Rise and Fall (63 page)

Jonrell knew Tomalt’s newest tactic was sound, but watching the city destroyed at the hands of one of his countrymen, ripped his heart.
War is a cursed thing.

He pulled out his spyglass and found a line of sight between the billowing smoke. Lines formed in Tomalt’s camp and the siege equipment received last minute preparations.

This will be the big push.

A scribe sat next to Jonrell, jotting down his orders before handing off each slip of paper to a messenger. Even after more than a dozen orders went out, Jonrell’s eyes had not left the burning pyre that had been the city of Cathyrium.

* * *

“Keep it up!” Yanasi shouted. She watched the man next to her fumble with an arrow from his quiver. Blood ran down his hand where a blister had burst open. “Don’t think about how much it hurts. Don’t think about how tired you are. Just think about driving an arrow right through everyone of those whoresons who wants to take your land from you. Show them no mercy, for I guarantee you will get none in return.”

A roar lifted from her men and she noticed that their pace quickened. She smiled and returned to firing her own sleek, black bow. Her men had hated her at first, and she had been sure Jonrell made a mistake in giving her command. But over time, her men had grown to trust her, and now she wouldn’t give up her company for anything in the world. These men were hers and she relished fighting by their side.

Jonrell, you were right after all.
She allowed herself a slight grin despite the swarming lines of infantry edging toward the castle’s outer walls.

Siege towers came into view, rolling down the wide avenues and parting the rising smoke. Water soaked hides covered the towers and the fire arrows her archers had switched to were of little affect. She noticed that the mangonels and ballistae stationed around the castle’s outer walls were having trouble bringing them down as well. Hurled stones flew from the towers, narrowly missing the drum tower to her right.

They’ve got catapults on top of their towers.

She yelled to her men. “Concentrate your fire near the tower’s wheels where the hide is coming away. We need to stop as many of those things as we can before they reach the walls.”

* * *

Drake ducked as a rock sailed overhead, nearly soiling himself. He wanted to cower behind the merlon until the fighting was over but the battle had just begun.

This is the worst we’ve seen yet.

Men had come at the walls before with ladders, but he hadn’t been under much pressure himself, save for a few stray arrows. But now siege towers armed with mangonel or ballistae lurched forward. They didn’t seem to have the same force as those he and Raker had constructed, but the smaller equipment fired faster rounds and prevented him and his men from taking proper aim which allowed the towers to inch ever closer.

The soldier next to him raised a shield and one of the stones crashed into it, knocking the man from his feet. The corporal cursed and cradled his arm.

“We gotta get below and take cover.” Drake heard another mutter. “This is useless.”

They looked at Drake and he knew he should say something encouraging, or something that would strike fear in them and make them stay at their station like Raker did. However, looking out over the hellish inferno that flared beyond the castle’s walls, all he could think about was the comforting calm of the green forested Hideaway that he had left behind.

* * *

Raker stood defiant atop the merlons. He bellowed orders to his men as they stayed under steady fire from the approaching siege towers. He spat over the side of the high drum tower, daring them to take him out. A missile sailed past his head and he felt the rising wind on his face.

They’re getting better.

He cackled maniacally. He faced his men, dropping his trousers and wagging his backside at the enemy. His men joined him in laughter.

“That thing ready yet, Senald?” yelled Raker as men rushed the wall’s base.

“Aye, Sir.”

“Then fire away and show those pretty boys what we got.”

“Aye.” They all shouted again as the mangonel arm slammed into the cross beam. The pitched rock was flung in a high arc and landed on top of the tower he had targeted. With his breaches still around his ankles, Raker watched splinters fly through the air and men topple to the ground. He let out a holler as an arrow whipped by his head.

He looked down as ladders slammed against the sides of the wall and decided to relieve himself before the fighting got close.

Nothing worse than a full bladder while trying to kill a man.

