by Kris A Hiatt
“Keep an eye on the horizon,” Treace instructed Griffeth.
“And me?” Moff asked.
“Get Kiril and Raythien.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Griffeth mumbled.
“Well it is,” Moff told her. “Better wrap your head around it.”
“Send for the commander, in case he’s not already with Liernin,” Treace instructed a guard directly below their position on the wall. He was mildly surprised Moff took such a serious tone with Griffeth. Not that it wasn’t warranted, but just that it was Moff doing the talking. Treace wasn’t used to Moff being serious. He chalked it up as an upward tick in his friend’s development.
“On it,” the man replied, stiffening for a quick salute before departing.
“You know where to meet me,” Treace said to Moff. “See you soon, my friend.”
Moff nodded and quickly climbed down the ladder.
“I’ll come for you when I’m finished,” Treace told Griffeth. “If there’s any sign of Shamir’s forces before I come back then I want you to find me. At all costs, you find me.”
“Okay, Treace,” Griffeth said shakily before turning her eyes back to the horizon.
Griffeth was a good soldier. She did as she was instructed, she hardly complained, and she could fight. She was everything Treace wanted in a warrior. Almost everything. She wasn’t experienced in true combat. She had trained and sparred, but, according to her, she had never been in a real fight. Treace could sympathize with that. It wasn’t all that long ago that he had waged his first, true battle. “And Griffeth,” Treace said, hesitating just a moment longer.
“Yeah?” she asked, turning to regard him with her soft eyes.
“You’ll be fine. You’re a better fighter than most and more grounded than the ones you aren’t. Keep your head about you and you’ll get through this.”
She nodded and turned back to the horizon.
It wasn’t much, but by the softening of her face, Treace thought it was just enough to settle her down. He hoped it would last.
Treace climbed down and made his way for Liernin.
~~~
Even though they were a few hundred yards outside the walls of the city, the cheers of Liernin’s forces near the city were easily heard by the band of men and women huddled inside of the barn of a nearby farm. It was cold in there. They didn’t want to risk the smoke from a fire giving away their position, so they huddled together under thick blankets to keep warm. Treace’s pack was there, along with a full complement of archers.
“Sounds like it’s a good speech,” Moff remarked.
“It is,” Treace assured them. He had offered his input to Exodin regarding the speech and had read the end result. It appeared Exodin was now giving that speech to the assembled men in preparation for the battle.
“Seems like a good time for yours then,” Kiril suggested, nodding her head ever-so-slightly toward the larger group of archers.
Treace hadn’t planned on giving a speech. He didn’t believe his force needed one. They had trained for this many times. Not as often as Treace had wanted, but he was confident in the skills of the group assembled. He was about to decline to say anything, but noted the looks on the faces of those around him. Many of them were scared and were clearly looking to him for support. Even Griffeth and Raythien were looking his way. He was instantly reminded of how adamant Exodin was that morale would turn out to be the most important part of this war. He wasn’t sure where to begin.
More cheers erupted from the city.
Treace cleared his throat and stood up, an idea popping into his head. “My father is dead and my mother is many miles from here.”
“Let’s hope you’re better with those blades than you are with speeches,” Moff cut in, making the group laugh.
Treace looked to his friend who gave him a hearty wink. He smiled and offered a slight nod as the laughter subsided. “And even though they aren’t with me, I do have people here that I care about.” He let his eyes fall over Kiril for a moment. “Someone that I love. Many of you do, too. You have loved ones that you care about within the walls of Haven. You,” Treace said, pointing to a man in the crowd. “Who do you have waiting for you in the city?”
“My wife and three small children,” the man replied.
“And you?” Treace asked, pointing to a nearby woman.
“My parents,” she replied.
“How many husbands, wives, children, and parents do you think Shamir’s forces have within our walls?”
“None!” a man called out.
“So while they are here fighting so their King can have more land, we’re fighting not only to defy the tyrant, but also for the lives of those we love,” Treace told them. He looked over each person as he spoke. “I want nothing more than for each of you to be able to hold your loved ones close at the end of today. I wish I could promise you that, but I can’t. But I can promise you that I’d gladly die a hundred times over fighting for the ones that I love,” Treace said, again letting his eyes fall upon Kiril.
Many heads nodded their agreement.
“So when you loose your arrows, when you rain down death upon our enemy, do so not out of anger or hatred toward them. Do so out of love, knowing that with each arrow fired, you are helping each other return safely to those that you cherish. Do that, and we’ll win this war.”
Moff began clapping and whistling and the crowd followed suit. It wasn’t nearly the reaction Exodin garnered, but it was more than Treace expected. There was clear admiration and respect on the faces of those gathered.
“I feel the same way about you. You know that, right?” Kiril asked a short while later.
“I know you love me,” Treace replied.
“Not just that I love you, but that I would die a hundred times over for you,” Kiril clarified.
“May it never come to that,” Treace told her. He appreciated the fact that she said it, but he didn’t want to accept it. He didn’t know what he’d do if she was the one to die for him. He pushed those dark thoughts away.
