‘Of course not.’
‘And you still have your Talents?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Think on that, Ekodas,’ she said, with a sweet smile. Then, spinning on her heel she returned to the hall.
*
The deaths of Belash and Anshi Chen created a void in the battle leadership of the Nadir, and the mood in the fortress was sullen and fatalistic. Nadir wars were fought on horseback on the open steppes and despite the transient security offered by the warped citadel, they were ill at ease manning the crooked battlements of Kar-Barzac.
They viewed the silver knights with disquiet, and rarely spoke to Senta or Miriel. But Angel was different. His transparent hostility towards them made him a force they could understand and feel at ease with. No patronising comments, no condescension. Mutual dislike and respect became the twin ties that allowed the remaining warriors to form a bond with the former gladiator.
He organised them into defence groups along the main wall, ordering them to gather rocks and broken masonry for hurling down on an advancing enemy. He chose leaders, issued orders, and lifted their spirits with casual insults and coarse humour. And his open contempt for the Gothir soldiers helped the tribesmen to overcome their own fears.
As the sun rose on the third day of the siege he gathered a small group of leaders around him and squatted down among them on the battlements. ‘Now none of you beggars have ever seen a siege, so let me make it plain for you. They will carry forward stripped tree trunks as scaling ladders and lean them against the walls. Then they will climb the broken branches. Do not make the mistake of trying to push the ladders away from the wall. The weight of wood and armed men will make that impossible. Slide them left or right. Use the butt-end of your spears, or loop ropes over the top of the trunks. Unbalance them. Now we have around three hundred men to defend these walls, but we need a reserve force, ready to run and block any gaps that appear in the line. You, Subai!’ he said, pointing to a short, wide-shouldered tribesman with a jagged scar on his right cheek. ‘Pick forty men and hold back from the battle. Wait in the courtyard, watching the battlements. If our line breaks anywhere, reinforce it.’
‘It will be as you order,’ grunted the tribesman.
‘Make sure it is, or I’ll rip out your arm and beat you to death with the wet end.’ The warriors smiled. Angel rose. ‘Now, follow me to the gate.’ The gates themselves had long since rotted, but the Nadir had managed to lower the portcullis, almost two tons of rusted iron, to block the entrance. Carts and wagons had been overturned at the base and thirty bowmen stood by. Angel moved to the archway. ‘They will attempt to lift the portcullis. They will fail, for it is wedged above. But it is badly rusted and they will bring up saws and hammers to force an opening. You, what’s your name again?’
‘How many times must you ask, Ugly One?’ countered the Nadir, a hook-nosed, swarthy man, taller than the average tribesman. Angel guessed he was a half-breed.
‘All you beggars look alike to me,’ said Angel. ‘So tell me again.’
‘Orsa Khan.’
‘Well, Orsa Khan, I want you to command this defence. When they break through – as they will eventually – set fire to the carts. And hold them back to allow the men on the walls to retreat to the keep.’
‘They will not break through while I live,’ promised Orsa.
‘That’s the spirit, boy!’ said Angel. ‘Now, are there any questions?’
‘What else do we need to ask?’ put in Borsai, a young warrior of sixteen, still beardless. ‘They come, we kill them until they go away. Is that not so?’
‘Sounds a good strategy to me,’ agreed Angel. ‘Now, when some of them reach the ramparts – as they will – don’t stab for their heads. Slash your blades at their hands as they reach for a hold. They’ll be wearing gauntlets, but good iron will cut through those. Then, when they fall, they’ll probably take two or three others with them. And that’s a fair drop, my boys. They won’t get up again.’