Vengeance of Hope

by P J Berman

  ‘No!’

  ‘And do you intend to stand by and watch as the self-same man burns your city and takes your families from you, as he has taken mine from me?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘So what shall we do to all who support such a man?’

  ‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’

  ‘Then may the Gods be with us!’

  Her soldiers exulted into their war cry and Silrith thrust her sword in the air; turning to face her destiny.

  Down below, the cheer from the top of the walls was intimidating, to say the least. Near the front, holding on to a strut of one of the army’s many huge wooden siege ladders, Jithrae tried to keep his face neutral, but that was more than could be said for some of his comrades. Above the drum beat, his ears picked out the sound of trickling liquid and with a sideways glance, he saw that it was coming from the trousers of the man next to him. From somewhere behind them came the repugnant sound of someone being sick and whoever it was, they weren’t the first. The terrible anticipation was getting too much.

  Finally, all the militia units detailed for the first assault were in position, where they were joined by a few hundred of the wild Defroni mercenaries and the drums went quiet. Through the momentary silence came the singular note of a bugle and the order was relayed by many other buglers throughout the army as if that first note had become a chorus of echoes. In a moment the eerie effect was lost as the drumbeat struck up again and each officer bellowed ‘Forward!’

  Back on the walls, there was a sense of the calm before the storm, as all watched the ladder-carrying militia units start to move, followed by the enemy archers, while the defending crossbowmen, in turn, waited for them to come into range, weapons at the ready as the enemy drums sounded.

  Dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum

  ‘The moment I give the order, loose the first volley. Concentrate your fire on those carrying the ladders. Do not get distracted by the enemy archers,’ Silrith ordered, taking her helmet from a squire who had followed her and putting it on, before taking her shield as well.

  ‘You,’ she told the young squire. ‘See that my orders are conveyed to the archers below.’ In addition to the crossbowmen on the walls, lines of longbowmen waited down below them in the walled courtyard. The squire bowed and hurried away.

  Dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum

  Suddenly there was a low note blown on a war horn and the soldiers down below screamed their war cries as they broke into a run.

  ‘Fire!’ Silrith bellowed, thrusting her sword into the air, as dozens of shafts hurtled overhead and down towards the onrushing peasants and tribesmen. Within seconds dozens became hundreds as the archers intensified their barrage.

  There was a unified cry from the soldiers below as some were hit, but the ladder bearers came right on regardless and their wooden cargo soon swung upwards as they reached the walls and the first troops began to climb.

  ‘Shoot at the climbers! Do not let them get near the ramparts!’ Silrith commanded.

  But nevertheless, while many of the attackers were hit in the incessant hail of arrows, some of them falling and knocking their comrades from the ladders in a deadly game of dominos, others remained untouched. A militiaman’s head appeared over the top of the battlements right in front of Silrith. She parried his spear aside with her shield as he thrust it forward and she smashed down her own blade on to his head with a clang. The metal helmet withstood the strike, but even so, the dazed soldier lost his grip on the ladder and slumped backwards, plummeting to his undoubted death.

  Instantly Silrith was faced with another opponent, who jabbed his spear up at her, but again her shield was her salvation and she buried the sword into the militiaman’s exposed neck. Silrith ripped her blade back in a spray of blood and the man lurched backwards as he fell to the ground, just as his comrade had done.

  Out of nowhere a bearded axe sliced upwards into Silrith’s vision. She instinctively parried it with her own weapon, but it hit her sword with such force that it knocked her backwards. For a terrible moment, she was off balance, teetering near the edge of the wall. The man seized his chance and he climbed up and got a foot on to the ramparts. Regaining her balance, Silrith saw that he was a huge Defroni warrior; all muscle with dark tattoos, a shaggy black beard and long hair like a horse’s tail, wearing a loincloth and thick, draped animal skins while bellowing his challenge. He swung at her again. Silrith raised her shield and the massive impact jarred her whole body as the axe smashed down on to it. Her legs almost buckled but still she didn’t fall. The warrior came at her again, but in a desperate defensive move she was able to block him a second time; the two metal weapons clanging together as she hung on defiantly.

