Krozair of Kregen

Chapter Fifteen

Everyone who could be spared worked. We had the oar-slaves up out of the swifters and set them to hauling stones. I took pains to make sure houses of architectural merit were not knocked down; but we took ruthlessly all the stone we needed. What I proposed was no new thing; but if the Grodnims persisted in their high-handed arrogant ways it was a winner. Or so I hoped. I will not go into every detail of the Siege of Zandikar. A great song was made, later, and in it, among a wealth of stirring anecdote and much Jikai, the part of Dak is mentioned with some frequency. But, so are the names of all my comrades who labored with me.

If the stunning ease with which we had disposed of King Zenno indicated to me that Zena Iztar had taken a hand, I did not think she gave overt assistance during the stages of the siege itself. Sieges are fascinating. They are also quite horrible. The horror detracts, for my part, from the fascination. On this day, the day before we expected the next grand assault, an event occurred that made me once again revile the ethics of some paktuns, and to realize afresh that other and greater forces invested effort in this siege, despite the aloofness of Zena Iztar.

Some seventy or so paktuns had elected to stay and fight with us, acknowledging the sovereignty of Queen Miam. Her coronation would have to wait, as Queen Thyllis had waited for hers in distant Hamal. I had ridden over to see how the work on the new wall progressed — as I say, the plan was simple -

when a rider flogging his sectrix roared up and screamed of an attack on the western wall. We all turned at once and spurred to the point threatened.

When I say all I mean the officers and staff with me and the escort; not the workers. Also, I bellowed at a likely Jiktar who seemed a smart man, to go personally to the eastern wall and check that the attack on the west was no feint.

We arrived at a scene of dust being kicked up as men battled in the open space between the houses and the walls. The Grodnims had scaled the walls and dropped down, howling in triumph, intending to reach the nearest gate and fling it wide to their waiting cavalry. A Hikdar, one ear missing and his helmet a blaze of blood, husked out that some of the paktuns on duty here on the walls had betrayed their post. It had been concerted. The Grodnims would have dropped down and opened the gate. But, said the Hikdar, a warrior appeared and halted them in time for reinforcements to come up and engage them. I looked at the fight, and my anger against the treacherous paktuns was overlaid by conjectures. Surely, I thought, surely I shall see a man who, although I will not recognize him, I will know?

With wild and savage shouts the men with me drove in on the fight. The dust smoked higher. Men on the walls were shooting outward, and I knew they were keeping back the cavalry out there, which were impatient to spur in through the gate they expected to open at any moment. Shrill shrieks rent the air. Dust and blood cloyed on the tongue. Then I was in among the melee and slicing down with my Ghittawrer brand at a red-faced fellow trying to degut my sectrix. With him disposed of, I was faced with others trying to reach the inner gateway. We smashed and bashed around in the dust for a space, working them in to the wall and finally ringing them and so disposing of them. They were of the Green. When it was all over I mounted to the wall and looked out.

A mass of infantry was drawn up in impeccable formation out of varter shot. Cavalry moved impatiently between, the green pennons flying, the glitter of their war harness brave under the suns. Back and forth they cantered, their swords breaking the light into fragments of radiance, back and forth. But the gate would not open for them this day.

“Bring me the warrior who stemmed the first attack.”

“Quidang!”

He was brought. I stood on the ramparts of the wall and looked at him. Yes, I did not know him; but I knew him.

He wore mail, which altered his appearance; but over that he wore russet hunting leathers, and leather harness, and a short red cape descended from his shoulders — just to be on the safe side, I assumed. He wore a helmet over his coif. His face was hard, dedicated, filled with the knowledge that had been denied me.

I did not say, “Happy Swinging, dom.” I wished to preserve my anonymity here. I said, instead, “You wear a strange sword, dom.” I held out my hand.

He was a proud, fine upstanding young man, as they all are. I heard him say something, half under his breath. He spoke in English. “They warned me,” he said, half complaining, half rueful. “They are barbarians. But this fellow — not even a thank you.”

