by A. C. Cobble
The captain swallowed, and nodded.
Ben could see in the man’s eyes that he wasn’t relieved, and privately, Ben admitted that the man shouldn’t be. Even if they were successful, it wasn’t going to be over that easily. Ben didn’t need to share that with the men, though, not yet.
He turned and began calling out orders to the streams of soldiers who were filtering into the courtyard. He dispatched Prem back to the top of the wall to confirm the knot of Coalition soldiers were still in the market and to plot a course to get there. He assigned units and commanders on the fly to form manageable squads, knowing that once they engaged, the structures would break into chaos, but if they could hold together until they engaged, they’d have a chance.
Their plan wasn’t anchored around being able to definitively win every fight they found themselves in. It was to hold out long enough to draw Lord Jason. If the King of the Coalition was slaughtered by one of Earnest John’s crossbow bolts, the entire force could very well fall apart and retreat. The man was more than a political leader to the Coalition. He was their invincible blade that led the charge. Without him, morale would be shaken. Without him, the Coalition would fall back. Ben was certain of it.
He wasn’t certain what they’d do about the Alliance afterward, but one step at a time.
Time passed grindingly slow, and every breath brought more explosions and screams. He could feel the wall rock beside him as munitions and the will of the Coalition’s mages pounded against it. The choking stench of smoke filled the air. Without needing to see them, Ben knew the fires outside the walls were growing. He paced like a frustrated wolf, eager to leap into the hunt, but he knew they had to wait. Running out alone would only get him killed.
At the end of the bell they’d allocated to gather men, he estimated over a thousand of them stood ready to follow.
“There’s about as many Coalition forces in that square,” mentioned Prem quietly, her voice pitched so only Ben and their friends could hear.
“We don’t have to beat them,” responded Ben. “We just need to punch hard enough that we bring Lord Jason into the fray.”
“He’s really that good?” asked Adrick Morgan. The former guardian rested a hand on his translucent sword. “I’m not that bad, you know. I could face him.”
“It might come to that,” admitted Ben. “If it does, I wish you the best of luck and warn you not to underestimate him. He’s the best blade I’ve ever seen.”
“You’ve seen me,” mentioned Adrick.
Ben held the former guardian’s gaze and did not reply.
“Father,” said Prem.
“Don’t worry,” he assured, putting a hand on her shoulder. “The plan is that Earnest John will end this man, and we are merely holding him in place. If that plan fails, well, there are always risks in battle.”
“Let that sword shine freely,” advised Rhys. “Word of mage-wrought blades will draw Jason like a bear to honey.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good analogy, Rhys,” commented Ben.
“What do you mean?” asked the rogue.
“The bear eats the honey.”
“Oh, right,” responded Rhys. “It’s like a bear to… like a…”
“I think we get it,” said Ben. He turned and raised his voice, trying to be heard over the sounds of battle and the one thousand men in the square. “We strike fast. We bloody their nose. Then, we retreat once their leader, Lord Jason, is dead. I ask that you hold until we signal retreat, and when we fall back, do not get left behind. Once we’re through this gate and it closes, it’s not opening again to let in stragglers. Maintain discipline, and make Issen proud!”
Not knowing what else to do, he raised his longsword high above his head and issued a bellowing war cry. One thousand men returned his gesture, raising their weapons and shouting their rage at the armies outside who were devastating their city.
Ben nodded to the gate captain, and the man called orders to his squad. With a rumbling groan, iron bars as thick as Ben’s middle were drawn back, and heavy chains started to drag the huge wooden gates open.
Ben stood in the center of the opening and found himself looking at a dozen men wearing Alliance white. A soldier in front of the group held a longbow with an arrow nocked, but he promptly dropped it and spun to flee when he saw the legion standing behind Ben. His companions were quick on his heels, none of them hesitating more than a heartbeat to run into the cover of the structures around the castle.
“That’s a promising start,” said Rhys.
