impatient insect parachutists.
Glee turned to dismay on the wall as badly demoralized
troops streamed back through the open Gate. Behind them
was sand and gravel-covered ground so choked with corpses
that it was hard to move. The dead actually did more to save
the wannlander forces from annihilation than the living.
When the last survivor had limped inside, the great Gate
was swung shut. An insectoid wave crested against the
barrier.
268
THE HOUR OF THE GATE
Now the force of scarabaeids who'd broken the wannlander
front turned and retreated. They could not scale the wall and
would only hinder its capture.
• Strong-armed soldiers carrying dozens, hundreds of ladders
took their places. The ladders were thrown up against the wall
in such profusion that several defenders, while trying to spear
those Plated Folk raising one ladder, were struck and killed
by another. The ladders were so close together they some-
| times overlapped rungs. A dark tide began to swarm up the
| wall.
| Having no facility with a bow, Jon-Tom was heaving spears
I as fast as the armsbearers could supply them. Next to him
| Flor was firing a large longbow with deadly accuracy. Mudge
I stood next to her, occasionally pausing in his own firing to
| compliment the giantess on a good shot.
I The wall was now crowded with reinforcements. Every
II time a wannlander fell another took his place. But despite the
number of ladders pushed back and broken, the number of
climbers killed, the seemingly endless stream of Plated Folk
: came on.
; It was Caz who pulled Jon-Tom aside and directed his
attention far, far up the canyon. "Can you see them, my
friend? They are there, watching."
! "Where?"
"There... can't you see the dark spots on that butte that
juts out slightly into the Pass?"
Jon-Tom could barely make out the butte. He could not
discern individuals standing on it. But he did not doubt Caz's
observation.
"I'll take your word for it. Can you see who 'they' are?"
S "Eejakrat I recognize from our sojourn in Cugluch. The
| giant next to him must be, from the richness of attire and
'servility of attendants, the Empress Skrritch."
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Alan Dean Foster
"Can you see what Eejakrat is doing?" inquired a worried
Clothahump.
"He looks behind him at something I cannot see."
"The dead mind!" Clothahump gazed helplessly at his
sheaf of formulae. "It is responsible for this new method of
fighting, these 'tactics' and 'parachutes' and such. It is telling
the Plated Folk how to fight. It means they have found a new
way to attack the wall."
"It means rather more than that," said Aveticus quietly.
Everyone turned to look at the marten. "It means they no
longer have to breach the Jo-Troom Gate...."
270
XVI
"Is it not clear?" he told them when no one responded.
"These 'parachute' things will enable them to drop thousands
of soldiers behind the Gate." He looked grim and turned to a
subordinate.
"Assemble Elasmin, Toer, and Sleastic. Tell them they
must gather a large body of mobile troops. No matter how
bad the situation here grows these soldiers must remain ready
behind the Gate, watching for more of these falling troops.
They must watch only the sky, for, if we are not prepared,
these monsters will fall all over our own camp and all will be
lost."
The officer rushed away to convey that warning to the
warmlander general staff. Overhead, birds and riders were
holding their own against the dragonfly folk. But they were
fully occupied. If the beetles returned with more airborne
Plated Folk troops, the warmlander arboreals would be unable
to prevent them from falling on the underdefended camp.
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Alan Dean Foster
Attacked from the front and from behind, the Jo-Troom Gate
would change from impregnable barrier to mass grave.
Once out on the open plains the Plated Folk army would be
able to engulf the remnants of the warmlander defenders. In
addition to superior numbers, which they'd always possessed,
the attackers now had the use of superior tactics. Eejakrat had
discovered the flexibility and imagination dozens of their
earlier assaults had lacked.
Not that it would matter soon, for the inexorable pressure
on the Gate's defenders was beginning to tell. Now an
occasional Plated Folk warrior managed to surmount the
ramparts. Isolated pockets of fighting were beginning to
appear on the wall itself.
" 'Ere now, wot d'you make o' that, mate?" Mudge had
hold of Jon-Tom's arm and was pointing northward.
On the plain below the foothills of Zaryt's Teeth a thin dark
line was snaking rapidly toward the Gate.
Then a familiar form was scuttling through the nulling
soldiers. It wore light chain-mail top and bottom and a
strange helmet that left room for multiple eyes. Despite the
armor both otter and man identified the wearer instantly.
"Ananthos!" said Jon-Tom.
"yes." The spider put four limbs on the wall and looked
outward. He ducked as a tiny club glanced off his cephalothorax.
"i hope sincerely we are not too late."
Flor put aside her bow, exhausted. "I never thought I'd
ever be glad to greet a spider. Or that to my dying day I'd
ever be doing this, compadre." She walked over and gave the
uncertain arachnid a brisk hug.
Disdaining the wall, the modest force of Weavers divided.
Then, utilizing multiple limbs, incredible agility, and built-in
climbing equipment, they scrambled up the sheer sides of the
Pass flanking the Gate. They suspended themselves there, out
272
THE HOUR Of TVS GATE
of arrow range, and began firing down on the Plated Folk
clustered before the Gate.
This additional -firepower enabled the warmlanders on the
wall to concentrate on the ladders. Nets were spun and
dropped. Sticky, unbreakable silk cables entangled scores of
insect fighters.
Dragonflies and riders broke from the aerial combat to
swoop toward the new arrivals clinging to the bare rock. The
Weavers spun balls of sticky silk. These were whirled lariatlike
over their heads and flung at the diving fliers with incredible
accuracy. They glued themselves to wings or legs, and the
startled insects found themselves yanked right out of the sky.
Now the birds and bats began to make some progress
against their depleted aerial foe. There was a real hope that
they could now prevent any returning beetles from dropping
troops behind the Gate.
While that specific danger was thus greatly reduced, the
most important result of the arrival of the Weaver force was
the effect it had on the morale of the Plated Folk. Until now
all their new strategies and plans had worked perfectly. The
abrupt and utterly unexpected appearance of their solitary
ancient enemies and their obvious rapport with the warmlanders
was a devastating shock. The Weavers were the last people
the Plated Folk expected to find defending the Jo-Troom
Gate.
Directing the Weavers' actions from a position on the wall
by relaying orders and information, via tiny sprinting spiders
colored bright red, yellow and blue, was a bulbous black
form. The Grand Webmistress Oil was decked out in silver
armor and hundreds of feet of crimson and orange silk.
Once she waved a limb briskly toward Jon-Tom and his
companions. Perhaps she saw them, possibly she was only
giving a command.
The warmlanders, buoyed by the arrival of a once feared