Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Trenton snorted. “Surely you jest.”

  “Do I look like I’m jesting, Trenton?” Cort said, exasperated. “The priest suggested that we could make all of this go away by negotiated with them and discovering their terms of surrender. It may be something that can save English lives. Every man has terms, Trenton. You know that.”

  Trenton was trying to focus on the battle and not the conversation with his brother. “I know that the rebels sacked Mount Wrath and killed Ardmore MacRohan. There are probably close to five hundred men inside Mount Wrath right now and I intend to purge them.”

  “Then negotiating is out of the question?”

  “It is ridiculous, Cort,” Trenton snapped softly. “See that siege engine moving to the drawbridge? That is where I need you. Boden and Gage are up there, but they need your guidance.”

  Cort could see that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Trenton and, truth be told, the battle had been going on for a while. It wasn’t as if Trenton was going to call an immediate cease fire and draw everyone away from the walls.

  That being the case, he had no choice but to do what he was told, but he couldn’t help but think about Dera back at the encampment. She wasn’t going to be happy with the lack of negotiation, the lack of consideration for men she considered patriots, but it couldn’t be helped.

  The situation was out of his control.

  “Very well,” Cort said after a moment. “Where is everyone else?”

  Trenton pointed off to the east. “There is a portion of the moat that is filled in with silt and Dillon and Brend are on that end, taking ladders to mount the walls,” he said. “Damon and his men are in charge of the siege engines while de Russe, Wellesbourne, and Shrewsbury are preparing to breach the gatehouse, such as it is. Go take a look at it; it’s nothing more than a drawbridge and gate, and it hasn’t fully recovered from the battle with the rebels who now hold it. I think we can easily weaken it.”

  Cort nodded. He was on the move after that, riding Vulcan into the fray and was surprised to note that the horse seemed rather in control of itself in spite of the battle. In fact, the horse was using its big head to push men out of the way as Cort drew up to the edge of the moat, getting a good look at what he had to breach.

  In truth, it wasn’t much. The drawbridge was raised, but it was only half-repaired from earlier damage. The Wellesbourne archers were laying down heavy fire to keep the rebels away from the gatehouse so the siege engines could be moved up and Cort rendezvoused with Boden and Gage.

  “Cort, I’m sorry!” Boden said before Cort could say a word. “They did not want to wait for you. I could not stop them.”

  Cort held up a hand. “It is not your fault,” he said. “I have the frontline command now. What is the situation?”

  Boden pointed to the raised gate. “The rebels have remained out of range,” he said. “We can see movement in the bailey, but very little resistance has come at us. They are off the walls, too.”

  Cort looked at the castle. Mount Wrath had an enormous curtain wall surrounded by a moat that seemed to be fairly deep except for the portion of it that had so much foliage growing out of it that there was a natural bridge across it, which was where Dillon and Brend were. Inside the curtain wall, the roofs of outbuildings could be seen and a big, square keep rose up. They could clearly see the top two floors of it.

  But no real movement anywhere on it, not even on the roof.

  It all seemed strange to Cort.

  “Bo,” he turned to his brother. “Find Brend. I must speak with him.”

  Boden turned to one of the soldiers nearby and sent the man on the run for Brend. As the man ran off, Cort turned to the men around him. If they were going to destroy the drawbridge, they would have to get at it, and someone told him that men were already cutting down trees and building small bridges to use to cross the moat.

  Confident that everything was progressing as it should, Cort returned his attention to the walls in front of him. They were silent; too silent. Something felt off. He passed the word back to the Wellesbourne archers to cease fire and they did, which made everything seem oddly still.

  As the siege engines came forward, Cort backed off his men. Dismounting Vulcan, Cort handed the horse over to a soldier. He then stood back with Boden and Gage, watching the siege engine move into position.

  “Why did you stop the archers?” William came up behind them. “We were told to provide cover so the siege engines could move up.”

