A man working below in the first trench spotted them and pointed up at the officers. He shouted something and a hearty cheer went up from those nearest. Stiger realized after a moment that they were his men. He waved back. They cheered even louder. Tiro was below among the men, grinning like a bear.
Stiger felt a lump form in his throat as he looked down upon his cheering men. His gaze then shifted to the road north. He loved his company, and yet he had led them here to a place that would soon see them locked in a desperate struggle. The likelihood of many of them ending up fodder for the worms was high. And yet, Stiger felt as if he had made the correct decision. This fort had been until recently an isolated backwater. Now, because of his direct actions, Fort Covenant had become a critical position that had the potential to affect the course of the war.
“Back to work,” Tiro snapped. “Bend your backs, you bastards.”
The cheering ceased, and the men returned to their tasks.
“I’ve heard a great deal about you,” Merritt said to Stiger. “The general even mentioned you in his orders to me. It seems you show real promise as an officer. It is good you are with us.”
“Yes, sir,” Stiger said, feeling slightly embarrassed by the unexpected praise. Merritt did not seem to begrudge his family name, something until recently he had not come to expect in anyone serving. Stiger noticed, however, that Tride looked like he had swallowed a frog. The lieutenant carried a small wax tablet, which he tapped on the palm of his hand.
“I fought under your father,” Merritt continued, “before the civil war, that is.”
“I did not know, sir.” This was the first time Stiger had spoken with the prefect.
“It was a long time ago, and I was a junior officer much like yourself.” Merritt became unfocused, as if reliving a different time. His gaze sharpened. “Well, that’s in the past. It is time we speak on what must be done going forward.” He pointed out into the field as he addressed those gathered around. “To assault these walls, the enemy must get past the two outer trenches. Make no mistake, they will do so. We have neither the artillery nor sufficient numbers of bowmen to make such an effort a costly venture to our enemy. Nor do we have the ability to hinder them in any meaningful way. Once they have overcome the trenches, they will either assault the walls or the gate. It is possible they may attempt both simultaneously. Any attempt to break through the gate shall prove futile. We will deny them that opportunity by shoveling dirt up behind the gate, thereby rendering a battering ram ineffective. With luck, this will buy us some time before they switch all of their efforts to the walls.”
“Sir?” Lieutenant Tride spoke up. “What if they just bypass us? Wouldn’t it be easier for them if they went around us? We’re so few, hardly enough for an army to worry much about. I should think they have nothing to fear from us.”
“There is little chance they will bypass us,” Merritt said with a heavy breath as he regarded his lieutenant with disappointed eyes. “Our enemy cannot afford to leave us to their rear. This north-south road is their lifeline. Moving around us would pose an unacceptable risk to their communications and supply. More importantly, this fortification is all that stands between them and open country. Have no doubt, they will attack. They must reduce and overcome this fort before they move on.” Merritt paused for a breath. “In a few weeks, winter will arrive and all campaigning for the season will end. The winters so far north are terrible. Our enemy knows this only too well. Their goal by coming here is an attempt to outflank our army that is mostly to the northwest. They mean to cut off supply by thrusting around and to the rear of the legions. Should their effort prove successful, it will mean a military disaster on a near unimaginable scale.”
Merritt fell silent a moment. “I want to be plain. This is a grave threat, not only to the war effort, but to the empire as well. The Third is on the march, as you already know. General Treim has informed me our legions farther north have also begun pulling back, giving up the hard-fought ground they have taken this summer. Should the Third be defeated in battle, it will fall to the rest of the army to hold off the enemy until winter . . . that is, if the enemy does not get behind them first and cut supply. Should that happen, there is the very real possibility that the enemy’s two armies may combine.”
“But if the Third is defeated,” Tride said, “then that means we will be also.”
“Yes,” Merritt said. “Now you understand the true nature of our position.”
“Yes, sir,” Tride said.
