“You should have told me of that.”
“I told you many things, but you would not listen. And they would not bargain with you simply because you held the chief’s son. You were neck-deep in a blood feud in the moment you ambushed his party, and the only way was to hide the deed. By refusing to slay him, you allowed for this possibility!”
“You test my patience, lady. Who was it who gave him the means to escape?”
“I am not your lady, Kerathi pawtoon! You spurned my advice and now we must face what comes. For that you need a huntress, not a shamaness.”
Perian had worse news: the company had traveled northwest since encountering Uthek and his hunting party south of the Silverpath’s home territory, which meant that the prince had less distance to cover before reaching his home. It also meant that the company had a greater distance separating them from the coast than the Silverpath had to reach their current location.
Following their quarrel, Pelekarr held a council with Ashon and the other elders of the settlement. It was brief and bitter, but in the end the settlers were made to realize that their only hope lay in resistance. They were somewhat heartened to hear that the mercenaries would be staying and fighting alongside them, but the more sober of their number knew the odds remained slim.
“But slim odds are better than none,” Pelekarr finished. “And that’s what you’d have without us. There’s a good chance we’ll get through what’s coming if we prepare well.”
Ashon was wise enough to see the sense in taking a constructive attitude, and cut off the murmuring that followed the captain’s speech.
“We always knew this could happen, now it’s happening,” the chief rumbled. “Aye, it’s their fault, but what’s done is done, and they’re staying to fight with us. That’s something. Get to work now. Your children’s lives depend on it!”
Immediately after the meeting with the settlement, Pelekarr called a meeting of the sergeants, which Ashon also attended. They went over the ground for a league around the settlement, trying to pick the optimal location for engaging the Silverpath attack when it came. The dense woods thinned out only a stone’s throw from the lakeshore, and the area was littered with fresh-hewn stumps where the settlers had cut the logs for their nascent wall.
Pelekarr suspected, and Perian confirmed, that the warpack would approach unseen as close as possible, then burst into a run as they cleared the trees. Their numbers would absorb missiles from the walls until they were close enough to scale the palisade logs.
“They’ll have tree-trunk ladders already built when they emerge,” the barbarian woman said. “It is how we took most of your forts in the early days.”
Some of the sergeants advocated helping to finish the stockade walls around the settlement and forting up inside with the settlers. Pelekarr’s infantry sergeant, Copper, was the loudest proponent of this strategy, but many of the cavalry sergeants argued in favor of remaining outside the walls and using their greater mobility to engage and harass the enemy on open terrain. Pelekarr listened to both sides, then outlined his plan, which was a merging of both strategies.
“The settlement will indeed form our last resort,” he declared. “But I believe we will be more effective in the beginning if we meet them outside the walls.”
“But sir, the trees hamper our movement,” the infantry sergeant maintained. “Your horses are useless in the denser stuff, and my hoplites can’t maneuver properly. It’s simply a waste of our manpower.”
“Noted, sergeant.” The captain stroked his freshly shaven cheek. “However, several salient points emerge as we consider the situation. First, it’s clear that the settlers cannot sustain a siege of any length. Ashon?”
“True, my lord. We have few stored foods. We planned on salting fish from the lake and hunting game to get through the winter.”
“Should the initial barbarian attack be repulsed,” Pelekarr replied with a nod of acknowledgment, “it would be a simple matter for the enemy to wait in the forest until our food runs out. The warpack will have the numbers to counter any move we make; Perian tells me these Silverpath are allied with other tribes and will likely bring a force of double our strength.
“All they must do is cut off our movements, and hunger will soon do what a sudden assault might not. The key, then, is to make the first encounter a decisive one, and to force it on our terms. It must be one that opens the way to the coast for us, and leaves these settlers with a chance at peace.”
The sergeants nodded. “Destroy them in the first clash,” Ashon said.
“Exactly. Draw them into a slaughter and kill so many that their strength is broken. Craft, precision, and sheer butchery must answer numerical superiority. The price for failure will be final and absolute.”
“What field tactics, then, sir?” Sergeant Keresh asked.
“What’s the old answer to superior numbers, sergeant?”
“Force them into a space small enough where their numbers don’t matter.”
“Correct. Someplace where a mere handful could match a host, man for man. The trick is in choosing such a place.”
“We’re on a lake,” Ashon rumbled. “We have no canyons or narrow defiles here.”
“No. So we must make our own defiles and use them to funnel the wolves into a place where our forces are more evenly matched—where their numbers could be, in fact, a hindrance. We lure them in, and guide them into the killing zones.”
Perian scoffed. “You expect them to go where you direct them? They’ll climb your barricades easily, or simply run around them. No, you must meet them man to man in the trees and pray to your gods that your bronze armor will save you.”
Pelekarr studied the barbarian woman in silence. At length he spoke again, in a quiet voice.
“I think, Perian, that you haven’t quite seen what we’re capable of yet, once we get our horses into play.”
“I was with you when you ambushed the hunting party and captured Kultan’s son. Good work, I’ll grant, but the numbers they’ll send now are far greater, with no chance of ambushing them this time.”
