They forded two small streams, flowing along sluggishly. Relam checked both banks, but found no footprints, nothing to indicate that people had passed by before his own party of warriors. His findings reassured him somewhat. He had been worried that perhaps they would stumble on bandits headed out for another raid. But it appeared this area of the forest at least was not frequently traveled.
The cavalry moved on through the trees, moving as stealthily as possible, every soldier alert for the first sign or sound of danger. But minutes continued to creep by with no alarm and no ambush, until finally Relam judged that they were close enough to the enemy base to make camp for the night.
“Halt,” he called quietly to the nearest sergeants. “Gather the sergeants here.”
The sergeants of five and six murmured acknowledgement, then relayed the orders. In moments, all ten sergeants were gathered around Relam, Oreius, and the trader.
“We’ll camp here,” Relam told them. “Send our four best scouts to see where the enemy is. I want to know numbers, layout, position, tree cover, everything. Oh, and prisoners,” he added, glancing at the trader.
“Prisoners?” a sergeant asked.
“Yes,” Relam said, nodding. “If there are prisoners that will complicate things. We need to free them before the fighting starts or they’ll be used as hostages.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” Oreius asked quietly. “Freeing them would require sneaking into an enemy camp in broad daylight and cutting their bonds without the guards noticing.”
“We’ll see if we need to worry about that first,” Relam replied. “Have the men staying here fortify the camp, ditches around the perimeter, maybe some sharpened stakes. Just in case. No fires, either.”
“Understood, sir,” the first sergeant muttered. “We’ll get to work immediately.”
Relam nodded. “Good. Dismissed.” As he went to dismount and jump down onto the thick underbrush, he had a thought. He nudged Buck and the white horse snorted and turned in place, trampling bushes and grass flat, snapping branches and squashing leaves.
“Much better,” the prince muttered as he dismounted. “Now I have a place to put my tent.”
He unrolled the canvas structure and set it up quickly, then looked around the camp to see how the others were faring. Oreius was already set up, of course, and the squads were moving along fairly well. Relam took Buck to the horse lines, which were situated in an area with a fair amount of vegetation to crop, then returned to his tent and sat outside it, waiting for the scouts to return.
In the meantime, the soldiers finished pitching their tents and began digging the trench that Relam had ordered. Shovels and buckets were produced and earth began flying as the soldiers went to it with a will. Those that had no tools worked with their hands, or thick tree branches if they could find them. Others began sharpening stakes to put in the trenches. There wasn’t enough time to create a truly formidable barrier, but it would be enough to at least give any attackers pause and buy the defenders time to organize themselves.
The work continued through the late afternoon and into the early evening. Relam walked around the perimeter a few times during that span, checking in on the sergeants, hoping for news from the scouts. But there was no news to be had and Relam was forced to return to his tent, where he sat quietly and watched the proceedings as the day wore on.
Dinner came and went. The prince ate alone, chewing disconsolately on strips of dried meat, interspersed with bites of bread and cheese that was starting to grow stale. As he was finishing his meal, Oreius sat down beside him.
“Your scouts have been gone a long time,” he observed, glancing to the west.
Relam nodded worriedly. “Yes. They have.”
“What will you do if they don’t show up?”
The prince glared at the old warrior. “We’ll deal with that problem when it gets here. If it gets here,” he added, glancing west in his own turn.
Oreius snorted softly. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”
“Can one ever be ready for their first battle?” Relam replied softly. He did not look, but he sensed that Oreius was watching him sharply. “Those men we passed on the road earlier,” he said, swallowing. “They made me realize that tomorrow, some of my soldiers could end up the same way. What gives me the right to ask them to risk so much?”
“They elected to serve the kingdom,” Oreius replied. “They fight because they believe in the kingdom. And in the leaders of the kingdom.”
“But-”
“This is not the time to be second guessing yourself, boy,” Oreius warned. “You need to be strong, confident, or your men will lose courage. They fight for you tomorrow, for your father and for your kingdom. They fight because they believe. Your job is to uphold what they believe. Let them see the future of this kingdom.”
Relam frowned, trying to process what Oreius had just said. “You’re saying that I must prove myself to them?”
“Yes,” Oreius agreed. “Otherwise, they are believing in something that is not real.”
As he spoke, Relam heard muted greetings from the edge of camp. He stood, brushing leaves and damp earth from his clothes, and looked west. Four horsemen were cantering around the perimeter, looking for a way in. They rode around the ring of stakes to the eastern side, where a narrow gap had been left for them to pass through. The riders crossed into the camp, and two sentries immediately filled the gap with sharpened stakes.
The riders came straight to Relam and halted, dismounting. “We found them, sir!” the lead rider reported. “An hour and some to the west, right where the trader said they would be. Apparently they were confident enough to stay in one place even though their prisoner escaped.”
“Numbers?” Relam asked eagerly.
“Sixty, maybe a few more. Some of them had fresh bandages. Maybe that caravan put up a bit of a fight.” The scout frowned in concentration, trying to remember other details. “The camp is fairly disorganized, tents and pavilions pitched anywhere there’s space, cook fires scattered all over. The wagons and most of the loot is piled in the center of camp. We saw no sign of any prisoners.”