Ben trotted out of the gate, the pounding thump of his men’s feet stirring his blood, driving him on into battle.
It was only six blocks to the market square where they’d seen the Coalition men assembling, but that was a long way to move through a city under siege. Two blocks from the gate, arrows began to fly at their company, whistling over Ben’s head and falling into the column behind him. He winced at each scream that arose from his troops. Men were dying. His men were dying, and they couldn’t even see the enemy.
One more block, and they started to surprise small parties of both Alliance and Coalition soldiers. Scouts, thrusting and parrying, trying to find the strength of their opponents. Like the ones outside of the gates, none of the small groups showed any interest in engaging. They turned tail and ran the moment they saw Ben’s force. Even when they came across several score of men battling each other on one street, they broke apart and scattered in different directions when Ben and his men came into view.
Noting which way the grey-clad Coalition soldiers were fleeing, Ben shouted back to his captains, “Look alive. They’ll know we’re coming.”
“Watch for ambushes,” yelled Lloyd, scanning the doors and windows near them.
Around a corner, a block ahead of them, a grey-clad man came pelting into view. He skidded to a stop, looked to be counting, and then spun to run away.
Serrot’s arrow arced through the night and thumped into his back.
A spontaneous cheer erupted from the column at the first strike back at their opponents.
“Nice shot,” complimented Ben.
“That’s the first time I’ve killed a man,” whispered the hunter.
“You did the right thing,” assured Ben.
“If they’re sending scouts to count us, they’re going to be ready,” declared Lloyd. “We need to hit them hard. Push them back on their heels to give our men time to get into the square. Otherwise, they’ll bottle us up in the street. If they have archers they can put on the roofs, we’ll be in trouble, Ben.”
“Adrick, Rhys,” instructed Ben. “I want your swords to blaze bright enough that every man in that square sees you coming. We’ll be right behind you, but you’re the tip of the knife. Lloyd, stay close to them so the Coalition soldiers can see you in the light of the weapons.”
“Tips of the knife,” clarified Rhys. “There are two of us. Let’s be accurate.”
Ben stared at his friend and shook his head.
“Do you think you can keep up with my father?” asked Prem, drawing close to the rogue.
Rhys frowned at her uncertainly.
“I’ll be impressed if you can,” she said. She leaned close and pecked him on the cheek. “See you after the fight.”
The rogue’s face flashed with heat, and now it was Adrick’s turn to frown uncertainly at the girl. He looked toward Rhys, but the rogue scurried ahead, apparently deciding that facing a thousand Coalition troops was better than the girl’s father.
“Oh boy,” mumbled Ben.
He didn’t have time to wonder what Prem’s game was as a hail of arrows rained down on them. Picking up his pace, Ben drove the men faster, knowing that with the archers out of sight, there was nothing they could do except get themselves out of range as quickly as possible. He led them another block, one eye on the sky, one eye looking for the entrance to the market square.
When they did find the opening to the square, Ben paused involuntarily. Arrayed in a solid line and block
ing the street was a wall of spearmen, the sharp tips of their weapons lowering in unison at the sight of Ben’s force.
“Now those are tips,” quipped Lloyd.
No one responded.
“Like Rhys said,” explained Lloyd. “Tips of the knife because there are two of them… There are a lot of those spears… It’s a joke.”
“I think we got it,” responded Adrick.
“Well, no one was laughing,” complained Lloyd.
Adrick looked at him blankly.
Rhys slapped the blademaster on the back. “We tried.”
“There’s no point in waiting,” said Ben, gesturing for Adrick and Rhys to lead the way.
Their eyes met. Then, their longswords flared to life, Adrick’s burning pale blue, the rogue’s flashing in sparkling silver. Lloyd joined them, taking the middle, the light from their weapons clearly illuminating him.
“Arrows,” cried Adrick, spinning his sword in front of him and pulsing out light.
