Wars of the Aoten
Chapter XXXIX
“Lo, they are upon us again,” said Artur, grandly mocking, gesturing with an open hand.
“And yet an axe still makes better effect against a tree than does a cutting remark,” said Theodoric. “So, I think we’d best begone.”
The crunching of bracken made obvious the slow approach of the Aoten through the wood. The travelers retreated deeper into the forest, knowing that the giants would direct their attack on the looming stone city. Lacking weapons of any import, they decided it best to take cover but still attempt to watch.
“Oh, my fellows! What these roots and sticks are doing to my fine robes!” complained Dungo.
“Keep your voice down, or they’ll be on top of us!” rasped Artur.
But Dungo could not stop talking, and he rambled on, “Yes, quiet, quiet! Let us begone, and quickly! These giants, they are surely a terror to behold. We must make ourselves safe as we can before risking a look at these brutes! For to do anything else curses us in foolishness indeed. So let us escape, and be careful, for surely the ground at our feet is treacherous as well. And then only after we find safety should we try to spy out our foes. Oh, the bloody beasts! What a terrible sight it will be that meets our eyes, once we are tucked away in some cozy sanctuary!” For Dungo had never yet seen the Aoten, and he covered his anxiety with nonstop blathering.
“What do you think that they could be after?” asked Franken as the group took refuge in a low thicket. Crouching hid them well, but in standing they could see the walls of the city.
“We will know only by observing. Nothing else to do at the moment,” said Theodoric. “Who knows what lies inside that city? All we can tell is that the Raspars defend something. There is no reason to build a fortress of such might, except to protect a thing most precious. Apparently the Aoten realize this as well.”
“Here they come, stinking oafs,” said Artur.
Inside the city, the Raspar archers had taken their posts in the windows. Wessex positioned himself on the roof to watch the giants’ approach. Soon they reached the glade surrounding the structure.
“Aye!” he called loudly, and the Raspars sent a deluge of arrows.
The Raspar women, Mercedi among them, formed supply lines to deliver arrows to the men. Stores of weapons lay strategically placed throughout the city, at the top and bottom floors of each tower. Three marksmen in each window mechanically followed well-timed orders to fire.
The Aoten came armed with crude shields and thick logs, no doubt taken from the Melics’ trees. Immediately they set upon the stone walls, ramming the end of the logs against the blocks. Unorganized and clumsy, they made no progress at first, but neither did they yield. The missiles flying down upon them stung like bees, and stopping to flick them away further interfered with the giants’ attack.
Upon the roof, Wessex stepped away from the balustrade and stumbled over Hadrian, cowering behind him. “Aye, and ye’ll get away from me!” he screamed in quickly escalating pitches, and descended through an exit into the tower. The regent deftly took the steps down to the nearest level, and stuck his head out of a window to take stock. He saw the giants under wave upon wave of arrows, unrelenting as their logs cracked against the stone.
Artur took it all in. “This can not go on,” he complained and rattled Kylie in her scabbard. “I have to fight. I can’t stand watching.”
“Indeed,” said Geoffrey, ever hopeful.
Dungo had remained squatting upon the ground since they arrived in the thicket. Now he screwed up his courage and peeked over the group’s cover, then sat again, his eyes like saucers. “We are without weapons,” he shivered. “Surely you do not suggest we go against these monsters with nothing more than shields. We have no bows, nor Bedoua pikes, nor even slings to do battle with. Our shields will not last long against such hulking creatures. This Raspar territory turns worse and worse; I’d almost rather take my chances against Wolven. The deserts’ soft sands beckon me home.” And he took Sylva’s hand.
“In the west heavy sticks throw rocks,” said Yarrow flatly.
“What do you mean?” said Theodoric.
“Machines made of sticks. Big sticks. They swing around and throw great boulders many kronyn,” Yarrow tried to explain, but with no real concept of design or art, he could not make the others comprehend.
“Do you understand him?” Theodoric asked Franken. “Do you think you could build this?”
“With not time nor idea, I give you no hope,” he chimed in return.
“What are you talking about?” Artur urged Yarrow, thinking he could intimidate a description out of him.
“A machine of sticks that throws rocks,” the Koinoni explained. The others continued spinning, even in their hiding place.
