The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3)

by Paul Lauritsen

“I have no idea what’s going on,” he admitted finally. “So, let’s buy some time until I can figure it out.”

  “Plan?” Tarq asked urgently.

  Garnuk nodded curtly. “Knock them out. Then, we’ll see what Harg has found.”

  Tarq nodded, hefting his axe and shifting position. “Ready,” he murmured.

  Garnuk waited another second, then gave the signal.

  Chapter 44:

  The Battle Continues

  Garnuk and Tarq sprang out from behind the mound of boulders, attacking before the command group had even noticed they were there. Tarq’s axe moved like lightning, the flat of the blade slamming into the commander and shattering one of his horns. Garnuk swung his shield in a short arc, dropping Gorit with a blow to the jaw.

  Uriv started to run, but Tarq leapt forward and cracked the haft of his axe over the vertag’s head. The messenger collapsed to the ground, partially stunned. Tarq snatched up a small rock and slammed it into Uriv’s jaw. The messenger’s eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp.

  Meanwhile, Garnuk was occupied finishing off the commander and Gorit. The commander was still on his feet, his axe ready for battle. Gorit was sprawled on the ground, trying to crawl away, his horn trapped beneath him. Garnuk deflected the commander’s first blow with his shield, then lunged with the point of his sword. The commander twisted to the side to evade the questing blade, and Garnuk swung his shield again. The commander was ready though and ducked, swinging his axe at Garnuk’s legs.

  Garnuk jumped over the blade, landed awkwardly, and fell beside Gorit. The vertag leered at him and reached out with a clawed hand, trying to restrain Garnuk. The Exile slammed the hilt of his sword into Gorit’s head, and the other vertag lay still. Then, he turned his attention back to the commander, just in time to see Tarq slam the flat of his blade into the back of the commander’s head.

  The commander staggered, bellowing in surprise, then tripped and collapsed to the ground. Tarq threw his rock at the commander’s head and it connected with his unbroken horn, shattering it as well. The commander snarled and gasped in pain, then Garnuk rammed the pommel of his sword down between his eyes. The commander went limp, and the short but furious skirmish was over.

  Tarq extended a hand and hauled Garnuk to his feet with a grunt.

  “Thanks,” Garnuk muttered, sheathing his sword. He stooped and removed the horn from the still form of Gorit, then cut the leather strap it was strung on in three pieces. “Bind their hands and hide them behind those boulders. We’re in command now.”

  Tarq grinned and took the three lengths of leather. “Aye, commander.”

  Garnuk turned his attention back to the main battle, frowning. Fires were raging all along the northern wall, and the attackers had dissolved into small, chaotic groups swerving back and forth. The dragon was passing over them once more. Then, as it swooped back towards the fortress, it went into a steep dive, chasing a falling speck.

  The battle at the main gate was going a little better. Axe-wielding vertaga were battering away at the wooden portals while their comrades scaled the walls to either side. A couple of the siege ladders were still in place, and some varloug prans were pacing around the base of the wall, their riders having vaulted onto the walls from the beasts’ backs. The wolf demons were not helping much at the moment though, and their pointless pacing and snapping was only slowing down the other attackers.

  “General!”

  Garnuk swung around at the cry, looking back towards the northwest. Harg and his comrades, strung out in an uneven line behind him, were running up to the pile of boulders, gasping for breath. The Exile frowned, concerned.

  “Is something wrong Harg? Do you have news for us?” he asked urgently.

  The warrior nodded, panting for breath. “Bad . . . news,” he managed, gulping down massive lungfuls of air. “We went north, like you said, and found them.”

  “Found who?” Tarq asked, joining the conversation. “Be specific now.”

  “The king!” Harg said.

  “What?” Garnuk demanded, grabbing the vertag by the shoulders. “The boy king? The leader of the Sthan? Did he bring an army?”

  “A huge one,” Harg replied. “They aren’t too far away. Should be here a little before full nightfall, but not much. The army . . . it makes the Usurper’s forces look like a raid.”

  Garnuk swore under his breath, gazing at the West Bank. The fortress had to fall before that army arrived. If it didn’t, then everything would be lost.