* * *

Drake’s men stared at him and he stared right back. None of them knew what to say or what to do. He glanced over the ramparts to the drum tower on the opposite corner where Raker stood relieving himself over the wall. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene. Crashing thunder followed. He blinked and shook his head at the absurdity of it all. Arrows flitted all around the man but he paid none any mind until he shook himself off and pulled his trousers back up.

How does he do it?

Drake realized his men had been talking to him. In fact, one shook him. Yet he couldn’t find the words to answer the questions being asked. All he had heard were the sounds of men dying and steel clanging.

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here,” said the corporal, slapping one of the other men in the arm. His voice alone heard over the chaos around him.

Drake looked into the eyes of the rest of his crew and saw that each had already made up their mind to do the same. They turned toward the stairwell but quickly came to a halt as a giant shadow pushed itself through the arched doorway, a great broadsword painted in blood was in its hand.

“Where is everyone going?” asked Kaz in a deep, accented voice.

The men gaped.

Kaz met each man’s eyes until he settled on Drake, still on his rear, leaning against the parapet. The massive bulk came forward and yanked Drake to his feet. “You aren’t hurt. What’s wrong?”

“I-I can’t move.”

“You’re afraid?”

Drake nodded.

A dark blur slapped Drake across his face. His eyes widened.

“What do you feel now?”

His hand drifted up to his face. “Pain. That hurt…”

The hand slapped him again. “And now.”

Drake’s heart raced and fire burned in his eyes. “Anger,” said Drake in a low tone.

Kaz nodded. “Good. Now use it,” he said pointing out at the field. He sheathed his sword and ran over to the mangonel, pushing aside the men who hadn’t found the nerve yet to move again. Kaz gave each a look until they joined him at their stations.

Drake looked out to the siege towers struggling forward. Without thinking, he began shouting coordinates. He ducked under his shield as another hail of rocks flew toward their position.

“By
your
command,” said Kaz. Drake looked back and saw his men had gotten the message.

This tower is mine and no one is leaving unless I give the order.

His arm came down. “Release.”

* * *

Sergeant Lanard’s arms felt like lead.

Tomalt’s men had swarmed the walls with such overwhelming numbers that before long they failed to push away all the ladders thudding the hard stone. The enemy clamored over the sides and overran his section. The strong cluster of his experienced veterans dwindled beneath the onslaught. He already killed half a dozen men since the first had crested the walls, but their numbers only swelled. Each swing Lanard used to counter their attacks got sloppier, and as the minutes passed he knew his time was coming to an end.

A man as large as an ox with a face as ugly as one came at him in a rush. The man growled like an animal each time his warhammer crashed down on Lanard’s shield. Lanard’s knees buckled. Another thunderous blow hit him so hard his arm went limp. His shield clattered to the walkway, stuck to the dead weight of his arm. He tried to raise his sword arm in preparation for the next blow but couldn’t find the strength. With the warhammer looming overhead, he closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate.

He heard the sound of the weapon whistling through the air and a loud clash, but Lanard felt no impact. He opened his eyes and saw the beast of a man struggling against another equal in size.

Kaz? Where did he come from?
The black man’s sword had caught the warhammer as it descended. The enemy struggled to overpower the mercenary, but Kaz would not budge.

The white of Kaz’s teeth peeked through parted lips as a war cry erupted that sent a shiver down Lanard’s spine. He could have sworn he heard the ox-man whimper. With a shove of his shoulder, Kaz flung the man from the wall. Four quick slashes followed and four more bodies fell.

Kaz grabbed either side of a ladder. Another sound that seemed to have come from the very bowels of hell erupted from the black man as he heaved the ladder from the wall by himself.

A flash of lightning raced across the sky.

One Above, I’ll never doubt Moren again.

Kaz turned to face Lanard and yelled over the surrounding mayhem. “Will you make it?”

After that, what can I say? I dare not tell him no.
Lanard nodded.

“Good,” said Kaz as he reached down and picked Lanard up with one arm. The strength of the mercenary both humbled Lanard and renewed his strength.

“I’ve got things here,” said Lanard. “Thanks.”

