David Gemmell - Dark Moon

'What's wrong?' asked Vint.

'Stinking headache,' said the man. 'It's this wind.'

Sudden pain struck Vint. Grabbing the man, he hauled him below the ramparts.

'What are you doing?' shouted the soldier, angrily.

'Where is your head pain now?' snapped Vint.

The man blinked. 'Well, it's gone,' he said.

Vint swore and then, keeping low, he moved to the steps and ran down to where Karis and Ozhobar were standing. 'Can we talk?' he asked her. Together they moved away from the group and Vint told her about the exchange with the soldier.

'I'm surprised it held them this long,' she said, turning away.

'You sent out a man knowing he would be taken by the Daroth? I hope you had the decency to bed him first.'

Her eyes were cold as she stepped closer to him. 'No, Vint, I liked him. It is a rule of mine never to bed a man I like.' Swinging away from him, she called out to Necklen. 'Find your crew, old man. The Daroth are coming!'

Twenty minutes later Necklen was climbing the rickety ladders to the roof of the old barracks building. Climbing with only one hand was difficult, and he was breathing heavily when he stepped out onto the roof. The four boys of his team were waiting for him. They were all young and beardless - just children, he thought. But they were nimble and quick, and they took his orders well.

'Are the wheels greased?' he asked.

'Yes, sir. And we brought the oil up last night,' answered Beris, a small lad with a shock of ginger hair and a freckled face.

'Good. Take to the handles!' Two boys on each side grabbed the iron handles and began to turn them.

Slowly the great arm was winched down into place, then Necklen pushed the iron locking bolt through the metal hoops. Two boys ran back to where the pottery balls were covered by tarpaulin. Pulling back the sheet they rolled one of the balls to the catapult, then carefully lifted it to the bronze cup. 'Oil!' ordered Necklen. Then he swung around.

'Where is the brazier?'

'Sorry, sir, I forgot,' said Gelan, a thin, pockmarked boy.

'Fetch it. And do it now!' The boy ran to the ladders and swung down out of sight as Necklen strolled to the edge of the roof, staring out over the hills. Soon they would come. Walking back to the catapult, he checked the sighting wheel. The weapon was aimed at the first of the two probable sites for the Daroth catapults. So far Necklen and his team had loosed more than thirty practice missiles, and the accuracy rate was high, eight out of ten landing on the target.

Gelan came scrambling back into view with a small brazier strapped to his back, a lantern held in his right hand. Necklen set the brazier alongside the catapult, filled the lower half with oil-soaked rags, then kindling, and lastly added several handfuls of coal. Taking the lantern from Gelan, he lifted the lid and held the naked flame under the soaked rags. Flames seared up. Ginger-haired Beris brought five torches made from dried reeds and laid them alongside the brazier.

Satisfied the fire was going well, Necklen called again for the oil and watched as Beris poured it through one of six round holes in the pottery ball. Three more jugs of lantern-oil followed; the holes were then plugged with rags.

The sound of shouting came from the walls below, and Necklen saw the first line of Daroth horsemen breast the northern hills. Ahead of them rode ten warriors, each carrying a long spear.

Impaled upon the spears were the bodies of the ten Corduin scouts sent out the night before.

Necklen glanced at the boys, seeing the fear on their faces. 'You be steady now, my lads,' he said softly.

'Why did they do that to those men?' Beris asked.

'To frighten us, lad.'

'Are you frightened, Necklen?' asked Gelan.

'There's no shame in fear,' said the old man. 'But understand this - the coward is ruled by fear, while the hero rides it like a wild stallion. You boys are born to be heroes. Trust me. I am a fine judge of men. That's why I chose you.'

'I don't feel like a hero,' admitted Beris.

'You don't have to feel like one, boy. You live like one!'

As the full Daroth army crested the skyline and spread out along the slopes, Vint stood on the walls and tried to estimate their numbers. They were moving in columns of fours towards designated positions. They pitched no tents, but waited in 5 huge groups, each around 1,500 strong. Three of the groups were foot-soldiers, in black armour; they carried long spears with serrated heads. The other two groups were horse-soldiers.

The sound of running men could be heard behind the walls and some soldiers turned to look. 'Stare straight ahead!' bellowed Vint. The men swung back. Forty Daroth warriors put aside their spears and removed the packs from their backs, taking short-handled shovels and moving to two areas on the hillside, some 200 paces from the walls.

'What are they doing?' someone asked Vint. The swordsman shrugged. Swiftly the Daroth began to dig away at the hillside. They moved with great energy that did not slacken. Other Daroth moved in, removing their cloaks and filling them with earth, before carrying it away. The digging went on for almost an hour before Vint understood their plan: the Daroth were levelling two sections of ground.

Up on the barracks roof, Necklen realized what was happening. 'They are not going to use the ground we picked out, lads,' he said. 'They are building new bases for their catapults.'

Moving to the iron rails, Necklen pulled clear the retaining rods. 'Let's move her round,' he called. 'Beris, line her up with the first new site. Gelan, you and the others lift clear the ball. We'll need to loose her; the range is wrong now.'

The boys struggled to roll the ball clear. It was big and unwieldy, and oil was seeping from the rags.

Necklen moved to help them. Once the ball was clear, he hammered the trigger bolt. The catapult snapped forward, the great arm thudding home against the sand-sacks roped to the frame. 'How far would you say to the site?' Necklen asked Beris.

'Around two hundred and ... forty paces?'

'My eyes are not that good any more. I'll take your word for it. Heave her back into position.' The boys set to at the handles and, slowly, the arm was winched into place.

'We are in line,' said Beris. Necklen slid the retaining rods home behind the wheels and climbed onto the platform alongside Beris.

'Looks good,' said the older man. 'Replace the ball.' Gelan and the other two boys heaved the ball into the bronze cup.

Two Daroth catapults were pulled into view: huge machines, painted black. Necklen's throat was dry. He had seen these before, at the fall of Prentuis, the boulders of lead smashing the walls to fragments. Slowly the Daroth

pulled the first of the catapults into position. 'Get back, lads, and we'll let her go!'

'Shall I light it, sir?' asked Gelan.

'Not this one, boy. This is a scout. We'll see where she lands.'

Taking up the small hammer, Necklen rapped it against the trigger bolt. The red pottery ball sailed high into the air, the wind whipping through the holes and creating an eerie scream. For a moment Necklen thought they were right on target, but then the ball dropped some twenty feet to the right and twelve paces short, smashing into hundreds of pieces. 'Haul her back, and bring the setting down one notch,' he ordered.

'Left one mark,' shouted Beris.

Necklen and the boys drew out the retaining rods, swinging the huge machine on its wheels. In their excitement they pushed it too far. 'Steady, lads!' he called. 'Take it slow!'

'They are arming their catapults!' shouted another boy.

Necklen did not pause. Applying the last rod he called for a second ball. It was rolled to the catapult, then lifted into place. Beris filled it with oil.

'It's coming!' yelled Gelan, and this time Necklen did look up. A huge ball of lead was sailing through the air. It passed over the wall, and only at the last second did the old soldier realize the Daroth were aiming at the catapult. The ball slammed into the edge of the roof, dislodging masonry and sending chips of stone screaming over their heads.