Christopher Stasheff - Wizard in Rhyme 05 by the Wizard My Son

Author:the Wizard My Son [My Son, the Wizard]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

But let it be immiscible

Oil in water, though unseen—

Each bucket now pours kerosene!”

The ships exploded into flame, and the Moors staggered back with cries of distress, certainly never noticing that more and more of their mates lay dead on the fringe of the crowd with crossbow bolts in their chests “That’s not just a few outraged citizens, Gilbert,” Saul said, frowning “I think we have some unexpected allies “

“Yes, but can we afford allies we do not know?” Gilbert asked nervously. “I know what you mean,” Saul said grimly. “I’ve had people pitch into a fight to help me out, but I wouldn’t have wanted to know them if I hadn’t been distracted at the time.” Then he noticed that the ship fires were starting to gutter. “I think you can let the rain come down now, Lady Mantrell. The ships have burned down to the water-line.”

Mama dropped her hands, trembling with relief, and gasped for air. “That was a heavy burden indeed!”

“Heavy, but very effective,” Saul assured her. “I just hope we like the guy who started those fires.” He frowned. “Can’t be who I think it is.”

A moan swept the Moorish ranks as they saw that their transportation was charcoal. They began to mill about, and the sound rising from their ranks was angry. “Here we go.” Saul tensed. “Payback time.”

A howl of rage went up, and the mob surged toward the boulevard. “They’ve found the dead bodies.”

Saul said, leaning on a crenel to look, every muscle tense. “They’re chasing somebody!”

Shouting, the mob streamed into the boulevard, most of them on foot. The few horsemen couldn’t make much headway among all the infantry. Light gleamed off scimitars and spears, but the Moorish footmen could only come twelve abreast in the boulevard, and the whole front rank suddenly fell with crossbow bolts in their chests. The second rank tripped over them and went sprawling, then the third rank and the fourth. The mob stalled, milling and trying to sort themselves out with angry cries at one another.

A black horse burst from an alleyway and galloped uphill. A score of dark-clad men burst from the alleys and ran after it.

The Moors howled and scrambled over their fallen comrades. The second-rankers struggled frantically to their feet. Finally the whole mob was charging again.

By that time, though, the black horse was almost to the gates. The dark-clad rider waved and shouted.

The officer on the wall shouted back, raising his arm.

“It is him!” Saul cried.

“Who?” Mama demanded.

The gates groaned open, and the rider reined in, dancing his horse to the side of the road. His sword flashed in the light of the fires as his men streamed past him.

The mob saw the open gate and belled like hounds sighting a fox. They actually crowded aside to let a few riders pass, and half a dozen horsemen charged uphill. Arrows flashed, but fell short of the dark-clad men.

On the wall, the officer shouted and swung his arm down. Catapults snapped, and fireballs arced through the air.

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