Hingast usually moved his catapults into range under cover of darkness, fired off a few salvoes and pulled back again before the Markans could range their own machines. Last night, he had clearly not bothered.
"That might not be good news, Lieutenant Rutton. He may have something else planned."
"I know, sire."
Hingast's catapults had caused less damage than expected, thanks to Mikhan's preparatory work. All rubble was carted away to be used as ammunition. And Hingast's shaped stones were returned to sender via mangonel whenever his war machines or men came within range.
Marcus swung into Jablon's saddle. "Take me to Aylos Jalan."
The ride through the streets of Marka was quick and uneventful. All servants scurrying on errands were human and the only sylphs in sight were scouts who raised a hand in greeting to Belaika or bowed to Marcus. Aylos had set up his factory in a deserted house close to the Senate, but far enough away to be free from prying political eyes.
"There are reports of an army gathering in Cadister," said Rutton, making conversation. "We don't know whose side the Trading Council will take."
Marcus nodded. "Kestan has sent scouts to investigate," he replied. "We'll know soon enough." The senior officer outside the besieged city, only Lance Captain Kestan and his men could react to external developments. He had proved to be Marka's piece of good news.
Conversation came to a halt as they arrived at their destination, where the sylph Tredden greeted them. He nodded and bowed, earpoints twitching, holding the door for Marcus, Rutton and Belaika.
"Ah!" Wringing his hands, Aylos bustled into the hall. "You have come to see our progress? Please sir, please come with me. It is all ready!" His pale blue eyes glowed with excitement and he gestured that they should follow.
Tredden gave Belaika a quick grin and the scout smiled back; he had not forgotten the warning this sylph had given at the initial demonstration. Aylos led his visitors below ground, where most of the firepowder and the equally secret new weapons were stored.
A hastily-constructed rack contained wooden balls large enough to fit into the mangonels. A black match protruded from each, similar to those used for lighting the green fire. Aylos slapped one eagerly and Belaika flinched, fearing the ball might explode. His earpoints lay back in his hair momentarily.
"For the catapults," explained Aylos. He wagged a finger. "Do not light the fuse until after it is loaded into the catapult. Also, it must be cut shorter by one inca for every hundred pacas of decreased range. The fuse is designed for a maximum distance of four hundred pacas. Every ball has small pieces of iron inside, which will scatter when the ball explodes." He sniffed. "I don't approve, but they will be effective."
"Excellent." Marcus nodded appreciatively. "How many are ready?"
"Two hundred," replied Aylos promptly. "The workers you gave me are fast and accurate."
"And the rockets?" pressed Marcus, unable to keep boyish eagerness from his voice.
"Through here." Aylos vaguely waved his hand at another door that led deeper underground. "Only a few are aware of their existence, so we have not built quite as many. You have fifty-eight at your disposal."
Marcus nodded.
Belaika glanced at his master's hands, clasped tightly in front of him. Marcus gave an outward impression of wanting more, but the sylph immediately knew the available quantity had pleased his owner.
"I've mounted one on the frame I recommend you use for launching," continued Aylos, as he led them into the room.
"Launching?" murmured Marcus. "Some sort of ship?" Nevertheless, he inspected the wooden frame on which the rocket rested. It looked very similar to the frame on which his mangonels and ballistae were built, but with smaller wheels.
Aylos considered Marcus's question. "They are a sort of ship, of the air. Launching is the word Obert uses. Now, before use, the wheels on the frame must be removed. They're intended only for moving the frame into position. They must go because the frame is not designed to move in the same way as other war machines."
"It isn't?"
"On your throwing machines, the wheels help improve trajectory and maintain stability."
Marcus nodded impatiently, though he hadn't got the slightest idea what the scientist was telling him.
"As with your glorified crossbows, my rocket launchers must be fixed in place for the weapons to work properly. You can traverse the launcher a good distance to right or left, but ensure nobody leans over it while the weapon launches." He tapped the framework's metal back. "Heat and flame will be forced away from this and I cannot guarantee which way it will choose to vent itself. Hopefully up, but we concentrated on ensuring the rockets launch properly."
