Despite the best efforts of the defenders, several towers reached the wall, and the drawbridges at their tops swung down onto the battlements. One of the towers touched the wall just beside the gate, and Sparhawk’s friends were ready for it. Tynian led their charge as they dashed across the drawbridge and into the tower itself. Sparhawk held his breath as his friends struggled inside the tower out of his sight. The sounds from within bespoke the ferocity of the fight. There was the crash of arms and screams and groans. Then Tynian and Kalten came back out, ran across the thick-planked drawbridge and seized a large bubbling cauldron of boiling pitch and naphtha in their steel-clad arms. They lurched back across the drawbridge with it and disappeared inside again. The screams from within suddenly intensified as they dumped the pitch down into the faces of the men on ladders inside the tower.

The knights emerged from the tower. When Kalten reached the wall, he took up a torch and flipped it into the structure with a negligent-appearing toss. The tower acted much like a chimney. Black smoke billowed from the gaping doorway the drawbridge had covered, and then dark orange flame boiled out through the roof. The screaming inside the tower increased, and then it died out.

The counter-attacks of the knights along the walls were sufficient to ward off the first wave of attackers, but the defence of the battlements had cost many lives. The sheets of arrows and the heavier bolts from the crossbows had raked the tops of the walls in a virtual storm, and many of the church soldiers and not a few of the knights had fallen prey to them.

‘They’ll come again?’ Delada asked sombrely.

‘Of course,’ Sparhawk said shortly. ‘The siege engines will pound the walls for a time now, and then more towers will come across that open area.’

‘How long can we hold out?’

‘Four – maybe five of those attacks. Then the mangonels will start to break down the walls. The fighting will start inside the city at that point.’

‘We can’t possibly win, can we, Sparhawk?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Chyrellos is doomed then?’

‘Chyrellos was doomed the moment those two armies appeared, Delada. The strategy behind the attack on the city was very thorough – you might almost say brilliant.’

“That’s a peculiar attitude under these circumstances, Sparhawk.’

‘It’s called professionalism. One’s supposed to admire the genius of one’s opponent. It’s a pose, of course, but it helps to build a certain abstraction. Last stands are very gloomy, and you need something to keep your spirits up.’

Then Berit clambered up through the trap-door on the roof upon which Sparhawk and Delada stood. The novice’s eyes were wide, seemingly slightly unfocused, and his head was jerking. ‘Sir Sparhawk!’ he exclaimed, his voice unnecessarily loud.

‘Yes, Berit?’

‘What did you say?’