The sky had just turned from indigo to deep purple when the sentries atop Red Rose Gate heard a commotion in the southern forest beyond the wall. The previous fire and subsequent battle had done great damage to the ornamental gardens located by the edge of the forest. More than enough trees remained, however, to screen Dargonesti movements from the sharp-eyed sentries.
A herald was dispatched to Marshal Samcadaris, who was standing at the head of a thousand warriors in a street next to the Quinari Palace. Word of the enemy activity filtered through the ranks. The Silvanesti stirred nervously.
Speaker Elendar, Vixa, and Gundabyr were with Samcadaris. The Speaker said, “What do you think, Marshal?”
“A few soldiers can make a lot of noise,” the young warrior replied. “I counsel that we wait.”
A few minutes later, a second courier came running from Red Rose Gate. “Sir! Enemy in sight!” he cried. The warriors in the neat ranks began to murmur softly.
“Wait. We must wait,” Samcadaris repeated, shaking his head slowly.
Back at the southern gate, the nervous Silvanesti defenders watched as a double line of Dargonesti elves, fresh from the river, marched forward in closed ranks. On their shoulders, they bore long poles, which the archers took to be scaling ladders. The cry of “Escalade!” went up among the Silvanesti. The archers lofted a few arrows at them, but the Dargonesti halted just out of range.
The air was alive with the sound of snapping wood. The Silvanesti looked on in confusion as a giant ball of tree limbs and brush appeared out of the trees. The ball was fully twenty feet across and was being pushed forward-straight to the gate-by gangs of captured Silvanesti.
At the palace, Vixa heard the report of this and said immediately, “Coryphene means to burn down the gate.” She explained that the long poles the archers had taken for ladders were probably firelances.
“You say water won’t put out this gnomefire?” Samcadaris said. Gundabyr nodded regretfully. “Well, what will extinguish it?”
“Only smothering will douse a gnomefire. Dirt, sand, that sort of thing,” said the dwarf.
Samcadaris gave orders that certain items be collected and taken to the gate. A few hundred warriors scattered to obey.
The archers atop the wall held their fire as the brush ball rolled slowly toward them. The Dargonesti were careful to keep behind it, beating their captives with sticks to ensure that the ball continued its forward momentum. Pairs of firelancers left the line and followed in the wake of the brush ball. Careless Quoowahb paid with their lives as the archers picked off any who strayed too far from the rolling shield.
Samcadaris’s troops, a hundred fifty strong, arrived at the threatened gate. The special items they’d brought were passed up to the defenders on the wall. Tense, the Silvanesti waited.
The ground sloped upward to the gate, so the last few yards were slow going for the captives pushing the brush ball. When the ball drew near enough that the Silvanesti archers at last had a shot at those behind it, they realized the only targets available were their own countrymen. The Dargonesti slashing at the captives with seaweed whips were protected by a wooden mantelet. This shield had been fashioned from house timbers, doors, and any other bits of wood scavenged from Brackenost and the surrounding forests.
The Silvanesti archers ground their teeth in anger at this sight. Samcadaris had sent word they were to hold their fire. The marshal had a plan, and killing the unfortunate captives was not part of it.
Amid much cursing and shouting from the Dargonesti, the huge mass of tinder was shoved up next to the oaken gate. Then the mantelet retreated, but only to provide cover to the advancing firelancers, who readied, then cast their heavy projectiles into the brush.
For land fighting, Coryphene’s armorers had modified Gundabyr’s original design. The pot containing the paste was divided in half, one side containing gnomefire paste, the other filled with water. When the pot shattered, the two mixed, the paste exploding into flame.
Smoke boiled out of the brush pile. Two, three, four firelances were hurled against it. Liquid flames ran down the green saplings in the ball and pooled on the ground.
From the gate roof, many Silvanesti voices shouted, “Now!”
Down came grappling hooks on ropes. This was the special equipment ordered by Samcadaris. The hooks easily snagged the tangled brush. The elves heaved on the long lines, raising the burning heap off the ground. Flames shot up over the battlements, forcing the archers back. Once the ball had sufficient height, the ropes were cut. The momentum of the falling brush ball caused it to roll down the slope away from the gate, directly toward the Dargonesti line. With the jeers of the defenders ringing in their ears, the sea elves scattered before the hurtling blaze.
Back at the palace, everyone enjoyed a good laugh when descriptions of the Battle of the Bush arrived. No one, however, believed the night’s fighting was over.
More wooden mantelets appeared from the woods. Behind these makeshift shields, gangs of Dargonesti crept toward the wall. Arrows immediately began dropping down on them, but the attackers pushed on. Nearly twenty mantelets, covering several hundred Quoowahb, reached the foot of the wall and Red Rose Gate. The tall, powerfully muscled sea elves cast spears up at the defenders as other Dargonesti, equipped with captured tools, attacked the gate. Chips flew, but the oak barrier was ten inches thick. Behind it stood another gate, this one of rock crystal, magically cast in the days of Silvanos. The defenders let the Dargonesti waste their time and energy chipping at the wooden gate, secure in the knowledge that the crystal barrier could not be breached. All the while, arrows, large stones, and hot oil were poured on the attackers.
“This is stupid,” Gundabyr remarked, when the latest report was brought back to the Quinari. “I thought the blueskins were smarter than this!”
“I don’t suppose they’ve ever attacked a walled city before,” Samcadaris mused.
“They’re getting a hard education,” the Speaker said grimly.
The attack continued for over an hour, during which the attention of every elf in Silvanost was fixed on Red Rose Gate, in the south.
Unbeknownst to them, Dargonesti warriors were stealing silently out of the muddy Thon-Thalas and gathering among the piers and docks on the city’s west side. Scaling ladders, knocked together from scavenged wood, were carried out of the water and readied at the base of the city wall. The army waited, poised for the signal. Coryphene’s point of attack was exactly halfway between two towers.
Coryphene himself surfaced, holding the hand of Queen Uriona. The sorceress monarch had never been above the water in her life, and she was fiercely excited by the experience. The air here was very different than what she breathed in her city every day. A myriad of strange smells filled her nostrils. She gripped Coryphene’s hand hard as she gazed up at the walls and towers of Silvanost.
“My city,” she whispered. “My capital!”
“Not yet, Divine One. Let me shed a little blood for you, then it shall be yours in truth,” he said.
She relinquished his hand. “Go! I will call on my powers to aid you!”
He slogged ashore. One thousand warriors, including his own sword-armed personal guard, were below the wall.
“Up ladders,” he said quietly. Brawny blue arms lifted the wooden structures. The movement of so many ladders could not escape notice. Sentries on the two flanking towers shouted alarms. Torches blazed from the battlement, exposing Coryphene’s troops.
“Up! Up!” he roared, waving his sword over his head. He still wielded Vixa Ambrodel’s Qualinesti blade. The topaz in its hilt flashed in the torchlight. “Now is the time! For Urione! For Uriona!”