To Ben’s relief, the wall of arrows smacked against an invisible barrier and fell harmlessly. The mages had come to their aid. From such a distance, in the night, with attacks from the Coalition coming constantly, they hadn’t wanted to count on the support. It came at a critical moment, though, and allowed the swordsmen to begin their charge unmolested.
Mage-wrought blades shining brilliantly, Rhys and Adrick escorted Lloyd toward the Coalition forces. Ben, Prem, and a screaming horde of soldiers followed close behind.
The Coalition troops were well-trained and ready. They held their line, spears extended, waiting for the attack. Against normal opponents, they would have skewered scores of Ben’s men before anyone made it through the forest of spears. The destruction to the front line of the charge would be catastrophic, and a stall could lead to slaughter. Ben’s forces were not normal soldiers, though, and they had no intention of being slaughtered.
Adrick and Rhys twirled their blades in front of them as they hit the line, and spear tips were sheared away by the mage-wrought steel, leaving the defenders holding nothing but short sticks. Short sticks did little to stop the onslaught of steel and muscle.
Pulsing blue light strobed through the night as Adrick’s blade passed in and out of flesh. Swirling silver smoke spilled over the line of men as Rhys churned his longsword through the first rank of Coalition soldiers. Lloyd stood in between the two long-lived warriors and cut his former countrymen down with elegance and ease.
Ben stood half a dozen paces behind him, ready to sweep by and begin his own attack, but his three friends shoved the entire Coalition front line back and kept them stumbling in retreat.
Fear, Ben saw. Unlike the waves of demons which they had faced, men felt fear. The flashing mage-wrought blades, wielded by strong arms with millennia worth of experience and practice, struck fear into the hearts of their opponents. These men weren’t hungry for lifeblood. They weren’t angry and eager. They were just following orders, and that wasn’t enough to keep them glued on the front line against opponents like Adrick Morgan and Rhys.
Adrick, Rhys, and Lloyd punched into the gut of the Coalition line, scattering them and boring a hole right through their center. Ben and Prem followed, striking down anyone who slipped by the first three. The first rank of Coalition soldiers fell back, and Ben’s forces spilled into the gap in the spear line, spreading out, and pushing their way into the square.
“Not too far!” called Ben to his friends, nervous they’d plunge too deep into the Coalition ranks and find themselves surrounded. They needed to give time for more of their soldiers to pour into the market square and form their own line, which could apply pressure against the Coalition and prevent them from slipping around Ben and his friends.
Stepping back from the action, Ben began shouting commands to the handful of men he’d selected as captains. They relayed it to their companies as best they could, and step by step, Ben’s forces shoved their way deeper into the market square, a carpet of bodies already underfoot as they hacked and slashed forward. Arrows whistled overhead, and screams filled the air.
Ben stood in a clear space behind his companions and watched as more men spread out on the flanks. He used his longsword to gesture where they should go, sending them to strengthen his line as it ground ahead.
The movement slowed as the Coalition forces finally recovered from the initial shock and began to put up serious resistance. In front of Adrick and Rhys, they set a bristling semi-circle of spears, the weapons thrusting and pulling back, the spearmen trying to avoid leaving their weapons exposed where the swordsmen could chop off the tips. When a spearman did lose his weapon, he would retreat, and another would take his place.
The spearmen couldn’t advance far enough to truly threaten Ben’s friends, but their new tactic was slowing the swordsmen down. They were well-trained, Ben saw, and even with the skill of his blademasters, it would be a close call on which side would win the battle. On the outskirts, the equally matched forces dug in, pounding against each other, both fronts turning into grisly meat grinders.
Suddenly, a small group of Coalition fighters broke through the line and ran across the blood-slick cobblestones, attempting to come behind Adrick. Ben and Prem leapt forward to engage them. Ben swung high with his longsword, drawing parries from the men. Prem ducked low, sliding underneath the longer weapons and slashing across the Coalition soldier’s bellies, spilling their guts.
Shouting orders to his captains, Ben fell back. Prem hung by his side, studying the line, looking for any other gaps she could help to fill.
