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Kel slid into the mail shirt, donned the plain open helm, and accepted bow and quiver from her helpers. “Tobe, find Saefas,” she ordered the boy. “Tell him I said to get everyone who can use a bow on the ramparts.”
Tobe nodded and ran. Kel, Jump, and her sparrows climbed to the walkway over the gate. There she took a moment to string her bow.
Connac, the sergeant in command of the watch, passed the spyglass to her. “There, milady,” he said, pointing. Kel looked. The enemy galloped across the open meadows on the western side of the valley. With one ear she listened to the horn calls as special combinations told Merric and his patrol of the attack. More trumpet blasts summoned those who had been plowing the fields east of the river. They raced across the bridge and up the inclined road to the gate.
With the glass to her eye, Kel did a rough count of the foe. This was a raiding party of thirty or so warriors, mounted on nimble, shaggy-coated horses. Among the warriors, two wore the pointed fur hats of shamans, or mages. Fumbling one-handed at her belt, Kel drew out the griffin-feather band. Sergeant Connac took the glass and her helm. Kel tied the band in place and slid the helm on over it. “Two shamans,” she told the sergeant.
“Shall I get my lord duke and Sir Neal?” he asked.
Kel shook her head. “I doubt we’ll need them.” She jerked her head to indicate Numair. He stood on the wall that directly faced the oncoming Scanrans, his full shirtsleeves flapping in the brisk spring wind.
The sergeant chuckled. “They’ll wish they’da stayed in bed today,” he told Kel.
“You may be right,” she replied, hearing new voices and the rattle of shod feet clambering up wooden stairs. She glanced around. Refugees carrying bows, men and women alike, had come to join the soldiers on the ramparts.
“Lady knight, orders?” asked Dom, coming over to her. He and his squad had been guarding the plowmen. They had been the last to enter the fort. Now the heavy gates were closed and barred.
“Keep your horses ready in case you need to make a sally from the gate, Sergeant Domitan,” Kel said. “Up here, dispose of your men as you see fit. You know where they’ll do the most good.” She looked at Connac. “See that the refugee archers take instructions from the nearest soldier,” she told him. “You may want to distribute the refugees better.”
The civilian archers, knowing the enemy came from the north, had all gone to the northern ramparts. The sergeant would spread them out around the entire wall, in case the enemy had split up to attack from two or even three directions.
An arrow arched into the air, striking the ground dozens of yards before the closest horseman. “Don’t shoot till the sergeants give the command!” Kel shouted, pitching her voice as Raoul had taught her to carry over distance and noise. “Don’t waste arrows! Wait for the command!”
“Did they teach you that voice special?” murmured a familiar voice in her ear. “Or did you pick it up yourself?”
Kel looked at Fanche. She was glad to see the woman carried a strung longbow and a quiver of very businesslike arrows. “They teach it special. Choose a spot and take your orders from the nearest soldier,” she said as she watched the enemy. “Wait to shoot till the command, then pick your shots.” When she glanced back a moment later, she saw Fanche had walked over to the center of the gate and was listening to a soldier.
Relieved that Fanche hadn’t argued, Kel put the spyglass to her eye.
The raiders were fifty yards from the northern wall. Another twenty-five yards would bring them to the base of the rising ground. She suspected they would split up then, some to come up the gate road from the east, others to climb the rising ground and attack the gate directly. It was what she would do.
“On the north wall, loose at my command,” she cried, lowering her spyglass.
Thoughts tumbled through her mind as they had when she and Dom’s squad had battled a killing device and when she and her friends had fought off hill bandits. The gate should be on the eastern or southern wall, she realized. We could squeeze them between the height and the river then. Too late to fix that now.
She judged the enemy’s distance, her hands trembling, her palms covered with sweat. They were nearly thirty yards back, about to split up. “Loose!” she cried.
Her people’s arrows whistled through the air. Four Scanran horses went down. Kel winced for the horses. Two other Scanrans fell from their saddles and were trampled. Four more reeled, arrows sticking in their bodies.
We have good archers here, Kel thought with relief. Three raiders still galloped toward the eastern wall. One of them went down, an arrow in his throat: it was Fanche’s.