“Good. We have two auxiliary cohorts,” Merritt said. “Mine the Twenty-Fifth Toldean and Hollux’s Ninth Light Foot Taborean. We also have Stiger’s Seventh, with just enough men to be considered a light company. That gives us nearly seven hundred with which to hold this fort. Are there any questions so far?”
There were none.
“Lieutenant Tride,” Merritt said, “you may give us your report on our supplies and available equipment.”
“Yes, sir.” Tride began to read from his wax tablet. “We have plenty of water, since it is well-drawn. Food will not be a problem. Our stores are sufficient for months. Concerning missiles, we have two thousand two hundred short spears and twelve large barrels of arrows.” He paused and glanced over at Hollux. “I would think that plenty for your bowmen. Do you not agree?”
“Maybe,” Hollux said, tapping a finger against his chin. “My men can shoot awful quick. Twelve barrels means perhaps four thousand arrows combined with what we brought. Well . . . it may not last us all that long.” Hollux stood straight as he looked over at Merritt. “I will impress upon my men to make their shots count, sir.”
“That will be much appreciated, lieutenant.” Merritt nodded for Tride to continue with his report.
“We have the equivalent of five barrels of oil,” the lieutenant continued, “which must be used sparingly. And, of course, we have pans for cooking sand and boiling water. Our four bolt throwers are being assembled as we speak. We have nearly nine hundred bolts.” He pointed to the covered towers on each corner of the fort. Hammering could be heard from inside the nearest tower. “They should be completed within a couple of hours. Our single catapult is also being assembled.” He pointed down toward the parade ground. “We have plenty of round shot.”
Stiger could see several men working to assemble the machine. He let slip a slight frown. The catapult was on the smaller side, perhaps capable of tossing a two-pound ball. It would do little to frighten the enemy or cause damage.
“That completes my report, sir.”
“Gentlemen,” Merritt said, “we don’t have much with which to hold back the tide, other than sheer grit and determination. Since that is all we have, that is what we shall use. I am counting on each of you to do your duty. You must reach deep and pull forth courage. For courage is what you will need to set an example for your men to follow. Do that and we might just hold until the Third arrives. Fail in that . . . ” Merritt fell silent for a moment, looking each in the eye. “Well, that will not happen, will it?”
“No, sir,” Hollux said. “It will most certainly not.”
Tride voiced his agreement.
“Stiger.” Merritt turned to him. “I understand your men have seen considerable action?”
“Yes, sir, they have.”
“Then you shall act as our reserve,” Merritt said. “We shall use your legionaries to reinforce where needed, to plug the holes and force the enemy back over the wall. Think you can manage that?”
“Yes, sir,” Stiger said. He had expected as much. “My boys and I will stand ready.”
“Enemy in sight!” The shout ripped across the fort.
The officers’ heads turned to the north. A column of riders had emerged from the tree line and was working its way down the hill, following the road. Several riders had pulled off to the side and remained on the hilltop as the column continued to ride from the forest and stretch down the hill.
Stiger supposed these were officers. They were clearly studying the fort
as the bulk of the column continued past them. Stiger could hear the enemy cavalry singing a melodious tune, but at this distance could not make out words.
“Carbo,” Merritt said, turning to face the cavalry lieutenant, “it is time for you to depart.”
“Yes, sir,” Carbo said.
“I would appreciate it if you rode through the town on your way out of the valley,” Merritt said, gesturing vaguely toward the south, “and let the good people know it is time to evacuate.”
“Yes, sir.” Carbo gave a salute, which Merritt returned. “Take care, sir.”
“Tell the general to hurry.”
“I will, sir,” Carbo said.
Carbo gave Stiger a nod before working his way down the rampart to where his troopers were waiting. Stiger watched as Carbo pulled himself up into the saddle. The cavalry lieutenant raised his hand and let it fall, pointing forward, giving the soundless order to ride. Amidst the sounds of heavy hooves, they trotted through the gate. Stiger continued to watch as the troop crossed the trenches, turned to the west, and rode hard around the fort, before angling south and being lost to view.