“That’s a relief,” Relam murmured. “There weren’t any tents with guards on them?”
“There was one,” another scout interrupted. “But it was more a pavilion than a tent. We think it’s where the leader sleeps and holds meetings.”
“That’s possible,” Relam agreed. “What about around the camp? Were there many sentries?”
“Half a dozen,” the first scout replied promptly. “Spread out quite a bit too. Easy pickings for our men.”
“And the trees?”
“Plenty for our archers, with good line of sight. The camp itself is in a clearing, nothing to stop our arrows.”
Relam nodded. “Good work. We’ll ride out a little after dawn and hit them about mid-morning. Find the sergeants and tell them the attack is on and every man needs to get some rest tonight.” Relam paused and looked back at Oreius. “This time tomorrow, there will be nothing left of those bandits, or their camp.”
Chapter 18
The following morning dawned bright and clear, golden shafts of sunlight slanting through the forest canopy above. Relam woke early, rolling up his bedroll before the sun had fully risen and packing up his gear. Around him, most of the camp still slumbered, getting a little extra rest before they rode into battle against the bandits.
Relam shivered slightly in the cold morning air and pulled his cloak around him, stomping his feet to wake them up and get the blood flowing. Then, he set off on a brief walk around the perimeter of the camp.
The sentries were still alert, scanning the forest relentlessly. They all held bows at the ready, arrows on the strings and ready to fire. They nodded greetings to Relam as he passed, then went back to work. Apparently, there was nothing worth reporting.
By the time Relam had made the rounds, other sections of the camp were beginning to stir. Soldiers were crawling out of their two-man tents
, blinking sleepily and trying to wake up. Some were stretching or wandering around the camp. Others were checking their weapons and gear, making sure everything was in order and battle-ready.
When the prince finally returned to his own tent, he found Oreius was up and eating yet another cold breakfast.
“Good morning,” Relam said as he approached. The old man grunted in reply and tore another strip of dried meat in half with his teeth.
Relam took this to mean the warrior was not in a talking mood and broke out his own breakfast. The cold rations were growing less appetizing every day, and by the time Relam had finished his meal his jaw was sore from chewing.
“Not exactly a great way to start the day,” he muttered.
Oreius shrugged philosophically. “I’ve had better pre-battle meals,” he agreed. “But by eating cold rations we at least get to live until the battle starts. If we’d started fires, the bandits would already have either attacked or fled.”
Relam nodded. He knew why they had to eat the cold rations, but that didn’t mean he had to like them. Or that he couldn’t complain about it.
“Do you think there will be much for us to do?” he asked Oreius. “The reserve force, I mean?”
The warrior shrugged again. “Depends. If the enemy concentrate their attack on one side, we may have to lend a hand. But I expect they’ll scatter, a sort of every man for himself mentality. If that happens, our archers will account for most of them before they even reach the perimeter.”
Relam wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them up to his chest. “I just want this over with,” he muttered. His stomach felt rather tight and his heart was beating faster than normal. He tried breathing slow and deep, but that just made him lightheaded and didn’t fix any other problems.
The morning passed slowly. Relam packed up his gear and loaded everything onto Buck. Unfortunately, this only took a few minutes and left him with more than an hour until they were due to depart. So he sat with Oreius, staring quietly westward, waiting for time to pass so that they could make their way to the enemy camp.
Finally, Relam looked up at the sun and noticed that it had reached the proper angle. It was time to ride. Quickly, he gathered the soldiers and formed them up in the usual column. Then, they began riding out slowly, watching the forest ahead for the first sign of the bandit base.
An hour in, the first rank stopped abruptly. Relam made his way to the front of the column and saw what the holdup was. Not a hundred meters away, mostly hidden by the trees, was a large cluster of tents, enough to house sixty people or more. Behind Relam, the sergeants gathered for one last council of war before battle was joined.
“You have your instructions,” Relam murmured. “Fan out, surround the camp. The first volley will come from this side. Once you see it, your archers can fire at will. Take the targets closest to the perimeter first.”
“What if we run into sentries?” one officer asked.
“Take them out, quietly,” Relam replied. “If you get into trouble during the battle, I’ll come running with the first squad. Any questions?”
The sergeants shook their heads.
“Then good luck,” Relam whispered fiercely. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
The sergeants grinned in reply and headed back to their men. In moments, squads two through ten had split off and were moving slowly through the dense tree cover to surround the camp. As they moved, no alarms were raised and their progress seemed to go unnoticed.
Relam waited, forcing himself not to give the order too soon, not to start the battle before everyone was in position. The first squad moved closer to the bandit camp, closing in behind the tenth squadron, which was just ahead. The young prince watched as four archers from the tenth squad swarmed up into several substantial oak trees and found perches looking down on the camp. He looked around the trees on the other side of the camp, but saw no sign of the rest of his men.
