But Tooles cut him off. “Don’t forget that Derrick is in Royal City to become the King. He will want to show off his strength and establish his dominance of the nobles.”
Kain thought of that for a moment. It made sense; he would certainly prefer to have fifty men traveling with him into Royal City as he announced his claim to the throne. Still, fifty men was a frightening number.
“What should we do?” Kain asked.
“We need to find a defensible position where we can hold them off,” said Gorton.
“Or where we might evade them altogether,” added Tooles.
“Like what?” asked Kain.
“That is your decision,” said Fairan. “You are the Third Prince.”
“But I don’t know,” said Kain, a little louder than he meant to. “You’re the General.”
“Then I await your leave to take control of our defense,” said Fairan.
Kain wanted to sigh out loud, but held the reaction in check. He was a little honored that Fairan would defer to him, a little embarrassed because of his reaction in front of Devlyn and Gorton, but mostly irritated. They knew each other; they certainly knew he was in no way ready to make decisions about how they should defend themselves against fifty men.
“I give you leave,” Kain said, “now tell us what you would have us do.”
“Devlyn, do you know of any other hill like the one we passed this morning?” Fairan asked.
“Yes, there are several, but none near here.”
“Alright,” Fairan said. “Let us turn back and make our stand there.”
The change in the mood was immediate. Kain felt a depressing hopelessness fill him. It sat in a lump in his stomach, souring, like an unwholesome meal. The others were sharp and alert, but also with a touch of excitement just behind their eyes. Gorton seemed the least affected by the news, as if fifty or more men coming to attack him was an everyday occurrence.
They rode quickly and dismounted when they reached the hill. It was steeper than Kain had realized. Gorton held their horses while the others scrambled up the side. The top was slightly sunken in, and there was enough space for all five of them, but not their horses.
“Okay,” said Fairan, “we have a little time before they arrive. Let’s get the supplies moved up here, and then Gorton can hide the horses. Devlyn, I want you to be sure you get enough arrows.”
“I’ll get some more wood, and we’ll make more while we wait,” said the archer.
It took several trips to move their supplies from the horses. Tooles stayed on the hill keeping an eye out for anyone else that might surprise them. Gorton refilled their water bags and carried them up the hill. Fairan checked and rechecked their weapons. Kain struggled with a nervous anxiety about what lay ahead. He wondered if the men marching their way would find them. Is it possible, he wondered to himself, that they weren’t soldiers, or that they weren’t looking for Fairan and himself? What would happen if he and his companions were found? Could five men really stand against fifty? The questions piled up in his mind like rocks in the bend of a stream. He knew he had to shake them off, to stay busy, or he would go crazy. He watched Gorton going off with Devlyn to hide the horses in a thickly wooded spot away from the path along the streambed.
“You look jumpy,” said Fairan gruffly.
“Do I?” Kain asked. “Well, I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s good. A man who walks into a fight without feeling a little apprehensive is foolish. That kind of arrogance will get you killed. And a king should always see fighting as a last resort.”
“What is our strategy for fighting these men?” Kain asked, seating himself beside Tooles and Fairan, who were sharpening swords. “Should I be sharpening my sword?”
“I’ve checked your sword, its fine. You might look to your knife and make sure you are comfortable with your other weapons,” Fairan said. He gave Kain a stone and showed him the proper technique for sharpening his blades.
“Our strategy will be three layers,” Fairan continued. “First, we’ll hide and hope they pass right by. If that fails, then we’ll give them a taste of Devlyn’s long bow, while Gorton and I try to draw them in close enough and loose enough to do some damage.”
“What do you mean loose enough?”
“Well, if they see us out in the open, they’ll want to march in and fight us. They’ll be confident in their numbers. Once Devlyn begins, though, they’ll probably want to fall back, out of his range, which is extensive. Hopefully, their knights will push them into the fight, but they’ll come at us out of formation or ready to break and run at the first sign of resistance. That first encounter will be our best chance of evening the odds. Once they see we aren’t going to lie down for them, they’ll put together a better plan of attack.”
“What about me?” Kain asked. “I’m not going to hide while you all do the fighting.”
“No, I want you on the hill, shooting your arrows into them as they advance. Be sure you aim over our heads, don’t forget.”
It was the first light moment they had had since they had spotted the men in the distance.
Kain grinned, “I’ll try and remember that.”
“And what then?” asked Tooles in a low, gravelly voice. “What happens when they put together a plan?”
“Then we defend this hill. We should have a distinct advantage, but it really depends on how many men they send at us.”
They didn’t talk anymore after that. By the time Gorton and Devlyn had returned, it was late afternoon, and the soldiers were distinct, marching in ranks of five across and, as Tooles had guessed, there were ten ranks. Leading the fifty foot soldiers were three knights on horseback. The knights wore full armor and carried lances with the emblem of Westfold, which was a shield with a crown and sword on it. There was also another rider, this one not in armor. He rode a horse that was much smaller than the others, smaller it seemed than the ones Kain and his companions were using.
The five men sat on the hilltop, as close to the center as possible, working on the wood Devlyn and Gorton had returned with, to fashion it into arrows.