The two shamans, who had stayed safe at the back of the raiders, had gone to work, creating a mingled blue and yellow fog. Kel, about to shout a warning to Numair, bit her tongue. He would know far better than she what magic unfolded. She glanced at him as he raised his hands. Black lightning edged with white streaked from his fingers, lancing toward the shamans. Kel didn’t see the result; she heard trumpet calls from the south. Merric had gotten the alarm. He was in the woods to the west of the camp, the enemy in his sight.
Dom and Sergeant Connac had stayed close by in case she had orders for them. She did. She didn’t have to make them up, after all, not when she, Merric, Dom, and the sergeants had spent their evenings working out plans to counter different kinds of assault. “Signal Merric to move north and be ready for our attack,” she told Connac. “Sergeant Oluf’s squad and Sergeant Domitan’s, mount up,” she directed: Oluf commanded one of the convict squads. “Prepare to ride out at my signal. Archers on the north wall,” she yelled, “pick your shots and loose at will!”
Dom gathered his soldiers with an ear-piercing whistle. Kel heard the clatter of boots as the men of the Own ran for their waiting mounts. Dom clapped her on the shoulder and murmured in her ear, “You sound just like Lord Raoul.” Kel grinned, then returned her attention to the enemy as Dom raced down the stairs. Connac hand-signaled Sergeant Oluf and his squad to join the attack. Horn calls soared from Haven’s trumpeters, telling Merric his part of the plan.
Numair’s spell had done its work: flames rose from the ground at the enemy’s rear. There was no sign of either shaman in that large blaze. He’d burned them out of existence.
The Scanrans milled at the foot of the high ground as the north wall archers pelted them with arrows. When the enemy started to draw back, Kel thought they were about to run, but she was wrong. They regrouped, sent half their number to try the road in the east, and prepared to climb directly to the gate once more.
“Hold your arrows,” Kel shouted. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a soldier grab Fanche’s bow arm to stop her from shooting again. In the distance she heard Merric’s horn call. He was ready.
She nodded to Sergeant Connac, who bellowed, “On the gate!” Timbers creaked as a handful of civilians hauled one leaf of the massive gate open just wide enough to allow two riders to pass at a time. Dom and Sergeant Oluf led the charge while trumpeters signaled their attack. From the woods to Kel’s left she heard Merric’s trumpeter reply. His patrol squad streamed out of the woods at the gallop, Merric in the lead, fully armored, his sword unsheathed. He smashed into the Scanran flank. The attackers from Haven rode down to hammer the enemy from the front. The tide of battle had turned.
Screams tore the air. Kel whirled, putting the spyglass to her eye. Soldiers and civilians alike hacked at black, insectlike arms as they reached over the top of the east wall. One soldier’s hand flew into the air, cut from his arm. The screams and shouts of warning came from those who didn’t need all their air to fight.
“Crossbow,” said Kel. She thrust the spyglass at Connac.
The sergeant didn’t wait to ask questions. He took the spyglass, unslung his quiver, and gave it and the crossbow to Kel. She handed over her longbow and quiver, then raced down the walkway, heart pounding in her throat as the domed helms of two killing devices showed above the eastern wall.
six
&n
bsp; DEFENSE PLANS
Other civilians and soldiers on the walkway had turned to see what was happening. Kel shoved one corporal back toward the wall. “Keep your post!” she yelled, doing the same to a pair of civilians who stood gawping. “Do you want the enemy to come up this way while you stare?”
She barreled down the wall, shoving those who didn’t listen back into their places, ordering them to watch the enemy outside. The crossbow was already set, a bolt in the notch. She wasted a breath on regrets for her griffin-fletched arrows, which seemed to aim themselves, and made the turn onto the eastern walkway.
“Move!” she snapped, thrusting onlookers aside. Ahead, a knot of soldiers and civilians battled the killing devices. It was disastrous. The things were quick, and the fighters had almost no protection against them. A man went down, gutted by a dagger-hand. A soldier flew off the walkway to the ground twenty feet below.
