Avenger: Blades of the Moonsea - Book III

by Richard Baker

  “Where are you, Geran?” Kara murmured to herself. She was supposed to be marching into Hulburg by now, Rhovann’s construct warriors dead or incapacitated, the Council Guard broken and fleeing ahead of her. Instead, she’d spent the last eight or nine hours fighting furiously to avoid annihilation as Marstel’s commanders threw wave after wave at her improvised redoubt. Only the steep scramble up to the rounded, boulder-strewn top had kept the runehelms from destroying what was left of her army; as the creatures sought to climb the last few feet of the bluff, they could be dislodged by heavy rocks rolled down from above or pushed off by a couple of strong men using a big pole. The constructs took little harm from the fall, but each time the creatures had to pick themselves up and clamber up again. Marstel had allowed his tireless automatons to attempt the task for hours before finally sending living human soldiers against the Shieldsworn at the same time—but Kara’s archers had shot Council Guards down by the score, breaking the first general assault. Now Marstel was preparing to try it again.

  She glanced back at the Shieldsworn’s uneven lines. The Icehammers and the Third Shield had managed to fall back from Rosestone relatively intact, but she’d lost a good third of Wester’s First Shield in the runehelms’ assault, and only a handful of Larken’s Second Shield had reached the rallying point after serving as rearguard for the rest of the army. Larken himself was missing—dead or captured, Kara supposed. Most of the five hundred or so soldiers left to her huddled under cloaks or their own shields, catching a little rest after their night of fighting.

  A jingle of mail and a muttered oath in Dwarvish announced Kendurkkel Ironthane’s arrival. The dwarf clumped up the rounded jumble of rocks she stood on, surefooted in his heavy boots. His ever-present pipe glowed softly in the darkness, in spite of the rain. “They’ll be havin’ another go at us soon,” he said.

  “So they will.” She stared down at the enemy companies forming up on the lower hillside. She could see better than most in darkness, and she could see how much the Shieldsworn had hurt the Council Guard. They’d even managed to destroy a dozen or so of the runehelms. But they’d been hurt worse, and the numbers favored Marstel’s army all the more now. “They’re going to storm the hill from several sides at once, and try to overwhelm us.”

  “It’s no’ a bad plan,” Kendurkkel admitted.

  In the earlier attacks Marstel’s captains had concentrated on a narrow, notchlike draw in the hill’s eastern face that formed a ramp to the hilltop, but the Shieldsworn had choked it with boulders and overturned wagons, and Kara had naturally concentrated her forces there. Now the threat of a general escalade forced her to spread her soldiers all around the edge of the hill. Kara doubted that she’d be able to stop Marstel this time. Her archers were almost out of arrows, and her soldiers had denuded the hilltop of any boulders small enough to lever over the bluff at the runehelms.

  “Have ye any word from Laird Hulmaster?” the dwarf asked her quietly.

  “Not yet,” Kara admitted. “I should have heard from him hours ago. I fear that something’s gone wrong.”

  “What d’ye mean t’do if he’s failed?”

  “Fight my way off this hilltop and draw back to Thentia until we find a way to deal with the wizard’s gray warriors.” Given time to reorganize and prepare, Kara thought she might be able to come up with a few ways to deal with the runehelms even if Geran failed to defeat them. But she knew that it was a thin hope she was clinging to. If she retreated from this place—assuming she could retreat, which was no certain thing—there would be no second campaign to liberate Hulburg, not unless another Moonsea power chose to involve itself in their troubles.

  The dwarf nodded. “That might not be up to ye,” he observed. “Marstel’s got no reason t’ let ye go. Have ye given thought t’ requestin’ terms?”

  “Yes, I’ve thought of requesting terms. My life is forfeit, of course, but I’d do it if I thought my Shieldsworn would be spared. Unfortunately, I don’t trust Marstel. I think he’d accept our surrender, and then execute every Hulburgan soldier who took up arms against him. It’s been done before.” She hesitated, and then added. “On the other hand, your Icehammers might be allowed to surrender. I can see if they’ll let you leave the field.”

  “You might’ve forgotten, Lady Kara, but Marstel said no quarter, asked or given.”

  “Mercenaries aren’t usually dealt with like that.”