  “There’s not much we can do right now,” Garnuk decided. “We’ll have to wait, see if maybe – ”

  He broke off as the dragon suddenly climbed into the sky above the fortress and Harg’s warriors cried out in fear and surprise. Harg himself gaped in astonishment, then dropped behind the nearest bush, scrabbling for his weapons. Garnuk and Tarq, used to the dragon by now, merely watched as it hovered over the center of the fortress, then dropped behind the walls.

  “Great,” Tarq muttered as the dragon roared from behind the walls. “With that thing defending the gate it will never fall.”

  Garnuk swore again, pounding the hilt of his sword with a closed fist. He wanted to take part in the battle, to find some way to wrench victory from the jaws of defeat, but for the life of him, he could not think of a solution. As he was racking his brain for ideas, the main gates of the fortress gave an audible CRACK!

  Hardly daring to believe his eyes, Garnuk watched as howling varloug prans careened through the breach, snarling and snapping at the defenders inside. The dragon roared and the howls turned to whimpers and whines, but now vertaga were flooding through the gate as well, piling into the fortress.

  “There’s a chance,” Garnuk said eagerly. “The only problem is we have to get them all to withdraw before the king arrives.” He glanced down at the still form of the commander, an idea beginning to form. It was reckless, foolish, and was almost certain to end in failure. But there was a chance.

  “Tarq, take his armor,” Garnuk instructed. “I’ll keep the horn.”

  Tarq frowned, but did as Garnuk ordered. “Am I the commander now?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Garnuk said. “The moment the fighting dies down, I want you to take command of the survivors. I’ll signal an alarm and a withdrawal. Then, you flee south with the remains of the army. As soon as you can, get lost in their midst, ditch the gear, and return to our temporary camp.”

  The captain nodded stoically, fiddling with the straps of the commander’s armor. “It will be done.”

  Garnuk paused, realizing that he hadn’t asked Tarq if he was up for the task. “Can you do this?” he asked. “If you do not think this is a good course, we can find something else.”

  Tarq grimaced. “It’s not my favorite plan ever. Remember, I’ve been hunted for ten years as well, and marching up to what’s left of the Usurper’s forces could be risky. If any of them recognize me . . . well, I won’t be making it back to our camp.”

  “I’ll keep thinking,” Garnuk promised. “But right now, it’s the best plan we’ve got.”

  He turned back to the fortress, checking the progress of the battle. Vertaga were still forcing their way through the gates. From within the main fortress, Garnuk could hear the clash of weapons and the roars of the dragon. The defenders weren’t finished yet, not by a long shot.

  “Harg,” Garnuk said, signaling to the spy. “You know better than I how much time we have before the king’s army gets here. I want you to let me know when we must pull everyone back if they are to escape before the king gets here.”

  “Even if the battle is still going?” Harg asked, clearly confused.

  “Once the king gets here, it won’t be a battle so much as a rout,” Garnuk replied grimly. “We need to save as many of the Usurper’s forces as we can.”

  “Very well,” Harg said. “I will make my best guess, but I may be wrong.”

  “Stay on the cautious side,” Garnuk said. “I want those warriors out of there. There wil
l be no massacres of our people today. Not if I can help it.”

  Tarq finished strapping on the commander’s armor and weapons and turned to Garnuk. “How do I look?” he asked, grinning.

  Garnuk snorted. “Just like the old days, my friend,” he replied.

  Tarq smiled, hefting the commander’s axe as well and looking it up and down. “What a terrible weapon,” he muttered. “Not remotely balanced. I’m not sure how anyone could last more than a few minutes in battle with an axe like this.”

  “He didn’t last even that long against us,” Garnuk muttered, staring at the fortress. The vertaga on the northern side had engaged the defenders at the base of the hill now, assaulting the portal there. He could not be sure, due to fact that much of the battle was hidden by the cliffs, but it seemed that the battle was going rather poorly.

  “Not long now before they have to pull back,” Harg warned.

  “How long?” Garnuk snapped irritably.

  “A half hour, maybe,” Harg replied, shrugging his broad shoulders.

