A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [56]
And whatever it was the fortress guarded-who was it being guarded from? Who had inflicted those scars on the gates in their desire to win inside?
Even as Picard turned these matters over and over in his mind, he saw a small plate in one of the doors slide aside. He was no more than thirty meters from them now; those within could hardly have waited any longer.
“Stop there,” came a voice, deep and brusque.
Picard complied, drawing in on the reins with a firm but gentle hand. Down the line, he knew, the other drivers were following suit.
A moment later, one of the gates creaked open and half a dozen figures slipped out. One was very tall, at least a head and a half bigger than Picard. The others fell somewhat short of their companion in height, but not in girth. They were all broad, powerful looking, intimidating.
And all of them were dressed in that strange, bulky garb. Picard could see now what it was-a kind of flexible armor. Their helmets, which allowed only slits for their eyes, were made of something else-some sort of metal. Nor was that the extent of their protection.
Each one also had a weapon strapped to his back-either a mace or an ax or a broadsword. As the tall one approached, he released his weapon and took it in his gauntleted hand.
But he made no threatening move, so Picard sat where he was. And suffered the giant’s approach.
“We need to check your wagons,” said the tall one. His voice was high-pitched and flutelike-a little unexpected in one so huge. Picard was almost inclined to chuckle at it, but he decided to practice discretion under the circumstances. “You will remove yourself and stand off to one side.”
“As you wish,” said the human. He hopped down from his seat and retreated a few paces-all the path would allow. At the next wagon, driven by Ralak’kai, the same procedure was taking place.
What was this about? Picard wondered. He caught Ralak’kai’s eye, and the other driver shrugged. Apparently, he had no idea either.
Only the tall one had lingered at Picard’s wagon. He took hold of one of the straps that held the cargo-protecting tarpaulin in place and, with an enormous wrench, snapped it in two. The tarp seemed to know it was free; it expanded like a living, breathing thing.
Weapon still in hand, the tall one moved to draw the covering off altogether. But before he could do so, something happened-something so quick and unanticipated that it was over before Picard knew what was going on.
A second later, the tall one was lying motionless on the ground, his helmet half-crushed. And the pair who had sprung from the back of Picard’s wagon-also armored, also armed-were sprinting for the still-open gate.
At each of the foremost wagons, it was the same thing. Guards surprised and cut down, their assailants pelting hell-bent in the direction of the fortress walls. Farther down the trail, there were even more of them.
And all along, Picard realized, they had been hiding in the wagons. Hiding in his wagon. Since when? Late last night, after he and Ralak’kai had finally quit their discussions and dozed off? Or early morning, just before the drivers woke?
He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. It had a strange sense of unreality to it. Yet the guards must have known that something like this was possible-otherwise, why stop the wagons outside the walls? They just hadn’t expected the raiders to be so numerous-or they would have sent out a larger contingent.
Picard watched, fascinated, as the invaders clashed at the gate with a knot of defenders who’d come out to meet them. At first, it was more or less an even fight. The raiders were unable to force their way in, and the defenders were unable to force them out. Axes and bludgeons rose and fell; there were screams of anguish and bodies flung to the ground, but the casualties were on both sides.
Then, as more and more of the newcomers clustered at the entrance, the situation changed. The battle started to go their way. And suddenly, like a river tearing apart a poorly made dam, they poured in through the open