I held out my hand and I did not move a muscle of my face.

He let me take the sword. Again I held in my grip a real Savanti sword. Oh, well, it is a long time ago, now, and we were in the middle of a siege and I was in dire trouble with just about everyone except the new comrades with me in the siege. I held the sword and felt that marvelous grip and the subtle cunning of the blade, the balance, the sensuous feel of it, and abruptly I thrust it back at the Savapim.

“You have our deepest thanks for your assistance. The gate would have been lost but for you.”

He looked at me oddly.

“You do not ask me where I come from?” He, also, had swallowed one of those magically scientific genetic pills and so could converse in languages. He spoke well and forthrightly.

“No.” I eyed him severely. “Do you intend to stay to fight at our side in this siege?”

“Who are you? You speak as though — but, no. . Who are you?”

“I am Dak.”

“And I am Irwin.”

I wanted him off-balance. “Irwin what?”

“Irwin W. Emerson, Junior.” He shut his mouth, suddenly. Then, slowly, he said, “The name must mean nothing to you, Dak.”

“No,” I said. “I do not know anyone of that name. But it is a fine name. It has a ring to it. You come from a proud line.”

“I like to think so.”

Duhrra loomed up then, still cleaning the blood off his blade, to tell me a Deldar was dying and wanted to talk to me before he went. I nodded to Irwin and clattered down off the wall. Ord-Deldar Nalgre the Twist lay in the dust, his left arm missing, the rags stuffed to his stump stained in a most ugly and dreadful way, his face white and drawn. I knelt at his side.

“Dak — Dak — I’m on the way to the Ice Floes.”

“You are a fine helm-Deldar, Nalgre. I trust you. As an ord-Deldar you have standing; but I would like you to go as a Hikdar. Does that please you?”

His face regarded me gravely, white and suffering, yet understanding I did this thing for myself, not for him.

“Thank you, Dak. In the brotherhood I was known. . I shall go to Sicce as a Hikdar. It may help me there.”

“You will sit on the right hand of Zair in the radiance of Zim. Take the Hikdar and lift up your head.”

“Zair-” he said.

He died then, and I hoped being a Hikdar would aid him as he sought his seat among the millions sitting on the right hand of Zair in the radiance of Zim.

When I looked up to the walls again, Irwin had gone.

After that we split the paktuns up, as I should have done in the first instance, and set them with men we knew to be loyal, so that thereafter we had no further trouble from the mercenaries. The interesting fact was that all the diffs among the paktuns had elected to go with Starkey, the ex-king Zenno. They were as well aware as anyone else of the dislike for diffs of the apims of Zairia. Among the Grodnims who had scaled the wall in treachery there had been a goodly number of diffs. It had been a Chulik who had taken Deldar Nalgre’s arm off and broken up his insides as he fell. I saw an omen in this, something very obvious, really. The Savanti, those awesomely mysterious supermen of Aphrasoe, the Swinging City, had sent one of their agents, a Savapim, to assist in the vital moment when the city might have fallen. I knew this Irwin would moments before he landed here in Zandikar have been in Aphrasoe, being briefed for his mission. The Savanti had sent a Savapim to protect apims from diffs in a tavern brawl in Ruathytu. They must be taking like hands in many places of Kregen. I decided then that the Savanti were definitely fighting on the side of Zairia against Grodnim. This cheered me. Our preparations continued. As I worked and checked and issued orders so I kept a lookout for Irwin, and sent messengers to find him. They returned empty-handed. I fancied he’d been whisked back to Aphrasoe — wherever the Swinging City was — his mission accomplished. I could have used a regiment of Savapims just then.

Any fighting lord could use Savapims at any time.

That night we had the inner wall, built in a square against the weakened outer main wall, up to head height.

“We must build high enough so the cramphs of sectrixmen cannot jump the wall,” I said. “All night we go on. Use wood for the walkways. Tell the archers to get some rest. They will be vital on the morrow.” My orders were obeyed.

