The outlanders changed strategy. The first assault had been strategic; a lack of troops forced an attack with limited equipment at the greatest vulnerabilities. On the fourth day of the siege, such limitations were gone. Numerous siege towers greeted the defenders, moving up the gentle slope towards Middanhal. Elsewhere, screens and catapults rolled out, preparing the way for contingents to follow carrying storm ladders. Not all the towers could reach the fortifications, as the outlanders had not been able to remove all obstacles in their individual paths, but the defenders did not know this. Thus, every location on the walls waved their banners, signalling for reinforcements.
Stone throwers on the turrets released their charge. With frantic movements, the engineers adjusted the aim as best the cumbersome machines allowed, dispatching another round of rocks. A few hit as best could be hoped for, smashing into the approaching siege towers to render them useless. Despite this and the difficult terrain, three of the great engines reached their destination. The drawbridge on top fell down to reach the wall, and the Anausa leapt into the fray.
~~~~
Fifteen hundred men filled the fortifications around the gate, all of them wearing a red hawk as their emblem. The gatehouse itself along with the nearest turrets had scores of archers from Vidrevi; every forester who had entered Jarl Isarn's service now fought for the king.
They watched as outlanders swarmed towards them in spread-out formation. Defending catapults unloaded their shots in response, raining heavy stones down upon the attackers. Next to Rostam, a rock struck a soldier on the head. His helmet became crushed against the skull, and blood seeped out.
Arrows flew in both directions. With inferior numbers of archers, fewer came from the turrets, but their vantage point meant they often struck true. Reversely, the outlanders had difficulty hitting the defenders behind the crenellations, but they sent volleys in such numbers, it darkened the skies.
"Ladders!" shouted a lieutenant of the Red Hawks.
Nearby, Jorund gripped his spear, keeping his eyes trained on the gap between the crenellations.
Next to him, Gawad raised his shield. From above, arrows came in repeated showers. "I envy you your stature, my short friend!"
"Just keep that shield up and keep your yapping to yourself!" the Dwarf replied. "Here they come!"
The top piece of the ladder fell down to hook itself against the stonework of the wall. The face of a red-robed soldier peered over the edge, climbing the ladder. Jorund rushed forward, impaling the attacker.
With a death rattle barely audible over the noise of the fighting, his opponent fell away while Jorund pulled his spear back. Yet already, another attacker appeared, moving swifter. He jumped up, raising his shield just as Jorund struck again, hitting only metal. With another leap, the outlander was past the crenellations. Behind him, another came.
Sneering, Jorund dropped his spear, drew his short sword, and stepped forward.
~~~~
The fighting continued for half a day before the outlanders blew their horns, signalling a retreat. Victorious, the defenders hacked the siege equipment to pieces; in the case of the rolling towers, oil and torch made for a merry fire. Wounded were carried to the healers, working in lean-tos by the walls or buildings requisitioned for the purpose around Lowtown. Reinforcements took over to man the walls, keeping watch. As for the dead, they were stripped of weapons and burnt in great pyres; too many had fallen to make burial practical. To the families left behind, nothing but ash was given to grieve by.
~~~~
Retreating to their camp, the mood among the outlanders was as could be expected. Attacking across a wide front, they had sustained heavier losses than on their first assault. Looking from the ground up, the double walls of Middanhal seemed invincible. Their retreat did not allow them to retrieve their dead either; countless corpses lay strewn across the field, coloured red not only by their garments, but also spilled blood.
Yet uplifting news awaited them as the day waned. The vanguard of further reinforcements reached them. An endless ocean of crimson tents rose, as their camp expanded once again. The Godking had commanded his lands to empty, gathering all his forces to end this war; now, nearly a hundred thousand soldiers stood ready to crush his enemies.
~~~~
Arman stirred a small pot, simmering over a faint fire. "Did you hear someone tried to kill the Godking?"
"What possessed the fool to try that?" asked Dariush, cleaning his equipment.
The other blackboot looked around, keeping his voice low. They were outside the main camp on the western side of the Mihtea, keeping up constant scouting of the area. In the dark, only the embers of their cooking fire could be seen; they appeared to be alone. "He had his reasons, didn't he."
Dariush glanced up. "There are more fravashi surrounding that tent than fleas on a dog. Not even Javed could get through."
"Desperate people take desperate actions."
"Get ready." Kamran's voice reached them before he stepped in from the shadows, appearing at the edge of the frail light. The other two reached for weapons with quick movements, only relaxing once they saw their companion.
"What for?"
"There will be an assault tonight. We are to scout the defences ahead of the army," Kamran explained. "Hurry. We leave soon."
Arman stared with dismay at his pot while Dariush buckled his belt around him. "The drylanders are unaware," the latter said. "With fravashi in the night? They will be slaughtered."
"We are expected," Kamran pointed out. "If any of us does not show, he will be branded a deserter."
Dariush stuck his knife into its scabbard. "So be it."
"Do not be foolish," Arman interjected. "We do not know when Javed will be at the meeting point. He might not appear until tomorrow! You'll throw your life away for nothing."
"If this war is lost, the morrow will never come." The blackboot looked at his brethren. "Farewell, my brothers." The other men gave him a quick embrace; they did not have time for more.
