Their fates were sealed as surely as Medb’s victory was assured. The Khulinin and the others would cease to exist; their chieftains would soon be destroyed. Even if Savaric and his allies did surrender, Medb certainly did not plan to be lenient.
The first attack came before dawn, in the cold hours when reactions are slowest and muscles are chilled. It was only a probe to test the strength of the defenders and the clansmen the easily beat back the attack. Still, the men found it was a relief to fight. After the long, interminable hours of waiting through the night, the screaming horde of mercenaries that swarmed up the road to the wall was a blessing. The chiefs knew it was.” only a test, and they quickly repaired their defenses to meet the next onslaught.
This time they had a long wait. After the mercenaries fell back beyond the river, the army’s encampment was quiet for a few hours. Savaric posted guards and allowed the rest of the defenders to stand down, but few of the warriors left the parapets. They watched and waited to see what Medb was going to do next.
Around noon, the activity in the huge camp suddenly increased. Wagons were seen moving to the hills and returning with stacks of cut logs. Hundreds of men clustered together and appeared to be working on several large things the clansmen could not identify. The noises of wood being cut and hammered sounded long after dark.
In the fortress, Savaric and the clansmen continued their vigilance through another long, unbearable night.
At dawn the next day, the labors of Medb’s army became clear. Three large objects were wheeled out of the encampment, across the old bridge, and set up at the base of the hill, out of arrow range but as close to Ab-Chakan as possible. The clansmen were in position on the fortress walls, and those in the front ranks watched curiously as the strange wooden devices were prepared.
“What are those?” Lord Ryne asked, voicing everyone’s curiosity.
Savaric called to one of his men. “Bring Cantrell here.”
The bard was quickly brought and carefully escorted up the stone steps to where the chiefs were standing on the parapet. “I hear Medb has been busy,” Cantrell said after his greeting.
“There are three wooden things just below the fortress,” Savaric answered. “They’re heavy, wheeled platforms with long poles on top. The poles are attached at one end of the platform and have what looks like large bowls fastened to the other end.”
“Look at that,” Sha Umar added. “The men put a rock in that one device and they’re pulling down on one end.”
Cantrell’s face went grim. “Catapults.”
As if in response to his word, the device below snapped loose and a large rock sailed up and crashed into the wall just below the parapet. The defenders instinctively ducked.
“Good gods!” Savaric exclaimed. The men peered over the walls just as another rock was flung at the fortress. The missile hit the bronze gates with a thundering boom. The clansmen were relieved to see there was no damage to the wall or the gate, but as the morning passed, the men on the catapults found their range and the heavy stones began to rain down within the front walls of the fortress. Several clansmen were killed when a huge rock landed in their midst, and the old parapet sustained some damage. The other men were thrown into confusion as the boulders continued to crash down around them.
Then, just before noon, Athlone glanced over the wall and saw the army forming across the river. “Here they come!” he shouted. A horn bearer in the tower by the gate blew the signal to warn the defenders along the walls.
In the valley below, men rushed forward and set up make shift bridges over the Isin River, and the sorcerer’s army launched its full fury at Ab-Chakan. Under the cover of a deluge of missiles and arrows, the first ranks of soldiers with ropes and ladders charged up the road and the sides of the hill to the front walls. All the while, the army’s drums pounded relentlessly and a roar of fury echoed through the fortress. In the first frantic minutes, Athlone was too busy to appreciate the strategic advantages of his position, but as his men fought off the attackers, it dawned on him that the old stronghold was easy to defend. Not only did the swift river prevent large attack force from crossing all at once, but the ridge’s steep slopes slowed down the advance of the enemy and left them open to the deadly fire from the battlements. The clansmen cheered when the first wave fell back, and a glimmer of hope returned to their hearts.
The second wave came, more enraged than the first, and nearly reached the top of the walls before they were repulsed. Attack after attack was thrown at the walls and each was pushed back, foot by bitter foot, until the ground was heavy with dead and wounded, and the surviving defenders were shaking with exhaustion.
It doesn’t matter, Athlone thought grimly as he threw away his empty quiver, how easy it is to hold this fortress. Medb has the greater numbers and the advantage of time. Eventually the fortress will collapse from the lack of men to defend it.
In mocking reply to Athlone’s thoughts, the enemy’s horns bayed again and a new attack stormed to the wall. This time the onslaught scaled the defenses. The clansmen drew their swords and daggers and fought hand to hand as the fighting swayed frantically over the battlements. Blood stained the old rock, and yells and screams of fury echoed around the towers. Time and again Savaric rallied the men and fought off the wild-eyed attackers from the parapet, only to face more of them with fewer men at his side. Desperately, he brought the men on the back walls around to the front and prayed the river wall and its defenders were enough to protect Ab-Chakan’s back.
The clansmen lost all sense of time. The battle raged through the afternoon in a seemingly endless cycle of attacks and repulses. Sha Umar went down with an arrow in his shoulder. Jorlan was slain defending Savaric’s side. The catapults continued to hurl missiles over the wall and at the gate, damaging the fortress and distracting the defenders. All the while, the drums pounded incessantly in the valley.
Then, without warning, the enemy withdrew. They fell back to their encampment and an eerie silence fell over the valley. In the tower by the gate, the horn bearer sounded the call for sunset.
The clansmen looked around in surprise as darkness settled down around them. They had won the day. But as the chiefs began to count their dead and wounded, they wondered if they would be so fortunate tomorrow.
Across the valley, in Medb’s tent, the sorcerer’s rage burned hot. His powers had doubled since leaving the Tir Samod, and he had healed his crippled legs. However, there were no spells to bolster his energy and he was near collapse from sustaining his army’s rage during the long battle. He had suffered heavy losses. Finally, Medb realized he had underestimated Savaric.
The four clans were backed into a stone burrow from which only something unexpected could flush them. There was nothing left to do but hold off on her attacks until new plans could be made.
The sorcerer allowed his army to return to its encampment, and he went into seclusion to rest and ponder. Ab-Chakan would fall if he had to crumble it with his bare hands.
Shortly after midnight, Athlone mounted Boreas and joined a small troop of volunteer riders waiting by the front gate. Several men carried torches and bags of oil.
Savaric was waiting for Athlone and came to stand beside the big Hunnuli. The chief’s face was deeply worried. “I don’t like this, Athlone,” he said forcefully. “It would be better to forget those catapults. They’re too heavily guarded.”
The wer-tain’s eyes met his father’s and he nodded. “I know. But those machines are wreaking havoc on us. Besides, it would do the clans some good to see those things burn.”
“But if you get trapped outside the gates, we might not be able to help you.”
“It’s not too far, Father,” Athlone replied. “We’ll burn those things and get back as fast as we can.”