Kel yanked civilians and soldiers away from the closest device, which was only half over the wall. She leveled her bow at its helm, just five feet away, and pulled the trigger. Crossbow bolts, heavy enough to punch through armor, were devastating at such short range. This bolt slammed into the head-dome of the device to punch through the thick iron. Kel lunged within reach of the three-jointed arms, prayed, and grabbed the bolt, yanking it out of the device. It left a small, round hole.
Something white and vaporous flowed out of the opening, crying like a child. The wind shredded the spirit as the device went dead in a clatter of metal and chains.
Kel fumbled for her quiver, dropping two bolts before she finally grasped one. “Get back!” she yelled at those who fought the remaining device. “Now!”
They obeyed. One refugee wasn’t quick enough; the device cut him lengthwise from behind as he turned to flee. This monster had made it onto the walkway. Sparrows fluttered around the narrow pits that served as its eyes, confusing it. Kel shot from just six feet away, but the thing turned its head. The bolt hit at an angle and bounced off, leaving only a scratch in the metal. The device shook its head and faced Kel. White-lipped, she grabbed the quiver and sought another bolt with trembling fingers.
“Look out!” Saefas shouted from the far side of the thing. He’d gotten a big axe and was guarding civilians until they could make it down the nearest stair. “Lady, look out!”
Kel glanced up and threw herself back. A sledgeload of logs, raised from the ground by magic the color of glittering black fire—Numair’s Gift— hung over the killing device. As Kel dodged, Numair’s magic dropped the logs. They slammed the metal creature and the walkway on which it stood down onto the ground behind an unoccupied barracks.
Wasting no time, Kel raced down the flight of stairs behind her, where the walkway was undamaged. She set a bolt in the crossbow’s notch and yanked the heavy string to the trigger as she reached the heap of logs. It shifted. A claw-hand shot out of a gap. Logs rolled and tumbled as the device fought its way out from under them. As soon as she saw the head-dome, Kel shot and hit squarely. She lurched over the treacherous logs until she could yank the bolt free. The trapped spirit that fueled the killing device escaped, crying for its mother. Once it had fled, the logs and the thing under them were still.
As she was about to remove her helmet, Kel remembered that this wasn’t the only fight she had to worry about. She ran toward the gate, trying to ignore trembling knees and rolling stomach as the effect of fighting the devices hit her. They could have cut her to pieces, mail shirt or no. They had cut up some of her people.
Connac, still at his post over the gate, was looking for her. As soon as he saw her, he gave the hand sign for “battle won.” Kel sagged for a moment, relief making her giddy. But it would not do for her people to see her lose her strength, even if they were safe for now. Somehow she found the strength to walk on to the gate. Tobe met her halfway, a water flask in his hands. Until she saw it, Kel hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. She drained it and smiled at him. It was good to know that when she needed him, Tobe was always there without argument or complaint. Part of his eagerness to help was still his worry that she would vanish, she knew, but she also liked to think it was because the little old man in him approved of the way she did things.
“I don’t know how I managed before you came along,” she said, handing the empty flask back to him. “I did a good day’s work when I hired you.”
Tobe swiped at his face with one hand, embarrassed, and went for more water as Kel dragged herself up the stairs to the watch post. Below, her men were checking the enemy on the ground. They gave the mercy stroke to those too badly hurt for the healers to tend or to those Scanrans who begged for it. None of them wanted to be made a prisoner. Like Kel’s Yamani friends, Scanrans thought surrender was a loss of honor that could never be recovered. Most preferred to die fighting.
To hide the trembling of her fingers, Kel polished the lens of the spyglass with a handkerchief. She accepted a ladle of water from Sergeant Connac and drank it, then returned her gaze to the field below. Merric, his patrol, and the squad of soldiers from Haven were on their way up the inclined road. Dom hand-signaled Kel, asking for permission to check the north woods. Kel signaled for him to go ahead but take care. Connac was right. This battle was done.
“Nets,” she said abruptly, turning to survey the camp. People were laying out those who had been killed when the devices came over the wall. “Maybe nets would do it.”
“Milady?” asked Connac.
“I want nets made,” she said as Tobe reached her with a newly filled water flask. She gulped half of it. “Hemp, yes, but metal, too. Chain, wire, rods . . . Let’s salvage what we can from those devices for a start. The nets should measure twenty feet by twenty feet, and we’ll keep two for each side of the wall. And I want five pickaxes for each wall, equally spaced, where folk can get at them.”
