The Stonegate Sword

by Harry James Fox

  Don had briefed the grenadiers and crossbowmen on the plan. The horses could not charge onto the pikes, so the pikemen had to be taken down. All the missile weapons were to concentrate their fire on the center of the flank and open up a hole that the horsemen could charge through. Once the horse attack had engaged the enemy, the crossbowmen were still to direct all their fire at the remaining pikemen. The grenadiers were to avoid throwing a grenade anywhere near any of the friendly horse troops, even if it meant that they had to hold their fire. The mounted scouts attached to the missile units were to defend against the Raiders or any other threat to the rear. Don ordered Philip to stay back with the crossbowmen and to sound his war-horn if any such threat should appear.

  The crossbowmen and grenadiers deployed about a hundred yards away from the enemy formation. Half the Bows passed war lances, each to his neighbor, strung his bow and started firing arrows into the ranks of soldiers. The crossbowmen, all forty of them, fired a massed volley into the center of the flank. There was much shouting and cursing. The large square shields did little to stop the quarrels at that range, and the enemy leather armor was poor protection. Many enemy fell, pikes clattering to the ground. Men from the next column sprang forward to take them up, just as the grenades began to fall.

  Red jumped nervously as the explosions shook the ground. Then another volley of crossbow bolts slammed into the formation, each one aimed at a pikemen. Some pikes were picked up again. Don intended to attack on a narrow front. He was in the middle. The Bows, in a column of four and led by Blackie, was on his right. Eric was on his left. Then came Colin next to Eric with the Javelins behind him, also in a column of four. The effect was a wedge hitting the enemy line, and Don was the point of the wedge.

  Another volley slammed into the line, followed by more grenades, and Don chose that instant to spur Red forward. He wished that he had Snap. Red was not a trained warhorse, but he was big and strong. He heard the bugle blowing the “Charge,” as he lowered the war-spear to the horizontal. Red covered the distance to the enemy line in a half dozen lunges and was still picking up speed when his lance took an infantryman in the process of trying to pick up a pike. His round infantry shield was knocked aside, and the spear took him square in the chest. Unable to withdraw it, Don let it go and drew his sword, as the enemy rolled beneath Red’s feet. Eric was at his left, sword flashing, and with Blackie to the right they moved into the heart of the enemy formation. The mail chest protector saved Red more than once, and Don used his kite shield to protect his mount as much as he could. His Stonegate blade proved its worth over and over as it chopped through spear shafts, split helms and slashed through leather armor like wet paper.

  For several minutes the going was slow and hard, but the wedge of troopers slowly began to drive into the enemy formation like a knife going for the heart. The actual battle, the swordplay, was happening so fast that Don could only react instinctively to each cut and parry. He did see Eric several times cut down enemy inches from his left knee. A spear slammed against his right side, but the mail stopped it, almost. He felt a prick and a wetness.

  Red lunged toward an enemy to the front. Don swung for his head, and cut a deep notch in the shield. The spearman turned and tried to run, which was a fatal mistake. The back of his neck was totally exposed, and his end was quick. Then suddenly, as is sometimes seen in flocks of birds, all the enemy faces looking his way suddenly disappeared and he was looking at the backs of enemy heads. Panic had gripped the formation, and to a man they turned and tried to run away. But men on foot cannot outrun horses. Suddenly, what was once a military formation and a mortal threat, was no threat at all—no more a threat than a fox on a fox hunt. Robert’s forces had broken through as well, and all three hundred horseman began to cut down the fleeing men. Don cut down a couple, then slowly reined to a stop. Eric stayed with him.

  “What’s wrong, sir?” he asked. “Are you wounded?”

  “No, Eric,” answered Don. “I just think we have done enough here. Let’s take a look around.” The battle moved rapidly away.

  Don dismounted and carefully examined Red. He was cut several places on the neck and on the croup, but none seemed serious. The blood was hard to see against his fiery red coat. Eric’s horse was nearly unhurt as well.

  They rode back to where they had broken the line. A small knot of enemy pikemen from the first two ranks had formed into a circle and were still holding on, but their numbers were being whittled down by crossbowmen. The grenadiers had mounted their horses and watched, since their grenades were gone. Finally, the last ten pikemen threw down their arms and raised their hands. Don galloped up, palm out, and cried: “Hold! We will give quarter.”

  Ten Lance troopers joined them, and the mount leader reported that five enemy battle standards had been captured. It was a proud moment. Then they marched the captives back to the road and made them sit in a circle facing inward, hands on heads. Philip came riding up and joined Don. They watched as a dozen riders came cantering south, as if following back down the trail of bodies. Thad and another healer were already examining every horse trooper lying on the field, and there were a score of them. The party returning included Robert, standard bearer, bugler, bodyguard, and a dozen scouts. He had also brought back another healer who began to help tend the wounded. Robert sent a scout back to the headquarters to recall Fred. The evacuation was no longer necessary.

  “I see you spared some of these fellows,” said Robert. “That was well done. Some of them actually ran two miles before we finished them. The last twenty five or so finally had sense enough to ask for quarter, and we gave it to them.”

