by Rob Preece
The knight was a bit off-balance from swinging at Alys. He tumbled off his horse, dropped his knife, and went to sleep when Ellie smashed a sidekick into his head.
Micael had disabled one of the other soldiers, and Alys had hamstrung a horse which left two mounted knights and one on foot.
"Finish the dismounted one. Micael and I will take the two on horseback,” Ellie signed to Alys.
She had one shuriken left and threw it directly in a horse's face.
Despite the gathering gloom, the horseman saw the weapon and, incredibly, knocked it away with his sword.
The swing exposed his side.
Ellie relaxed, using her body's weight to drive her katana up, into the weak joint under his right armpit and into his throat.
She tried to capture his horse as it thundered by, but it bit at her and kept moving.
Micael was still fighting his man, but he was holding his own. Alys, though, was in trouble.
As Ellie ran toward her friend, Alys missed a block, took a sword through her thigh and went down.
Ellie reached for every drop of energy that she could find and threw her sword, end over end, at the grinning knight.
It clanged against him, rocking him away from Alys, but didn't even stun him. A katana makes a lousy projectile.
He laughed. “Two sluts for the price of one."
In his dreams.
An unarmed woman against an armored, sword-armed man who had been trained in the weapon for a decade or more doesn't have a chance.
Ellie knew that. But she also knew that Alys was bleeding to death while she stood there.
She launched herself at the knight.
He opened his mouth—to shout or in shock of her stupid move, Ellie didn't know. But he also brought up his sword.
She caught his sword hand just as it reached its apex, reached both hands around to a figure-4 hold, and continued past him, taking him down.
He fell heavily and she followed by dropping her knee directly down on his open-faced helmet.
His nose and skull cracked disgustingly beneath her knee.
She scooped up her katana, then threw Alys over her back and turned to the forest.
Chapter 25
Of the five hundred ninja Ellie had led out on her raid, only one hundred straggled back to the main army camp.
She could almost feel the mood of the army sag as she led the last group of wounded ninja in.
Her ninja had been the heroes of the revolution, invincible soldiers of the guerilla war that had been so successful through the previous winter. Now they were just another beaten mob, essentially out of the fight for good. And it was her fault. She'd asked them to do what no irregular force should be expected to survive—face heavy trained professionals in a stand-up fight.
Mark's face looked almost as gray as if he'd been on that desperate march back to camp with her. “I'm sorry, Ellie."
"Somebody had to do it.” If only she could have died with her soldiers so she wouldn't have to live with the guilt.
"That doesn't make it any easier."
"Tell me about it. So, what next?"
"We're already tearing down the camp. Sullivan has poured every bandit he can hire into the north, cutting off our supply route to the main army. Our scouts tell us he's destroyed every bridge and chopped down thousands of trees over the road. And he seems to have really liked your caltrops because he's been building his own and has those scattered everywhere, too. We can't go north, so we're going to try to swing around the capital to the south before heading back east."
"South will put us closer to Sullivan. Sounds risky."
Mark just looked at her for maybe fifteen seconds. “It's insane, Ellie. But Sergius and Sullivan have to believe we're beaten, that we're on the run."
She took a look at their depleted army. “I'd say they'd believe right."
The worst part about leading the ninja to their deaths was that she hadn't been able to tell them why she'd exposed them in such an obvious mistake. Sure she'd only taken volunteers for the raid and told them it was risky, but she hadn't told them that they were an intentional sacrifice. Sergius's spies and mages would have detected the truth if her soldiers had known. Instead, she had that horror on her conscience.
"We need to make sure the wounded ninja are safe."
"I'll take care of that, Ellie. Now get some sleep.” Mark reached a hand toward her, then pulled it back. “You've had a rough few days and it's only going to get worse."
* * * *
Sullivan hit their marching column the following afternoon.
He had brought up his heavy cavalry and tried to sweep down on them just as their supply wagons cleared a small forest.