  “Aye, but as you said, I don’t trust Marstel or his captains. Besides, you’ve dealt fairly wi’ me and mine. It wouldn’t be right to leave ye now.”

  “You’re becoming sentimental, Master Ironthane.”

  “It’s good business t’ burnish a reputation for loyalty,” the dwarf said. “Unless, of course, it gets ye killed in a lost cause, in which case it’s no’ so good for business. I suppose I’m not yet convinced that your cause is lost. I’ve never seen a battlefield leader t’ equal ye, Lady Kara.”

  She smiled grimly at him. “I wish I had just three more companies to match the Icehammers, Master Ironthane. I’d fear nothing from Phlan to Mulmaster.”

  They stood in silence for a short while, watching as the soldiers below took their places. “Assumin’ we’re not all killed in the next half hour, how long d’ you mean to hold the hill?” the dwarf asked.

  “As long as I can. Until I know that he’s failed, I still have hope that somehow Geran will succeed in his task,” Kara replied. “If he’s only been delayed, we might still—” She broke off suddenly, as the soldiers below gave a chorus of war cries and began to surge up the slopes, the runehelms leading the way. She shared one brief look with the dwarf captain, and called for her standard-bearer. “Sergeant Vossen! Pass the word to stand to!” All around her, the Shieldsworn companies stood up, shucking cloaks and hoods and strapping shields into place as they formed ranks at the top of the bluff.

  “Good luck to ye,” Kendurkkel said. “I go!” He jogged off toward the Icehammers, who held the back side of the hill.

  For her own part, Kara motioned for Vossen to follow and headed for the middle of Wester’s shield, which guarded the relatively low south face of the hill; the north face was too steep to climb, and Merrith Darosti’s shield blocked the draw. Sergeant Kolton and the House Guards joined her as she took up a place in the middle of Wester’s shield. There was no reserve left; this was the spot where the fight would be decided.

  “Here we go again,” Wester said to her. The landowner-turned-captain was tired, and he moved with a bad limp from a wound to his left leg, but his eyes still flashed with pugnacious anger. “Haven’t they figured out we’re not going to let ourselves get pushed off this hill?”

  “It seems not,” Kara answered. She motioned to Vossen. “All archers, fire at will! Don’t save your arrows now! And don’t waste any on the runehelms!”

  The thrumming of bowstrings echoed through the damp night air, and once again arrows raked the Council Guard and their merchant sellsword allies. The range was close, and the enemy soldiers made excellent targets as they floundered and slipped up the hillside. Scores screamed and fell under the deadly barrage … but Shieldsworn fell as well, picked off the hilltop by the arbalesters in the Council Guard ranks. With a great, angry roar, Marstel’s soldiers reached the foot of the bluff in a ragged line.

  Runehelms and Council Guards began climbing all around the perimeter of the hill. Shieldsworn met them at the edge of the bluff, hacking down the Council Guards as they struggled to find their footing and shoving runehelms off the slope with timbers and wagon axles. To Kara’s right, several more Shieldsworn managed to lever a large boulder over the edge. It missed the runehelm they’d been aiming for, but it bounded down through the ranks of Marstel’s soldiery. The waiting Shieldsworn raised a harsh shout of triumph as gaps opened up in the attacking ranks. Then all at once, scores of Marstel’s soldiers swarmed up and over the edge—there were simply too many for the Shieldsworn to stop them all. The runehelms who’d avoided being pushed off strode into the Shiel
dsworn ranks, their great halberds reaping a grisly harvest. Screams of pain and roars of anger rose above the ringing of steel on steel and the brutal sounds of halberd blades cleaving mail and flesh.

  Drawing her saber, Kara joined the fray to lend a hand with the fearsome creatures. Shieldsworn hacked at the monsters’ limbs and ducked away from the whistling halberd blades, but the runehelms were terrifying in their power and resilience. Warriors exposing themselves even for an instant to cut at a knee or wrist were hacked down in blinding ripostes or sent flying through the air, broken and bleeding. Thanking the gods of war that they’d managed to delay at least a few of the monsters, Kara lunged close to the nearest and landed one shallow cut to the shoulder before backing away from a halberd blow that could have sheared off a leg. The instant the blade passed, Kara darted back in to strike at the same shoulder, deepening her cut. The silent black visor fixed on her, and the runehelm replied with a straight thrust of the halberd’s spear point. She deflected the point past her torso with a hasty parry, but the blow was so powerful that the flat top of the axe head drove her saber back against her and hammered her off her feet. The ranger gasped for air, her breath knocked out of her.

