The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1)
Page 22
"Maybe you're right, old friend - we cannot let this slow us down. We must get to Mandrake. This was just as attempt by those heathen bastards to delay us. I will not rest until I kill them all!" Dagon growled when he had reached his trusted mount. The horse had been to war many times before and did not scare easily.
"My Lord, there are eighty-four dead, a hundred and nine wounded - forty-three will not fight again anytime soon." The Captain reported to him when he returned.
"Put the dead in a pile and burn them - collect their armor and weapons and give them to the men who need them. We cannot spare the time to return them to their homes. As for the wounded, the ones who can still fight, stitch them up, and put them on horses. The ones who cannot, send them back to Draco with a small escort of conscripted men," Dagon replied. He could not believe they had lost that many men in such a short time. "Send written word with them to Tundal, so they will be paid what was promised to them for their service."
"Yes, my Lord," the Captain replied.
"Not in a score of years have I seen an ambush do so much damage so quickly," Jarroth muttered to Dagon, who was wiping his sword clean of blood on his horse blanket.
"Neither have I. Normally, it would be our side achieving such a feat." Dagon put in grimly. "We need to get to Mandrake. We will take those who have horses and ride south. When the others are done here, they can catch up." Dagon mounted his horse and yelled orders to the men he passed. They were all busy pulling the bodies of men and horses to the pile that was already set ablaze, and now sending the smell of seared human flesh into the air around them.
*****
"The barbarians are marching toward the castle, Sir," a guard announced, running into the hall where Furlac - the advisor of Mandrake - and Lazay - Mandrake's Wizard - had joined with the castle's Generals and Captains. They were all busy strategizing their defenses. The barbarian army had come out of nowhere in the last week, and every day it swelled even larger as more tribes joined the masses. When they had first noticed the banding of savages, two-hundred cavalry had ridden out to dispatch them. Only half the cavalry had returned, blood-soaked and defeated. It had been a trap. The savages had let a small portion of their gathered army be seen, knowing full well the defenders would ride out a small force to butcher them.
Furlac and the Generals had been furious at being fooled, and began to mass the whole of Mandrake's army to charge out and slaughter the wretches. Before they had, organized reports of how many enemies there truly were outside their gates began flooding in from scouts.
"How soon will they be upon us?" Furlac asked, frustrated and sure he did not really want to know the answer.
"Before the sun has set, I am afraid," the man stammered, not hiding his fear well. "They are massing together and establishing crude battle formations."
"What was the last count?" Lazay asked, also not wanting to hear the answer.
"Over twenty thousand," he replied, the number nearly catching in his throat.
"May the Creator have mercy on our souls," Kenden, the General of Mandrake's army mumbled.
"We are all going to be slaughtered!" one of the Captains barked, as he began to pace nervously.
Furlac stood by his seat, a look of worry creasing his face. He knew he had to lift their spirits or there was no way they could win. "We have held this castle for over a hundred years from these bastards and we will do it for another hundred! We must not lose heart before the battle has even begun, damn it! Now we all know what we must do, so let us get to it so we can send these bastards to the Keeper below! Let us make our Lord Dagon proud in his stead. We will not lose his castle!" he yelled triumphantly, stirring everyone's inner strength and pride as they all cheered with him, though some less enthusiastically than others.
"Furlac is right!" Kenden said, knowing what Furlac was trying to achieve. "We have killed thousands of these heathen mongrels, and now there are thousands more right outside our very gates waiting for the sting of our blades!" he roared vigorously. "Let us not keep these cowsons waiting!"
*****
Archers and fiercely armed soldiers lined the battlements and watched the approach of the overwhelming enemy. No one had ever seen an army of savages this large before, not even when the majority of the barbarian tribes had come together under Azazel's bitter conquest had such a force been gathered for a single attack. Nor had Mandrake ever had to defend their castle under such weak circumstance. Their Lord was away with his fierce battle-hardened escort of three-hundred, who were among the greatest warriors in Mandrake. The northern wall was still under repairs from a catapult malfunction, though over the last days every stonemason in the castle had done their very best day and night to repair it as high and as solidly as possible. Though even with their best efforts, the wall was still the weakest point in their defenses and would need twice the men to defend it. The irrigation had been re-routed again and now the moat was well on its way to being full.
Though best efforts had been taken, Furlac still feared the battle to come. Of course, the enemy had to begin their attack at dusk, knowing their numbers were superior to the defenders. They could filter fresh warriors continuously into the attack all night and into the day that followed, wearing the defenders down until they were overrun.
"I wish Lord Dagon was here right now. He would know what to do better than I," Furlac muttered, staring at his withered old hands. He knew he was not the young, strong soldier he had been so many years before. Age had caught up with him many winters ago and he had all but given up the sword more than a score of years before that. He had given up the fight for politics and to advise Lord Dagon in daily affairs of his lands. "Thirty winters ago I would gladly have stood here, blade and shield in hand awaiting the first poor cowson to leap over the wall. But now…" he trailed off.