  “What shall we do with them?” asked Don. “We don’t have any place to hold prisoners, and we certainly can’t get them into the towns.”

  “I have an idea,” said Robert. He gave the order to the scouts. “March these up the road, and we will put them all in one huddled covey.”

  They looked at the wounded and inspected the dead. Some fine fellows had fallen, but they had amazingly light losses. Most of the fallen could not be saved, but one blonde-haired youngster from the Javelins sat up, shook his head and asked, “What happened?” He was apparently unhurt, except for a big lump on his head.

  Robert had left the entire Lance troop at the northern end of the battlefield to watch the main road. The scouts were a half-mile farther out to give warning of any other troop movements. The Raiders and the mounted officers had galloped north, back to the enemy camp.

  “They probably will not get a warm reception,” said Philip, which got a laugh.

  Robert said: “I don’t know about that. I imagine it will be very warm!”

  They rode up to the knot of captives who were again sitting in a circle. The seated men kept giving anxious glances at the tips of the war spears pointed in their direction—held by bloody-handed horse troopers. Robert demanded to talk to a leader of the group. Finally, an older man stood and said that he was a sergeant.

  “Very well, Sergeant,” said Robert. “I have decided to give you quarter. I will even let you return to your camp—on three conditions.”

  Robert paused. He was still mounted. Don, Philip and Eric flanked him. A flash of hope flickered across the sergeant’s face.

  “First, you will have to strip. I will let you keep your trousers, but nothing else. Nothing! Not your shoes, not your purses and not your shirts. Second, you will carry a message back and make every effort to deliver it to your General Logan. Third, you will not bear arms against the people of Haven again. Fail in this and if you are captured again, you will be slain without mercy. Do you accept these terms?”

  The sergeant stood with his head bowed and nodded.

  “Say it, sergeant,” said Robert, coldly. “I want to hear your voice in the air.” He raised his voice. “The rest of you! I want to hear you all say, ‘I swear it.’”

  There was a ragged ch
orus.

  “Very well. I will give you the message. Memorize it! ‘Five hundred horse troopers are angry because they did not get to bloody their swords. Next time, send at least two thousand.’”

  The man moved his lips. Robert asked him to repeat it back. He corrected him until he could say it word for word. Then he ordered another man to stand and asked him to repeat the message and went through the same process.

  “Very well,” said Robert. Then he pointed to Don.”See this lord on the red horse? This is our lore-man, Donald of Fisher. He alone slew a hundred of you. We had to hold him back, or you would all be dead. You might tell your General Frasier that he did not look like a lap dog to you!”

  The captives vigorously nodded their heads, seemingly awestruck. Don felt a flush rise up in his face. Why is he saying this? What is he thinking? But he sat silently, keeping his face immobile. He noticed Philip and Eric staring at him.

  Then the moment was over. The prisoners were stripped and roughly searched and their possessions gathered into a pathetic pile. Then they were marched northward. Don watched them limping north, then he turned away. His side was starting to smart, and he wanted to see how bad it was.

  The wound turned out to be superficial. A healer washed it out, dumped some white powder into it and sewed it up with a couple of stitches. A link in the mail had broken, and he made a mental note to have the smith rivet in a new one. Then he walked across the battlefield, Eric trailing behind. He saw a young enemy officer lying on his back. His wound was in his front, and his sword lay next to his hand. His pale face looked like Philip’s. Don stared down at him for a long moment. His sightless eyes looked heavenward. How I hate this!

  A few feet away was a fallen horse trooper. Don tenderly turned him over. He was one of the new ones from the Javelin unit. Don could not remember his name, but he looked pale, young and somehow peaceful, like a child napping. At first, no wound was visible, but then Don found it, in the thigh beneath his mail. It was very close to the spot where he, himself, had been wounded at the battle of Bloody Knoll, a year before. The trooper had died from loss of blood. Don bowed his head and wept. Am I crying for this young man or for myself? That was his thought, but he did not get an answer.

  †

  They did not stop their patrol schedule. Eight men from the levy were pressed into service as horse troopers and scattered among the troops as replacements. Their training would be the school of hard knocks. At least their armor, weapons and mounts would be first class. Fortunately, they all knew how to ride. A dozen farm boys from the remote settlements to the south were paid a generous bonus to enlist as guards. Fred was given the responsibility to salvage the weapons, coins, and anything else useful from the battlefield. The captured enemy banners were put in the headquarters building as trophies.

  The second day after the battle, Don was at the headquarters with Robert, planning the next week’s patrols. He asked Robert why he had made up the story he had told the freed captives.

  “Such stories are a form of warfare, Donald,” he answered. “I want them to fear us, and they need a great and mighty hero to fear. The tale of the fighting lore-man that slew a hundred will be heard by everyone in the camp. That will increase their fear of our horse troops. And that fear will help us nearly as much as would my mythical five hundred.”

  “Do you think they will actually repeat that story?”

  “Yes, because it lessens the shame of their defeat. Human nature, Donald!”

