Striking Chains

by Kris Schnee

  Dominic patted him on the shoulder. "If you sign on, I want you as an officer. Now, everyone, close your eyes." He stepped back from the group and said, "Eyes closed! The reason is, I want each of you to raise your hand, if you really want to fight. I'll treat you well if you do, but if you don't, I'll tell the Duke to let you go unharmed. Are you willing to come with me and see a different way to live than anything you've ever known? Raise your hands, and don't let the others decide for you."

  A puff of wind passed over the men, ruffling their hair, and the sun blazed down. Maybe they each took the momentary breeze for the motion of many hands around them. In any case, nearly all of them volunteered, perhaps for the first time in their lives. Dominic felt the sunshine as a weight on his shoulders. "Open your eyes, then, subjects of the land of Mithrol."

  * * *

  Dominic led over two hundred men out from the gate, feeling terrified and trying not to show it. The men were obviously uneasy to be on the wrong side of the walls. They marched east with Rose, Perrin, and several wolves, along with a few Mithraic soldiers there to discourage any thoughts of defection. Possibly even from Dominic. He asked Rose, "You said you had the signaling part of the plan under control?"

  Rose had gotten to wear her armor this time, a tough leather coat with bits of iron. It was marked with a brilliant green oak across her chest. She set down her sling-tipped staff, reached into her backpack, and showed him a large nut with a hole drilled in it. "Message seed. Nobody showed you yet, but the Lord allows groves of message trees to grow near St. Wylan and other Mithraic cities. We stick a note into one of these, toss it in the air, and let it fly back to the tree it came from, quick as a bird." The wolves kept sniffing at her tail, forcing her to keep it held high and eye them suspiciously. "Somebody tell these things I'm not food."

  No one knew exactly when the Baccatan forces would arrive, or what they'd do once they found the burned fort. Dominic's best guess was that since the slain Servant Marc had spoken about having the border forts' garrisons converge, they might've already been told to do so. That meant men coming from Fort Two, which was about two days' march to the northeast, who might recreate the stalemate by digging in. Dominic's new little army wouldn't give them that chance.

  He had moved his men east to hide north of the enemy's expected path. Meanwhile, skirmishers with slings and crossbows -- brave city dwellers plus Jakob -- lurked near Fort One with boats and dolphins ready for a quick retreat. The captured Dolphin had the range to cover their withdrawal. If all went well, there'd be yet a third wave breaking futilely against St. Wylan.

  A Mithraic officer named Ihnen who worked with Sir Marion said, "We're ready to send the wolves out." He pointed to the tall grass to their south.

  "Go ahead." They'd keep watch at closer range than the human scouts dared approach. "And watch just below the crest of that little hill."

  Now that they were waiting, Rose took out another gadget, a box studded with amber and crystal. She saw his curious look and said, "Magiometer. Part of my mission is to take readings on the Weave's strength and current to learn more about it."

  "How does the meter work?"

  "The main part is a tiny enchantment that bends a stick by different amounts, depending on the magic strength around it."

  "Clever!"

  She smiled. "We're looking for natural strong points, the nodes. The Great Oak is built on one, and the humans' -- uh, the League of Mithrol's -- High Temple is right at the Madlands' edge. Supposedly it filters out some of the crazy from there, so the world doesn't turn upside-down or explode. Did you know the Weave's gradually growing stronger?"

  "So I've heard. Baccata's High Temple is also at a Weave focal point." Dominic looked the gadget over again. "Can you give the men a lesson while we're sitting around? They've never been allowed to know much about magic." The mere fact that their teacher wasn't human should open their eyes a little more to the breadth of the world. Meeting non-hostile outsiders certainly had for him.

  He looked the men over one more time. There'd been little time to equip them better, but they'd scavenged dead Citizens' armor and borrowed from the Duke's armory. The city's craftsmen had banged out as many good spears and mage-strengthened wood shields as they could on short notice. The brightest few dozen of the Bound recruits had gotten a crash course in crossbows. Those were easy weapons to learn -- it was one of their main advantages over bows and slings -- but Dominic suspected the hurried lessons were just enough to boost the men's morale. They knew that now, more of them had "Citizen weapons".

