The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2)

by Harry James Fox

  “These balls are deadly, even though they do not explode like the grenades. But they can smash through a horse like a piece of parchment,” he warned. “Of course, we will just be firing cloth wadding today. Remember, though, even that is dangerous for about ten feet, so we will not fire at point-blank range. Still, warn your men about this.”

  †

  As before, Don watched the afternoon drill from a ridge-top that gave a good view of the plain below. Both troops gave an impressive display. After the horses and riders had been well exercised, Don gave the order to charge the guns. He looked at Allen and Duncan as the cannon fired to start the drill and noticed that both gave an involuntary start. Gunfire was something that few living men had experienced, but he knew that would soon change.

  The horse troop commanders had been instructed to charge on parallel courses, in columns ten wide and five deep, and not stop until reaching the positions of the missile units. If possible, they were to advance to within ten feet, then swerve and surround the positions, simulating their capture. The buglers blew the Charge, the troops maneuvered into position, and began their race to the guns from about one mile away.

  The guns began firing immediately and were able to get off three volleys before the leaders had closed to within one hundred yards. The firing of the guns and the billows of gray smoke seemed to have no effect on the wave of steel and horseflesh. But that changed when the grenadiers simultaneously threw the small grenade simulators at the feet of the leading horses. Immediately, the first ranks were thrown into confusion as terrified mounts stopped, whirled, and crashed into each other. The rear ranks pushed on even as the first ranks swerved to the side, just in time to receive another volley from the guns and another dozen grenades. Then the gun crews picked up their muskets and added that fire to the din and the crossbowmen released forty blunted quarrels into the mass.

  The charge was stopped, at that point, and it took the best efforts of every trooper to gain control of his mount and turn the white-eyed beasts back toward the knoll. A dozen troopers had been thrown, and riderless horses fled in all directions. Some had swerved and had run far beyond the guns but wide to the left and right. It was then that Don, Allen and Duncan had galloped down and called the exercise to a halt. None of the horse troopers had been able to get within fifty yards of the guns.

  It had been a sobering experience. They allowed the troopers to walk their mounts to cool them off and to allow them to take several careful drinks. No one had been seriously injured, but several men and horses had bruises from the crossbow quarrels. Even though each was tipped with a wooden ball covered with padding, they still hit with a painful wallop.

  Lord Allen addressed the troops. He had them form a circle around him, dismounted. He sat astride a beautiful sorrel and rode in a small circle facing different sections of the hundred sweaty horse troopers as he spoke. The gun crews and the missile troops formed a quadrant of the circle, listening to his words as well. The wind had picked up, blowing from the west, and a small thunderhead to the north let down a nimbus of rain. Flashes filled the cloud and a rumble of thunder could be heard, providing a deep-throated background.

  “The last exercise was valuable to me, and I do not fault you for lack of effort. Your horses were not used to explosions under their noses. I have no doubt that they can be trained to pass through smoke and fire, but that is not the point. You will never have to charge our guns. I think it is clear that a mass attack on a narrow front simply gives the gunners an excellent target. But think aloud with me. How should the enemy attack?”

  One of the mount leaders raised his hand. “Lord Allen, an attack on line, with perhaps five yards between troopers, would be best. The cannon could hit no more than one per shot, so at most nine would be lost. Then the wings of the column could swing together and attack from all sides at once.”

  “Exactly right,” responded Allen. “I see it the same way. Another way to say it, is that the guns will force enemy cavalry to disperse or die. But if they do disperse, what then?”

  “Then they become easy prey to a massed attack by our troopers,” said Fitzalan.

  “Exactly!” replied Allen. “I think we all take the point. I wish to God we had more of those little cannons.”

  †

  The next day, Don rode south toward Longmont with the full troop of Blades and the crossbowmen. The crossbow troops had not been patrolling recently, and their mounts could stand a hard day under the saddle. He carried a short, recurve bow made of horn, a quiver of arrows, and a light javelin since he had decided to leave his war-spear at the inn.

  Deborah rode with him this morning. She had said that Samuel was well enough recovered that she could spend a few days with Carla, so Don offered to escort her as far as Loveland. Deborah was again wearing her worn travelling clothes, and she had a light bundle strapped behind her cantle. Her small mare was frisky and well able to keep pace with the larger warhorses. Riding with them was a young man that had given Don a start when he first laid eyes on him. He wore a high collar and horn pen case at his belt, like a lore-man. His breastplate and helm were duplicates of Don’s own though he had been told that the gold trim was only gold leaf. Still, it looked good. He was riding on a magnificent red horse, at least two full hands taller than Snap, Don’s mount.

  The man, who had jokingly given his name as “Donald Two,” was three or four inches over six feet and outweighed Don by at least fifty pounds. Don understood that this was part of Duncan’s plan. The Lore-man on the Red Horse would soon be seen everywhere at once. Don had to admit that he looked much more like the legend than he himself did. There was a quiet search going on for more of these large red horses and equally large men. Duncan planned to outfit a dozen or so just like him.