  Cort shook his head. “Have you not noticed that the rebels aren’t fighting back?” he said. “You’re launching hundreds of arrows and nothing is coming back our way. You’re going to exhaust your ammunition if you continue, so you must stop for now.”

  William understood, heading over to his archers and telling them to cease fire and fall back. As Cort stood there, catching a glimpse of what de Winter was up to off to the east, Gage came up beside him.

  “Did you see the de Winter bombard?” he asked.

  Cort frowned. “They brought a bombard?”

  Gage nodded, pointing to the siege engine that was being rolled into place. In truth, Cort hadn’t spent any time in the encampment, nor was he on the de Winter ship, and even though he knew Damon had brought siege engines with him, he hadn’t realized one of those had been a bombard.

  Cannon.

  Shocked, he turned to see a great platform on wheels rolling up with a protective shield built over it, like a pitched roof. It was quite large, rolled by a hundred men, and inside the pitched roof was the bombard. It was a long, iron tube, smaller on one end than on the other, being held by V-shaped wooden mounts. The mounts could adjust the pitch of the tube, higher or lower, by slipping pieces of wood beneath them – or removing pieces of wood.

  The second siege engine was a more conventional one, a trebuchet that was made of wood and iron. It was moving to the side of the castle where de Winter was so they could fling massive projectiles over the top of de Winter’s men. The idea was to aid in the mounting of the walls, while the bombard would be used against the already fragile drawbridge.

  Damon and one of his knights, Elias, were with the bombard. They had been part of the group rolling up the bombard, or “gun” as they called it. As Cort and Gage watched, the rolling bombard came to a halt directly across the moat from the drawbridge. They moved up behind it as Damon gave orders to raise the pitch and load it.

  “I didn’t realize you’d brought your gun with you,” Cort said. “Impressive instrument. My father has several.”

  Damon eyed him. “Then why did you not bring them? We could have knocked down these walls in an hour if we had more than one.”

  Cort shook his head. “Papa will not put them on ships,” he said. “He has guns in all sizes, and many of them built on wheels, but he is afraid if he puts them on the ship and the ship is captured, it’ll be turned against him.”

  Damon snorted. “If they are captured on English soil, they will be turned against him,” he said. “He simply did not want to share them.”

  Cort grinned. “You are speaking of Warminster.”

  “I know exactly who I am speaking of. But if you tell him I said so, I will deny it.”

  “Your secret is safe.”

  With a smirk, Damon turned his attention to the drawbridge, tightening up his gloves as he did so. An older man with flowing white hair and a dark beard, he looked rather imposing on the field of battle and as the Earl of East Anglia, he’d seen many. Therefore, he knew exactly what he was doing as he began to shout orders to his gun crew. As Cort and Gage stood back and observed, Brend came rushing over.

  “Cort?” he said. “You need me?”

  Cort nodded, looking at the man and suddenly realizing that he was now related to him. Brend was, literally, his brother. He wanted very much to tell him, but it would have to wait.

  He focused on the battle.

  “I do,” he said. “I need you to tell me what you know about this castle. You were born here, but I want
to know about the layout. What can you tell me of the strengths and weaknesses?”

  Brend turned to look at the castle because Cort was. “The bailey is small,” he said. “East Anglia is planning on launching explosives into the drawbridge, but there are outbuildings that are very close. It will damage them.”

  “It looks as if the keep is directly in front of the gatehouse.”

  “It is, though set back by a few dozen yards.”

  Cort thought on that. “Where would they hold your mother and brothers, Brend? Would they be anywhere near the drawbridge?”

  Brend shook his head slowly. “There is a vault, but it is under the keep,” he said. “When East Anglia launches those explosives, there is no knowing who will be in the path of damage.”

  Cort turned to him. “That drawbridge is coming down. Men are building ladders and small bridges to cross the moat as we speak.”

  “I know,” Brend said. Then, he returned his attention to Cort. “Where is my sister, by the way? Did she take you to Father Finbar?”

