Devil's Night Dawning: The First Book of the Broken Stone Series

by Damien Black

  ‘A little more modesty would become you, Sir Tarlquist, if you consider yourself a true knight,’ replied the King, more wearily than acidly.

  His only daughter had noticed that tired timbre creeping into his voice – normally such a potent force – more often of late. Her father had proved a mighty monarch, meeting the trials and tribulations of war and peace alike with a steady hand, yet even he was subject to mortal frailty.

  Sixty-three winters... and now he had to go to war yet again to preserve his realm. Could he really stand much more of this? Princess Hjala felt a stab of pity – she knew her father had spent half a century trying to do what was best for his people. How many other kings could say the same? He deserved better than this in the twilight of his life.

  ‘And what of the battle at sea?’ the King was asking, in the same weary tone. ‘How speeds my other son?’

  ‘The Sealord sends back word of being hard pressed,’ said Visigard, his face lengthening. ‘Of course when Lord Aesgir is able to join his ships to Prince Thorsvald’s that should even the odds up, but as things stand... well, Thule appears to have had Lord Saltcaste impressing seafarers left and right for many months. Along with that he’s also enlisted a score of longships crewed by reavers from the Northern Wastes – report has it they aren’t hired freesailors either, they’re commanded by seacarls loyal to the Frozen Thane Hardrada.’

  There was a general muttering at that. A Thraxian cog had put into harbour several days ago with news of an attack by Northland reavers. Those hadn’t been freesailors either – the dead pirate leader had been identified as a seacarl, the Northlandic equivalent of a knight. Hardrada and his fellow thanes were clearly weary of several generations of peace and itching for a return to war.

  ‘First the Ice Thanes break the Treaty of Ryøskil, now one of them allies himself to Thule’s cause,’ said Tarlquist, his scarred face dark and brooding. ‘This doesn’t bode well at all – what’s made them so bold all of a sudden, I wonder?’

  Hjala didn’t see that there was much to wonder at. In her eyes the answer was simple – fifteen years of relative peace had left the kingdom complacent; now a determined rebel with an army at his back was prepared to take advantage of that. She knew what she would do if she were a Northland thane, nursing an age-old grudge and hungry for mainland spoil.

  ‘So far as we know it’s only Hardrada who’s broken with the treaty,’ sighed the King. ‘Let’s not concern ourselves with the other Northland princes until we have to – we’ve plenty to deal with as it is. So, give me the sum, Visigard. By how much are we currently outnumbered at sea?’

  ‘By two to one, my liege.’ Visigard’s blue-grey eyes sank to the floor like a breached cog.

  A silent, uncomfortable pause followed. The King reached for the silver goblet of watered wine at his elbow. ‘Have word sent to my son that he is under no circumstances to engage the enemy directly until he is reinforced by Lord Aesgir’s ships,’ he said. ‘Hit and run tactics only – tell him to play for time, and above all don’t let Thule’s fleet get near the coast! We don’t want them landing a sortie on the shores of Stromlund, we’ve enough to deal with at Linden as it is.’

  ‘No indeed, Your Majesty, and I’m pleased to tell you that your command is already being carried out,’ replied Visigard, his chest puffing out self-importantly – as it usually did when he felt he had good news for the King. ‘In his latest message your son says this is precisely the stratagem he is pursuing until he is joined by naval reinforcements – or you tell him otherwise.’

  It was good to see the unearthly attack on Staerkvit hadn’t completely robbed the veteran commander of his pompous bearing, Hjala reflected wryly.

  The King nodded. ‘Good. Good boy, my Thorsvald. Sensible and keeps his head under fire. I wish I could say the same of my elder – but I trust he has since redeemed himself by stiffening Linden’s defences.’

  ‘Well, that brings us to our next matter – assessing our relative strengths in the field,’ said Lord Visigard.

  The King nodded. Turning to address a bloodied young knight standing just behind Visigard he boomed: ‘Sir Bragamor, step forward! You’ve ridden hard from our last bastion – I believe you have an account of the Young Pretender’s forces from my son Wolfram?’

  The battle-weary knight obeyed. He was lightly armoured to facilitate speed of travel; his mail byrnie and the helm he carried under his arm were both dinted. His head was bandaged, his face sooty, his surcoat soiled with mud and the odd streak of blood.

