Chapter seventeen
The Siege of Zandikar: III. The turiloths attack“We are doomed!”
The cries rang out with chilling panic through the early morning mists.
This was a time for instant action.
There was no time to shaft the running paktun, as he deserved. I grabbed a varterist by the ear and ran him up to his engine. I hurled both of us at the windlass, for the varters were kept unspun to save their springs, and began a frenzied winding. “Orlon!” I bellowed at another varterist, who hung over the battlements, gaping. “Shove a dart in! Hurry, man!”
The dart slapped into the chute as the nut engaged and the windlass clanked full. I swung the varter on its gimbals and sighted on a vast bottle-green hide and pressed the trigger.
Praise Zair — or praise Erthyr the Bow, the guiding spirit of
