Dragonfire

by Charles Jackson

  “A quarter-mile now… no more…!” William called back with excitement, still leading the king’s horse at a canter as Phaesus, against all odds or reason managed to somehow remain upright and conscious, although the agony of the ride was written clearly across his ashen features. “I can see archers firing from the ramparts!”

  The Longhouse had never been intended to withstand heavy assault but it had been provided with reasonable defences all the same. Trained archers with longbows manned the rooftops, firing down at anything coming within 200 metres with deadly accuracy, while ballistae mounted at each of the building’s northern corners were currently engaged with the nearest of the landed assault ships. The only vessel in range, it’d quickly been set alight by their huge, flaming arrows and was now burning merrily even as crewmen and soldiers alike struggled desperately to disembark.

  “They’re still holding …” Randwick muttered breathlessly, riding close at the king’s side with Charleroi seated before him. “Perhaps some hope remains…”

  In the moment that followed, a great explosion rose from the river bank fifty metres east of The Longhouse and the ground shook as the roar of it reached them seconds later. Earth and smoke blossomed into the air, startling their horses and forcing all of them to rein in hard and bring the party to a complete halt. Most of them could only look on in blind terror, completely unaware of what was coming. With the limited knowledge of modern warfare she’d learned from her school work, the History Channel and her father’s old, non-fiction books on World War Two, only Nev had any understanding of what was about to come.

  “Away… we need to get away…!” She called desperately, dragging at Godfrey’s tunic as she tried to get his attention. “We need to get out of here… now…!”

  “But they’ve missed their mark…” William called back, seriously underestimating her in a manner Godfrey had quickly learned never to do. “They’ve shot their bolt and come up short…”

  To his credit, Godfrey was already turning his horse away in the seconds that followed as the building’s central section disintegrated in a shattering barrage of fire and debris.

  A thousand metres offshore and well out of range of any land-based weapons, the purpose-built bombardment vessel Thunderbolt had fired a single ranging shot from one of two large, cast-iron mortars mounted at her bow. Upon noting the fall of that first round – long and to the left – some minor adjustments of traverse and elevation had been made during reloading before both had fired again in quick succession, completely obscuring the vessel for several moments in great clouds of muzzle smoke.

  Intended specifically for the bombardment of fortifications, the weapons were of heavier calibre than the cannon being used aboard Devastator and the other Blackships, trading range for greater explosive power and higher angles of attack. Identical in design to the smaller explosive-filled projectiles used on those other vessels, the spherical shells fired by Thunderbolt’s huge pair of 32-pounder guns were detonated by a timed gunpowder fuse ignited by the flash of the propelling charge.

  The shells had punched their way straight through the wooden walls of the Longhouse and buried themselves deep into the structure before their fuses had burned down, and the resulting explosions had shattered and collapsed a huge section at the centre, sending debris and wreckage spiralling into the air and setting off a number of smaller, secondary fires as stored oils and other flammables within also caught alight.

  “There’s a crossing half a mile upstream!” Randwick roared, bringing his own horse about and urging it past Godfrey and the others at a gallop. “Nothing for it now but to cross there and make for the fortress…!”

  Charleroi was sobbing in the saddle before him, overwhelmed completely by the thought that anyone still inside – Griselda among them – was almost certainly dead. Everything was clear in Randwick’s mind however: terrible as the situation was… no matter how horrific the losses, their primary goal at that moment was to get the king and the princess to safety. There’d be time enough for mourning later if any of them survived the day.

  Two more shells exploded inside the ruined structure a few moments later, collapsing the entire north-western corner and sending a dozen archers and the ballista mounted there tumbling to destruction amongst the wreckage. Fire continued to spread, already flaring up in sheets through the building’s shattered centre as a tower of thick, black smoke rose high into the air.

