The War Revealed (The Lost War Book 2)

by Karl K Gallagher

  Lord Joyeuse held his torch closer to Newman. “Literally,” said the squire.

  Newman tugged at his tunic. It was stiff with dried blood, some of it his own. “He brought us to this world. There’s three thousand orcs on their way here.”

  “Three thousand?” asked King Ironhelm quietly.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The king turned to his herald. “Count Dirk, Master Sharpquill, and anyone they need for a war council to my tent at once.”

  The herald nodded and ran.

  Ironhelm said, “Let’s get you a drink. It’s going to be a long night.”

  ***

  Newman felt more uncomfortable sitting down as the King’s tent filled to standing room only. When Ironhelm ordered his chairs taken out to make more room he started to stand only to be waved back down.

  “Drink your tea, your excellency,” said Ironhelm. “You’ve had a long day.”

  The pavilion was stuffed full with dukes, knights, counts, and even non-Peers who led warbands. Wolfhead Alpha stood in a corner, looking as uncomfortable as Newman felt. The royal bed held all six dukes sitting on the edges.

  Lord Joyeuse, Ironhelm’s squire, offered to top off Newman’s tea.

  “No thanks, it’s finally cool enough to drink.”

  “All right. Water? Another sandwich?”

  “Sandwich would be good.” Newman wasn’t hungry. His stomach was tight around the first sandwich. But the squire wanted something to do.

  The king stepped away from his conversation with Count Dirk. “Is there anyone else we need to wait for?”

  The headshakes and mutters were all negative.

  “Then we’ll get started. If anybody’s wondering why we’re here, the embassy to the elves returned with word of a massive orc attack impending. Baron Newman will brief us on the situation. Then we’ll figure out what to do about it. Your excellency?”

  Newman swallowed the last of his tea and put the cup down on the chair as he stood. He’d spent the wait mentally organizing what happened in the format that Battalion made him use to brief reconnaissance patrols back in the Sandbox.

  “Key points: we made friendly initial contact with the elf village. Contact with the master magic user became violent. Three thousand orcs are on their way to attack us.”

  That sent a stir through the crowd. The expressions said “I’d hoped that rumor was false” more than “Oh my God.”

  The king made it clear he wanted all the details of the encounter with the sorcerer. Newman summarized the negotiations in the village then went blow by blow with the sorcerer. Count Dirk shushed anyone who tried to interrupt.

  The count took notes on a laptop, typing fast enough to keep up with Newman’s report.

  “Then Goldenrod woke up and teleported us here with one of the spells she’d stolen.”

  Count Dirk claimed the first question. “How solid is that three thousand number?”

  “Not at all. It’s a round number in base five.”

  “How long will it take them to get here?”

  “At least a week, if they move at our own speed. Most were farther from us than the village. They’re spread out enough the first wave will be a few days before the last.”

  “Will the elf villagers act against us immediately?”

  “I don’t know.” Newman rubbed his head to make his tired brain function. “I don’t think so. They’re not very organized, they’re not warriors, and they don’t have a trail to follow.”

  Dirk hit Newman with several more tactically focused questions before letting anyone else have a turn.

  “Couldn’t you have taken the sorcerer prisoner?” asked Duke Mace. “We’d know more if we could interrogate him.”

  Before Newman could reply King Ironhelm snapped, “There is no time for backbiting or recrimination. We need to focus on survival.”

  He felt guilty as he realized he could have tried to knock the sorcerer out. He’d been so focused on chopping the guy the moment he could that he’d never even thought the sorcerer might be less of a threat after Goldenrod stole his magic. On the other hand—the guy was about two thousand years old and had a magic wand. One smack from Goldenrod probably didn’t get all his tricks.

  After a few more questions King Ironhelm stopped the interrogation. “That’s all the useful data we can get. Now we’re going to brainstorm possible plans. When we have all the possibilities we’ll pick one. Then we’ll work out how to implement it. It’s going to be a long night, gentlemen. Don’t be shy about asking for more tea.”

  That produced a few chuckles.

