west.”
The first man replied with a surly grunt. Obviously, he wasn’t mollified by the explanation. “We don’t have all night,” he said. “The moon will set in an hour and I want to start up the hill once the light has gone down.”
As he spoke, a second group arrived from the western side, then another from the east. That made about twenty-five men assembled here, thought Gilan. According to Maddie’s note, there would be forty in the attacking party, so there would be more to come. He saw that he was a good ten meters up the hill from the point where the raiders were assembling. Slipping down to his belly, he crept closer, until he was barely five meters away. As he moved, he heard two more groups arrive, to be greeted in lowered voices by those already in position. Allowing that there might be more than six in each party, that probably meant they were all now assembled.
A moment later, the first voice spoke again, confirming the fact. “All right. We’re all here. The moon will set in about forty minutes, and that’ll be our signal to move. Where are the rope carriers?”
Six men held their hands up and stepped forward. Gilan could see that each one had a large coil of rope around his shoulders.
“Good,” continued the leader. “Space yourselves out, ready to go up the hill. Move slowly. We don’t want anyone spotting us too early. Luckily, they’ve got those torches on the wall up there, and they should dazzle their night vision a little.”
The assembled men turned to look up at the fort. Gilan froze as they did, realizing he was now in their field of vision. The temptation to drop his head into cover was almost irresistible. But Gilan had been doing this sort of work for many years now, and he resisted it, staying still as a rock. As their leader spoke again, the heads turned back from the fort toward him and the moment was over.
“Once you get to the top, drive those stakes into the ground and anchor the ropes. The rest of us will use them to get to the top without slipping or falling. Stay as low as you can while you’re climbing, and don’t make a sound. Check that your weapons aren’t loose or likely to rattle.”
There was a small flurry of movement among the assembled group as they checked that swords were secure in their scabbards and axes were slung tight across shoulders. There was a low chorus indicating that all was well.
“Take a look at those sentries patrolling the walls.” Again, all faces turned upward, and again, Gilan froze in position.
“Time your movement for when they’ve just passed that center torch and turned back. Their eyes will be dazzled for a few minutes and their night vision will be pretty much ruined. When they reach the torch at either end, stop moving.”
He looked around the assembled men. “We’ve got four ladders?” Again, men raised their hands. “Last man up in the four middle groups, make sure the rope is tied to a ladder, then we can haul them up when we’re ready. They should slip easily through this long grass. The ends are bowed upward to help them move freely.”
Gilan squinted to see the shape of the long ladders that rested on the ground near the men who had raised their hands. He was glad Maddie had warned them. Things might have been a bit sticky otherwise. The attackers had clearly thought through their plans carefully, and they might well have broken the Araluens’ defenses if they hadn’t been forewarned.
The leader continued. “Once we’ve made it to the wall, get over as fast as you can. There should be a stairway at either end. Head for that and get down into the fort itself. Kill anyone you see. If we panic them, this might end up being more than a nuisance raid. With a bit of luck, we might rout them completely and put an end to this nonsense.”
He paused to let this sink in. “All right, get some rest if you can. We’ve only got an hour to wait. No moving around. No talking and, above all, no lights. Just lie still. Get some sleep if you can—but if anyone snores, I’ll kill him.”
There was a low mutter of laughter.
“I mean it,” he said, and the ripple of laughter died away.
Time for me to go, Gilan thought. Lowering his head, he squirmed silently around until he was facing uphill again and began to silently snake his way up to the fort.
16
“They’re coming,” Gilan said softly. He and Horace were crouched on the northern walkway, staying low to keep their heads from showing in the torchlight as they watched the hillside. Two sentries patrolled their usual set paths behind them, meeting in the middle of the wall, turning and walking back to the ends. As they had been ordered to do, the sentries ignored the two leaders crouched against the logs of the palisade.
The moon had set, but there was still plenty of light from the stars, and Gilan had seen the first surreptitious movement of men crawling up the grassy slope.
There were six of them, spaced out evenly along the length of the wall, and they moved carefully and slowly. They were good, Gilan thought, but not up to a Ranger’s standard of unseen movement. He nudged Horace with his
elbow.
“See them?”
The tall warrior whispered in reply. “I’ve got them. Mind you, if you hadn’t told me what to expect, I might have missed them.”
The men continued upward, knotted ropes uncoiling behind them. They were nearing the top of their climb when Horace whispered to the two sentries as they met in the middle of the walkway.
“Get down now.”
“Yes, sir,” one of them replied. As he and his partner crouched and headed quickly for the ladder, Horace and Gilan stood up and continued to patrol in their stead. Once, just to make it seem more realistic, Gilan paused and leaned over the wall. He noticed that the six men all froze, lying still on the grass. Then, apparently satisfied, he resumed his beat along the wall. When the rope bearers reached the base of the wall, they would be out of sight, unless Horace or Gilan leaned over the parapet to see them. But, knowing what to listen for, the two Araluens could hear the slight sounds made by the men as they carefully worked their wooden stakes into the soft earth—stakes that would anchor the ropes for the rest of their party. There was a low sound of movement in the grass as those below tested the ropes, making sure they were secure. Then the rest of the raiding party began to climb the slope.
Gilan and Horace turned back inward and patrolled back to the middle. As they met, Horace spoke softly.
“They’re stopping when we’re on the inward leg, just as you said they would.”
“They’ll start again when we turn back,” Gilan reminded him. “Keep a careful eye on them now. They’ll be pulling the ladders up soon.”
Senses keenly attuned, they heard the sounds of the attackers gathering at the foot of the wall. Then a soft slithering sound told them that the ladders were sliding upward through the grass, their up-curved ends acting like sled rails as they came.
The raiders knew that they were hidden from sight at the base of the wall and they pressed in close, readying the ladders, moving as silently as they could. When they had the four ladders poised and ready to place against the walls, their leader abandoned all attempt at secrecy and shouted the order.
Duel at Araluen Page 11