Cold From The North, page 32
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
Ogulf didn’t want any innocent people being slaughtered when Eryc’s forces eventually made it into the citadel and Princess Feda had agreed; she turned the request into a decree to make it enforceable.
Even though this chaos was intentional, it slowed Melcun down. He cursed Ogulf for having such a complex plan, then remembered what Wildar used to say, battles and wars couldn’t be won by men and women with simple minds.
Eventually, he reached Hayter’s Gate and scaled the ladder that was waiting for him. There were no stairs up to the battlements at the gate for safety reasons, a feature Melcun was sure had its benefits, but right now, as his arms and legs ached with every rung he gained, he found himself wishing desperately for stairs. The only way up was either the stairway on the opposite side of the citadel or by ladder. As he hoisted himself over the edge of the battlement, Vellan stretched out a hand to help him.
‘I thought you had changed your mind, sorcerer,’ Vellan said, smiling at him.
‘I couldn’t trust you with a task like this, now, could I, paladin?’ Melcun said. Vellan wasn’t like the other men in Feda’s council, speaking with him made Melcun feel like he was at home.
The pair pulled the ladder up. It was much heavier than it looked. They might need it if they had to get down quickly and didn’t have time to get around to the other side along the battlements.
Above the portcullis at Hayter’s Gate was a stone gate tower where the lifting mechanism for the entrance was housed. It was dark, and other than the lever for the gate and three thick iron bars, there wasn’t much else in the room. The only lighting was the sunshine which streamed in through the three turret windows, each a foot tall and a few inches across.
‘They’re here?’ Melcun said, looking through one turret while Vellan watched through another.
‘Oh, by the gods they are. Seven thousand of them at least. Mostly foot soldiers, some heavy horse,’ Vellan said. Melcun could see some of them through the rectangular gap in the bricks. ‘They’re forming up. And as expected, the bastard himself has made the trip. Those knights all in black, then the one in silver near the back, that’s Eryc and his guards.’
Melcun couldn’t see everything through the opening, but what he could see made his skin prickle and his stomach churn. On the open field in front of Delfmarc, only two hundred or so yards away, were droves of fighting men. Behind the rows of infantry were four smaller columns of what looked like cavalry and then the king’s guard. The men at the front formed a huge line that looked at least fifty bodies deep and well over two hundred wide. They stood perfectly still, sunlight glinting off their armour.
‘They wait to see if we surrender,’ Vellan said. ‘Soon, if Eryc is still the overconfident weasel I remember, he will realise the gate has been open for too long.’
Melcun glanced down, seeing the last few citizens scrambling into the citadel, their screams audible as they passed underneath the gate tower. Ogulf had told Melcun and Vellan that this point was crucial. Eventually, the enemy would make a move, but it would take a showing from Melcun and Ogulf to draw them in.
‘How long should we wait? We need to give them a chance to get inside the Inner Circle,’ Melcun said as the slapping of footsteps passed underneath them in an anxious patter that was directed towards the citadel.
‘They will finish forming up shortly, that should give enough time. Eryc will want to make a show of his numbers, he knows Feda is watching from somewhere,’ Vellan said.
A tense minute passed. Despite remaining completely still, Melcun felt sweat drip down his face as he waited. The citizens should be through the Inner Gate and safe now. It was time. He took one last glance at the armies in the field beyond the walls before sighing and looking to Vellan.
‘Let’s see if this plan works, then, shall we?’
Both men stood near the wheel that held the gate. Vellan was staring at it, clearly unsure of how the next part would play out. Melcun gave him a nod and he unleashed the latch, causing the holding wheel for the gate to spin to life quickly, lowering the huge door of Hayter’s Gate.
Pulling with everything he had, Melcun stopped the wheel with his power. It was unbelievably heavy. He clenched his jaw and tightened his core as he strained to hold it in place. While he was doing this, Vellan was in the process of slotting the huge iron bar in the rungs of the wheel to jam it. Once Melcun felt the bar taking some of the weight off of him, he gently eased it down to rest on the bar completely. It shifted slightly as it fitted into its resting place and then the wheel stayed steady.
