A few Freeholds men fell, cut down by arrows, Eric saw one flanker aiming in his direction and juked left. An arrow whizzed past his shoulder. They numbered perhaps two dozen, all Black Legionnaires in dark armor with flowing capes. A line of crossbowmen advanced, fired, bolts thudding off the intruders’ shields and helmets.
There weren’t that many, at least not compared to the hordes outside, Eric wondered what their play was. Get in behind them and wreak havoc? Force Leon and Granat to commit troops to hunt them down, weakening the wall’s defenses? He had no crossbow bolts left, only a shield and a sword he didn’t really know how to use.
The Black Legionnaires reached the road, at a rise whose far-side dip led down to Highwater Mountain, and across it stood the blocky citadel and its fallback walls. Coming up the road was a horse-drawn wagon of supplies, tended by a handful of recruited farmers who’d be no match for the enemies who now eyed them like a cat menacing a cornered mouse.
Then, from a small gate in the inner wall, emerged Ezhiri.
“No!” Eric heard Ralbor shout from somewhere behind. The Legionnaires stopped, transfixed at the sight of a small, unarmed woman just walking out in front of them.
She raised her flute, and blew a note.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Eric had not believed it at first, when he saw it back at the Beastspeakers’ temple. Nor did he believe it could actually work; be transported to the fortress or taught not to eat their own troops.
But the Beastspeakers had done it. They had a tame T. rex.
It emerged from the hall, around the side of the citadel, tromping forward with mighty footfalls. To their credit, the Black Legionnaires did not falter, falling back and forming a shield wall. The Tyrannosaur, light grey with one front tooth longer than the other, reared up and bellowed an earth-shaking roar.
A whistle came from Ralbor, and raptors attacked with a screech. Against the combined forces of dinosaurs, the Arztillan brutes had no chance. A few dropped their shields and scrambled up the rocks the way they came. Another was seized on the ankle by a raptor and pulled to the ground, where three more set upon him. Others took off running, and were caught by crossbow bolts. One made a break for it and got grabbed in the Tyrannosaur’s jaws, being thrashed around and tossed against the walls, two more were struck by its tail and flung back. Longtooth, victorious, roared again.
They’d win. Eric knew it.
“Rejoin your ranks! Concentrate shots on the Legion!” Lord Leon shouted. “Push them back!”
In short order, Sir Wotoc returned atop his horse, spear-like lance in hand, flanked by Sir Gerend and followed by the rest of Highwater Mountain’s horsemen and what few of Osral’s surviving riders were still fit to fight.
“Open the gate!” Wotoc yelled. “We are going out!”
Splinters flew from the doors now, as a score of men struggled to hold it. Wotoc’s squire Remdel lifted a horn to his mouth, and sounded a deep melody.
The riders charged. At the doors, men pulling chains hauled them open, and Eric saw an ankylosaurus club over-swing into empty air. The dinosaur wheeled around, revealing a mounted Dread Rider with lance raised. Leading the charge, Sir Wotoc lifted his and struck true, sending the man tumbling from his seat. Issel was already at the wall to lower him another.
A raptor brushed past Eric, then Longtooth’s right foot stomped in the dirt not a meter away. Ralbor directed the beasts with a flute, funneling them out to join the offensive. Eric rushed to the wall.
The resurgence of crossbow fire had driven the Legion infantry back behind their shields, leaving the Dread Riders out ahead with Siege Master Fuhran and his command group behind. The Arztillan catapults saw little use, outranged by the starman trebuchets.
Below, a Highwater rider miscalculated and his steed suffered a crumpling blow from an ankylosaur tail club, sending him flying. Wotoc charged another dinosaur head-on and both riders took impacts, he did not go down. The horses were nimble, provided they escaped the swinging clubs, though it took a lance to reach the Dread Riders atop their beasts.
“Sir Wotoc!” Professor Temerin shouted as the man-of-honor returned for a fourth lance. He pointed to Fuhran. “Perhaps it is time to cut the head off the snake?”
Wotoc grinned, as did Ralbor, who played a tune to Longtooth. The Tyrannosaur charged amid the horsemen, clearing a path through the Dread Riders.
Siege Master Fuhran, in his mount’s armored seat, was flanked by four bodyguards and a line of cavalry waited at his rear. They charged, dashing forward to meet Wotoc, Gerend, and their company, but weaving out from the Freehold steeds came the Beastspeaker raptors, vaulting up at their riders. Their lances fell, unbroken.
Fuhran raised a red flag. Lord Leon’s face went white. “He gives the dreadful order! Our city will be burned!”
“Not if we can help it.” Selva’s laser pistol hummed, she cracked off shots at the gryphons which departed the ground with firebombs clutched below. Some gryphons spiraled down to a hard landing, others wheeled around and turned back after being wounded, or before they became the cyan lightning bolts’ next targets. Incendiary pots fell early, starting fires which scattered Arztillan troops. One fell behind the wall, catching a crossbowman’s arm ablaze; Eric and Cobb ran to a water cask and flung the contents down on him.
In the charge below, Wotoc pulled ahead and reached Fuhran first. The Siege Master had no lance, and Wotoc’s had broken beating through the Dread Riders. They traded blows with swords, the bulky triceratops reluctant to turn away from the onrushing Longtooth.
Sixty-five million years ago on Terra, Tyrannosaurus rex had been a natural predator of ceratopsians, and the Keepers, it appeared, left that unmodified. Defensive instincts overriding its master’s commands, Fuhran’s triceratops swung to face the theropod head-on, pulling his sword away from Wotoc’s and creating a fleeting opening for the man-of-honor’s blade to swing up and slice a bloody gash across Fuhran’s left jaw. A misting of blood arced into the air.
Dodging right, Longtooth ducked under the triceratops’ iron-tipped horn and pushed below its frill, striking with head against front leg. In one continuous motion, propelled by accumulated momentum, Longtooth pushed and sent the herbivore toppling over on its side, exposing a soft belly. Fuhran slid from his seat to the dirt, the dying mass of his mount now between him and Sir Wotoc as the Tyrannosaur tore into its neck. His last surviving bodyguard dashed up astride a wounded horse, Fuhran wasted no time swinging himself aboard.
The Dread Riders of Orus sprinted away, falling back towards the Black Legion infantry, itself now under harassment by raptors and in no state to weather a cavalry charge. Fuhran put a silver horn to his mouth, and a somber tone issued forth.
Wotoc raised his bloodstained katana.
“They retreat!” Lord Leon exclaimed. “We triumph!”
Horns and trumpets began to sound, men cheered. Ralbor blew a sharp whistle on his flute, the raptors turned back for the walls. Longtooth looked up and resumed his meal. Shields, spears, catapults, and a few baggage dinosaurs were left behind as the Arztillan army beat a hasty retreat through the still-smoldering Cleft Valley. Wotoc and Gerend paraded back through the gates, to the cheers of the troops.
“You’ve done it!” Wotoc dismounted, walking over to Eric, Temerin, and the rest. “You won us the battle!”
“It was you who won!” Temerin protested. “We hardly did anything!”
“Nay, you did the most important thing of all,” Lord Leon said. “You let us believe it was possible. You gave us hope!”
