5.Death of Chaos
XLVII
South of Hrisbarg, Freetown [Candar]
FROM BEHIND THE revetment at the top of the hill, Berfir looks at the round object hanging in the sky over the hill on the far side of the valley. There Colaris's forces have dug themselves in behind heavy trenchworks. Two black lines run from a basket beneath the elongated ball to the ground.
A puff of grayish smoke belches from a hole in trenches of the Freetown forces. Berfir forces himself not to duck at the whistling of the cannon shell, and at the dull thud that accompanies the gout of earth and grass that erupts from the hillside below.
The Duke studies the flat ground below the hill where the crimson banners of Hydlen hang limply. Dark lumps lie in the dust of the flat land that had been a grain field seasons earlier. A few high browned shoots remain, after-harvest weeds. Beyond the flats that had once been grain fields, another long and low hill rises. To the left is a small stand of trees, a woodlot. To the right, fields stretch out to another set of hills in the distance.
In the fields are far too many of the dark lumps, and, Berfir reflects, far too many had worn the red and gold plaid of Yeannota.
Another shell pounds the hillside, this time turning a small pine into a spray of kindling, less than a dozen cubits below the left end of the trenches of the Hydlenese forces.
Duke Berfir studies the balloon hanging in the sky and the mirror flashes from the basket. “... telling the gunners where to aim,” he mumbles to himself.
“I beg your pardon, ser.”
“Nothing. Nothing.”
... eeeee... eeee... crump! Yet another shell erupts below the Duke, gouging out the soil below the center of his troops' earthworks.
“We need to see if we can guide the rockets into their gun emplacements.” Berfir turns and strides across the hillside, not remaining all that close to the revetments.
“Ser...”
As the shells continue to fall, the Duke continues onward, toward the rocket emplacements.
The rocket officer looks up at the Duke.
“Ser?”
“Lift the launchers, Nual.”
“What?”
“Point them up.” Berfir's hand describes an arc. “So they drop down over the Freetown revetments.”
“We'll waste rockets.”
“We're wasting rockets now. Unless we can get to those cannon, they'll push us right back out of Freetown, and before long they'll hold the Ohyde Valley, and they'll be knocking at the gates of Hydolar and Renklaar.”
“Yes, ser.”
Berfir watches as the rocket crews struggle to wedge the launchers into higher positions than the equipment had ever been designed for. All the time the cannon shells creep closer.