The failure of the siege engine broke the morale of the ground hired blades. But it triggered an even deadlier response from the surrounding rooftops.
High above the pavilion, on the tile roof edges of next-door merchant warehouses, eighty mercenary crossbowmen had set themselves behind stone castle walls. Through the sixty-foot high window row windows of the grand atrium, they sighted down into the hall with heavy repeating star-iron heavy steel crossbows.
At their feet sat copper fire bowls burning green potion-made fire-oil.
“Burn them out!” a captain screamed from the western roof. “Ignite the rafters! Turn the pavilion into a fire!”
TWANG-TWANG.
Eighty flaming quarrels, their iron tips wrapped in hemp soaked in burning potion-made pitch and green viper poison, sliced through the high windows in a shrieking, curved downpour of green fire.
CRACK-SHATTER.
The high window row glass exploded inward in a glittering blizzard of sharp shards. The flaming bolts struck the carved rosewood balconies, the silk tapestries, and the display cases. It set the dry, seasoned timber ablaze in dozens of crackling, roaring firestorms.
