hurt.
“One-Eye! Goblin!” I yelled. “Where the hell
are you peckerheads? What the frack is going on over there?”
I watched a feeble arrow pass through a Murgen a dozen yards away.
“What’s that weird light?” Whatever it was, it
gave me the feeling that things could get worse than they looked
already.
I got no response whatsoever from my favorite wizards.
“Rudy. Flip a flare ball out there. Let’s see
what’s sneaking around.” Until recently my now less
than favorite wizards had provided spot illumination.
“Bucket! Where the hell are Goblin and One-Eye?” Ten
minutes ago I had three pairs underfoot, all of them squabbling.
Now they were gone and the Shadowlanders were quieter than mice
below.
Red Rudy yelled at Loftus and Cletus. One of their engines
thumped. A blazing ball arced outward, its only purpose to betray
what the enemy was doing in the darkness.
Sparkle piped, “I seen them headed downstairs.”
Suckass. “Why?” This was for sure not the time to
wander away.
“Uh . . . They went to talk to Pirmhi
and some of them guys from the Horse Brigade.”
I shook my head. I would choke them myself. In the middle of a
goddamned battle . . .
The fireball revealed that the Shadowlanders had pulled back
from the wall. Spending our missiles was a waste. The southerners
were setting up engines capable of throwing grapnels in clusters.
That was a stupid way to do business against an eighty-foot wall
with veteran soldiers on top, but if they wanted to play it that
way we would accommodate them. I was confident that, no matter how
many ropes they threw up, we could cut or dislodge their lines
before they could climb that high, then, with lungs ready to fall
out and arms too heavy to lift, get busy defending their bridgehead
while other equally dim types made the same climb carrying a half
ton of equipment apiece. “Goblin!” Goddamnit, I wanted
to know what that light was over there.
The Shadowlanders had not scaled the wall there. They had
attacked off of earthen ramps. Not a surprise. They had been
building the ramps from the beginning. That was just basic
siegework, employed since the dawn of time and one reason your
thoughtful modern prince builds his stronghold on a crag or
headland or island. Naturally, the besieger spans the last dozen
feet with a bridge he can yank back if a dangerous counterattack
develops.
The flareball smashed down four hundred yards out. It continued
to provide light until the southerners buried it with sand
originally intended to extinguish firebombs if we used them.
“One-Eye! I’m going to have your wrinkled balls for
breakfast!”
I snarled, “Cletus, keep throwing them fireballs.
Who’s got messenger duty? Feet? Go find Goblin and
One-Eye . . . Never mind. One of them
brain-damaged runts just turned up.”
One-Eye said, “You rang, milord?”
“Are you sober? Are you ready to get to work now?”
He stared at that nasty light across town without me coaching him.
I asked, “What is that?” The light seemed more sinister
now.
One-Eye raised a hand. “Kid, why not take this gods given
opportunity to exercise your least well-honed talent?”
“What?”
“Be patient, dickhead.”
The mist or haze or dust started getting thicker. The light grew
brighter. Neither happening buoyed my confidence. “Talk to
me, old man. This ain’t the time for any of your
bullshit.”
“That haze, that ain’t no mist, Murgen. The light
ain’t shining off it. It’s making the light.” And
the mist and light were drifting toward the city.
“Horse puckey. You can see where there’s a light
burning in their camp.”
“That’s something else. There’s two things
going on at once, Murgen.”
“Three things, halfwit.” Goblin had arrived, beer
breath and all. Presumably all was well at the secret brewery, the
arrangements with the cavalry were secure, and he and One-Eye could
take time off to help the Black Company defend Dejagore.
Heaven help them
“One-Eye! Goblin!” I yelled. “Where the hell
are you peckerheads? What the frack is going on over there?”
I watched a feeble arrow pass through a Murgen a dozen yards away.
“What’s that weird light?” Whatever it was, it
gave me the feeling that things could get worse than they looked
already.
I got no response whatsoever from my favorite wizards.
“Rudy. Flip a flare ball out there. Let’s see
what’s sneaking around.” Until recently my now less
than favorite wizards had provided spot illumination.
“Bucket! Where the hell are Goblin and One-Eye?” Ten
minutes ago I had three pairs underfoot, all of them squabbling.
Now they were gone and the Shadowlanders were quieter than mice
below.
Red Rudy yelled at Loftus and Cletus. One of their engines
thumped. A blazing ball arced outward, its only purpose to betray
what the enemy was doing in the darkness.
Sparkle piped, “I seen them headed downstairs.”
Suckass. “Why?” This was for sure not the time to
wander away.
“Uh . . . They went to talk to Pirmhi
and some of them guys from the Horse Brigade.”
I shook my head. I would choke them myself. In the middle of a
goddamned battle . . .
The fireball revealed that the Shadowlanders had pulled back
from the wall. Spending our missiles was a waste. The southerners
were setting up engines capable of throwing grapnels in clusters.
That was a stupid way to do business against an eighty-foot wall
with veteran soldiers on top, but if they wanted to play it that
way we would accommodate them. I was confident that, no matter how
many ropes they threw up, we could cut or dislodge their lines
before they could climb that high, then, with lungs ready to fall
out and arms too heavy to lift, get busy defending their bridgehead
while other equally dim types made the same climb carrying a half
ton of equipment apiece. “Goblin!” Goddamnit, I wanted
to know what that light was over there.
The Shadowlanders had not scaled the wall there. They had
attacked off of earthen ramps. Not a surprise. They had been
building the ramps from the beginning. That was just basic
siegework, employed since the dawn of time and one reason your
thoughtful modern prince builds his stronghold on a crag or
headland or island. Naturally, the besieger spans the last dozen
feet with a bridge he can yank back if a dangerous counterattack
develops.
The flareball smashed down four hundred yards out. It continued
to provide light until the southerners buried it with sand
originally intended to extinguish firebombs if we used them.
“One-Eye! I’m going to have your wrinkled balls for
breakfast!”
I snarled, “Cletus, keep throwing them fireballs.
Who’s got messenger duty? Feet? Go find Goblin and
One-Eye . . . Never mind. One of them
brain-damaged runts just turned up.”
One-Eye said, “You rang, milord?”
“Are you sober? Are you ready to get to work now?”
He stared at that nasty light across town without me coaching him.
I asked, “What is that?” The light seemed more sinister
now.
One-Eye raised a hand. “Kid, why not take this gods given
opportunity to exercise your least well-honed talent?”
“What?”
“Be patient, dickhead.”
The mist or haze or dust started getting thicker. The light grew
brighter. Neither happening buoyed my confidence. “Talk to
me, old man. This ain’t the time for any of your
bullshit.”
“That haze, that ain’t no mist, Murgen. The light
ain’t shining off it. It’s making the light.” And
the mist and light were drifting toward the city.
“Horse puckey. You can see where there’s a light
burning in their camp.”
“That’s something else. There’s two things
going on at once, Murgen.”
“Three things, halfwit.” Goblin had arrived, beer
breath and all. Presumably all was well at the secret brewery, the
arrangements with the cavalry were secure, and he and One-Eye could
take time off to help the Black Company defend Dejagore.
Heaven help them
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