Raker muttered a curse then reached over and knocked the oversized helm from Drake’s head, mussing his hair. “C’mon, boy, let’s see what you got. I got five pieces of gold says I can bring down more than you.”
Drake had been looking sour until he heard the challenge. He flashed a smiled. “You’re on, old timer.” He quickly ran off.
“Old timer? That little…” said Raker.
Jonrell grabbed him by the shoulder. “Later. Let’s give Tomalt something to think about.”
* * *
Sergeant Lanard sat at a table in the mess hall with several other young officers. His body ached and his eyes had trouble focusing. The exhaustion was so intense he had to talk himself into taking every bite of stew and crusted bread. He longed for a place to rest his head.
I gotta get something down first.
“Craziest thing I ever saw,” said the man next to him. Sergeant Moren shook his head in disbelief.
The other officers at the table looked up with heavy eyes, but cast them right back down at their bowls, paying Moren little mind. They were all feeling worse for the wear after the last few days of fighting, and no one wanted to hear another of Moren’s wild embellishments.
“What are you yapping about this time, Moren?” asked Lanard, immediately regretting his mistake. Now, I’ll never eat in peace.
Moren leaned in close and whispered. “I’m talking about Kaz. He ain’t human.”
Another officer clicked his tongue. “Of course he isn’t. You’ve seen the way he looks.”
Moren shook his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Brock. I’m talking about the way he fights.”
“Yeah yeah, we’ve all seen him in the practice yard showing off,” said Lanard, wanting to get back to his meal.
Moren shook his head again. “No. This is different. You weren’t out running sorties with him. I’m telling you it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, watching that man fight. I nearly got my own head lopped off by not paying attention,” he said pointing to a clipped ear. He started laughing. “You should have seen Tomalt’s men. They were actually running away from him. Not us, but him. Craziest thing I ever saw.”
“Don’t tell me you’re another one with some kind of a crush on the man,” said Brock. “You said yourself, he ain’t human.”
Moren ignored the jibe and took a bite of stew. He then jabbed the spoon at each man at the table. “I’m telling you, boys, I don’t care what he is or where he’s from. I’d follow that man in battle against the One Below himself after what I’ve seen.”
“Aw c’mon,” said Lanard, having enough of the conversation he had encouraged. “Just the other day, you and Railen were going on and on about how you couldn’t wait to see Glacar take Kaz down.”
Moren chuckled. “Not anymore. And Railen’s singing Kaz’s praise to anyone who will listen in the infirmary. More than I am, for sure. And who can blame him? Kaz carried the man almost three hundred yards over one shoulder after Railen took an arrow in the side. Kaz was fighting Tomalt’s men with one arm the whole way back to the castle.” He paused, losing himself in the memory. “Anyway, before I came here, I checked in on Railen and that brown-skinned fellow, Wiqua. He said that if it weren’t for Kaz our fellow sergeant would be dead.”
Brock waved a hand. “Bah, so I’m supposed to jump down and worship the devil just because you two are impressed with his skill.”
Moren laughed. “Where have you been? Under a rock?”
“No, I was working the trebuchets this afternoon with that crazy one from the Hell Patrol. Raker.”
“Then you’ll see soon enough. Me and Railen aren’t the only ones. I’m telling you, Kaz is for real, and the rest of that crew is alright in my eyes too.”
Lanard pushed himself away from the table. “I’ve had enough of this.”
He handed off his food to Moren who eagerly snatched it away. After a hard day, the last thing he wanted to do was hear more about the Hell Patrol and their band of misfits. Yet as he strode through the mess hall, he heard snippets of conversations all relaying stories about the various members of the group. Some were about that fine red-headed woman with the fiery temper, others about that maniac, Glacar, or the giant, Crusher. And the list of names grew with each table he passed.
One name kept popping up over all others. Kaz. Lanard wondered if everyone in the whole hall had either been saved by the black devil or watched him save someone else.
Lanard shook his head. No one is that good.
* * *
If Tomalt had been confident in victory, Jonrell was sure that after the hard lesson Raker and Drake gave him, the duke had to be second guessing himself. The trebuchets had pounded his camp, reaching spots well beyond what most would assume possible from standard siege equipment. Jonrell had joined Yanasi on top of the gatehouse to watch the competition between the two engineers. When he had finally called a ceasefire, Jonrell could hardly determine which of the two eccentric members had earned the five pieces of gold.
The good news was that their efforts had set Tomalt back days, perhaps longer. Eight large siege towers had been completely destroyed. Supply wagons and tents were also turned into rags and splinters. The bad news was that Tomalt had lost few men during the bombardment.
