“You looking for Ognel’s treasure too?” another asked of the treasure hunters.
The red sash turned to dust and flew out of Gathelaus’s hand with the brisk mountain winds.
Gathelaus nodded. “Maybe I was. But there is nothing here now.”
Three days earlier…
The Usurper 9. Barbarians At The Gate
They brought the battering ram to the massive east gate and let the cast iron head slam into the steel reinforced wooden beams. A loud crack sounded, but nothing could yet be seen revealing progress on opening the gate.
Hot tar was splashed over the roof of the ram and fire arrows set it alight.
Gathelaus pushing toward the rear could feel the heat over his head and along the ground where tar was blazing beside him in the mud.
“Again!” he cried, and the ram was edged back and brought forward again, swinging like the hammer of the gods. Crack! A split in the wooden planks was visible between the banded iron.
“Again! This time we shove it right up their ass!”
The ram was pulled back and then rushed forward. A titanic crunch broke through. The cast-iron head snapped three of the planks and knocked whatever braces were behind the gate free. It still held but panic along the wall was evident, though the defenders weren’t done yet.
Arrows fell like rain, and stones too. Anything the defenders could find was tossed down at the besiegers.
Drizzling tar still aflame ate through the roof of the ram and fell. A man pushing had it run down his back and within his cuirass. He screamed and leapt away from the relative safety of the roofed battering ram.
“Pull him back!” shouted Gathelaus.
But as the man fell to ground rolling in pain from the burning pitch, an arrow from eth walls above mercifully ended his life.
“It’s about to go, stick it in the gate and let’s leave it there!” commanded Gathelaus.
One last push and the ram hit the gate once more and wedged into the open crack. The fires which now ravenously worked over the frame of the battering ram would also do their damage against the massive gates.
The men held shields above and behind themselves as they ran back toward their own lines. Their comrades had been waiting for this maneuver and unleashed a volley of arrows to keep the defender’s heads down. Most made it back unscathed, but not all.
“Ingenious,” said Baron Undset, as Gathelaus came trotting back toward the command center. “You let them supply the flames and fuel for their own destruction of the gate.”
Gathelaus nodded to the baron but then dunked himself in a barrel full of cold water, then back out, shaking like a dog that had just gone for a swim. “I knew that would be hot, but still,” he said.
“I applaud your resourcefulness,” continued the baron.
Gathelaus shook his head. “This won’t work. It will damage the door, but they are hard at work throwing in more supports and beams behind it even now.”
“Won’t we strike it again soon?” questioned the baron.
Gathelaus shrugged, “Only so long as we need to keep up the deception.”
The baron cocked his head at that. “Meaning?”
“I can’t let them know where we are really going to get in just yet.”
“But I thought we would force the gate and enter like a liberating army?” said the baron.
Gathelaus dunked his head once more in the cool waters. When he came out, he spit a mouthful of water and wiped his face of the excess. “If we got in the front gate, it would be a bloodbath for all involved. I seek to slay Forlock but not the sons of Vjorn, the less men I have to kill that will become my subjects the better.”
“But how will we get in?” asked the baron.
“As soon as I have the right key,” said Gathelaus with a grin.
Baron Undset huffed a little that he was not getting a clear answer. “And when pray tell will that be?”
“Soon as Thorne is back.”
“Ah, I haven’t seen him since the contest, but what manner of key to the city could he have? There is no possible way he was able to get inside the city, was he? All of my previous scouting operations for poor Roose declared it was impregnable once the king closed the gates after the contest.”
Gathelaus laughed, and took hold of a joint of beef, from Gustal. “No, he isn’t inside, he is miles away by now, somewhere on the road heading toward,” he thought for a moment, “Danelaw?”
Realization dawned on Undset’s face. “But that could be the direction General Beinar is coming from. He should be fielding no less than a thousand men. How many did captain Thorne have?”
“Maybe two hundred, but he isn’t going to fight them, just slow them down a bit,” said Gathelaus.
The fire at the gate raged. Black smoke roiled into the sky, casting a gloom over an otherwise green and sunny afternoon. While men from the top of the walls attempted to throw water on the flames, they only reached higher, blackening the front of the east gate. When the wind shifted ever so slightly, the heat coming off the flames could be felt even as far away as the command center.
Baron Undset was forced to take a step back behind the mild shelter of the bivouac tent, where the smoky breeze was lessened. “What are you afraid of Gathelaus? Anything?” asked Baron Undset.
“Sure, I am,” said Gathelaus. “You can’t know courage and bravery without knowing fear.”
“Yes, yes, I am sure you knew fear when you were a lad, but what about now? What are you afraid of now? Because it doesn’t seem like you are in fear of losing your life in this mad endeavor, nor losing your station as commander of the mercenaries.”
Gathelaus chuckled at that and shook his head.
“I am deadly serious, sir,” said the Baron.
“So am I.”
“Then what do you fear?”
Gathelaus gave him his usual smirk, but answered, “Dying of old age, unable to remember my name or take care of myself. I am deathly afraid of being mindless and invalid. When I go to the other side, I want it to be knowing my own mind and with the strength to still walk on my own two feet, while holding a sword.” He tapped at his scabbard for emphasis.