  ‘Thule assails us hard,’ he said nervously. ‘His palisades are finished and his catapults batter our outer walls. Our scouts report that he’s constructing siege towers as well. He’s also well equipped with archers. Thanks to the foresight of the Castellan of Linden we are well victualled, but even with His Highness’s knights to stiffen our garrison we’re sorely outnumbered and unable to mount an effective counter-attack. Thule’s barons have men stationed about the castle for leagues around – of myself and two companions that were sent here, only I survived, and that barely.’

  The knight’s head and side of his face were bandaged. His light helm did not fully protect the face, leaving him vulnerable to snipers. ‘I lost an earlobe to their archers,’ he said with a hint of pride, ‘but I was lucky compared to the others. Their shades will be seeking the Heavenly Halls as we speak.’

  ‘They’ll have much company in the coming weeks, I warrant,’ put in Lord Visigard grimly.

  The King’s face was a stone mask. Only his eyes revealed the anguish he felt – it was a look Princess Hjala had seen before many times.

  ‘Sir Bragamor, your valour in the face of hardship befits a true knight, and I shall not forget your service to the realm,’ said the King, managing a wan smile. ‘But now swiftly if you will, proceed to tell us how many men the traitor fields. I want as detailed an appraisal of his land army as it is in your power to give.’

  War-wounded Bragamor answered as loudly as he could. When he was done the King sat back and emptied his goblet in a single draught.

  ‘Twelve thousand men!’ he repeated, scowling. ‘More than a thousand knights plus a like number of squires, two thousand men-at-arms, the same number again of bowmen, and six thousand levied foot. This isn’t a rebellion, it’s a fully fledged civil war!’

  ‘It is as much as we expected,’ commented Lord Ulnor.

  The King nodded curtly. ‘Well, let’s to it then – a summary of our own forces.’

  Lord Visigard took a deep breath and began. ‘The Order of the White Valravyn including my own garrison here comes to five hundred knights, the same again of men-at-arms, and three hundred bowmen.’

  ‘And that assumes we are willing to empty the palace of guards,’ put in Lord Ulnor.

  ‘The regular watch that police the lower city number five hundred,’ said Visigard. ‘I could have them take over citadel duties as well if need be, to free up the entire Order.’

  ‘If we lose this coming battle the city is doomed anyway,’ said the King darkly. ‘Sanction it, I do so permit you.’

  Visigard nodded and continued with his reckoning. Before he had finished Hjala knew it would not be enough. As a princess of the blood royal she was well read, and her studies of mathematics had not been neglected in her youth. She listened in tense silence as the Royal Marshal eked out the numbers: five hundred knights with vassal holdings in the Dominions, a hundred knights apiece from the Jarls of Vandheim and Stromlund, five hundred archers mustered from the yeomanry of lands ruled directly by the King…

  Not enough.

  ‘When the Efrilunders arrive they should each have a hundred and fifty knights and the same again of squires, men-at-arms and bowmen,’ Visigard droned on. ‘The Highland clan chiefs between them are bringing some six hundred foot, doughty fighters as Horskram here was mentioning...’

  Not enough.

  ‘Yes, yes, and what of our own peasant levies and the thrice-cursed Woldings?’ asked the King testily. The meagr
e figures weren’t putting her father in the best of spirits. Hjala could hardly fault him for that.

  ‘At such short notice we cannot hope to muster more than a thousand well enough trained to be of any use,’ said Visigard. ‘As for the Woldings, between them they should be able to bring another two hundred knights and the same again of foot. Don’t expect any more. They won’t stint on the levies at least – count on them for a thousand of their usual brutalised peasant conscripts to use as fodder.’

  ‘I see,’ replied the King, oblivious to Horskram’s disgusted expression even if Hjala wasn’t. Strange that a former knight should be so appalled by the realities of war, the princess mused. But then the old monk had forsaken the lance for the lectern long ago.

  ‘Ach, I must be getting too old for all these figures,’ muttered the King. ‘What is our sum total in parts?’

  Visigard paused to total an army that Princess Hjala had already calculated.