The outlanders changed strategy. The first assault had been strategic; a lack of troops forced an attack with limited equipment at the greatest vulnerabilities. On the fourth day of the siege, such limitations were gone. Numerous siege towers greeted the defenders, moving up the gentle slope towards Middanhal. Elsewhere, screens and catapults rolled out, preparing the way for contingents to follow carrying storm ladders. Not all the towers could reach the fortifications, as the outlanders had not been able to remove all obstacles in their individual paths, but the defenders did not know this. Thus, every location on the walls waved their banners, signalling for reinforcements.
Stone throwers on the turrets released their charge. With frantic movements, the engineers adjusted the aim as best the cumbersome machines allowed, dispatching another round of rocks. A few hit as best could be hoped for, smashing into the approaching siege towers to render them useless. Despite this and the difficult terrain, three of the great engines reached their destination. The drawbridge on top fell down to reach the wall, and the Anausa leapt into the fray.
~~~~
Fifteen hundred men filled the fortifications around the gate, all of them wearing a red hawk as their emblem. The gatehouse itself along with the nearest turrets had scores of archers from Vidrevi; every forester who had entered Jarl Isarn's service now fought for the king.
They watched as outlanders swarmed towards them in spread-out formation. Defending catapults unloaded their shots in response, raining heavy stones down upon the attackers. Next to Rostam, a rock struck a soldier on the head. His helmet became crushed against the skull, and blood seeped out.
Arrows flew in both directions. With inferior numbers of archers, fewer came from the turrets, but their vantage point meant they often struck true. Reversely, the outlanders had difficulty hitting the defenders behind the crenellations, but they sent volleys in such numbers, it darkened the skies.
"Ladders!" shouted a lieutenant of the Red Hawks.
Nearby, Jorund gripped his spear, keeping his eyes trained on the gap between the crenellations.
Next to him, Gawad raised his shield. From above, arrows came in repeated showers. "I envy you your stature, my short friend!"
"Just keep that shield up and keep your yapping to yourself!" the Dwarf replied. "Here they come!"
The top piece of the ladder fell down to hook itself against the stonework of the wall. The face of a red-robed soldier peered over the edge, climbing the ladder. Jorund rushed forward, impaling the attacker.
With a death rattle barely audible over the noise of the fighting, his opponent fell away while Jorund pulled his spear back. Yet already, another attacker appeared, moving swifter. He jumped up, raising his shield just as Jorund struck again, hitting only metal. With another leap, the outlander was past the crenellations. Behind him, another came.
Sneering, Jorund dropped his spear, drew his short sword, and stepped forward.
~~~~
The fighting continued for half a day before the outlanders blew their horns, signalling a retreat. Victorious, the defenders hacked the siege equipment to pieces; in the case of the rolling towers, oil and torch made for a merry fire. Wounded were carried to the healers, working in lean-tos by the walls or buildings requisitioned for the purpose around Lowtown. Reinforcements took over to man the walls, keeping watch. As for the dead, they were stripped of weapons and burnt in great pyres; too many had fallen to make burial practical. To the families left behind, nothing but ash was given to grieve by.
~~~~
Retreating to their camp, the mood among the outlanders was as could be expected. Attacking across a wide front, they had sustained heavier losses than on their first assault. Looking from the ground up, the double walls of Middanhal seemed invincible. Their retreat did not allow them to retrieve their dead either; countless corpses lay strewn across the field, coloured red not only by their garments, but also spilled blood.
Yet uplifting news awaited them as the day waned. The vanguard of further reinforcements reached them. An endless ocean of crimson tents rose, as their camp expanded once again. The Godking had commanded his lands to empty, gathering all his forces to end this war; now, nearly a hundred thousand soldiers stood ready to crush his enemies.
~~~~
Arman stirred a small pot, simmering over a faint fire. "Did you hear someone tried to kill the Godking?"
"What possessed the fool to try that?" asked Dariush, cleaning his equipment.
The other blackboot looked around, keeping his voice low. They were outside the main camp on the western side of the Mihtea, keeping up constant scouting of the area. In the dark, only the embers of their cooking fire could be seen; they appeared to be alone. "He had his reasons, didn't he."
Dariush glanced up. "There are more fravashi surrounding that tent than fleas on a dog. Not even Javed could get through."
"Desperate people take desperate actions."
"Get ready." Kamran's voice reached them before he stepped in from the shadows, appearing at the edge of the frail light. The other two reached for weapons with quick movements, only relaxing once they saw their companion.
"What for?"
"There will be an assault tonight. We are to scout the defences ahead of the army," Kamran explained. "Hurry. We leave soon."
Arman stared with dismay at his pot while Dariush buckled his belt around him. "The drylanders are unaware," the latter said. "With fravashi in the night? They will be slaughtered."
"We are expected," Kamran pointed out. "If any of us does not show, he will be branded a deserter."
Dariush stuck his knife into its scabbard. "So be it."
"Do not be foolish," Arman interjected. "We do not know when Javed will be at the meeting point. He might not appear until tomorrow! You'll throw your life away for nothing."
"If this war is lost, the morrow will never come." The blackboot looked at his brethren. "Farewell, my brothers." The other men gave him a quick embrace; they did not have time for more.