‘By the gods, please let that hold,’ Melcun said.
‘The gods can’t help us now, Melcun; this is up to us.’
If they had done this properly, it would have meant that the gate stopped around halfway from the ground, leaving plenty of space for people to get under it. Both men glanced out of the turrets. The enemy had noticed what had happened and were looking at the gatehouse, glancing side to side as the opportunity became visible.
The next part seemed comical. Vellan and Melcun were to rattle the iron bars together. The loud noise would make it seem like they were trying to free the wheel and lower the gate. This would create a sense of urgency and make it look like a mistake. They got to work swinging the thick bars into one another, creating a clang that was deafening within the small walls of the gatehouse. To add to the effect, Vellan even shouted out, ‘It’s stuck, it’s stuck!’ followed by, ‘Run!’, before dropping the iron poles to create another metallic ringing. Such a parody didn’t feel right in the tenseness of the moment, but it was necessary.
They couldn’t show their faces at the turrets after that – it was an unnecessary risk to break their façade, which so far seemed to be working. All they had to do now was wait to see if Eryc’s force took the bait.
There was a silence that felt like it lasted an age. The only sound was the chirping of birds nearby. It felt like all of Esselonia accompanied Melcun in holding its breath, waiting for someone to make the next move. At first there was a distant rumble, then it grew louder, and closer. Eventually, it was just over the stone bridge of Hayter’s Gate. The sound then travelled underneath them, in and away from them as Eryc’s forces stormed the castle. They’d taken the bait – Ogulf’s plan was working.
Melcun watched as Vellan scurried up and looked out of the window, keeping as much of himself hidden as possible.
‘Eryc is too bold for his own good, that brazen nature will be the death of him, in this war or the next. Droves are coming through – not all of them, but a good amount. Let’s just hope Ogulf is ready over there.’
Melcun went to the other side of the gatehouse. There was one turret there which faced into the city. He could see the mass of men running up the causeway towards the gate to the Inner Circle. They must have thought this was a route. More and more bodies were passing through Hayter’s Gate, and eventually, the whole causeway all but disappeared with the sheer volume of the enemy coming through.
They were almost at the Inner Circle gate now. Melcun squinted as the sun’s reflection bounced off something and distracted him. The group nearest the gate were holding metal coverings over their heads. They must have known they would meet some resistance. Melcun looked up, noticing that just as Eryc’s forces reached the gate to the Inner Circle, Ogulf was signalling for the archers on the battlements above the causeway to fire their arrows.
Melcun tried to calm himself. This was only the beginning of what would undoubtedly be a battle to remember.
Chapter 36
Though it wasn’t close to being breached, the fortifications around the main entrance to the Inner Circle of Delfmarc were being ferociously attacked by South Esselonian forces.
From the battlements, those loyal to Feda’s cause rained arrows down on their attackers as they tried to break through the door. The arrows were rendered useless for the most part; the long sheets of thick metal Eryc’s forces held over their heads deflected all but a few of the bolts and now the metal shields were littered with a layer of spent missiles.
Ogulf looked down from the battlements. His eyes crept towards the far reaches of the Outer Circle. Southern forces were still making their way onto the main causeway. In some ways, this was going to plan. In others, it wasn’t. Fires were popping up all around the perimeter, but the huge door below him was staying true, even as the Southern forces battered it with whatever they had in their hands. From the dull thuds, Ogulf assumed they had some kind of battering ram.
Ogulf hadn’t expected the coverings they used to protect themselves. He instructed the archers to keep firing, to find the gaps in the covering or focus their arrows on those still coming up the causeway.