Baron Undset chewed at his mustache and said, “I’m quite certain you are on the correct path to alleviate those fears.”
There was a loud crash and double the amount of black smoke flew up as the roof of the battering ram fell amongst the wheels. When the wind shifted once more , they might have heard the screams of panic from people who lived along the walls and saw the gruesome black cloud, or it may have simply been the hiss of water thrown, steaming on the red hot iron pegs of the dead ram. Either way, it signaled change and horror, perhaps blood and booty to be taken by an invading army. Fear percolated through the city as sure as any rainwater finds its way into the gutter. How could these people know that Gathelaus would be a liberator from injustice rather than a pirate bent on looting their city and putting their men to the sword and their women to rapine and children for slaves?
He decided then and there to send a message to perhaps alleviate their fears and maybe, even kindle their desire to join his cause.
“Baron, Niels, Jolly, I need all the paper that we can gather,” he said suddenly.
“Paper?” asked Niels, who was just as surprised as the others.
“Aye, I want to send a message to every man, woman and child within the city that I can,” said Gathelaus.
Niels scratched at his temple and looked dubiously at Jolly, who merely shrugged.
“I may have some that I was holding onto for the sake of journaling this campaign, but what is your plan?” asked Baron Undset.
“I want to tell the city, the whole kingdom, that this is about Forlock and not them. Give me Forlock and the crown and this is over. Write that down,” he said.
Undset looked toward his steward and clapped his hands, signaling for the man to go and fetch the journals. “But how should we get the message inside the city walls?” he asked.
Gathelaus shrugged, “I don’t know yet, but I want it to get through to the common folk.”
“We’re on it, chief,” said Jolly, mimicking Thorne, who would have been tasked with this had he been there.
Gathelaus sat on a stump and pondered, brooding into his cups.
Baron Undset supplied all of the paper he had, which was quite a bit more than Gathelaus had even suspected.
Jolly and Niels returned with some strange looking arrows.
“And those?” questioned Undset.
Niels drew one from the rather large bag they carried them in. “These are meant for precise ballista shots, but we removed the heavy iron heads and replaced them with some weighted heads, just enough to take them over the wall, shouldn’t do too much damage at all unless it came down right on your head, but I think it may do the trick.”
“Ah, so you wrap the letter about the shaft and send it over the wall?”
“Precisely,” said Niels. “But someone with better handwriting than me has to be writing these messages.”
“I can do that, if Gathelaus wishes it,” said the baron.
Gathelaus nodded to the baron. “Good work, you two. I should also like to try a second measure, perhaps kites or balloons.”
“Ball what?” asked Niels.
Jolly laughed, “I don’t think he has ever seen one before. But I am sure we can fashion some kites with eth messages attached and let them loose over the city.”
“As many as possible,” said Gathelaus. “The loyal guard of Forlock are sure to destroy as many as they can, but while we are waiting for Thorne, I want the pot to boil with anticipation and for every soul inside to know that the city is not my target, just the crown.”
***
By eventide most of the message were written and affixed to the dummy ballista as well as almost fifty kites having been made and prepared to be flown over the city and released.
Baron Undset approached Gathelaus saying, “As a member of the Vjornish nobility I was unready to support your maneuver for the crown at first, but between you dashing in to save Prince Roose against a demon, the way you handled the Picts and your efforts to save the citizens of Hellainik from undue bloodshed; I could not be prouder to call you my king.”
Gathelaus nodded and grasped Undset on the shoulder. “My thanks, I’ll need you to be telling that to a lot of other nobles soon enough.”
From at the edge of dusk, Niels called out, “We are ready!”
Gathelaus stepped out into the fray and looked upon his men manning the ballista and others holding kites crafted from cloth, fine silks donated by the baron and other such means. He was proud these were his men and fully behind him in this mad endeavor.
“Release them!”
The ballista went first, launching the awkward messages up and toward the high city walls. The first few came down and hit the wall midway up and then fell.
The defenders were surely curious as it was clear that these missiles bore little enough weight and did no damage.
“Get that weight up,” commanded Niels to the gunners.
“At least the wind is in our favor,” said Jolly as he let his kite loose up into the reddening sky. Soon an armada of bat-like kites were sailing up on the drafts above the city. Sooner or later they would hopefully come back down well inside the city and spread Gathelaus’s message.
“That’s my concern as well,” said Niels, “If the wind hadn’t assisted the bolt, it might not have even made it to the wall, let alone go over it.”
Adding yet another layer of weight to the bolt heads by attaching discarded bits of mail held together by strips of leather or rags, they again tried to send the missiles home.
This time a few of the bolts hit the topmost section of the wall, but several cleared the parapets and landed somewhere inside the city.
“And like cracks in the ice, it spreads,” said Gathelaus.
Full darkness hadn’t been reached by the time, that defenders along the wall were shouting curses back and throwing down the bolts. Some few shouted loud enough to be heard. “We don’t believe your lies!” “Forlock is king and always will be!” “A pox on you Usurper!” “We’ll piss on your grave!” “Death to the Usurper king!” “King of lies!” and so on.