The priory’s bell rang out and Treace’s heart jumped.
Shamir’s forces had arrived.
“And you’re certain of their tactics?” Treace asked Raythien.
“I am. I trained them, remember?” Raythien replied.
Treace did remember. He just hoped that Disdane and Drokier didn’t change their tactics due to Rathien’s departure.
“They don’t have experience with archers. They’ll leave it up to those I trained,” Raythien said, seeming to read Treace’s mind.
“To your places!” Treace told them. “Go!”
The group moved out of the barn with practiced efficiency. Two spotters moved to either side to keep an eye out for approaching danger and to provide information on where each volley landed. Heral stayed near the barn, watching over the group for any injuries that his magic may heal. Griffeth stood protectively next to him, declining to shoot a bow stating that she’d just as likely kill one of them as she would one of Shamir’s men.
The archers got into formation. There were five rows of ten archers, all facing the barn. The first row was several paces away, just far enough so their arrows would clear the roof. The other four rows were a few paces behind the one in front of them. By placing the barn between them and their intended volley location, it prevented them from being spotted by Shamir’s forces. Treace was in the front row, along with Kiril and Griffeth. They weren’t as experienced as the others and had the roof of the barn to assist them with their aim. Moff was in the back row next to Raythien, who Treace insisted give the orders for when to draw, fire, and aim point. Treace knew the experienced archer was more adept at accounting for and adjusting for wind than anyone else.
The aim points were Heral’s idea, and Treace thought it was ingenious. There were fourteen vertical lines painted on the roof. Raythien would name the distance and aim point with his orders. While the barn prevented Shamir’s forces from spotting them, it
also prevented them from seeing their intended targets. Heral’s idea allowed a precise way to aim their shots without being seen.
There were baskets at their feet with dozens of arrows in each. Left unchecked, the small group could take out hundreds of men in a short amount of time. If Shamir did have archers try to counter, the spotters would call out and the group would rush to the side of the barn, using it as a shield. The only effective way to counter it would be to send many melee combatants toward Treace’s group, or flee that area of the battlefield. That would mean Shamir’s forces would have to get closer to the bay, where Primain had another surprise waiting for them.
The marching of the approaching army got louder and louder.
And then the sounds just stopped.
They waited for a few minutes, which felt much, much longer, especially in the cold. It wasn’t long before one of the spotters rushed to Raythien. Their conversation lasted only a few moments, but Raythien seemed to be disheartened over what he learned. Treace understood right away. Shamir’s archers, those that Drokier had trained, were now in range.
“Two right, add zero,” Raythien called out a moment later.
Treace knocked an arrow, set his stance to shoot over the second line to his right without adjusting for distance. He couldn’t imagine how Raythien must feel. Raythien had previously trained Shamir’s men. Granted, they were now enemies, but they weren’t always as such. Now he was going to give the order to kill the very men that he trained. He wondered if Raythien would hesitate.
“Draw!” Raythien called out, answering that question for him.
Treace drew back, hearing the simultaneous drawing of the other archers. He pushed Raythien’s predicament out of his head.
“Loose!”
Treace fired his arrow and watched it soar into the air, quickly becoming indistinguishable from the dozens of other arrows flying toward Shamir’s forces.
“One right, add zero,” Raythien ordered.
Treace and the rest of the archers quickly set up. He was certain the arrows had not had time to land yet, but he trusted in Raythien’s judgement.
“Draw!”
The sound of the bows creaking under stress and wood sliding against wood as the arrows drew back were the only sounds the group made.
“Loose!”
Arrows again flew into the air.
“One right, add twenty,” Raythien called out.
Treace took aim at the next mark to the right and adjusted the height of his bow to add twenty yards.
Chapter 23
The ringing bell announced their arrival to Haven, but the army continued its march toward the city’s wall.
Brental peered out over the amassed army from the comfortable seat on top of the wagon far to the back of the main force. It was cold out and he missed the comfort of the inside of the wagon. Even so, he had to admit that the whole thing was indeed impressive. Every soldier was required to wear the color of his King, so yellow dotted the landscape everywhere. Even Brental had to wear the color. He had argued against it, but Shamir wouldn’t budge. Yellow robes were beneath him.
Brental looked back over his shoulder. There were countless wagons trailing the lead army that carried food and supplies. They, too, sported yellow. Each had a small flag mounted to it, all yellow with the King’s stag in black. The people in and around those wagons were busy setting up tents and other makeshift buildings now that the battle was about to begin.
He returned his gaze to the front. Haven had changed. Admittedly, he hadn’t visited the city often, but he didn’t recall ever seeing the wall that now appeared to encircle the city. It was constructed of lumber and while it wouldn’t last forever, he surmised it would keep people out for a short period of time at least. Which, given the circumstances, may be long enough.
“Those in front are nearing the range of their archers,” Drokier informed them from atop his horse.
“And their main force is in front of their archers as our scouts reported?” Shamir asked.
“They are,” Drokier confirmed.