He looked at the attackers. They all had uniform armour consisting of identical bracers, dark grey helmets that left only their eyes showing, leather gambesons and trousers, and grey plated boots. Each seemed to carry a different weapon – he saw maces, morning stars, swords, spears, and axes all made in the same dark grey hue of their armour.
He still had time to turn the tide of the battle back in the favour of Feda’s forces, even as the ram thundered against the door below him. Ogulf turned to the other side of the battlement and glanced down at the calculated brutality lying in wait for whatever came through that huge door when it eventually gave way. Positioned in front of and to either flank of the huge door was a battalion of North Esselonian men.
Ogulf had seen his father use the same tactic during the Summer of Rebellion. It had not been on a scale like this, but its effectiveness made all the difference in the battle at the time. If it worked here, they could deal a significant blow to the power and numbers of Eryc’s forces. More importantly, the sheer ferocity of it would hopefully rattle the resolve of the sieging forces.
After a few more thunderous cracks of the battering ram against the Inner Circle door, something finally gave way and there was a sudden surge from the South Esselonian warriors below as they managed to push through. Ogulf ran to the battlement with his hand raised, ready to give the signal. He was running from side to side on the battlement to glance at what was happening on either side, waiting for the perfect moment. His right hand staying high the whole time, willing his allies waiting in the square to hold.
The battalion of Feda’s forces had the Inner Circle’s entrance gate surrounded – now they would see if Ogulf’s plan could work.
The first row of the battalion were manning siege weapons all diagonally pointed at the entrance gate. Each side was lined with three ballistas and two scorpions. The weapons had been crudely reworked to fire malicious projectiles over a short distance. Some were loaded with buckets full of metal shards, all twisted and sharp, while others were packed with stone or steel balls. Perhaps the most dangerous of all were the two scorpions closest to the gateway; they were going to fire pieces of discarded sword blades at the oncoming South Esselonians. All of the weapons were ready to fire as soon as Ogulf gave the signal.
Ogulf glanced around, looking for General Cedryk. His hand was high and his palm was open as he waited and waited. Cries came from below as some of the shots from the battlements struck true on those attacking the city. The metal coverings the attacking forces were utilising had become less of a priority as the Southern forces noticed how close they were to breaking through the huge door. The ram they concealed under the metal sheets was still pounding at the door, turning the splinters into a proper opening with their next few thrusts.
Down in the square, the first few warriors began to push into the opening. As they forced their way through, Ogulf watched their steps slow and postures change, their adrenaline seeming to turn to dread as they saw what awaited them. Some fanned out to the sides in defensive stances, glancing back eagerly over their shoulders, waiting for their comrades to join them. Some seemed to halt entirely, looking for a second like they might turn back.
Wanting to cause a choke and a panic, Ogulf and General Cedryk had made sure there was nowhere for them to turn but back the way they had come. To the immediate left and right of the door were sharpened wooden structures. Although they were not sharp enough to slice through skin on their own, they certainly looked menacing enough, and their jagged ends would cause wounding if someone were to be forced against them. They acted as a deterrent – and a good one at that. As the cautious attackers skirted around them, more bodies spilled through the gateway and into the square as the shattered holes in the door got larger.
The reluctance of those at the front of the gate had meant that only a trickle of South Esselonian warriors made it through at a time. They pushed past those in front before succumbing to the same realisation as the ones who already made it through. They were stared down by the loaded weapons and none seemed willing to charge forward. Some tried to call out to those behind to hold them, but the ruckus was too loud for the sound to travel.
Ogulf gave one more look to the outside of the gate. The metal shields were all but ineffective now as the South Esselonian forces surged towards the door all the way from the main entrance at Hayter’s Gate. Ogulf could see a crush starting and he heard one of Feda’s captains on the wall telling his archers to fire at will.
He darted back to the other side and made eye contact with General Cedryk down on the other side. He threw his hand down.
