Stoc (A New Druids Series Book 3)

by Donald D. Allan

  "I place my future in your hands," he muttered and rose on hearing the drill orders that marked the time when he would be required to march out and take charge of the parade.

  His batman stood nearby and handed him his ceremonial sabre. The Colonel drew the sword and saluted with it and lowered it to the rest position, the blade balanced straight up with the guard of the sword resting on the side of his clasped hand. The scabbard hung free at his waist. It would flop about when he walked, but that was the way. Tradition demanded it, and he would never shirk from tradition. He lived for it.

  He paused for a moment in the hallway, took a breath and marched out briskly to take his position in front of his parade commander. Years of drill guided his steps and the assurance that drill was drill and would never change eased the butterflies that flew across his stomach.

  Steve Comlin and Franky huddled at the edge of the flat rooftop that overlooked the parade square. It had taken them hours to get into position. They were exhausted, but determined. The night had been without sleep or rest with the crew moving from building to building, staying hidden, or exposed in plain sight when need be.

  The crew were highly trained in how to blend in and hide. And when to strike when opportunity presented itself. They also knew the city better than the citizens. Overnight they had executed nearly two dozen garrison soldiers. Some were questioned, and this is why Steve and Franky found themselves on the rooftop. They wanted to see this merging of two armies. Steve didn't believe it would happen. Franky refused to leave his side and now they lay side by side. It was made easier with Franky's missing arm—there was nothing between them and Steve had his arm over her back. Franky squirmed a little closer.

  "Stop that," he hissed.

  Franky turned her head toward him and stuck out her tongue. Steve admired her looks for a moment. Her skin was always a deep tanned colour. Her hair was cut short, and it looked messy but on her it brought out the heart shape of her face. She smiled at his scrutiny and his eyes were drawn to the one eye-tooth that stuck out a little. He liked that little tooth for some reason. He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss and her smile grew broader under his lips.

  "Pay attention now," he breathed. "We're too exposed here. The Colonel should have posted roof top guards. They never look up. Never see us leaping from roof to roof. Idiots. But you never know. At some point, someone will get smart."

  "Perhaps, my lover. Perhaps." Franky peered out at the square through the mesh woodwork. The owner of the building had built a small patio on the roof with a little garden. It had a wooden trellis and wall built up to protect the roof from the onshore gales. The chances of someone spotting them from the parade square was remote, and they felt safe and secure with the square over five hundred yards away. Their escape route was already worked out.

  Franky spotted the Colonel emerging from the main building and stride with authority over to stand in front of the parade commander. "There he is, the traitor," she said and Steve nodded.

  Swords flashed in the morning light as they saluted. The parade commander strode to the side and barked more orders. Parade captains saluted, and the Colonel returned it. The entire garrison, minus those who patrolled the streets looking for Steve's crew, were formed up in perfect squares of platoons. There were about three hundred men on parade. Next to them and gathered in a gaggle were the soldiers of the foreign army. They were watching everything and talking openly to one another. Steve counted them and figured they numbered about one hundred in strength. They had lost two hundred to the Navy ships according to what they could determine. A significant blow, and one Steve would reward the Admiral with at least one fine bottle of malt spirit from the city of Cala.

  For a time, all was quiet. Steve shook his head at the pomp. The Colonel had men being killed in the streets and here he was on parade. Priorities, he thought, are skewed. He watched the Colonel step forward and bark orders. The parade went to a position of rest and then back to attention. The Colonel turned and raised a hand to the foreign army commander. Steve had been unable to determine his name. The man was imposing. He was at least a head taller than the Colonel. He wore a strange garb that wrapped tight against his body. What Steve noticed most was the large curved blade at his waist. He had heard of these scimitars but had never seen one. The grip seemed small on the blade. It almost looks fragile, he mused.

  The man strode forward and stopped in front of the Colonel. He drew his scimitar and held it loose at his hip. The Colonel lifted his sword up to his face to salute and then swept it down and away from his body. It was a perfectly executed salute and gave honour to the foreign commander. In a blur of motion, the foreign commander lifted his scimitar up high and swept it out and across. It took the Colonel at the neck and effortlessly separated his head from his body. The head rolled off the neck and landed behind the Colonel at his heels. His body collapsed straight down and blood fountained high in the air.

  Everything was still for the briefest of time before the foreign army drew their swords and turned on the garrison. With only ceremonial swords the air was soon filled with screams and shouts. Franky squeezed Steve's hand and murmured something. They watched the foreign army dance as they fought. They spun and leaped, scimitars flashing and swirling. Steve could barely follow the swords. Neither could the garrison. They fought back but were cut down so quick that Steve doubted he had taken more than twenty breaths. Thankfully the garrison realised their fate and threw down their weapons and surrendered. Less than two hundred and sixty remained.

  "By the Word, Steve! Such treachery! Those poor men!"

  Steve nodded. He watched the foreign commander issue orders and several of his men jogged out of the parade square. The commander issued more orders and then pointed up to the rooftops of the nearest buildings. Others rounded up the garrison survivors and directed them to the barracks.