  That evening, a wolf came running back and growled. "Ssh!" said their handler, Ihnen. He cuddled the wolf and said, "Sir, she's saying the enemy's been scented. Lots? Yes, lots." The moonlight showed them only peaceful grassland so far.

  "And that one's the easternmost scout, right?"

  "Yes. We ought to get a note in a few minutes." He sent the wolf back out to meet their forward human scout, who could provide more detail.

  Before that could happen, Dominic heard a distant snarl and a human yell that cut off suddenly. The wolves had served their second function, picking off the enemy's own scouts. Nothing seemed to come of that, though, and enemy campfires flared to life in the distance.

  The wolf returned with a scrawled message tied to her collar. The paper said, "Standard camp you described. Around two thousand Bound-type infantry but poor view. Little activity. Expect morning march."

  Dominic added to the note: "Attacking rearguard as planned." Rose stuffed the paper into a message seed and tossed it westward. It floated and bobbed above everyone's head, vanishing into the night. It would reach the city's grove faster than a man on horseback.

  "Time to move," he said. "Retrieve the wolves. Keep quiet from here on. We'll hit their rear where the Citizens and any Servants will be, hopefully picking off the leaders so the Bound won't need to suffer. Maybe loot their baggage train while we're at it. Then, we run."

  The squad crept to the southeast, circling behind the campfires and hopefully behind all of the Baccatans. Soon, one of their advance wolves ran back to make some noises their handler said meant "people ahead". Now that Dominic looked more carefully he thought he could see a small fire, partly hidden. Dark shapes huddled nearby. Some wheeled carts and tied-down horses; excellent. He signaled to the squad's crossbowmen to slink forward in front of the spearmen. Only the Mithraists among them could be expected to actually hit anything unless shooting into a crowd, but more flying bolts couldn't hurt the situation. The enemy was barely visible even with the flames near them. Magic sense helped, letting him see the signs of life and to some extent the lay of the ground and the shape of the carts. Not enough to identify people, though, and there were no obvious masks in sight. Dominic cursed inwardly as he cast the Arrow Swarm and raised his darts just above the grass. Maybe the Servants among these people were the ones facing the other direction?

  Well, you Sun King, here's your "valor". Hopefully winning this battle in one round. Wish me luck. Dominic raised his hand and the hovering darts, then aimed and fired.

  Crossbow bolts and mage-flung darts whizzed into the enemy camp. Shouts and screams rang out. He saw men wobble and fall over with the first blow, but more were standing up and reaching for swords and crossbows. Dominic let out a breath in relief. Citizen weapons. He was even faintly pleased when arrows came sailing back over his head. That was either a Servant's work or a talented Citizen's. He risked a backward glance and saw that the darts there were no longer Weave-gripped. "Thanks," he muttered, and sent them right back into the camp. The Baccatan crossbowmen fumbled with their weapons, forgetting the reloading method in the heat of battle. Dominic was about to go correct them when one of the Mithraists was brave enough to draw their attention and exaggerate his way through sticking his foot in the pull-ring and yanking the string taut with his leg muscles.

  Dominic hissed out orders. "Keep firing. Infantry, advance right." They were to loot anything portable and valuable-looking and try not to g
et shot by overenthusiastic recruits -- hence the shields on their left arms being between them and the crossbowmen. Dominic managed to get a magical hold on a campfire at longer range than normal, and flung the burning sticks at the people around it.

  The enemy began fighting back in earnest. Dominic ducked a volley of bolts, raising one hand to repel their wooden shafts upward with a burst of magic. One of the Baccatans found the Mithraic crossbowmen getting too close to him and charged with his sword. The blade stabbed deep into one of the Mithraians and through the arm of another before the spearmen saw and ran the swordsman through. The din of battle grew louder. The whole rest of the army had to be hearing this shouting and banging! Dominic moved cautiously forward with his hands outstretched, tuned to deflect any shots up and over him and anyone nearby. "Any masks?" he called out.

  "Yes, sir!" said one man, looking like a pale-faced nightmare of blood in the moonlight. "One Servant there on your right."

  Dominic spun to look, but found only a masked corpse with a broken spear through his chest. They might've known each other. He pushed the feeling aside, yanked the mask and coat off the dead Servant, and handed them off to a wounded man. "Back to the rally point with these."