Brental looked back toward Haven and trained his eye on the top of the wall. He could just make out the red-clad figures moving about on it. He guessed those were the archers Drokier was speaking of. Below them lines of red formed Liernin’s army. With all the white it was easy to tell friend from foe.
“Bring the archers to the front line then,” Shamir commanded. “The stupid fools.”
“They are elevated,” Brental pointed out. He doubted they were as foolish as Shamir seemed to think. “If their front lines are within range of our archers, wouldn’t our archers be in range of theirs?”
“They aren’t elevated enough to matter,” Drokier replied.
“Even if they are,” the King told them coldly, “we have more archers at the ready.”
Drokier nodded and then turned to the two standard bearers. “Give the signal.”
The two men raised their yellow flags high, waved them from left to right and then crossed them with the other.
Orders were called down the line and Brental watched as the army came to a halt. Moments later archers began moving toward the front of the unit. They were several hundred yards in front of his location, so they were small in the distance, but he could still distinguish them from the other soldiers by their longbows.
“I want this over quickly,” Shamir reminded them.
“It will play out how it plays out,” Drokier replied while looking at the ground. “We have to adapt our strategy to what they throw at us.”
There were several instances during the trip that Drokier expressed his concern for Shamir’s insistence upon going full force head on into Haven. Drokier asked for patience and caution. He wanted to make Liernin send his force further from the protective wall that surrounded Haven. Of course Shamir had refused the idea, citing his faith in the plan and in Disdane. The King admitted that they’d lose more soldiers this way, but he was adamant on securing a decisive victory. This was the first time that Brental had heard Drokier outright speak against the King on the subject.
“I will do nothing of the sort,” Shamir replied, after giving Drokier a long, unsettling look. “I will throw bodies at Liernin and his wall until all eyes are firmly upon us. If we don’t overrun him, which I’m not so sure we won’t, then he’ll be too focused on us to properly prepare for my other force attacking from the north.”
Drokier kept his eyes averted, but nodded his head.
Brental agreed with Drokier in this, but was much wiser than his counterpart. He wouldn’t say as much to Shamir. The King probably thought the fewer men that lived, the fewer people he’d have to pay. It wasn’t a terrible way of thinking of it, but Brental thought Shamir was underestimating Liernin’s forces.
Commotion from the front lines caught Brental’s attention. The archers in front were scattering, some running away from Haven toward the main army, and yet some others appeared to not move at all.
“Their archers are firing on them,” Brental surmised. He thought he could make out arrows in the air, but he couldn’t be certain from this distance. Judging by the reaction of the men, he thought it was a safe assumption.
“They’re trained to shoot back, not run,” Shamir spouted, pulling another blanket from behind him and placing it over his shoulders.
“I doubt their training included watching their friends die next to them,” Brental mused.
Shamir turned a hard gaze on him.
“I’m simply speaking the truth.”
Shamir turned to Drokier. “Give the order for the main force to attack.”
Drokier turned to the standard bearers and relayed the order. The men did as they were told.
“Liernin won’t fire his arrows into his own men,” Shamir said aloud, as if rationalizing his decision.
“For a while, he won’t have to,” Brental replied. He intended for his words to be an observation, nothing more. While Shamir’s men advanced, arrows would rain down on them unti
l they met with Liernin’s force. The ranks would be thinned by the time they made it into melee combat.
“That’s why we have so many men,” Shamir reminded him, wrapping his blanket tighter about him.
Drokier looked to Brental for a moment then fixed his gaze upon the front lines.
So the King truly didn’t care how many men he lost during this battle. As long as he took Haven, it didn’t matter to him. Brental didn’t hold Shamir’s ambitions against him, but he did think there was better way to attain his desired outcome than wasting hundreds if not thousands of lives. Apparently, judging by Drokier’s earlier statement and the look he just gave Brental, he did as well.
“Their archers are attacking from two fronts,” Drokier informed them. He pointed his finger to the left of the city, toward a farm house. “Look.”
Brental looked to where Drokier was pointing. There was a small house and a large barn on the property. It wasn’t that far from the city, yet it was closer to the front line than the city was. Judging by the men scrambling the opposite direction of the barn, Brental thought Drokier was right.
“They are firing from behind the barn,” Drokier told them.
“Send two squads to root them out,” Shamir commanded.
“I would suggest a platoon, sir,” Drokier replied.
“They are archers,” Shamir argued.
“Archers that very well may have protection,” Brental warned.
“Fine,” Shamir relented. “Just make sure the bulk of the force begins its assault on the city.”
“I’ll take a platoon and kill those archers,” Drokier assured them.
“No,” Shamir said, stopping Drokier. “I want you leading the men to the city. Send one of your lessers.”
“Sir,” Drokier replied.
“Should we hold the main force off until the archers are dealt with?” Brental asked. He thought it better to ask rather than suggest.
“No more delays,” Shamir insisted. “I want to be inside the city by nightfall.”
Brental looked to Drokier, who returned his concerned look with one of his own. Brental didn’t fully trust the man, but he knew that Drokier wasn’t a fool when it came to tactics. Too bad the King was. Did Shamir really expect to win a war in a matter of four or five hours?
