Chapter 49

Back at the drawbridge, Brude’s attention had turned completely to the dozen men hammering him from three sides. He knew they could not hurt him, but the distraction left him vulnerable. He turned to slash at two men who had managed to rush behind him and when he did, one of Hector’s bone crushers struck him square in the back.

A sickening crannggg rippled across the battlefield from the stone slamming into Brude’s armor. The impact sent him flying off the bridge helmet first, his sword and carnyx cascading into the moat. The round bounced backward after hitting the giant, crushing a Saxon on the drawbridge and finally coming to rest on the bank.

Brude ended up face down in the muck and reeds lining the moat. He tried desperately to push himself to his feet, but for once, his strength did not prevail. A host of levies pounced on the creature’s back, pummeling him with swords, rocks, helmets and anything else they could find. The damage, though minimal, kept him pinned to the ground like a beached whale with no chance to right himself.

Another round from Hector rent the air with a kind of sickening moan as it passed overhead, striking the tower near its base. The effect was devastating. A hole the size of a miller’s cart broke open. The rubble that filled the tower’s core poured out, threatening to topple the whole structure into the moat. Kruzurk yelled for everyone to get out, though most were way ahead of him. The tower groaned ominously as more of its supportive insides spilled out, leaving the structure a weakened shell.

Down in the archway, Daynin quickly learned he was no match for battle hardened Saxons. The best he could manage was keeping their attention on him and not on the others. Mediah, too, had not the skills to wage war long, and Sabritha could do little more than parry blows with her sword. Outnumbered two to one, the defenders were losing ground fast and with more levies crossing the moat, the end game loomed.

“Fight you bastards—kill them all!” Plumat railed.

Reinforced by Daynin’s tower mates, his group momentarily held the edge in numbers, though they all knew the main gate was lost. Without Brude, they could not hope to stand in a pitched battle. Having used up all of their arrows and crossbow bolts, Eigh, Muck, and Kruzurk waded in with their swords to help push back Plumat’s group, giving Isa and the others time to fall back.

“Back!” Wick ordered. “Back to the second tower! Quickly now, girrrl!”

Isa swept past Sabritha, grabbing her arm and dragging her from the melee. “Come on—we have to ready the gate so they can withdraw. The tower’s lost!”

Reluctant to leave Daynin’s side, Sabritha nevertheless did as she was told. Wiping spattered blood from her face, she cried out, “Give ‘em hell, plowboy!”

Halfway between the two walls, Troon and Ean stopped to retrieve some of the Saxon’s wayward arrows. They set up a firing position to cover the retreat of the others but with fewer than a dozen arrows between them, the effect would be brief. “You ready, old mahn?” Ean asked, drawing a steady bead on one of the Saxon hauberks.

Troon looked to the rear to make sure the women had the second drawbridge in motion. “Aye, old fart! Let’s give it to ‘em.”

Ean’s arrow rent the air, striking a Saxon in the neck. Troon’s shot merely grazed a man, though it put him to flight. “Bloody coward,” Troon said. Another levy went down, Ean’s arrow having gone cleanly through his shoulder.

“Make ‘em count, ya old Irish blaggard,” Ean growled.

Nearing exhaustion, Ebon realized they were being supported by arrow fire from the rear. He shoved one Saxon backward as hard as he could to disengage, then stepped in front of Daynin and the others to break up their melee. “Get out—now—I’ll hold them!”

Kruzurk and the others, though hesitant to leave Ebon all alone, realized his armor would protect him better than they could. Their only chance now was to fall back and hold the second tower. “Go!” Kruzurk yelled, urging the others to get away. He stopped just long enough to pull a handful of phoslin beads from his robe. He rubbed three of them together against the wall, instantly creating a bright green glow in the darkened archway. The Saxons could do little but shield their eyes from the intense light, giving Ebon and Kruzurk time to make good their escape.

With everyone out of the tower, Ean and Troon used the last of their arrows to take out three more Saxons before withdrawing with the others to the second barbican. They got the drawbridge raised just in time to stem the tide of levies pouring through the partially collapsed front tower.

At the edge of the forest, Oswald had already decided that Hector would be of little use against the second wall unless he could move the weapon forward onto the open plain. “All right, you lot. Put yer backs into it. We’ve gotta move this beast for’ad so it’s in range of that second line. Heave now!”