  “That won’t be enough,” Garnuk murmured. The dragon roared again, sending shivers down his spine. How much longer could the beast last? Vertaga warriors were charging into the fortress in droves, and apparently dying in just as large of numbers.

  “Come on,” he muttered, beating his fist against the pommel of his sword. “Finish them off.”

  But the Usurper’s warriors could not hear him, and they did not seem to be able to gain the upper hand. The battle raged on, unchanged save for the number of bodies piled up on each side. Garnuk swore angrily and began pacing back and forth along the edge of the hill.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Harg rumbled.

  Garnuk cursed again, muttering an endless stream of abuse and encouragement, pacing furiously. The others watched the fortress stoically, none voicing the fear that they all held within. The fear that the Usurper’s forces had failed.

  Finally, Harg said the words that Garnuk had dreaded hearing.

  “We must pull them back,” he said quietly.

  Garnuk stopped pacing and bowed his head. “And so it ends,” he murmured, raising his gaze to the fortress and sighing heavily.

  “General,” Harg urged.

  “I know,” Garnuk said. He glanced at the main gate. There were few vertaga left there, almost not even worth pulling back. But the northern force . . .

  He stooped suddenly and hauled Gorit to a sitting position, slapping the unconscious ram forcefully. The enemy warrior groaned, then his eyes slowly opened.

  “What . . . ?” he started to ask. Then, he noticed Garnuk. “Who?” he started again.

  “The assault on the Sthan fortress goes poorly,” Garnuk said, cutting him off. “Your warriors need you to withdraw them to safety.”

  The vertag frowned, confused. “Me? Where’s the commander.”

  Garnuk hesitated. The commander was sprawled behind Gorit, obviously bound and, for the moment, unconscious.

  “He is unable to command at this time,” Garnuk said finally. “You are in charge now. Take your horn, recall your warriors, and retreat to Dun Carryl.”

  “Why?” Gorit asked, peering towards the fortress. “The gates are down, our warriors are pouring in. We have won!”

  “No, you haven’t,” Garnuk said, his statement punctuated by another roar from the dragon. “The dragon still lives and the Sthan king is marching this way as we speak. Any moment now he will arrive and crush what is left of our forces.”

  Gorit stiffened. “Our forces?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you before. Who are you?”

  Garnuk swore. “That doesn’t matter. What does matter is I am trying to save the lives of you and your warriors. You should probably be thanking me, but I’ll settle for obedience. Now, recall your warriors.”

  “I don’t trust you,” Gorit snarled. “Are you deserters? Rebels?”

  Garnuk held the horn out to Gorit. “Take it, and go. You don’t have to trust me. You just need to get out of here, before everything is lost.”

  Gorit took the horn but did not raise it to his lips. Instead, he studied Garnuk critically, a puzzled frown on his face.

  “General, we must retreat,” Harg warned. “I can see scouts from the king’s army!”

  “Get a move on!” Garnuk shouted.

  Gorit flinched, then raised the horn, hesitated, and blew three short notes. He hesitated for a moment, then sounded the same call again.

  Immediately Garnuk saw the remnants of the northern force fleeing over the northern wall and streaming through the valley between the hills, making for the place where the vertaga army had originally formed up.

  “Go with them,” Garnuk commanded, hoisting Gorit to his feet and giving him a shove.

  Gorit looked back, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed the still forms of the commander and Uriv. “What of them?” he asked sharply.

  “We will take care of them,” Garnuk promised. “Uriv passed out from pain. The commander was hit over the head, as were you. A Sthan raiding party. We drove them off before they could kill you or take you prisoner.”

  “You have not removed Uriv and the commander’s bonds,” Gorit observed.

  Garnuk stooped and slashed the leather restraints with his knife. “If you want them, you can have them,” he said dispassionately. “But you will need to move quickly, and it will be difficult with two wounded. One you might manage.”

  Gorit nodded. “One I can manage. Give me Uriv.”

  “Not the commander?”

  Gorit shook his head. “No. The army can manage without him for the time being.”

  “Very well,” Garnuk replied. “Now go!”

