Harald-ARC

by David Friedman

  "They're cutting west."

  "You think Gavin was right after all?"

  "Cats they would have used—besides, the pass is closed. But the Karls have more heavy cavalry than anything else. Maybe that's what the cats were hiding. Could come over one of those ridges into an unpleasant surprise."

  The light cavalry commander turned to his second.

  "Two squads over the ridge. If they don't see anything dangerous, we follow. Hold at the next ridge, repeat."

  Ivor had the last word: "If you see my boys, send them back."

  ...Now You Don't.

  A flying arrow, an ebbing tide,

  Are never safe: let no man trust them.

  The next morning, as the legions broke camp, Gavin summed up the situation for his officers.

  "We know they have Ladies, maybe five hundred. Scouts saw a couple of hundred heavies before our lights broke off yesterday. Maybe thirty cats. If they had a lot of cats, Ivor and his boys would be pushing up grass—as it was, the damn Ladies cost us fifty men, more horses. They might have had a lot of heavies waiting farther back, been baiting a trap. He turned to the scout commander.

  "Last time you saw them, their main body was south and west of us. How far?"

  "About five miles at sunset. My boys get too close, cats drive them off, but at least they aren't coming this way."

  Gavin thought a moment.

  "The castle we're here to take is south and east, in the hills, maybe twenty miles from here. One long day's march if we didn't have the damn wagons. Say two days. If we can get there before they do, if there isn't much of a garrison ... We'll have to take it fast if their main army is loose behind us—no supplies from home. If they cut over to defend it—they can move faster than we can—makes the castle harder to take, but then their field force is bottled up, we can take our time. Comments?"

  Silence for a moment; the Belkhani commander broke it.

  "Leatherbacks out ahead of us. We might lose a few scouts but at least there won't be any surprises."

  Kyro looked at Ivor in surprise, said nothing. Gavin nodded. "Yes."

  An hour later, scouts at the top of the next ridge, legions beginning to move out, heavy cavalry flanking them, the commander and his second watching from below the abandoned camp.

  "Looks like someone's got another magic trick."

  Kyro looked at his commander curiously.

  "Ever seen a cautious Belkhani before?"

  Kyro thought a moment, shook his head.

  With two legions and the light infantry at the top of the next ridge, Gavin sent the wagons to join them, then the third legion and the Belkhani. He repeated the maneuver at the next ridge, heading south and east. By noon the force had covered three miles. The next ridge was defended, abandoned as the legions approached. Three days and two minor skirmishes later, the sixth legion pitched camp in sight of Markhold. The next morning, Gavin called council.

  "Sixth, what did your boys see?"

  "Lot of horses ahead of us—mud thirty yards wide. Their rear was still going into the castle when we made camp. Nothing but Ladies, far as we could see—the track that cut south five miles back might be the Karl heavies. Hell of a lot of archers behind those walls."

  "More mouths—we aren't the only ones short of supplies this time of year. With the Order locked in the castle and the Karl heavies south of us, the northern plains should be ours for a while. Siege. Legion engineers can go to work—there's lots of timber—make life interesting for the Karls."

  Ivor caught his commander's eye. "What do you want me and Bertrand and our boys to do while the turtles are sieging?"

  "Watch our back. I'm leaving one legion camped on the road in, just to play safe. Bertrand's boys patrolling the plains five or ten miles out to let us know if the Karls turn up with an army, threaten us or our supplies. Your boys are backup, in case it's a small army. If it's a big army, fall back on the legions. In a day or two, escort empty wagons home, full wagons back—four hundred lights, two hundred heavies should do it."

  By late afternoon all three legions were dug in—the sixth west of the castle, the seventh northwest, the tenth blocking the road in. That left the south, under the looming shoulder of the mountain, for the Bashkai. They were still making camp, setting up tents, starting cooking fires.

  "How does anyone find anything?"

  Gavin looked up and down the colorful chaos. "Slowly. Tent banners give rank, clan. Look long enough ... "

  "What if someone attacks them?"

  "Ant nest. But mostly they run forward, not back. Ever see a Bashkai without his weapons?"

  "In the bath?"

  "Ever see a Bashkai in a bath?"

  Kyro thought a moment, shook his head.

  "What the hell... ?"

  Gavin was pointing at an arrow quivering in the ground. Voices were yelling. Someone ran past. Someone else staggered, fell clutching his belly, an arrow. Gavin reached down, grabbed the shield the Baskhai had dropped, looked around for the enemy. Beside him Kyro yelped. The feathered end of the arrow sticking out of his shoulder pointed up. Gavin looked up, around. Many of the Bashkai had shields raised, mostly against the castle. He saw one of them stagger, fall. That wasn't it—too far. He turned, looked up to where the lower slope of the mountain rose almost vertically from the edge of the camp, pointed, yelled. One of the Bashkai saw, called out something in his own language, raised his shield against the arrows sleeting down from above. Where the slope above flattened out, Gavin could see figures outlined in black against the eastern sky.

  Gavin recognized the banner on a tent:

  "Arkhal! Out here, shield, get your damn people into cover in the woods."