Marcus inspected the rocket sat on its launcher.
Aylos held up a hand. "If the rocket fails to move, clear the immediate area. The firepowder inside the rocket lights the fuse that causes the explosion." He wagged his admonitive finger again. "If it does not launch, it will probably still explode so get your men away from it. Rockets will kill us as effectively as the enemy."
Belaika blinked, but Marcus seemed not to mind Aylos's manner.
"Excellent." Marcus forced a smile. "Has Marshal Mikhan sent his instructions? He knows where best to place these."
"He came yesterday. The rockets and bombs are to be transferred to the walls on covered carts. The twelve rocket mountings you ordered went yesterday and should be in place now."
"Good." Marcus nodded.
They made their way outside.
Marcus paused. "You and your team are to be congratulated."
A huge smile blossomed on Tredden's face, but Aylos merely nodded. "We'll keep producing until you tell us to stop," he promised. "Or we run out of materials."
Marcus turned to Belaika. "Find out where Mikhan is please."
The scout nodded and whistled the question, knowing there would be several scouts within earshot. He heard the question repeated and, moments later, the answer returned.
"Southern command post."
Marcus gave his sylph a quick grin of thanks before turning to his escort. "South Gate, gentlemen."
As the claimant and his escort reached the South Gate, he saw Zenepha had already arrived. The sylph Emperor spent considerable time at one or other of the command posts, but Marcus had thought the sylph still at the palace. Guard Commander Mansard gave his former employer a polite nod of the head, while Djerana gave him a warm smile. Marshal Mikhan conversed with the Emperor, but turned to face the newcomers.
"Good morning. There's something strange going on over there; I was just discussing it with His Majesty." Mikhan's deepset blue eyes glittered at Marcus. "General Ranallic at the North Gate has also noticed it."
Forgetting his usual pride, Marcus accepted the proffered spyglass and used it to stare at his enemy. "Have the scouts passed comment?" he asked, sweeping the glass this way and that. He marveled at the magnification. Why couldn't they make lenses of this quality in Calcan?
"Nothing out of the ordinary," replied Mikhan. "They probably can't get close enough. Either way, nothing to report."
"What am I looking for?" asked Marcus. "All looks normal to me."
"Where are the men normally at the catapults?" The Marshal kept his voice quiet. "Why is the infantry stood behind the nearest row of tents? They are never so far back this time of day."
Marcus looked again. It was true. Where there were usually hundreds of men ready to fight, or preparing weapons, he saw nothing and nobody. He handed the spyglass back to its rightful owner. "You're right."
"Something is going on." Mikhan grimaced. "And we're about to find out what that might be."
Djerana, her emerald eyes wide with terror, suddenly staggered. The sylphs, Zenepha included, rubbed their arms, shivered and looked at each other or their owners with frightened eyes, earpoints slanted so far back that they stuck out behind their heads.
Even the humans were thrown off balance as the world suddenly went strange, with colors reverse
d and all sense of direction lost.
"What was that?" Marcus dragged himself upright and helped a dry-retching ilven to her feet.
Belaika pointed, unable to hide his fear.
The ground between Hingast's camp and the city walls was no longer deserted.
Mikhan reacted first. "Scouts! Whistle the attack! Archers! Catapults!"
"What are they?"
Nobody answered.
The creatures that... moved... steadily towards the city wore cowled black robes and glided across the ground as if they somehow floated above, rather than walked upon it. All cowls were up, leaving only a dark space where the face should be, if they had faces. Worryingly, they could see through the apparitions.
"Clear the walls of non-combatants," commanded Mikhan. "One sylph scout every five hundred pacas only."
The marshal's dispassionate orders were relayed as Marcus drew his sword. "Down below, Icca."
"Se bata." Belaika did not sound disappointed to leave.
Mikhan looked at Zenepha, but he shook his head. The aged soldier turned his attention to Djerana, but her response was equally emphatic.
"I will stay, Marshal Mikhan," she said, her musical voice making itself heard despite the clamor on the walls. "These creatures will not harm me."
