The House of Yeel - By Michael McCloskey Page 0,71

we would see it as soon as they charged.”

“Tuluk is key to the strategy. And even failing strategy, its brute force has to be worth scores of men at least. Timing is critical. We can’t move until we see him. He breaks their line providing us the opportunity to flank. To do otherwise—”

“My pardon, Vot! But what if he doesn’t appear?” Jymoor interrupted.

By the moon, she’s just as long winded as Yeel.

“Then we might charge for that gate and try and destroy that ram. But the other gates will still fall. Perhaps if we could reach the castle—oh, there he is.”

Tuluk appeared above the heads of the barbarians seconds later. The creature rose taller. It snapped at a nearby man, ripping his head from his shoulders. Tuluk kept growing. Someone hurled a spear into its back, but the weapon looked increasingly insignificant as the monster gained half its normal size. Men were caught under its belly as it expanded to dominate the field. It moved fitfully, grinding its huge flippers against the soil, sending men flying.

“Let the attack begin,” Vot intoned. Somehow Jymoor heard it in her mind clearly as if Vot placed it there directly. It must have been the same for the rest of the Ascaran army, as they starting running forward as one, aiming to the right of the opening in the line created by Tuluk.

The barbarians were roiling about, contemplating what to do in the face of Tuluk’s sudden appearance, when they spotted the Ascaran charge and braced for it. Jymoor ran swiftly for someone in such heavy armor, able to keep up with the lighter Ascaran soldiers wielding their fenlar.

A man with an axe and a metal breastplate challenged Jymoor. He wore part of the skull of a bear or a lion over the top of his head. Its fangs descended over his brow, adding to his fearsome appearance.

But Jymoor had faced worse. She thrust for his throat as the axe descended on her shoulder. Both of them hit their target; Jymoor’s left shoulder felt a flash of pain but the man gurgled and died as Jymoor’s weapon sliced deep into his throat. She pulled the weapon out quickly.

Another barbarian advanced to take the dead man’s place. Jymoor felt another spike of pain in her shoulder as she pointed her sword at the new threat.

My collarbone is broken. But at least it’s not on my sword arm’s side.

A spear thrust for her eyes. She moved her head aside. Her own counterthrust skittered off the man’s breastplate. Then the barbarian stood next to her. They were too close for their weapons. His horned helm came smashing into Jymoor’s helm, sending stars dancing through her vision.

This may be it.

The man fell dead. Master Kasil removed her sword from the man’s armpit.

“Don’t make things any harder than they need to be,” Kasil lectured. The woman moved forward to skewer another barbarian as Jymoor gathered her wits.

She looked about through her visor slit. The Ascarans had broken through the line on the south side, giving Tuluk’s rage a wide berth. The line was thin here, as many of the barbarians had fled Tuluk’s vicinity. Now the Ascarans were cutting through the remaining warriors rapidly.

“Proceed around the fortress counterclockwise to avoid Tuluk,” Vot said. Jymoor heard her even though Vot was nowhere nearby. “Roll up their flank. Our line will be perpendicular to theirs, allowing us to concentrate our force against a few of them at a time. Many of them are scaling the wall. Knock them off their ladders and set fire to their siege equipment with the firepacks.”

Jymoor’s shoulder started to hurt worse. She looked ahead at the barbarians engaging the Ascarans.

Perhaps over by the wall. Maybe I’m still in good enough shape to finish off some of the men who’ve fallen from ladders…my armor should be distinct enough to keep me from being shot with an arrow from above.

Jymoor worked her way closer to Maristaple’s walls. The first barbarian she approached was just staggering up. Jymoor suspected he’d fallen from one of the damaged ladders nearby. His arm was blooded. Spotting Jymoor’s approach, he looked for a weapon.

Jymoor froze.

Do I engage a man without a weapon? Do I care more for honor or victory?

An arrow sliced into the man from above. His face stretched in shock, then he fell to the ground.

Jymoor stepped forward along the wall to find the next one. She saw him twenty paces ahead.

This man offered no moral dilemmas. He saw Jymoor approach