  The man withdrew the axe to attack a third time and raised it above his head with a roar. Seizing her chance, Silrith thrust forwards from behind her shield and cut deep into the man’s abdomen, burying the sword halfway to the hilt before wrenching it free with a cascade of crimson.

  The warrior roared to attack again, but the huge loss of blood had weakened him and as he staggered forward, Silrith darted around his axe, batting it aside with her shield, slicing her sword round in a sideways motion, sending the warrior’s head flying from its shoulders. The headless body dropped to its knees and collapsed on to the hard stone below, its muscles going into spasm.

  Silrith turned back to the nearest ladder as the seemingly endless number of militiamen and warriors kept on coming. As another opponent fell, Silrith and the two soldiers either side of her took hold of the top of the ladder and pushed it with all the strength they could muster, sending it crashing to the ground along with every soul on it.

  While still unbalanced Silrith was alarmed to feel a pair of hands on her back and she was suddenly pitched forwards. For some moments the world appeared to slow down; her eyes interpreting the tiniest detail as she began to fall. She reached out in all directions, desperately grappling at the air in search of something to grab on to, then looking straight down at the scene below. Then, just as death seemed certain, she felt another pair of hands take hold of her right arm and haul her to safety. Her eyes met those of Gasbron; two studs of hazel from under his Invicturion’s helmet and his stubble-ridden face gaping somewhat as if in shock at seeing her almost fall from the ramparts. She nodded her gratitude, but the moment was shattered in an instant as he turned to bury his sword into the neck of an enemy.

  On some parts of the wall, the defenders were starting to wane under the onslaught of the more numerous enemy and a few had made it on to the ramparts.

  ‘Hold the line! Longbows, fire!’ Silrith commanded, her voice carrying above the clamour.

  At her order, from behind the walls on which the combatants fought, a huge volley of arrows from Silrith’s longbowmen, who had been waiting in reserve, looped up and over the top of them in an arc, before surging downwards on to the many onrushing militia who were still at the bottom of the enemy ladders, trying to reach the defenders while their comrades climbed. Men and women screamed as the deadly shafts found their mark.

  Volley after volley came down, raining death on the soldiers further behind, leaving the attackers on the ladders isolated from the rest of the army. As the enemy wavered in the face of adversity, Silrith’s army stood fast. Silrith found herself back alongside Gasbron and they held their ground tenaciously, both cutting, slashing and roaring as if they were possessed by demons.

  Eventually, under the hail of arrows and the stout resistance on the walls, the enemy buglers sounded the retreat, but in truth it was nothing short of a rout.

  Shouts and bellows erupted from Silrith’s army, as they jeered at the running soldiers. Silrith punched her fists in the air, raising her bloodied sword and battered shield about her head, more in relief than celebration. She’d done it. She’d survived her first battle, or at least the first stage of it.

  Yet something troubled her. At some point in the battle, she had noticed that, while Bezekarl had previously b
een on the ramparts close to her, now he seemed to have disappeared. She worried for his safety, scanning the area but not seeing his face.

  ‘Victory is pleasing sight, is it not?’ Gasbron said, apparently misinterpreting Silrith’s body language.

  ‘It is,’ she said, forcing thoughts of her cousin to the back of her mind. ‘Our soldiers have done well. Look at all those troops retreating.’

  ‘Yes and plenty won’t be,’ said Gasbron, indicating the headless Defroni warrior at their feet. ‘Dead bodies aren’t a pretty sight, but at least they won’t be bothering us again.’

  Silrith looked at the decapitated corpse and then at the many other bodies about the place. In the cold that came after the heat of battle, Silrith found the musky stench intensely nauseating.

  ‘Quite. Now, come with me,’ Silrith said.

  ‘You!’ Silrith called to the nearest militiaman. ‘Fetch Lord Yathrud and Prince Shappa. Tell them I wish to see them in Lord Yathrud’s quarters immediately. And see if you can find my cousin Bezekarl as well. Give him the same message.’