‘Now!’ he cried. He didn’t think Cedryk would hear him, but he felt he had to cry out anyway. At the same time, he reached for a lit torch and began waving it to signal to Melcun. With an audible clang, Hayter’s Gate slammed shut; Ogulf needed to have the attackers trapped if he wanted the next phase to work. He saw the huge entrance to the citadel crash from the position it was stuck in. Some of the attacking men trying to get in were turned to piles of gore after being caught under it as it fell.
The huge wooden door of the inner circle had intentionally been pulled inwards to allow for the opposing forces to get through. Ogulf had waited to give the signal until he was sure those trying to break through were on the verge of a crush, the attackers pushing through running into the backs of those struck with the projectiles. When the doors swung open, there was a chorus of metal crashing into metal as the surge pressure eased and the South Esselonians crashed into one another again.
Ogulf turned to see Cedryk call out to his men. The sound of his shout did not reach Ogulf, but the ferocity in Cedryk’s eyes was clear to see. The clinking and mechanisms underneath Ogulf cut through the flurry of noise from the rest of the scene. He heard a bolt ricochet off of something, a chorus of gurgling screams, and cheers from the defending forces in the square.
Though he couldn’t see it, Ogulf could hear the gasping cries of men underneath the battlement as they were crushed by their compatriots forcing their way through the gateway. The arrows from the battlements continued to rain down on the confused attackers as the bodies began to pile up – the crushed eventually being covered by the punctured. Ogulf gave orders for the men on the battlements to focus on the forces coming up the causeway now, hoping the arrows would slow them down enough for Cedryk’s forces to deal with the ones close by and storming the now gaping entranceway.
On the other side of the battlements, in the square, General Cedryk’s second group were waiting to fire their wave of missiles at the oncoming enemies. Ogulf looked down just in time to see the crude shards of death cutting the attacking men at the front of the warband to pieces. Some of the projectiles went through two or even three targets before coming to rest in the torn flesh of another.
The next row of the battalion now stepped forward – at least one hundred of them from the count of Ogulf’s eye. They all had their bows drawn and trained sure-handedly on the entranceway, while some of the larger men had their spears shouldered and ready. The only sound that filled the air was the hiss of the arrows from the battlements. Ogulf made sure to tell them not to let up; they had to slow those coming up the causeway. He had two teams delivering staggered volleys of arrows to keep the constant stream of arrows raining down on the attackers.
General Cedryk gave another shout and the arrows and spears from his men were released with a high-pitched whistle at their targets in the entrance square with menacing precision. A group of simultaneous thuds followed as the weapons hit their marks. Ogulf glanced from one side to the other to make sure that the plan was still going as it should.
The initial wave force of the attackers had been all but decimated. They were now blocked into the citadel without a way of getting out. Phase three of Ogulf’s plan was about to be tested as more Southern fighting men made their charge up the main causeway, bearing down on the gate to the Inner Circle. Their numbers meant that the constant peppering of arrows from the battlements didn’t hinder all of the attacking forces bounding up the road. This was where the gamble had the worst odds.
A new shout came from behind Ogulf down in the Inner Circle. The last row of General Cedryk’s battalion were charging at the rest of the attackers, bows no longer their weapons of choice. Now, each was armed with their blades and ready to fight to the death for Feda. Those attackers who were lucky enough to be missed by the arrows would be hacked down fiercely with axe and sword.
By now, some of the South Esselonian forces were moving back from the gate. Seeing no way to pass the mountain of bodies in their path, they looked to be regrouping, and some took hold of discarded metal coverings to use as protection from the onslaught of arrows still coming down from the battlements. Ogulf looked as a band of men, including General Cedryk, cut their way through the remaining attackers, climbing over battered, fractured, and carved up bodies as they did.
Despite some of the Southern forces turning back, there was still a large group pushing forward undeterred. The armour they wore was thicker than that of their compatriots. It was a gleaming black and looked like it swirled as the sunlight caught its edges. The man leading the group was filled with rage as he waded through those who fled.