  “Plans for survival. Go.”

  Captain Spear offered, “Let’s just beef up the fence. Close up the gate, fence the river bluff, build fighting platforms behind it.”

  “Would have to build it taller,” said someone. “Reinforce it with stone,” said another.

  A couple of others spoke at once, but the king cut them off. “Details later. New ideas now.”

  “They’re spread out,” said Duke Mace. “Let’s hit them first before they concentrate. Start on a flank and march across their front.

  Dirk typed it in. Several looked like they wanted to object but held their peace.

  “We need better ground,” said Joyeuse. “We could retreat to the mountains. Or better yet to the island we saw off the coast. It’s already shaped like a castle.”

  “There’s all the magic users,” said Sir Flint. “Can’t they find a way to get us out of this?”

  Count Dirk looked up from the laptop. “Miracles don’t require logistical planning. Let’s focus on what we can do.”

  “But Baroness Goldenrod teleported a dozen people!”

  Newman snarled, “That effort left her unconscious in the chirugeon’s tent. And it was less than a dozen. Two dozen would kill her.”

  “Magic is not part of this discussion,” declared the king.

  “We could hide. Natural caves or maybe dig a tunnel,” said a knight Newman didn’t know.

  Dirk typed it in.

  Somebody else asked, “You said the village had a spell protecting it from orcs. Could we go there?”

  King Ironhelm looked inquiringly at Newman.

  “I don’t think they’d want to help us. And the sorcerer cast that spell so it might be broken now.”

  “Right. Other ideas?” said the king.

  “We could train all the non-fighters to use pikes,” said Wolfhead Alpha.

  “That’s an option whichever plan we go with.”

  Nobody else said anything.

  “All right,” said the king. “Defend, attack, retreat, hide. That’s our options. Which do we choose?”

  “Best defense is a strong offense,” said Duke Mace. “Fifty of us together could smash all the orcs we meet.”

  Sir Flint scoffed. “And when a couple of bands slip past and slaughter our families?”

  “There’d be the hunters and militia to guard the camp.”

  “Then we’re dividing our forces in the face of the enemy,” said Wolfhead Alpha.

  Mace kept arguing for an offensive without much support until the king moved the discussion to defending the camp.

  “We built the fence in a day. We’ve got a week to strengthen it,” said Spear. “It can stand up to them.”

  “The fence is already rotting in places,” said Wolfhead Alpha. “We’d need to replace the whole thing.”

  “So do it. Reinforce it with stone while we’re at it. We’ve got that kid who can make stone fly.”

  “There’s not much easy stone around here. Hell, the forest has been cut back so far for firewood we’d spend more time hauling wood than cutting it.”

  Sir Flint jumped in. “I don’t think wooden walls will stand up to a full attack. Those things throw spears. They climbed over the current fence. I think they’re smart enough to make a battering ram out of a log. It might take them days but they’ll make a hole in it.”

  “Why’d we build the thing then?” muttered a
duke.

  “To keep out animals,” replied another one sitting next to him on the bed.

  The one on the other side said, “And you didn’t do any of the work”

  More arguing didn’t come up with a way to build a sturdy enough fence. Packed earth was more vulnerable to orcish spears than wood.

  “This place is indefensible without building a stone castle,” said Lord Joyeuse. “We need to go someplace else. Castle Island.”

  People looked from the squire to his master to check if he was speaking on his own or for the king. Ironhelm stayed impassive.

  Duke Mace said, “Has anyone else seen this island?”

  “I have,” said Newman. “It’s bare rock. Maybe a hundred yards off the coast. Squarish. The sides have a steep slope, maybe a fifty or a hundred feet high. One corner rises higher, like a keep. No battlements. But it’s the closest thing we’ve got to a castle.”

  Lord Joyeuse described the path to it.

  Sir Flint shook his head. “The mountains are nasty. But the distance worries me the most. We have a lot of people who can’t walk that far.”

  “So we carry them,” said Wolfhead Alpha. “Travois. Carts. It’s not hard.”

