At last, with the tide rising around them and the river’s mouth a swirl of dangerous currents, they finished the line across the entire mouth of the river, all but the deepest channels whose current was too strong and too deep for driving in such stakes. Then all of them gathered like so many hairless seals, soaking wet from their labors and by now shivering from the cold, and with their full complement and many grunts and groans, dragged the chain across the river and fastened it to the piles.
With dawn the work was done and the engines put in place, well hidden along the bluff by palisades of bush, log, and rock but within easy range of the channel. Exhausted, Liath toweled herself dry with her tunic, dressed, and curled up in the sun behind the ballistae, head pillowed on her hands. She fell asleep at once.
And was woken even sooner by a hand shaking her shoulder. She staggered to her feet, clutching for her sword, but Sergeant Fell touched his fingers to his lips for silence and waved her forward.
“Stand ready,” he said to her before going on to the next man, his voice as low as if he feared the Eika might hear him on the summer breeze. “We’ll see how the trap works.”
She stood full up and squinted into a setting sun. Opposite, the moon rose over the eastern bluffs.
Liath readied her horse, then slung on her quiver and got down on her belly to sidle up the bluff and watch the Eika ship approach. It was running with the tide but against the wind. A dozen oars on each side stroked at a leisurely pace toward the now-submerged posts. Sunlight ran golden over the water like streaks of fire.
“Easy, lads,” said Fell from below, speaking to the engineers at the ballistae. “Be patient. Wait. Wait. She’s in the sweet spot and … Ho!” Fell’s call to fire rang out like a smith’s hammer.
The air reverberated with the ballista’s release as a great iron-tipped javelin shot through the air. All froze. The ship’s bow ceased moving forward as it hit the chain, and its stern swung wide, yawing under the pull of the current. The javelin hit the water and vanished; at once Fell made adjustments as the second ballista’s shot splashed and subsided, this time closer to the helpless ship. The first crew ratchetted back their machine for a second shot. This javelin struck midship, passing through an oarsman and disappearing into the ship. The sound of cracking wood and Eika shouts reached the shore as the fourth javelin hit the ship at an angle, glancing off the wooden planks. She heard the catapult set loose at last, and she gasped. It seemed the sun itself had loosed a burning brand, an arrow cast gleaming from the fiery heights fletched with billowing smoke … but it was no arrow from the sun but rather a ball of burning pitch launched from the catapult. Falling on the ship, it splashed flame on Eika oarsmen and ship timbers alike.
Fell guided the adjustment of the second ballista as the crew reloaded and the ship foundered. Another javelin followed by another ball of burning pitch struck the ship. Sail, folded on the deck, caught fire. The Eika abandoned ship. Leaping into the waters, they swam toward the shore, floundering in the tide. Sergeant Fell broke away from the crews above and slid down the bluff to the soldiers waiting below. Liath ran down to her horse, mounted, and followed a dozen riders down to the shore. There she found Fell waiting with six spearmen and five archers.
The first Eika righted himself in hip-deep water as an archer took careful aim and, at no more than a stone’s toss, put an arrow through the Eika’s eye as the savage blinked into the blinding western sun. A trio of dogs blundered up out of the river, growling and yelping, and at once the spearmen set upon them, jabbing and thrusting until the creatures howled and thrashed and, finally, lay still.
“To the left!” shouted a rider. Liath cut out away from the others and found two Eika emerging from the water just downriver. She quickly nocked an arrow and shot as she rode, striking one Eika through the heart. The second charged after her with ax poised to chop her down. She kicked her horse into a gallop as the frustrated Eika howled and struggled to keep up. Within moments the Eika, hampered by the pull of the water, slowed to look for other prey. Liath turned in the saddle and nocked another arrow, easing her horse to a walk. It was an easy shot. She took it.
Behind her, a dozen corpses littered the waterline, water streaming past and around them as though around flotsam wedged into the sand. Sergeant Fell chased down what appeared to be the last living Eika—this one unarmed. Ax raised, Fell whooped as he bore down on the confused Eika. The sight was almost humorous. Fell’s men shouted encouragement, but no one stepped in to help. Toughskinned the Eika might be; Fell’s ax cleaved its skull and it, too, dropped to the ground with a hideous scream.