  ‘More than eighteen hundred knights including the Woldings, and the same number of trained footsoldiers including the Highlanders,’ he said gravely. ‘Some twelve hundred archers and double that of peasant levies. Some eight and a half thousand fighting men overall including the squires.’

  Not enough. Not nearly enough.

  ‘So we outnumber them in horse by five hundred – assuming the Woldings can get here in time – but they overmatch us with archers, and outnumber us greatly overall thanks to their long-prepared levies,’ said her father after a brief pause. ‘Of trained foot we almost have parity – assuming the highlanders can get down here without further hindrance from those damned hill-dwellers! Master Horskram, you were right it seems about the importance of their contribution.’

  Horskram returned his liege’s acknowledgement with a brief nod. He looked as optimistic as Hjala felt.

  Her father was obviously putting a brave face on things. She knew he had to as King – but she also knew he still believed he could win this war. After all, he had triumphed against superior odds at the Battle of Aumric Fields, and Corne Hill before then…

  But he had been younger in those days, full of fire and vigour. His daughter knew the man beneath the crown too well – age had not greatly weakened his body, but it had attenuated his soul. Could an old man, even one like her father, really inspire his men to yet another victory against the odds?

  She pushed the question away – she didn’t like it.

  ‘Sir Bragamor, tell me,’ asked the King, ‘there are levies, and there are levies... how well trained and equipped is their yeomanry?’

  ‘From what our scouts tell us they are for the most part well prepared, for conscripts. Most have brigandines and light helms, and are armed with rude axes and spears. Our reports indicate they have received some training, and to a man they are highly motivated – Thule has promised them a lifting of all royal taxes under his reign.’

  ‘A lifting of royal taxes?’ roared the King. ‘Or a lifting of the taxes Krulheim and his ilk levied on their own peasantry to pay my tribute? I seem to recall levying royal taxes on southron nobles, not their common folk!’

  ‘Nonetheless, as barons it is their feudal prerogative to set taxes of their own where they deem fit to do so,’ Lord Ulnor reminded his King, none too gently Hjala thought. ‘These past years it has been all too easy for the traitor Krulheim to blame the woes of his people on the capital.’

  ‘Aye, aye,’ replied the King, waving a hand irately. ‘Spare me the reminders of the exigencies of rulership, Lord Ulnor, I’ve had plenty enough over the years! And what of the quality of our own levy?’

  ‘Don’t expect the Wolding conscripts to be armed with anything more than pitchforks and clubs,’ put in Sir Tarlquist. ‘And as for training and armour, the royal breath should not be held. I doubt half of them will even have decent clothes.’

  ‘The levied yeomanry from the Dominions at least should be a match for Thule’s commoners,’ added Lord Visigard. ‘And the Efrilunders will hopefully have given some thought to training and equipping their yeomen.’

  ‘Some, but not much,’ warned Horskram. ‘I have travelled often in the hinterlands, and whilst you will find their knights and soldiers as doughty as any, the Efrilunders don’t give much thought to training irregulars. Frankly, they are too preoccupied with gaining their own glory on the battlefield to concern themselves with such matters. Besides that they don’t get much trouble nowadays, other than skirmishes with the Woldings and the odd Northland privateer.’

  The King sighed, motioning for a page boy to refill his cup from the matching silver flagon next to it.

  ‘And so it goes!’ he exclaimed again. ‘Peace has made us all soft – while in his bitterness and contumely Thule has silently oiled his machine of war! But still, once the northerners get down here we should comfortably outnumber them with horse at least - ’

  The door to the King’s solar was suddenly flung open by the raven knight guarding it.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘Sir Torgun is without and brings urgent news from his brother Lord Toros of Vandheim.’

  The King’s face darkened again. ‘Well, better let him in then!’ he bellowed. Hjala felt an old twinge of longing as her former paramour entered the room, looking as handsome and well-made and earnest as ever.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said the blond knight, taking a knee to the rushes.

  ‘Up, up,’ said Freidheim, gesturing impatiently. ‘We have no time for formalities – what is it?’

  Raising his huge frame in one fluid motion despite his full armour, Sir Torgun gave them his news. It was no better than the rest of it.

