Tabernas chuckled and sat down on a stump of a log. He checked the darkening sky with a touch of disgust. There was a good chance they would get rain before morning and the Weapons Master hated to be wet. “The man can Travel and fight like a demon…but it’s never enough is it?”
“Never,” Gwaynn answered, refraining from mentioning his abilities with time. It was one secret he kept very close, even though he trusted the Toranado Weapons Master implicitly. He glanced up to see Lonogan Bock and na Gall strolling toward him with Samantha at their side and felt another wave of panic. Bock and na Gall seemed to have grown very close since their trip to Cassinni, though whether or not they were lovers still seemed to be an open question. He hoped they were; he guessed they were; war had a way of pushing a warrior’s emotions to the very skin…fear was obviously the most common emotion and loss, but sometimes hate and anger, as well as feelings of comradeship…and apparently love.
Samantha moved quickly to Gwaynn’s side and sat down. She took his hand in hers and he felt his heart sink with worry. Bock and na Gall took up places directly across the small fire from Gwaynn. He noticed that though they sat close together, they were not actually touching. He glanced at his General who looked back but a smile did not come to his face.
“Captain Marcum believes the Deutzani will attack again come morning,” na Gall said to no one in particular and with only a cursory glance at Gwaynn. She hated to add to his list of worries. “Their preparations are almost complete.”
“Will the Massi hold?” Tabernas asked and stood as Prince Phillip approached.
“Marcum believes they will,” Bock answered and Gwaynn could tell that he was also feeling a vast amount of pressure.
“Lynndon must hold,” Gwaynn said softly. “We have to hold the Plateau and we have to drive the Palmerrio back as quickly as we can…one battle…we must defeat them in one battle.”
No one commented for a moment, but they all knew that if the fight with the Palmerrio became a protracted affair it would bode ill for them all.
ǂ
The boulder teetered on the edge for a moment and then tipped over the Scar. Dropping straight and true, it slammed into the second shield house that was making its way up narrow path which hugged the steep cliff face. The house immediately shattered into a million tiny splinters and a bright gout of blood squirted out from beneath it, like paint thrown from a bucket; the stone then pinballed its way down the Scar and into the river below, taking most of the house and the four enemy soldiers with it. The men on the Plateau cheered wildly, ignoring the dark red smear on the path below. Up to this point most of the boulders they’d rolled over the side were either too small to do significant damage, bouncing harmlessly away from the steeply pitched roofs of the shield houses, or else they missed their mark entirely and fell uselessly into the river. The destruction of one house however, did little to slow the Deutzani’s progress up the rock face.
Captain Marcum watched the Deutzani advance with foreboding, as his men began the job of moving another large rock to the very edge of the Scar. He glanced at the nearby pile of stones; he could see maybe a dozen large enough to bring down another shield house, but a quick count showed that the Deutzani had at least a hundred more such structures moving up from what was left of Lynndon and toward the steep winding track.
The Deutzani forces had as yet only advanced about half way up the trail leading to the Plateau and to this point the shield houses were proving to be a challenge for the Massi defenders. Even from this distance, the lead house was already perforated with over a dozen flaming arrows, most of which had gone out without doing much damage, a few were still alight, but the houses were covered with thick cowhide to discourage the flames. The shield houses would have to approach much closer before Marcum would dare use his supply of oil. It was his hope that if he could oil the first few houses and then set them alight it might slow the Deutzani advance considerably.
Marcum watched as a smaller boulder, perhaps twice the size of a man’s head was pushed over the side. He followed its progress over the cliff face until it slammed into the house third from the front. The house shifted and came to a shuddering stop when the rock struck the pitched roof. The rock then bounced off the roof and into the cliff face before rebounding and striking the house again. The house stayed motionless for a long moment before getting underway up the path once again.
“Should we use the oil?” Sergeant Birdsong asked.
“Not yet,” Marcum answered, still staring at the advancing enemy below. “Chances are it’d just run down the sides of the Scar and be useless.”
“But the boulders aren’t working,” Birdsong complained, clearly panicked. The Deutzani, at around twelve thousand men, outnumbered them nearly six to one and the Sergeant feared that if they reached the summit of the Scar they would make quick work of the Massi defenders, who were mostly lightly armored archers.
“The oil can wait,” Marcum said simply as another small boulder missed its target.
Birdsong said nothing more, frowning as a few more arrows burrowed into the lead house while another skipped off the roof and into the river below. “Should we summon Kommidi?”
This time Marcum looked over at the young Sergeant. “Relax…the oil will hold them…at least for a good while. Kommidi will be well west and in a position to support the King against the Palmerrio.”
Birdsong took a deep breath as another mid-sized stone struck a house which rocked a bit then tipped alarmingly. For a moment the Sergeant watched the men beneath struggle to hold the house upright. They failed and the house pitched over the side taking one of the soldiers with it. The man screamed comically on his way down but then he plunged into the river and was lost from view. Another was quickly shot through the neck by a well aimed arrow and he staggered off the Scar to follow his countryman into the rushing water below. The two remaining soldiers tried to find cover beneath neighboring houses. One was lucky and scrambled into a house in time and was safe for the moment, the other was stopped, partially exposed and took an arrow in the right calf. The man cried out and dropped, clutching at his wound before taking another in the chest. The train of houses paused for a moment, then the dead man was dumped over the side of the Scar and the slow progression continued on its way.
Another boulder, larger this time, went over the side, but it unluckily struck the side of the Scar with a sharp clap and was deflected away from the house beneath it.
“Bring up the oil,” Marcum said a half an hour later. Four more houses succumbed to boulders but the majority of them were still moving relentlessly to the top of the Scar. The lead house was now three quarters of the way to the summit. “Go and make sure the halberdiers are ready. They must meet the attack at the very edge of the Scar. We can’t afford to give them a foothold.”
The oil, dropped in clay pots, soon covered the first dozen shield houses and flaming arrows easily setting the roofs ablaze. The men beneath, understanding the danger, began to move quickly up the trail as the fire rapidly spread. Marcum was impressed. The approaching soldiers must be tired from lugging the “A” frames up the steep path, but they found new energy and ambled up the Scar at a surprisingly quick pace; but the fire moved quickly as well and the soldiers in the lead house were forced to heave it over the cliff and away when they were still fifty feet from the top. Without hesitation they charged up the path as the next five houses were also dumped over the side. A score of men made it to within ten feet of the top before the last of them was killed by arrows but by then another score were racing up and the closest shield house was now only thirty feet from the top.