Free When the Saints by Dave Duncan Page B

attending to that as they had pulling on the ropes, and the defenders poured arrows into them. Higher yet, and now the haulers by the gate were clearly winning as the angle improved. First one ladder, then the other, reached the vertical and began to topple toward the barbican. As soon as that happened, would-be heroes began scrambling aboard.
    The rain of rocks had stopped for lack of ammunition. There was still plenty of discarded timber lying around the roof, though. Full of rot or worms those balks might be, but every one of them was heavy enough to kill or maim the men it landed on. Wulf found himself swept up in a gang manhandling one of the largest to the edge and raising it to go over the crenels, which was no mean task. They were just in time. As it vanished towards the ground, the top of the first ladder came rushing down to the battlements. The second followed moments later. The tower trembled at the impact.
    The Wends’ planning had been excellent. They had judged the length of the ladders and their distance from the gate perfectly, for they were neither too long nor too short, overtopping the coping stones by a useful three or four feet. Defenders jumped to try and push them aside with hands or pikes, but already Wends were swarming up the rungs, weighing them down. Other attackers were holding the ropes as guylines to keep them vertical.
    Wulf clawed his way to the front and managed to scramble up over the massed men-at-arms until his fingers could touch the rough wood of a ladder.  —Break! You were damaged in the impact. There is a weakness near the third rung from the bottom. When the men reach the top you will be overloaded.
    A sword flashed, swinging at his hand, and he fell back, lost his footing, tipped off the parapet, and sprawled headlong on the deck below, narrowly avoiding impaling himself on a couple of the embedded bolts. He was dazed for a moment, but a rattle of crossbows snapped him awake. The defender archers were lined up, shooting at Wends mounting the ladders. So he had failed. The rungs were full, and the rails were holding their weight. His curse had not prevailed against whatever blessing the Wends’ Speakers had used. Archery stopped as the defenders ran out of ammunition, leaving them only Kingght. swords and pikes to repel the assault.
    Then came a great roar from a thousand throats, part wailing, part cheering. The ladder he had cursed began to slide sideways. One leg had failed, as he had commanded. The top caught in a crenel, so the whole structure twisted and slammed into the other. Both ladders went then, with their human cargoes shrieking in terror and despair. Some who were low enough would fall to the road and crush other men, but most would be hurled over the edge, down to the banks of the Ruzena far below.
    Madlenka and her helpers were on the wall near the barbican, loading a wounded man on a stretcher for transport back to the keep. There they had been within range of arrows, but there would not be many arrows coming now. At the south barbican, Anton was just stepping out the sally port, following Bishop Ugne.
    Everybody on the roof was up on the parapet, peering through merlons and even over crenels, cheering and jeering as they watched the Wends crash to destruction. No one was watching Wulf. The battle at the north gate was won for today. It was time to go and attend to the other foe. Busy morning.
    Wulf unbuckled his belt, dropped it, sword and all, and went to attend the parley.

CHAPTER 6

    He did not break the first commandment, because he emerged from limbo directly behind Anton just as the sally port thumped shut at his back. The door itself would have hidden his mysterious materialization from the men inside, and the slight overhang of the arch from any watchers on the walls.
    The new outpost Vlad had ordered, a hundred yards down the road at the first bend, comprised a timber breastwork and some blindings to conceal his archers while they reloaded. Those would