  It was working! He saw Citizen brands on two of the fallen men around him... though in hindsight, one of them was one of his own recruits. He saw his men fumbling their way through cartloads of boxes in the dark and said, "Just take what you can." Wolves ran interference nearby, but only to frighten horses; they'd been told to keep clear of the men at this point to avoid mistakes.

  One of his soldiers said, "Small lockbox like you said, and a few other things." At his side, Rose hissed and clubbed a man who'd gotten up from the wounded.

  "Great. Light the rest and run." A bolt thudded into the wood near him, making him duck behind the cart and gather his darts back to a spot several yards away. Anyone watching with the Weave sense would guess he was near any spell activity. He solved that by launching his ammunition and a few chunks of the carts into the soldiers organized enough to be coming after his team. The crossbow fire had lessened, reducing the pressure on him. But that, he realized, meant he was now killing Bound villagers.

  "Sunset!" he called out in Mithraic, a pre-arranged signal to fall back. "Sunset!" He only then glanced at the carts again and confirmed that they were starting to burn. He backed away from them and tried to keep his protection up, covering anyone near him. Wolves snapped at a man on horseback, making the horse shy away in fright and forcing the Citizen to fight for control. Dominic used the moment to strike him with his darts. It was perversely thrilling to kill him, because it brought this battle one step closer to ending before a full infantry clash could start. Meanwhile, Perrin took careful aim from behind the edge of a spearman's shield and fired into the oncoming soldiers. Into a head that showed no sign of a brand on its face.

  "Enough!" said Dominic. He shouted in his home language, "Baccatan Bound, throw down your arms! We will attack only your Citizens and Servants!"

  One of the Mithraists was keeping close to him for cover. "But sir..."

  "We're withdrawing anyway! Move!" The enemy advance was sluggish and disorganized and hampered by darkness, but there seemed to be no end to the seething mass of people coming up from the camp, ready to kill or die. Dominic had shaken the beehive.

  Dominic's party stumbled their way backwards over rough ground. The wolves ran between them and the enemy, frightening the Bound into hesitating here and there. Scattered crossbow fire and Dominic's darts helped fend the enemy off at range. The flying bolts weren't even being returned with any enthusiasm. In fact, there was a lot of whizzing noise coming from behind him on his right, where there shouldn't even be anyone. "Right flank! Who's there?"

  A voice called out in Mithraic, "Duke Gerard's Third Talon! Turncoat unit, fall back behind our left flank!"

  Dominic faltered. Who was this Gerard? The reinforcements hadn't been part of the plan, but were certainly welcome. He shouted, "Men, backup is here! Continue 'Sunset'!" His troops had no reason to object. He saw them shuffle away from the line of battle, some of them turning their backs foolishly to the enemy but at least keeping their weapons and shields. Men hauled small boxes from the baggage carts between them or on their backs. A thrown spear flashed near him; he barely deflected it and got grazed along his arm.

  Dominic turned by instinct and found a masked mage hiding under a cart. Dominic spread his arms and ripped away the cart's wheels, making it collapse. There was a pained yelp, but the cart began to rise again, ready to get hurled in his face. Dominic circled to one side and magically helped his enemy throw it -- but made it arc almost straight up and right back down onto the terrified Servant's head.

  I think I knew her, Dominic thought. We sparred once and almost the same thing happened. Then we laughed and had a drink together.

  Now he and his men were relatively safe under the wing of this newcomer, some other Duke. He looked suspiciously at the soldiers. They wore crests of suns on their leather breastplates, and a boy carried a sun flag high, gold on red under the moonlight. He couldn't help feeling a cold breeze of dread through him at the sight of it, though it now marked his allies and patrons.

  The men of Mithrol shouted and fired relentlessly into the now-helpless spearmen of Dominic's homeland. The pikes that were so effective against Mithraic heavy cavalry didn't help them get near enough to even seriously threaten the Duke's squad, much less break through its small group of shield-bearers. The wave was breaking, and the enemy began to turn tail, but the crossbow bolts kept flying. Men fell over screaming with barbs through their backs. Dominic yelled, "Enough! They're falling back!"

  From somewhere on his right he heard the allied officers shout, "They're routed! Turncoat unit, hold!"