“Shouldn’t we be lying down or something?” Kain asked. He looked to Fairan to answer his question.
“No, it doesn’t matter at this point. They know we’re here.” Fairan answered.
“How do you know that?” Kain asked.
“That fourth rider is a scout. See his horse? It’s built for distance and endurance. He’s riding, but not wearing armor. He’s a scout.”
“So we’re going to fight them?”
“It looks that way,” Fairan said.
“I’m glad. I only wish we could ride them down,” said Gorton.
“We have a very good position here,” said Devlyn softly. “We could hold out here for days.”
“Let us hope that is not their plan,” said Tooles.
“What do you mean?” Kain asked.
“If I am right,” Tooles rasped, “and Derrick of Westfold is accelerating his plans, then all he needs do is delay us, keep us out of the way.”
“And what’s done is done,” said Gorton.
Tooles merely nodded his head.
“So if we can not arrive in time to stop him, then we can’t make my claim to the throne?” Kain asked.
“No, we can make that claim,” said Fairan, “but then you are talking about going against a reigning king. People may not like him, in fact they may hate him, but they will not go against him. If we do not get you to the Council of Nobles, there isn’t much hope.”
“And no hope for your sister,” said Tooles. “Once Derrick marries her, she is removed from your oversight.”
Kain pondered this for a moment. It was a difficult situation, but they must not be delayed. He would not let his sister, his only remaining family, to be taken from him now. He resolved to do whatever it took to reach Royal City.
It was another hour before the troop of Westfold men turned off the path and marched toward the hill. Fairan and Gorton took
up position a short way from the hill. At the base of the hill stood Devlyn with his long bow. Kain stood upon the crown of the hill and watched as Tooles walked in his halting gate toward the advancing force. The old man held a stick with a white strip of cloth tied to the end, over his head.
There was a long moment when it looked as though the men from Westfold would continue marching and trod the elderly councilman underfoot. But at last they halted; the three knights rode on and conferred with Tooles. Their discussion did not last long. Kain and his companions would have to wait for the report; Tooles dropped the flag and turned away from the field and instead hobbled toward the stream.
Kain felt the thrill of battle; he was nervous about his aim, about his contribution, but not afraid for his life. He glanced around in every direction. Part of his job was to ensure that no other force approached from a different direction. Everything was still, the sun was dropping into the west, a cool breeze was blowing. It was a perfect afternoon, Kain realized, just as the Westfold troops began marching again.
The troop had reorganized and was now five rows of ten. They held swords of differing lengths and shapes. Their clothes were patchy, too, Kain noticed, as if they had gathered their uniforms on their own from whatever materials they had available. They also carried shields, which were round and slightly larger than a man’s arm from finger tips to elbow. The shields were wooden, with a metal band around the outside edge. The only armor they wore was standard body armor, with large holes for their heads and arms, and helmets that were, again, a hodgepodge of different designs.
They had not been marching long when Devlyn fired his first arrow. It was hard for Kain to follow the missile’s trajectory, as it arched up into the sky and caught in the glare of the setting sun. Devlyn did not wait to see if he had hit his target, but continued to fire arrows so fast that there were actually four arrows in the air before the first one struck. A man in the middle of the formation screamed. It was a memory that Kain would never forget, the piercing shriek echoed across the plain and chilled his blood. His fellows avoided him, but had no time to consider his condition. The other arrows fell, two thudding into shields that had been raised, another striking a man in the leg. Then shields went up in some semblance of order, the arrows popping through them, sometimes between them. Men began to fall out of line; most were limping or holding on where the arrow had struck them. The main force continued to march, and most of those stopped by the arrows had only flesh wounds that would not keep them out of the fray long.
Devlyn had two quivers of arrows and another two on the top of the hill, where Kain stood. The archer moved forward, standing between Fairan and Gorton, and began alternating his shots straight at the front of the advancing force and into the middle. The arrows shot straight into the front line flew so fast that it was impossible to watch them. The men in the front line began to fall, dropping silently, dead instantly. They didn’t know whether to continue holding their shields up over their heads or out in front to repel Devlyn’s speeding arrows. They faltered for the first time in their advance. Kain could hear the knights shouting at them to move forward, to stay together. The men moved again, but their straight lines were lost forever, they huddled together, the men in front baby stepping. It was almost laughable, if it weren’t so apparent that these were common people, pressed into service, hardly trained and inadequately supplied.
The foot soldiers were at an impasse, with death before them and punishment behind, they hesitated and were about to retreat, when one of the knights rode forward shouting for his men to charge. As the horse galloped behind them, the men from Westfold found their courage and ran forward with a shout. Kain looked down at his companions. Devlyn had stopped shooting as fast as he could and was now taking careful aim. When he fired the arrow, it raced above the heads of the charging soldiers and splintered into the helmet of the knight. Kain could not tell if the arrow had penetrated the knight’s visor, but the armored man fell backwards off his horse anyway and did not get up. The horse trotted away, turning back toward the stream in the direction Tooles had gone.