A dozen men pulled on the rope drags, inching the mangonel forward on its tiny wheels. “Come on now, lads,” Oswald urged. “We’ve got to move faster than this, or the battle will be over afore we get this bugger in place.”

Up at the first tower, Plumat huddled behind the wall of rubble with what remained of his men, uncertain how withering the arrow fire might be if they crossed the open ground to the inner wall. The Saxons had already lost nearly a third of their attack force storming the first tower and Plumat was in no hurry to die taking the next one.

He turned to one of the few ranked drengs left uninjured and said, “Cressey, with Fulchere and Saewold both dead, I make you second in command. Get Henri de Bracton and Robert Flud and as many levies as you can and take that second tower. Gather the ladders from out there and make your assault before we lose the light. We must hit them before they can reorganize—is that clear?”

Edlund Cressey, though a trained soldier, had never commanded an army in battle, let alone led an assault against a fortified tower. “Yes, m’lord,” he gulped. “And you will be, uh, here in reserve, if we hit a snag?”

“Get moving, Cressey,” Plumat snapped. “I’ll be rallying the rest of the army to support you. We’ve got those highlanders on the run, and I plan to keep ‘em running. No snags!”

* Olghar’s Cave *

“I think it’s a good batch,” Olghar told his trusty dog. “I’m not exactly sure how to test it, but maybe if I put it in this old mug of mine, it will burn better.”

Having stuffed the ancient brass goblet full of finely ground dazzle, the Russ tore another long piece of cloth from his frock to make a fuse. He walked out of the cave into a brilliant afternoon sun, feeling the warmth on his face. He tip-tapped his way along the cliff edge until he found a suitable flat spot among the rocks. “This should be safe enough Thor—at least if the dazzle works, it won’t bring the mountain down on us.”

Olghar positioned the goblet on its side with the fuse trailing out several cubits. He recited one of his native prayers, sad that he no longer had his twin railed cross to bless the moment. Satisfied that he had done all he could to ensure the outcome of the test, Olghar placed a burning branch atop the fuse, turned and hurriedly tapped his way back into the cave. He sat down and waited for what seemed like a long time, thinking the dazzle had once again failed. Just as he got up to make his way outside, the most violent event he could imagine erupted in the still afternoon air.

An earth shattering boooooom!!! threw him backward against the cave wall. Rock shards and detritus flew in all directions, pelting the priest and old Thor with sharp fragments like a horde of stinging bees. The dog bolted, scared beyond its wits. Olghar could do little but lay there and try to contemplate what he had just done. He could hear nothing but a profound ringing in his ears and could barely perceive the horrendous event he had just wrought. The blast had all but sealed the cave mouth wherein he had brought the Drimnin dazzle to life for the first time in the western world.

* Kinloch Keep *

The instant that distant booooom, boooom, booom, boom reached Plumat’s ears, he knew his campaign faced disaster. Every face he could see, though hardened to war, deprivation and the ravages of the sea, had turned milky white at the realization that something otherworldly had just occurred. All looked to the sky, hoping beyond hope that what they had heard was a loud clap of thunder, though not a cloud could be seen over Rhum.

All over the battlefield, those Saxons versed in religion swore oaths of protection. Veteran killers sank to their knees, wondering if the world was coming to an end. Archers stopped in mid draw, lowering their bows in awe at the unbelievable noise. Oswald’s crew dropped the drag ropes and bolted for the woods, seeking shelter in the trees from whatever had created that sound. Out in the bay, Ranulf heard the explosion and almost swallowed his afternoon carrot whole. And somewhere on the north slopes of Askival, Thor ran for his life, following the scents he picked up on the trail down to Kinloch.

Even the defenders in the second barbican huddled against the tower walls, frightened from something none of them could begin to understand. None of them, that is, except Kruzurk Makshare who stood his ground, a wry smile spreading across his normally stern facade.

“Bloody hell!” Eigh swore. “What manner o’ siege weapon makes a rrrr-acket like that?”

“Maybe it was Brude,” Daynin offered.

“Not a cloud in the sky,” Isa observed. “It wasn’t thunder.”

Ebon shook his head. “Last I saw of Brude, he lay face down in the mud with a host of men beating him unmercifully. I doubt he will be with us again.”

