Chapter 564: Walls of Spark and Stone
Walls of Spark and Stone
Martel woke to the sound of a cannon's roar. Besides being a rude awakening, it also served as an unpleasant reminder of their situation. In some ways, the uncertainty was the worst part. Would the next shot bring the wall down? Would it take ten or twenty? Would it hold until reinforcements arrived, or would the other cohorts only find ruins and bodies when they finally reached the outpost?
Martel did his best to push such questions from his mind, knowing it to be useless speculation. The wall would hold until it no longer did; they had to prepare for that moment. Swiftly, he and Eleanor both put on their armour and ate bread and dried meat for breakfast. Afterwards, they sought out Valerius.
The mageknight was overseeing work being done in anticipation of the breach. A primitive barricade was under construction to act as a secondary line of defence, hopefully keeping the Khivans at bay once they stormed the camp.
"Prefect," Eleanor called out.
"Prefects," Valerius replied. "We are preparing our defences, but my concern is that once the wall is breached, that damnable cannon will continue to fire, smashing anything behind it. It makes erecting this barricade a rather precarious proposition."
Eleanor nodded, surveying the carts and crates being placed. "They will have to cease firing once their own soldiers are in the breach. I think the greatest danger will be if they establish a line of defence inside our walls, allowing their musketmen to stand behind and fire upon our soldiers at will. Especially if they have sharpshooters outside, picking off our defenders upon the walls. They might seek to scale them as well, gaining a foothold."
"I have every archer positioned on the north-eastern and south-eastern towers," Valerius explained. "The first task will be to repay these sharpshooters in kind."
"We have an advantage the Khivans may not know," Eleanor continued. She looked at Martel.
"I can summon a wall of fire," he explained. Last night, he and Eleanor had briefly discussed this. "I can't keep it burning all day, but it will disrupt their attack."
"You are a fountain of wonders, Sir Martel!" Valerius gave a relieved smile. "Such a spell will undoubtedly be of great help."
The deafening roar of stone shattering interrupted their conversation, along with debris flying in every direction. Soldiers, busy with the barricade and unlucky to be caught near the breach, fell to the ground. The wall turned to rubble, creating a gap at least thirty feet wide.
A ringing overtook Martel's ears, and he coughed as dust filled the air. They had not been near the wall, but he felt afraid all the same, looking through the haze until he saw Eleanor. She was standing upright, and he felt relieved, until he noticed that she stood unmoving, as if catatonic.
"Eleanor? Eleanor!" As he called her name, she did not react. He reached out to grab her shoulders. "Eleanor!"
She finally seemed to stir. "Yes," she breathed. "What happened?"
"The wall, it fell! The Khivans are coming!"
Her eyes, hitherto hazy, became focused on him. "Yes, of course." She looked around. "We must know the situation. Follow me, but keep your head down!" Eleanor turned and ran towards the wall, in between soldiers dusting themselves off or helping others back on their feet.
Valerius had done the same, and they joined him. Looking out across the clearing, the Khivans began a slow approach. They had great wicker shields to protect them from arrows, and soon, they would be within range to shoot at the walls.
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"Where is the cannon?" Eleanor asked.
She was right; it had not made any shot since bringing down the wall. "Strange," Valerius remarked. "I would have thought they would bombard us until the last moment."
Martel strained his eyes, but he saw no sign of it, and the distance was too great for his magic to sense anything.
"Of course!" Eleanor exclaimed, and the other two mages looked at her. "They have breached the eastern wall, but we expect this. They know we are ready to defend it. They are creating another breach to divide our forces. To the west."
"The gate," Valerius muttered. "It will not last long against the cannon."
"We have to split up," Martel considered. "Eleanor and I defend one spot, you take the other."
"Yes," Valerius agreed. "Your wall can do much to slow them down."
"We will take the gate," Eleanor declared. "The causeway will make it easier for them to attack, and they will have the cannon on that side for further attacks. Give us one centuria," she told Valerius.
"Of course! First centurion, you are under the command of Sir Fontaine! Defend the gate with her!"
"Sir!" The officer saluted.
As the pair of mages ran down the walls, they were soon followed by a hundred soldiers, all rushing towards the gate.
***
The cannon only had to fire twice. First time, the wood of the gate cracked and groaned. Second time, it splintered, flying everywhere. Immediately, the Khivans followed up with an assault. Musketmen ran out into the clearing and began firing upon the walls. Soldiers armed with blades and small shields went straight for the opening. Yelling war cries in their own tongue, they stormed over the causeway and passed beyond the walls.
Once the first two scores had come this far, Martel raised his wall to fill the space left by the broken gate. Inside the camp, a hundred legionaries led by a mageknight charged the Khivans suddenly caught between steel and fire, unable to retreat; nor could their comrades outside the walls come to their aid.
Swiftly, the Khivans in close combat were butchered to a man, and the legionaries went up the walls instead, protecting against any attempt to scale the defences while hiding behind the crenellations, as bullets flew at any sign of movement.
"How long can you maintain the wall?" Eleanor asked, appearing by Martel's side. He had watched the fight from a distance, unable to join as his spells were more likely to hit their own soldiers than the enemy.
"I don't know," Martel admitted. "A while longer." It was difficult to tell how much it drained him to keep the spell going. Unlike the initial casting of a complicated spell, where Martel could feel the burst of spellpower spent, this was more of a trickle, making it hard to judge.
"I should help at the other side. A mageknight may make a big difference in such a fight," Eleanor considered. "But I need to know you will stay safe, away from the walls and the gate, and do nothing but keep your spell burning. Agreed?"
Martel swallowed. "Agreed."
***
While the Khivans assaulted the outpost both east and west, Martel sat on a crate. He could hear the sounds of it all. Muskets fired, bullets whistling through the air, the screams of the wounded and dying.
To his left, the legionaries defended the walls against Khivans with grappling hooks, preventing them from gaining a foothold while taking fire from the musketmen on the ground.
To his right, at the other end, Eleanor and the others fought to hold the Khivans back and keep them from overrunning the camp.
Still, Martel remained seated. As much as he wanted to run towards the east and find Eleanor, support her, the distance would break his connection to his spell, keeping the Khivans out. Nor could he join the legionaries on the walls, even though his magic would be useful against the musketmen sniping at them; if Martel got shot, his concentration might break, and the spell would be lost. Despite all his instincts screaming at him to join the fight, Martel remained seated.
A cannonball came flying through the wall of flames. It smashed into a tent. While unable to see inside the camp, the Khivans apparently thought it worthwhile to shoot at random.
Martel felt himself slowly growing tired, magically speaking. The wall of flames drained his spellpower bit by bit. If the battle continued much longer, he would be exhausted, making his consternation irrelevant; he would not be much use in a fight, and the spell would end on its own accord.
Was it better to let it end early and spend his remaining strength fighting the enemy? Martel felt like a coward. Another cannon shot interrupted his thoughts briefly. Its flight ended, and it landed on the ground, accomplishing nothing; Martel shared the sentiment, even if he knew the importance of his spell.
Another sound pushed through the din of war. It took Martel a moment to recognise it, new and unexpected. Trumpets, giving the signal to attack. Reinforcements had arrived for the Asterians.
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