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.
Necklen grabbed a torch, lit it from the brazier and applied it to the oil-soaked rags which Beris had rammed into the holes. 'Here comes another!' shouted Gelan.
'Well, let's send one back!' snarled Necklen, hammering the trigger bolt. The red ball, flames and smoke hissing
from it, soared high - passing within yards of the Daroth shot. The black ball of lead struck the rooftop, hit a beam and crashed through to the empty second floor of the barracks building.
'Haul her back! Don't wait to look!' shouted Necklen, though he himself could not resist following the flight of their blazing shot. It struck the top of the first Daroth catapult - and shattered. Flames rippled down the black machine. The Daroth ran forward to hurl earth over the blaze.
A great cheer went up from the battlements.
'One more!' shouted Necklen, and second ball of flame flew into the sky. The Daroth scattered as it smashed down, fire exploding out in a huge circle. The wooden catapult was engulfed now.
But the second enemy machine loosed another shot which thundered against the side of the building, ripping away an entire corner which slid away to crash to the street below.
'Right three marks!' shouted Beris. 'Take her down two more notches.'
Slowly they swung the machine. 'One shot is all we'll have,' said Necklen, trying to keep his voice calm.
'Make it a good one, boy!'
'Yes, sir,' said Beris. Once they had loaded the ball and Gelan had filled it with oil, Necklen ordered the boys from the rooftop. Another huge lead ball soared by them, missing the catapult by inches and destroying the store of pottery ammunition. 'Get out now!' shouted Necklen.
The boys ran to the ladders as Necklen slammed the trigger bolt clear. He should have followed them, but he could not resist watching the flight of his last missile. Once again the Daroth loosed a shot. It left their catapult just
as the pottery ball exploded over it, spraying burning oil over the machine. Two Daroth warriors were engulfed, and ran across the hillside like living torches.
'Yes!' shouted Necklen, punching the air. 'Did you enjoy that, you bastards?'
The last Daroth shot hammered into the platform, smashing the catapult. One of the retaining bars burst clear, striking Necklen in the shoulder and spinning him across the rooftop. As his legs slipped over the edge he threw out his hand, scrabbling at an edge of masonry, and clung to it with all his strength.
There was no way back. The old warrior did not possess enough strength in one arm to haul himself to safety. His strength was ebbing away when a face appeared above him and little Beris reached down and grabbed his arm.
'Let go, you fool! You can't take my weight. You'll be dragged over with me.' But the boy clung on.
'Gelan is getting ... a ... rope,' said Beris. 'I can hold you till he comes.'
'Please, boy! Just let go. I couldn't bear to take you with me.'
'No, sir,' said Beris, his freckled face crimson with the effort of holding on. Necklen gripped the ledge more tightly, fighting to stay calm. His fingers were tiring, and his arm began to tremble.
Just then Gelan appeared and threw a loop over Necklen's head. Pushing his useless left arm through it, he hooked himself to the rope. 'It is tied to a beam,' shouted Gelan.
'Good boy,' said Necklen. 'Now let go, Beris, there's a good lad.' When Beris did so, Necklen dropped around four feet; but the rope tightened and he dangled there, feeling sick with relief. Moments later three strong men dragged him back to safety.
Necklen grinned at the boys. 'I hope you never learn to take orders, lads,' he told them.
'Yes, sir!' they chorused, grinning.
But Necklen's smile faded as he saw the Daroth hauling another catapult over the hills.
As the first of the huge lead balls crashed into the wall beside the gate Vint ordered the troops back. The two blazing Daroth catapults were now oozing thick plumes of black smoke into the sky.
'What can you see?' yelled Karis. Vint eased himself up, and stared through the crenellated battlements.
'Two Daroth legions are massing,' he shouted. 'They are moving slowly forward.'
A second lead ball struck the gates, smashing two thick timbers and splitting the giant locking bar. 'They are coming at a run now,' yelled Vint. 'Maybe three thousand of them. The rest are just waiting.'
Another lead shot smashed home, tearing open the gates and rolling ponderously into the avenue beyond.
Vint ran for the steps, taking them three at a time, then sprinted down towards a line of wagons stretching across the avenue. Karis, Ozhobar and Tarantio were already there.
Two hundred crossbow-men moved through a gap in the wagons and took up positions in front of them, one line kneeling and the other standing behind. They weren't going to stop the Daroth, thought Vint. Not 200.