Gathelaus was unaffected by any of this, but Baron Undset grew worried.
“I applaud all of your attempts, my king, but it seems this has failed to win their hearts and minds,” said.
Gathelaus sat back upon his stump and answered, “The men on the wall have to do as such, or their commanders will have their heads on a pig-pole. My real concern is when the men retire for the night and speak to their friends and families, that ‘This is what Gathelaus says…’ Then in a day or two, public opinion will wane for Forlock and fear for me will subside. Any enemies of Forlock within the walls will see me as a liberator and not a new threat. This all takes some time.”
Baron Undset was unsatisfied. “Why are we doing this? We cannot win at this rate. More troops are on their way here and there will come a time when there will be too many for even you to fight them all. We are running out of time.”
“I am buying time until the real plan is ready.”
“When will that be?”
“When Thorne arrives.”
Two years earlier…
The Blood Red Crown
1.Cold Comfort
Gathelaus stalked through the crunching ankle-deep snow to the edge of where the thick pines ended. He gazed across the wind-swept mountain valley at the dark castle beyond. The setting sun gleamed a dull crimson upon the jagged parapets and towers, casting an unholy glow upon the dread fortress. A smoke lingered, floating overhead like a storm cloud, overpowering the fresh scent of the pines with an unwholesome reek. Crimson banners emblazoned with the crooked demons cross, sigil of the dreaded Khanzi sorcerers, flapped in the icy breeze, taunting the pack of mercenaries known collectively as The Sellsword’s.
“I always said, I’d come back,” said Gathelaus. His breath came out white like an avalanche.
“The place looks even more frozen than we do here,” said Niels.
Gathelaus grunted in grim acknowledgment.
To a sane man, a rational man, it would appear suicidal to assault such an impregnable fortress; easier to combat the relentless frostbite here than throw your life away against the icy-shrouded Roost. Men said no one could siege that fortress pinnacle. The mountain itself was a terrible defense and the winter would halt any attackers before the sorcerers need lift a gnarled finger.
Gathelaus knew better, that and he was being offered a hell of a lot of coin to take that fortress. But it was personal too. Bitter cold nipped at him now and he stamped his feet to keep the blood flowing. Perhaps too much blood flowing. His boot print left a hint of pink in the ankle-deep snow.
“You’re bleeding Captain,” said a legionnaire just now creeping up behind them.
Shrugging, Gathelaus leaned into his lieutenant Niels, whispering, “This ends tonight. I’ve bled all I can, I won’t bleed no more. Not til we take the Roost.”
“Ain’t we supposed to wait?” asked the legionnaire.
“What’d I tell you, Niels?” said Gathelaus. “Where a deer can go, a man can go, and where a man can go…an army can go.” Gathelaus stood every inch the primordial brawler, a thick shouldered man with enough battle scars for the entire company. His mane of dark hair flapped in the wind over the crest of his wooly mammoth cloak. A broad sword and a half dozen knives jutted from his wide leather belt while the hickory haft of a Pictish tomahawk was never far from his reach.
“That’s why I don’t bet against you,” countered Niels, a young man by comparison who was also Gathelaus’s unofficial right hand.
“Don’t see how a deer could get into that fortress,” offered the legionnaire.
“He was talking about the pass we just came through,” said Niels, finally acknowledging the newcomer.
Another half dozen of the company walked up. Red
d, one of the archery commanders. “We’re ahead of the Witch-Finder General by no more than three days. Sergeant Briar is going to owe me fifty senines. But now what? Wait for his reinforcements and freeze? We lost three more of the new volunteers, coming over that last pass, we number only seventy-four now.”
“Don’t make them like they used too,” said Niels, with a grim chuckle.
Gathelaus grimaced, rubbing his scruffy jaw. “I’m not waiting any longer.”
“Why not?” asked the legionnaire.
“If we wait, the Witch-Finder General will declare it his victory and rob us of our hard-earned pay. Good enough reason?”
“But we don’t have the manpower to siege that thing,” argued the man.
Before Gathelaus could respond, Niels held a gauntlet fist up asking, “How long you been with us?”
“Six weeks, give or take a day.”
Niels continued, “Six weeks, give or take a day, he says, and I still don’t know your name. Listen Nameless, when the Captain says we can take a fortress, even one as infamous as the Roost, you better believe he has a way of working what would seem like a miracle to lesser men. So, until you’ve done something worthy of me remembering your name, keep your doubts to yourself.”
Nameless frowned and faded a step or two back into the trees.
None of the men present knew what Gathelaus’s plan was yet, but they each hoped like hell that it was a good one. The Khanzi held castle, known as the Roost, sat impregnable upon a jutting wedge of granite. Sheer cliffs hundreds of feet high surrounded it on three sides while the gate itself, a pockmarked ridge of death, was accessible only by following a narrow serpentine path that allowed no room for a battering ram or siege tower. Overhead, defending archers could pincushion any attackers with ease, and that didn’t account for whatever foul wizardry the Khanzi sorcerers inside might conjure.
“We take it tonight. I’ll not wait for that zealot Witch-Finder.”
“Impossibles,” said Hardy, shaking icicles from his mustache.
The Usurper Page 25