  Gasbron followed Silrith down the steps into the walled courtyard.

  ‘So, how do you think I performed in my first fight?’ she asked.

  ‘Impressively well, my Queen, apart from one minor slip.’

  ‘Do not jest about that Gasbron. I felt a push.’

  ‘A push?’

  ‘Yes, a push.’

  ‘Well, it was very crowded up there, my Queen. With all the pushing and shoving during the fight, somebody must have done it by accident.’

  ‘This was no accident Gasbron. I clearly felt two hands on my back,’ Silrith said firmly, rounding on him, but inwardly she scolded herself and bit her tongue. ‘But, again, you were there to save my life,’ she added in a gentler tone. ‘You seem to be making a habit of it. I cannot thank you enough.’

  ‘Anything for you, my Queen.’

  Silrith could see in his eyes that he wanted to say something more sentimental, but he’d stopped short of that.

  ‘I say! My Lady?’ The moment was broken by a shout from behind them. Silrith turned to face Prince Shappa.

  ‘My Lady. I see that you got stuck into the sport then?’ Shappa said, indicating her bloodstained clothes.

  ‘I’m not quite certain that sport is the word I’d use to describe our fight to save Bennvika’s freedom from tyranny, but yes, my attire bears witness to the fate of those who stood against me,’ Silrith said awkwardly.

  ‘Well, the streaks of scarlet suit you well,’ Shappa jested.

  ‘I doubt those who provided them would agree,’ Silrith said.

  ‘They brought it upon themselves,’ said Shappa.

  ‘You think we commoners have any choice in which royal we fight for?’ said Gasbron angrily.

  ‘I do not believe that that is what Prince Shappa meant,’ said Silrith, placing a hand on Gasbron’s forearm to calm him as he glared at the Etrovansian.

  ‘But I agree,’ she added. ‘Shappa, it is clear to me that a life lived under Jostan’s regime can only be one of terror. Those in Jostan’s army still number among the very people we fight to liberate.’

  There was silence between the three of them for a moment, as Shappa and Gasbron continued to stare each other down and all that could be heard was the bustling of those around them.

  ‘Your Grace, may we speak alone for a moment?’ Shappa asked, not taking his eyes off Gasbron.

  ‘Of course. Chief Invicturion Wrathun, go and wait for us in Lord Yathrud’s quarters. Tell him we will be there presently.’

  ‘Yes, my Queen,’ said Gasbron, still staring at Shappa angrily, before turning to leave.

  ‘You shouldn’t let him speak out of turn like that,’ Shappa said once Gasbron was out of earshot.

  ‘Isn’t that what you’re doing right now by giving me such advice?’

  ‘Of course. My apologies. Look, I wanted to talk to you about how things have developed recently.’

  ‘It’s alright. I know you weren’t at fault for the attempt on my life. Nobody saw Vaezona’s accomplice, or who killed Avaresae and the guard. It could have been anyone. Don’t be concerned. I don’t place the blame at your door.’

  ‘I thank you for being so understanding and while we are on the subject of recent events, there was something else I wanted to speak to you about as well. On the night of the feast, I kissed you on the cheek. Do you remember?’

  ‘Yes of course,’ Silrith chuckled. ‘It was nice.’

  ‘Good. I know you said something similar at the time but things have been different since then and I’d hate for there to be any, well, awkwardness, between us.’

  ‘I don’t feel any. Do you?’

  ‘Well, no. I suppose not. I’m sorry. This must all sound a trifle absurd. Please, think of it as a declaration of my very high regard for you.’

  Silrith laughed.

  ‘Thank you Shappa. I shall take it as such. Now, we really should hurry along and join the others.’

  Chapter 18

  Once inside the Alyredd meeting room, Silrith, Yathrud, Gasbron and Shappa sat around the large oak table to discuss the events of the first day of the siege. Bezekarl had also re-joined them.