With light cavalry, the plan might have worked. With slow-moving knights, it was a slaughter. Mark's riflemen cut them to pieces with only the loss of two of the wagons.
That evening, the army was in slightly better spirits. They were still running, but they'd figured they weren't completely beaten, yet.
Ellie walked over to where Mark and Arnold were studying a map looking for potential ambush spots.
"Won't that display of shooting scare Sergius into staying in Moray?” she asked. Not that she wanted Sullivan to destroy their supply wagons. The army was going to be hungry enough as it was.
Arnold shook his head. “I thought you'd met the Duke of Sullivan."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, he'll report another great victory. His men first defeated your guerillas and now he burned most of our supply wagons. He's well on the way to defeating us single-handedly."
"Sergius is supposed to be the military genius,” Mark said. “The return of the Fell Prince. He'll want to get in on the easy pickings."
"At least we hope so,” Ellie observed.
Mark paused, then pressed his long finger into the soft vellum of the map. “He'll meet us here, at this river crossing. It's three days march for us. It's only one day out of Moray so Sergius will think he's got a bolt-hole if anything goes wrong. He'll have Sullivan harass us from the rear and cut us off. Even if he leaves an huge garrison in Moray, he'll outnumber us three to one."
Arnold shook his head. “I'm starting to think that dividing my army was a mistake after all."
* * * *
That night, Ellie led what was left of her ninja division on a raid on Sullivan's camp, got a few more of her friends killed, and put at least a bit of fear back in Sullivan.
For the next couple of days, the Duke stayed further away. Like a jackal, he hunted for forage parties or for laggards but didn't dare attack their main column. Still, he stayed close, ready to close on them if they made a mistake.
As they crossed a low rise three days after they'd studied the map, Ellie saw a beautiful valley laid out before them.
Cornfields stretched as far as she could see, the young seedlings providing almost no cover.
Mark had judged correctly. Sergius's army manned the ancient stone bridge that crossed the river. His forces, all musket-armed with bright bayonets, lined both sides of the riverbank.
Mark rode up beside her and studied the field with a small telescope Lawgrave had found for him.
"I didn't think he'd have that many soldiers."
After a year in Lubica, Ellie recognized most of the mercenary banners. Every one she'd ever seen, along with some she'd never heard of, flew over Sergius's camp.
"I think we're in trouble."
Mark nodded. “All sorts of trouble. It's too late in the afternoon to fight but we need to camp. And Sergius's army is going to deny us access to water. So, we're going to be thirsty."
It wasn't as bad as that, but it was bad.
They found a farmhouse with a well, created a Roman-style legion camp with stakes and earthen walls, and set up a heavy guard.
* * * *
Their war council was fairly grim.
The major road parallel to the river was on Sergius's side so he could march faster than they could if they tried to fl
ank him. He controlled the bridge and had artillery as well as massed musket formations to keep it clear. And Sullivan was behind them, ready to attack if they gave him a chance.
"At least we know it can't get worse.” Arnold was trying a bit of humor, but nobody laughed. Especially when Lawgrave and two of the other mage leaders suddenly winced, then drew out their stones.
"What's happening?” Arnold demanded.
Ellie took out her own stones and cast a pattern. She moved them around, not liking the results she was getting, then nodded. “Things got worse. A Rissel army out of Dinan is sailing up the river now. They should arrive by noon tomorrow. Their mages just added their support to the attacks Sergius's mages are already launching.
"How many?” Arnold's voice was grim.
"I can't tell. Plenty."
"Another ten thousand,” Lawgrave groaned. “Minimum."
Dafed shook his head. “It's going to be ugly."
"Let's not give up hope,” Mark said.
"What hope?” Arnold demanded. “We're outnumbered four to one by Sergius alone. And another two to one by the Riesel. Not to mention Sullivan's army which is nearly half our size all by himself, and all heavy knights.