  The runehelm that had knocked her down pivoted smoothly and raised its halberd for an overhand blow that she could never hope to avoid. Kara saw her death ahead of her, and raised an arm to fend it off … but as the gray monster’s halberd started down on its final arc, it suddenly shuddered violently. The magical glyphs inscribed in its flesh all flashed with purple fire, and a wisp of smoke escaped from its iron visor. The thing uttered a high-pitched, metallic scream—the first sound Kara had ever heard one of the runehelms make—and sank to its knees, its halberd falling beside it. As she watched in amazement, the glyphs marking it blurred and faded, vanishing like ink washed away in water.

  “Geran’s done it,” she said aloud. “Geran’s done it! He’s destroyed the runehelms’ master stone!”

  The runehelm that had almost killed her started to fumble its way to its feet, but a brawny Shieldsworn stepped up beside it and buried his battle-axe in the back of its neck. The monster collapsed to the ground and didn’t move again. Kara picked herself up and looked around; all along the hilltop, her soldiers were hacking the crippled runehelms to pieces and throwing back the Council Guard’s assault.

  “Are you hurt, Lady Kara?” Vossen asked urgently.

  “No, I’ll be fine,” Kara answered. That wasn’t entirely true; she suspected she’d have quite a bruise to show later. Around her, Wester’s shield was quickly clearing the bluff of the enemies who’d managed to reach the top.

  “There’s something wrong with the gray guardians,” the banner-sergeant said. He pointed. “Look, they can hardly stand.”

  Kara followed Merrith’s arm. She could make out dozens of the runehelms no longer fighting their way up the hillside. Some leaned on their halberds, some kneeled on the damp moorgrass, and others were simply motionless on the ground. Without the hulking monsters to lead the way, the Council Guards were already falling back in disorder. Marstel’s banner wavered on the lower hillside, and a disorganized knot of Council Guards and merchant company mercenaries dashed back and forth in panic as they realized that their mighty allies were unresponsive. The banner’s not that far, Kara decided. And she still had a couple of companies that were more or less intact …

  “Sergeant Kolton, my horse!” she shouted. “Captain Wester! Form your shield on me! Vossen, signal the Icehammers and Third Shield to follow our charge! We’re going after the standard!”

  Nils Wester nodded at once. “With pleasure, Lady Kara! Come on, lads—there sits that fat old arse Marstel himself! Let’s go give him our opinion of his reign!” The First Shield quickly settled into ranks on either side of Kara, the soldiers clashing blades to their shields and shouting insults at the Council Guard forces.

  Sergeant Kolton’s men brought their mounts forward from where they’d been picketed, and Kara swung herself up into Dancer’s saddle. The big mare snorted eagerly, sensing Kara’s mood, and the rest of Kolton’s guards horsed themselves as well.

  Kara waited a few moments to let Wester’s soldiers find their places, then waved her sword over her head. “Charge!” she cried, and spurred Dancer out ahead of her soldiers. In a lurching, skittering slide, she rode down the rocky incline, her guards following after her.

  Wester’s Shieldsworn roared in battle fury and ran after her, slipping and sliding down the wet stone as they dropped over the bluff’s edge to the corpse-strewn ground below. Kara aimed straight for Marstel, steering nimbly around the clumsy runehelms and knots of Council Guards who turned to stand in her path; she trusted Wester’s soldiers to deal with them soon enough. The surging Shieldsworn crashed through the disorganized sellswords and the constructs both, sweeping the line of battle fifty yards downslope in a great, confused mass of shouting warriors and silent runehelms. Even as Wester’s men left their places, the Third Shield and the Icehammers appeared at the bluff and streamed over to follow. With Marstel’s captains spread out to ring the hillside, Kara’s charge brought almost all of her strength against only a portion of her enemy’s.

