“Our properties were assaulted before this lot even arrived by crowds from midslope,” Rhillian countered.
“Bah.” Deani made a dismissive gesture. “Every crowd has its fools. The problem with you serrin, you're too polite for your own good. Riverside are slime, the Nasi-Keth would have had better luck setting the place on fire than trying to convert them. The damn archbishop got there first, only he didn't waste his coin on clean water and medicines-he's a smart man, that archbishop-he built temples. And those poor, stupid fools loved him for it, they've got so much more hope of the next life than this one. My advice-send them there as fast as you can.”
Rhillian left Master Deani to his work and crossed the hallway into the opposite room facing Maerler's Way. From the outside, the door would have appeared to lead to an innocuous bedchamber, but, instead of a bed, the room housed a great ballista-a giant crossbow elevated at its nose by two wheels. Now, the room stank of a strange, sickly solution. Two serrin were mixing the stuff in a wide basin, empty buckets nearby filled with water, along with other bags and buckets of strange-smelling, bright-coloured substances that Rhillian could not identify. Serrin oils did not keep well in large volumes, and were stored in premixed portions that would not catch fire. Only now, the final mix was made.
The two serrin filled a bucket-careful not to get the sticky, oozing substance on their gloves-and poured the solution into a leather pouch the size of a stonemelon. The pouch was sealed and placed into the ballista's firing sling. The man and woman then began winding the winch handles at the rear, pulling back great arms, each as long as a person. The thick cord groaned, and began to tremble.
“What's first?” asked the man, Arele.
“The Armadi House,” Rhillian said grimly. “Burn it down.”
The winching stopped. The woman, Calia, opened the shuttered windows to the grey day outside. There was no need to aim. Armadi House lay directly ahead, across the wall and the corpse-littered bend of Maerler's Way. Bolt and arrow fire whistled toward them and clattered off the walls. One impaled a neighbouring window shutter with a thud. Arele poured a spoonful of the sticky mixture over the leather pouch and lit it with a wrist-flick of his metal flint. Flame bloomed green about the pouch, and Arele pulled the firing rope. The ballista kicked and leaped like a wild thing. Armadi House disappeared in a brilliant flash, and Rhillian shielded her eyes. When she looked again, a portion of the house's second floor was engulfed in flame. The fire appeared to have mostly missed the windows, but that would soon change. Armadi House was only small compared to Palopy, but Rhillian was glad as she gazed at the blaze that humans did not possess the means to make the oil.
“Once more,” said Rhillian, closing the shutters and locking them, as Calia and Arele set about preparing another shot. “Those walls will get so hot the stone will crack.”
“I'll find a window with the next shot,” Arele assured her, pouring into the next leather pouch. “It'll burn fast enough.” Arrowfire thudded into the shutters. They were heavy, reinforced for the purpose, and even the crossbow fire did not penetrate. Rhillian risked a quick glance around the neighbouring window frame…and she frowned, as her eyes found a new commotion on the upslope stretch of Maerler's Way.
On the last visible portion of road, before it disappeared about a bend, the crowd parted enough to reveal a wooden, cartlike contraption. Only then did Rhillian see the firing arm and the tension ropes.
“We have a new target,” she announced urgently. “They've brought artillery.”
“How big?” asked Calia, sealing the pouch, teeth gritted and nose wrinkled against the stench.
“They're a hundred and fifty paces away, and I think they'll hit us with plenty of room for accuracy.”
“Some weight to haul all the way up Backside,” Arele muttered.
“Oh they've been quite well organised,” Rhillian said darkly, ducking back from the window as a bolt shot through and punched into a big armchair. “If one were suspicious, one might wonder how long something like this has been planned.” She peered again around the window rim. From the Armadi House came desperate yells and the glimpse of figures running past windows. A man leaned out a higher window to dump a bucket of water, and was immediately impaled with four arrows. Rising smoke obscured the view somewhat, but Rhillian could see the winches being worked on the catapult, bare-chested men heaving on the spoke handles.
“How far across?” Arele asked, placing the shot as Calia wound on the winch handles.
“Five hands left,” Rhillian judged, and Arele straddled the ballista body, lifting across even as Calia continued winding. “Another hand. Good.” Rhillian took a last look out the window, measuring distances with her eye. “Up a notch.” She turned and helped Arele lift the front. Calia finished winding, the arms groaning with the strain, and the firing mechanism clicked into place.
Arele poured the igniter oil and lit it, while Rhillian unlatched the window shutters and flung them open. Arrows and bolts whistled through the window, cracking against the far wall, kicking over furniture, ricocheting off the ballista itself. Calia risked a look along the weapon's length as the incoming volley ceased.
“Good,” she said.
Arele pulled the rope. Rhillian ran to a side window this time and peered out in time to see the flaming projectile strike the house wall to the downhill side of the catapult. Flames erupted, and perhaps thirty men disappeared in that terrible glare, a sea of fending arms and desperate dives for cover. But the flames roared mostly past the catapult, decimating the crowd to one side and behind, but barely singeing the artillery men. And now, those men were lighting a flame of their own.
“Artillery!” Rhillian yelled at the top of her lungs. Fire flared on the end of the catapult arm, and then the arm unwound with a rush. The projectile arced toward them, burning against the dull grey sky. Falling short, Rhillian saw, with satisfaction.
“Come on, reload!” she called to Arele and Calia, who were already doing so. “We'll get one more shot at-”
A mighty flash of flame cut her short, roaring up from the courtyard below. She ducked low, feeling the heat of the rising fireball through the open windows. From the streets beyond, the mob roared its bloodthirsty approval. As the heat died, Rhillian risked a stare down at the courtyard gardens below. They were a mess, bushes and trees ablaze, flowers withering in the heat, and smoke rising everywhere. Another roar, and the mob were charging once more; only this time, she could barely see them come. Again, a storm of serrin arrows resumed from the Palopy rooftop, now a question of aiming and hoping. Many would hit, no doubt, but now the mob had a chance.
Rhillian slammed the shutters closed once more.
“Where did a ragged mob of crazed worshippers acquire serrin oils in that quantity?” Arele muttered as he worked, a new urgency in his hands.
“I don't think it was serrin oil,” Rhillian said grimly, running to the back of the ballista and working the winch herself. “The colour was different. I think they made this themselves.”
“Errollyn warned of this day,” Calia said quietly. “He warned that one day humans would match us in our crafts.”
Rhillian gritted her teeth and winched fast. She could hear new shouts from above, dim though they were above the howls of the crowd at the wall and the resumed hammering at the gate. She finished the winching, and dashed from the room, up the hallway stairs, and up in a crouch on the rooftop. Acrid smoke darkened the air, and there was a foul smell to every breath. Serrin, carrying buckets, dashed behind the talmaad at the firing wall, keeping low as occasional return fire still flew from Armadi House. They were dashing west, upslope…Rhillian looked that way and stared.