Fort Covenant_Tales of the Seventh

by Marc Edelheit

  “I’d say we have at least an hour, perhaps a little more, until they are in position.” Merritt glanced down at the ram. “I don’t believe they will try the gate again. It is time to redeploy our bowmen to the other walls. Hollux, I would like you to leave five men here and disperse the rest of your shooters around the fort.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “For this next fight, hold nothing back,” Merritt said. “Send plenty of arrows with them.”

  “I will,” Hollux said.

  “I am also going to order the remainder of the short spears be dispersed,” Merritt said to Stiger. “It is time we use everything we have.”

  “I agree, sir,” Stiger said, though he personally doubted that it would be enough to hold the enemy off. From Hollux’s look, he understood the gravity of their position as well.

  “Sir,” Hollux said, “if you will excuse me, I will see to the disposition of my men.”

  Merritt nodded and Hollux left them.

  “I saw you on top of the keep,” the prefect said. “It is a good position. I want you up there again. Dispatch men where you feel the need, and then, when all of the reserves are committed, join the fight yourself.”

  “Yes, sir.” He began to step away.

  “Stiger.” Prefect Merritt stopped him. “Though I served on the other side during the civil war, it is an honor to fight with you, as I once fought with your father.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Stiger said, with mixed feelings at the prefect’s sentiments. “I’m honored to fight alongside you as well.”

  “Take care, son,” Merritt said.

  With that, Stiger stepped away to find Tiro and his men, determined to do his duty to the end.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The assault was thunderous. It was as if more than a thousand voices were shouting, screaming, and crying out in unison, which, Stiger supposed, they were. Add to that the clash of swords and the clatter of shields being battered, and it was riotously loud.

  Stiger moved from side to side, watching the struggle along each wall. It was desperate, hard, and brutal. The fighting had been going on for more than an hour as the enemy attempted to force the walls for a second time. They had sent more men, but fortunately no additional scaling ladders. Nevertheless, the assault was intense. Stiger got the sense these men attempting the walls were of better quality than those of the first attack. He had been forced to dispatch almost all of his men, including Tiro, to help plug breaches.

  Even so, the defenders were managing to hold the walls of the fort by a bare thread.

  Stiger’s reserve now consisted of only five men. They waited for his call. When it came time to deploy them, there would be no more help available. Stiger knew he would be going with them.

  The twang of a bow drew Stiger’s attention. Eli had brought several bundles of arrows with him to the keep’s roof. The elf had been firing nearly nonstop since the assault had begun. For each shot, he hit his mark with deadly accuracy. Stiger had seen Eli miss only one shot, and that was because the target had unexpectedly tripped and fallen. Eli reached down to the last bundle of arrows and, one-handed, untied the coarse string that bound them.

  Stiger turned his gaze to the south. An ugly plume of smoke climbed high into the sky where the town had been. With mounting frustration, he scanned for the Third but saw nothing of their relief. All that was in view was a column of enemy cavalry leisurely returning from the town they had undoubtedly sacked.

  Stiger’s frustration with their position gave over to a sinking feeling. It was now abundantly clear. General Treim would not arrive in time.

  Stiger kicked the wall. From what he was seeing, the tide could not be held back for much longer. The defenders were not only being worn down, but also steadily whittled away. Stiger’s hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. He closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer to the High Father. He made sure to commend his spirit into the great god’s keeping.

  “So be it,” he growled to himself, accepting what fate had dished out. He trusted in his god.

  Stiger opened his eyes. It was time.

  He studied the four walls and decided the western side of the fort needed the most help. The enemy had gotten up over the wall, and a large breach was forming around one ladder. Tiro and a handful of his legionaries struggled on one side of the breach, Lieutenant Tride and a number of auxiliaries on the other. They pushed back against the growing bulge, attempting to contain the breach.

  The enemy struggled just as fiercely to widen their gain. A sergeant clambered over the barricade. He began guiding men fresh over the wall and into the fight, while at the same time exhorting those climbing up to hurry.