Apparently his men are fast runners.
“Things have been too quiet. He hasn’t attempted to attack even once since we used the trebuchets.”
Jonrell turned, startled. “Lord Caliva. You surprised me.” He turned back over the field, gazing upon the smattering of white tents. In front, stood newly erected siege equipment, almost twice as many as before. “Yes, but he’s been busy in other ways.”
“Yes, I believe all we accomplished was to stir the hornet’s nest. Before, all he dared to do was probe and test our defenses.”
Jonrell nodded. “Tomalt is a methodical man.”
“But even a methodical man will run out of patience. I believe with his next assault, whenever that may be, he will come at us with everything he has.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Well, let us hope the queen was successful with her efforts to win over Jeldor’s support,” said Caliva, leaning over the merlon next to Jonrell. “Even with the losses Tomalt’s taken so far, he outnumbers us five to one.”
Jonrell gave Caliva a sharp look, gauging the distance of those within earshot.
Caliva laughed. “Don’t worry commander. The men figured out long ago that the queen is not ill and residing in the tower. They know her servant is standing in her place.”
Jonrell sighed. “When?”
“I think they suspected some time ago, but when you met Tomalt for parlay without Her Majesty, they felt confident you were hiding something.”
Jonrell sighed again. “As did Tomalt. Another reason I expect him not to dally any longer with his next assault.”
Caliva grunted. “Then again let us hope that your sister was successful.”
* * *
Jonrell watched the city burn from the top of Cathyrium’s large keep. Tomalt had begun to set fire to the outskirts of the town yesterday, and before long flames engulfed everything outside of the castle’s walls. A day and a night later the fires continued, whipping brown smoke into the air. Flames danced recklessly between the shattered ruins. The city’s cathedral, no longer recognizable in its blackened state, fell in on itself with a loud crash. Ash soared into the air like a flock of angry crows.
Why did it have to come to this?
Jonrell had evacuated most of Cathyrium’s inhabitants to surrounding towns long ago. He ushered those who stayed inside the city’s walls days before Tomalt’s arrival. They first used the city’s alleys and abandoned buildings to stage ambushes and sorties to harass enemy troops. Glacar, Crusher, and Kaz had each led men against Tomalt’s advances where it was said the Duke had taken heavy losses.
Jonrell knew Tomalt’s newest tactic was sound, but watching the city destroyed at the hands of one o
f his countrymen, ripped his heart. War is a cursed thing.
He pulled out his spyglass and found a line of sight between the billowing smoke. Lines formed in Tomalt’s camp and the siege equipment received last minute preparations.
This will be the big push.
A scribe sat next to Jonrell, jotting down his orders before handing off each slip of paper to a messenger. Even after more than a dozen orders went out, Jonrell’s eyes had not left the burning pyre that had been the city of Cathyrium.
* * *
“Keep it up!” Yanasi shouted. She watched the man next to her fumble with an arrow from his quiver. Blood ran down his hand where a blister had burst open. “Don’t think about how much it hurts. Don’t think about how tired you are. Just think about driving an arrow right through everyone of those whoresons who wants to take your land from you. Show them no mercy, for I guarantee you will get none in return.”
A roar lifted from her men and she noticed that their pace quickened. She smiled and returned to firing her own sleek, black bow. Her men had hated her at first, and she had been sure Jonrell made a mistake in giving her command. But over time, her men had grown to trust her, and now she wouldn’t give up her company for anything in the world. These men were hers and she relished fighting by their side.
Jonrell, you were right after all. She allowed herself a slight grin despite the swarming lines of infantry edging toward the castle’s outer walls.
Siege towers came into view, rolling down the wide avenues and parting the rising smoke. Water soaked hides covered the towers and the fire arrows her archers had switched to were of little affect. She noticed that the mangonels and ballistae stationed around the castle’s outer walls were having trouble bringing them down as well. Hurled stones flew from the towers, narrowly missing the drum tower to her right.
They’ve got catapults on top of their towers.
She yelled to her men. “Concentrate your fire near the tower’s wheels where the hide is coming away. We need to stop as many of those things as we can before they reach the walls.”
* * *
Drake ducked as a rock sailed overhead, nearly soiling himself. He wanted to cower behind the merlon until the fighting was over but the battle had just begun.
This is the worst we’ve seen yet.