  "Oops, time we changed tactics, my dear," he whispered to Franky and pushed himself back from the edge of the rooftop.

  "Ya think?"

  Two hours later Steve met with his crew. He had sixty men and women under his command and he looked at them all and knew who each one of them were. He knew what they loved and what they hated. He knew how they used their weapons and what motivated them. They were loyal to the Realm and loyal to him. If he asked, they would lay down their lives. He was proud of them.

  They huddled in the main room of an abandoned warehouse along the cliffs. A hand crane lifted goods from the pier fifty feet below them on the cliff. It was an old location but one where they had agreed to meet should anything go wrong in the city. Steve took in the serious looks on their faces. He could see fatigue but their determination shone through.

  "My friends, we find ourselves so quickly returned to our old ways, fighting for the Realm."

  A few of the crew softly called out their battle cry "For the Realm!" Others smiled and smacked them.

  "The garrison commander is dead. Executed by the leader of the invading army. He has taken control of the garrison and has them secured in the barracks. I'm not sure what deal has been struck but Healy has gone too far. He has invited these men into our country and they now threaten us from within. Munsten probably faces the same threat. But for now, we have Jergen to think of. The Baron sits comfortably outside the city walls. It is time to open the gatehouse and let his men flood this city and wipe out this threat. The citizens of this fine city need our strength. That's my goal. Our goal. Open the gates and wipe out this threat. Are you with me?"

  All around the crew nodded their heads.

  "This will be tough fighting. We have the benefit of knowing this city. I'll warn you, they fight like nothing I've seen before. Keep your distance. They have a lot of flair. A lot of movement. Look for tells before you engage. Strike hard and true and back off. This is street fighting folks. No mercy and no leniency. I want everyone back here alive for a celebratory drink. Any questions?"

  One of the men in the back raised a hand. Steve pointed to him. "Dae ye think
mibbie we shuid hae stayed at th' farm?"

  This raised a low laugh from the crew. They looked at one another and clasped shoulders into a large hug of sorts. They were seasoned and the farm work had put muscle mass on many of them. Steve knew they were up to the task

  "Perhaps. We'll come back to that question once this is over. Franky and I counted at least a hundred of the bastards. So easy work, eh? The garrison is down to two hundred and fifty. I want to reduce damage to them. We might need them in the end. So target the enemy and avoid the garrison if you can. If not, do what you have to.

  "The Baron is the unknown factor. Once he's in the city, there is no telling what he will do. He's a hot head, so I think he'll drive straight for the garrison headquarters. Our job is to make that easier for him. I need two volunteers to head to the Admiral's boat in the harbour. Tell him that he could lend a hand with those powder cannons of his.

  "Lastly, I need a volunteer to go out the back door and let our good Baron know what the plan is. That person has to get that sorry lot in line and ready to run for the gate by the morrow. Who's game?"

  Franky raised her hand, and many nodded at the choice. Franky had a way with the Baron that had him listen. She was the best bet and Steve knew it.

  "I'll be honest, Franky, I'll be glad to see you out of harm's way," said Steve, and many looked surprised including Franky.

  "What? Have you gone soft?" she said.

  "What? No. I'm worried you'll take more heads than me."

  The room erupted in soft laughter.

  "We've been together through good times and bad, my friends. We miss Ben and Agnes but I think they are with us tonight. We've said this often and this time we get to do it right. For the Realm!"

  "For the Realm!" returned the crew.

  "Let's be about this."

  Steve sent Franky out the secret postern gate on the north side of the city to inform the Baron. An hour before sunrise the crew snuck into the gatehouse and took out the foreign guards with bow shots. Sentries along the wall were taken out moments later, and the gate was soon opened wide. Steve smiled and waited. One of the crew called down that the Baron was running hard for the gate with his men. A good start, thought Steve.

  Steve positioned himself inside the gate and called out to the Baron as he passed inside. "Lord Windthrop, over here."

  The Baron jogged over and his heavy breathing could be heard throughout the courtyard. "St-Steve. By the Word, I can't breathe. Good man. Franky explained everything. I'm going to push the army to the waterfront. Let the Admiral pound them, eh what?"

  "Lovely plan, sir. I'll sweep the approaches and clear the city of patrols. Last thing we want is hostages."

  The Baron looked strangely at Steve. "The least of our worries is hostages. We have an invading army in our city."

  Steve nodded and then turned to talk to one of his crew who rushed up. "Words out. The army is mobilising in the city. We have to move. Have your flank push hard. Push them to the sea." The man nodded with a grin and ran to join the others.

  The Baron nodded and called out to his officers to follow him and ordered the army formed up in the gate yard. The noise was far too loud for Steve's liking. He watched a moment as the army continued to pour in through the gate. Satisfied, he signalled his crew, and they disappeared down the side streets. Franky sidled up to Steve.

  "Good job, Franky. Any problems?"

  "Just the lump between his ears. This is not going to end well. He's all bluster with images of glory. We'll have our job cut out for us."

  "You have the right flank. I have the left. Take care," Steve started to give her a light kiss, but she reached up with her one hand and pulled him in tight.