I made a point of asking Miam, who was now Queen Miam and a trifle dazed by events, to dress in her finest and to ride a milk-white sectrix — an unusual beast, an albino and somewhat weak — around the fortifications with me. She made a superb impression on the minds of all who saw her and the rolling thunders of the acclamations followed wherever she rode.

I told my son Vax to go always with her, as her protector and my liaison with her. He was not loath. I liked, more than I had expected I would, his devotion to his brother Zeg. Most young men in a like situation would have tried a little pelft on their own behalf — or almost most. But Vax, I saw with pleasure, had imbibed notions of honor from somewhere, as well as from his mother Delia. They had not come from me. The Krzy had most probably done a thorough job on him before my Apushniad had driven him away in shame from their august ranks.

When the lambent blue spark of Soothe appeared in the sky and the stars twinkled out to follow, we began to take down the outer wall. The job had to be done with exquisite care, so that nothing showed from the outside. We carried the blocks of stone and raised our new inner wall with them. The inside of the main wall was eaten away, leaving a mere shell. Zandikar, as I have indicated, was just the same luxury-loving, indolent, careless city as most any other of Zairia. Her people had built a good strong wall around the city and then had knocked off to sing and dance and quaff wine. Well, if Zandikar had been my city I’d have had three walls, at the least, knowing the damned Grodnims as I did. Sanurkazz boasts seven walls in places.

The Twins rose and by their light we labored on.

Vax, rubbing his eyes, found me bellowing in a whisper, a most fearsome way of putting hell into a workman, on the inner wall. “Dak,” he said. “The queen would like to talk to you.”

“That’s the style, Naghan,” I said to the naked workman who was guiding a new block into place, whip in hand, directing the line of sweating naked slaves. “You’re building well.”

Then I went with Vax to the Palace of Fragrant Incense to crave an audience with the new queen. I put it like that, for the whole affair smacked of the grotesque to me, so conscious of the ravening leems of Grodnims beyond the walls. She received me in all dignity, superbly clad, wearing a crown, the torches smoking down, lighting in flickers of orange fire the gems and the gold and silver, the feathers and silks. Yet she looked imposing and grand in an altogether human way. I could not smile at her; but I did not, at the least, frown overmuch.

She did not waste time on preamble.

“On the morrow we beat the accursed Grodnims. I am the queen of Zandikar. I shall stand on the wall so that all my people may see me.”

“And get a quarrel through your pretty head.”

She flushed. “If Zair so ordains-”

“Zair would ordain nothing so foolish. Anyway, I forbid it.”

“You! I am the queen!”

“You are the queen. You have responsibilities. If you are slain, and slain so stupidly, what will happen to the loyalties of your people? Could you care for them then? And what of my — what of this man Zeg you prate of? Is he Vax’s brother or not? Would you spite him?”

Her face blazed scarlet in the torchlight. She fumbled with the golden mortil-crowned staff, the emblem of Zandikar.

“You speak boldly, my lord.”

“You call me jernu. I am Dak.”

Nath Zavarin, sweating and panting as usual, coughed and said, “It would be meet for the queen, whose name be revered, to witness the fight from afar. But in a place where her loyal warriors may easily see her and be heartened thereby.”

“Find such a place out of arrow range,” I said. “And I agree. But not otherwise.”

Vax scowled at me.

I said to him, straight, “If the queen is slain, what do you say to Zeg?”

He did not answer, but the hilt of the Krozair longsword went down under his fist and the scabbarded blade licked up, most evilly.

Then it was the turn of Roz Janri to be dissuaded from putting himself in the forefront of the fight. I had to be brisk; but I think he understood. I gave him the task, which he accepted, of bringing up our cavalry at the decisive moment. I did not tell him I devoutly wanted the thing done before our sectrixmen became involved. The poor beasts were very tottery on their legs, and a lot had been eaten so that our chivalry was weak.

In the crowd waiting in the High Hall it was easy enough to pick out Dolan. I said to him, “Dolan the Bow. Will you pick me out a bow — a good one — and a couple of quivers? I think I will join you at the breastworks tomorrow. I have not shot of late. I need practice.”