"You aren't counting our volunteers,” Ellie said. “We've got more than five hundred ex-farmers in our army. We can—"
"Just more for them to kill,” Dafed observed. “Untrained soldiers are worse than nothing because they start panics."
"Right,” Mark said. “But they know how to use axes."
Ellie had been fighting despair herself but she thought she saw where Mark was going. “More ninja tactics,” she guessed.
"You got it. The Rissel are sailing up the river. Let's say the current is four knots and their ships are sailing at six knots. That makes an impact speed of ten knots."
"Sharpened logs would go right through the ships’ wooden hulls,” Ellie said. “But we'd need to get to the river."
"That's where your ninja come in. They'll have to defend the woodcutters. I think the major danger tonight is from Sullivan. Sergius's army retreated across the river and dug in there. He didn't want to get them stuck with their backs to the river."
Ellie nodded grimly. “My ninja, those still alive, owe Sullivan."
"The logs won't stop the Rissel although they may thin them out and slow them down. We're going to have to attack Sergius in the morning. Which means you won't get any sleep."
Ellie laughed, hearing the bitterness in her voice. “I wasn't going to get much sleep anyway. All this death has been getting to me."
* * * *
They brought the woodsmen downstream from Sergius's army.
Sullivan's knights investigated the sound of axes felling logs in the night. They tried a probe—but heavy cavalry doesn't do well in the woods. Caltrops, aimed rifle fire, and guerilla-style ambushes kept them from posing too serious a threat to the lightly armed and unskilled farmers. As Mark had suggested, the farmers might not know how to fight, but they knew plenty about cutting down trees.
Ellie kept them at it, encouraging them, reminding them that this was their chance to become heroes. It was funny to think that, after all of the fighting and training she'd done, the battle might be won or lost by a few hundred farmers whose qualification for the job was the stump-clearing they'd done back on their farms. But it was the reality.
Each sharpened log they launched down the river was one more strike against the Rissel navy, one more hope for their small force.
When the sun finally peeked its way over the horizon, she rubbed her eyes, wished for coffee, and got ready to fight again.
* * * *
The numbers hadn't gotten any better during the night. Sergius's army looked rested and ready. Sullivan's heavy cavalry gathered at the top of a small rise behind them and watched for an opening.
The Free Lubica Army broke camp and Mark advanced his riflemen in skirmish formation, firing as soon as they came in range.
Sergius's musketeers formed the solid four-column lines that Mark had devised for them—and collapsed when accurate aimed rifle fire simply chewed them up.
After an hour of taking casualties, Sergius pulled his musketeers back from the river and started pounding the riflemen with cannon fire.
Shooting individual soldiers with solid shot is a bit like hunting flies with a katana. It's massive overkill, but it can work. And Sergius's dug-in cannon presented relatively poor targets for counterfire.
By noon, Ellie guessed that Sergius had lost five hundred men while Arnold might have lost a couple of dozen. But they were still losing. If they couldn't get past the river, they would starve. And Sergius could afford the losses. Especially with the Rissel army on the way.
Mark rotated his riflemen at noon, sending in fresh fighters while the soldiers who'd been fighting all morning came back to camp, ate, and learned of their next assignment.
Ellie watched them with some concern but their faces showed nothing but confidence and satisfaction in a job well done. Sergius might have moved his musketeers out of range but not before the riflemen had proven that they could tear holes in his infantry with scarcely any loss.
Mark joined her at a water barrel. His face was dark with gunpowder and Ellie shook her head. She should have known that Mark wouldn't listen to his own advice, that he'd take the same risks he gave his men. It might be bad generalship, but it made for a good man.
"You've got a plan? Right?” she demanded.
Against the darkness of his gunpowder-smeared face, his grin looked bright and almost frightening. “I've always got a plan, Ellie."
"Let me guess. You're going to take out the Duke of Sullivan."