The archers sent arrow after arrow into the dark mass of creatures below. When an arrow passed through one, the cowled figure dissipated with a loud pop, spurting forward as it vanished. If they kept up this rate of fire, they would be out of arrows before long.
"They are called wraiths." Grayar's quiet voice came from behind.
Everybody in earshot turned, Djerana with a warm welcoming smile. Mikhan opened his mouth to say something, but Grayar spoke over him.
"I felt the portal between our world and theirs open. They are not here fully, for which we can be grateful. Don't let them touch your skin, or you will die. Thankfully, they cannot stand the touch of iron, so anything containing iron will return them to their proper place. Pass this information to all your men as quickly as possible."
Mikhan nodded to the nearest scout, the wide-eyed sylph whistling the message on, though the humans could not hear the sound. Even Djerana only just detected it, a small frown furrowing her forehead as she tried to decide whether she really heard the whistle, or just imagined it.
Marcus turned his sword, warming his wrist muscles through. "What is this portal and how is it possible to make it?"
"A portal between worlds." Grayar smiled. "Only the most powerful sorcerers can control a portal and the most powerful sorcerer I have the misfortune to know controls this one. Fortunately, I can deal with him."
Even as the stocky man spoke, a continuous series of pops indicated wraiths being repatriated rapidly in numbers. Shouts from below the walls, on the city side, indicated where hundreds of off-duty soldiers ran to their stations, all carrying fresh supplies of weapons. Even better, the sylphs dismissed from the walls had seen that the archers would soon run out of arrows and arranged themselves to keep them supplied. Marcus spotted Belaika among the scouts running up and down the stone steps laden with arrows.
Grayar continued. "They will keep coming for as long the portal is open."
"Can you shut it?"
Grayar smiled, nodded, and disappeared before their eyes.
Zenepha and the sylph scout on the walls rubbed their arms and stared wide-eyed at each other.
The first wraiths to reach the walls caused the next shock. Instead of coming to a halt, as Marcus expected, they began to rise. The first rank of archers leaned over the walls to fire their arrows directly down, many at point blank range. Behind them, men with pikes, axes and swords massed.
A scream indicated the first human casualty as a wraith, while dissipating, caught an archer's exposed flesh. The soldier clutched at his poisoned arms, his mouth opening wider and wider in a rising screech, until he suddenly gurgled and pitched forward, not even twitching.
Weapons flashed, dispatching more and more of the ghostly enemy. Mikhan picked up the Emperor and thrust him, protesting, into the arms of a surprised junior officer.
"Take His Majesty to safety," commanded the Marshal.
"No!" protested Zenepha.
"You too," commanded Mikhan and, to his surprise, Djerana obeyed without a murmur.
"How many more of these bloody things are there?" Beginning to tire, Marcus swung his sword this way and that, dispatching more wraiths.
The world suddenly turned strange again and everyone felt something like a shockwave pass. When Marcus next opened his eyes, the wraiths were gone.
***
Invisible to the untrained eye, Grayar peered around. The tent before him contained the portal, as the wraiths emanated from it in a continuous stream. The soldiers stood well back from the tents, presumably commanded to stay there. He doubted they needed much encouragement. He moved closer and eased his way inside, wary of traps.
The portal shimmered like water and the wraiths streamed from it. Grayar recognized the man beside the portal, though nothing marked the boundary between it and air. Tall, with iron-gray hair and deep blue eyes, Dervra seemed to direct the wraiths, despite the latter's reputation of being uncontrollable. Grayar was still invisible, but Dervra turned his head, looked directly at him and smiled.
Dervra clapped his hands. Portal and wraiths disappeared in a soundless explosion, a blinding flash of nothing. Grayar swayed with the suddenness of the move and shook his head to clear it. When the colors of the world returned to normal, his shield had gone. He had lost control of the Gift, his power useless to him.
"Good morning Grayar." Dervra smiled, his sibilant voice grating on the other's nerves. "I expected you or Sandev."
Grayar stared. How had Dervra trapped him? How?
"Of course, I called forth the wraiths to bring you here. Hingast believes it was to aid him in taking Marka."