  “Anybody carrying a little old lady can’t carry a tent. Or food. Sounds like we’ll have to bring all our food there. How much do we have to bring?”

  Autocrat Sharpquill spoke up. “We have six weeks’ food stockpiled for the winter. Subtracting vineroot and other food that has to be cooked there’s four weeks’ worth we can bring to a siege.”

  “Great. A week there, a week back. If the siege lasts over two weeks, we starve.”

  “Orcs have to eat, too,” said Captain Spear. “I doubt they could sustain a siege for one week, let alone two. It’ll be a big assault then the survivors fleeing. Just like last time.”

  “Your lips to God’s ears,” came from the middle of the crowd.

  “What about hiding?” asked Count Dirk.

  “Has anyone found any natural caves?” asked the knight who’d suggested it.

  The non-peers standing along the walls shook their heads.

  Lord Falchion said, “There’s no limestone here. It’s just soil over igneous rock. It appears to be an impact formation, so no lava tubes.”

  “Then I don’t think we can hide. We could dig a big hole, but it would be obvious. Hiding won’t work.”

  “Fine,” said King Ironhelm. “Fortify or retreat?”

  Count Dirk leaned back from the laptop. “Retreat has lots of problems but I think we can solve them. We can’t solve making an unbreakable wall.”

  “We shall retreat to Castle Island,” declared the King. “Start working out the plan.”

  Count Dirk began issuing orders. The first was to make announcements to the populace before the rumors went out of control. The second was to summon Master Chisel and his best carpenters.

  Ironhelm leaned close to Joyeuse. “Get him into bed.”

  The squire took this literally. He led Newman back to House Applesmile and wouldn’t leave until he was in bed. Newman didn’t resist. Facing the war council had him as stressed as a lethal fight. As the adrenaline ebbed he almost fell asleep on his feet.

  ***

  The herald dismissed the populace to their duties. Lady Buttercup thought the announcement had gone well. No one panicked. Not even her. Maybe they were all used to massive disasters now.

  In front of the Court pavilion the populace was dispersing. They were anxious but not panicked. Knots of crafters discussed how to build carts, wheelbarrows, or sledges in a day.

  Buttercup waited for the crowd to thin. She’d arrived early to be in front of the seats. There were still people blocking the straight path back to her tent. She didn’t want to zigzag around them.

  Finally enough left to clear the way. Buttercup pivoted her wheelchair to face home. Her hands gripped the rails and pulled hard. Yank after yank had her arms aching but left her moving briskly past the people still chatting.

  Then an idiot stepped right into her path. Buttercup gripped the brakes, burning off all her hard-won momentum. It was Master Chisel. Probably wanted one of his apprentices to push her as a lesson in ‘chivalry’. She wouldn’t need the help if he hadn’t stopped her.

  “Good day, my lady,” said Chisel. “How do you fare?”

  “Busy, lad. I have lots of work to do.”

  “I hope you won’t have to—”

  Buttercup snapped, “Look, Chisel. I knew you when you were wandering around wearing a Latin motto t-shirt with a sappy grin on your face. Don’t waste my time.”

  Chisel braced himself. “I want your wheels.”

  She gripped the arms of her wheelchair. “Volunteering me for the heroic rear guard?”

  “No, no. I want to build a cart. You can ride in the cart. But we’ll have supplies and such in there. And it’ll be easier than trying to wheel yourself.”

  That . . . made sense. Buttercup knew she couldn’t go nearly as fast through the forest as she could in camp, and she’d need two or three men to help her across a stream. But still . . .

  “Can you put the chair back together when we’re all done?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll try. If I can’t fix it I’ll build you a new one. And put decorative knotwork all over it.”

  A medieval tech all wood chair would weigh four times as much as her current one. But Chisel was a good lad, he’d work with her to improve it.

  “All right. Take me home and you can have the wheels.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  An apprentice came around and grasped the handles behind her.

  ***

  “Good morning, Newman. Did you sleep well?”