  What else could he do: throw himself in the path of some unknown number of shooters to protect people who'd stab him if they could? "All hold! Ducal unit, you hold fire too!"

  Rose bounded up to Dominic, with her fur on end and her tail quivering. She tossed a mask at his feet. "I hear noises from our southwest. More fighting there." His own men were basically idle now and serving only to discourage any assault on Duke Gerard's left.

  "What? That's the enemy's front line. It's not even under attack yet!"

  "You sure about that?"

  Mithraic knights and other cavalry couldn't move effectively at night. But if there was a similar sneak attack going on at the front of the enemy camp, with their rear already in disarray and the officers there slain, there could be a massacre. The north edge of the enemy camp would be running south, crashing into the front lines and making things worse there. "They'll all die," he said. "Thousands of Bound, instead of a few hundred Citizens and a few Servants. Bound who did nothing to deserve this!"

  Rose said, "The sunnies seem to have this one under control. I think most of the Servants are saving their own furless hides."

  "This isn't right!" he said. All he had to do was stand and watch as Baccatan farmers got scythed down, and this was what they called "valor"?

  No. He recalled exactly what the priest and even the priest's loudest critic had recited about valor: Let no evil pass unchallenged.

  Dominic grabbed a fallen soldier's shield and charged in front of his men, defending with wood and spell. He shouted in his native tongue, "Baccatan troops, your only hope is to come with me! You're hereby purchased from your Citizens, by order of former Servant Dominic of Temple Island!" He would later admit that he mumbled the "former". "Form up on me. Withdraw this way, and live! All Baccatan Bound, to me!"

  Shouting everywhere. Three enemy spearmen saw him alone, and he felt the empty space between him and his allies. The trio advanced with weapons readied. "They'll cut you down, brothers!" he said. "Come with me instead. I'm buying you away!"

  "Brothers!" said one of them. "Who...?"

  "Former Servant, saving your lives."

  The foes exchanged a look for a long, terrible moment. A crossbow bolt thudded
into one man's chest, making him fall. Then the other two dashed toward Dominic so fast he feared they'd stab him -- but threw down their spears. "What do we do?" said one of them.

  "Shields facing this way." They'd already figured that part out, since they were now out of the direct fire of Duke Gerard's men. "Move toward my unit, behind me." A few more men trickled out from the frightened enemy formation, enticed by the first few.

  A relay man hurried over from Gerard. "The hell are you doing?"

  "I'm still with you. Call it taking prisoners. Do not attack the men with me!"

  He ran back without replying. Dominic and the newcomers fell back toward their unit, waving and shouting in welcome to any Baccatans who didn't want to die at the hands of Gerard and whoever was at their west. A few bolts landed by the feet of the deserters, but Gerard kept his fire concentrated toward the main formation that remained loyal to the State.

  At long last, the Mithraians saw fit to withdraw. They must have run low on ammunition. Dominic found himself at the core of a knot of hundreds of frightened men, shields up and spears pointing outward every which way like a porcupine. No one seemed to be trying to kill them at the moment.

  "Withdraw to St. Wylan! Rose and Perrin, the gate men will recognize you. Go first and make sure they know we're friendly."

  Dominic felt that he was on fire, surrounded by such a press of frightened, bloodied, tired men that he thought he saw steam rising from their shoulders into the night sky. The westerners had been willing to cut down every one of them. What sort of valor was that, slaughtering helpless peasants?

  One of his newest recruits said, "Sir, does this make you our new Citizen? Or Servant?"

  "That's not the way of things anymore." Dominic's expression hardened. "We're going to a friendly city. But remember, you're not the Duke's men either."

  14. To Gather With Diligence

  A day later, the deserters finished burying their neighbors. A tent city had sprung up outside the southern wall of St. Wylan, partly for the Baccatan deserters and partly for the Mithraic men who'd come for a summer campaign. Duke Gerard of the city of Suncove and some lesser nobles from elsewhere were just the first to arrive. They boasted of having an opportunity to open a deeper and deeper wound in the "eastern barbarian" lands. What men survived from the invading army had fallen back and been harried for days on end by ruthless cavalry. Border Fort Two out of three was likely to fall.