  Just then, a message came in from Samuel:

  Congratulations on your victory. Seems to have been the final straw. Delegation under white flag proposed to lift the siege on the same conditions that we offered before. I told them that offer has been withdrawn. We will no longer agree to cease attacks on the supply lines. I agreed not to fire our large cannon, if they ceased fire with theirs. They seem to be breaking camp.

  †

  Don, Fred and Robert chuckled about Samuel’s willingness to not fire his wooden cannon again. Then they began studying the maps of the area, trying to discern the most likely next move of the enemy. Clearly, General Logan was still under orders to march east. The attack on Bethuel and Ariel had probably been intended to be a training exercise, and they had never expected it to cause a great delay in the main advance. The long supply line and its implications had very likely never been considered, either. The enemy now faced a strategic problem.

  “Logan has probably taken four thousand casualties, half that dead,” said Fred. “To take these two towns is going to cost him thousands more. On top of that, he can’t afford to spend all summer here. The main point of this whole campaign is to defeat the cities to the east, mainly Stonegate. I think he has decided to cut his losses and proceed east. Had he defeated us, the supply line would have been no problem. As it is—”

  “As it is, he will have a difficult problem with his supplies,” finished Robert. “It seemed at first that he had a huge cavalry unit. But it’s not nearly enough to screen the main body and also defend a long supply line. Remember, from Junction to Hightower is two hundred fifty miles or so, and they have to cross two major mountain ranges that are impassable in winter months.”

  “There is the tunnel,” said Fred.

  “Yes. The tunnel,” answered Robert. “That gives me an idea. But first, let’s consider what would happen should the enemy press on rapidly, catch the cities to the east unprepared and defeat them. What then?”

  “They would march back here and wipe Ariel and Bethuel off the face of the earth,” said Don, slowly. “Maybe the House of Healing, too, though the House has been treating their wounded.”

  “Right you are,” returned Robert. “We have to help delay the attack, and also try to sound the alarm. Perhaps if the Old Alliance can be renewed, the eastern cities might have a chance.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Fred. “We have to give all the help that we can, even though they are not our allies.”

  “They are our allies, now,” said Robert. “Even though they may not know it. Let us consider what might be done.”

  †

  They did not need to hear the tales that deserters later told. It was clear the General Logan had erupted in a violent rage when Samuel had withdrawn his offer of free passage. He had rounded up every adult male in Glenwood, more than a hundred, and had them all summarily executed in the small town square. Most had professed loyalty to the Prophet, but it had done them no good. He also burned the main buildings and carried off every scrap of food. Then he sent a message back to Samuel that the same fate would befall the two other towns if Haven forces continued to attack his supply trains. Then he gave the order to march east. The great camp began to stir.

  But Don and Robert and his staff had not heard of this atrocity when they began to plan their next move. They could not stop the marching army, but perhaps they might be able to make the direct route untenable. If the army could be brought to think that marching straight east was dangerous, the General might decide to swing north and link up with the northern army. This would cause both armies to delay until they could move as a consolidated force. That would slow the advance by at least ten days, and perhaps two weeks. It was not much time gained, yet it was worth a try. Could they do it? That was the question. That was the focus of a strategy session that lasted all day. By evening they had heard of the Glenwood massacre. That was also when a haggard rider rode in with a gray cloak, red cross over his heart, and a worn-out horse.

  Chapter 30

  †

  A Good Day to Die

  Rescue me, Lord, from evil men. Keep me safe from violent men who plan evil in their hearts. They stir up wars all day long.

  Psalm 140: 1–2 HCSB

  Knowledge can also be a weapon of war—sometimes the most powerful weapon of all. The information that the lone rider brought into the headquarters was like
that. The healer, named Jason, had been at the courts of the Prophet. He had left only a day before the order came to seize all Gray Cloaks and cast them into the dungeons beneath the forbidding palace. He, alone, had escaped. For the past weeks, he had been dodging pursuit, making observations, and evading patrols of enemy scouts. He had ridden one horse to death, and the mount that finally brought him through was covered in lather. But he had brought timely information with him. Finally, they could work out the broad outlines of the Prophet’s strategy.

  He had messages that he had been unable to send by heliograph because the station on Storm mountain was abandoned, as well as others north of the Kolaroo. He had notes of observations that he had made on the trail and summaries of what other healers had told him. It was a clear picture of much that had happened in Prophet City, up until a few weeks ago.

  At last, they could see that General Logan’s mission was to move up the Kolaroo, eliminate resistance in Ariel and Bethuel, secure the southern supply line, then cross two major passes over the mountains and launch a surprise attack on Hightower. When that city was taken, he was to move north, eliminating resistance from the other dozen small towns to the east of the mountains. He was to arrive at the walls of Stonegate at the same time as the northern army.

  In the meantime, the northern army, the larger of the two, would move due east, subjugating the small towns in its path until it reached Steamboat. Steamboat would be taken next. Then the army would continue east, cross one pass, then swing north around the Western Wall and turn south to meet General Logan. Then the two armies would surround, besiege and eliminate Stonegate in order to win the final victory.