“Right gladly, Dak.”

He was as good as his word and produced a good specimen of a Zandikarese bow. I know Seg Segutorio would have smiled quietly had he seen it, for it was a puny thing compared to the great Lohvian longbow. But to my misfortune we had not a single one of the Kregen-famous Bowmen of Loh in our ranks. There was a small corps of the redheaded archers from Loh with Glycas. I gave orders about them, not caring overmuch for what we would have to do to them. The main missile strength of the Grodnims lay in their sextets of crossbowmen, working to the system I had devised so long ago in the warrens of Magdag for my old vosk-skulls.

Many imponderables must weigh down one side or the other of the balances; success or failure would be a composite of many disparate events. We did all we could to weigh down our balance pan to success and then, after that, it would be up to Oxkalin the Blind Spirit. The vacuum in the higher commands left by the evanishment of the paktuns meant that my own men could be employed, and there were many good men of Zandikar. Zena Iztar had aided us then; in the siege and more particularly in this coming fight we were on our own. Unless the Savanti decided to send more Savapims, of course.

It seems scarcely necessary to mention that all day the incoming hails of warning went up. The boys on the ramparts would beat their gongs and the yells of “Incoming” would shriek out and we’d all either duck or stand stoically until the spinning chunk of rock had found a billet inside the walls. The Grodnims used catapults for this general mayhem; they had gigantic varters designed as wall-smashers lined up against the point of the breach. The catapult throws with a high trajectory; the varter with its ballista-like action hurls with a low trajectory. Glycas had at least six fine engines, not as sophisticated as the gros-varters of Vallia; but big. They played on the point that both Glycas and I had selected as the point d’appui, and very early in the morning the first stones tumbled free and the evident cracks, visible from outside, widened to let daylight through.

A great cry went up from the assembled Greens.

We let them have an answering cheer.

To an impartial observer the decisive moment would clearly be seen to be at hand. As the suns shone down and the varters clanged, huge chunks of rock smote into the wall. Stones chipped into dust and fractured and fell. The parapet vanished. The wall slumped as rock after rock smashed in. Fountains of rock chips burst upward, the dust made men cough, the noise clanged on and on. During the morning two feint attacks were made and disposed of. By midday Glycas had moved all his wall-smashing artillery to this decisive point. From the vantage point of a tower I could see the solid square of his infantry paraded, ready to deal with any sortie we might make. His cavalry waited in long glittering lines. The mercenaries seethed in clumps of never-ending movement. And still the wall was bitten away. Our work from the inside brought all down with a run as the suns began their decline. We would have a long afternoon.

So thorough was the work and so sudden the final collapse that the way was just practicable for sectrixes. But, like a sensible commander, Glycas sent in his mercenaries first. Howling and shrieking, waving their weapons, they poured forward in a living tide of destruction. At least, they no doubt assumed themselves to be a living tide of destruction. We Zandikarese archers looked forward with calm confidence to the ebbing of the tide.

Breaking down the walls of fortresses usually takes time and patience with the battering engines. Glycas had picked this weak spot and now he saw victory opening before his eyes, all in a day. The trumpets of Grodno pealed triumphantly above the charging masses as they clambered the low breach and flung themselves forward into Zandikar.

The lethal horizontal sleeting death awaited them.

They pitched to the dust in droves. The high triumphant yells turned in an instant to shrieks of agony. Remorselessly the shafts drove in. More and more men clambered up only to jump down to death. When they stopped coming we clambered up in our turn, and jeered and taunted the massive ranks of the Magdaggian army poised beyond artillery range, and yet still and not moving. The cavalry made one or two feint advances, and then retired. The varters took up their bashing work and the catapults began to sing.

Within that square of stone the ground ran red. A shambles in very truth we had created. Now was a time for clearing up and rebuilding the wall more strongly. The resistance to the Green attack had been decisive, without the desperate touch-and-go incoherence of the previous assaults, and it marked a new stage in the siege operations.

That was the end of the beginning of the Siege of Zandikar.