Sabritha stood up to peek through one of the tower’s crenellations. “Whatever that noise was, it scared the bajeebers out of the Saxons. They look like crows in a hailstorm, all hunkered down out there.”

“Dinnae count that Pict out yet,” Ean said. “He’s one tough bugger. I saw ‘im take many a crossbow bolt when we fought the Tireean pirates and he never wavered. Not once.”

Troon had been watching Kruzurk, trying to judge what was going on in the magician’s mind. He finally asked, “You must know something the rest of us don’t, master Kruze. Mind sharin’ what it is?”

Kruzurk looked at them all hesitantly. “That sound was the beginning of a new age, my friends. An age none of us will be happy to be a part of, but it is upon us, like it or not. Rest assured, the Saxons have no idea what they just heard and hopefully, the fear they are feeling right now will make them far less bold when they press their attack.”

Mediah quickly put the pieces together. “Olghar! That was Olghar and the magic dust the Drimnin monks gave him, wasn’t it, Kruze?”

“Alchemy, Mediah—not magic. The age of magic is over. The age of man’s knowledge has just begun.”

“Here they come!” Sabritha screamed.

Out beyond the first barbican, Cressey had done an admirable job rallying the badly shaken Saxon contingent. With Robert Flud and Henri Bracton at his side, he lead a horde of men past Plumat, through the rubble of the first tower and out onto the sloping plain separating Kinloch’s defensive walls.

Meanwhile, a group of levies had chosen to take Brude as a prize of war after all attempts to finish him had failed. They bound him with chains and ropes, strapping him tightly to one of the siege ladders. Though he was down, the Great Deceiver was anything but finished. The struggle to restrain him had already cost several levies their lives, but the prize of that armor overshadowed all reason.

Oswald, too, had rallied his men by now and had dragged Hector into a suitable firing position. Some of the mangonel’s missiles had been retrieved from the drawbridge, giving Oswald extra rounds to attack the second wall. And attack he did.

“Let fly!” came the command, followed by the groaning swooosh of Hector’s tightly wound works. The hundred weight flew high over the first wall but fell well short of the second. Throwing up a torrent of dirt and rock when it hit, the round plowed a gaping wound into the lush green moss near the gate.

“Damn,” Wick swore, “that currrr-sed thing will tear us to pieces.”

“Not if I can help it,” Ebon vowed. Trained to fight in the open as a traditional knight on horseback, Ebon had already decided there was only one way to deal with the siege machine and he was the only one able to do it. “I’ll be back,” he said, solemnly. With that, he disappeared down the tower ladder.

“Where the hell is he going?” Isa hissed.

“To attack that mangonel, I should imagine,” Kruzurk answered. “We best give him as much support as we can from here, for if he fails, those Saxon besiegers will have our heads.”

“We’ve only a dozen arrows and a few more traps ta slow that lot down,” Wick added, grimly. “Ean, give yer shafts to Troon and let’s you and me go below—we’ve just enough time to get the hot oil and lime ready. Isa, you and Sabritha beat it back to the keep and gather up anything we can shoot—even those old practice arrows from the jousting court. They’ll hurt a mahn bad enough at close range. Be quick about it, girrrl—the Scurry gate won’t hold ‘em long.”

Racing back to the main keep, Isa and Sabritha were almost run over by Ebon and Castor pounding by at a full gallop. He swerved just in time and reined his horse in. “Has the tower fallen?” he cried out.

Isa dashed to his side, shaken. “No, we’re going for arrows. The Saxons are massed outside, but there are scores of them! You won’t have a chance out there by yourself.”

“I won’t be alone, Isa,” Ebon said, smiling. “Castor will scatter those levies like ducks in a courtyard, wager that.”

“You men are all alike—so sure you can do anything! Here, take this with you, and damn you, don’t soil it. I want it back—without any blood on it, understood?”

Ebon raised his visor, leaned down and swept the lacy veil from Isa’s hand. “Am I to be your champion, then?” he asked, laughingly.

“Just go do what you have to do and get back here in one piece, that’s all I ask.”

Tying the veil to his gauntlet, Ebon replied, “With this, my lady, I shall fight as a hundred men.”

Sabritha grew tired of the bravado, not to mention the delay in doing their duty. “You two can court all you want later. We have a war to fight, lest you forget.” Seeing her point, Ebon turned Castor around and galloped away to his destiny, leaving the women to scurry off into the keep.