Honor among thieves

Chapter One Hundred Seventeen

Slag crowed and danced and shouted up to Malden where he stood on the wall, “Lad! Lad! Did you fucking see that?”

“I did,” Malden called back. He turned to the far side of the wall and peered down. The barbarians had surged away from the gap in the wall. Terror gripped them-many had even dropped their weapons. Yet behind them were thousands more, confused, perhaps even frightened by all the noise and smoke, but who had seen nothing of what Slag’s weapon could do. Still they pressed on toward Ness. Still they continued the attack.

He looked all around for Morget, because he knew that once the huge barbarian had time to realize what had happened, he would instantly begin rallying his troops for another attack. Even fire and destruction would not stop that man.

This wasn’t over. This was just beginning.

Cold fright gripped Malden’s bowels and he worried he might soil himself. They’d driven back the first wave, that was true. Slag had made that happen. Yet now there was an enormous gaping hole in the wall. Malden had no way to fight an effective battle without the wall to protect them.

Ness had a hope in the opposing army-though not much of one. Who was it out there, fighting the barbarians from the rear? Was it the Burgrave and his Army of Free Men? There was no way that rabble could defeat Morget once he regrouped. They might be making some small dent in the rearguard but could never hope to overcome the main force of easterners.

Malden rubbed at his face. It was bitterly cold up on the wall, where the wind stung every bit of exposed flesh, but still his face was wet. Greasy, sick-smelling sweat rolled down inside the collar of his tunic and pooled in the small of his back. He had to do something. Something!

He hurried down the wall and ran over to where Slag stood, still holding his snake-headed staff.

“Come to congratulate me?” the dwarf asked.

Balint was inspecting the broken wall, picking up chunks of masonry and debris and then casting them away again. Malden grabbed her arm and pulled her over to where Slag stood. “You two are the finest engineers this world has ever known, surely. And you deserve a grand reward already. But I must ask you to continue your labors. Get your weapon ready to be used once more. Once the barbarians have a chance to find their scattered wits, we’ll need to strike them again. And again.”

The two dwarves looked up at him with open mouths and wide eyes.

“I know I ask much of you, but-”

Malden stopped. He knew what they were going to say. So badly did he not want to hear it that he held up a hand to keep them from speaking.

He looked up at the weapon, the giant brass tube that Slag had made. It had rolled back into a house across the street, shattering the facade and half burying itself in fallen timbers and bricks.

It had also shattered itself. Long cracks ran up and down its length, and its mouth was splayed wide, the bright metal curled backward on itself like a flower of brass. Smoke dribbled from that opening still.

It was clear to anyone, even one of so little learning as Malden, that it would never work again. It had done what it could, but in the process it had destroyed itself.

“That… was it,” Malden said. “Wasn’t it? There was only one volley in it.”

“I did warn you, lad,” Slag said in a very small voice.

Malden closed his eyes. Was this the end? “Then we must all hope,” he said, “that Tarness is as great a general as he thinks he is.”