  Cort’s gaze lingered on him. “She’s back in camp,” he said. “And you knew where she was taking me?”

  “I suspected.”

  “Yet you did not tell anyone.”

  Brend shrugged. “It would not have done any good,” he said. “Dillon is following his father’s orders and they did not include negotiating with the rebels. East Anglia is so angry that he was summoned to this battle that he is going to blow the walls down with his bombard and probably destroy the entire place so that Denys will have to seriously rebuild it. Everyone here just wants to get this over with.”

  Cort nodded regretfully. “I have that feeling, too,” he said. “My conversation with Father Finbar was… interesting.”

  “He’s part of this rebellion, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Did he tell you anything?”

  Cort shook his head. “Mostly, he tried to give me the Irish perspective,” he said. “He wants me to know why they do what they do. In some aspects, I understand. I am not without sympathy.”

  Brend was quiet a moment. “Cort,” he said slowly. “I am going to ask you a question and I would appreciate an honest answer. Will you do this?”

  “I will always give you an honest answer.”

  “Did Dera ask you to fight for the rebellion?”

  “She did not.”

  “But she has made her sympathies clear.”

  “We are all very clear on her sympathies, Brend.”

  Brend turned to him and lowered his voice. “I am not stupid,” he said. “I can see the concern you have for my sister. In fact, you have the same expression on your face when you look at her that I have on my face when I look at Bella. You are in love with Dera.”

  Cort met his gaze unflinchingly. “Would it trouble you if I was?”

  Brend shook his head. “Nay,” he said, but his tone was somewhat weaker, as if he’d just been told something horrible. “But you should know something. When Dera first discovered that you were an elite knight with ties to Henry, she was determined to seduce you so she could garner information from you.”

  “I know that.”

  “What you don’t know is that something she said still troubles me. She told me that she would play the charming halfwit and tell you that she loved you, and you would never know the difference. I worry that she has done precisely that and you have fallen for it.”

  Cort shrugged. “I haven’t told her anything with regards to Henry’s plans in Ireland,” he said. “But even if she knew, she could do nothing about them.”

  “Has she asked you?”

  “Nay.”

  “Has she told you she loves you?”

  Cort hesitated. “She has. And I have told her the same.” As he watched Brend gear up for an argument directed against his sister, Cort put a hand on Brend’s shoulder. “She told me everything, Brend. She confessed to me that she wanted to seduce me. She told me that you defended me. I am flattered that you would be so concerned, my brother.”

  “I am your brother, Cort. You know I have always looked at you as one.”

  “Nay, I mean you really are my brother.”

  “Of course I am.”

  “You misunderstand. I married your sister today. That makes us brothers.”

  Brend’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Cort slapped a hand over the man’s mouth before he could burst forth with something unfit for others to hear.

  “Not a word, Brend,” he hissed. “Keep your mouth shut. We are keeping it secret for obvious reasons, so you will swear to me upon your oath that you will never repeat what you know or I will sew your mouth shut forever. Is this in any way unclear?”

  Still wide-eyed, Brend nodded. Cort dropped his hand. “Good,” Cort said. “You do not have to scold me about the dangers, for I know all too well.”

  Brend swallowed hard. “God… Cort,” he muttered. “You did it. You really did it.”

  “I really did it.”

  “I don’t know whether to slap you or hug you.”

  They were prevented from further conversation when an alarm suddenly arose. Men up near the moat began screaming and pointing, and Cort and Brend looked up to see a swarm of arrows arching up over the walls, heading swiftly in their direction.

  The Wellesbourne arrows were making a return.

  “Shields!” Cort bellowed.

  Men began diving for cover, lifting shields if they had them. Cort had his shield in-hand, but Brend did not. Cort went to lift his to cover them both, but Brend was already diving for cover, towards the rear of the siege engine shelter.

  He didn’t make it.

