Chapter eighty-two

Ortia

 

Across the city now almost all the walls were broken or crumbling. In many places it was only the Dwarven Magic that held them together; huge sections of wall only suspended in place by a dark green matrix of threads and blocks. Aurelian had placed troops at the widest probable entry places, but if the entire wall failed, that would be it.   

Marthian ordered the carpenters to cut the largest branches from the trees along the roadsides and fashion them into stakes just big enough to be carried by a large elf fairly easily. As soon as they had done that they brought them to Aurelian. As the pile grew he stood with folded arms, occasionally barking out to his officers who came to him for orders. When Marthian joined him she eagerly took over the ordering and the organising of the stakes.

‘What are we going to do with these?’ demanded Aurelian.

‘Kill some rays’ explained Marthian ‘but you knew that’

‘How?’

‘We’re going to skewer them on our cocktail sticks and shoot tooth picks at them’

‘How?’ repeated Aurelian, his eyes forever flicking to the walls.

Marthian walked over to Aurelian and kicked him hard on the shins.

‘Concentrate!’ she said. ‘Does it all have to me?’

Aurelian, with a superhuman effort, neither flinched nor cried out, even though the pain was sharp and immediate. 

‘But how will we do it?’

Marthian looked at Aurelian in disbelief.

‘Apparently it does all have to be me!’

Shd went to the stake pile and picked up the slenderest stake. She still had problems moving it but she just about managed it, and stood holding it up so that the sharp tip was pointing away from her.  Everyone nearby stopped what they were doing and there was a collective murmur of shock and uncertainty.  

‘I’ll need about a hundred archers and a group of cavalry to protect the stake carrier’ she said

Aurelian forgot the pain as the horror of what she intended to do overcame him. He grabbed the middle of the stake.

‘No!’ he yelled, his words coming out in an awkward tumble ‘you can’t do that – it’s suicide. And you’re the proconsul. And, ma’am, you’re surely not strong enough’

She gave him a very sharp look.

‘Sort it out then’ she demanded, letting him take the stake from her.

He sprang into action. He issued orders for the fifty strongest fighters to assemble and began the process of collecting together the raiding parties. Once the group was together he explained what was expected of them, and then announced that he would try it first.

It was Marthian’s turn to be horrified.

‘General Aurelian – you can’t put your life at risk like that. You’re just as indispensable as I am’

He smiled at her. Back in control, his voice was now calm.

‘That’s not true, ma’am. And, also, it’s traditional for generals to show that they are willing to undertake the dangerous missions that they expect their troops to try’

‘I’m sure it’s not’ muttered Marthian, ‘You’re just getting your own back’

They glared at each other.

‘Anyway – I’ll lead a preliminary group to test out the Proconsul’s idea’ announced Aurelian to the world in general.

The archers formed up in front of him and it was too late for Marthian to intervene. Aurelian had won their game of dare.  She was reduced to squeezing his hand and murmuring ‘be really careful, stubborn soldier’ to him as he walked off.

 

Aurelian chose the east gate to mount his sortie from. This part of the wall only had a single ray attacking it and the kinaam were not particularly densely packed around it. If it didn’t work here it wouldn’t work anywhere else. He knew this was incredibly, probably fatally, risky, but what else could they do?

Archers in the gate tower laid down several heavy vollies of fire and then once the majority of the kinaam had dispersed the gates were opened and the cavalry advanced. Just behind them came Aurelian balancing his weapon over his shoulder; behind him were the century of archers. He felt ridiculous, and wondered where Marthian was. Was she watching? If he died would she forever blame herself? He shook himself – none of that really mattered now. They’d either square things later or he’d be dead. Probably they’d both be dead. He went about his task grimly but determined to make her proud.

They made their way through a wasteland of ditches, puddles and bodies. The smell was strong but mostly of fire and mud. Behind them the wall creaked and shook, and they were illuminated by Quiena’s strange leaf-green light.

Aurelian ordered the unit to make as much noise as they could as he stood and waited. The horses whinnied, the cavaliers shouted, and the archers banged their quivers against their thighs. Some of the kinaam ran forward toward the cavalry but they were rapidly cut down or scared away.

Eventually, the ray noticed them. They could see it flying in for another attack on the wall, but then, presumably following some pre-programmed order, it swerved away from the wall and down to strike them instead.

Aurelian had desperately been calculating the best way to do this impossible thing. He had first thought that he would throw the stake into the ray, but he rapidly realised that this wouldn’t work, as the creature would just fly off with the stake inside it. He had to hang on to the stake to keep the ray pinned and allow the archers to fill it with as many arrows as possible. How could he do that though?

The ray flew towards the cavalry and they peeled off, as instructed, scattering away from path of the flight. The archers did not break; they waited. They would only fire when the monster was on the end of the stake.

The grey-blue shape loomed over him; the sound of flapping wings filled his ears. He held the blunt end of the stake firmly against the ground and swung it so that the ray couldn’t avoid it. There was a horrible rending sound, like bones breaking. The ray was travelling very rapidly and the spike went straight in and kept going. There was a smell like rotting apples, followed by a strong smell of vinegar: the air was filled with tiny blue clouds. He hung on to the base of the stake but the speed of the ray took it almost down the length of the shaft. The monster was now on top of him and he was gasping for air.