"As you said, my friend! Do not lose heart before the battle has even begun. We will not lose our castle this night, nor the next! We can hold." Lazay said, looking up toward the heavens. "We have to," he whispered to the light northern breeze.
Soldiers found their positions on the battlements and readied themselves for the oncoming attack. Some honed their blades with a whetstone, making sure every inch of their weapons was sharp. Others practiced with their weapons, testing the weight and preparing their muscles for the long night ahead. Many simply talked with nearby comrades about whatever came to mind, or stared off into the night at the incoming enemy hordes.
Furlac and Lazay walked along the wall, among the men, talking with them and giving words of encouragement. When they came to the western gate, they could not help but stop and stare out into the eerie sight before them. Through the darkening sky, they could see the torches of those who marched toward them - thousands of small lights making their way across the ground. As the enemy neared, the ground shook and the stone in which the defenders stood vibrated lightly but noticeably.
"There are so many of them," a young archer said aloud, as he stared unblinking.
"They are so big!" Another commented, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.
"Makes them easier to hit," one of their comrades laughed to the side. "We do not even have to aim, just shoot."
"How can you laugh at a time like this, Tyron?" The first archer said grimly, his face sickly pale.
"Why not Dreg? They're down there and we are up here." Tyron laughed again. "You do not really think we will lose to the likes of these cowsons do you? Most of them do not even have decent armor, just leather and bone breast plates and wooden bucklers."
"Yeah, Tyron, you're right," Dreg replied, a little of his color coming back into his lips.
"They are just so huge!" the soldier to their right moaned again.
"That is why we are going to keep them down there," Lazay told the group of young soldiers as he and Furlac passed by.
The three young men looked up at the middle-aged Wizard, grins forming on their faces at his presence. He was not surprised by their fear - he doubted any one of the three had ever
killed a man before, or been in true combat. Even several of the veterans he had passed, wore fear behind their words and demeanor, like garments that were barely visible.
"Tonight is going to be a very long night." Furlac sighed, adjusting the sword on his belt.
"Your brain and strategies are worth more to us than your sword arm is, Sir." The Captain of the western archer unit saluted.
"I will do my part, if they come over the wall, Captain." Furlac replied with a grin as he tapped his hilt.
"I shall see to it that does not happen," the Captain smiled and patted Furlac on the back, not mockingly, but with admiration.
Furlac was well into his sixtieth winter and had not fought in battle for a score of years, though he had turned the tide of many with his quick, strategic thinking. Though back in his youth, he had a well-respected sword arm, and even though by all accounts he was classed as an old man, he knew he could still fight a good fight.
"I pray my powers can hold out through this night. It will be easier for the men to hold them off tomorrow in the light, while I rest and regain my strength." Lazay truly wondered if he would be able to make it through the night. He had never used his Gift to the point of collapsing, but he knew he would tonight. He wished he had kept his apprentice for another year of final training, before sending him off on his own. Even a new apprentice would have been helpful now, but he had wanted to have some time to himself to hone his own Gift, before taking on another. Now that thought of solitude seemed selfish and ignorant.
"As do I, my friend - as do I," Furlac told him and turned to leave. "Watch yourself tonight, my friend." With that, Furlac walked off, down into the courtyard.
Lazay stood watching the massive enemy march on the castle. Could they truly hold against such numbers, he wondered. The five catapults were placed by the walls, aimed in the direction of the oncoming masses. It was a shame they had not been able to collect more boulders, but with the barbarian army out there, they had not had much luck in finding more, without losing men. The boulders they did have were now being smothered with tar and flammable oils, to be set ablaze, before they were launched off at the enemy. We will hold, he told himself.
The people of the city who had not fled had been moved within the castle walls days before, and now every man willing to fight had a weapon and what armor could be had. The city was now an empty place, inhabited by the stray animals and scavenging rats. Everyone had only been allowed to bring into the castle what they could carry and no more. The city would likely be looted clean within a few days.
Half the women and all children were put into large guest rooms on the top floors of the castle where the cities' entertainers did their best to help them forget what was happening outside. The other half of the women were set up on the main floor of the castle in the massive dining hall with Mandrake's physicians - this would serve as their infirmary.
The blacksmith, bowmen and fletchers of the city had been working day and night - making spears, arrows, and swords. They had little or no sleep, but now resources were running low and they used what little metal and wood they had left to make arrows.
Mandrake had six hundred trained archers and twice that number of city folk standing beside them armed with bows. All of them were on that wall ready for the oncoming battle. Every bow in the castle and city had been gathered and was now being manned. With an army of almost four thousand trained soldiers and seven thousand farmers, merchants, and men from the city, they could hold the castle. At least Lazay hoped they could. He wished more of the city people would have stayed, as they could have tripled their army, but he did not blame them.
"Master Lazay! The enemy has reached the western city gates," a fierce looking warrior said, pointing off into the distance.
"Then it will not be long now," Lazay whispered.