Kain saw Devlyn fall back to his original position and wave up at him. It was time. He drew back his bow, took aim, and fired at the mass of men running toward his friends.
Chapter 12
The first arrow flew into the mass of approaching men but caused no damage that Kain could see. He felt his stomach lurch, there were at least thirty men left charging at his friends. He aimed another arrow; this one pierced the thigh of a man in the front of the crowd. The man fell and tripped up some of the others. Devlyn’s arrows had done more damage, killing two men, and now the charge was beginning to lag, the attackers were once more losing confidence.
Just then, there was a sudden shout from Fairan and Gorton, as they charged at the Westfold soldiers. There was very little distance between them now, but the massed foot soldiers stopped completely. Fairan and Gorton closed the distance quickly. Fairan ran with his hands near his waist, his sword pointed up and away from him at an angle. When he was within striking distance, he spun quickly, swinging his sword and cutting through the leg of the first man he reached. There was an agonizing scream, but Fairan continued to strike, his sword flashing like lightning as he slashed at his attackers. There was no poetry to his swordsmanship now; he was ferociously swinging his sword from side to side. The men in front of him tried to fall back and crashed into the men behind them. Very few resisted, most dropped their swords and turned to run. Fairan continued to cut them down.
Gorton charged into the fray like a bull, his battle axe held like spear. The group split apart as several men fell in front of him. One attacker, his courage holding, raised his sword and slashed down at Gorton. The big warrior blocked with the haft of his axe, then bashed the man’s head with a vicious head butt. Gorton then swung the axe at the next man, who mistakenly thought his shield would protect him. The shield splintered, and the axe cut the man in two.
As if on cue, the remaining attackers retreated. Devlyn, still at the foot of the hill, began to fire arrows on their unprotected backs. The sun was setting now, the sky a fiery orange, as if reflecting the bloodshed on the field below. Kain looked out across the plain, there were twelve men dead, their bodies crumpled on the grass, including the knight who had led the charge. Of the remaining attackers, several were injured and slowly returning to the place where the two knights still sat on their horses.
Tooles was slowly making his way toward the hill, and Fairan, Gorton, and Devlyn were climbing up toward Kain. When they reached the crest, they stood looking out at their enemy. The light was fading. In the twilight, they could just make out the form of the scout racing away, his horse at full gallop, back toward Royal City.
Kain turned and brought the water bags to his companions. They drank deeply before Gorton said, “Ah, what is this? Where is the wine to celebrate our victory?”
“We’re saving it for when we reach Royal City,” Kain said.
“If we reach it,” Fairan added.
“What do you mean, if?” Gorton said. “These men will melt like butter before my axe. They shall not impede us long.”
Tooles was now slowly creeping up the hill in the darkness. Kain bent low and offered him a hand.
“You saw that rider the same as me,” said Fairan. “They are sending for reinforcements. We cannot evade these men and risk them attacking us from behind when we encounter the resistance which will surely be ahead of us.”
“I see no reason for a negative attitude,” said Devlyn in that same quiet voice he had used before the battle. “We have fought well today, even our young Prince. So let us concentrate on how we can move forward tomorrow.”
Tooles said nothing as he came among the group. He merely retrieved food from his pack, laid it out for the others and, without a word to anyone, wrapped his cloak around him and lay down to sleep. Kain thought it was strange that Tooles could sleep, while his own mind was racing with the problems that lay before them. They ate q
uietly; there was no fire that night, only the stars and moon casting their eerie light down upon them. Their food was dried meat, a little cheese, and bread, all of which seemed to suck the moisture from their mouths. They drank water and strained their eyes into the darkness, but they could see nothing. Even the ground at the bottom of their hill was shrouded in gloom.
“Can we assume that Derrick will raise more men to march against us?” Kain asked. “I mean, if he sent the majority of his guard to begin with, does he have the resources to raise more troops?”
“He has a lot of influence,” Fairan said thoughtfully, “without the king, though, the nobles would have to approve of his sending the Royal army, and that will not happen. If he does find more troops, it would be citizens of Royal City.”
“Or mercenaries,” said Devlyn. “If he is expecting trouble it would not be surprising that he has a large force of hired fighters posing as travelers within the city.”
This was a discouraging thought. The men sat in silence once again, pondering their next move. Kain outlined the goals in his mind: he had to be in Royal City in four days, and they still had a full day’s ride to get there. They could accomplish nothing by sitting here, and with his mind made up, he spoke.
“We need to move on,” Kain said. “We accomplish nothing sitting here.”
“I agree,” said Gorton.
“We must deal with the men before us, otherwise we will end up trapped between two forces. That would be disastrous,” said Fairan.
“And we must keep in mind that we are being watched,” added Devlyn.
“But if we wipe out those bug eaters down there, we can move freely,” said Gorton. “And there will be no one to report our movements. We can move north and approach Royal City from another direction. We have enough time.”
“No, don’t underestimate who we are dealing with here,” said Fairan. “They probably have spies watching us besides the one we saw.”
Devlyn nodded his head approvingly.
Third Prince (Third Prince Series) Page 11