  Stiger saw one of his own fall and roll down the inside of the rampart like a discarded child’s doll. Stiger could not see who it was, but the sight tore at his heart. When the man came to a stop, the legionary’s red cape was wrapped around him like a burial shroud.

  “I’m going to the western wall,” he said to Eli, anger roiling through him.

  “I will be along shortly,” Eli said, even as he loosed another arrow at the enemy along the southern wall. The enemy soldier dropped as if the life had simply been plucked out of him.

  “Don’t wait too long,” Stiger said, “or you may just miss the fun.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.” Eli flashed him an open-mouthed grin before reaching down to grab another arrow from the open bundle at his feet.

  Stiger took a last look to the south, hoping to see something, anything.

  With a shake of his head, he made his way through the trapdoor and then down the stairs. The makeshift hospital was packed. The rooms on the second floor, offices, and personal quarters for the tribune had been opened and were overflowing with wounded men. Blood streaked the floor. It had landed in drops and splashes before being tracked across the wooden boards. The injured sat on the stairs, the floor, or wherever they could find the space, waiting for their turns to be seen by the overworked surgeon and his assistant.

  Stiger passed several who were slowly bleeding out, their pale features a testament to the blood they’d lost. Stiger paused at the foot of the stairs, surveying the grisly scene on the first floor. Men had been slashed and stabbed. Some had lost hands, fingers, and even arms.

  One man was missing a chunk from his forearm. Bone and mangled muscle were in plain view. He cradled his ruined arm, rocking back and forth and moaning softly to himself for his mother.

  Stiger rubbed his jaw as he took it all in. This was the face of war. Those who dreamed of battlefields and glorious charges never cared to imagine it.

  On a table, the surgeon’s mate held a patient down while the surgeon stitched up a leg wound. The injured auxiliary screamed in torment as the work was completed. The surgeon paid the protests of his patient no mind but continued his work with single-minded efficiency.

  Varus and Nera moved around, doing what they could for the wounded—wrapping and bandaging wounds, attempting to staunch blood flows. Two of the walking wounded were doing the same.

  Stiger made his way over to Varus. He found he had to be careful of his footing, as blood slicked the wood-planked floor.

  “Varus,” Stiger said, laying a hand on the man’s shoulder armor.

  Varus turned dulled eyes upon him. Realizing who it was, his gaze sharpened and he straightened. “How’s it going out there, sir?”

  “Not good,” Stiger said and glanced quickly around. It seemed all eyes were on him, with those nearest listening intently. It was time for plain talk, and these men deserved the truth. “I want you to organize the walking wounded and prepare to defend the keep.”

  “It’s that bad, sir?” Varus asked.

  “The enemy will shortly overcome the walls.”

  The corporal’s eyes blinked at that, but he nodded his understanding just the same. Concern washed over Varus’s face. “Where are you going, sir?”

  “I am taking the last of the reserves to the western wall to do what I
can,” Stiger said and then cleared his throat. He pointed at the heavily reinforced door. “You must hold the door for as long as possible before sealing it. When the end comes, the survivors will need sanctuary. Keep it open for as long as you can.”

  “You can count on us to hold the keep for you, sir,” Varus said loudly, glancing around. “Isn’t that so, boys?”

  There was a chorus of agreement. Several of the injured stood.

  “When the time comes,” Stiger said, “seal the door, even if I’m not here. Hold out for as long as you can. The Third may yet come.”

  “I will hold the door until you return, sir.”

  “I know you will,” Stiger said, “but close it just the same when the time comes. Understand?”

  Varus, looking miserable, gave a curt nod.

  “Good luck, Varus,” Stiger said. He had the nagging feeling he would never see the corporal again. Worse, Stiger thought he read the same in Varus’s eyes.

  “Take care, sir.” Varus drew himself unsteadily into a position of attention. He saluted. Stiger returned the salute and held the corporal’s gaze a prolonged moment, then made for the door.

  Stepping outside, the noise of the fight crashed home once again. It was nearly overwhelming in its intensity, but the struggle on the walls did not capture his attention.

