"This is wrong! Where are the ruins of the siege towers and war machines?" demanded one of the greater of their number.
Priests whose vestments were trimmed in fiery orange or tawny shades, as opposed to the bright gold work on the speaker's gown, dared make no answer; but one in deep red and bright crimson replied, "Where indeed?" and, turning to the huddle of his lessers, commanded one of their number haughtily. "Go!" he ordered. "Request that the others hasten here with all speed!"
One of the clerics scurried off, while the remainder of the group again turned their scrutiny to the fighting below. The first charge had pushed the attacking forces backward in a great bow, but their lines of armored men and horses had not broken. Now it was the turn of the sallying humanoids and monsters to be forced away, back toward the castle's barbican and massive gatehouse. The four companies of hyenalike gnolls were now hard pressed by infantry, while skirmishing crossbowmen sent humming quarrels into the humanoid bands' flanks. The ogres too were being slowly decimated, the survivors shoved back by pike and pole arm, the towering creatures subject to well-aimed shafts and bolts from rear-rank fighters. True, both gnolls and ogres had exacted a great price upon the attacking soldiers, but the observers in the castle could see it was a mere pinprick compared to the total force that ringed the beleaguered stronghold.
Of the three sorts of creatures that formed the counterattacking force, the twenty or so trolls were fewest in number and most effective in their devastation. Ten times their number had fallen to them before the first troll went down under burning arrows and hacking blades. Its sundered pieces attempted to rejoin themselves even as the loathsome monster began regenerating its own wounded and scorched flesh. A squad of sappers came suddenly to the area where its throes marked the situation, carrying with them pots of smoldering coals. Soon smoke and flame came from their efforts, and the greasy, black plumes marked the final end of one after another of these oil-soaked, dismembered limbs. Others of the trolls went to quicker deaths, struck by lesser magic-users mere evokers and conjurers, but armed with slim wands that spat missiles of magical sort and flame as well. It was evident that they had been saved for just such a purpose, and they now went about their duties with efficient action, shielded by fighting men and even clerics in brown or green garments.
The surviving humanoids fell back first, their retreat toward the castle quickly becoming a panicked route as the men pressed them. With them went the ogres, now interested only in saving themselves from sharp pike and broad-headed arrow. The drawbridge was hauled rapidly up, however, to shut fast the gate, and gnolls and ogres alike had no recourse but to turn and fight to the death, having been abandoned to their fate by the heartless commanders of the castle.
The trolls, too stupid to fear the inevitable, also fought until burned to vile ashes or reduced to a welter of stinking jelly by showers of acid that caused their crawling flesh to smolder and run. The last of this transpired under the gaze of the crimson-clad watchers, augmented now by another handful of men.
"We must get relief soon, or the castle falls!" said the leader of these clerics. "Where is Horval Crook-finger?"
A tall, thin man, clad in a robe of purple so dark that only the brilliance of the sun revealed its true shade, stepped forward at the summons and bowed, his hand held over the embroidered red trigon on his chest.
"Your command, Elder Brother?" the man asked meekly.
"You fools were duped by mere phantasms, false visions!" roared the commander. "The entire dweomer of our assembled spell-casters was spent on the destruction of illusions! Why did no one call me forth?"
The magic-user standing before the enraged commander of the castle's garrison made no answer, nor did any of the others. Who dared remind the speaker that he himself had commanded absolute privacy? None among the assemblage would brave him when he was lost in poppy juice and lotus smoke.
"Fools!" he repeated, and then took another long look at the tableaux beneath. The last of the trolls was a writhing bonfire, the gnolls and ogres were trampled and dead, and the attackers were storming the gate's outworks, ladders against barbican.
"Go, Crook-finger! Use scrying to alert those ores that they must leave off bickering with the Ho-jebli. Both must march to our succor at once!"
"I dare not use crystal or fluid, Elder Brother," the purple-robed man replied fearfully. "I have tried already, and the enemy spell-binders nearly had my mind."
"So – another useless tool!" The commander eyed the magic-user with a malign stare, and the fellow seemed to shrived before his gaze.
"I can go to the Euroz tribes, Elder Brother, and force them to come at once," Horval Crook-finger suggested.
The evil countenance of the one referred to as "Elder Brother" twisted into a large smile. "Yes, you can go. Tell our Cousins and Uncles with the tribes that they are to move with all speed to relieve this castle, for its loss opens the way to all the Pomarj. Then you will carry my report to the Oldest… Understand?"
"Of course, Elder Brother."
"Then come with me to my chambers. I will write a message to accompany the rest." With that, the red-and-gold-clad man strode to the staircase that descended inside the massive keep tower. The magic-user followed.
Within minutes, the pair were back atop the high structure. Their associates had remained there, observing the assault. As the commander and his spell-casting underling arrived, a major escalade was being attempted on the southern bastion. Both observed for a moment.
"The fools have left off their attack upon the gate to gain the wall bastion there? This is heartening! Watch, Crook-finger, so you can tell this when you report," the red-robed commander ordered. Then, turning to the knot of others who stood anxiously by, he sent three of their number, lesser clerics of some sort, to bolster the defense of the wall.
Soon the men on top of the towering keep saw these three, with a platoon of men-at-arms, hurrying across the inner bailey's confines into the outer yard. Then they struggled a bit as they climbed the grassy swale that sloped up to the curving strongpoint on the outer wall. The bastion was a twenty-foot-high wall topped by a crenellated battlement. The wall was splayed at the bottom, serving as a batter to foil ram, pick, or screw and to confound attackers in tower or otherwise. For half of its height, the bastion's curve was backed by packed earth. Along this ground, at man-height, and at intervals of about six feet, the thick wall was pierced with sloping embrasures, so that archer or crossbowman could loose his missiles at attacking men with almost total safety. From pierced merlon and embrasures between, as well as from the projecting parapet, the machicolation, missiles and rocks could be rained upon attackers. Defenders doing just that swarmed along the walkway atop die wall, which was as wide as a man is tall.
The escalade was simply an affair of mantlets, ladders, and rushing soldiers trying to protect themselves with shields as they rushed forward. One of the red-robed figures atop the tower waved his arms, and a small onager thrummed and bucked, its boulder sailing high over the bastion to fall somewhere on the other side. A splintering crash and screams indicated that it had scored a hit, and the commanders smiled evilly. The tops of ladders appeared, but the platoon of fresh troops just arrived were armed with military forks. They spread themselves along the curve of the wall and began tipping over ladders by pushing them away. Some of the mail-clad attackers did manage to clamber atop the battlement, but missile or sword cut down most of them. Few, indeed, got to the catwalk and began meleeing with the defenders there. Abruptly, one of the turrets along the bastion wall collapsed with a crash. Shouts indicated that some enemy had used magic to cause this. The commander was not worried. Both sides had spent most of their spells before dawn, and before another magical assault could strike, his own spell-casters would also be renewed in power.