“I’m sorry, old fellow.” His knife gleamed, and the threshing animal lay still. Its body would form an extra obstacle.
“It’ll be a foot assault next time,” said Ezzef. He laid his unwieldy pike down and selected a spear instead. Nicky did likewise, but Sam chose a long-shafted halberd.
The noise of the Lann drifted to them, angry voices and clashing metal, but Carl could not hear what orders Lenard was giving. They’d be easy to deduce, though, he thought bleakly—attack, attack, attack, until sheer numbers overwhelmed a weary defense.
But there might be a chance. “Ronwy, are you there?”
“Yes.” The old man was kindling a stick of punk. “I’m ready.”
The Lann came into view. They were on foot now, with shields and cutting steel in their hands, and it was such a swarming, boiling mass of men that Carl could only see it as a confused storm. The clamor of voices rose to a terrible, high barking, yelping, the shrill war whoops of the Lann.
Arrows began to fly from the time vault, a gray sleet that struck through steel and leather and flesh to send men reeling and dying. With a howl, the Lann charged.
Here they come!
Three of them abreast rushed in against the defenders in the passageway. Ezzef’s spear thrust out, catching one in the throat. Nicky’s stab was turned by the shield of another man, but Sam’s halberd reached out to bell on his helmet and hammer down his defense. The third struck against Carl, shield to shield, sword aloft and screaming down.
Carl took the blow on his armored left shoulder. He cut low, seeking the enemy’s legs under the shield. The Lann roared. Tom thrust from the side and brought him down. Another came leaping over his body, and another and another.
A big man wielding an ax plunged against Carl. The boy’s weapon sang, catching the wooden handle in mid-air, bitting deep into it. The warrior snarled, wrenched his weapon free and whirled it aloft again. It crashed against Carl’s shield. The frame on that side buckled, but the ax haft broke across. Carl’s blade struck snakelike against the man’s arm. He fell, screaming, and Carl stooped to grab his better shield. A barbarian roared, trampling over his dying comrade witii a huge two-handed sword raised. Carl thrust upward with the point of his own weapon, catching the man in the armpit. The warrior staggered back, hindering those behind, and Carl got the Lann shield free and onto his own left arm. Turning, he struck from the side at the man engaging Owl and laid him low.
Another and another, a tide of faces and hammering blades. Carl hewed wildly as the enemy rose before him, not feeling the blows that rang and crashed off his own defenses, not feeling the cuts in his arms and legs. A northerner reached with a spear over the shoulder of one whom Carl fought, probing for the boy’s head. The Chief’s son struck at that shaft, beating it down, while he rammed his shield forward to hold back the swordsman. He hammered the spearhead down to earth, thrust out his foot, and snapped the shaft across.
Sam’s halberd clanged, dropping the barbarian swordsman. Carl chopped at the spearman before he could draw blade, sending him lurching back. A dying northerner stabbed upward with a knife. Carl saw the movement from the corner of an eye and stamped the man’s hand down.
Looking backward, Carl saw that the enemy was trying to enter elsewhere. The cruelly jagged barricade could not be scaled, but the Lann were boosting each other over the ancient brick walls. The defenders in the courtyard fought desperately, hewing and thrusting and shooting as each new body loomed into sight and dropped to earth. Knots of battle raged back and forth, and the vault was splashed red.
“Ronwy!” gasped Carl. “Ronwy!”
A bright metal shape arched over his head, to fall among the enemy milling in the passage. A moment later came the shattering crash of explosion. Two more hurled bombs blew up. A ragged howl lifted from the Lann. They drew away, panting and glaring. Ronwy tossed another canister. It fell before the first men in that disordered crowd, and these suddenly turned and tried to break through those behind and escape. A flash, a boom, a swirl of smoke and brimstone—the Lann eddied in confusion, wild-eyed.
“Give me one of those!” exclaimed Ezzef. He took a bomb from Ronwy and threw it high above the wall, out of sight. A moment later came the scream of frightened horses as it went off among them. Men shouted, fighting their suddenly plunging mounts.
Carl drew a shivering breath. By all high gods, it had worked!
The dead and wounded lay thick before him. The battle in the courtyard died away as the last attackers were cut down. But four of the Dalesmen had fallen, and two others were out of action with wounds.
Tom stumbled suddenly, clutching at Owl for support.
His face was white, and blood streamed from a slash in his leg. “Get him inside!” choked Carl. “Ronwy! Bandage that cut—”
“I will—I will.” The old man eased Tom to the ground and ripped a piece off his cloak for a tourniquet.
“I can fight,” whispered Tom. “I can still fight.”
“Later,” said Owl, inspecting the injury. “It’ll heal up all right. But you’re out of this fracas, my friend.” He went back to his place, and Nicky took Tom’s position.
Lenard raged among his men, yelling at them, ordering them forward again. The bombs had done little if any actual harm, Carl realized. It was the noise which frightened warriors and horses. And the Lann weren’t so easily scared.
“I’ll go myself!” Lenard ran toward the barricade. Two others followed, and then the rest shouted up their own courage and streamed in their wake.
Carl spread his legs widely, braced for the next shock. It came in a blurring roar of steel, whistling and crashing against his own hard-held defense, a weaving, flickering net of snakelike metal, and Lenard’s taut grin bobbing behind a lifted shield. Carl struck back, hewing and stabbing and parrying. The Lann yelled and pressed forward. Sam groaned and sank slowly to earth, a spear wound in his side.
Crash! Crash! Crash!
The men attacking stopped in their onward surge. Someone wailed aloud. Lenard, raging, sprang against Carl anew, slipped in a pool of blood, and fell at the boy’s feet. Lithe as a cat, he rolled free, leaped up, and was trapped in the backward rush of his men.
Crash! Crash!
A horse ran wild, pawing at the close-packed warriors and trampling them to the ground before it was killed. Carl wiped the sweat from his face and gulped air into raw lungs.
“One of them didn’t go off,” said Ronwy. His voice trembled. “We have four left.”
Through the muttering army, Lenard strode, beating men with angry fists, urging them back again. Carl saw with wonder that they were close to blind panic. A fire leaped in him. It might work! Twenty men might drive off a thousand today!
“Forward, forward!” Lenard ran in the front. Slowly, a number of his warriors followed.
Ronwy hurled a bomb at them. As it clattered to earth, Lenard picked it up and tossed it back. It fell on the heaped bodies of the fallen and burst, metal fragments wailing and ricocheting.
The Dalesmen stood firm, but the Lann flinched.
“Once more!” raged Lenard. “It didn’t hurt you, did it? Once more and we’ll have them!”
He plunged forward, saber gleaming. The Lann came after, a walking forest of swords and axes and spears. Carl staggered a little with weariness, thinking that this might indeed be the last assault.
The Lann prince charged him afresh. After Lenard came his men, swinging their weapons, but fear had blunted the attack and few tried to scale the walls to left and right. Carl’s sword hummed, bouncing off Lenard’s helmet. He felt the return blow bite deeply into his shield. Savagely, he cut low, and Lenard intercepted the sweep with his own blade just in time to save his legs. Swords locked together. They strained, grunting, glaring, and Lenard’s greater strength slowly forced Carl’s arm back.