  There was no answer. He stepped to the tent door, looked in. The blue carpet bristled with arrows. So did the man lying on it.

  "Back to the trees! Back to the trees!"

  Someone else had figured it out. Voices yelling in Bashkai, men pointing up at the mountain, more running for the shelter of the forest behind them. Most made it.

  * * *

  Gavin's tent, a single lamp—outside dark. The commander, the legion commanders, the Hetman of the Bashkhai, a bloody bandage on his arm, a ferocious scowl. Gavin spoke first:

  "Karls got a hell of a lot of archers up on that hilltop without us any the wiser. Any guesses how?"

  He looked at the commander of the Sixth. The officer thought a moment before responding.

  "We saw them go into the castle last night before dark. They could have come back out again after; the castle wasn't surrounded. South along the bottom of the hill, into the forest somewhere, up. Stayed back out of sight."

  Gavin turned to the hetman, spoke slowly.

  "Do you know how many men you lost yet?"

  "Too many. Morning climb mountain, chop archer women, feed black birds."

  The tent door opened. Kyro came in, shoulder neatly bandaged, spoke:

  "Might not be a bad idea, sir. I wouldn't fight Baskhai in the woods. Not with a bow."

  Sitting by a fire, less than a mile away as the crow flies, Caralla expressed much the same opinion.

  "If all my Ladies could move like Kara and fight like you, what's left of the Bashkai would be a fair fight. I don't like fair fights. The first three tataves are moving already, the rest follow. I'm leaving you four octaves. Kill anyone, that's fine, but your job is to scare them, make them move slow. Lose any of your Ladies, very unhappy with you. Get yourself killed, very unhappy with Kara."

  Elaina thought a moment.

  "The last week on a smaller scale? Where it's clear, ambush, one flight, run?"

  "And don't take chances. Think about fighting in the woods against a thousand Karas. It's not like the legions."

  The next morning, the edge of the woods, watching the bare shoulder where they had spent a day and part of two nights. Noises the other side. Kara nocked an arrow, Elaina lifted her whistle, waited.

  Out of the woods a line of big shields. Elaina blew, nocked, released.
>
  Kara's voice was urgent: "It's legionaries. Bashkai move faster. Out of here."

  Elaina hesitated only a moment, lifted the whistle again, two short blasts. Turned back towards the path. A nightmare face ahead of her, streaked red and yellow. She thrust left handed at the face with her bow, snatched right for the dagger at her belt, stepped in. The Bashkai blocked the bow with the axe in his right hand, grunted. She stepped back, he threw, she knocked the axe aside with the bow. Both hands over his belly, scarlet, he took a slow step forward, buckled.

  "Run."

  She started forwards. Another, farther ahead. She threw the bow like a javelin, stepped sideways. He turned to block it, looked down in surprise at the feathers sprouting from his side. Her sword was out, struck, past. Another, no space to let Kara shoot. The arm came down, the axe spun. Elaina stepped forward into it, felt the shock of the haft on her left shoulder, struck with the sword. He stepped back clear of the blow, in, long knife in his left hand, right reaching for another axe. She thrust, felt the shock run up her arm, pulled the sword free.

  "Run."

  She ran, found the path, along it. Shouting behind. She yelled:

  "'Laina and Kara!"

  Out of the woods into the small clearing, through. At the far side, turned. Kara came out of the woods at a run, through the clearing. Two Bashkai after her. Arrows sleeted from the woods, they dropped. Yells.

  "Here."

  She turned. Kara handed her her bow. More Baskhai, more arrows. Elaina put the whistle to her mouth, two short blasts, waited a moment to let the others get to the path. Kara loosed blind across the clearing into the woods, Elaina imitated her. They turned, ran.

  Two hours later they came out of the tree line. On the slope above them, thirty or forty Ladies were sitting around fires cooking dinner. Elaina spotted Caralla at one fire, yelled.

  "Get out; they're coming."

  "Shut up and have dinner, sister."

  Elaina's mouth fell open. Kara caught her by the sleeve, spoke quietly.

  "Do what she says."

  Five minutes later, as Elaina was trying to choke down a bit of bread, the Bashkai burst out of the woods, charged up hill yelling.

  "Down."

  The Ladies at the fire went to their faces; Elaina heard the hiss of arrows over them. A lot of arrows. When she looked back, most of the Bashkai were down, the last few vanishing back into the woods. The slope uphill was alive with archers. Caralla's voice.

  "The real camp, the horses, another mile. How many did you lose?"

  Elaina glanced around, where the Ladies were standing up, dusting themselves off. She counted again.

  "Nobody."

  "Congratulations. You get to do it again."

  * * *

  A week after the attack on the Bashkai camp, Gavin was watching the trebuchets come into action. He liked trebuchets, counterweighted monsters throwing rocks a man could barely lift from safely out of arrow shot of the target. The Karls had smaller engines up on the walls, but rough log walls shielded his teams from most of what they could throw. He turned to Kyro:

  "They're slow, building them is a pain, but they're safe—and with enough time and rocks no wall can stand against them. Including that one. Any word of the supply train yet?"

