Aindreas could hear the Aneiran commanders shouting instructions as well, and after a few moments the wind strengthened and shifted so that it blew across the tor. Clearly the attackers wished to make it more difficult for Kentigern’s archers to find their mark.
“Continue to loose your arrows, swordmaster,” the duke said. “And call for the tar and fire pots. They’re rushing the gate.”
The mist had reached the castle entrance and now Aindreas could hear the wheels of the Aneirans’ siege engines. There was a pit in the center of the road that had been intended to further impede the approach of snails, rams, and other siege machines. During the last siege, however, the army of Mertesse had filled it in with stones and dirt. In the year since, Aindreas had instructed his men to clear it out once more, but he had been more concerned with the reconstruction of the gate itself, and the pit had been largely neglected. It might slow the Aneirans, but only briefly.
Villyd barked orders, sending men scurrying in every direction. The third line of archers loosed their arrows, and stepped back, making room for the crossbowmen, who had fitted new bolts in their weapons. Soldiers emerged from tower stairways carrying pots of oil and containers of lime, and a short time later, others appeared, with forked poles to fend off the ladders that the Aneirans would use to scale the castle walls. Aindreas was about to call a second time for the tar, when the smell reached him, burning his nostrils. An instant later men appeared in the tower doorways struggling with large vats of the foul stuff.
Villyd shouted again, and the bowmen shifted positions, moving to either side of the Tarbin wall so as to make room for the men with the tar and fire pots.
“All is ready, my lord,” the swordmaster said. “We need only wait for the first blow.”
“Very well, Villyd. Have the archers continue to fire.”
“Yes, my lord.”
After but a few seconds the crossbows crackled again, and more howls rent the air. Then one round of longbows. And the other. An otherworldly stillness settled over the tor, broken only by the pulsing of bows, the whistle of arrows, and the shrieks of those dying below the castle ramparts.
Aindreas peered down at the mist again, waiting for the assault on the gate to commence, listening for any indication of what the Aneirans were doing. As he did, he suddenly felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, as if some wraith from Bian’s realm had run a ghostly finger down his spine. Unsure as to why he did it, the duke straightened and turned, looking north, toward the shores of the Strait of Wantrae.
Atop a small rise, not far from the city walls, a slight figure sat atop a white mount, seeming to stare back at him. For just a single heartbeat, Aindreas thought it was Brienne, or at least the apparition of his beloved child, haunting him once more. But as he continued to watch the rider, sunlight burst forth from behind a cloud, lighting the figure’s hair and face. Both were as white as bleached bone. Jastanne.
“Is something wrong, my lord?”
Aindreas turned so quickly that he nearly lost his balance. “No. I was just-” He shook his head. “It was nothing.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Was there something you wanted, Villyd?”
“Yes, my lord. I was wondering if you wanted to send men out to strike at the Aneirans?”
The duke narrowed his eyes, thinking that the swordmaster was trying once more to get him to send part of his army northward. “I thought we had discussed this.”
“No, my lord. I mean to strike at them here. We can send a small party of archers out of the east sally port to attack the siege machines as they reach the gate. But we’d need to do it now, while they still have their mists about them. This won’t work if the men can be seen.”
Aindreas nodded. “Give the order, swordmaster.”
“Yes, my lord,” Villyd said and hurried away.
The duke turned to look toward the rise again, but Jastanne was gone.
A cry went up from Aindreas’s men, and before the duke even had time to turn toward the sound, the castle shuddered, as from a blow. The assault on the gate had begun.
Aindreas strode to Villyd’s side and looked down at the side of the tor. The mist was gone, and he could see the ram poised just in front of the gate. Its wooden roof was covered with animal skins, as were the roofs of the snails that still crawled up the road, protecting much of the Aneiran army. The duke heard the Aneirans within the ram shouting in cadence and the castle shook a second time. Yet for all the power of the blow, it seemed that the new gate was holding.
“Fire pots!” Villyd called. “Lime and tar as well! Archers, flaming arrows!”
In another moment, all on the castle walls was frenzy. Ladders rose to the ramparts as if sprouting from the earth, and Aneiran soldiers began to climb them under the cover of volleys from their own archers. Kentigern’s men used the forked poles to push the ladders away, sending enemy soldiers tumbling to the ground. Others used torches to light the oil pots, which they then dropped on the ram and snail. Still others poured tar over the edge of the ramparts, drawing wails of pain from below. When a few of the enemy managed to gain the top of the wall, they were immediately beset by swordsmen. Several of the Aneiran bowmen found their mark, killing a number of Aindreas’s men, including one soldier only a few fourspans from where the duke stood. Still, most of the casualties in these first moments of the siege were inflicted on the attackers.
“You planned well, swordmaster,” the duke said, toppling a ladder himself and ducking beneath a flurry of arrows. The fortress shuddered once more.
“Thank you, my lord.” Villyd’s tone was a match for his grim expression.
“You’re not pleased?”
The man nodded toward the river by way of answer.
Following the direction of the swordmaster’s gaze Aindreas saw them as well, though the Aneirans had tried to hide their work within the trees and rushes growing along the Tarbin. Hurling arms. Four of them. They hadn’t been completed yet, but from the look of them, it wouldn’t be long.
“How can they have built them so quickly?”
“I’d guess that they cut and prepared the timber in Mertesse before crossing the Tarbin, my lord. At least, that’s what they did last time.”
“Of course.”
Another blow to the gate.
“Last time they had only one.”
“They only needed one. Shurik had seen to the gates.”
“Yes, my lord. I expected two this time, perhaps three. But not four.”
“The walls will hold, Villyd. They always have.”
“Of course, my lord. But still I fear for the men. No part of the wall will be safe.”
“We may have to send out parties through the sally ports after all. Not yet, not until we have an idea of where they intend to place the arms. But you should begin forming several parties of your best archers and swordsmen. Have them ready to go when I give the word.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll see to it right away.” He sketched a quick bow and returned to the men.
Aindreas looked down at the Aneirans again as yet another jolt from the ram forced him to grip the stone wall. Then he glanced northward, at the rise. There was no sign of the Qirsi woman.
Leaving the walls, the duke descended the stairs again, hurrying back to the inner keep. He had intended to make his way to the cloister, to check on Ioanna and the children. Somehow, however, he ended up back at the door to his presence chamber. Shaking his head, he turned away, again intending to walk to the cloister.