Sweat rolled down Ban’s forehead to sting his eyes as he hoisted stone blocks and roughhewn beams into place between two buildings at the outer edge of the main square. Teams of his Crafters, engineers, and various craftsmen that had followed Emrael to Trylla did similar work at various points all around the square, building a large ringwall along broad avenues that traversed this part of the city while the bulk of the Legion defended the river wall to the north. All of the civilians had been gathered in the inner fortress with the Legion, and many had volunteered to help put a barrier between the invading army and their families.
They stacked stone from buildings that had already fallen on the other side of the avenues—or that Garrus’s engineers had pulled down to create more clear space on the other side of their wall—to build walls with steps leading up the interior that the defenders could use to fight from, like a bulwark.
Ban and his Crafters weren’t exactly used to this level of physical activity, but the threat of imminent death spurred them to their task right along with the men and women who were accustomed to such labor. The distant sounds of fighting—crashes of steel on steel, the shouts and horns sounded by the defenders, and an occasional scream—were a constant reminder of why they worked themselves to the bone. Building fortifications suited Ban far better than fighting Watchers in the streets.
Of course, their makeshift defenses weren’t nearly as good as the sheer walls a true fortress like Whitehall Keep or the Citadel would have, but they had effectively turned a square mile of city into the next best thing. Unless there were Malithii who had replicated Darrain’s explosives in large numbers, Ban reckoned that their five thousand should be able to hold it against even overwhelming numbers. They just needed another hour or two to finish this last wall on the north side and two or three other spots on the southeast side of their pseudo-fortress. Ban had deemed the southern walls lower priority, seeing that the enemy was almost certain to attack from the north, where they could cross any of several bridges across the River Lys that split the ruined city. Garrus hadn’t had the opportunity to take down the bridges with so little warning, and Emrael hadn’t wanted them taken down earlier because he would need them for his imminent campaign against Marol and the Watchers in the north. With no viable fords or bridges for leagues in either direction, the battlegrounds were well set.
A horn sounded nearby, much closer than any had before, maybe just a few streets from where they were working. The wall was only built about half as high as they needed it to be. Ban’s crew redoubled their efforts, exhausted though they were.
The crash of steel on steel and screams of wounded men erupted nearby. Very near. Ban had just looked up from his work when a squad of Ire Legionmen ran from a nearby alleyway and into the cleared avenue, panic clear on their faces. The unfinished barrier Ban and his crew were working on was their best chance at escape back into the fortifications, and they sprinted straight for it, some of the men even dropping their shields to run faster.
The Ire Legionmen standing on building rooftops and atop the finished stone barricades to either side aimed their crossbows and conventional longbows, but held their arrows until men in the blue coats of the Watchers boiled from nearly every alleyway in sight. There were hundreds of them running after the ten poor Iraeans fleeing from what must have been a massacre at the river wall.
“Shoot!” a soldier overhead roared, and hundreds of crossbow and longbow strings slapped in a rolling wave, sending bolts and arrows streaming from rooftops, empty windows on street-facing buildings, and from behind the stone barricades.
Dozens of Watchers were struck and crumpled, folding around their wounds to squirm and twitch on the ground. Their comrades who had survived the volley hesitated, looking from the fortifications in front of them to their fallen friends in shock. The Iraeans in their makeshift cityscape fortress continued shooting as fast as they could reload their weapons. More Watchers dropped to the muddy cobbles, and within seconds the surviving Watchers retreated to the cover of the few buildings still standing on the far side of the avenue.
Ban was left gasping for air, shaking with adrenaline. The avenue was quiet save for the moans and cries of the wounded who squirmed in growing puddles of their own blood. The small group of retreating Iraean soldiers had climbed over the wall right next to Ban, pulled up by several of the workmen who still labored to finish the wall even during the skirmish. They now sat in a small cluster, breathing heavily. One of them began to sob.
Ban approached to ask them quietly, “What happened?”
One of the soldiers, a solidly built older man with iron-grey hair and bright blue eyes, closed his eyes as he responded in a voice raspy with emotion and exhaustion. “We just didn’t have enough men. We shot hundreds of them, maybe thousands. But we ran out of crossbow bolts, even ran out of arrows. The Watchers and their priests brought those … monsters. Those things that look like people, but all grey and half-rotted. We killed so many, but they took one of the buildings in the wall that hadn’t been all bricked up.… We ran when they got through. There were just too many, Lord Ire. Too many.”
An Ire Legion officer, an Iraean Captain Second Ban didn’t know but had seen in Garrus’s meetings, had arrived to hear most of the man’s report. He asked from behind Ban’s shoulder, “And the rest of our men, Sergeant?”
The older sergeant opened his eyes to stare at the Captain Second for a moment before answering with a shake of his head. “I don’t know, Captain Withan. I don’t know. There were a lot of us still up on the wall, and plenty in reserve. But … well, you saw. There were at least twenty thousand between the Watchers and Marol’s men, not counting those monsters. They came through damn quick, sir. Damn quick.”
Captain Withan cursed, then called a page over to him. “Tell Captain First Imarin that we are holding for now, and that the holes in the wall to the south need to be finished immediately. We’re about to be surrounded. Minimal survivors from the battalions on the wall.”
“May the Ancestors welcome their souls,” the Captain muttered as the page ran off with the message, then looked to Ban. “There were three thousand men on the river wall,” he said quietly. “We’re going to need whatever tricks you and your engineers can cook up for us, Lord Ire. Do you have any more of the explosive devices?”
Ban smiled sadly back at the officer. “We have a few surprises for them, hidden in those buildings across the street and in larger buildings all between here and the river wall. When you give the word, I can bring most of the buildings in sight down on their heads to buy us some time.”
“All at once?” Captain Withan asked.
“Yes. I’m afraid I only have a single actuator for the explosive Craftings. They will all explode at once.”
Captain Withan nodded. “We’ll let them fill those buildings up, then. Let them start their next assault. I imagine it will come tonight, or sooner. We’ll want to kill as many of the bastards as we can with your magic, maybe scare them into a temporary retreat so we can look for any of our men that managed to hold out. Be ready to bring them down on my signal.”
Then louder, he called to his men, sergeants and a few Captains Third that had gathered for orders in the aftermath of the first repelled assault. “I need scouts! One hundred men to look for survivors and tell me what in Glory’s dark name is going on out there. A half-round to each man for a day’s work! Have them ready in ten minutes.”