  Stiger’s eyes fell upon the dead just beyond the keep’s doorway. Bodies had been carried from the interior of the keep and piled up like firewood. The sight made Stiger ill. The feeling became worse as he recognized one of his men, Erbus, laid out on one of the piles. The legionary’s eyes were open in a death stare, gazing up at the sky. Stiger moved over and gently closed them. He rested his hand upon the man’s forehead.

  “High Father, kindly take this brave soldier into your care,” Stiger said. “He is in your hands now.”

  “Ah, Stiger, I see you have finally come down from your perch. That’s very brave of you.”

  Stiger turned to his left. Tribune Declin was calmly pulling on a pair of leather gloves as he eyed Stiger. He wore his kit, which included his helmet and expensively engraved chest plate. He wore both arm and leg leather greaves that had been embossed and etched with silver. The polished chest plate shone brilliantly under the late afternoon sun. A breeze stirred the tribune’s fine red cloak. His shield leaned against another small pile of dead men.

  Stiger felt nothing but disgust for the tribune. Had the man not sent his other cohort to its death, they might have had a chance to hold the fort. Instead, Declin had effectively signed all of their death warrants.

  “You are a disgrace,” Stiger said bitterly.

  “That’s right,” Declin said in a conversational tone. It was almost as if the fight around them were not happening. “Even after you told me of your orders for his arrest, I made the mistake of listening to that traitor Aggar. I sent him unknowingly back to his masters as Lears’s second in command. Worse, I allowed both Lears’s and my hatred for your family to color my thinking.”

  The tribune reached down and picked up his shield. He drew his sword and glanced to the nearest wall, the north side. “I have dishonored myself and my family. So yes, I am a disgrace. Truth be told, I think I have always been one. For my many sins, I go now to atone in the only way I can.” He looked back on Stiger and managed a smile. “My only consolation is that you shall shortly follow me over to the other side. I will see you there, traitor’s son.”

  The tribune turned his back and started across the parade ground. Anger burning white hot, Stiger watched the man go.

  “Sir,” Asus said, drawing Stiger’s attention. His five men were standing just a few feet away, including Dergo, one of the auxiliaries Stiger had rescued in the Cora’Tol Valley. They looked unsettled.

  “We need to help relieve the pressure on the western wall and plug the breach,” Stiger told them. He pointed to a discarded legionary shield. “Hand me that, will you?”

  Stiger pulled out his sword as Asus handed him the shield. He took a moment to get a comfortable grip on the shield before turning to his men.

  “Let’s go.” Stiger led the way across the parade ground. The closer they got to the rampart, the noisier it got. The enemy had gotten over in good numbers. The breach had widened considerably, and the imperials were being steadily forced back.

  Stiger led his men to just below the center of the breach. The enemy had completely broken the defense here and were attempting to clear the rampart so they could get more men over at additional points.

  To the left side of the breach, Lieutenant Tride fought desperately alongside his men. To the right side, Tiro led a mixed bag of auxiliaries and legionaries. As more of the enemy clambered over the barricade, the pressure upon both groups increased. There was almost a clear path right up to where the enemy were coming over the wall. The sergeant who was directing the fight and sending men fresh over the barricade had not spotted Stiger and his men yet.

  “Listen up. We’re gonna thrust right up there . . . ” Stiger turned to address the men before pointing with his sword up toward the center. “. . . directly between the two fights, and we don’t stop for anything until we reach the barricade. Once there, we push that ladder back over the side and keep any more of them bastards from getting over. We do that and our boys on either side should be able to fight their way to us. Fail at this and I am afraid the fort is lost.” Stiger raked his eyes over his men. They were grim-faced, but appeared ready. “All right, fan out and form a line.” Stiger stepped into the center spot. “Shields up. Advance!”

  They started up the slope of the rampart. Stiger bashed his shield forward into the first man he came across, slamming him hard in the body and knocking him down. He stabbed downward, taking him in the belly, and then twisted the blade as he felt the tip strike bone. The man screamed, blood frothing his lips. Stiger stabbed down again and silenced him.