Over the raging tide of the battle, Ben thought he heard shouts of recognition and surprise. He was growing hopeful their strategy was working. By placing Lloyd in between the lights from the mage-wrought blades, they hoped he would be obvious. All eyes would be fixed on Rhys, Adrick, and Lloyd, but it had been six years since the blademaster had been in Irrefort. It was possible the soldiers wouldn’t recognize him, or have time to send word to Jason if they did. It was a risk they’d thought worth taking.
Ben yelled encouragement to his captains to push harder. If they could force the Coalition men into the streets, separating them, then they could pursue smaller groups and keep them on the run. If the fighting was on the move or man to man, the swordsmen could gain an advantage. Bunched together tightly, though, the Coalition’s spearmen were able to keep Ben’s men back without risking entanglement.
Then, the left flank flexed, and Prem shouted a warning. Ben rushed to assist, dodging around the backs of his own men, worming his way to the front. Ahead of him, his line was crumbling, and the Coalition forces were shoving forward.
Ben frowned. The front line of the Coalition was focused on the battle, but past them, he could see heads turned. They were looking at something behind them that was jostling the front line, forcing those men closer to Ben’s forces. It wasn’t so much that the Coalition was pushing Ben’s men back. It was that Coalition men were being pushed into his soldiers.
“Hold the line,” barked Ben, finally wiggling past the last of his men. He set his feet and swung wicked strikes at the spears of the Coalition soldiers in front of him. By shattering their weapons, he took them out of the fight, he thought, until one of the spearmen lunged forward and cracked him on the side of the head with the shaft of a broken spear.
Ben blinked, shaking his head to clear the stars and to silence the ringing bells. Then, he stabbed the man in the face.
Another spearmen thrust at him and Ben stepped back. All around, the spearmen were being jostled forward from behind. Ben’s troops were cutting them down furiously, but they couldn’t stop the wall of flesh and steel from advancing. The spearmen in front didn’t look any happier about it than Ben as they were forced onto the blades of his men.
“What’s going on back there!” yelled one of Issen’s men as he hacked down a Coalition soldier beside Ben.
“Somethings coming behind them,” called Ben over the din of battle.
“Pivot, pivot!” screame
d a voice deep in the Coalition ranks.
Sensing an opportunity, Ben jumped across the gap between the two opposing lines and chopped down two Coalition soldiers as they glanced around in confusion. Their line began to turn, and Ben caught a glimpse at what had startled them.
Coming down a street leading into the square was an unbroken wall of white tunics – Alliance forces, arrayed shoulder to shoulder, holding crossbows.
They raised their crossbows and fired. A score of bolts punched into the Coalition troops. Then, the first rank of crossbowmen dropped to a knee, reloading their weapons, and revealing another rank behind them. The second rank fired, and another score of the deadly bolts smacked into the Coalition. The second rank knelt, revealing a third group. The third aimed, fired, knelt, and the first rank rose up again. The three groups fired, loaded, and fired again, rank after rank, bolt after bolt, they slaughtered the Coalition troops in front of them with a constant hail of high-velocity crossbow quarrels.
Caught between Ben’s forces and the rows of crossbowmen, the Coalition’s men began to panic. They were falling back from the crossbowmen, only to find they were held in place by Ben’s swordsmen. They had nowhere to run, no way to get out from in front of the deadly rain of steel.
Ben watched open-mouthed as soldiers fell by the score. There was nothing they could do, as long as they kept falling back. The crossbowmen had coordination and range. Ben’s men would face the same problem. Another volley of crossbow bolts plunged into the Coalition ranks, and Ben made a snap decision. It was obvious. He spun to find a captain and called for the man to prepare a charge.
“Right into that?” exclaimed the captain.
“It’s better than letting them hang back and empty their quivers into us!” declared Ben. “We wait until they fire into the Coalition side. Then we rush them. If we’re fast, they’ll only get one or two volleys fired before we hit their line. Up close, they’ll be helpless.”