“The ambush you witnessed was a beginner’s exercise, milady, learned on my first day in the officer academy. Do not judge our mettle on one small ambush, I pray you.” Pelekarr ignored the other men around, focusing on the scornful barbarian woman. “Have you ever seen a Kerathi battle legion deploying against an army of your people on open ground?”
“We are easily your equals, man for man, in close combat.”
“Perhaps, if we consider merely man for man. But where Kerathi troops excel is in using our men and resources to tactical advantage. Individual valor and prowess mean little against discipline, coordination, organization.”
Perian tossed her head. “We shall see.”
“Indeed we shall,” Pelekarr shot back. “But remember that on the strength of our battle tactics my people have expanded into Ostora, while yours cannot even threaten the coastal cities, much less the kingdom across the sea.”
Perian’s face surged with passion for a moment, and for a moment Pelekarr thought he’d gone too far. The woman’s arrogant dismissal of his men’s ability had angered him, but he knew it was ungentlemanly to put her in her place by bringing up the authority of a king whose support he no longer enjoyed. He waited, watching her.
By sheer force of will Perian smoothed her features into a mask of calm and was silent. Her eyes glittered coldly at him. Then the captain continued in a softer voice.
“The approaching enemy may well slaughter us to a man, my lady, but only by having cut us off from support and by hurling their superior numbers at us. Time will tell if we can even the odds through strategy.”
So began the preparations for the defense of Ashtown. There were many who thought it a lost cause, but the clearer heads among them also understood that flight was now an impossibility. There was no place to run to that could be reached in time, no place better than the half-finished fort. Straggling out in a line toward the coast, they woul
d undoubtedly be caught and harassed into oblivion long before they reached the safety of the Ostoran outposts. To stand and fight here was the only option, and they all, young and old, man and woman, worked like maddened bees.
Pelekarr split his forces in two. The first group was detailed to assist the settlers in completing their palisade wall as soon as possible. The lumbermen, in the knowledge that their very lives depended on it, set to with a will and began felling timber with a speed and precision which drew the grudging admiration of the mercenaries. The wall rose swiftly, with teams of oxen and mules dragging the heavy logs to their places. They were set on end and pulled to a vertical position, then secured to the existing wall with ropes and then an internal wooden framework. Work began on a gate to enclose the front entrance.
A trench was dug just outside of the palisade wall and lined with wooden stakes, then filled with dry brush which could be fired in the last press. A fire would destroy the palisade wall itself if allowed to burn long enough, but the most pressing need of the moment was to kill the enemy, and fire would answer that need if it arose.
The second group of mercenaries, led by Copper’s troop of infantrymen, set to work cutting down slimmer trees and constructing barricades which could be adjusted as needed across the field of battle. These were fearsome things, taller than a mounted man and bristling with sharpened stakes to discourage any attempt to scale them. Under the experienced eye of the sergeants they were positioned to form corridors that fanned out like spokes from a cart wheel, with the walled village at the center.
Pelekarr approached the infantry sergeant while his men were working. “Copper. What’s your troop strength?”
The sergeant eyed the cavalry captain and wiped sweat from his brow. “Combat strength, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Twenty-five, down a few since the ape fight. And I’ve assigned some to bolster the skirmishers and more to coordinate these villagers. Is twenty enough for what you’ve got in mind? We could recruit a few hardy lads from among the settlers and give them a spear and a shield.”
“No. The twenty will have to do. They must be well-trained and know their formations.”
“They’ll answer to that need well enough, sir.”
“Good. You’ve done well with these barricades. You and your men are to spend the rest of the day training. I want you to rehearse fast marching in formation, and the sea urchin blockade—moving back, forward, and sideways. Verbal commands, minimal response time. Get it down to the absolute instant.”
“I’ll head the formation myself. What did you have in mind, captain?”
“I’ll tell you this evening. Drill them into the mud, Sergeant. I need precision. Instantaneous precision. Much depends on you.”
Copper ruminated for a moment. “I don’t like it, Captain. Sounds like you want us outside the walls.”
“You will be.”
“Hell’s onions, Captain! Outside the walls? Unsupported by the cavalry?”
“That is correct, Sergeant. Someone’s got to draw the raff out.”
“Bait, Captain?”
“More or less. But bait with full armor, shields, and bristling with spears.”
Copper sighed and wiped his brow again. “We won’t shrink from our duty, sir. Just don’t leave us hanging for too long. Hell’s buttered onions!”
Snares were set to catch waterfowl in the thickets and the best hunters roamed the woods and lakeshore. The meat was split between Tibion for the company’s stores and the Ashtown settlers for theirs. Every feather plucked was sent to the fletchers, who were busy turning out as many bundles of arrows as their careful craft could manage. When the feathers ran out, stiff leaves were improvised in their place—inferior and less durable, but at short ranges they would answer, for a single pass at least.
In similar fashion, the javelin-throwers in the skirmisher troop returned from the forest with as many shafts as they could cut, and set to work with knife and fire to make their deadly missiles. No additional bronze javelin-heads were available, but the barbarians wore no metal armor and a fire-hardened point thrown with enough force could drive through leather and furs to penetrate the flesh beneath.
