Then Rilbeur shot skyward.
His wings folded as if clutching the air, then spread wide, and in an instant his body shot upward.
From the great stone battlements and the thick branches of the ancient trees rooted between them, the Muwa winged soldiers surged after him.
They climbed straight until they were beyond arrow range, then Rilbeur banked hard and the whole formation wheeled westward.
Beyond the western wall.
A thick white fog blanketed the ground in front of the battlements, its surface strangely smooth—yet beneath it dark shapes writhed and heaved.
Rilbeur held altitude, staring down at the sea of mist.
A moment later the center of that sea suddenly collapsed inward.
—Whooom.
A boulder exploded upward through the fog.
Then a long, swinging arm carved a visible arc across the white surface.
The smooth white sheet tore open in a long curved wound, only for the wind to seal it again moments later.
Orc catapults.
Each launch sent geysers of fog bursting upward, and the spinning beams left long white contrails that marked their positions.
And those trails betrayed them.
Rilbeur's eyes widened.
"There!"
At his shout the Muwa winged soldiers snapped their heads around in unison.
Beneath the fog, the invisible orc formation seethed like something alive.
The winged soldiers skimmed just above the surface. Every downstroke of their wings sliced faint white wakes across the mist.
Rilbeur flicked the tips of his wings.
The signal rippled outward like an unseen current.
The formation split cleanly into three flights, each peeling away at a different angle and tilting toward the fog.
Then, as one, they thrust their arms forward. Spears hissed through the air and vanished into the white shroud.
Screams rose from the hidden orcs.
Something heavy clattered and stopped.
A taut rope suddenly slackened; the spinning beam twisted and sagged sideways.
—Thud.
An unfired boulder dropped straight back into the mist.
The white surface heaved once, then settled like something massive sinking beneath the waves.
Seconds later the fog dimpled again in a new spot.
Rilbeur shifted his gaze.
A short spinning trail rose—then ended abruptly.
A single spear had punched through the very tip of the arc.
From somewhere unseen came the crack of splintering wood, followed by the metallic crash of collapsing machinery.
"One catapult down!" Rilbeur roared.
"Back to high altitude, winged soldiers!"
A volley of arrows whistled up at him, but he was already climbing fast. None found their mark.
The Muwa answered the arrows' direction with their own spears. Fresh screams erupted below.
Shadowy figures collided in panic, formation crumbling.
Rilbeur climbed higher and looked down.
The fog smoothed itself again, but the tremors beneath remained.
*****
From beneath the wall the sound of something heavy being dragged rose—clank, clank—thick timber and iron grinding together.
At the edge of the fog, enormous silhouettes appeared. Minotaurs with planks larger than their own bodies advanced to the moat's edge and slammed them down.
The massive wooden boards—each taller than a man—stood in a solid line before the ditch. Support stakes were driven deep. Thunk. Thunk-thunk. The stakes bit hard.
Mantlets.
Once the mantlets locked into place, orc archers darted behind them.
Black-painted bows rose as one.
"Throkka!"
At the shout, a storm of arrows leaped skyward.
Tick. Clack. Clatter.
Arrowheads glanced off stone or wedged into mortar. Most shattered against the battlements; a few skimmed the parapet.
Dawi soldiers ducked. Arrows hissed past merlons or thudded into shields.
A handful slipped through the crenels. One grazed a Dawi's shoulder. Others buried themselves in wood and steel.
Then heavier sounds joined the hiss of arrows.
From behind the mantlets, minotaurs hurled throwing axes.
Thick hafts and heavy iron heads slammed into the battlements. Some bounced off corners; others spun wildly and clattered into the walkway.
Stone chips flew.
Several Dawi cried out and staggered back. One dropped, shoulder split open. Another clutched a ruined arm, unable to stand.
An axe that had only clipped a shield spun away and fell.
Along the wall the Dawi stood shoulder to shoulder behind their shields, firing through the gaps while others dragged the wounded clear. Fresh soldiers stepped forward to fill every gap.
Below, the minotaurs moved behind their mantlets, snatching up axes, throwing, then turning for the next.
Arrows flew up, arrows flew down. Short Dawi battle-cries rang along the wall; raw orc bellows answered from the moat.
"Shoot the archers at the moat! Aim above the shield wall!"
Gardon shouted.
Dawi archers leaned into the embrasures without exposing themselves, loosing shafts at the orc heads and shoulders that showed above the mantlets.
That was when the first orc siege tower shoved through the fog and reached the moat.
It was a monstrous wooden beast, as tall as the wall itself. Thick logs and layered planks bound together, the whole thing draped in heavy hides still dripping with water. Ladders and railings ran up its sides; at the top a folded assault bridge waited, ready to drop.
At its front loomed an even larger structure—thick beams and massive logs lashed with chains. It looked like the tower's face, but it was actually the bridge meant to span the moat.
The tower halted at the edge. Its huge wheels bit deep into the mud. The banner at its peak swayed wildly. Inside, orcs roared.