  They rode on at a gallop, following the river bends south to a low bridge of stone and rough-hewn wood planks, clattering across without slowing and then turning east once more with the towers of Fortress Burnii already visible in the distance through the treetops. Their progress slowed then as they left the track and rode on into the surrounding forest, Randwick and William at the lead and finding their way through instinct and memory alone. A few hundred metres and they were clear of the trees once more, galloping again through rolling hills of open farmland as they began the slow climb toward the summit of Round Hill, still at least two kilometres away by Nev’s fearful reckoning.

  They reached a wider, more travelled track a few moments later, coming to a halt at a nearby crossroads and resting the horses as William pulled in close to the king and checked his condition, making sure he hid his reaction from the princess behind. Sloping upward toward the south-east, a stacked pile of fallen trees lay in the fields behind them, leftovers of local loggers who’d dropped their tools and evacuated the area earlier that afternoon.

  “Not long now, Your Majesty,” he assured, trying to sound as confident as possible.

  “Indeed, young sir,” Phaesus agreed weakly, his words rasping in his throat as he lay forward against the horse’s neck for support and clapped his own reassuring hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Not long indeed, I fear… but time enough yet to see the rest of you safe…”

  “Don’t lose hope yet, sire,” William shook his head, trying to remain positive and using every ounce of his manly strength to prevent a tear forming at the corner of his eye. “There’s medics at the fortress – the best in Huon.”

  “Best in the whole of the Osterlands, no doubt,” the king smiled ruefully, whispering softly: “but they still may not be enough, I warrant. See us safe and sound behind those walls, captain, and we’ll take anything that follows as it comes…”

  Fire… death… destruction…! A momentary vision of catastrophe flashed through Nev’s mind as she too rested against the neck of her horse, causing her to gasp and sit rigidly upright, glancing about herself in sudden fright with wide, unfocussed eyes.

  “We need to leave… now…!” She barked instantly, her conscious mind snapping brutally back to reality as she turned toward the others.

  “Another moment or two and we’ll be on our way up the hill to safety,” William assured, imagining he’d managed to hide his patronising tone.

  “Not the fortress,” she shot back with a shudder. “Nothing that way but disaster…we need to flee – get out of here… now…!”

  “Fortress Burnii is right there…!” William of Zeehn declared boldly, pointing up at the distant castle with disbelief in his eyes. “Surely you’d not have us turn away now when we’re so close to safety?”

  “No one’s safe there,” she insisted, her words more urgent now as Randwick brought his horse in close, concern spreading across his features.

  “Ready to go when you are,” Godfrey offered without a second thought, giving a single nod of recognition. He knew well enough by now to listen carefully when Nev sounded that certain.

  “I think perhaps we need to think about this…” Randwick began, not entirely convinced but clearly moved by her conviction all the same.

  “Surely, sir, you’ll not retreat on the advice of a girl…?” William persisted, almost sounding petulant now as he turned to Randwick for support.

  “The same ‘girl’ who saved my life and brought news of this damned invasion to us in the first place…?” The old man asked pointedly, not bothering to hide his annoy
ance. “I for one am willing to keep an open mind after what I’ve seen this last twenty-four hours, and it’s my advice that you should too.”

  “But, My Lord: the fortress is right there…” William blurted, convinced there must be some option other than following a woman’s orders.

  There was a banshee-shriek in the sky in that moment as a shell fired from Thunderbolt arced overhead, off to the east, exploding on the far slope of Round Hill beyond the fortress itself in a spray of earth and smoke.

  “You were saying…?” Randwick asked rather unnecessarily, catching the young officer’s eye again in that moment and raising a single eyebrow that spoke volumes. “I’ve no objection to heeding good advice regardless of who it comes from. I can make it a direct order… from me…” he added, his voice hardening “…if it makes is easier to swallow your pride…”

  Anger and embarrassment flared in William’s eyes for a moment, but fear took over quickly enough as a second shell struck the walls of Fortress Burnii low at the base of one of the trebuchet turrets a few seconds later, exploding in a flash of flame and a huge upheaval of earth and shattered stone that sent that whole section of battlement tumbling downward in its wake. A third landed directly after, striking the roofs of the inner keep and shattering the ramparts there as debris rained down over a wide area, some of it landing disturbingly close.

