Eskkar Saga 01 - Dawn of Empire, page 57
Eskkar gazed along the parapet. “Grond, these men are exhausted. I’ll send fresh men up and you move these men down, or they’ll be too tired to fight.” He swung down again to the ground.
Someone shouted his name. Eskkar saw Alexar running toward him with archers taken from the other walls, ten men in all. “Replace the men on the top of the gate. They’ll be needed soon to use the stones as well.”
Alexar nodded and moved off, shouting orders, and Eskkar moved to the base of the gate. Eskkar laid his hand on the structure, but felt nothing. The fire roared louder now, and he saw thick, greasy smoke flowing over the top. The shimmering flames leapt higher than the gate.
Grond remained on the top, making sure the men kept tossing stones, while on the lower parapet men risked arrows to hurl water through the arrow slits. Nevertheless the oil soaked wood continued to burn, and the Alur Meriki kept bringing up more and more bundles of dry grass to feed the burning gate.
Eskkar watched as the flames steadily ate away at the gate’s beams. But no villagers left their labors and more men and women kept coming, carrying anything that could be used as a weapon. Despite the confusion, everyone was doing their duty. He saw a break in the line of men carrying water up to the parapet.
Grasping a bucket, Eskkar carried it to the upper parapet, then poured it over the side where Grond pointed. Another voice shouted for Eskkar’s attention. He looked over to see Sisuthros standing at the back of the south tower.
“Captain, they’re massing their warriors,” Sisuthros shouted, cupping his hands to make sure his voice carried. “They’re bringing up a ram, getting ready to attack.”
Eskkar wiped sweat from his brow and took a look, keeping his head back far enough so that the bowmen below couldn’t see him. He studied the men moving into position. Something looked different. Eskkar moved his head a little higher, then dropped down as an arrow snapped through the slit and glanced off his helmet.
“Grond, I need to see this.” Eskkar snatched up a shield and raised it over the gate, holding it an inch or two above the top, ignoring the arrows that thudded into it. Behind the shield, he rose almost to his full height.
The barbarians were massing across the ditch, forming a V-shaped line of shields and wagons that curved slightly away from the ditch. The Alur Meriki had concentrated their fighters here, drawing most of their warriors away from the other walls and focusing their attention on the gate.
The attackers were betting all on breaking through here.
Sisuthros joined him. “I’ve ordered every man I could from the rest of the walls,” he gasped, “and told Maldar and the others to do the same.”
Eskkar noticed fresh soldiers arriving on the parapet, each one carrying a basket of stones in addition to his bow.
“Keep the towers at full strength. Have them start killing the warriors at the base of the gate, even if they have to lean out to do it. We’ve got to drive them away from the gate!”
Raising his voice, Eskkar shouted to the defenders. “Hold fast! More soldiers are coming. And the barbarians are weakening!”
A few cheered but most just looked at him, exhaustion and despair in their faces. But no one stopped working and then, as bowmen began arriving, they appeared to take heart.
Eskkar climbed down to the first parapet, creaking and swaying even more ominously as the ropes continued to stretch. A great shout came from outside the gate. After a quick look, Eskkar ducked his head back. For once, no arrows flew in through the slit, though he heard at least one strike the gate nearby. Orak’s archers were taking their toll. But a mass of barbarians, at least sixty or seventy warriors, had moved forward into the ditch, carrying with them a great ram made from a huge tree trunk. The ram swayed beneath a wooden frame, suspended by a mass of ropes. Warriors carrying shields held high protected those who bore the burden, and the ram reached the base of the gate without falling to the earth. Soon it would begin hammering the structure where the fire had done the most damage.
The fire weakened wood couldn’t take too many blows from something that size. A renewed storm of Alur Meriki arrows flew at any target that exposed itself, as the attackers tried to protect the warriors carrying the ram. The sound of hammering made him look down. At least twenty villagers labored there. Men with mauls nailed a notched plank into position.
Others, struggling under the weight of a beam, moved forward to angle the log into the notch. Carpenters immediately began hammering it home, fastening the beam to the plank. Everyone ignored the thick black smoke curling around their feet, though many began coughing, choking on the stench of the burning oil.
