All this I took in at one swift glance. I leaped over to the levers, began to manipulate them. The cogs revolved.
The bridge was falling!
The Witch–woman ran up to the platform of the archers; she peered out; set horn to lips; she sent a long call through the arrow slit—summoning signal for Tibur and his host.
The hammering against the door had ceased. The blows against it were stronger, more regular–timed. The battering of a ram. The stout wood trembled under them; the bars groaned, Lur called to me:
"The bridge is down, Dwayanu! Tibur is rushing upon it. It grows lighter. Dawn is breaking. They have brought their horses!"
I cursed.
"Luka, sent him wit not to pound across that bridge on horse!"
"He is doing it…he and Rascha and a handful of others only… the rest are dismounting…"
"Hai—they are shooting at them from the arrow slits…the javelins rain among them…Sirk takes toll…"
There was a thunderous crash against the door. The wood split…
A roaring tumult. Shouts and battle cries. Ring of sword upon sword and the swish of arrows. And over it all the laughter of Tibur.
No longer was the ram battering at the door.
I threw up the bars, raised axe in readiness, opened the great gate a finger's breadth and peered out.
The soldiers of Karak were pouring down the ramp from the bridge–head.
I opened the door wider. The dead of the fortress lay thick around tower base and bridge–head.
I stepped through the door. The soldiers saw me.
"Dwayanu!" rang their shout.
From the fortress still came the clamour of the great gong—warning Sirk.
Sirk—no longer sleeping!
Chapter XX
"Tsantawu-farewell!"
There was a humming as of a disturbed gigantic hive beyond Sirk's gap. Trumpet blasts and the roll of drums. Clang of brazen gongs answering that lonely one which beat from the secret heart of the raped fortress. And ever Karak's women–warriors poured over the bridge until the space behind the fortress filled with them.
The Smith wheeled his steed—faced me. "Gods—Tibur! But that was well done!"
"Never done but for you, Dwayanu! You saw, you knew—you did. Ours the least part."
Well, that was true. But I was close to liking Tibur then. Life of my blood! It had been no play to lead that charge against the bridge end. The Smith was a soldier! Let him be only half loyal to me—and Khalk'ru take the Witch–woman!
"Sweep the fortress clean, Anvil–smiter. We want no arrows at our backs."
"It is being swept, Dwayanu."
By brooms of sword and spear, by javelin and arrow, the fortress was swept dean.
The clamour of the brazen gong died on a part stroke.
My stallion rested his nose on my shoulder, blew softly against my ear.
"You did not forget my horse! My hand to you, Tibur!"
"You lead the charge, Dwayanu!" I leaped upon the stallion. Battleaxe held high I wheeled and galloped toward the gap. Like the point of a spear I sped, Tibur at my left, the Witch–woman at my right, the nobles behind us, the soldiers sweeping after us.
We hurled ourselves through the cliffed portal of Sirk.
A living wave lifted itself to throw us back. Hammers flew, axes hewed, javelins and spears and feathered shafts sleeted us. My horse tottered and dropped, screaming, his hinder hocks cut through. I felt a hand upon my shoulder, dragging me to my feet. The Witch–woman smiled at me. She sliced with her sword the arm drawing me down among the dead. With axe and sword we cleared a ring around us. I threw myself on the back of a grey from which a noble had fallen, bristling with arrows.
We thrust forward against the living wave. It gave, curling round us.
On and on! Cut sword and hew axe! Cut and slash and batter through!
The curling wave that tore at us was beaten down. We were through the gap. Sirk lay before us.
I reined in my horse. Sirk lay before us—but too invitingly!
The city nestled in a hollow between sheer, unscalable black walls. The lip of the gap was higher than the roof of the houses. They began an arrow flight away. It was a fair city. There was no citadel nor forts; there were no temples nor palaces. Only houses of stone, perhaps a thousand of them, flat roofed, set wide apart, gardens around them, a wide street straying among them, tree–bordered. There were many lanes. Beyond the city fertile field upon field, and flowering orchards.
And no battle ranks arrayed against us. The way open.
Too open!
I caught the glint of arms on the housetops. There was the noise of axes above the blaring of trumpets and the roll of the kettle–drums.
Hai! They were barricading the wide street with their trees, preparing a hundred ambushes for us, expecting us to roll down in force.
Spreading the net in the sight of Dwayanu!
Yet they were good tactics. The best defence I had met with it in many a war against the barbarians. It meant we must fight for every step, with every house a fort, with arrows searching for us from every window and roof. They had a leader here in Sirk, to arrange such reception on such brief notice! I had respect for that leader, whoever he might be. He had picked the only possible way to victory—unless those against whom he fought knew the countermove.
And that, hard earned, I did know.
How long could this leader keep Sirk within its thousand forts? There, always, lay the danger in this defence. The overpowering impulse of a pierced city is to swarm out upon its invaders as ants and bees do from their hills and nests. Not often is there a leader strong enough to hold them back. If each house of Sirk could remain linked to the other, each ever an active part of the whole—then Sirk might be unconquerable. But how, when they began to be cut off, one by one? Isolated? The leader's will severed?
Hai! Then it is that despair creeps through every chink! They are drawn out by fury and despair as though by ropes. They pour out—to kill or to be killed. The cliff crumbles, stone by stone. The cake is eaten by the attackers, crumb by crumb.
I divided our soldiers, and sent the first part against Sirk in small squads, with orders to spread and to take advantage of all cover. They were to take the outer fringe of houses, at all costs, shooting their arrows up in the high curved flight against the defenders while others hammered their way into those houses. Still others were to attack farther on, but never getting too far from their comrades nor from the broad way running through the city.
I was casting a net over Sirk and did not want its meshes broken.
By now it was broad daylight.
The soldiers moved forward. I saw the arrows stream up and down, twisting among each other like serpents…I heard the axe–blows on the doors…By Luka! There floats a banner of Karak from one of the roofs! And another.
The hum of Sirk shot higher, became louder, in it a note of madness. Hai! I knew they could not long stand this nibbling! And I knew that sound! Soon it would rise to frenzy. Drone from that into despair!
Hai! Not long now before they came tumbling out…
Tibur was cursing at my elbow. I looked at Lur, and she was trembling. The soldiers were murmuring, straining at the leash, mad to join battle. I looked at their blue eyes, hard and cold; their faces beneath the helmet–caps were not those of women but of young warriors…those who sought in them for woman's mercy would have rude awakening!
"By Zarda! But the fight will be done before we can dip blade!" I laughed.
"Patience, Tibur! Patience is our strong weapon. Sirk's strongest—if they but knew it. Let them be first to lose that weapon."