Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [130]
Within, he found a floor covered with miserable humanity, as a hundred Ffolk, the seriously wounded, lay everywhere in this makeshift hospital.
The prince saw, but did not call to, Nolan. The stout cleric was covered with sweat, his shiny crown reflecting the light from the many windows. His arms, to the elbows, were red with the blood of the wounded.
Slowly, Tristan left the chapel and remounted Avalon. The day was still black. He tried to focus his mind on the battle, but he kept remembering the hospital and the wounded. The warrior’s death should be a clean, precise thing, thought the prince angrily. Why were there so many ugly problems?
Next he visited Lord Mayor Dinsmore at the west gate. The mayor commanded this section of the defense, which included much of his militia, as well as Finellen’s dwarves. The mayor had readily agreed when Tristan suggested that the dwarves should guard the gate.
On the north wall, the situation looked more encouraging, if only because of Gavin’s presence. The big smith had deployed his company of easterners along the wall, and grouped a strong reserve by the gate.
“Let ’em come,” was the blacksmith’s response to Tristan’s report. After his tour, Tristan moved the Sisters of Synnoria from their position in the central square closer to the south gate. Although the large and heavy horses would have difficulty maneuvering in the enclosed streets of Corwell, they were the prince’s last recourse in the event of a breakthrough.
Dawn came slowly on this windswept morning. Faint light, diffused by the heavy overcast, gradually replaced the darkness. Even after the sun rose, however, the day remained very dark. Occasionally, a sharp spatter of rain would lash downward from the clouds, but most of the time the glowering overcast just threatened.
*****
Grunnarch watched Thelgaar Ironhand pace around the fire, whirling in agitation to pace in the opposite direction. The Iron King behaved very strangely. Grunnarch had heard rumors, in the hours since he had joined the army at Corwell, of Ironhand plucking arrows from his body with impunity. Eyewitnesses swore that there was no way his longship could have survived the inferno in Corwell harbor and emerged without so much as a scorched board.
The kings and lords of the northmen slowly assembled around the high fire. The sky was still inky black, but Grunnarch sensed that dawn was near. Laric, ignoring his own king, strode arrogantly past the group to stand beside Thelgaar Ironhand.
The Iron King looked around, staring at each of his lieutenants. Grunnarch felt a numbing sensation of terror as that gaze passed over his own, and he forced himself to look away.
”We will attack at first light,” stated Thelgaar. “We will hit the south and east gates, making a feint against the north gate.
“I want the men of Norheim to strike to the south. Grunnarch, the men of Norland will attack from the east.” Groth the Firbolg grunted something in his bestial tongue. The giant, a dirty bandage around his thigh and dirty stains upon his person and crude tunic, looked foul even by the northmen’s standards. Thelgaar spit some phrases back at the Firbolg in his own tongue, and Groth turned away from the fire, sulking.
“You will all have the chance to fight!” said Thelgaar, his eyes lingering on Laric. “The attacks to the south and the east will force them from the town. When they try to reach the castle, the Bloodriders and my own legion will destroy them!”
*****
A ragged, bloodthirsty yell rose from the length of the raiders’ position, and the thousands of northmen hurled themselves against Corwell Town.
At the south gate, Daryth and Keren exchanged quick glances of apprehension, for the greatest volume of the noise seemed to come from directly before them.
“Remember,” said Daryth wryly, as a ferocious horde of northmen charged from the mist, “we’re supposed to do what we can!”
Keren