“A little longer,” he murmured, gripping his sword tightly. He took a deep breath, released it, scanned the forest again. Still nothing.
Relam turned his attention to the camp itself. A few men were up and about, but they were not paying any attention to the boundaries of the camp. They were intent on finding food and drink for their morning meal, though by the look of things many of those moving about had drank plenty the previous night. Perhaps the bandit camp had been up late, celebrating yet another successful raid.
The prince scanned the forest again. This time, he could pick out a few of the archers, perched in the trees like strange birds of prey, waiting for the signal. He glanced at Oreius, who nodded confidently.
Relam made eye contact with the sergeant of squad ten and held his right hand up in a fist. Then, after a moment’s hesitation he brought it down swiftly. The sergeant turned and immediately relayed the order to his archers.
There was a slight pause, then four bows twanged in nearly perfect unison and four arrows streaked down into the bandit camp below.
Before the first arrows had even found their targets, more than thirty other shafts came streaking out of the canopy. The bandits in the open were cut down immediately, crumpling to the ground, some pierced by multiple arrows. The screams of the wounded rang through the forest and woke the other bandits, who came stumbling out of their tents, half-dressed and ill-prepared for battle.
Arrows continued to rain down from the forest, peppering the enemy camp. Relam scanned the area slowly, shaking his head at the number of bodies piling up.
“They never had a chance,” he said quietly.
Oreius nodded. “Yes. The battle goes well.”
Relam did not honor that observation with a reply. He felt if he opened his mouth again he might be sick.
Above, the archers were still loosing arrow after arrow. Every time a bandit ventured out of his tent, there would be a multiple hiss, a scream of pain, and then another still body lying on the forest floor.
“Not much for us to do,” the sergeant of squad one observed. “Bit disappointing actually. I was looking forward to a bit of a skirmish.” His men growled in agreement, shifting in their saddles and watching for the first gap in the line.
And, just like that, the forest went silent.
No more arrows flew through the camp. No more running bandits were shot down mercilessly. There was nothing to shoot at anymore. Five minutes passed, then ten. Still nothing. Relam was about to order the men forward to go through the camp on foot, when ten bandits burst out of the central pavilion, running flat out for the forest.
Instantly, the air was full of arrows again. Two bandits stumbled and fell, one of them pierced through the leg and arm, another with an arrow in his shoulder and stomach. Both men were well and truly out of the fight, writhing in agony. The rest of the small band had raised their shields overhead in an attempt to block the incoming arrows. Another man was struck a glancing blow along his left arm. He reflexively lowered his shield to examine the injury, slowing slightly as well. Immediately, he was struck by three more arrows, dead before he hit the ground.
The other seven bandits were still running, despite the withering hail of arrows. And now other bandits that had cowered in their tents were up and running, trying to use the larger band as a distraction. The individual bandits ran into the woods, right into the waiting horsemen around the perimeter. A half-dozen individual battles broke out, the clash of steel joining the cries of the wounded and dying and the constant hiss of speeding death.
“Sir, they’re coming right at us!”
Relam refocused his attention on the seven surviving bandits from the original group. They had nearly reached the forest now, and were aiming for a gap between two riders. The soldiers were hesitating, weighing the chances of success. Relam flourished his sword overhead then lowered it at the running men.
“Forward!”
The sergeant yelled and led the way, his men forming a wedge behind him. Relam and Oreius fell in behind the disciplined formation, ready to assist with any c
lean up required after the initial charge.
The seven bandits had just reached the safety of the forest when the first squad arrived in a wall of thundering horseflesh and yelling warriors. They actually stopped in place and looked up horrified at the sight that met their eyes. Then, the first squad swept through them, scattering bandits right and left, killing some and wounding others.
Only four of the bandits survived the initial charge. One of these was down, nursing multiple broken bones. Two others were on their feet, desperately fending off the soldier’s swords.
The fourth bandit had been thrown mostly clear of the battle, landing behind a small bush that partially hid him from the first squad’s view. From Relam and Oreius’ position though he was easily visible. As the bandit turned to make his escape, Relam clapped his heels to Buck’s sides.
“Get him!” he shouted, pointing, as he galloped after the running man. Oreius was a fraction of a second behind Relam, his own horse stretching into a gallop as well.
By sheer chance, the bandit had managed to choose a path that ran straight into a denser part of the forest. The trees grew closer here, and the running man was forced to duck around trunks regularly. Relam and Oreius had a harder time of it, sawing on the reins to bring their horses around and follow the bandit. The horses whinnied their disapproval, but continued running. The bandit, seeing the difficulties he was creating by weaving through trees, dodged about even more. Relam grimly followed, alternately slowing and accelerating, pivoting and wheeling, but always drawing a little closer to his quarry.
Out of the corner of his eye, Relam caught a flash of movement. Then, he saw Oreius drawing level with him and passing him off to the left, fencing the bandit in. The man stopped, turned, and tried to find another escape, but Relam adjusted his own course to hem him in as well.
“Surrender!” the prince shouted. “The rest of your band is dead or dying. Surrender and we will let you live.”
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 22