*****
"Loose!" General Kenden barked loudly. Eight hundred razor-tipped shafts exploded from their wielders long bows on cue, slicing devastatingly through the front ranks of barbarians who charged forward, grappling hooks and coils of rope in hand. "Nock, pull, loose!" Kenden yelled again. Again, the volley of arrows laid the charging force down in bristling heaps.
The defenders had stopped all attempts of the grapplers even getting close enough to the wall to throw their iron hooks. The first of the enemy to arrive had been unprepared and unorganized, their battle frenzy had overwhelmed them and they charged foolishly toward the defenders in hopes to be the first to scale the walls and enter the fortress. Now, they realized their folly and were now strategizing their efforts. Two tight rows of warriors marched forward, large wooden shields locked together, forming a wall in front. The row in the back held their shields high and angled upward, shielding the grapplers behind them from the vicious archers on the wall. Not far behind them were two other such walls of shields, behind the second were men carrying long wooden planks to place over the moat. The third shield wall protected enemy archers.
"Sir, we cannot get a shot," several of the archers yelled. "They are completely guarded!"
Kenden looked over the wall and saw the defense. "Here I was hoping they would let us kill them easily all day," he muttered to the nearest men. "Hold your shots! We do not need to be feeding their shields and wasting our arrows."
Kenden ran to the edge of the inner wall. "I need two units up here now!" he called down to the infantry below.
Enemy grapples were thrown high and locked tightly on the stone, enemies swung across the moat to the ten-foot landing in front of the wall. Some began to scramble up the branded hemp rope, while others waited behind to grab and secure the coming planks and throw the ends of the rope to their comrades on the other side of the moat, holding their shields over the top of their heads.
"Cut the ropes!" Kenden bellowed, slashing his own sword down, dropping the poor climber to his death below. Many of the enemy missed the hard earth and splashed harmlessly into the water. "Fire you fools!" Kenden barked at the archers who were just watching the display. "Get them while they're defenseless!" A dozen shafts embedded into the backs of the swimming warriors and they bobbed motionless in the moat.
"Incoming!" a call from the crowed bellowed out as a return volley of arrows cut through the sky. But the enemy's sense of distance had been off, and the arrows skipped and cracked harmlessly off the front of the stone wall, killing many of their own warriors.
The next assault of enemy shafts made the height and forced the defenders to duck and cover while those in the courtyard below held their shields high. Several cries and screams followed. Two more assaults followed, keeping the defenders pinned while the enemy worked fast in placing the long planks across the moat.
"General, we need to act and soon!" a soldier called over to him, seeing the trouble below.
General Kenden cursed to himself as another volley of enemy arrows rained down upon them, and again screams could be heard. The General counted the seconds that passed until the next attack, eight seconds between. He heard the last of the arrows crack into the stone and shields. "Ready yourselves!" He called out. "Let fly!" He roared after his count of six and the defenders let fly into the enemy archers just as their shield bearers dropped their guard to allow the archers a clear shot. The vicious tipped shafts found their targets and cut down the enemy line of archers, leaving only a handful alive.
"Light them up boys!" Kenden called to his men. Each man dipped the tip of their next arrow in thick oil and ignited them. "Aim for the planks!"
Hundreds of flaming arrows thudded into the thick, solid planks that made up the makeshift bridge. But most of the flames did not take and burned out within a few heartbeats - the barbarians had anticipated the move and the timber had been soaked with water.
"Bastards!" Kenden barked down to the enemy. "Again!" he ordered his men. Hundreds of more fiery shafts pounded on the soaked planks, this time more stayed burning, but still the majority sizzled out before long.
"They are charging!" a shout came from somewhere.
"Fire at will boys!" Kenden commanded. The archers took aim time and again, showering down a deadly rain into the hordes that charged the wall. "Where is that bloody Wizard?" Kenden grumbled. "I need more men up here now!" He called down to the courtyard below and without hesitation, men began charging up the stairs to the battlements, weapons in hand.
"General, maybe it is time?" The fair-haired Captain asked him, a look of worry creasing his face.
"Not yet, we will save that surprise until we truly need it." Kenden told him. "Do not let a single one of those goat shaggers over this wall, you hear me!" He ordered the soldiers on the wall and they all roared their response. He grabbed a passing soldier by the shoulder. "Go and find that blasted Wizard Lazay and tell him to get his arse up here!"
The archers pulled back to the rear of the wall conserving their ammunition. The eager infantry took their places awaiting the first of the enemy to scale the walls. Those first souls were met with fresh, shiny blade thrusts to their throats or vicious swings leaving them headless, their bodies crumbling down dislodging several of their companions as they fell. But that did not slow the ascending savages and within a heartbeat another was there reaching over the edge.
Two enormous warriors parried past the defenders and leaped onto battlements. With a hearty swing of their double bladed battle-axes, they cleaved through armor and bellies of the three defenders who had tried to press them back before more could scale the wall behind them.
Kenden charged in, his broadsword low. With a powerful upward arc, he hit the nearest barbarian slicing clean through his left thigh to his right shoulder - severing through his innards, ribs, and lungs. The brute stumbled back, already dead and fell from the battlements knocking the newest savage to reach the top down with him.