It was all a pattern, created from an interweaving series of apparently random threads.
Dardalion fell to his knees, overcome with a terrible shame.
Gellan sat beyond the glare of the lanterns and watched the engineers constructing the ballistae. Some two hundred men were at work, hoisting the giant arms of the catapults into place and hammering home the wooden plugs against the resistance bar. At the top of each arm was a canvas pouch in which could be placed boulders weighing almost a quarter of a ton. Gellan had no real idea of the range of the Vagrian machines, but in Ventria he had seen rocks hurled hundreds of feet.
The ballistae were placed on wooden frames with two huge wheels at each corner. They would be hauled before the walls, probably in front of the gate tower.
The bronze-studded gates of oak had so far withstood all assaults. But they would not stand against these engines of destruction.
Gellan glanced at the fortress, silver-white now in the moonlight. The last of the men had been lifted to the ramparts; by now the food would be stored and bronze cauldrons would be sitting atop the cooking fires, bubbling with oats and meat.
Gellan wished he had said goodbye to Jonat. Somehow it seemed churlish to have sent him on his way without a word of farewell.
Pushing himself to his feet he walked boldly into the work area, stopping to study the constructions -peering into the massive joints and marvelling at the scale of the carpentry. He walked on, ignored by all, until he came to a storage hut. Stepping inside, he located the barrels of lantern oil and several buckets.
Removing his helm and breastplate, he filled the buckets with oil and carried them outside, placing them in front of the hut. When he had filled six buckets, he found an empty jar which he also filled with oil. Taking a lantern from a nearby post, he walked to the furthest of the siege engines and calmly poured oil into the wide joint that pinned the huge arm to the frame.
Then he moved to a second engine and emptied the jug over the wood. Pulling the glass from the lantern, Gellan held the flame to the saturated joint. Fire leapt from the frame.
‘What are you doing?’ screamed an engineer. Gellan ignored him and walked to the first engine, touching the flame to the oil.
The man grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round, but Gellan’s dagger slid between his ribs. Men were running now towards the engines.
‘Quick!’ shouted Gellan. ‘Get water. Over there!’
Several men obeyed instantly, sweeping up the buckets Gellan had left by the hut.
A searing sheet of flame roared into the sky as the oil splashed on to the blaze. A second flare, though not quite as spectacular, streamed from the other machine.
With no time to destroy the third of the ballistae, Gellan backed away from the blazing engines, disbelieving his luck.
It had been so simple, but then he had moved about in an unhurried way and had thus escaped attention. Now he would make it to the fortress and enjoy a good meal.
He turned to run – and found himself facing a score of armed men, led by a dark-haired officer carrying a silver-steel sabre.
The officer walked forward, raising a hand to halt his soldiers. ‘Gellan, isn’t it?’ he asked.’
Slowly Gellan drew his own sword. ‘It is.’
‘We met two years ago when I was the guest of honour at the Silver Swords tourney in Drenan. You won, I believe.’
Gellan recognised the man as Dalnor, a Vagrian swordsman and aide to the general Kaem.
‘It’s pleasant to see you again,’ said Gellan.
‘I take it that you are not considering surrender?’
‘The thought had not occurred to me. Do you wish to surrender?’
Dalnor smiled. ‘I watched you fence, Gellan. You were very good – but suspect, I thought. There are certain gaps in your defences. May I demonstrate?’
‘Please do.’
Dalnor stepped forward and presented his sword. Gellan touched blades and the two men sprang back and began to circle one another. Dalnor’s slender sabre flicked forward, to be parried instantly; he in turn swiftly countered the riposte and the two men stepped apart.