“You think they’ll help with the devices?” Connac wanted to know.
“Those things can cut hemp, but metal woven into it ought to slow them down,” she said, putting the stopper into her flask. “Gods willing, it’ll slow them a bit so that someone can get close enough to crack their heads with the pickaxe, and let the magic out.”
“It’s a good idea,” Numair said. He looked disheveled and sweaty but lively enough. Kel handed over her flask. The mage drained it. “I’ll help make the nets.”
“You’ll have to train the soldiers on them,” Fanche pointed out as she unstrung her bow. “Drill them. They’ll only get one chance to trap ’em, those devices move so fast.”
Kel nodded. “We’ll drill them till they drop,” she promised absently, watching as Merric and his fighters rode through the gates. “And not just the soldiers. Anyone who can fight.” The new refugees who weren’t helping to carry the wounded to the infirmary or weeping for those killed on the road thanked the soldiers who’d saved their lives.
Perhaps now was the best time to speak to the newcomers and to the other civilians, Kel thought, before they learned that a fifth of their soldiers would be returning to Fort Steadfast in the morning. Kel looked at Tobe. “Would you tell Master Zamiel—that’s the new head clerk—I need four of his people, with note-taking materials, at the flagpole?” she asked. “I’ll need them to write up training rosters.”
The boy nodded and ran to do her bidding. Kel looked at Fanche, who observed her with a crooked smile.
“Amused?” Kel asked, feeling tired. “I could use a joke.”
Fanche shook her head. “I was just thinking that maybe you’re worth your feed.” She poked Saefas in the ribs with an elbow. “Let’s get our folk over to that pole.”
Saefas waved to Kel and trotted down the stairs after Fanche.
“Kel?” Merric called from below. He’d removed his helmet to empty his water flask. His normally copper hair was dark and matted with sweat. His bright blue eyes glittered in his pale face. “I’m taking another patrol out for a look at the south woods.”
“Go, and be careful,” Kel told him. Merric nodded and began t
o reassemble his men.
After a moment spent watching them, Kel began to walk around the upper wall, talking to each person there, soldier and civilian, thanking them for their service as she took the opportunity to inspect the ground. She didn’t want any more surprises. Fortunately, none seemed to be available. When she reached the gap in the walkway, she climbed down the stairs, walked around the tumbled heap of logs atop the device, and climbed up to finish her inspection of her people and their surroundings.
One of the Goatstrack refugee girls found Kel after she had returned to the walkway over the gate. “Mistress Fanche says they’re waiting,” she said, panting from the trot up the stair.
Kel refilled her flask at the well and followed her to the flagpole, Jump at their heels. As she made her way through the cluster of refugees, she listened to the trumpet signals that came over the wall. Patrols had found no more of the enemy lurking in the north or south woods. A knot she hadn’t noticed in her gut loosened. She’d been afraid there would be more Scanrans out there, waiting for them to relax after they’d beaten off one attack.
Kel stepped up onto a bench so everyone could see her, nodding to the four gray-robed clerks who stood nearby. “If each of you will take a place at one of the stocks?” she asked them. The clerks obeyed as Kel waited for the people around her to quiet down. When she had their attention, she called, “How many of you shoot bows?” she asked. “Raise your hands. I want anyone over the age of ten or so, no matter if your shooting is good or bad.”
Hands went up in response. “All of you, sign up with . . .” Kel pointed to the female clerk at the southern stocks.
“Hildurra Ward,” the woman said, getting to her feet to bow.
“When I’m done talking, give Mistress Hildurra your names,” Kel ordered them. “How many can use a sling?” More hands went up, including those of girls and boys who looked to be under thirteen. Mountain children, who watched the family herds, learned to use slings to fight off predators. She assigned those people to a clerk, then did the same for those who could wield a staff or pitchfork. Those who were skilled with more than one weapon Kel directed to sign up on all the appropriate lists. “No doubt you’re wondering why I ask this,” Kel went on, looking into the many faces turned up to her. “Or perhaps you’ve guessed already. Tomorrow, after breakfast, we start holding weapons training for you.”
