Necklen grinned at the boys. “I hope you never learn to take orders, lads,” he told them.
“Yes, sir!” they chorused, grinning.
But Necklen’s smile faded as he saw the Daroth hauling another catapult over the hills.
As the first of the huge lead balls crashed into the wall beside the gate Vint ordered the troops back. The two blazing Daroth catapults were now oozing thick plumes of black smoke into the sky.
“What can you see?” yelled Karis. Vint eased himself up, and stared through the crenellated battlements.
“Two Daroth legions are massing,” he shouted. “They are moving slowly forward.”
A second lead ball struck the gates, smashing two thick timbers and splitting the giant locking bar. “They are coming at a run now,” yelled Vint. “Maybe three thousand of them. The rest are just waiting.”
Another lead shot smashed home, tearing open the gates and rolling ponderously into the avenue beyond. Vint ran for the steps, taking them three at a time, then sprinted down towards a line of wagons stretching across the avenue. Karis, Ozhobar and Tarantio were already there.
Two hundred crossbow-men moved through a gap in the wagons and took up positions in front of them, one line kneeling and the other standing behind. They weren’t going to stop the Daroth, thought Vint. Not 200.
The first of the enemy pushed their way past the ruined gates, saw the crossbow-men and charged. They came in silence, save for the pounding of their boots on the cobbles. The silence itself chilled Vint. He drew his sabre, knowing that the weapon was useless against the leathery skins of the Daroth, yet feeling better for having it in his hand.
“Wait!” shouted Karis, her voice clear and calm. The twenty-wide mass of the Daroth attackers came closer. Seventy feet. Fifty. Forty. “Now!” she cried. The kneeling line of crossbow-men loosed their shafts, which hammered home into the leading warriors. Scores went down while the rest charged on. “Again!” yelled Karis. The standing line let fly, and a second black cloud of bolts plunged home. The charge scarcely faltered.
Suddenly crossbow bolts came shooting from every window on either side of the avenue. Bowmen rose up from behind the hastily erected walls across the alleys, sending volley after volley into the Daroth ranks.
Vint heard a whip crack. In an alley, hidden from sight, three oxen lunged into the traces and the wagons were hauled away, exposing three enormous steel-armed ballistae hidden behind them. The two lines of crossbow-men sprinted clear left and right, just as the Daroth charged again.
Ozhobar slammed his hammer against a release bolt and two pounds of spreading iron shot screamed into the attackers, smashing the first line from their feet. Standing to one side, Vint saw a Daroth’s face swept away in a milky blur, shards of bone spraying into the air. All around, mutilated Daroth warriors were hurled to the cobbles. A second ballista loosed its load, punching a great gap in the Daroth line. Vint stood back and watched three men smoothly drawing the deadly arms of the first ballista into position. Then the third sent its lethal missiles into the packed ranks of the enemy. Crossbow bolts continued to rain from the windows, and the carnage in the avenue continued. Now the first two lines of crossbow-men edged back along the walls, spreading out again behind the ballistae and loosing their bolts into the enemy.
One Daroth warrior, his left arm torn away, stumbled forward and then hurled his spear. It took a crossbow-man through the chest, hurling him back into a wall. Tarantio relaxed and allowed Dace to take control. He leapt forward and with one sweep of his blade disembowelled the creature, then beheaded him as he fell. “That’s one for Sirano and his spell swords,” said Dace.
As the enemy charged once more, the arms of one of the ballistae snapped off. Within seconds the Daroth had reached the weapons. Then the second ballista blasted lead shot into them at point-blank range, lifting three warriors from their feet and slamming them into their comrades.
From the alley alongside the ballista Forin and his fifty axemen charged into the fray. Dace was in with them, his eldritch swords cleaving a path through the enemy. Vint, his own sword useless, scrambled back from the action and joined Karis and Ozhobar. Taking up a crossbow, he cocked it and sent a bolt through the brain of a towering warrior.
A bugle blew.