  To either side, his men moved forward and engaged the next enemy soldier several feet up the slope of the rampart, efficiently cutting him down. Stiger stepped over the body of the man he had just killed and advanced up the slope. He caught up to the line as Asus on the right stabbed an enemy, who had been locked in individual combat with an auxiliary, in the ass. Badly wounded, the auxiliary slumped to the ground in relief as Asus finished the Rivan soldier off.

  The fight to either side raged unabated. As they advanced up the rampart, Stiger found it surreal. As impossible as it seemed, the enemy seemed completely unaware of their presence. They were allowed to continue uncontested and almost completely unimpeded for a few more feet, until they made contact with those just coming over the wall. The enemy sergeant noticed them for the first time and called out a warning.

  “Push ‘em,” Stiger shouted, charging up the last few feet. The sergeant and five others made ready, though from having climbed up with only swords at hand and no shields, the enemy were at a severe disadvantage.

  The fight to either side, just feet away, was so loud it beat down heavily on Stiger’s senses. He put it from his mind as he slammed his shield at a man wildly swinging a sword at him in panic. The sword clattered harmlessly off his shield. Stiger hammered forward again, slamming the man back into the sergeant. The sergeant fell, helmet connecting with the wooden barricade. Asus, to Stiger’s immediate right, stuck an enemy and then knocked him aside as he went for the next one.

  Stiger stabbed the man he had hit with his shield and then pushed him bodily aside. He fell and rolled down the rampart.

  Stiger turned on the sergeant.

  The sergeant had lost his sword. He leapt up and grabbed desperately for Stiger’s shield. The move was so unexpected that the shield was almost wrenched away. Instinctively, Stiger jabbed out and struck the man’s chainmail chest armor. The sergeant’s breath whooshed out with a grunt. He released the shield before stumbling backwards over the man Asus had just taken down. Stiger pressed forward and stabbed the sergeant in the thigh, neatly taking him down.

  Stiger stepped forward to finish t
he man, clearly an older veteran of some experience and not unlike Tiro. The enemy sergeant was on his back and helpless. He raised a hand and said something that Stiger took to be a “no.” It did not matter; he was the enemy and could not be allowed to live.

  As he drew back to strike, Stiger was struck a hard blow over his back that knocked him to the ground. Twisting as he fell, he saw an enemy raise his sword for a finishing strike, only to be struck in turn by a killing blow from a short sword that slid deeply into the armpit. Dergo threw the mortally wounded man to the ground before turning to face the next man.

  Having lost his shield, Stiger scrambled to his feet and cast his eyes upon the sergeant. He too had gotten to his feet. Their eyes met. Before Stiger could make a move, the sergeant placed a hand upon the barricade and threw himself over the side.

  Stunned, Stiger hesitated a couple of heartbeats. He shook off the shock and rushed up to barricade.

  A few of those facing the stubborn defenders led by Tride or Tiro finally became aware of the threat to their rear. Stiger’s men turned and dropped into combat stances and prepared to receive them.

  Trusting the men to have his back, Stiger reached over the barricade and stabbed a man in the process of clambering over in the side of the neck. Silently, the enemy soldier tumbled back down the ladder, taking the next two men with him to the ground. Stiger glanced over the side and saw a mass of enemy below, waiting their turn to go up the ladders. He also saw the sergeant, stirring feebly as his own men stepped over him.

  Several of the enemy behind rushed Stiger’s men. He heard the clatter and clash of swords, shields, screams, and oaths. Someone bumped into his back. Stiger’s men fought off the enemy attempting to fight their way back to the ladder and open the way again.

  “Help me!” Stiger called to Asus, who had just dispatched an enemy. Stiger was struggling one-handed to push the ladder off the wall. Realizing he had only heartbeats before the next man clambered up, Stiger dropped his sword and took hold of the top of the ladder with both hands. He shoved with all his might, straining. Those below on the base resisted and worked to hold the ladder in place. Then Asus was there at his side.