Right at the head of the ladder, the reason for the slow progress above became clear. One warrior clung fast to the top rung. He had been sick over his hands and his weapon was still sheathed. Tessaya paused by him, swallowing his disgust at the cowardice when he saw the warrior's age.
'Stand with me, boy,' he said. 'Live or die you will know glory.'
The boy gave him a terrified look but nodded minutely.
'Good lad.'
Tessaya grabbed his collar and hauled him up the final step. In the next pace, they were on the walls and surrounding them was bedlam. Even Tessaya found the surge in volume of noise and the closeness of the action hard to take in. His charge wobbled at the knees. Urine poured down the boy's leggings and he vomited again. But in the midst of it all, he drew his blade, a short stabbing sword.
In die light cast by torches and braziers, the small breach was under concerted attack. Three other breaches could be seen left and right. Xeteskians were running in from the right and were packed left but coming under pressure from Wesmen on bodi sides. The parapet was no more than five feet wide, was unfenced and had never been built to defend in this fashion. Tessaya saw the game at once.
'Push out!' he yelled and jumped from the wall onto the bodies of the dead and into the backs of the living, shoving hard.
The Wesmen in Tessaya's way were forced off balance, able only to try and brace themselves against their, enemies. In front of them, the reflex backward pace was fatal. With nowhere to go, the three Xeteskians nearest the edge stepped out into nowhere, grabbed at those nearest and at least half a dozen fell into the city far below. One of his warriors went with them. Two others saved themselves.
'Keep the breach open,' he ordered. 'Fight, my tribes, fight. Hold
right, push left. Let's isolate those bastards. Someone get these bodies over the edges.'
They obeyed. Tessaya was with them and they would do anything he asked of them. He looked back to see where the boy was and saw him fighting and killing; terror replaced by the desire to live. He would not.
Riasu breasted the battlement and howled a battle cry, circling his axe above his head.
'Riasu, pass the message back down the ladders. I want clear wall between the two nearest gatehouses. Do it!'
Without waiting, Tessaya plunged into the fight. His axe carved down between two of his warriors, splitting the skull of an enemy. Blood fountained into the torchlit night. The first Xeteskian blood he had spilt in years. He drew back his axe to move into the space his warriors left him.
Before he focused on his next victim, he stared out over the city of Xetesk. The towers of the college stood stark against the sky, light blazing from every window and wall.
'I am coming,' he growled. T will cast you down.'
'Get back to the walls!' ordered Dystran, Lord of the Mount of Xetesk. 'Wesmen are standing on them. I look at my senior commander and do I really have to wonder why?'
Dystran had intercepted Commander Chandyr in the dome of the college tower complex having seen his most decorated soldier thundering through the streets on his horse. The otherwise empty dome echoed to raised voices. Chandyr's battle-scarred face was pale and angry. Dystran knew exactly how he felt.
'No, my Lord,' said Chandyr. 'You have withdrawn too many mages to the college. Give them back.'
'I will not exhaust every mage I have.'
'Then do not expect me to hold the walls much longer.'
'Ever the poor soldier blames lack of resource and support.'
Chandyr's eyes narrowed. 'Three thousand men against a few hundred, and many of those only just returned exhausted by forced march from Julatsa. What would you have me do, Lord Dystran?'
'I would have you do your job.'
'I am doing it,' said Chandyr quietly. 'I am before you trying to prevent a massacre.'
'Then how is it Wesmen have scaled my walls?'
Chandyr snapped. Dystran saw the shadow cross his eyes and felt the sharp prod of the commander's gauntleted finger in his ribs.
'Xetesk's walls, not yours,' he said, menace in his tone. 'And they are there because the defence to keep them away was taken from me by you at dusk. You have a responsibility "to this city which you are shirking. What use is the college if the city is burning around it, eh?'
Dystran did not speak for a moment, allowing Chandyr to lower his hand.
'The college is the city,' he said. 'And as ruler of the college, all the walls are mine. I shirk nothing, Chandyr. Indeed I should be applauded for taking mages from the slaughter over which you are presiding. They at least will be able to strike back.'
'Another of your indiscriminate dimensional spells, Dystran?' Chandyr scoffed. 'You will kill more innocents than enemies.'
T will stop the Wesmen,' said Dystran, feeling his patience expire. 'And you, Commander Chandyr, will remember to whom you are speaking and, if you take my advice, will choose your next words very, very carefully.'
A half-smile flickered across Chandyr's mouth. It didn't touch his eyes. He nodded and took a pace forwards, coming so close Dystran could barely focus on him.
'Never accuse me of being a poor soldier again.'
'Men are judged by their actions,' replied Dystran mildly, though his heart was beating faster.
'You only get one warning,' said Chandyr.
The commander spun on his heel and strode from the dome, shouting for his horse. Dystran watched him go, letting his anger build. He had no wish to suppress it and enjoyed the heat it generated in his mind and body.
Chandyr did not understand, he reflected, hurrying out of the dome towards the base of his tower. His guards saluted him on his approach. Something else Chandyr had failed to do. A typical soldier. Blind to the bigger picture. Fit only to accomplish the task set before him and sometimes not even that.
'I want Sharyr in my reception chamber right now,' he ordered. 'He'll be in my hub rooms.'
'Yes, my Lord,' said both men.
Dystran began to climb his stairs. He replayed Chandyr's words, the tiny claws of doubt scratching at his self-confidence. That they had underestimated the Wesmen was not in question. This had been no disordered attack. There were brains and tactics behind it along with brimming determination and a willingness for self-sacrifice that had been breathtaking. Tessaya was out there somewhere.
What taxed Dystran most was not that the Wesmen lord had managed to marshal his warriors into very effective decoy and draw units. The issue here was that he plainly knew Xetesk was poorly defended by mage and soldier and had deliberately kept up his attack waves to force stamina exhaustion. Where had he got his intelligence?
Tessaya's aim had been obvious earlier in the day. It was why Dystran had withdrawn a core of mages to join the dimensional team and prepare for the next casting window. A window that had better be open.
Chandyr had been unable to hold the Wesmen back, though. He was surprised and disappointed by that. Xeteskian soldiers and archers should have been able to deal with a few ladders. How was it then that Wesmen had done that which no one should have been able to do?
Perhaps he should have probed further.
By the time he reached his reception chamber on the third landing, he could hear running footsteps behind him. He threw open the balcony shutters of the dimly lit room to reveal an uncomfortable picture of the threat to his city. He augmented his sight with a quick casting to sharpen the fine detail.
Lights blazed in a wide ring around an area over two hundred yards in length. It was bustling with Wesmen but not thronged. They were attacking left and right towards the nearest turrets and had built a shield wall, fresh-cut wood for the most part, towards the city. Archers were having some success but it was not affecting the advance along the battlements.
Chandyr had defended the turrets heavily. The Wesmen were suffering significant casualties but without a solitary spell to force them back to their ladders their weight of numbers would ultimately tell. How soon was hard to say. Before dawn in all probability.