  “Prepare to move out…!” Randwick barked loudly, seeing no point in further discussion as he turned his horse about to face the rest of them. “We’ll head inland and stop for assistance the moment we’re clear of danger…”

  “Alarm… alarm…!” A cry of warning came from one of William’s guardsmen then, positioned a few dozen metres north to keep watch at a bend in the road. “Blackwatch approaching at the gallop…!” He shouted urgently, circling his horse as it was filled with excitement over the possibility of battle. “Making straight for us… yah…!” And with a single battle cry, he lowered his lance and charged forward into the fray, disappearing from view almost immediately even as William called desperately from him to hold back.

  “Not alone, you fool…!” He barked angrily, the order far too late as the rumble of approaching hoof beats began to reach their ears. Remy, Diego: with me…! Master Randwick, we’ll hold them as best we can. Get the rest safety, sir!”

  “What, and miss all the fun…?” Lester cawed with wild enthusiasm, sliding from his horse and making for the nearest pile of sawn tree trunks, stacked a hundred metres or so away up a gentle incline leading away to the south-east. “Let’s see how many of these buggers we can send back in a box!”

  “Guess I’ll need to keep an eye on him,” Godfrey sighed, resigned to what was about to happen as he climbed down from his own horse, leaving Nev not at all happy in the saddle. “Stay with the king and the princess! Get clear and keep riding!”

  “Are you nuts?” She shrieked, dropping to the ground seconds later and drawing the katana. “I’m not leaving you lot here to take them on alone…”

  “Too late anyway,” Randwick called darkly, reining in his own horse and charging up the hill toward the same slope Lester was making for. “They have us surrounded!”

  Turning as one, they all stared up toward the top of the summit to the south-east beyond the fallen trees. A six-man troop of black-clad cavalry had already formed across the ridge there, no more than two hundred metres distant and barring their way. With more approaching from the north, it was clear now that there was nothing for it but to fight.

  “Fall back, man!” Randwick calling out to William as he and his remaining two troopers prepared to charge in unison. “There’s too many of ‘em to throw your life away. Stand with us instead and defend the Royal Family!”

  Although reluctant to pull back, William could see the logic of it well enough and conceded the point. He turned with his men and followed the rest of them up the hill to the abandoned logging camp as six more Blackwatch appeared around the bend of the road, lances held high as they rode at the canter. That there was no sign of William’s third cavalryman was as sure a sign of his fate as any evidence of a body.

  Randwick rode on behind them all, his gaze alternating between the newly-arrived enemy cavalry and William’s retreating form, riding on ahead.

  Need to watch that one… He thought darkly to himself, thinking on the younger man’s earlier words. If he can’t take orders from a woman, who’s to say he’ll take them from a queen…?

  The second Blackwatch troop spread out in an east-west line across the Stewpot Road, and as Randwick and the others looked desperately back over their shoulders they could all see the bright blue tunic of Prince Baal as he and two other riders turned the corner and came into view behind them. He’d brought his horse to a halt at the left of the formation and even at that distance, the prince’s body language seemed to suggest he’d much rather be anywhere else at that moment.

  Nev paused then in mid-flight for a moment, her focus shifting slightly as her eyes were unconsciously drawn to the other two other horsemen beside Baal, all three waiting patiently in shadow near the hillside at the bend in Stewpot Road. Although she couldn’t make out any features, the faint twinkle of blue that flashed at the centre of one of those silhouettes told her it was a member of the Brotherhood she was looking at, and the sudden flicker of images that appeared fleetingly in her thoughts at that moment left her in no doubt whatsoever that she was staring straight at Chief Quisitor Silas. A warning call came from Godfrey then, breaking the momentary spell that had fallen upon her, and she once more broke into a run, working hard to catch the others up.