  Kara galloped closer to Marstel’s standard, Kolton and his men guarding her back. Ahead of her she spied the old lord in his half-plate, ringed by his own bodyguards and captains. She drew back her arm, readying a murderous saber slash for the false harmach, but only five yards short of her goal Marstel glanced away from the main press and noticed her closing in on his standard. “Guards!” he shouted, backing his horse away. “To me! To me!”

  A Council Guard spurred his horse into Kara’s path, blocking her way. With a quick nudge of her knees, she crouched low in the saddle and let the big mare strike the soldier’s mount chest-to-flank and overturn the other horse. The guard fell under his mount and vanished, but the impact spun Dancer half around and carried her several strides away. By the time Kara recovered and righted herself, Marstel was out of reach, and the mercenary captain Edelmark stood in her way, mounted on a heavy charger with his sword bared.

  “Come on, you spellscarred bitch!” he shouted at her. “I want to see if you’re as good as they say!”

  Kara narrowed her eyes. Six months earlier Edelmark had led the surprise assault that carried Griffonwatch with the aid of Rhovann’s magic, and she’d heard plenty of tales of his brutality as the leader of Marstel’s soldiers. He had much to answer for. “Good,” she replied. “I was afraid you might surrender.”

  With a shout, she spurred Dancer to meet him. He parried her first cut, countered with a cut at her face that she passed over her head, and recovered in time to block as she cut at the back of his neck. Then she was by him, wheeling Dancer around to make another pass while he struggled to turn his own horse to meet her again. Kara spurred up behind him on his left, and Edelmark twisted in his saddle with a vile curse to guard his back. His mail shirt saved him from a wicked slash across the shoulder blades, and before Kara could land a better-aimed blow he spurred his horse out of her reach. Once again Kara and Dancer darted up behind him on left, and this time Edelmark turned left in front of her and stood up in his stirrups. He hacked down at her with fury in his eyes as their mounts tangled together in the middle of the press. The Mulmasterite mercenary was stronger than she was; instead of trying to halt his attacks with pure strength of arm she deflected them to one side or the other, ducking away from each in turn.

  “Stand still, damn you!” he snarled. Again he hacked down at her, and Kara met his heavy cut with a turn of her wrist, deflecting it to her left. Before he could recover, she flicked her saber’s point out in a quick, deadly arc that gashed him across the eyes. Edelmark shrieked and clutched at his face; she leaned forward and ran him through the armpit as blood streamed down his face. The captain slumped slowly over his saddlehorn as his charger bolted away from her.

  “Well fought, m’lady!” Kendurkkel Ironthane called. The dwarf stood astride a dismembered runehelm a few yards aw
ay, a heavy axe in his fist. “I never had much likin’ for that one!”

  Kara grinned at Ironthane, and paused to take stock of the fighting. She noticed that she had the taste of blood in her mouth, and her jaw ached; somewhere in the furious play of swords she’d had her own gauntlet bashed back into her mouth and hadn’t even noticed. The sky to the east was definitely growing lighter, and the rain had slackened to a gray morning drizzle. All around her, the Council Guard was breaking apart and fleeing in disorder, pursued here and there by shouting bands of Shieldsworn. Without the runehelms to back them up, Marstel’s thugs were no match for her own soldiers; the Shieldsworn were better armed, better trained, and buoyed by the sudden reversal. “I didn’t think they’d break so soon,” she muttered aloud.

  The dwarf gave the runehelm at his feet one sharp kick to make sure it was done for, and shouldered his axe. He pointed east over the moors, where Marstel and the survivors of his standard guards galloped back toward Hulburg. “Th’ sight o’ their lord and master riding for his life was no’ so good for their morale.”

  “Let’s not make light of the work ahead, Master Ironthane. We’ve got a long hard day ahead of us still.” Kara glanced around, trying to get the measure of the fight. The Council Guard might be broken, but she’d still have to dig the Jannarsks, the Verunas, and the Iron Ring out of their fortified compounds, and there were the Cinderfists and the Tailings mobs to deal with too. Finally, she’d have to take Griffonwatch, although that was a job best undertaken with the sort of magic Sarth or Geran might command. “It’s not over until we’ve got control of the castle, and Marstel and his wizard are in our pockets.”