A
smoking ball of flame sailed out of a small catapult and over the perimeter wall of the House of Steel. The Gond barbarians let out a chorus of wild cheers. Not one of the bare-chested painted warriors stood under six feet in height. Dozens of them towered over seven feet tall. Their bodies were packed with hard muscle. They carried crude weapons, swords, battle axes, and machine guns. They loaded another decapitated head into another catapult. They lit the skull on fire and let it fly.
“How many do you count?” Tark asked. The athletic black warrior was lying flat in tall grasses. His smoky eyes moved over the sea of savage men dancing and screaming outside the castle.
Dominga was hunkered down on one knee with a spyglass over one eye. “It would help if they didn’t move all the time. But I’m counting over five hundred. You?”
“About the same,” Tark said, his head slowly turning from side to side. “I don’t like Ruger’s plan. I don’t like it at all. Those men are bloodthirsty. So many of them, too.”
“They aren’t men.” Sticks low crawled over to Dominga and took the spyglass to view the camp below.
Many bonfires were spread out along the castle walls, burning thirty feet away. They’d been made from wood and the flesh of men. A Gond warrior dragged a dead man by his head of hair and tossed him on one huge fire. The road leading up to the castle had been dressed on both sides with severed heads spiked on poles.
She swallowed. “They are Gond.”
Dusk was nearing. The shining sun was setting behind them, which made for perfect cover from anyone looking their way.
The trio watched the Gond fire the assault rifles at the castle guards that popped up on the high wall. A guard fell over the twenty-five-foot-high wall, clutching his neck. Two Gond rushed the wall and dragged the kicking man away. One held the soldier down while the other Gond cut his head off and held it high for all to see.
The House of Steel wasn’t without its defenses. Crossbows were fired out of arrow slits, but the ballista towers were no longer manned. They’d all been shot to pieces.
The distinct popping of weapon fire came and went in spurts. The moment a castle soldier showed his face, a burst of gunfire followed.
Dominga rubbed her arms. “Those brutes are giving me chill bumps. They are heartless.” She looked at her assault rifle and ran her fingers over the stock. She forced a smile. “But I like the idea of being able to kill them from one hundred yards away. It doesn’t seem possible.” She stared down the gun barrel’s sight and closed and eye. She made a gunfire sound and said, “At least they are big targets.”
“I know,” Sticks said. She held out her rifle. “Do you both remember how to reload and fire this thing? I can show you again.”
“No. We got it.” Tark bumped forearms with Dominga. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “Personally, I can’t wait to shoot one of those Gond. Look at them. They kill without discrimination. They are evil beasts.”
“Just wait for the signal,” she said.
“What is the signal?” Dominga asked.
“You’ll know it when you see it.” Sticks crawled down the bank.
They were positioned just over one hundred yards away from the castle. The surrounding plains were grassy, with a few small trees scattered about. The castle sat on the highest point of the gentle slope that led to the steep sea cliffs behind it. The castle’s towers had a perfect view of anyone that approached its walls. When the Henchmen came, with a tank in tow, the Gond and the castle would know it.
Sticks crawled over the next rise, and with the sun in her eyes, she ran low to where the grasslands dipped and the castle fell out of sight. She jogged over a mile and didn’t stop until she caught back up with the Henchmen, who were waiting by the tank. She reported to Ruger.
“What did you find?” he asked sternly.
“Roughly five hundred Gond lay siege to the castle and many citizens. Half of them are armed with rifles. They mass near the front gates, mocking the king by catapulting burning heads of the dead over the Wall.”
Ruger stroked his chin. “I see. And Tark and Dominga are in a secure position?”
“They are planted right where you said.”
He nodded. “Henchmen, gather.”
The company quickly formed a semicircle around Ruger, who stood with his back to the treads of the tank. “The Gond are waiting on this hunk of metal.” He slapped his hand on the tank. “They wait for the tank to come and blast the House of Steel’s gates to a thousand pieces, but we’ll have a surprise for them… won’t we?”
“Aye!” Horace stated.
Solomon and Sticks exchanged a quick look.
The plan had changed. Not all the Henchmen were disguised as Gond. The war paint had been washed off. Ruger wore his breastplate. Vern, Cudgel, Apollo, and Prospero wore their tunics over chainmail. They looked like soldiers, nothing less and nothing more. Horace, Bearclaw, and Cudgel remained painted up and bare-chested. All of them were big men. Bearclaw was the most Gond looking of them all.
Skitts and Iris were inside the tank.
Shades roped up Ruger, Vern, Apollo, and Prospero. He tied knots around their wrists and put ropes around their necks. None of the men appeared to be armed. Shades tugged on the rope. “One jerk here, and they’ll pull free. “Elder’s Fortune to you, Captain.” He climbed up into the tank and vanished inside the hatch.
Ruger waved Sticks and Solomon over. “I want you to get word to Prince Lewis. Let him know my plan. If we engage, I expect his full support. I hope he brought some.”
“I’d rather stay close,” Sticks said.
He put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Ride now, and I hope that it isn’t over before you return.” He looked at Solomon. “There is a large black case on the back of the tank. I need you to look into that.”
Solomon gave him a curious look, shrugged, and said, “Okay.”
With a frown, Sticks rode away.