Suddenly the gate shook as if a mighty fist had struck it. Two men cried out as they lost their balance and toppled backward from the upper parapet. Eskkar might have followed but for Grond’s huge hand, covered in blood, that reached over and grasped him. Eskkar had barely recovered before another blow struck the gate.
Risking another glance through the slit, Eskkar saw a near solid wall of shields protecting those manning the ram. The attackers might be taking terrible losses, but they fought on. He hadn’t killed enough to make them lose hope, give up, before they broke through. The gate reeled again, this time accompanied by the sound of splintering wood. Villagers screamed at each other to hurry.
“Do what you can here, Grond, but don’t stay too long. Be off the parapet before it falls. The gate’s going to be forced. I’m going down to get the men ready.” Once again, Eskkar swung off the parapet, holding for a moment until he could drop all the way to the ground. He landed heavily enough to fall to his knees.
Getting to his feet he stared at the base of the gate. The ram was breaking through. The heavy beam, hammered in place on the left side of the gate only moments ago, had already been knocked out of position, and the ram’s head had crashed through part of the planking that supported it.
Maldar ran up, with another half—dozen men, bows in hand.
“Form a line here, Maldar,” Eskkar ordered.
The gate shuddered again. A section of the lower parapet gave way, sending men scrambling to avoid its imminent collapse. Eskkar studied the gate, watching it vibrate every few moments as the ram struck again and again in a powerful rhythm. The leftmost portion looked weakest, but the right side stood mostly intact, its main brace firmly in position.
Corio, his eyes streaming from the smoke, tripped over the fallen beam.
Eskkar seized his arm and pulled him to his feet. “Corio, brace the upper parapet before it collapses, too, or we’ll have no men manning the slits. See if you can keep it in place, even if they break through underneath. Hurry!”
Eskkar gave the man no time to reply, just shoved him on his way. Another file of five soldiers arrived, and Eskkar called them to him, shouting for shields. Grond came scrambling down from the upper parapet with two of Eskkar’s original bodyguards.
Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, Eskkar turned to his men. “Give your bows to the villagers and find shields. We’ll need swords and spears for this work.”
Grond pointed the two guards toward weapons stored against the nearest house. They returned in moments, carrying four shields.
Eskkar looked back at the gate. The left side of the once solid gate had splintered badly. The giant logs, weakened by axe and fire, trembled and shook from the ram’s mighty blows. A glance at the towers and walls on each side showed them crowded with archers desperately trying to stop the rammers.
They would be too late. The Alur Meriki were going to open a breach. But it might not be a large opening, and maybe it could be held. As he watched, the leftmost side of the lower parapet swung down with a screech of nails and snapping of ropes, accompanied by the shouts of men who jumped or tumbled to the ground. It collapsed slowly and dropped directly in front of the opening. The same blow pitched two men off the upper platform as it swayed precariously from its ropes. That platform still held, though it shook and rattled under each blow of the ram.
The ram crashed against the gate once again and this time its fire hardened tip penetrated the wooden structure. As the ram’s head withdrew, some of the archers fired at the opening, and Eskkar heard a scream from the other side.
“Keep shooting,” he ordered, moving well away from the gap as the archers loosed a volley, a few shafts going through the narrow, jagged opening. Then the ram, repositioned slightly, smashed into the next set of vertical logs. Four more times the ram struck before another log snapped in two.
The ramming stopped for a moment, as warriors with axes pried at the weakened logs. Then the ram began its hammering again. It took less than a dozen strokes before another pair of logs gave way. The din increased, as more axes hammered at the loosened logs, widening the aperture. A warrior tried to climb through the breach and was riddled with arrows that knocked him backward from sheer force of impact.
Eskkar gripped his shield and drew his sword, then turned to Grond and the bodyguards. “We have to stop them here. They can’t be allowed past the gate!” He grabbed the nearest bodyguard and shouted in his ear.
“Make sure the archers hold their fire when we move to the breach. Go!”