Forin and his men ran left and right, opening a gap through which a ballista could send its murderous ammunition slashing into the Daroth ranks. Hundreds of the creatures were down now, more falling with every heartbeat as the merciless hail of death continued from the windows on either side.
There was nowhere for the Daroth to run. Ahead of them were the deadly ballistae, on either side the alleyways were blocked. And as the death toll continued to rise, they fought to make their way to the only haven: the north gate.
Forin took a blow to the head which sent him reeling, his helmet flying clear. As the Daroth ran in for the kill, the giant reared up to smash his axe into his enemy’s face. The blade plunged home, then tore itself away. The spear of a second Daroth struck his breastplate, denting it deeply and bruising his ribs. Spinning, Forin lunged with his axe, stabbing both points through the Daroth’s chest. The creature’s fist crashed against Forin’s brow. Stunned, the giant stumbled to his knees. Dace appeared beside him, his sword half decapitating the Daroth. Forin struggled to his feet, dragged his axe clear of the dead Daroth and charged back into the fray.
Her face expressionless, Karis watched the battle. Humans were dying now as the frantic Daroth warriors tore at the makeshift walls, hacking and stabbing at the crossbow-men on the ground level. At least fifteen of Forin’s men were down.
Four Daroth warriors broke clear of Forin’s line and made it to the ballistae. Dace ran up behind the last of them, cutting him down. Crossbow bolts slammed into the second and third men, but the fourth leapt straight at Karis.
Vint was the closest to her. He heard his name shouted and turned to see Tarantio throwing one of his swords. The shimmering blade spun through the air and Vint leapt to catch it, his hand curling round the hilt. Even as he caught it, he knew he would be too late. Spinning on his heel, he ran towards the Daroth. The creature’s sword swept up, but Karis stood her ground, staring defiantly at him.
At that moment a hurtling black form crashed into the Daroth, Stealer’s huge jaws clamping to his neck. Off balance, the Daroth fell back. Ozhobar lunged forward to send his hammer cracking against the side of the attacker’s head. Vint sent Tarantio’s sword slicing through his spine. As the creature fell dead, the hound continued to gnaw at his throat. “Here!” called Karis. Stealer backed away, still growling.
A slow rumbling began, like distant thunder. Vint glanced round to see Necklen and ten men hauling a new catapult along the avenue. Behind it were several horse-drawn wagons, the first carrying fresh shot and a burning brazier. Ozhobar ran back to them.
The Daroth were streaming back for the gates as the bugle sounded. Forin, Dace and the surviving eleven armoured warriors turned and ran back towards the ballistae. A blazing pottery ball flew over their heads and exploded just below the gate tower. Close-packed as they were, the flames engulfed twenty Daroth warriors. In panic the remaining Daroth trampled each other to escape, and the flames spread.
A second ball soared over the walls to scatter blazing oil over the warriors milling there.
The Daroth army fled back towards the hills.
“Clear the dead!” yelled Karis. “Make way for the wagons.”
Dace ran among the Daroth corpses, checking them. Several of them were still alive, and these he despatched swiftly. Soldiers began to drag the giant bodies back to the walls on either side, and three wagons inched their way to the gates. Ozhobar rode the first wagon, and when it reached the gate tower he jumped down and called for help to unload. Each of the three wagons carried interlocking sections made up of long iron bars. Ropes and pulleys were assembled on the parapet above, hauling the sections into place, lodging them into the deep grooves which stonemasons had carved in the s
olid stone on both sides of the gate tower.
Behind the workmen the catapult was hauled into place. Necklen ran to the gate and gauged the distance to the Daroth weapon. No more than 200 paces. Moving back to the catapult, he passed the information to young Beris.
Moments later a blazing ball soared over the walls, exploding some thirty feet to the left of the Daroth machine. Soldiers on the walls cheered as Daroth soldiers hastily roped their catapult, dragging it back out of harm’s way.
Slowly the iron portcullis was assembled, effectively reblocking the gateway. Ozhobar stood back, hands on hips, admiring his handiwork. “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.”