  "Any day now. What are we short of?"

  "Beer. Three of the damn barrels had leaks."

  Kyro gave his commander a quizzical look.

  "Didn't say where the leaks came from."

  "Commander!"

  Gavin turned. It took him a moment to recognize the figure.

  "Where the hell have you been?"

  "Four days through the mountains with the Hetman and his people, two days more getting back. Didn't Hanno get here?"

  Gavin shook his head.

  "Damn. Fastest runner I had."

  "What did you lose, what did you kill, where is the enemy?"

  "Didn't lose anyone, sir, saving Hanno if they got him. Couple of scratches. Hetman lost people. Didn't get any of the enemy that I know of, sir—they kept running."

  "Where are they?"

  "They came out of the woods two days north of here, sir. Last I saw of them. They had horses, we didn't."

  "Gods. Where are the Bashkai, chasing them over the plains?"

  "No sir. Hetman doesn't like plains—too easy to shoot people. Coming back through the woods along the base of the hills. Longer, should be here soon."

  Gavin looked at Kyros, said the obvious.

  "Whole damn Order between us and the bridge. Guess we do without beer for a while."

  The trebuchet's weight came down, the long arm up, the sling whipping above. Four hundred yards away they heard the crack of the rock hitting the castle wall. Gavin went over to talk to the engineers. Enough time might be a problem.

  * * *

  Fifteen miles north, Caralla was arguing with two of her captains.

  "How do you propose we carry them—slung under the horses' bellies?"

  "Hide a few barrels in a gully, send the rest with the wagons up into the hills."

  "And spend the next week tied to your beer. No. Sisters can drink some now, fill up water bottles for later, but the barrels go with the wagons. Mound for 'Riana, mound for the three beggars that earned it. Horses too if there were time—I wouldn't have charged us. Rest of the bodies the Imperials can take care of when they find them. Wagons up to Stephen's people in the hills, Lyra on the litter. We've been here too long already."

  Kara, in the ring of Ladies listening to the argument, said something to Elaina, Elaina spoke.

  "We could take one barrel in a litter, dinner, breakfast tomorrow."

  "Do it. The two of you—your idea. One barrel."

  * * *

  A week later, Gavin called his officers to council.

  "The stone throwers are doing fine, but they aren't bringing down the wall today or tomorrow. If they did, better hope the Karls have lots of food, because we don't. Two supply trains taken that we know of and I'm not counting on a third. Time to go home. Bring back all of the legions, most of the cavalry, some of the Bashkai—not what we hoped, but a hell of a lot better than last time. Comments?"

  "Bertrand and I could take our boys north, bring the next supply train back with us."

  "Might not be one. Might not get back. Karls have had three weeks and more. Might be six or seven thousand heavies out there, two thousand lights. Your boys are good but I don't like those odds."

  He looked around; nobody said anything.

  "Break camp, move out, three hours. Engineers spend what time they have throwing lots of little stones over the wall, see if we can hurt someone. Tenth and Sixth lead with Bashkai, Seventh guards the rear. Archers, wagons, wounded in between. Leatherbacks scout all directions—including behind us once we're clear of the woods. Rest of the cavalry on both sides. Both of you remember they have more cavalry than we do, so don't chase. Bertrand, a report from your scouts before we move."

  Three hours later the Sixth Legion formed up beside the Seventh, outside the latter's camp. Trumpets blew, drums beat. The army was going home.

  * * *

  A day and a half later, forty miles north, sixty feet higher, Marcus was staring south across the river when he heard boots coming up the narrow ladder.

  "Consider yourself relieved. Anything out there?"

  "Seventy three million five hundred and ninety-seven thousand four hundred and seventeen blades of grass. One hundred and thirty-three ant hills. Twenty poor bastards under cover at the far end of the bridge. Six leatherbacks watering their horses at the river and thinking up excuses for not scouting. From what I've heard the last few days, can't say I blame them. No armies—ours or theirs."

  "What's raising dust at the top of the ridge?"

  "Don't know—maybe one of the scouts is scouting."

  The two men, crowded into the top of the fort's single observation tower, watched.

  "It's a wagon. Coming fast. Like someone's chasing it. "

 
; Marcus lifted the horn to his lips, sounded the alarm. The single wagon was coming down the slope towards the bridge. On the ridge above, one of the escorting leatherbacks clutched at something, fell off his horse. The rest of the troop followed the wagon down. Now the ridge was black with riders. More of the leatherbacks were falling. The wagon rumbled onto the bridge, stopped. The guards at the south end were behind their earthworks, crossbows ready. On the ridge, riders had been replaced by figures on foot. It was too far to see arrows, but Marcus had no doubt why the guards were under cover; the Karl archers had demonstrated before their ability to reach the south end of the bridgehead from the nearest point of the ridge. He looked down at the wagon. The driver was gone; a head bobbed in the river. Marcus hoped the man could swim. The leatherbacks were all down, their bodies spotting the slope. Below him, archers lined the fort's wall.