Kaz nodded and turned without another word, carving his way through anyone who dared stand in his way.

* * *

The smell of death hung in the air and filled Kaz’s nostrils as he hacked his way through the press of bodies. Blood splattered across his cheek as he opened a man’s throat, then turned in time to avoid the thrust of another. With a grunt, his sword pierced a weak spot in the man’s armor and he fell, blood spilling on the cobbled wall-walk.

Kaz had been running from one part of the castle to another, drawn to wherever the fighting seemed most intense. He stayed until he got things under control, and then moved on to the next area, wreaking havoc on anyone who came against him.

As far as his memories told him, he never smiled much. Yet with each parry, thrust, bob, and weave, the corners of his mouth seemed to lift into a half-smile. For the first time since waking on Slum Isle, Kaz felt at ease, relaxed. If the few glimpses of his past told him anything, it was that he found solace in war.

Things started to fall into place when Jonrell asked him to lead sorties into the city before Tomalt torched all the buildings. He had harried Tomalt’s forces with a small group. Yet, he had always been victorious. Victory felt different, better even, than those flashes of his past. The eyes of the men he fought alongside in the city did not hold the same fear or disdain as those in his memories. He saw respect and in some cases awe. Even now he could see many with those same looks. Yes, some still seemed resentful toward him for how different he appeared. But overall, he felt accepted and even acknowledged. Men gave him a shout or a nod as he passed, where before he would have been ignored or greeted with whisperings behind his back.

Kaz wasn’t sure what kind of a leader he used to be to cause such hate. Neither did he know why the attitudes of the men he fought with now had changed. He only knew to continue doing what he had been doing since Tomalt started his attack and hope for the best.

* * *

Jonrell gripped the stone merlons, digging his fingers into their grooves until his knuckles turned white.

As commander, there were many things he hated, the endless paperwork, the juggling of personalities. But watching the men he once shared a meal or a joke with slaughtered before his very eyes quickened his breath in anger.

He knew he could leave the top of the keep, run across the courtyard, and through the inner gate. From there he would only need to climb a set of stairs to join those fighting on the outer walls where the battle had raged for hours. But he also knew he shouldn’t.

Some commanders thrived, fighting with their men for the length of battle. Others preferred to sit back and watch the events unfold, moving men and resources around like pieces of a giant game. Jonrell often thought of himself somewhere in the middle. He had been known to lead a cavalry charge or help form a shield wall like any other common soldier when the need was dire, but he had learned long ago from Amcaro and later Ronav how to recognize what a situation called for. He was more valuable monitoring the battle’s progress from a distance. He knew all these things, yet it did not stop his nails from bleeding as he dug them into the granite. He watched helplessly as arrows and stone beat against both man and castle alike.

One Above, Tomalt’s men are relentless.

He knew Tomalt had the advantage in numbers, but watching the endless swarm of men crest the walls, only to be thrown back over sent a chill up his back.

What is he doing to motivate them so?

“We just got reports from Sergeant Lanard that the northwest wall was briefly overwhelmed between the second and third towers. It was the worst infiltration yet. But according to his report, Kaz reached their position and led those units in throwing back Tomalt’s forces. The area is once again secure,” said Lord Caliva.

Jonrell turned and saw the lord reading from a message handed to him by an out of breath runner. “What is that, the fifth such report? One Above, that man is everywhere.”

“Aye, I wish I had half his energy.” He looked down at another message. “This one says much the same. Sergeant Brock added that Tomalt’s men are starting to believe that our mages have somehow conjured up a black demon.” He paused and chuckled. “They are running from him in fear.”

“And our men?” asked Jonrell.

Lord Caliva grunted. “Most are shouting his name.”

Despite the chaos, Jonrell managed to smile.
He finally did it. There still may be a few dissenters, but after this day, many would gladly follow him to the abyss and back.

A loud thud sounded. Jonrell pulled the spyglass to his eye and looked toward the main gate. “They managed to maneuver one of the towers to the wall. The blasted thing is right over the gate. We can’t let them raise the portcullis.”