Read Online Dark Lady's Chosen by Gail Z. Martin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gail Z. Martin
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brooding outline of Lochlanimar, dark against the sunset. The outer wall was broken in many places, scorched by fire and pounded by trebuchets, catapults and magic. The tower on one corner was collapsed in a heap of rubble. Lochlanimar’s defenders still posed enough of a threat that a direct assault was likely to be a disaster. Time was running out, Tris knew. For him and for Curane. And nothing’s worse than an enemy with his back to the wall.
Now, the army mobilized for battle just days after tending its wounded from the last encounter. Tris scanned the ranks. Without fresh troops, victory would depend on cunning.
Since Margolan’s tattered army had no more soldiers to send without risking the palace and the northern roads, cleverness would have to do.
“Is everything in place?” Tris hailed General Senne, who inclined his head in deference on Tris’s approach.
“Preparations are nearly complete, Your Majesty,” Senne said. General Palinn hurried over, and with him, Tris recognized Sister Fallon.
“The pulse strategy—you can do it?”
Senne motioned for Tris to follow him. “Here’s the weapon I told you about.” Tris looked down at the contraption and frowned. Mounted on a crank, a three-sided pyramid covered with hollow tubes sat at the front of a massive bow on a solid, heavy cart. Tris looked down the line at
dozens of the devices.
“Wivvers is my best engineer,” Senne said with pride. “The man’s a genius. You really should consider giving him a title when this is all said and done. He came up with these to treble our archer fire. We’ll have three ranks of longbows, each firing in sequence for a steady hail. But we don’t have enough archers to maintain that fire on all sides. Each machine,” Senne said, laying a hand proudly on the contraption, “can fire off three rounds of two dozen arrows. Any soldier can operate it, so long as he can aim. It’s not magic,” Senne said with a sly smile. “But it’s close.”
Behind the rows of archers, drummer-and -pipers in armor prepared to raise a war chant to strike fear into the besieged village. This night, the drumming would not end until the battle was over. Two staggered rows of trebuchets ringed Curane’s fortress, salvaged from the pieces that survived the last battle. Soldiers stood ready to relay rocks and battle debris into the slings of the trebuchets to keep up a steady barrage.
“The mages are in place,” Sister Fallon reported. “We have one on each side to help you in the frontal assault. The mages each have hourglasses, timed for the half-candlemark.
They’re instructed to pulse clockwise, then counterclockwise, then front-to-back and side-to-side. We’ll strike with the element we best control—land, water or air. Or in your case—the spirits. The vayash moru are in place, ready to strike when you give the signal.”
“I’ve summoned the ghosts of our own battle dead, and ghosts from the crypts below the fortress,” Tris said. “There’ve also been quite a few defectors from among the spirits of those killed by Curane’s plague inside the walls. If the mages can strike against the wardings, the vayash moru and the ghosts will break through and cause whatever damage they can before the wardings can be raised once more.”
“In theory,” Fallon said, meeting Tris’s eyes, “that should keep Curane’s people hopping while our folks get a break.”
“In theory,” Tris said. “The mages know to avoid the Flow?”
Fallon nodded. “That’s the tricky part. If we’re pulling on our own personal reserves, none of us can last long. We might not burn up in the Flow, but we could burn out quickly and be useless for days—or dead.”
Tris nodded. “Agreed. Then the pulse will have to work.” Fallon nodded in farewell and moved quickly to take her place. This time, Tris opted for the bed of a horse-drawn cart rather than a platform, to keep his position easily mobile and less quickly targeted.
He
Now, the army mobilized for battle just days after tending its wounded from the last encounter. Tris scanned the ranks. Without fresh troops, victory would depend on cunning.
Since Margolan’s tattered army had no more soldiers to send without risking the palace and the northern roads, cleverness would have to do.
“Is everything in place?” Tris hailed General Senne, who inclined his head in deference on Tris’s approach.
“Preparations are nearly complete, Your Majesty,” Senne said. General Palinn hurried over, and with him, Tris recognized Sister Fallon.
“The pulse strategy—you can do it?”
Senne motioned for Tris to follow him. “Here’s the weapon I told you about.” Tris looked down at the contraption and frowned. Mounted on a crank, a three-sided pyramid covered with hollow tubes sat at the front of a massive bow on a solid, heavy cart. Tris looked down the line at
dozens of the devices.
“Wivvers is my best engineer,” Senne said with pride. “The man’s a genius. You really should consider giving him a title when this is all said and done. He came up with these to treble our archer fire. We’ll have three ranks of longbows, each firing in sequence for a steady hail. But we don’t have enough archers to maintain that fire on all sides. Each machine,” Senne said, laying a hand proudly on the contraption, “can fire off three rounds of two dozen arrows. Any soldier can operate it, so long as he can aim. It’s not magic,” Senne said with a sly smile. “But it’s close.”
Behind the rows of archers, drummer-and -pipers in armor prepared to raise a war chant to strike fear into the besieged village. This night, the drumming would not end until the battle was over. Two staggered rows of trebuchets ringed Curane’s fortress, salvaged from the pieces that survived the last battle. Soldiers stood ready to relay rocks and battle debris into the slings of the trebuchets to keep up a steady barrage.
“The mages are in place,” Sister Fallon reported. “We have one on each side to help you in the frontal assault. The mages each have hourglasses, timed for the half-candlemark.
They’re instructed to pulse clockwise, then counterclockwise, then front-to-back and side-to-side. We’ll strike with the element we best control—land, water or air. Or in your case—the spirits. The vayash moru are in place, ready to strike when you give the signal.”
“I’ve summoned the ghosts of our own battle dead, and ghosts from the crypts below the fortress,” Tris said. “There’ve also been quite a few defectors from among the spirits of those killed by Curane’s plague inside the walls. If the mages can strike against the wardings, the vayash moru and the ghosts will break through and cause whatever damage they can before the wardings can be raised once more.”
“In theory,” Fallon said, meeting Tris’s eyes, “that should keep Curane’s people hopping while our folks get a break.”
“In theory,” Tris said. “The mages know to avoid the Flow?”
Fallon nodded. “That’s the tricky part. If we’re pulling on our own personal reserves, none of us can last long. We might not burn up in the Flow, but we could burn out quickly and be useless for days—or dead.”
Tris nodded. “Agreed. Then the pulse will have to work.” Fallon nodded in farewell and moved quickly to take her place. This time, Tris opted for the bed of a horse-drawn cart rather than a platform, to keep his position easily mobile and less quickly targeted.
He
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