  ‘We’ve made a good start but that’s it. There are still a lot of things that need to go our way if we are to survive,’ Gasbron put in, as ever playing the part of the perennial realist.

  ‘That’s a little defeatist, don’t you think?’ Shappa chided him.

  Silrith rolled her eyes. It was getting obvious by now that Shappa would disagree with anything Gasbron said on principle.

  ‘It’s merely a statement of fact,’ Gasbron stated firmly.

  ‘And who are you to decide that, soldier?’ Shappa spat.

  ‘Oh in the name of the Gods, stop it, both of you!’ Silrith protested. ‘This is stupid! Talk like this is cheap and wastes time.’

  Instinctively they both turned to glare at her.

  ‘Enough,’ she said firmly. She turned to Yathrud and wished the affable old man would say something to help clear the air between the two men, but it never came. For some reason, he seemed happy to watch them fight it out and his face wore a brooding expression; the kind that suggested that he was following the goings-on around him, but that his mind was also somewhere else. Meanwhile, Bezekarl simply sat pathetically in the background, adding nothing to the conversation thus far.

  ‘What are your thoughts on our situation, uncle?’ Silrith asked. ‘You know what they say. The one who says least hears most.’

  ‘Wise words, as ever, my Queen,’ said Yathrud. ‘As for my thoughts, well, I believe Gasbron is right. It’s all very well fighting the honourable way but, given the threats that Jostan has made, we must remember that there is more at stake here than just our honour. For the protection of the people of this city, we must be audacious. We mustn’t present Jostan with a predictable opponent. He has the advantage of numbers and we are, for as long as we have enough food, safe in this citadel. So, what is the last thing he’d expect us to do?’

  ‘Attack,’ Silrith answered.

  ‘Correct. He’ll be gearing up for a long siege and he will soon be preparing his troops for the next advance. He thinks that he’ll be able to dictate the way this fight is going to pan out.’

  ‘So, we need to steal the initiative away from him,’ Silrith said.

  ‘What do you propose, your Grace?’ Shappa enquired.

  ‘A frontal attack is too great a risk,’ said Silrith. ‘That can only be a last resort. But what we have to remember is that the only thing holding that army together is Jostan himself. We have to kill him. Then this war will be over.’

  Shappa nodded.

  ‘We just need to find a willing assassin and a way to get them into the enemy camp,’ he said. ‘Do you have any ideas Bezekarl? You’re very quiet over there.’

  ‘Err, yes, sorry! No, my mind is blank of names to suggest. We must find reinforcements. I’ll send messages to Intei and Lithrofe
d. That is the only way we can win.’

  ‘There will be no further letters, Bezekarl. I have told you of the risks.’ Yathrud gave him a hard look. ‘It looks like we’re going to have to make it official. As of today, any letters leaving Rildayorda are banned. Information comes in but does not go out. There’s too much risk of treason. If we can stop all messages from getting out, then that will include those sent by enemy spies.’

  ‘Certainly father, but it must also be considered that the assassin may be taken prisoner and may talk.’

  ‘Oh Bezekarl,’ Silrith laughed. ‘And what would they tell him? That we want Jostan dead? I think he knows that already. He wouldn’t learn anything about our defences either. I assure you his advisors will have worked out where we’re strong and where we’re weak long ago.’

  Bezekarl’s shoulders dropped and he went quiet again. Silrith didn’t like speaking to him like that, but what he’d said was most unhelpful. This was no time to be timid.

  Then it hit her. Maybe someone who could hide in plain sight would be the ideal person to infiltrate Jostan’s camp.

  ‘I believe I have thought of a way in,’ she said. ‘I am as aware as anyone that for centuries it has been the case that while on campaign, Kings of Bennvika have had girls travelling with the camp followers brought to them for, well, some company, shall we say? I doubt Jostan will be any different. All we need is a girl fit for the job. Someone he will desire and yet someone who can undertake this mission?’

  ‘Well, I know of someone who might do it if we asked her,’ said Gasbron.