Across the avenue stretcher-bearers, Brune among them, were carrying away the Corduin wounded and dead. Vint moved amongst them, checking the numbers of injured and slain. He crossed to where Karis was standing with Tarantio.
“Forin lost thirty-nine men: thirty-seven dead, two badly wounded. Just under sixty other men died, or will not fight again. As far as I can tell we killed around two hundred and thirty Daroth.”
Karis nodded, but said nothing. “You did it, General,” said Vint. “You turned them back.”
“We’ve certainly made them think,” she agreed.
Vint offered Tarantio his sword. The dark-haired warrior grinned. “Keep it! But be careful how you sheathe it.”
Vint nodded. “If I had known how deadly it was, I’d have thought twice about catching it.” He glanced up. The sun was still climbing in the sky. “Sweet Heaven,” he said. “You would have thought it would be dusk by now, and yet it is not an hour since the charge began.”
Forin joined them. “Will someone help me get this damned breastplate off?” he said. “I can’t breathe in it.” The armour was covered with deep dents, and there was a gash across the back where the metal had split. Once Tarantio and Vint eased the breastplate clear, Forin stripped off his shirt. His upper body was covered in bruises, and there was a shallow cut on his shoulder. “I’m not looking forward to going through that again,” he grumbled, sitting down on a broken wall.
“You fought well, big man,” said Vint. “I think you killed three of them.”
“Two. Tarantio took the last. But I marked a few too.” He looked up at Karis. “You think they’ll come back today?”
“Men wouldn’t,” she said. “The generals would get together and rethink their strategy. They are not men, however.”
“Do you have another fiendish plan for them?” asked the giant.
“No,” Karis admitted. “Send for me if they charge again.” With that she turned and strode away, the dog Stealer padding alongside her.
“She’s not much on celebration, is she?” remarked Ozhobar.
As the day wore on, and the Daroth remained in their camp, an air of jubilation swept through the city. The invincible Daroth had been turned back by the strength and courage of the soldiers, and by the strategic brilliance of Karis. Crowds formed outside the palace, cheering her name.
Inside, Karis lay in a hot bath with Stealer lying at the edge, looking quizzically at his adopted mistress. Her thoughts were many and confused. Far from jubilation, she felt a sense of panic—almost of loss. It had begun when she had seen Necklen hanging from the rooftop; the old man meant more to her than she had realized. Then, when Forin charged in with his men, and she saw them cut down, one after another. With each one that died, a part of herself faded. War and death.
She was suddenly tired of both. And yet this was just the beginning. The Daroth would be wary now; they would circle the city, looking for a weak spot, then launch another attack . . . and another. Even if Corduin held, what would be gained? There were seven cities of the Daroth, and their power was enormous.
Karis sighed, then ducked her head under the warm water, washing her dark hair. “What is it for?” she asked Stealer. Cocking his head he gazed back at her. “Is there a point to it all?”
“A drowning man doesn’t stop to think about whether the sea has a reason for being,” said a voice. “He just swims and fights for life.”
“What are you doing here, Forin?”
“I came to talk, but I’d just as soon have a bath.” Stripping off his bloodstained clothes, the red-bearded giant moved down the marble steps and sank down into the water. “Ah, but that is good.”
“I don’t want company,” she said, but there was no force of conviction in her voice.
“Yes, you do. You’ve lived and breathed the Daroth threat for weeks now—scheming, planning, worrying. And all for this day. Now it is over. And all the tension of those dark days is settling over you like a black mist.”
“I’m sick of it,” she said. “Sick of seeing death and violence.”
“You are right to be sick of it, it is a sickening business. As to the point . . . ? Ask the living. There are crowds outside chanting your name . . . well, not exactly your name. ‘The Ice Queen,’ they are calling you now. They think you are a deliverer sent by the gods. Better than the ‘Whore of War,’ anyway.”
“I don’t care what they think.”
“You should; they are what this is all about: the bakers and the carpenters, the dreamers and the poets. But you won’t see that today, will you, Karis?”
“What is it you want from me?” she asked, rising from the water and climbing the steps. Servants had left thick towels by the bath-side and Karis wrapped one around her torso, using a second to dry her hair. “Well?” she persisted.