  "Stay alive, or I'll kill you," she whispered and planted her mouth over his and sucked his breath from him. The kiss went on and Steve leaned into it. She let go and shoved him away. "Get to work!" she laughed and danced away into the night.

  Steve stood in stunned silence and then bolted down a side street.

  In thirty minutes the Baron engaged the enemy. The enemy raced down a side street to strike at the head of the Baron's line. It was coordinated, but something about it struck Steve as strange. The enemy seemed a little uncertain on the cobblestones. Their dance not as artful as he had seen before. Perhaps the city is too strange for them, perhaps we can use this to our advantage.

  Despite this, the enemy hacked down the first men. Screams and cries filled the air. Steve directed his crew to lay down fire and arrows whistled through the early morning light and rained down on the enemy. The Baron called out orders and unbelievably he split his forces. Steve cursed and stayed with the Baron. Franky would follow the others.

  The enemy engaged again, and the Baron directed the fight successfully and drove them away and high into the city heights. Lord Windthrop called out for Steve and he materialised next to him. "Sir?"

  "Take your men and chase down that lot. No mercy. Wipe them clear. Understood?"

  Steve hesitated.

  "Is that clear?" thundered the Baron. Steve could see that bloodlust was consuming the Baron. He could only nod and order his men in pursuit. We can't be away from the Baron for too long. We must make this quick.

  In moments, Steve had his men fanned out and searching. This enemy was on street level and not looking up. Cities are foreign to them. We strike from up high. He gave the signal, and they commenced a methodical clearing of the enemy. His men and women moved from roof top to roof top. Arrows and throwing daggers filled the night air. There was a stillness to the high city. His crew were silent and deadly. He heard screams in the night down in the lower city and near the harbour. A flash of light caught his eye, and he turned to see a whole city block ablaze. Smoke billowed black into the morning air and Steve could hear the screaming from those trapped inside.

  This is going badly. Why would the enemy burn out buildings? They gain nothing by that. Steve grimaced when he realised he knew the answer.

  Steve reached street level to recover his last thrown dagger and just as he sheathed it he heard a noise and threw himself violently to the side. The whistle of a blade crossed where his neck once was but still cut him. He rolled over and leaped to his feet. His sword was in his hand and he turned to see one of the enemy standing near him twirling his scimitar.

  Steve sought his centre and looked quickly about to determine his options. He was alone. His crew had moved well ahead of him. But there was plenty of light with no real shadows. Just me and this asshole, he smiled.

  "Hey, asshole. Go home," he taunted.

  The man swirled his sword once more but this time he erupted in an elaborate dance. He leaped and turned, always with the sword circling unpredictably. Steve tried to watch it and failed. He stepped back to give him room and then leaped sideways to avoid a sudden violent thrust.

  "Sneaky little bugger aren't you," said Steve. He ignored the sword and concentrated on the centre of mass of the man. There, he spotted it. The tell—the movement that gave away intent. He moved away, and the sword slashed out where he had been standing. Steve waited and kept his eye on the enemy. He spotted the tell, twisted and struck down with his sword. His blade met the bone at the elbow and neatly severed the sword arm off the enemy. The man screeched and fell to his knees holding the stub of his spurting arm with his other hand. The screech cut of when Steve took the man's head off at the shoulder.

  He glanced around quickly and ran after his men.

  In short order, Steve's crew cleared the enemy from the high city. He raced down toward the flames and found the Baron standing proud amongst dozens of dead. Citizens lay everywhere with the enemy amongst them. The row of buildings burned hot and acrid. Steve rushed to the side of the Baron.

  "Ah, Steve, good man. You were successful?"

  Steve nodded.

  "Good, good. We just finished mopping up this bunch. Rough bastards. All swirly and what not. Nothing a good bow shot can't handle though, eh?"

  "What happened to the people h
ere?"

  "They got in the way. Simple as that. Get between me and the enemy and that's the price. We had to burn a lot out over there." The Baron pointed with his sword toward the buildings burning brightly. A bucket brigade was formed up and trying to contain the fire.

  "You started the fire?" asked Steve.

  "Why yes, you have to break a few eggs, eh?"

  "Eggs?"

  "Yes, eggs. But no time for that. Franky is out there pushing her lot toward the harbour. I need you to push in from over at the side streets. The Admiral will see them and crush them."

  Steve was furious, but the Baron was oblivious. Lord Windthrop had decimated the very people he was sworn to protect. He reached out and pushed the man back and grabbed the front of his tunic. "You killed your own people, you sick oineach?" he roared in the man's face.

  The Baron looked startled. "Wh-what?"

  "You just told me that you killed you own people!"

  "Well, yes. I had to, don't you see? The enemy was harbouring in the building. I had to flush them out. It was the quickest means, surely you see that?"

  "Are you insane!?"

  The Baron frowned and reached up and forcibly pulled Steve's hand from his tunic. "Unhand me. I am your King. Now get to work. You have your orders."

  Steve could see several of the Baron's men looking over at them. He shook his head and then signalled to his men. They moved out to the right flank and helped drive the enemy down to the harbour.