  The arrow caught him in the chest, plowing through his plate, and passing cleanly through. A second arrow caught him in the right thigh before Cort could get to him, and when he did, he crouched down beside the man, his shield protecting them both. Two more arrows hit his shield, one hard enough to pierce it. As the hail of arrows landed around them, Cort shouted to Damon.

  “Fire!” he roared.

  Damon was already in motion. The bombard was ignited and a massive cannonball hurled into the drawbridge, exploding on impact. Shrapnel and pieces of wood burst everywhere as Damon ordered the bombard reloaded. His men were moving swiftly, well-trained at that sort of thing.

  With the threat of arrows stopped, at least for the moment, Cort swung into action. He began dragging Brend away as he heard the second explosion, the concussion loud enough to rattle his teeth. He couldn’t even get a good look at the damage to Brend because he wanted to get the man out of the line of fire. Gage saw him and raced over to him, helping him drag Brend to safety. Quickly, the two of them ran with Brend between them, to the rear of the men who were gathering near the drawbridge.

  There were trees back in this direction, lining a small river that ran near the castle. It was green and cool and lush. Other wounded were being dragged back here and men began shouting for a physic. Someone went on the run for one. Cort was able to drop his shield and focus on Brend.

  Immediately, he could see that the man was in a bad way. The arrow had pierced his plate, his mail and tunics beneath, and had gone deep. When Brend coughed, blood sprayed.

  “Let’s see how badly you’re hurt,” Cort said calmly, quickly. He looked at Gage. “Help me raise him. We need to get this armor off.”

  Gage helped him raise Brend, who was conscious but limp, unable to help them. He wasn’t even really moving. Quickly, Cort and Gage began unbuckling and untying every strap they could find, loosening the breast plate but Brend groaned when they did. It was causing him excruciating pain. Cort stopped after that, trying to peer inside the gaps between the armor and Brend’s body to see what he could see.

  “I cannot tell how deep it is,” he said, looking through the front. Then, he looked in the gap between the back armor and the man’s body and his features stiffened. “It has gone through. I see the tip coming from his back.”

  Gage looked a
t him with horror. “What do you want to do?”

  Cort wasn’t a physic but he’d seen enough battle wounds, enough to know. He didn’t want to say what he suspected, that the arrow was in or at Brend’s spine. From his perspective, it looked that way.

  They had to get the arrow out.

  “We cannot wait for the physic,” he said, focusing on what needed to be done and not Brend’s grunting gasps for air. “Do you have a dagger?”

  Gage nodded, quickly producing a razor-sharp dagger. “Here it is.”

  Cort shifted his hold on Brend. “I am going to pull the armor on his back and I want you to cut off the arrowhead,” he said. “Cut it right where the tip meets the shaft. Try not to cause him any undue pain if you can.”

  Gage nodded, clearly nervous, but he did as he was told. As he moved to do it, someone shouted to him.

  “Stop!”

  Both Cort and Gage looked up to see one of the de Winter physics approaching. The man was a barber surgeon and he’d come straight to the fallen knight, even with several of his own injured men around him. He knelt down beside Brend, feeling the man’s pulse, looking in both eyes, before taking a look at the arrow that had gone all the way through. He stuck his hand into the gap between the armor and Brend’s body, feeling around on the man’s spine. When he pulled his hand back, he looked at Cort.

  “He is in a bad way,” he said quietly. “Cut off the tip but do not remove the arrow. You may do more damage if you do, so cut the tip off and lay him down. I will return.”

  Cort nodded. As the physic ran off, Cort himself cut the tip from the arrow and between him and Gage, they carefully lay Brend back to the ground.

  Brend’s pale blue eyes were open, staring up at the canopy overhead. Cort glanced at Gage.

  “You’d better tell Dillon,” he said. “Go quickly. And then tell Trenton. Tell him that I am with Brend and he must tend the breach of the gatehouse. Hurry!”