The man nodded and raced back to the line of archers, who stayed in their rough line, still loosening their arrows at the opening. Alur Meriki shields appeared, pushed through the breach, protecting the attackers massing behind them. Eskkar and Grond gave out mighty shouts and rushed toward the gap.
The attackers shoved their way through the narrow opening, crouching low and using their shields to avoid the defenders’ arrows. Rushing forward, Eskkar had no time to worry about an arrow in his back from his own men.
Raising his shield to his eyes, he took four quick steps and crashed against the shield of the first Alur Meriki warrior. Caught off balance, the man reacted slowly, stumbling in the jumble of beams and splinters, and Eskkar took a half step back and swung the great sword down on the warrior’s head.
Again Eskkar lowered his shoulder behind his shield and shoved with all his might, pushing the dead body into the man behind him.
Battle fury took all of them, as Eskkar, Grond, and four soldiers formed a half circle around the breach and defended it with a ferocity that surprised the attackers. The defenders were fresher, while the attackers had been working the ram or ducking arrows in the hot sun without water for nearly two hours.
The first wave of Alur Meriki fell back, driven by the vicious blows of Eskkar and his companions. But as the defenders exulted, a second horde of screaming attackers, seeing victory within their grasp, fought their way through the opening, a gap that grew wider as the enemy outside kept hammering away with their axes.
These attackers wielded lances as well as swords. They quickly widened the half circle of warriors who had pushed through the opening. Eskkar struck again and again, using his shield to turn their swords and spears and striking at anything within reach of his great sword.
Suddenly a loud voice behind them commanded, “Down!”
Eskkar and his men responded by habit, so well trained were they, dropping to one knee and ducking their heads under their shields. A wave of arrows flashed over their heads. Instantly Eskkar and the others arose.
They’d practiced this tactic so often that now they did it without thinking.
The volley had stopped the invaders for a moment. Eskkar and his men, behind their shields and thrusting with their swords, attacked the wavering men before they could recover, forcing the warriors back. The besiegers gave ground for a moment, but once again fresh warriors pushed their way through the ever widening breach into Orak.
Eskkar and his swordsmen anticipated the next command, and when the shout of “Down” came again, they dropped, letting another flight of arrows cross over them before they rose and again rushed the barbarians.
The Alur Meriki hesitated, taken aback by this strange tactic, not used to fighting swordsmen and archers at the same time. Before they could recover, Grond pushed his way nearly back to the breach, carrying a dead man pinned to his shield and hurling the body into the opening.
Swinging his sword over his head, Eskkar brought it crashing down with all his strength on a warrior’s shield, slicing through it and into the man’s arm. More defenders surrounded him. A spearman pushed in front of Eskkar, even as fresh swordsmen arrived. Twenty swords now blocked the opening. But surprisingly, no new attackers tried to force the breach, so Eskkar stepped back and looked up at the gate. The upper parapet hung crookedly from its supports, but men continued to hurl stones down on their attackers. Only now they shouted with glee and worked with renewed energy. Something strange was happening, but he had no idea what.
Eskkar turned to Grond. “Hold them here.” He needed to see what had happened in the ditch. Racing to the right side of the gate, he dashed up the steps, nearly knocking over two men carrying baskets of rocks up to the defenders, and continued all the way to the parapet. He felt it sway precariously under his weight and hoped it would hold a while longer.
This time Eskkar didn’t bother with a shield, just looked over the top of the gate, standing back to be out of sight of any archers beneath him. What he saw stunned him. Warriors were turning back, moving away from the ditch and running to the rear. Others backed away more slowly, firing their bows as they retreated. From the sides of the village, horsemen galloped back toward the plain, urging their horses hard and ignoring the fight at the gate. To his surprise they didn’t slow their mounts, even when they passed out of range of Orak’s arrows. They were racing back to their camp, but he didn’t understand why.
He squinted into the sun as he looked toward the highest hilltop, ignoring the sweat that ran into his eyes. That looked different, too. More than a dozen smoke trails rose into the cloudless sky from the Alur Meriki camp.
