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Once the enemy charged up the main route into Altur’Rang, they would abruptly pull up the spikes to impale them. The archers would then pick off all the those caught in the bottleneck between the spikes and the men still rushing up from the rear.
The man nodded and ran off to see to her orders. She had already instructed everyone on the spikes. Victor had his blacksmith shop and a number of others working feverishly to manufacture the simple but deadly traps. They were little more than sharpened iron bar stock that was all connected together, almost like a picket fence, but with different length chain between the top crossbar and the upper portion of the spikes.
Sections of these linked spikes were laid in the roads all over the city. Lying down flat they didn’t prevent travel on the road, but when cavalry charged in the pointed ends of the entire section were lifted and an iron brace was jammed in place. The different length of chains attaching the spikes to the crossbar allowed the deadly spikes to hang at varying distances from the crossbar, thus making them stick up at different angles. Making them stick up at uneven angles allowed them to be far more treacherous than a simple straight line of spikes. If it was done properly, the enemy cavalry would unexpectedly run their horses right onto the sharp iron tips. Even if they tried to jump them the horses would more likely than not be ripped open. It was simple but highly effective.
There were traps made of the iron sections all over the city, usually at intersections. Once the sections were lifted they couldn’t easily be lowered. The panicked horses would be gored on the spikes or at the least wouldn’t be able to escape the confinement created by the obstacle. As the cavalry charged up onto the spikes, the soldiers would either be thrown off their horses and likely injured or killed, or they would have to dismount in order to try to deal with the obstruction. Either way, the archers would then have a much better chance of picking them off than if they were just charging past.
The men manning the sections of spikes were instructed to judge the situation and not to necessarily pull the spikes up just as the cavalry ran up to them. In some cases it would be better to wait until some of the men had already charged past. If there was a large number of cavalry this would allow the defenders to split the enemy force, not only spreading confusion among the attack, but breaking it apart, severing the lines of command, making it lose its advantage of unity, and making it easier to deal with the fragmented force. Decisively eliminating the cavalry was essential to stopping the invasion.
Nicci knew, though, that in the panic of facing a frightening wall of charging enemy soldiers screaming for blood, such careful plans tended to be forgotten. She knew that at the sight of such fearsome soldiers with weapons raised, some of the men would flee, failing to raise the spikes before they did. Nicci had seen such terror before. That was why she had placed redundant sections of spikes.
Nearly everyone in the city was committed to its defense. Some would be more effective than others. Even women at home with children had supplies of things, from rocks to boiling oil, that they intended to throw down on any invading soldiers. There had not been a lot of time to make extravagant weapons, but there were men everywhere with stacks of spears. A sharpened pole wasn’t fancy, but if it took down a cavalry horse or impaled a man, it was fancy enough. It didn’t matter if it was cavalry or foot soldiers, they all had to be defeated, so there were men of the city by the thousands with bows. With a bow, even an old man could kill a vigorous, muscular, hulking young soldier.
An arrow could even take down a wizard.
It would be futile to have the men of the city trying to fight experienced soldiers in a traditional battle. They had to deny the Order’s soldiers everything they were used to using.
Nicci’s object had been to make the city one big trap. Now, she had to draw the Order into that trap.
To that end, she saw Ishaq’s wagon rumbling toward her. People scattered out of the way. Ishaq pulled back on the reins and drew the big horses to a halt. A cloud of dust boiled up.
He set the brake and leaped down off the wagon, something she wouldn’t have expected he could do with such agility. He held his hat on with one hand as he ran. He was holding something else up in his other hand.
“Nicci! Nicci!”
She turned to the men with her. “You’d all best see to the things we’ve discussed. I don’t think we have more than a few hours.”
The men looked surprised and alarmed.
“You don’t think they will wait until morning?” one asked.
“No. I believe they will attack this evening.” She didn’t tell them why she thought so.
The men nodded and rushed off to their assignments.
Ishaq came to a panting halt. His face was nearly as red as his hat.
“Nicci, a message.” He waved the paper before her. “A message for the mayor.”
Nicci’s insides tightened.
“A group of men rode in,” he said. “They were carrying a white flag, just as you said they would. They brought a message for ‘the mayor.’ How did you know?”
She ignored the question. “Have you read it, yet?”
His face went red. “Yes. So did Victor. He is very angry. It is not a good thing to make the blacksmith angry.”
“Do you have a horse, as I requested?”
“Yes, yes, I have a horse.” He handed her the paper. “But I think that you had better read this.”
Nicci unfolded the paper and read it silently to herself.
Citizen mayor,
I received word that the people of Altur’Rang, under your direction, wish to renounce their sinful ways and bow again to the wise, merciful, and sovereign authority of the Imperial Order.
If it is true that you wish to spare the people of Altur’Rang the total destruction we reserve for insurrectionists and heathens, then as a token of your good intent and willing submission to the jurisdiction of the Imperial Order, you will bind your lovely and loyal wife’s hands and send
her to me as your humble gift.
Fail to turn over your wife as instructed and everyone in Altur’Rang will die.
In the service of the merciful Creator,
Brother Kronos,
Commander of His Excellency’s reunification force.
Nicci crushed the message in her fist. “Let’s go.”
Ishaq replaced his hat and scrambled to catch up with her as she marched toward the wagon. “You don’t seriously intend to do as this brute demands, do you?”
Nicci put a foot on the iron step and climbed up onto the wagon’s wooden seat. “Let’s go, Ishaq.”
He muttered to himself as he climbed into the wagon beside her. He threw off the brake and flicked the reins, yelling for people to get out of the way as he swung the wagon around. Dirt and dust spiraled up off the wheels as he turned the wagon around in the road. He cracked his whip above the horses’ flanks, crying out to urge them away. The wagon slid around and finally straightened as the horses threw their weight against the hames.
Nicci held on to the side rail with one hand as the wagon lurched ahead, letting her other hand, with the message crumpled in her fist, rest in the lap of her red dress. She watched without seeing as they raced through the streets of Altur’Rang, past buildings and storefronts, other wagons, horses, and people on foot. Low sunlight flickered through rows of trees to the left as they raced north along the wide boulevard. At vegetable, cheese, bread, and butcher stands under awnings, some drab and some striped, a press of people were buying up all the food they could before the impending storm.
The road narrowed as it passed into ancient sections of the city, becoming clogged with wagons, horses, and people. Without slowing much at all, Ishaq swung his two big draft horses off the main road and took shortcuts through alleyways behind tightly packed rows of buildings where entire families lived in a single room. Laundry stretched on lines that crisscrossed small yards and in a number of places, strung between opposing second-story apartments, stretched across the alleyway over their heads. Nearly each tiny plot in the back of the crowded buildings was used for growing food or keeping chickens. Wings flapped and feathers flew as the birds panicked at the sight of the wagon thundering past their yard.