  ‘I was at the muster camp with my brother when a messenger from Stromlund arrived,’ he said. ‘The seacarls sailed their longships around Prince Thorsvald’s blockade while it was being pressed by the rest of Thule’s fleet. They’ve made a landing, some ten miles south of Lake Strom.’

  ‘How many of them?’ asked the King, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘They say all twenty longships landed, Your Majesty, and disgorged their entire contents. Some two thousand reavers armed to the teeth are now marching cross country towards Linden. They must have a native of our land with them who knows the way, for they make swift progress.’

  ‘But a Northland longship carries no more than fifty men at most,’ interjected Visigard. ‘They surely could not number more than a thousand!’

  Torgun shook his head. ‘The longships were never intended for use in the sea battle it seems – Krulheim had them join with his main flotilla only to make it look so, then turn aside for the coast at the last minute. They must have had extra men hiding in the aisles, two down the centre for every pair of rowers.’

  The young knight’s demeanour was as calm as ever. Hjala felt her heart quicken despite herself. That was what she had loved about him most – he was strong as steel, yet his manner was soft as silk.

  ‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ said Tarlquist. ‘A longship encumbered by a hundred men could never hope to outrun a Northlending cog!’

  ‘Have you so soon forgotten our own experience of the forces that Thule commands?’ asked Sir Torgun. ‘We saw at Salmor that his hedge-wizard has some unnatural mastery of the waters.’

  ‘And he is no hedge-wizard if he can harness the spirits of the sea to make ships move faster,’ said Horskram, rising from his seat. ‘I think young Torgun has the right of it – this tale smacks of sorcery and seems uncomfortably reminiscent of our own recent experiences with Northlanders.’

  Lord Ulnor fixed the monk with a cold stare. Clearly Strongholm’s master of secrets did not enjoy the presence of another man who had a few of his own. He had been present with Hjala at the private audience granted to Horskram and Tarlquist. It had been obvious the Argolian was holding back salient details. The adept had spoken of a theft from his monastery and a dangerous journey pursued by unspeakable forces linked to the attack on Staerkvit. But he had refused to elaborate until he and the King were alone. The seneschal hadn’t been pleased
about that at all.

  ‘So, we can add two thousand battle-hardened reavers led by experienced seacarls to Thule’s tally,’ her father was saying. ‘That means their trained footsoldiers will outnumber us by two to one, even with the Woldings and the Highlanders on our side. Their levies outnumber us three to one, and their bowmen nearly double ours. The only advantage we have is in knights, of which we outstrip them by a mere five hundred.’

  A grim silence descended on the room. Even the fearsome reputation of the White Valravyn was small consolation in the face of such odds. And many of the Order’s younger knights had never experienced a full-scale war before.

  Not enough, not nearly enough.

  ‘And how many men does my son command at Linden, Sir Bragamor?’ asked the King at length.

  ‘The castle itself is garrisoned with a hundred knights and two hundred footsoldiers, plus fifty crossbowmen,’ replied Bragamor. ‘Add to that the hundred knights Prince Wolfram brought with him and we have four hundred and fifty men at our disposal – assuming we can relieve them.’

  ‘Well we can at least count on adding those to our tally, if they manage to hold Linden for the next fortnight,’ said Visigard. The look on his face suggested he was only half sure that they would. So far the Young Pretender’s forces had proved exceedingly adept at siege-craft. Hjala shared his misgivings. And adding her brother’s beleaguered forces to their numbers in the face of such odds felt like scraping the bottom of the barrel in any case.

  ‘My Lord Ulnor,’ said Sir Tarlquist. ‘Though it pains me to suggest such a thing, what about recruiting mercenaries of our own? It would take time, but could you not commission a sortie of reinforcements while we sally forth to save Linden? With His Majesty’s leave of course – after all, there are plenty of those barbarian devils in our ports that could be hired into service.’

  Lord Ulnor shook his head. ‘The Treasury will not stand to it,’ he replied in a voice that Hjala noted was strictly neutral. ‘His Majesty’s policy has ever been to look after the wellbeing of his subjects wherever possible, and he has instructed me to avoid punitive taxes on the Dominions. What revenue we have is already tied up in maintaining the Order and supporting the Temple’s charitable works.’