But, like any walled settlement, the gates were the weak points.
He dismounted, the noise assaulting his ears as he did so. Of hundreds of feet rushing everywhere in pursuit of orders; voices raised to bellow new instructions; forges hammering out new weapons, horseshoes, and repairing battered armour. The temperature had to be twenty degrees higher than in the college. To his left, steam covered the entrance to a kitchen and behind it, Dystran knew his men lay dying, dragged from the field every day.
But many more lay ready, fit and waiting for the order to advance. That day was close but not even his generals knew how close. Only Dystran and Ranyl knew. Any card he retained he had to guard with care.
Dystran double-stepped up the spiral stairways that curved around the gate turrets, his feeling of unease growing. He ran along the first rampart tier and up the central stairways into the tower proper. Reaching the central arch, he found Chandyr already there… and saw for himself the sacrifice being made in the name of Xetesk and its Lord of the Mount. He leaned on the uncomfortable but beautifully carved balustrade and stared out at the battle, what little he could see of it.
The recent dry weather had dried the topsoil and a cloud of dust hung over the scene of battle, thickened by smoke from fires and spell impact. Dystran could just about make out the opposing fighting lines in the fog. The Xeteskian line, some five hundred yards wide, was laid in a disciplined curve held firm by Protectors at ten points.
The huge masked warriors led the defence, provided communication along the entire fighting line at the speed of thought and fed confidence into his men. Dystran could imagine the Soul Tank, deep in the catacombs of the college, boiling with activity. Even though they fought individually, the Protf ctors operated with one mind, those close to brothers engaged in combat directing attention towards threat and opportunity. It made them the awesome force they were. So difficult to break down, so damaging to enemy morale.
Behind the front line, reserves stood waiting, shouting encouragement, pulling away the injured and plugging gaps in the line. Further behind, mages stood or sat in knots, with guards in close attendance. Some directed offensive spells across the lines into enemy support, others maintained the shield lattices against spell and missile attack.
Completing the picture were his archers and cavalry, both mobile, both with their own mage defence, and deployed tactically. The archers kept enemy mages busy with spell defence, the cavalry were in three loose groups, left, right and centre, positioned to counter surges by enemy swordsmen and cavalry, or take advantage of any weakness in the enemy line.
Dystran watched as the centre of the enemy line pushed hard, dragging men into the swell of battle. Steel glinted through the smoke and dust. The roar of voices increased. From behind the enemy warriors, spells arced into the sky. FlameOrbs, green- or yellow-tinged and trailing steam, the superheated mana balls rose and fell into the mage and archer lines behind. Deep blue shields repulsed, sheeting light over their charges. The power of the enemy spells dissipated into the ground, kicking up spats of dirt.
And behind the barrage came the arrows and, with a flash of weapons and thunder of hooves, the cavalry. They forged in heavy on the left flank. It was a thrilling sight. Dystran winced as the Xeteskian cavalry surged forward to meet them between the two main lines.
The opposing forces met, breaking into small groups with individual battles fought out in the mass of men and horses. And, riding across the back of the attack, came the Lysternan commander, plugging a weakness with an individual charge of breathtaking ability, weaving through a gap Dystran didn't even see from his distance and striking a Xeteskian cavalryman from his mount.
He could have been Darrick. In fact, the whole attack could have been masterminded by the former general, so classically was it executed.
The Xeteskian mages and archers responded. The air thickened with arrows. DeathHail hammered onto metal, ground and shield. HotRain fizzed into existence, each drop trailing smoke. HellFire thrashed from the clear skies, its brief roar eclipsing every other sound. The Lysternan shielding flashed green, repelling what it could. Choking smoke billowed afresh into the air. At the periphery of the lattice, a SpellShield failed, telltale black spots rippling as HellFire hit it with too much force to be contained. With a clap like thunder, the Xeteskian spell drove through. Beneath it, the knot of archers had no chance whatsoever.
Dystran watched on a few more moments, happy that this latest enemy surge would be turned away. But, just as when he awoke, there was a nagging in his mind that something significant had changed. He hadn't seen enough of the fighting to put his finger on it. Fortunately, he was standing next to a man who had.
'Tell me, Commander Chandyr. What is it that is different about today?'
Chandyr smiled and turned briefly from the batde to look at his lord. He was an experienced soldier, weathered face crossed with scars from the skirmishes that were a fact of life for any career soldier. Dark circles around his eyes told of his overlong hours on duty but still they retained their energy.
‘Icould have done with you in the army, my Lord,' he said. 'Most of my advisers have noticed nothing.'
'But you have.'
'Several changes and I should tell you that this is happening on all fronts and I have been forced to bring up some reserve, for the morning at least. First, they are pushing harder than at any time in the last ten days, leading me to think they suspect we'll be launching an offensive soon. Second, the elven mages are few and far between, telling me they are either resting, unsure of their ability to cast, or both. Third, right now I can't see enough elven fighters. And that is the strangest of all since there are more in the front line than I've seen since the siege started.'
'Reinforcements?'
'Where from?' asked Chandyr. 'And given that they want to break us, why haven't we seen them in tandem with the elves before now?'
Dystran chuckled. 'My dear Chandyr, you are the military mind. I rather think I should be asking that question of you.'
'Apologies, my Lord, I'm thinking out loud.' Chandyr cleared his throat. 'I can only surmise that they have found some new mercenaries or perhaps that one of the Barons has been persuaded to lend his support. Whatever, it has given the bulk of the elves time to rest and regroup and I think that is significant. They are waiting for us to act and they will be ready.'
'Your thoughts?' asked Dystran.
'There is little open to us, my Lord. Whatever your timetable, I suggest you stick to it. We also should not change our plan to attack through the north gate; any other leaves us in the open for long enough to lose the effect of surprise. I don't think the elves are planning an assault, that would be futile but we had to expect them to expect us to force the pace at some stage.'
'Thank you, Commander,' said Dystran.
'My Lord?'
Dystran turned to be faced by an anxious-looking youth wearing the armband of a messenger.
'Speak up,' said Dystran.
'I am ordered to tell you from your college guard captain that he has found something you need to see urgently.' There was an uncertain smile.
Dystran nodded. 'Very well. Go and get some food from the kitchen and get back to your post. Well done.'
The messenger bowed and ran back the way he had come. Dystran shook Chandyr's hand.