  As they reached cover, they found some small good fortune in that some of the felled trunks had been stacked in large, squared-off piles, effectively forming solid walls on all four sides that stood at least a metre or more high – more than enough to provide at least some cover. There were smaller logs and branches piled within, and all of them save for Charleroi and the king immediately set about piling those between the stacked trunks, creating smaller but no-less effective barriers intended to make any assault on horseback close to impossible.

  “Cop that, y’ mongrels…!” Lester howled wildly, loosing his first bolt in the direction of the horsemen on the hill. “I got a bag full o’ these here for ya!” The shot had fallen well short – the weapon’s effective range little better than 150 metres at best – but the shot served a warning all the same that coming closer would present significant risk.

  “Damn you, Roberts!” William muttered darkly, sliding from his horse and sending it running with a slap on its rump. “You’d have been more use to us alive and no mistake. Standard formation: two troops of forward scouts…” he observed as Randwick appeared beside him, sword in hand.

  “Aye… and plenty more of ‘em will arrive soon enough: if we’re lucky, we might get ten minutes alone with this lot. How’s your aim?” He asked drily, nodding at the crossbow in the younger man’s hands.

  “Fine on the barracks range,” William admitted with a rueful smile of his own, basically admitting he’d never fired the weapon at another man before. “I’ll shoot true enough. We only carry twenty bolts apiece though – I pray that’s enough.”

  “As do I,” Randwick nodded. “We’ve reasonable cover here and they’ll have to come in after us to finish us off… we’ve a chance at least. It’s the reinforcements that worry me – I’d prefer an attack now rather than holding until the rest of them arrive.”

  “Where do you want us?” Godfrey called from a position further down toward the far corner of that stack of logs.

  “I’ll have you cover that opening if you would, Master Westacre,” the old man answered instantly, “and your boy there can shoot at anything coming down from the hill. “How many bolts do you hold, lad?” He asked loudly.

  “Maybe fifty-odd…” Lester shot back gleefully, slotting one into his crossbow as he spoke. “Dunno for sure, but at least that many…”

  “Not well, that boy…” Randwick grinned, shaking hi
s head and not at all unhappy about it under the circumstances “…and all the better for it! Aim true, lad: don’t waste ‘em.”

  “And me?” Nev asked, standing on William’s opposite side with a determined expression and one hand on the hilt of her sheathed katana.

  “I’ll have you mind the other end of the logs if you will, mistress…” Randwick answered quickly with a nod of thanks, cutting the young officer off before he could say something stupid like suggesting she stay out of trouble. “Keep your head low: it’s of no use to y’ with an arrow through it.”

  With that sobering remark, Nev steeled her nerves as best she could and took up a crouched position a metre back from the branch-filled opening at the western end of the logs, taking care to do exactly as the old man had said and keep her head down below the level of the barricade.

  “They’re gonna charge…!” Lester called loudly, voice wavering with a mix of excitement and fear as the troop of Blackwatch that had arrived by the Stewpot Road tightened their formation, lowered their lances and kicked their mounts forward into a slow trot. At the same time, the original troop at the top of the hill also spread out, cantering across the upward slope before coming to a halt just out of shooting range. Pausing just long enough to allow their colleagues to begin their charge from the north, they too then wheeled around and spurred their own mounts to the gallop, powering down the hill from the east at similar speed.

  A roar rose up from both directions, barely audible over the thunder of the horses’ hooves but frightening all the same. Four crossbows fired together, toppling two riders from the saddle as the rest came on. The defenders frantically went through the reloading cycle, lowering their crossbows to the ground to steady them as they worked the push-pull action of the cocking levers to draw their bow strings back for another bolt. They all knew the enemy was close – far too close – and in the end, only William and Lester were fast enough to reload and raise their weapons in time, each felling another rider from the northern troop before the last two were upon them, leaping their horses straight over the barricade and into the enclosure itself. One of their lowered lances found a target as they came through, skewering the guardsman named Remy through the chest and pinning him against the ground, screaming.