At the gates, huge misshapen claws tore at the ragged edges of the holes in the doors, widening them one cracking shard of wood at a time. The smaller spiked creatures poured through the fissures, crawling down the door and along the walls of the arch, their amber gazes fixed upon the men clustered beyond the iron grating.
Borric shouted an order, and his men fired hammer-nosed arrows into the barrels of oil, shattering the plank sides and spilling their viscous contents upon the flagstones just inside the door. Another shout, and several torches spun in unison between the bars of the portcullis. The oil ignited with a roar, and the resulting wall of flames licked hungrily skyward. A number of the spiked creatures were engulfed in the sudden blaze. They perished, shrieking and thrashing. The rest shrieked in frustration and clawed their way back through the gaps in the gateway doors, disappearing out into the night.
Captain Borric smiled in grim satisfaction. He ordered his men into position for the next wave that would likely burst the battered doors asunder. All together they waited with eyes wide and weapons clenched in fists slicked with sweat, but the next assault never came. The towering doors of the gate no longer shuddered under dread impact from outside.
Suspicious of the abrupt stillness, Borric tilted his head upward. The sky was beginning its slow brightening with the coming morn. He heard the faint shouts of the men high atop the wall, and he could see them waving down to him and pointing into the distance, outside the city. The enemy horde had retreated, fading back from the city as suddenly as it had come. By the time slow, pink fingers of light were reaching across the heavens, the twisted creatures had all disappeared like wraiths into the pre-dawn gloom. All that remained to give testimony to the brief, fierce struggle that had transpired were the scorched and ravaged doors of the eastern gate and the scattered bodies of the slain from both sides.
The men of the city guard gave a weary shout of victory, but their captain did not join in the cheer. Borric looked about and saw only the vestiges of an attack by an unknown, implacable enemy turned aside more by the looming approach of day than by the efforts of his men. Keldrin’s Landing would require a great deal of preparation if it was to withstand the next such assault, and nightfall would be on the heels of the coming day all too soon.
CHAPTER 16
Amric drew rein before the eastern gate of Keldrin’s Landing and studied the flurry of activity taking place there beneath the damaged archway. He took in the scorched and blackened stone, the shattered remnants of the great ironbound doors, and the deep, raking marks that scored the length of the massive city wall. A veritable legion of sappers scrambled here and there under the bellowed direction of a stout, red-faced man who must have been the combat engineer in charge.
With a practiced eye, Amric assessed the fortifications the men were constructing: rows of outward-facing spikes jutting from the ground, deadweight drops suspended in the archway, staggered trenches carved through the paving and waiting to be filled by the precisely placed barrels of oil, an archer’s wall in the courtyard beyond.
The city had suffered a concerted attack, and was preparing for war. From the frantic pace of the sappers, they expected the next assault to come at any time. Amric noted the way the setting sun ahead painted the top of the city wall a burnished red-gold hue, and he decided they might have good reason indeed to make haste. He wheeled his bay gelding about to face the others. Valkarr and Syth looked upon the preparations with stony expressions, comprehension plain upon their features. Halthak’s eyes were wide, and he divided his attention between the gate and the road that stretched out behind them, winding like a ribbon over the rolling hills as the deepening dusk gnawed steadily at its distant end. Bellimar sat his old nag with his usual composure, but his eyes devoured every detail as they approached.
Few words had been exchanged that morning when the party emerged from the cave with the horses and found the old man standing in the road, his cloak drawn tight around him. Amric had met the vampire’s gaze and held it for a long moment, waiting until he was certain that Bellimar read the warning and the promise contained therein. When understanding passed between them, Amric handed him the reins to his sway-backed mare and they both mounted without another word.
The warrior had elected not to comment on the fact that Bellimar’s silver hair was now streaked with dark grey, and some of the fine wrinkles on his ancient visage had faded over the course of the night. He preferred not to dwell overlong on the implications such changes raised for how Bellimar had passed the hours alone until morning.
Thalya sat with a stiff back upon her glossy black mare. She looked as if she had swallowed that broad-bladed hunting knife of hers sideways, an expression she had worn since Bellimar rejoined them in the morn. Her narrowed eyes never strayed far from the man who, for his part, affected not to notice her icy glares.
“Valkarr, come with me,” Amric said. “The rest of you, wait here.”
The two warriors rode to the gate, keeping to an unhurried pace. Guards watched every step of their approach, hands resting on weapons and arrows nocked to bows. Amric smiled grimly to himself. Gone was the blithe indifference among the city’s forces, replaced by a much more vigilant mien. Two soldiers strode out to meet them, and Amric hailed the men as they drew near.
“This gate is closed to travelers,” shouted one of the men, a tall, bearded fellow with a barrel chest. “You and your party will have to circle around to the southern gate.”
His companion, a lean, hawk-faced man with a scar running from forehead to chin, eyed the newcomers but said nothing.
“What happened here?” Amric asked, nodding toward the ravaged entrance. “What force inflicted this damage?”
The larger man glowered at him. “Does it look like we have time to trade idle chatter with every fool straying from the city?” he demanded. He waved one meaty hand in a curt gesture. “Be on your way, and let us return to our work. We have much to do yet before nightfall.”
Amric bit back his first response. He was road-weary and caked with dirt and dried blood, and he intended to be within the city wall before the sun fell below the horizon. All the same, there was no reason to vent his temper on a man who was merely doing his duty. He took a breath and tried again.
“We are travelers,” he said. “We have been away for almost a week to the east, into the forest and back. I would speak with your commander, to share the things we have seen on the road back to the city. It may well have some bearing on what has taken place here, and what comes next.”
“You would have us believe that you and your motley handful here have been wandering about the countryside, day and night, and that you even ventured into that accursed forest? And somehow you all survived to make your return?” The guard boomed out a harsh laugh. “If we were swapping tales in a tavern, I’d toss a copper your way for your creativity, but I have no time for this folly just now.”
“Very well,” Amric said. “Then do me the kindness of pointing me to your superior, who hopefully puts his skull to better use than simply keeping his helm from clattering to the ground.”