—Rumble-rumble—
The iron clamps holding the front section released.
The enormous forward mass tilted forward, chains rattling, and crashed down across the moat.
—BOOM.
Its far end slammed into the opposite bank.
The siege tower had just laid its own bridge.
"A bridge!" Banda bellowed.
"The siege tower's crossed the moat! They've made a path!"
Gardon whipped around at the shout.
Orcs were already pouring across the new wooden span like a black tide. Behind them came minotaurs, huge shields raised overhead.
The thunder of running feet rolled out of the fog—thump-thump-thump.
Another siege tower lumbered into view behind the first, slower, wheels crushing mud.
Then—from high on the wall—a long, low vibration.
—Whooosh—
The great ballista mounted on the stone tower roared. A steel bolt the size of a spear tore through the air and punched straight into the second tower.
CRACK!
It ripped through the hide covering, splintering the wooden frame beneath. One orc lost his balance and plummeted, screaming, into the mist.
"Keep firing!" the order rang out.
But the wounded tower did not stop. It shuddered forward like a dying beast, still grinding toward the wall.
At that moment black shadows leaped from the battlements.
Muwa.
Wings snapped open as they skimmed the wall, then climbed. In their talons they clutched small clay pots.
"Torches ready!" came the cry.
The Muwa swooped low over the siege tower and released the pots. Clay shattered against the upper levels and sides.
Thick yellow oil poured out, clinging to hide and wood, seeping into every crack and running down into the interior.
Then dozens of torches arced through the air.
The oil caught at once.
Small flames licked up, then the liquid boiled and erupted—pop-pop-pop—spreading in greedy sheets.
Orcs inside the tower screamed.
They flung water from the moat, but the fire only flared brighter. Burning oil surged outward in waves, spilling down ladders, splashing onto the orcs hauling water. Leather armor ignited. Even iron-clad orcs howled as flames found gaps in their plates and ran down their bodies. Many leaped straight into the moat.
Oil from the upper levels poured down the outer walls, setting the pushers below ablaze.
One of the two towers could take no more.
Flames raced down its frame. Wet hides curled and blackened; wood crackled and split. A wheel shattered. The tower listed sharply.
The burning wreck groaned, then toppled sideways into the moat with a thunderous crash, flames swallowing everything.
Behind the collapsing tower the fog heaved again.
The entire white sea surged forward as if shoved from behind.
A deep grinding sound rolled across the ground—creeeak—screeech.
Wood twisting, iron straining.
Then the fog parted.
A colossal siege ram rolled into view.
A low, broad wooden canopy emerged first—thick logs layered like a roof, covered in hides already heavy with mud and water. Arrow scars and scorch marks criss-crossed its surface.
Beneath the canopy moved thick legs.
Minotaurs.
Shoulders braced, massive arms locked, they pushed the ram forward at a crouch. Their breath blasted fog aside; sweat poured from beneath their horns. Each hoof dug deep; the whole machine shook with every step.
From the front protruded a long, thick beam.
A giant ram hung from it, its iron head aimed straight at the gates. Chains rattled as the wheels turned.
Then small shadows dropped again.
Muwa winged soldiers.
Lower this time, skimming just above the canopy. Clay pots smashed across the roof.
Thick oil spread instantly, soaking wood, hide, and dripping onto the minotaurs below.
One minotaur bellowed as the liquid seeped into its fur.
The next instant came the ballista's voice again.
—Whooosh—
This time the bolts were different.
Cloth-wrapped tips burned fiercely.
The first flaming bolt slammed into the canopy.
Thump!
Oil-soaked hide shuddered. Flames erupted where the fire met fuel. A second bolt, then a third—each one punching home.
Fire raced across the roof, spilled over the edges, and poured onto the minotaurs.
Burning fur filled the air with acrid smoke.
The minotaurs thrashed, searching for water.
Buckets from the moat splashed upward, but the flames refused to die. Burning oil surged sideways and downward, igniting the ram's iron head. A minotaur dropped his grip.
The canopy tilted. The ram swung wildly.
Another flaming bolt struck the iron head dead center.
Sparks exploded. The wooden cradle began to burn.
The siege ram ground to a halt.
Minotaurs staggered back. The entire canopy became a roaring inferno. Hides curled, wood split, and the machine slowly collapsed in on itself.
Another orc siege tower—its side blackened, upper levels half-consumed by fire—still crawled forward. Orcs inside frantically threw water and mud, refusing to stop. Flames still licked its frame, but the wheels kept turning.
It drew closer and closer to Damu's western wall.
Chains rattled on its upper level.
The assault bridge at the top tilted forward.
Iron clamps released.
—CRASH!
The heavy iron-shod ramp slammed down onto the battlements. Stone dust exploded. The bridge's teeth bit deep into the merlons.
"Okka-Ulla!! Okka-Ulla!! OKKA-ULLA!!"
Heavy, thickly armored orcs poured across the narrow ramp, roaring as they charged.