  Deborah had giggled when she saw him. “Is he supposed to look like you?” she asked. “Don, he looks nothing like you. Whatever is the lore-master thinking?”

  “I know,” answered Don. “But I think he would convince anyone that did not know me.”

  Donald Two was at Don’s side throughout the day. His real name was Osric, and, like Don, he was from the North. But he was from a village called Billings, more than two hundred miles north and east from Don’s home town of Goldstone. He seemed to be observing Don closely and watching for little mannerisms to copy. He was taking his new duties seriously. Don questioned him and found that he had served in a small unit of horsemen for his town guard and was trained in the sword and shield. Don was unsure whether this ruse would have any practical benefit but had no real objection. I suppose it will do no harm.

  Some of the troops had noticed the double, and Don heard some joking in the ranks. Slim had cautioned them that this was not a topic to be discussed with civilians, and there would be serious penalties for wagging tongues. Don remembered reports that he and other leaders were targets of assassins. Not that he gave the matter much concern, but it did strike him that there was an element of danger to Osric and others like him. I need to warn him about that.

  Don told Osric about the threats he faced, but he simply smiled and made a dismissing gesture with his hand. Deborah gave Don a worried look, then commented on a half-dozen farm wagons heading north to Stonegate. Supplies were the first tangible evidence that the southerners were following through on their promises. It was a good sign. “Did you speak to Lord Allen about the need to clear out everyone living north of Stonegate?” she asked. “That was a hard thing to do before, wasn’t it?

  “One of the hardest things I ever did,” admitted Don. “Forcing families to leave their homes—but Deborah, it has to be done! I don’t know if I convinced him, but he promised to bring it before the council. I hope they see that those farmsteads, even if fortified, could never survive an invasion.”

  “Oh, me! I just realized. That would mean Rachel and her family would have to abandon Westerly-stead.”

  �
��I am afraid that it does mean that.”

  “But they will lose everything if they don’t defend their home.”

  “Yes, but they can’t defend it against an army of sixty thousand. This will not be another foray by a band of Raiders. And the food and animals will just be supplies for the Prophet’s army if they are not taken within the walls of Stonegate or herded well south of the city.”

  “Rachel is on the council, now, you know. She might oppose it.”

  “I hope she would also see the need for it. But she is away, you said.”

  “Yes. I am not sure for how long. I hope to spend a few days with Carla in Loveland. I was planning to leave earlier, but—well, you know what happened.”

  “Yes. You did wonderful work with Samuel. I see that you have the healing touch.”

  “Nice of you to say so. But you really did not have to escort me to Loveland with a full troop!”

  “No, but neither can I allow you to travel unescorted. The Raider bands could be anywhere.”

  “Even in Estes Park?”

  “Probably not. They haven’t attacked any walled towns. Why?”

  “Rachel is in Estes Park.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Chapter 23

  †

  Flight to Stonegate

  Like wandering gazelles and like sheep without a shepherd, each one will turn to his own people, each one will flee to his own land. Whoever is found will be stabbed, and whoever is caught will die by the sword.

  Isaiah 13:14-15 HCSB

  They walked along past rocky outcrops and dipping valleys, struggling both physically and with the knowledge that Stonegate was four or five days’ journey by foot. A fair number of Steamboat citizens had horses and many of these drew wagons, buggies, or carts, which were used to carry the injured, the elderly, and the young, who found it difficult to traverse this hostile terrain. The way was hilly and difficult to navigate unless one was a fit and seasoned walker..

  At least the grueling three thousand-foot climb up the western approach to the pass was behind them. The summit was a rolling upland, with groves of dense spruce and fir, mixed with pines and open meadows. Lower basins were filled with marshes, boarded with willows and birches. The limping survivors had no option but to stay close to the ancient highway, even though it, too, had sections that were eroded and caved. The men often had to gather together to push wagons through the worst parts. City shoes soon wore out, and many limped along with floppy soles bound together with twine.

  A band of guerilla fighters, lightly armed with crossbows, had stayed behind in the mountains closest to Steamboat, hopeful that they could delay pursuit. It looked like a suicide mission to Philip, and he was struck by the men’s calm bravery. But the slow-moving column would be easy to overtake, should the enemy wish to do so, and a gesture was better than nothing.

  Even though it was mid-summer, the weather was cooler now as they reached high altitude. Luckily, there were plenty of creeks and fresh water springs along the way where people could freshen up and top up their water flasks, as well as water the horses.

  Philip and Wesley led the weary travelers, encouraging them with prayer and thanksgiving that they had survived the attack on Steamboat and could find refuge in the east. They could not forget that their city had been burnt to the ground; many feared that their flight to Stonegate might only end in having to flee another ruined city.

