take the place by a
coup de main.
I had no desire whatsoever to sit down to a protracted siege. So, on the night chosen, when for a space only two of the smaller moons of Kregen rushed across the dark sky, we set off. Infiltrators within the walls overpowered the guard at the West Gate and we poured in, a silent host, and set about securing the town, house by house.
Other forces went in over the walls. After that the garrison awoke to their peril and we came to handstrokes.
Over the southeastern walls of the town the citadel had been built with its footings in the waters of the river. The mercenaries fought well, earning their hire, and slowly withdrew to the citadel. The massive gates closed with a couple of ranks of our bowmen trapped inside. We knew we had seen the last of them. Other bowmen dropped with yells into the moat or withdrew from the hail of arrows that sprouted from the battlements. By that narrow margin had we failed to take the citadel.
I said: “I regret the men we lost there. But as for the citadel, well, the cramphs are mewed up inside and we can leave them to rot. I will not lose more good men in unnecessary attacks.”
That seemed sound common sense, by Vox.
Dawn was breaking and illuminating the clouds with fringes of gold and ruby, orange and jade. Someone let out a high excited yell. We all looked up.
High against that paling sky the rope arched. It curved like a whip. It fell all quivering down the wall and its length dangled an invitation at the end of the bridge which the mercenaries had been unable to draw up. The next moment helmets tufted with the maroon and white of the churgurs of the Fiftieth Regiment of the Nineteenth Brigade appeared on the left-flank gate tower.
Kov Vodun shouted by my side.
“Those are my men up there.” He threw off his cloak.
In the next instant as he started forward across the bridge I was flinging my leg over the zorca to dismount.
Delia’s voice, warningly, said: “Dray.”
Korero, whose shields were uplifted against the occasional arrow, said, “Majister...”
“You can’t expect me to sit here and watch!”
Then a whole bunch of men ran over the bridge, yelling, and with Kov Vodun in the lead they began climbing the rope.
“By Zair!” I shouted. And I was running, too, running like a fool over the planks of the bridge where arrows stood thickly, and taking my turn to grip the rope and so go hand over hand up like a monkey. Korero, with four arms and a tailhand, had no difficulty in swarming up the rope after me, carrying his shields and giving me an assist from time to time. We tumbled over the battlements into a scene of confusion.
Those two ranks had done their job, and there could not have been above fourteen men between the two sections, in jamming the winding mechanism of the bridge and of clambering up the stairs of the left-flank gate tower. They had been unable to prevent the closing of the gates. But their dropped rope gave us an alternative ingress.
The tower top blazed with action, as swords clashed and spears flew. The paktuns, a mixed bunch of diffs with Fristles predominating, fought savagely to hold us back from the battlements. Our way down the gate tower was blocked; but once along the ramparts we could expand. The way into the citadel would lie open. The garrison knew that and fought like leems to hurl us back over the walls to shattered destruction on the ground below.
Very few of our men had climbed the rope with their shields. Vallians still had not fully mastered the art of shield play and had not slung the crimson flowers over their backs. I ripped out my drexer, the straight — or almost straight — cut and thrust sword, and plunged into the fray.
Over the clangor everyone heard the fearsome yells from the tower, dwindling. For a paralyzed instant the action froze . . . The soggy thumps sounded eerily loud.
“The rope has broken!” bellowed a hulking Deldar from the nearest group who had just climbed up. “We
coup de main.
I had no desire whatsoever to sit down to a protracted siege. So, on the night chosen, when for a space only two of the smaller moons of Kregen rushed across the dark sky, we set off. Infiltrators within the walls overpowered the guard at the West Gate and we poured in, a silent host, and set about securing the town, house by house.
Other forces went in over the walls. After that the garrison awoke to their peril and we came to handstrokes.
Over the southeastern walls of the town the citadel had been built with its footings in the waters of the river. The mercenaries fought well, earning their hire, and slowly withdrew to the citadel. The massive gates closed with a couple of ranks of our bowmen trapped inside. We knew we had seen the last of them. Other bowmen dropped with yells into the moat or withdrew from the hail of arrows that sprouted from the battlements. By that narrow margin had we failed to take the citadel.
I said: “I regret the men we lost there. But as for the citadel, well, the cramphs are mewed up inside and we can leave them to rot. I will not lose more good men in unnecessary attacks.”
That seemed sound common sense, by Vox.
Dawn was breaking and illuminating the clouds with fringes of gold and ruby, orange and jade. Someone let out a high excited yell. We all looked up.
High against that paling sky the rope arched. It curved like a whip. It fell all quivering down the wall and its length dangled an invitation at the end of the bridge which the mercenaries had been unable to draw up. The next moment helmets tufted with the maroon and white of the churgurs of the Fiftieth Regiment of the Nineteenth Brigade appeared on the left-flank gate tower.
Kov Vodun shouted by my side.
“Those are my men up there.” He threw off his cloak.
In the next instant as he started forward across the bridge I was flinging my leg over the zorca to dismount.
Delia’s voice, warningly, said: “Dray.”
Korero, whose shields were uplifted against the occasional arrow, said, “Majister...”
“You can’t expect me to sit here and watch!”
Then a whole bunch of men ran over the bridge, yelling, and with Kov Vodun in the lead they began climbing the rope.
“By Zair!” I shouted. And I was running, too, running like a fool over the planks of the bridge where arrows stood thickly, and taking my turn to grip the rope and so go hand over hand up like a monkey. Korero, with four arms and a tailhand, had no difficulty in swarming up the rope after me, carrying his shields and giving me an assist from time to time. We tumbled over the battlements into a scene of confusion.
Those two ranks had done their job, and there could not have been above fourteen men between the two sections, in jamming the winding mechanism of the bridge and of clambering up the stairs of the left-flank gate tower. They had been unable to prevent the closing of the gates. But their dropped rope gave us an alternative ingress.
The tower top blazed with action, as swords clashed and spears flew. The paktuns, a mixed bunch of diffs with Fristles predominating, fought savagely to hold us back from the battlements. Our way down the gate tower was blocked; but once along the ramparts we could expand. The way into the citadel would lie open. The garrison knew that and fought like leems to hurl us back over the walls to shattered destruction on the ground below.
Very few of our men had climbed the rope with their shields. Vallians still had not fully mastered the art of shield play and had not slung the crimson flowers over their backs. I ripped out my drexer, the straight — or almost straight — cut and thrust sword, and plunged into the fray.
Over the clangor everyone heard the fearsome yells from the tower, dwindling. For a paralyzed instant the action froze . . . The soggy thumps sounded eerily loud.
“The rope has broken!” bellowed a hulking Deldar from the nearest group who had just climbed up. “We
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