The village children were set to gathering round stones for the skirmishers’ slings. Larger children gathered larger stones, for casting from the walls.
The blacksmith, Humexes, kept his hammer banging as long as light was in the sky, and then afterwards by the light of his forge fire. Every available scrap of bronze was taken and re-cast in spearhead, sword, or armor molds. Long past midnight the young smith and his hastily-assigned helpers would collapse on the earth to snatch a few hours of sleep before rising bleary-eyed with the dawn to continue their vital work.
It wasn’t just bronze Humexes worked, however. The lad heavily regretted leaving so much of his work behind at the lumber camp, but he had taken the very best with him. It was a special kind of hardened iron that he wouldn’t say much about, but he gave out an arrowhead to each skirmisher and told them to save it for their most difficult target.
“This head will pierce any armor or shield the raff try to hide behind,” he said. Just as hard as bronze it was, yet lighter, and with a sharpened edge that could cut hair. The archers smiled as they hefted their toys, and nodded in anticipation.
Humexes also gave Perian a silvery dagger to replace her broken-tipped chert knife. It was the pinnacle of his craft thus far, the best piece he’d made with his secret knowledge. She marveled at the thing and thanked the smith profusely.
It was a wonderful weapon, beautiful in its functionality and simplicity. A blade as long as her foot, double-edged and honed keenly, set into a bone handle wrapped with rawhide. The first metal she had ever owned.
Humexes also showed Pelekarr an assortment of spear heads and lance tips that he claimed could cut into solid oak without bending. They weren’t ready, but he promised to affix them to poles and sharpen their edges as soon as he could.
“How about swords, or armor?” Pelekarr asked. “If this stuff is so hard and the ore as common as you say, it could save many lives.”
Humexes shook his head. “The ore is out there. But collecting it, refining it, and forging it is no easy matter. It would take me weeks to make a single piece of armor, and that only if I could dedicate all my time to it.”
Pelekarr nodded thoughtfully. “One day you shall. And have assistants to help you as well. But first we must win this fight.”
Late on the second day, Perian approached the captain as he was directing the placement of the barricades out in the field. Pelekarr sensed her pensive mood and drew her aside.
“You still do not approve of our efforts?”
Perian scowled, but said nothing.
“I value your counsel, Perian.” His earlier defense of Kerathi military capabilities had been meant to bolster his men’s courage, not merely to put her in her place. Now he sought to mend their friendship if it were possible. “If there is something you would say, do not hesitate. Any day may be our last to make modifications to our defense.”
She shrugged. “This settlement’s walls are not even completed. If Kultan sends the strength of his clan against us, we can scarcely hope to overcome them. We will be outnumbered by double at least, but if the prince manages to raise the support of his allied clans as well… three, four, five to one. You understand? We desperately need an edge, something to turn the tide in our favor.”
She seemed oddly hesitant.
“We are working through the night to erect the most cunning defenses we know. What more do you suggest?”
“The mekkilak would give us such an edge.”
“The centipede?” Pelekarr looked at her keenly. “Explain.”
Perian’s gaze narrowed. “We might,” she said, “be able to use it against our enemy.”
Pelekarr studied the barbarian woman, and she waved an arm.
“It might turn against us. If I am wrong, it could cost us many lives. But do you remember what
I told you when I left my people and joined you? About who I was… what I was?”
“A shaman, a witch among your tribe.”
Perian shook her head dismissively. “Not a witch. Not one of your idle women who enrich themselves in the towns by selling love philters. I think the closest in your tongue is… practicer. Wielder, perhaps.”
“Wielder of what?”
“Power.”
Pelekarr considered this. “You mean, magic? Sorcery? In Kerath there are mystics who rave about seeing the future in the stars, but they are largely fools and charlatans. They have never truly swayed the course of battle, not in my experience.”
“Here in Ostora, it’s different. Among my people there is always a shaman whose knowledge is a closely kept secret, both within the tribe and against outsiders. These secrets are handed down from one shaman to the next.”
“And the old woman in your village handed them down to you before you left.”
“I showed aptitude, and I learned much. But my training was incomplete. Old Kayeha could only teach me so much. I yet lack the final element, the seal.”
Pelekarr grew still. “You swore to remain with us for a year and a day, Perian.”
“I am not trying to leave you, not yet. I am telling you that I can bring the centipede to us, lead it into the ranks of the enemy. Once here, however, I cannot control it.”
Pelekarr was silent again for a long moment, watching the men work.
“If we could direct it at our foes,” Perian continued, “it would do much of the killing for us.”
“And if not, then my men would be devoured alongside the Silverpath.” Pelekarr frowned. “I’ve already lost too many men to the beasts of Ostora. I’m not eager to invite further ruin. What guarantee could we have that it would destroy the enemy and not us?”
“No guarantee. But the mekkilak is jealously attached to its brood. Any day now, it will return to that fort to attend to its nest. It will find the eggs destroyed and become enraged, laying waste to everything in the area. If we provided it a trail to follow, however… that destruction could be brought to the Silverpath horde.”
Red Valor Page 22