‘Fire!’ he shouted, ‘fire anyway! Fire at will’

The ray wriggled hideously above him. He had no more than six inches of stake to grasp. All around him he felt the ping of arrows hitting the beast. The only thing that he could possibly do was hold on. Above he heard the sickening sound of the ray’s hug jaws breaking elven bones. There were many screams but the arrows continued to fly. He suddenly realised that he’d been amazingly lucky – he was out of the reach of the thing’s maw. The worst that could happen to him now was suffocation.

The ray’s body was translucent and he could see the arrows slowly accumulating inside its blue body. Every time an arrow penetrated through the grey outer skin its wood began to rot, far more rapidly than it would ever do in nature, and as it did it seemed to clear a space – little blue puffs of mists curled and disappeared. The thing was dissolving from the inside, and right through the middle of it was the decomposing stake, surrounded now only by emptiness.

The ray began to flap very strongly and the he felt himself pulled along. If it got enough speed to take off then he was stuck – it would be fatal to hold on and a defeat to let go. His legs began to drag along the ground as the ray struggled to get airborne. He dipped his feet down into the ground, praying for a hollow or a ditch. Let go or hang on? He had no idea. Then his right foot hit something on the ground, a piece of bent metal which snagged his foot. He heard the sound of crunching bones again and realised with a sickening feeling whose bones they were. His foot was trapped inside the loop of the metal and the stake pivoted in his desperately clutching hands. The ray fell heavily on to the ground. He was just aware of a sea of archers surrounding the failing ray at point blank range and then the pain in his crushed foot plunged him down into blackness. After that there was just silence.

 

Marthian had no idea where Aurelian was. The ray had withered away into the air, but there wasn’t enough time to look for her general. She would have to do this bit without him. She ran down from the battlements and bellowed for the remaining units to go out as quickly as possible. 

One after another they went out and one by one the rays were felled. But the cost was huge – almost none of the stake-carriers returned and none came back a second time. She realised then that there was no real hope for Aurelian but she carried on anyway. The city was fighting back and that had to take precedence over her feelings, it really had to. She kept asking about the wounded in the camp, but things were too chaotic, too far gone to ruin, for anyone to know.

By now the wall was almost completely destroyed and all that was left was the green magical barrier, continuing to pulse but seemingly forever on the verge of failing catastrophically. If that went down any victory over the rays would mean nothing. And they were running out of stake carriers.

Eventually there was only one ray left, battering away at the weakest part of the wall, and Marthian had no more strong elves. She knew that she was too weak to do it herself and the few remaining archers around her were chosen for their lightness and agility. So maybe they would fail at the end after all. She stood in the space in front of the green wall and cried out.

‘I need help! Please, someone. Help me save the city!’

A figure from the shadows behind her stepped out.

‘I cannot refuse the call’ it said.

It was Perclivius.  He looked tired, gaunt and very old. But he did not look defeated.

Marthian looked at him with astonishment.

‘Dictator…’ she began

He interrupted her.

‘Call me Citizen’ he said, ‘and soldier…’

‘But you are far too…’ she began again

He smiled

‘Old? Yes, but still stronger than a slender elf maid’

The archers around them began to chant. They chanted the ancient Battle Song of the Centuries – the song that they sang en masse to the Emperor as he rode out to battle.  Perclivius stood suddenly tall and saluted them.  The singing rose in volume to become overwhelming, despite the paucity of the singers and their intense tiredness.

‘You have your volunteer, Proconsul’ said Perclivius, his voice hoarse above the clamour, ‘and I have my willing troops’

Marthian was too tired to resist. Perclivius handed Marthian his staff.

‘Look after this for me’

He picked up a stake with ease and smiled at her. Then he balanced it on his shoulder and disappeared in the host of archers, who were still chanting. Then they were gone. She knew that she would never see him again. She also knew that there was no way that he would fail.

Marthian waited as the din subsided around her. This seemed to be it. Even if the final ray were defeated she could see no way that the wall would survive. It was already blinking ever more alarmingly; it was only a matter of time before it blinked out forever.

Inside the city everything was very quiet. She forced herself to walk to the stairs up to one of the remaining fragments of battlement. She rested on Perclivius’s staff. Then she climbed slowly to the top. About two-thirds of the way up she heard a giant, but exhausted cheer. The citizen had done his job.

By the time she got to the viewing platform the wall had begun to flicker unevenly, like a torch on the verge of extinguishing. She could see the kinaam waiting for the final splutter. She wondered where she could find a weapon – she’d like to die fighting.

The edge of the city was now deserted and the sound of fire and the rays was now fading. Something else now filled her ears, something that sounded almost like pipes, or horns, playing in the distance. What was that?

The green wall finally died and she looked down: the kinaam were moving, swarming over the land.  Her heart sank completely and briefly she could not bear to look at all. Then she forced herself to watch them come. There was a moment of bewilderment, but then she realised, with a jolt of excitement, that their movement was not towards the city at all. They were all turning and walking away, and many of them were dropping their weapons. She screwed her eyes up to see what was happening, but all she could see were another set of kinaam, this time dressed in dark green robes at the edge of the retreating mob.

She realised with a start that these kinaam were playing the same sorts of southern pipes that Whitecloak’s heralds had played, but this time there issued from them a grave, slow, graceful melody that spoke of the end of pain and the end of fear. It sounded like something she had always known, an ancient stately folk song, but she also knew that she had never heard it before in her life. 

Then Marthian realised – the robes were in Quiena’s colours – and instantly she understood the music.  It was the sound of a brave and noble race finally leading their brethren out of slavery.