The Flames of the City by Jim Webster

Author:Jim Webster
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: War, The seige of Oiphallarian, God-demon, murder, mystery, fantasy, epic, vengence, adventure, body, killer, opera, food and drink, Destriers, the Land of the Three Seas
ISBN: 9781782347491
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2015
Published: 2015-06-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

In Oiphallarian, Faerbalt peered out from the wall walk into the darkness. He could hear creaking but could see little because of the thick fog that had come off the river. This section of wall near the Helm Gate had worried him when he saw it in daylight - a crack ran down through the stonework and he suspected it went all the way through the wall. He had no doubt the Scar would know about it. But the creaking out there bothered him. Finally he turned to Captain Uirshalk next to him.

“Is there a sally port handy?”

Uirshalk gestured to the left, “about fifty yards.”

“Then I’ll take a couple of lads and see what is going on.”

Uirshalk was about to say something but found himself speaking to empty air. The Urlan had already gone, tapping two of his men on the shoulder as he passed.

Uirshalk caught up with them and led them to the sally port. Quietly they removed the steel beams that braced the door shut. Uirshalk whispered to the door warden and the old woman ran off to fetch some reinforcements in case they were needed.

Faerbalt bent low, his helmet and armour were covered by a dark cloak. He moved silently out through the open doorway, an arrow already nocked in his bow. He beckoned for his two supporters and they moved to join him. Then with subtle hand signals he gave them their instructions and they took up station on him, ten feet behind, one to the left, one to the right. Faerbalt led off. Moving cautiously in the fog which seemed to be thinning slightly, Faerbalt walked towards where the creaking seemed to be coming from. A breeze was getting up and slowly the fog parted. Faerbalt could see that there were two lines of wagons, hauled by men, sweating, naked, save that each man had a metal collar round his neck.

The wagons were unusual, high sided. Faerbalt made another hand gesture and his two supporters slowly sank down to the ground. Walking the brisk walk favoured by those whose task is to tell hapless minions what to do, Faerbalt strode across to the nearest wagon. He glanced inside, it was filled with earth. Suddenly he realised what was happening, the Scar were using their slaves to create an assault lane which would be protected from Ranger artillery by the wagons. He walked away from the wagon, ignoring the slaves just as they had ignored him. Advancing down the lane protected by wagons was another column of slaves, each carrying a barrel. Faerbalt walked up to the lead slave and took the barrel off him. The slave stopped, confused, the others stopped behind him and from further back there was the shout of someone wanting to know what was going on. Faerbalt sniffed the barrel and the placed it carefully on the ground on its side. He kicked the end in and then, snatching a fire pot from another slave, he dropped the glowing coals into the liquid running out of the barrel.

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