The fires themselves couldn’t be seen, but they burned near the northern portion of the Alur Meriki main camp. He saw movement all over the hilltop. More men came running down the hills toward Orak to join the battle. No, by the gods, they were women! Women running away from the camp. And dozens of riderless horses galloped toward Orak as well. Something had stampeded the animals. Another movement, something different, caught his eye and he strained to make out what it was.
On the crest of one of the highest hills a lone horseman stood, wheeling his horse and waving his lance high. Attached to the lance hung a long streamer. Even at this distance, Eskkar could make out its yellow color as it rippled in the breeze. The rider waved it for a few more moments, ignoring the rapidly approaching horsemen, before he leisurely turned away and galloped over the hilltop and out of sight.
“What is it?” Sisuthros stood at his side, breathing hard, his left arm covered in blood. “What’s happening?”
Eskkar tried to laugh, but his dry throat wouldn’t permit more than a cackle. A wheezing villager came behind him with a bucket of water destined for the fire below. Eskkar grabbed it and poured it over his face, filling his mouth at the same time.
“Can’t you see, Sisuthros,” he answered when he’d slacked his thirst. “That was Subutai, and by the gods, he’s ridden clean through their camp!”
“They’ll catch him for sure, won’t they?” Sisuthros’s voice showed concern.
Eskkar turned his gaze back to the vacant hilltop. He laughed now, his throat refreshed. “Subutai’s not that foolish. I’m sure he put his horse to a full gallop the instant he left the hilltop. He’ll have a hard run to escape them, but he’ll make it. He must have raided the camp, burned some tents, stampeded the horses, and made sure the Alur Meriki knew he was there. That’s what made them abandon the attack, knowing that their women and children were at risk. They don’t know how few men attacked their camp.”
They stood there in silence. Eskkar watched as the last of the Alur Meriki scrambled out of the ditch and began to run as fast as they could to the rear. Many dropped swords and weapons in their haste, trying to outrace the angry arrows chasing them. Shafts struck down a few of them, as the defenders showed no mercy and lost no opportunity to take their targets.
A broad trail of bodies, arrows protruding from their backs, marked the flight of the barbarians. The sight saddened him and he felt strangely glad when the last escaped out of range. Many paused to shake their fists at Orak and its defenders, their anger and frustration all too evident. Others just knelt in the dust to catch their breath, too tired from fighting and running even to call curses upon their enemies.
Cheers echoed along the wall, ragged and hoarse, growing louder as those away from the gate grasped what happened. Eskkar watched the retreat and counted the lines of smoke climbing into the hot sky. The smoke streams merged, making it difficult, but he guessed at least thirty fires had been set. Not a great number, but enough to send a lot of smoke into the sky. Subutai wouldn’t have many men, but one horseman carrying a torch could do much in little time. Subutai must have prepared his men carefully. He’d learned well that lesson.
Eskkar wondered how many more men Subutai had lost and hoped the number was small. Even if the Alur Meriki had no force of warriors guarding the camp, there would have been a few boys and old men who could draw a bow. Subutai’s men faced a long and hard ride to the north, with at least a hundred warriors pursuing them.
“Could we have held them off ? Without Subutai’s attack?” Blood dripped from Sisuthros’s cheek. The old wound had reopened, probably from all the shouting.
“Well, we’ll never know for sure, but I think we might have held them. Their bowmen’s fire was weakening. Still . . .” He realized the cheering had taken a different note. The shouts of joy remained, but now a new, simple cry began to rise up. “Eskkar! . . . Eskkar! . . . Eskkar! . . .” the crowd roared, and in a moment it sounded as if the whole village had but one voice.
He turned and looked down into the village. It seemed like every man, woman, and child had come there, jammed into the open spaces and the lanes, with more coming and others appearing on the housetops or the wall. The shouts went on and on. He noticed movement in the mass of people crowded below. A half—dozen soldiers pushed their way through the throng, Trella in their midst. They had to force their way through the solid mass until the villagers saw who they escorted and let them pass. The chant changed and Trella’s name, too, echoed from the walls.