Grayar heard Hingast's men give their battle cries as they charged towards Marka's gates. The shouting failed to mask the creaking of war machines as they trundled forward. And nobody could mistake the sound of the mangonels releasing their projectiles.
"Why must you always back the losing side, Dervra? You could be magnificent, but instead you choose to crawl in the dirt with scum who seek only to destroy."
The other man's smile grew wider. "As defiant as ever. Five hundred years since we last met and you haven't changed at all. Not adapted even a little bit."
"You tried to destroy Skorin."
Dervra inclined his head. "Only your image of it."
"I know Nicolfer is in the city. Be careful she does not try to usurp you." Grayar had now worked out how Dervra managed to block him from the Gift. Even better, he'd found a weak point to work around.
"Nicolfer and I are partners; do not try to drive a wedge between us." Dervra's eyes glittered. "Am I not magnanimous, Grayar? You came here to kill me, yet I still allow you to live."
It was Grayar's turn to smile. "I only came here to stop you."
"Stop me?"
"To close the portal."
"Which I opened to bring you to me."
Thudding crashes preceded screams among the field, which meant that Marka's mangonels had found both range and targets. Though violence and war saddened him, that Marka fought back pleased Grayar.
"You'll never win," said Grayar, hoping to draw something out of the other man. Any piece of information that might help. "The Father –"
"The Father?" spat Dervra. "I'm winning now. Soon Marka will be no more and your puppet sylph will be replaced by the true Emperor of Marka. And your precious Siranva will stand by and do nothing."
"You believe Hingast is the true claimant?" Grayar snorted.
"Yes, Hingast. You know his pedigree."
"Through a bastard line."
Dervra giggled, a strange sound. "Birth out of wedlock is not the problem in Marka that it is in Skorin and neither is descent through the female line."
Grayar smiled. "You'd bet
ter check the legal records again," he said. "There's a reason why the Vintners usurped the Goldeagles. And Hingast failed to convince the Senate of the validity of his claim. So it has no validity."
"Many Senators support him." Dervra's smile broadened. "Many."
"Not enough."
The sounds of battle from outside increased: shouts and screams filled the air and the rhythmic thud of missiles fired from mangonels intensified. Thankfully, the tents were out of range. Even so, Grayar began to wonder if his friends might not kill him before his enemy.
***
"Get those rockets up here!" yelled Marcus Vintner, spotting the cart as it brought the new weapons to the walls. "Move!" He grabbed the nearest sylph scout, one of the new partly trained sylphs from Marka. "Whistle across the way; find out what Kestan and his men are up to and report back to me." He wished he'd kept Belaika at his side, but his scout would be deployed elsewhere by now.
The young sylph, eyes wide, nodded. "Se bata."
Zenepha and Djerana remained below the walls, to help the soldiers where possible. When Marcus next glanced down, he saw the Emperor inspecting the new weapons as they were loaded onto the mangonels. On the walls, carpenters took the wheels off the wooden frames from which the rockets would be fired. They had been craned into position yesterday.
The young sylph returned. "I cannot raise Kestan-ya or any sylphs out there, donenya," he squeaked. "Too much noise."
Marcus sighed. He risked killing his own men when the rockets were launched. "Send this: imperative you disengage enemy and fall back. Keep trying, one of the scouts out there might catch it."
The sylph nodded again and pattered back to his position, whistling the new orders.
Mikhan glanced at the rockets as the men carrying them struggled past. He sniffed disparagingly. "I hope they're useful," he grunted. "They'll strike fear into the enemy but once."
"Once is enough," retorted Marcus. He shook his head. "I hoped to be out of here before harvest; I think we can forget that now." He watched dispassionately as a group of Hingast's men reached the city wall with a scrambling ladder and were cut down by archers. Screams of the wounded assaulted his hearing; many of the partly trained sylphs had tucked their earpoints away, which reduced their usefulness as scouts and messengers. Fortunately, there were enough battle-hardened sylphs here to keep messages flowing. The new boys would toughen up eventually. At least none had run away today.