The shitstorm arrived. Every man defending our section of wall stayed busy returning some of it to the southerners. The illusory doppelgangers appeared to be hard at work, too. Funny how they could wander around never getting hurt.
“One-Eye! Goblin!” I yelled. “Where the hell are you peckerheads? What the frack is going on over there?” I watched a feeble arrow pass through a Murgen a dozen yards away. “What’s that weird light?” Whatever it was, it gave me the feeling that things could get worse than they looked already.
I got no response whatsoever from my favorite wizards. “Rudy. Flip a flare ball out there. Let’s see what’s sneaking around.” Until recently my now less than favorite wizards had provided spot illumination. “Bucket! Where the hell are Goblin and One-Eye?” Ten minutes ago I had three pairs underfoot, all of them squabbling. Now they were gone and the Shadowlanders were quieter than mice below.
Red Rudy yelled at Loftus and Cletus. One of their engines thumped. A blazing ball arced outward, its only purpose to betray what the enemy was doing in the darkness.
Sparkle piped, “I seen them headed downstairs.”
Suckass. “Why?” This was for sure not the time to wander away.
“Uh . . . They went to talk to Pirmhi and some of them guys from the Horse Brigade.”
I shook my head. I would choke them myself. In the middle of a goddamned battle . . .
The fireball revealed that the Shadowlanders had pulled back from the wall. Spending our missiles was a waste. The southerners were setting up engines capable of throwing grapnels in clusters. That was a stupid way to do business against an eighty-foot wall with veteran soldiers on top, but if they wanted to play it that way we would accommodate them. I was confident that, no matter how many ropes they threw up, we could cut or dislodge their lines before they could climb that high, then, with lungs ready to fall out and arms too heavy to lift, get busy defending their bridgehead while other equally dim types made the same climb carrying a half ton of equipment apiece. “Goblin!” Goddamnit, I wanted to know what that light was over there.
The Shadowlanders had not scaled the wall there. They had attacked off of earthen ramps. Not a surprise. They had been building the ramps from the beginning. That was just basic siegework, employed since the dawn of time and one reason your thoughtful modern prince builds his stronghold on a crag or headland or island. Naturally, the besieger spans the last dozen feet with a bridge he can yank back if a dangerous counterattack develops.
The flareball smashed down four hundred yards out. It continued to provide light until the southerners buried it with sand originally intended to extinguish firebombs if we used them. “One-Eye! I’m going to have your wrinkled balls for breakfast!”
I snarled, “Cletus, keep throwing them fireballs. Who’s got messenger duty? Feet? Go find Goblin and One-Eye . . . Never mind. One of them brain-damaged runts just turned up.”
One-Eye said, “You rang, milord?”
“Are you sober? Are you ready to get to work now?” He stared at that nasty light across town without me coaching him. I asked, “What is that?” The light seemed more sinister now.
One-Eye raised a hand. “Kid, why not take this gods given opportunity to exercise your least well-honed talent?”
“What?”
“Be patient, dickhead.”
The mist or haze or dust started getting thicker. The light grew brighter. Neither happening buoyed my confidence. “Talk to me, old man. This ain’t the time for any of your bullshit.”
“That haze, that ain’t no mist, Murgen. The light ain’t shining off it. It’s making the light.” And the mist and light were drifting toward the city.
“Horse puckey. You can see where there’s a light burning in their camp.”
“That’s something else. There’s two things going on at once, Murgen.”
“Three things, halfwit.” Goblin had arrived, beer breath and all. Presumably all was well at the secret brewery, the arrangements with the cavalry were secure, and he and One-Eye could take time off to help the Black Company defend Dejagore.
Heaven help them if Mogaba discovered what they were doing with grain supposedly set aside for the horses. I wouldn’t have a prayer of saving their butts nor would I offer one.
“What?” One-Eye barked. “Murgen, the man is a walking provocation.”
“Watch, bonehead,” Goblin countered. “It’s already happening.”
One-Eye gasped, suddenly astonished, then frightened. Ignorant in the dark arts, it took me longer to catch it.
Shadows snaked through that blazing dust cloud, thin things little more than suggestions but with something flitting back and forth amongst them. I thought both of a weaver’s shuttle and of spiders. Whichever, web or net, something was forming inside the blazing dust.
They did call him Shadowspinner.
The glimmering cloud grew larger and brighter. The web grew with it.
“Shit,” Goblin muttered. “Now what do we do about this?”