“This is something the western clans have?” asked Geoffrey.
Yarrow nodded deep in his hood.
“I have never been,” grumbled Geoffrey to himself. “Curse me for a fool, all the things I’ve done in secret, and not a one will save us now. If I’d had more curiosity and less lust I might be of some use even still.”
“Why do you tell us this now?” Theodoric asked Yarrow.
“Perhaps these little trees would serve just as well,” he replied. “Bend them back, place a rock in the branches, and let go.”
“Well, thanks for sharing your secret!” Artur barked.
A light burned in Franken’s eye, and he saw that such an arrangement might work: The Melics’ skill at climbing, Rufoux strength, Dungo’s weight; all seemed reasonable. But the operation would have to be staged from the glade’s edge, some hundred kronyn from the city, where a clear shot at the Aoten could be made.
“You must get up and then come along, for you are important to fight!” Franken said to Dungo, and pulled him to his feet.
The Aoten persisted at their work upon the city walls, the stones now giving up particles of dust as the splintered wood took its toll. The Raspar defense continued, and a handful of giants lay dead, having taken arrows in the eye or temple, perhaps their only vulnerable spots; many others had removed themselves to pick at minor wounds. Slowly the giants redirected their attack to the tower with the damage under the window. Wessex as well shifted to the damaged tower. He took stock of his arrow supply and ordered fusillades at wider intervals, and moved to a lower level.
They chose a likely sapling at the edge of the forest, and Franken quickly scaled it to attach ropes to the higher branches. The other ends flailed toward the men on the ground, and together they pulled at the tree until it doubled over. Franken and Theodoric hewed off selected branches and strapped shields to their stumps, forming a pouch of sorts. Artur and Geoffrey, the only ones with strength enough to lift and carry the huge stones that lay about, handed their ropes to Dungo, who leaned upon them with all his heft to keep the tree in place.
Together the Rufoux placed a stone in the pouch, and the men prepared to make good on their experiment. They all stood silent for a moment.
“The real trick will be not hitting the walls,” said Theodoric. “That will not look good in our Raspar compatriots’ eyes.”
“Better ease up the stress on the tree,” Franken counseled.
Another moment, and Theodoric winked at Artur. “Mog, we have neither fire nor grain! So be it! Aye!” the Rufoux chieftain cried, and the tree let fly. The boulder soared through the air and landed with a thud, bringing down a half dozen giants.
“Lo, and they’re firing at us! So I told you!” screamed Vespus through a window, banging on the stone walls with his broadsword.
“Nay, but they fire upon the giants!” cried Mercedi. “Another one comes!”
Another boulder flew through the air, and giants scattered from its impact, dropping their logs. But at the same moment, one last key block fell from the hole in the crippled tower, and the stone mass began to lean.
Wessex felt the floor beneath him give. He turned to run toward the stairway, but the crowded room allowed no movement. Suddenly the floo
r disappeared from under him, and he knew he was falling to Earth with the tower. The great rocks of the stories above pounded him mercilessly, and the tower’s cruel weight buried him and many other Raspars inside. From her distant window, Mercedi screamed into the air.
The travelers bent the tree back again, and the wood groaned and complained against the tension. As the Rufoux put another stone in place, the tree split, sending dozens of heavy shards splintering through the air. Franken rolled out of the branches and onto the ground; the stone fell heavily upon Artur’s legs, twisting them sideways and pinning him to the ground. As he cursed and pushed the stone, pieces of wooden shrapnel flew at his head and side, entering his thigh and calf. Artur gained his feet and wondered who was talking to him; then the world moved in a way that it shouldn’t, and Artur’s mind left it, and he collapsed. He lay on the ground face-down, unmoving and saying nothing.
“Damn!” yelled Geoffrey, running to kneel by his son.
The giants picked through the rubble of the tower, rudely tossing aside Raspar bodies they encountered. A smattering of arrows continued to fall upon them. The Aoten gathered what bows and arrows they could find from the storeroom, then made their retreat toward the Gravidas; they also carted off as many stones as they could. A few unceremoniously dragged their dead behind them as they shuffled off. With surprising speed the dust from the tower had settled and the glade rested quietly again.
A lonely wail arose from the embattled Eternal City. Wessex’ tall hat lay peacefully upon the grass.