“Lieutenant Tride,” Merritt said, “kindly issue the recall for our men outside. Also, see that the bridges are pulled up from the trenches. I see no point in making it easier for the enemy.”
“Yes, sir.” Tride hurried away. A few moments later, a man atop the gatehouse blew his horn, sounding the recall. The notes were nearly pure and rang out on the cool morning air. The men outside immediately dropped what they were doing and started for the protection of the fort.
“Well,” the elf spoke up, drawing their attention. Eli was looking out toward the hill where the road emerged from the forest. The cavalry column had given way to enemy infantry, marching four abreast. They too were singing. Like a snake coming out of a hole, they began to work their way down and into the valley. “Things are about to get interesting.”
Chapter Sixteen
“It’s clear, sir,” a lookout yelled down from above, having leaned over the outer wall, eyeballing the other side of the gate. “No enemy closer than the nearest trench, and they are just standing around bored-like. Only a handful, sir.”
“Open the gate,” Merritt ordered.
Several men standing by to do just that raised the locking bar, which landed with a heavy thud. They began pulling the gate open.
“Stand ready,” Hollux, who was atop the gate, called to his men. The bowmen stepped up to the barricade and nocked their arrows.
“Are you sure about this, sir?” Stiger stood to Merritt’s side.
Hinges creaking, the gate began to open. Stiger had his company formed up into a two-ranked battle line just behind the gate.
“Raise shields,” Tiro ordered. “Draw swords.”
The shields came up off the ground and swords seemed to jump out of scabbards.
“Unfortunately, I am,” Merritt answered with a sidelong glance at Stiger. Absently, the prefect drummed the side of his chest armor as he shifted his gaze to the gate.
The prefect’s armor was of an older style. It was lovingly cared for and yet had also clearly seen some action, for there were little dents, scrapes, and nicks from battle damage.
“Yes,” Merritt said, drawing a long breath, “we must attend this parley. Anything to delay our enemy serves our needs.”
“You don’t have to go personally, sir,” Stiger said. “I could represent you well enough.”
“Our enemy is generally known to be honorable in these situations,” Merritt said. “We should have little to fear.”
“Except when they are not,” Stiger said with some heat, “like in Cora’Tol. Crief is a good example of that.”
Merritt was silent a moment.
“You must understand, victory is everything,” Merritt said. “Nothing comes second. War must be waged in a terrible, total, and complete manner. There are times in pursuit of victory when we are called to do terrible things. Almost anything—and I mean anything—goes. Rules don’t apply. The sacking of villages and towns, though repugnant, is an acceptable means to an end.” Merritt paused and his look became quite hard. “Even small farms are fair game, like the one your prisoner took. We don’t have to like it, nor condone it, but this is the world we live in. To the victor goes everything.”
Merritt paused, his eyes flicking to Stiger’s men. “I for one would rather the empire be the conqueror than the vanquished. There are times when that means ordering the death and destruction of that which we love.” Merritt stepped closer and put a hand on Stiger’s shoulder. “To be successful at our chosen craft, you must take this lesson to heart, no matter how distasteful it is going down.”
Stiger sucked in a breath and let it out as he thought carefully on the prefect’s words.
“In all this chaos and madness that war brings with it,” Merritt continued, “there are times when gentlemen from both sides are able to come together and treat each other honorably in parley. For a brief moment, we can set aside the horrors of what we do and pretend that we are not the monsters we have become.”
The gate ceased its movement with a loud thud.
Merritt gave him a meaningful look. “Do you follow?”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good,” Merritt said, taking a step back. “It was a hard lesson for me as well, but having learned it made me a better soldier.”
“Tiro,” Stiger called. “You and Tig are coming with us. In the absence of Varus, Asus, you have the formation.”
Asus looked startled for a moment, then recovered. He drew himself up and saluted as Tiro hurried over with Tig. Both carried their shields.
