‘So it begins,’ said Merlon, removing the leather apron and striding across the hall to where his breastplate, helm and sword were laid by the hearth.
*
Miriel stood to the left of the wall, almost at the corner, a crazily-angled turret leaning out above her. Her mouth was dry as she saw the Gothir line surge forward, and she ceased to notice the biting winter wind.
Twenty trees had been cut down and stripped of branches, and these were carried forward by heavily-armed men. Behind them marched two thousand foot-soldiers, shortswords and shields held at the ready. Miriel glanced to her right. At the centre of the ramparts stood Angel, grim and powerful, his sword still sheathed. Further along was Senta, a wide grin on his face, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the coming battle. She shivered, but not with the cold.
More than a thousand men carried the tree trunks, and the pounding of their feet on the hard valley floor was like a roll of thunder. Two Nadir beside Miriel hefted large rocks, laying them on the battlement. Archers sent shafts down into the charging ranks, but wounds were few among the armoured men, though Miriel saw a handful of soldiers reel back or fall as iron points lanced into unprotected thighs and arms.
The first trunk was raised and fell against the battlement with a booming thud. A Nadir hurled a rope over the top and began to pull.
‘Wait until there are men on it!’ bellowed Angel.
More trees crashed against the wall. A section of battlement gave way and a Nadir was hurled screaming to the courtyard forty feet below. Miriel swung and saw the man struggle to rise, but his leg was smashed. Several women ran forward, lifting the injured man and carrying him into the keep.
Notching an arrow to her bow Miriel leaned out over the wall. Thousands of men were swarming up the ladders, using the stubs of sawn-off branches for hand and footholds. Sighting her bow she sent an arrow through the temple of a soldier who had almost reached the top. He sagged back, and fell into the man behind him, dislodging him.
Angel hefted a large boulder and hurled it over the wall. It struck an attacker on his upraised shield, smashing the man’s arm and shoulder. Amazingly he managed to hold on to the branch, but the boulder hit the man below on the helm, sweeping him from the tree. Stones and rocks rained down on the attackers, but still they came on, a score of men reaching the battlements.
Senta leapt forward, spearing his blade through the throat of the first man to reach the ramparts. Miriel dropped her bow and gathered up the trailing rope the Nadir had looped over the first trunk. ‘Help me!’ she shouted at the nearest warriors. Three men turned at her cry and ran to her aid. Together they hauled on the rope and, just as the first Gothir appeared, they succeeded in moving the ladder a foot to the right. Top-heavy now, the wood groaned – and slid sideways. A Gothir soldier jumped for the battlement, but lost his footing and fell screaming to the valley floor. The tree collided with a second ladder and, for a moment only, was held. Then both began to move.
‘Let go the rope,’ shouted Miriel, as the overburdened ladder fell away. The rope hissed and cracked like a whip as it was dragged over the battlements. The falling ladders struck a third, which was also dislodged from the wall. Miriel ran along the battlements to where Senta stood. The scaling ladders are too close together,’ she shouted.
‘Move that one and you’ll bring down three, maybe four more.’
He looked to where she was pointing and nodded. Ropes had been placed along the wall and he lifted one, shaking out the loop. While the Nadir battled to keep the Gothir from the battlements Senta hurled a loop over the closest ladder and started to pull. It would not budge. Miriel joined him – but to no avail. Angel saw them and sent four men to assist.
Gothir warriors were scrambling over the battlements now, and one of them threw himself at Senta. The swordsman saw the blow almost too late, but let go the rope and lashed out with his foot, kicking the oncoming warrior in the knee. The man fell. Drawing his sword Senta sent a crashing blow to the soldier’s helm. The Gothir struggled to rise. Senta ran in and shoulder-charged him, hurling him from the ramparts to the courtyard below.