“I don’t know. How did the hot water feel upon your skin?”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“It felt good, didn’t it? Cleansing the skin, relaxing the muscles. Had the Daroth broken through, we would have all been dead. No more baths. No more wine. No more loving. They didn’t break through, Karis. You stopped them. And here we are. And life is sweet! Tomorrow . . . ? Well, tomorrow can look after itself. What do I want? Pointless to say that I want you for eternity. We may only have a day. But if we don’t use it then the Daroth might just as well have won.”
She sat down on a bench and smiled. “That was a long-winded way of saying you want to take me to bed.”
He grinned at her. “What I wanted most was to see you smile.”
She looked into his green eyes and was silent for a moment. “Come and join me in a drink,” she said at last. He rose from the water and she threw him a towel.
Necklen, Vint and the Duke Albreck were waiting in her outer rooms. The Duke stood as she entered, then averted his eyes. “My apologies, General,” he said. “We will come back when you are attired for company.”
Karis bowed. “With respect, my lord, please be seated. I am too tired to dress, and will soon be asleep. But for the moment I have enough wits about me to conduct a conversation.”
“As you wish,” he said, but he was clearly uncomfortable. Seating himself, he was about to speak when Forin walked in naked. Hastily the giant swept a towel around his hips, but as he bowed the towel fell away. Necklen roared with laughter and even the Duke smiled. Then Albreck turned to Karis. “Firstly, let me congratulate you on today’s victory. The people seem to believe it was a miracle. For myself I know it to be the result of careful planning and meticulous strategy. I am proud of you, Karis. Whatever happens from now on, nothing will change that.”
Karis reddened, seeming at a loss for words. The Duke rose and bowed to her, then swung to Forin. “You lost a lot of men today, Captain. But you fought like a lion. Should Corduin survive this war, then there will be a place for you in my personal guard.”
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll enjoy that.”
The Duke moved to the door. “When you have rested, Karis, please come to my rooms. I would like to discuss tomorrow’s plan of defence.” He paused before the door, which Necklen opened for him. Karis lay back on the couch, fatigue making her head swim.
“We’ll let you get some rest, princess,” said Necklen, tapping Vint on the shoulder. Vint did not move; his face ashen, he was staring at Fori
n with undisguised hatred. Necklen leaned in to him. “Time to go, my friend,” he whispered. Vint took a deep breath, pushed himself to his feet and stalked from the room. Necklen followed him.
“I think I’ve made an enemy of Vint,” said Forin. There was no reply from Karis, and the giant, moving alongside her, saw that she was asleep. Gently he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. Pulling the sheets and blankets over her he kissed her brow, then dressed and wandered out of the palace.
Necklen caught Vint just as the swordsman was passing the side gates of the palace. “Join me for a jug?” asked the older man.
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s what she is, Vint,” said Necklen. “I love her like a daughter, but she’s wilful.”
With great effort Vint held back the angry retort that swelled in his throat. Necklen was a good man, tough and loyal, and he meant well. The truth was simple: a man rarely understands the value of what he has—until he loses it. “You mustn’t blame Forin,” said Necklen.
“Blame? I don’t blame anyone. I am angry, but that will pass. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to the wall.”
Vint strode off. Everywhere there were crowds on the streets, laughing, singing, drinking. He moved through them like a wraith, oblivious to their joy. The black-clad figure of Tarantio was sitting on the battlements, staring out over the walls.
“Anything happening?” asked Vint.
“No. A whole group of them, maybe two hundred, have been sitting in a circle for the last couple of hours. Where’s Karis?”
“Resting, apparently.” Tarantio caught the edge in Vint’s tone and said nothing. “Where next, do you think?” asked Vint. “The east gate?”
“I have no idea. They are shocked, that’s for sure.”
Vint glanced back to where the Daroth bodies had been dragged earlier. All that remained was what appeared to be a huge pile of white sacks and oddments of armour and weapons. “What happened to the Daroth dead?” he asked.