“Toved! Erit! To me,” he called as he ran, selecting two other men he knew were among their weaker archers. Fuel was life, in a northern winter. These lands weren’t habitable without it.
He took stock of the flames as he ran and got a better view of them. The castle’s wood store was large. A portion of it was covered with a wooden roof, resting on a series of log pillars, but this early in fall stacks of split logs extended far to either side of the roof. It was the right side that had been hit, not covered in snow because they’d recently brought in a good deal of it. Even in the lee of the wall the wind was ferocious tonight, spurring the fire on.
The wood was too dry. The fire had jumped quickly and spread the width of roughly twelve logs. With enough men, they could have tried to douse it. But with only the three of them, it wouldn’t be possible. He needed the rest of his men to stay on the wall in case Corin tried to breach the castle.
The best he could do was separate the unburnt wood before the fire spread.
“Orders, my lord,” Toved asked.
“Save what you can,” Niel called. He pointed them to a section directly to the left of the fire. “Grab from there. Stop it from jumping.”
They wouldn’t have time to isolate the fire on its leftandright sides. There was more good lumber on the left, so that side had to take priority.
They set to work. The fire was big enough now that he couldn’t get closer than a few feet without feeling it burn through him. Even despite how cold he’d been, he barely noticed, except the instinct in him that yelledgo no closer.
More bolts fell around them, streaks of fire arcing overhead to plunge down into the courtyard.
Without fuel they couldn’t last. No way to get more wood. Help would come from Mount Eyron, but probably not before spring. Another flaming arrow punched down five feet to Niel’s right, plummeting straight into a deep snowbank and going dark.
They had to survive. He stacked logs under his arm, until his hands were full, and threw himself back down the cleared path in the snow, legs churning through the recently-fallen two inches as he raced for the castle door that lay on the ground floor. Days before, he’d stood out here with Bradhan, trying to find the will to kill the man. Ayla had burst through the very door he opened now, poorly dressed and utterly ferocious.
What would happen to her if they couldn’t hold the siege, now that she’d renounced Ditmar?
He had to make it until his father’s reinforcements arrived. It was as simple as that.
He threw the wood inside and left the door open, then sprinted back for another armful. The top of some twenty logs burned now. Who’d come up with the stupid idea of storing it outside like this to begin with? He twisted to the left, making a detour by the well to grab the metal bucket that rested at its lip. When he got close to the logs he dug the bucket into the thick snowfall and hurled the powdery substance at the edge of the flames. It melted instantly, hissing to steam. He threw one more bucketful, then filled his arms with more wood and raced back, passing Toved and Erit.
It was spreading too quickly. He didn’t want to scatter wood all around the yard and give the fire more opportunity to spread, but they couldn’t waste time running all the way to and from the castle.
“Run relay,” he bellowed to them. “Toved, take the door. Erit, the middle.”
He tore his cloak free of its clasps as he ran back. Niel bundled it messily around his right arm. When he reached the fire he batted the edge-pieces, those just starting to burn, down into the snow, the fur singing and hot around his flesh. His sleeve caught on fire above the cloak. Niel cussed and shoved his whole arm into the snowbank. Then he grabbed another armful of wood and sprinted it to where Erit waited, dropping it all onto the ground with a clatter and leaving it for his soldiers to pick up.
Back to the logpile. He’d almost formed a real gap between the flames and the rest of the wood. The bonfire must have roared ten feet high at its tallest point. He kept working at it. Another arrow smashed down on the left side of the wood pile in a rush of flames. The snowfall there made the arrow hiss and sputter before going dark.
He grabbed an armful of wood, his whole right sight blazing in the heat from the bonfire, and turned. He was sprinting towards Erit when the arrow hit. The soldier was running towards Niel to get the next set of logs. Erit had stripped off his own cloak to stop it from dragging in the wind.
Niel watched the short, heavy bolt punch through Erit’s chest, plowing the burly main straight back into the snowbank. The breath of pain that left Erit’s mouth wasn’t even a scream.
Niel stumbled, then hardened himself, and ran to the midpoint instead of only a third of the way across the yard.
“Erit’s down,” he called to Toved, who was emerging from the castle door. Then Niel turned to grab another armful. If Erit wasn’t dead, he would be in minutes. There was nothing to do for the man, which meant Niel couldn’t afford to tend him or say farewells.
He kept running. The bonfire grew taller, eating through the layers of wood below the top logs that had initially caught. But he’d created a real break between it at the rest of the wood. Unfortunately, he was getting to the edge of the shoveled areas,having to wade thigh-deep into slushy, rapidly melting snow to get to the further areas of the wood pile. In wind like this, sparks could jump if he left them a target.
In better news, the stable hadn’t caught, and the wind was pushing the flames in the opposite direction. He could hear a horse screaming and snorting in the stable, likely upset by the smoke, but they didn’t need to move the animals too. Not yet, at least.
There came a point when Niel realized that no arrows had fallen in quite some time. He couldn’t have said how long had passed but he’d moved nearly half the remaining wood. He dumped another armful of lumber with a clatter, then forced himself up the stairs to the top of the wall..
“Report,” Niel barked to Kerr. The captain knelt before one of the crenels, but sat back to look at Neil. Someone had brought Kerr a cloak.
“No sign of movement. Told the men to stop shooting a while back. Don’t want to waste arrows if they’ve pulled back.”
Niel grunted his understanding.
“Erit’s down,” Niel said.
“Fuck,” Kerr said. “Wounded, or…?”