“Yes, sir,” Asus replied.
“Might I join you also?”
Stiger and Merritt turned to see Eli had joined them. The elf’s ability to move about unnoticed was uncanny.
“Why would you wish to expose yourself to the enemy?” Merritt asked. “The elves as a people have parted ways with the empire. You may inadvertently give the impression that is not so.”
“I have no compelling desire to do so,” Eli said, “other than curiosity.”
“You are bored already?” Tiro said, incredulous.
“Sergeant,” Merritt snapped, “mind your tongue with our guest.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“It’s quite all right,” Eli said to the prefect. “Sergeant Tiro and I are old acquaintances. You see, we previously served together. I consider him a good friend.”
Merritt glanced between the two of them. “The Wilds, then?”
“Yes, sir,” Tiro said. “Eli and I have been through some rough times.”
“Addressing your concern on impressions,” Eli said, “today I only represent myself.”
“I see.” Merritt released a breath that was almost a huff. “Very well. If you wish to join us, then so be it.”
Merritt started forward through the gate, with Stiger and Eli trailing. Tiro and Tig followed a couple steps behind. To their front, at around five hundred yards, Stiger saw a few hundred enemy heavy infantry.
The enemy was busily erecting a camp, including the beginnings of a defensive berm. Stiger could hear the muffled cracks that signified ax parties at work in the forest. As they walked out of the fort, a second column of infantry was starting to snake its way down the hill.
Merritt strode up to the edge of the first trench. A delegation waited on the other side. Stiger saw two officers and what he took to be a sergeant waiting patiently. Their manner was relaxed, as if they had not a concern in the world.
“You requested a parley,” Merritt said curtly. It was not framed as a question, but a simple statement of fact.
“Yes, I did,” the officer Stiger took to be in charge replied in fluent Common. His armor was more ornate and expensive than the other’s. There was not even the hint of an accent in his tone, and he sounded quite cultured. “I am Senior Captain Golves.”
Golves was perhaps five years older than Stiger. He had the loo
k of a hardened soldier, but also the refinement of a noble. A thick scar on his lower lip marred his features. Golves paused and gestured to the officer standing next to him. “This is my lieutenant, Ocal. And you, sir? May I have your name?”
“I am Prefect Merritt, in command of Fort Covenant.”
“It was my understanding that Tribune Declin held that esteemed honor,” Golves said. A slight hint of curiosity hung in his tone.
“Your intelligence appears to be flawed and out of date,” Merritt said.
“So it seems,” Golves said, his eyes sliding to Stiger and then Eli, who had pulled the hood of his cloak up. “And these gentleman, I know not their names. Would you be considerate enough to introduce me?”
“Of course,” Merritt said. “May I present Lieutenant Stiger and—”
“Stiger?” Golves said. An amused look came over him. “Aren’t you are supposed to be in disgrace and under confinement?”
“More faulty intelligence,” Stiger growled. Golves’s manner was beginning to irritate him.
Golves brought a hand up to cover his mouth as he gave a slight chuckle.
“You, sir, I have been chasing a good long way,” Golves continued, lowering the hand. He pointed a finger. “Lieutenant Stiger, you have left a trail of destruction with your passage that honestly has been quite surprising. May I say, it is truly an honor to finally meet you face to face after so many weeks on the chase. You are such a formidable opponent that it seems a shame to have finally run you down . . .” Golves paused and gestured at the fort with both hands. “Here in the middle of nowhere.”
Stiger wasn’t at first sure how to take that. Initially he thought the enemy officer was playing with him, but then decided otherwise, as Golves appeared quite serious.
“Stiger,” Merritt hissed after several heartbeats of silence, “do the gracious thing and accept the bloody compliment, would you?”
“It is an honor to meet you as well,” Stiger said, drawing himself up. “And if you must know, I am precisely where I intended to be.”
Golves offered a slight bow, but looked far from convinced.
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