He shook his head in frustration. “You've learned a lot over the past few months. I'm sorry I ever insulted your tactical judgment. If you weren't too busy being the returned princess, you'd be one heck of a general."
"Where do you want me?"
Despite what Mark had said about her being a general, she mostly listened as he outlined his plan.
Then she ordered what little remained of her ninja to get an hour's nap and be ready to move out. It was payback time.
Sullivan's army had closed to less than a mile away from their camp—on their side of the river. Most of his men had dismounted, but they held their horses close at hand. Sullivan was waiting for every cavalryman's dream—the cutting attack at a disorganized enemy.
Mark gave it to him.
With what Ellie recognized as a California take on the rebel yell, Mark's riflemen dispersed into five-man firing teams and headed toward Sullivan.
The Duke wasn't an idiot. He'd experienced the impact of aimed rifle fire when he'd raided their wagon train. Still, his entire life's training centered on a fundamental military truth—only a well-organized infantry can stand against heavy cavalry.
Squad-oriented tactics didn't even compute in this world's military framework. Sullivan would have had to be a genius or a coward to turn down Mark's gift.
He was neither genius nor coward. When Mark's army was within a half-mile, Sullivan's bugles sounded and his knights began mounting.
And dying.
Mark's rifle teams took what cover the land gave them and kept firing.
The five-man teams worked together, keeping the most expert marksman firing while the other soldiers loaded.
Five hundred riflemen meant one hundred Minnie balls were in the air at any time.
At half a mile range, muskets would have been ineffective. The rifles cut holes in Sullivan's lines.
The knights still managed a charge.
Ellie hadn't thought they would. The shock of continuous aimed gunfire had to frighten them. But Sullivan was a leader whom men would follow.
The knights rode down a dozen of the five soldier teams. But the teams were tougher than they looked.
As the knights closed to within fifty feet, all five riflemen would rise, fire their rifles together, and fix bayonets.
Meanwhile, the other riflemen
kept firing, smashing knights wherever they bunched up.
Half of Sullivan's knights had fallen before the Duke finally convinced himself that he'd walked into another trap.
But Sullivan's worldview held another truth. Cavalry can only be destroyed by cavalry. Because horsemen can outrun men on foot.
He signaled a retreat.
It was time for him to learn another lesson.
As Sullivan's cavalry trotted out of range of the advancing rifle teams, they started to run into trip-wires, concealed deadfalls, and the ubiquitous caltrops.
Ellie wished she still had her bow, but she contented herself with watching Sullivan's horsemen fall as they rode past concealed ninja and ninja traps. They were dying from an army they couldn't see because it lay hidden beneath pools of water, bushes, or tilled fields until it was time to rise up, strike, then fade away again.
Mark didn't have enough rifles to equip the ninja, but they had plenty of muskets. And the ninja didn't need the range of a rifle. They waited in hiding until the cavalrymen were a few feet away and blasted.
Ellie kept her eye on Sullivan.
He spotted one of her ninja, spurred his horse toward the man, and then collapsed when the ninja calmly fired his musket, killing his horse.
Sullivan rolled, skewered her ninja almost without thinking, and continued on foot.
She'd let him go once. She wasn't going to do so again. She moved to intercept him as the sound of dying cavalry gradually faded.
The riflemen had done much of the damage, but her ninja had been the final blow, slaughtering knights who thought they could escape.
"You!” Sullivan sounded almost pleased when she stepped from behind a tree and confronted him.
"If you yield and offer fealty to King Arnold, you can still live.” Ellie knew he would refuse, but she had to make the offer.
For an instant, she thought she'd misjudged him. Then he shook his head and laughed. “The pretender Arnold doesn't stand a chance."
"Sergius let you retain much of your power because you had an army. As a pauper, do you think you'll do better with him than Arnold?"
"At least I'll be alive.” He advanced on her, then swished his saber in a sardonic salute.
"No, Duke. You won't be."