  “At least, they won’t be able to destroy the Stonegate walls any time soon,” said Wesley as they drew near their second camp in the hills. “Those cannons won’t make it through the next pass…it’s too rugged and hilly, as well as being densely overgrown. They will have to cut trees to widen the old road.”

  Philip agreed, hopeful that they would make it to Stonegate before the enemy did. But he knew very well that their foes could take a long detour north of the mountain range and then head south. The guns could still get to Stonegate, eventually. Another attack was certain.

  As they finally finished the second day’s march, they again made camp. Camp-fires were lit, taking the edge off the chill, and women began making hot drinks and cooking up pots of stew as the men talked about the events of the last few days. Food was scarce, and if it wasn’t for the hunting skills of the men, and the cooking abilities of the women, there would have been no grouse or venison stew, which is what some thankfully ate as a hot evening meal. But a few deer and a covey of grouse was not much for the hundreds who had been able to bring only the clothes on their back. Some families had loaded a few sacks of onions and potatoes, which they generously shared. This gave everyone sustenance for another day, but for most, a bowl of thin soup made their meal. Wild service berries were just getting ripe in some parts and a few hands-full made a nice treat for the children who longed for something sweet.

  As the sun set that night on the crowd of refugees, hope that a new life awaited them in the east brought some kind of peace. By the time that morning had arrived with a warm waking sun, perhaps renewed energy would fill their hearts and minds even as they dreaded the long toil of the day to come. At least, Philip hoped so.

  “We should arrive in Stonegate in three or four more days, I would think,” said Philip, looking forward to the end of spending nights out in the cold. Rowan was sitting next to him, but he had directed his comments toward Wesley. The older man sat next to Barbara and Polly, who were trying to coax several children to eat. About half of the waifs had been reunited with grateful family members, but the four that remained were apparently alone. Their little faces were pinched and they were nearly unresponsive, their whole world shattered.

  “Philip and Rowan,” began Wesley. “I hardly know what to do. There are nearly one thousand survivors, but only about three hundred are trained and armed, and we only have about seventy mounted soldiers. And even they are really just infantrymen on horses. They are not trained as cavalry. We know that the enemy army to the rear had well over one thousand heavy cavalrymen, and they could appear on the scene at any time. The army to the north surely has just as many, and then there are the Raiders, several hundreds of them.”

  “What can we do about that?” asked Philip.

  Marshall Blake was standing nearby and overheard the conversation. Approaching the fire, he interjected: “We don’t really pose a military threat to them, but of course they could be determined to wipe us out. It would be a demonstration of their power. They will want to weaken the will of the eastern cities to resist.”

  “Philip and Rowan,” said Wesley. “I should have done this before, but I want you two to ride east and ask Stonegate to send a covering force. Even a couple of Stonegate horse troops would help delay the enemy, should they try to attack. I don’t fear their infantry, since they can’t travel with the speed of cavalry. But we are as vulnerable to cavalry as baby chicks in a den of coyotes.”

  The young men immediately agreed, and Wesley began to compose a written message. “Head due east and try to find the watchtower on the next pass. They will have messenger pigeons and can get the word to Stonegate immediately. If they respond as quickly, we could have some help by the time we reach that same pass.”

  “That is if all goes well,” warned Blake. “We would still have to cross the open parkland to the east, and that is perfect terrain for heavy cavalry. If they attack us with the forces they have available, we would not stand a chance.”

  Philip checked his magazines to see how much ammunition he had left. With a sinking heart he realized that he had only twenty-five rounds remaining. He had no idea that he had fired so many times, but apparently he had done just that. “Let me leave my rifle and what ammunition remains,” he offered.

  “No, take it with you,” insisted Wesley. “You and Rowan are the only ones who know how to use it, and it is imperative that you get through. The rifle might be vital for you, and it would help us but lit
tle. We still have a few grenades that Ariel sent us, and they will provide the enemy with an unpleasant surprise. That is all the rifle could have done.”

  †

  Philip and Rowan arose while it was still dark. The moon had set, and they needed a lantern to cinch up their saddles. Philip still had his bow and a quiver of arrows, so he gave the rifle to Rowan. They both had their broadswords for close combat. Victory whinnied softly, wanting a treat, but Philip had nothing to give her. They swung into their saddles and left the slumbering camp without farewells. They had many miles ahead of them.

  They set out at a brisk trot and by dawn were descending a series of switchbacks on the ancient highway. They followed the main road for five more miles or so, then cut across the plains, heading east. They were riding over a knoll just as the rim of the sun began to show over the eastern mountains when they saw a rider atop a hill to the northwest. They quickly retreated and found a depression that allowed them to continue without being seen. They travelled perhaps two more miles when a slope rose in front of them. They had little choice but to continue on. They cautiously approached the summit when they realized that riders had closed in on both flanks. They were trapped! Philip drew his bow, and Rowan swung his rifle to the ready. They prepared to fight for their lives.

  Chapter 24

  †