  Newman almost dropped his fork. He’d been so focused in his first good breakfast in a dozen days that he hadn’t noticed Count Dirk’s approach. “Yes, Your Excellency. Very well.”

  “Good. I’d like to speak with you. When you’re done.” Dirk dropped into a relaxed parade rest, radiating patience.

  Newman thought the subtext of this was ‘If your breakfast is more important than my valuable time’. He swallowed the bit on his fork, wiped his hands and face, and joined the count.

  Dirk didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. His eyes had deep bags from a sleepless night. “We figured out a way to buy more time for the evacuation. A strike force to distract and harass the orcs. Some hit and run attacks would get them moving in the wrong direction.”

  The older man’s eyes looked past Newman, through the fence, fixed on the horizon. “Then they’ll have to outrun the orcs to rejoin the rest of us. So this will have to be our most physically fit archers.”

  Newman nodded. “Yes, sir. I volunteer.”

  “Good. I want you to command it.”

  Newman normally stood with his weight on the balls of his feet. Now his heels sank down as his weight landed on them. “Oh, no, I’m sure there’s someone more qualified.”

  The count jerked a thumb toward the front gate, pivoted, and started walking. Newman followed.

  This felt like times when the sergeant major felt his feedback was too much for the tender ears of Newman’s squad. Though the sergeant major didn’t have to go far to find a private spot. Dirk led him through the crafting shops, past the Court pavilion, and out the gate. They crossed the bare swath where trees had been taken for lumber and firewood. They kept going into the woods until no lumberjacks or plant gatherers or hunters could be heard.

  This was more privacy than Newman and Goldenrod had on their wedding night.

  Count Dirk pivoted to face Newman. “You have real leadership ability. But you won’t use it unless you’re forced. Either you’re ordered into it by royal decree, or things hit the fan so badly you have to step up. After you’ve passed up a few chances to prevent it becoming a disaster. You need to take initiative as a leader.”

  Newman looked aside, staring at a flowering bush. “I am not a good leader.”

  “I saw you in the battle a
t the gate. You rallied untrained men, made them an effective unit. Might have tipped the battle. Probably saved my life.”

  “Maybe I have some good moments. But I screw it up if I do it too long. You’re talking about a long-term mission. I can’t do that.”

  “I’m going to need an explanation of that.” The count’s eyes were locked on Newman, a bright blue presence in his peripheral vision.

  “You wouldn’t understand. It’s stuff that happened in some Iraqi town you never heard of.”

  Dirk leaned against a tree. “Try me.”

  The movement caught Newman’s eye as Dirk lifted his right foot above his knee. Knuckles rapped on the calf with a clacking sound. He pulled up the leg of his trews to show a plastic cup holding the stump of his leg. A metal rod vanished into his leather shoe.

  “So talk,” said Dirk.

  “It’s . . . I can’t. . .” said Newman.

  “Fine, I’ll talk. I went over three times. First tour I just did the minimum number of stupid lieutenant tricks. When I went back I commanded an infantry company and did a damn good job swaying the tribe in my sector to our side. Until an IED blew up my humvee. My first sergeant had to get me out with a saw while the engine burned and bullets flew by.”

  Dirk was staring at the horizon again. “I put him in for a DSC but those sons of bitches at Brigade knocked it—anyway. Third tour I was a major. Hardly ever got outside the wire. Realized I was wasting the time of everyone doing the real work. When I got home I hung it up.”

  His gaze went back to Newman. “So maybe, just maybe, I’ll understand.”

  Then Dirk shut up. The bird-things were cough-coughing in the branches. Wind shook the tops of the trees, making the spots of sunlight flicker and dance.

  Newman took a deep breath. “My first tour was nothing special. Second I was a squad leader. We were going house to house. Breaching walls because the streets were too hot. We blew a hole, Ramirez went in on point, I followed.”

  “It was a big foyer with a balcony. Two hajis jumped down onto Ramirez. There were a bunch more on the balcony. I ordered my squad back to the rally point. Then I tried to grab Ramirez and drag him out. More hajis jumped me. I don’t know why they didn’t just shoot me.”