  Gorit draped one of Uriv’s arms over his shoulder and began staggering down the hill. On the northern horizon, a massive body of soldiers was marching into view. As Garnuk watched, horns rang out from the Sthan fortress, heralding the arrival of the king. Gorit looked north, then back at Garnuk.

  “I still don’t know you,” he called. “And I don’t believe you. But whoever you are and whatever your reasons, thank you for my life and the lives of my warriors.”

  Garnuk nodded gravely. “The spirits watch over you, Gorit. Lead your soldiers well.”

  Then, Garnuk turned away, dismissing the other vertag. A mighty roar sounded from the fortress as the dragon leapt into the sky, soaring northwards to welcome the king’s army. The battle was still raging in the fortress, but it would soon be over. The Sthan had won.

  “We failed,” Tarq said miserably, discarding his commander disguise. “All of our efforts to sabotage the Sthan in the last month . . . it wasn’t enough.”

  Garnuk shook his head. “I was a fool, Tarq,” he muttered angrily. “I thought by coming here, there would be a way for me to change the outcome of the battle. But that’s not what Shadow Squadron is about. We do our work away from the battle, manipulating, hiding, and exposing. We play a game of information, not swords and shields.”

  “You did your best, general,” Harg said, stepping up beside them. “You saved the lives of all of those rams. That’s hundreds of warriors the Sthan didn’t slaughter.”

  “It won’t make a difference if this new army goes after Dun Carryl,” Garnuk reminded them. “There is not enough left of our people to survive such an attack.”

  “Then what do we do?” Tarq asked, snarling with frustration. “All of this work for nothing? Is that what you are saying, Garnuk? We are giving up?”

  “We are not giving up,” Garnuk assured him. “But for now, we need to regroup. The others are to meet us at the new camp, yes?”

  “Within the hour,” Tarq agreed.

  Garnuk nodded. “Then we go there, gather our forces, and return to the mountains.”

  “And this commander?” Tarq asked, nudging the unconscious prisoner with the toe of his boot.

  Garnuk shrugged. “We take him with us. He may know something useful. But bind him again, in case he should wake and try to escape.”

  The disconsolate grou
p of vertaga turned away from the fortress then, retreating to their temporary camp. Behind them, the victorious cries of the Sthan rang out defiantly over the Basin.

  Chapter 45:

  Regrouping

  The camp was empty when Garnuk arrived, but the rest of Shadow Squadron soon joined them. They all wore downcast expressions, and moved about with their heads bowed, talking in low voices if at all. Garnuk withdrew from the group a fair distance to be alone with his thoughts. Tarq and Harg meanwhile trussed their prisoner more securely and took up the duty of guarding the commander.

  Garnuk stood by the edge of the hill, hands clasped behind his back, gazing up at the night sky. The stars were veiled this evening, hidden behind swirling clouds. There were patterns to the clouds, complex and hidden. Rather like the options that Garnuk had before him.

  They could give up, as Tarq had pointed out. But Garnuk was not one to admit defeat easily, and he knew if he gave up the vertaga might not survive the war. They could continue to operate in the shadows, harassing the Sthan as they advanced, killing a few sentries each day and making nuisance raids against the invaders. The dragon would make that difficult though, with its speed, size, and keen senses.

  Garnuk could also choose to take more direct action, marching into battle with his tiny force. But that would be suicide, even if he were to join with the Usurper and try to hold the Sthan off at Dun Carryl.

  As he pondered these choices, the other vertaga in the camp set up rough tents and went to sleep, tired and discouraged. Garnuk did not stop them, did not try to speak to them or raise their spirits. They would see the words were empty and that even their general was losing hope.

  Several hours into the night, Tarq joined Garnuk at the edge of the hill. “What are you thinking?” he asked, staring at the ground far below.

  Garnuk shrugged. “That there is no clear path to victory, and perhaps no path at all.”

  The captain sighed. “And here I had hoped for some more encouraging news,” he said bitterly. “Everything we did . . . and still, defeat.”

  “That cursed dragon was the problem,” Garnuk muttered. “Without it, the Usurper’s army would have managed to win that battle.”