Even though the Legions could face the vord at a point of maximum concentration, where the firecrafting of the Citizens and the freemen’s mules could do the most harm, the Aleran Legions remained badly outnumbered. Ehren watched as one segment of the wall rotated weary legionares out for a fresh cohort. The vord needed no such cooperation. They simply kept coming, an endless tide. Ehren counted, out of habit, noting that only six men of the eighty-man century had been lost during their hourlong rotation on the walls. And yet it was entirely possible that their losses, proportionately, were worse than those being inflicted upon the vord.

The hollow booms of firecraftings continued to rumble irregularly through the night, accompanied by the scattered popping sounds of the occasional launch of fire-spheres from a mule, but even those were infrequent. Ehren asked Count Calderon about it.

“The firecrafters are resting in rotation,” he said quietly. “They’re exhausted. There are just a few of them on duty to prevent any breaches of the wall. And we’re running low on ammunition for the mules. Right now, there are workshops being established in the refugee camp east of the city to manufacture more fire-spheres, but it isn’t coming along as fast as we’d like.”

“How fast would we like it?” Ehren asked dubiously. A stray sphere from the last mule launch had come down inside the ramparts, and a supply wagon was burning enthusiastically.

“Twelve million of them an hour would be ideal,” Calderon replied.

Ehren choked. “Twelve mil—An hour?”

“That would be enough for one hundred mules to loose two-hundred-shot loads at their maximum rate of fire, nonstop,” Bernard said. He squinted out at the battle. “With that, I could kill every vord in this swarm without losing a man. We’re going to have to figure out a way to manufacture these things more quickly.”

Ehren shook his head. “Seems so unbelievable. When Tavi showed me the sketches for this idea, I thought he’d gone insane.” He paused. “More insane.”

Two more mules launched their payloads, and a column of fire brought more vord screams to the predawn darkness.

Suddenly there were sharp, high-pitched whistles drifting down from the bluffs on either side of the little city. Bernard looked up sharply and swallowed. “There. Here it comes.”

“Here what comes?”

“The enemy’s flanking attack. It’s the weakest part of this position, defending against an attack from the west.” Bernard gestured at the two bluffs. “The vord are going to try to take the heights, then come down on us.”

“The Marat are stationed there, I believe,” Ehren said.

“Yes,” Calderon said. “But if the vord have reinforced their flankers...” He bit his lip and beckoned Centurion Giraldi. “Signal the Marat.”