Waylander by David A. Gemmell

‘Talk time,’ muttered Sarvaj.

The officer rode to the eastern wall, his hand raised. Lifting his helm from his head, he called out: ‘I am Ragic. I speak for the Earl Ceoris. Who speaks for the Drenai?’

‘I do,’ shouted Gellan.

‘Your name?’

‘It is no business of yours. What do you have to say?’

‘As you can see, you are vastly outnumbered. The Earl Ceoris offers you the opportunity to surrender.’

‘On what conditions?’

‘Once your weapons have been surrendered, you will be free to go.’

‘Very generous!’

‘Then you agree?’

‘I have heard of the Earl Ceoris. It is said that his word is given as lightly as the promise of a Lentrian whore. The man has no honour.’

Then you refuse?’

‘I don’t deal with jackals,’ said Gellan.

‘That is a decision you will live to rue,’ shouted the herald, pulling on the reins and spurring his horse back to the enemy line.

‘I think he is probably right about that,’ muttered Jonat.

‘Ready the men,’ sad Gellan. ‘The Vagrians have no ropes or siege equipment and that means they must attack the breach. Sarvaj!’

‘Sir.’

‘Leave only five men per wall. The rest to go with Jonat. Do it now!’

Sarvaj saluted and moved from the battlements. Jonat followed him.

‘We should have cut and run,’ said Jonat.

‘Give your mouth a rest,’ snapped Sarvaj.

The Vagrians heeled their horses to the right and cantered round to face the western wall, then advanced until they were just beyond bowshot. Dismounting, the men thrust their lances into the earth and tied their mounts to them; then lifting shields and drawing swords, they advanced slowly.

Dardalion watched them come and licked his lips. His hands were sweating and he wiped them on his cloak. Jonat grinned at him. ‘Handsome whoresons, aren’t they?’

Dardalion nodded. The men around him were tense and the priest realised he was not alone in his fear. Even Jonat’s eyes were burning more brightly and his face was set. Dardalion glanced up to where Waylander sat with his back to the wall, setting out crossbow bolts before him. He alone was not watching the advancing soldiers. A man to the right loosed a shaft that sailed towards the Vagrians; an enemy soldier lifted his shied and the arrow glanced from it.

‘Hold until I order it!’ bellowed Jonat.

With a sudden roar the Vagrians charged. Darda-lion swallowed hard and drew his swords.

With the enemy a bare thirty feet from the breach Jonat bellowed, ‘Now!’ Shafts hammered into the advancing line, but most were turned aside by the brass-rimmed round shields. Others glanced from black helms, but several of the enemy fell as the barbed shafts cut into unprotected necks.

A second volley sliced home as the Vagrians gained the breach. And this time more than a dozen warriors fell back. Then they were at the wagons. A burly soldier clambered over the wooden frame with sword raised, but Waylander’s bolt punched through his helm above his right ear and he fell without a sound. A second bolt skewered the neck of the soldier behind him.

Jonat had placed his defenders well. A dozen knelt on the northern battlements loosing shaft after shaft into the enemy as they struggled to clear the wagons, while twenty more archers stood in the courtyard picking off the enemy with ease. The bodies mounted, but still the Vagrians pushed on.

Waylander heard a scrabbling noise behind him and swung round to see a hand grasp the ramparts as a Vagrian soldier pulled himself over the wall. Another followed … and another. Waylander cocked his bow and fired and the first soldier pitched backwards and rolled from the battlements. The second took a bolt through the shoulder, but ran on, screaming his hatred. The assassin dropped his bow and dragged his sword from its scabbard, blocking a downward cut; then he kicked out to catch the man in the groin. As the soldier staggered Waylander hammered a blow to his neck and with blood gushing from the wound, the man toppled to the courtyard below.

Waylander dropped to his knees as another warrior aimed a vicious blow to his head. He stabbed upwards feeling the blade sink into the man’s groin. Waylander kicked him from the battlements and faced another soldier, but the man suddenly pitched forward with an arrow jutting from the back of his neck. A Drenai soldier stepped from the doorway of the tower, bow in hand; he grinned at Waylander and limped forward.