“Exactly what I’ve been trying to get out of you two clowns for the last five minutes!” I bellowed.
“Well!”
“Maybe you could pay attention over here if you can’t do anything about that!” Bucket yelled. “Murgen, those fools have gotten so many ropes up that we can’t . . . Shit!” Another barrage of grapnels fell amongst us. In moments they showed the strain that meant some moron was trying to climb them.
So much for my belief that there was no chance the southerners could scale my wall.
Guys were hard at work with knives and swords and axes. Imaginary people stood around looking fierce. I heard a man grumble that if he had half a brain he would have sharpened his knives. Rudy reminded him, “If you kept your pecker in your pants more you’d have time.”
Some Jaicuri women, naturally, inevitably, did what they had to do to survive.
Doing my part, I hacked on ropes but kept turning to check that light and the webs forming inside it.
Goblin howled, creased by a nearly spent arrow. The cut, on his cheek, was trivial. Arrows have little energy by the time they reach us. He was outraged because fate dared show him the back of her hand at all.
He danced around. Words of power virtually dripped from his mouth in pastel colors. He waved his arms. He foamed at the mouth. He jumped up and down, shrieked, flapped his arms.
His doppelgangers all did the same. It was quite a show.
In all likelihood the gymnastics and yelling had nothing to do with results eventually achieved but I don’t mind showmanship as long as he produces. Croaker was right. Showmanship is the biggest part of the game.
Everything hemp within three hundred yards burst into flame. That was a happy eventuality where our relationship with our attackers was concerned but not something likely to wring cries of joy from anyone else, either. Temporary defense works began to fall apart. Our artillery pieces flared and died. They had included lots of rope. Some guys use rope for belts. Some wear sandals made of rope. Hemp is a commonplace everywhere. Some fools like One-Eye even smoke it.
Cletus bellowed, “Goddamn you, Goblin, I’m gonna chop your ass into cat food.” The rest of us just pulled our pants up and amused ourselves by dropping masonry bits mined from our cellars onto the cursing tangle of limbs wriggling at the foot of the wall.
One-Eye ignored all that, though he took a moment to smirk at the side effects embarrassing Goblin. Then he began to stare at the glow rising from the enemy camp. And began to stutter.
“Come on, shithead,” I growled. “You’ve played with this stuff for ages. What have we got here?” Not that I wanted to know. That web of shadow woven into the light was now obvious to all but the blind.
“Maybe we might ought to head for the cellar,” One-Eye suggested. “I promise you, me and the runt ain’t gonna do nothing with that. Bet you even Longshadow would be bugeyed if he was here to see it. The man put a lot of work in, getting that ready. It’s going to get real unhealthy around here real soon.” Without investing a quarter of the study time Goblin agreed. “If we seal the doors and use the white candles we can hold out till sunrise.”
“This some kind of shadow magic, then?”
“Some kind,” Goblin agreed. “Don’t ask me to look so close I catch its attention.”
“Heaven forbid you should actually take a risk. Can either of you come up with a more practical suggestion?”
“More practical?” One-Eye sputtered.
“We’re fighting a battle here.”
Goblin said, “We could retire from the soldiering racket. Or we could surrender. Or we could offer to change sides.”
“Maybe we could offer up a half-pint human sacrifice to one of Geek and Freak’s bloodthirsty gods.”
“You know what I really miss about Croaker, Murgen?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”
“Damned straight you are. I miss his sense of humor.”
“Wait a minute. His sense of humor? Are you shitting me? What sense of humor? The man . . . ”
“He knew none of us were going to get out of this world alive, Murgen. He never took himself completely serious.”
“Are you talking about the guy who used to be the Old Man? Croaker? Company Annalist and chief bonesetter in his spare time? Some kind of comedian?”
While we bickered the rest of the world bustled along with its business. Which meant our situation deteriorated by the minute. A human weakness, as old as time, arguing while the house burns down around you.
One-Eye interjected, “You gents go ahead and debate if you want. I’m going to invite the boys downstairs, treat them to a beer and take a turn or two at tonk.” He stabbed a crooked black finger earthward.
The gleaming dust with cruel web inside began to arc up over the city. It just might grow enough to net us all.
A vast stillness set in.
Inside the city and out, friend and foe, people of a dozen races and religions all focused upon that shadow web.
Shadowspinner, of course, was totally involved in creating his deadly artifact.
The Shadowlander assault lost impetus as the Shadowmaster’s soldiers decided to hunker down and let their boss make their jobs easier.