Men had come at the walls before with ladders, but he hadn’t been under much pressure himself, save for a few stray arrows. But now siege towers armed with mangonel or ballistae lurched forward. They didn’t seem to have the same force as those he and Raker had constructed, but the smaller equipment fired faster rounds and prevented him and his men from taking proper aim which allowed the towers to inch ever closer.
The soldier next to him raised a shield and one of the stones crashed into it, knocking the man from his feet. The corporal cursed and cradled his arm.
“We gotta get below and take cover.” Drake heard another mutter. “This is useless.”
They looked at Drake and he knew he should say something encouraging, or something that would strike fear in them and make them stay at their station like Raker did. However, looking out over the hellish inferno that flared beyond the castle’s walls, all he could think about was the comforting calm of the green forested Hideaway that he had left behind.
* * *
Raker stood defiant atop the merlons. He bellowed orders to his men as they stayed under steady fire from the approaching siege towers. He spat over the side of the high drum tower, daring them to take him out. A missile sailed past his head and he felt the rising wind on his face.
They’re getting better.
He cackled maniacally. He faced his men, dropping his trousers and wagging his backside at the enemy. His men joined him in laughter.
“That thing ready yet, Senald?” yelled Raker as men rushed the wall’s base.
“Aye, Sir.”
“Then fire away and show those pretty boys what we got.”
“Aye.” They all shouted again as the mangonel arm slammed into the cross beam. The pitched rock was flung in a high arc and landed on top of the tower he had targeted. With his breaches still around his ankles, Raker watched splinters fly through the air and men topple to the ground. He let out a holler as an arrow whipped by his head.
He looked down as ladders slammed against the sides of the wall and decided to relieve himself before the fighting got close.
Nothing worse than a full bladder while trying to kill a man.
* * *
Drake’s men stared at him and he stared right back. None of them knew what to say or what to do. He glanced over the ramparts to the drum tower on the opposite corner where Raker stood relieving himself over the wall. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene. Crashing thunder followed. He blinked and shook his head at the absurdity of it all. Arrows flitted all around the man but he paid none any mind until he shook himself off and pulled his trousers back up.
How does he do it?
Drake realized his men had been talking to him. In fact, one shook him. Yet he couldn’t find the words to answer the questions being asked. All he had heard were the sounds of men dying and steel clanging.
“C’mon. Let’s get out of here,” said the corporal, slapping one of the other men in the arm. His voice alone heard over the chaos around him.
Drake looked into the eyes of the rest of his crew and saw that each had already made up their mind to do the same. They turned toward the stairwell but quickly came to a halt as a giant shadow pushed itself through the arched doorway, a great broadsword painted in blood was in its hand.
“Where is everyone going?” asked Kaz in a deep, accented voice.
The men gaped.
Kaz met each man’s eyes until he settled on Drake, still on his rear, leaning against the parapet. The massive bulk came forward and yanked Drake to his feet. “You aren’t hurt. What’s wrong?”
“I-I can’t move.”
“You’re afraid?”
Drake nodded.
A dark blur slapped Drake across his face. His eyes widened.
“What do you feel now?”
His hand drifted up to his face. “Pain. That hurt…”
The hand slapped him again. “And now.”
Drake’s heart raced and fire burned in his eyes. “Anger,” said Drake in a low tone.
Kaz nodded. “Good. Now use it,” he said pointing out at the field. He sheathed his sword and ran over to the mangonel, pushing aside the men who hadn’t found the nerve yet to move again. Kaz gave each a look until they joined him at their stations.
Drake looked out to the siege towers struggling forward. Without thinking, he began shouting coordinates. He ducked under his shield as another hail of rocks flew toward their position.
“By your command,” said Kaz. Drake looked back and saw his men had gotten the message.
This tower is mine and no one is leaving unless I give the order.
His arm came down. “Release.”
* * *
Sergeant Lanard’s arms felt like lead.
Tomalt’s men had swarmed the walls with such overwhelming numbers that before long they failed to push away all the ladders thudding the hard stone. The enemy clamored over the sides and overran his section. The strong cluster of his experienced veterans dwindled beneath the onslaught. He already killed half a dozen men since the first had crested the walls, but their numbers only swelled. Each swing Lanard used to counter their attacks got sloppier, and as the minutes passed he knew his time was coming to an end.
A man as large as an ox with a face as ugly as one came at him in a rush. The man growled like an animal each time his warhammer crashed down on Lanard’s shield. Lanard’s knees buckled. Another thunderous blow hit him so hard his arm went limp. His shield clattered to the walkway, stuck to the dead weight of his arm. He tried to raise his sword arm in preparation for the next blow but couldn’t find the strength. With the warhammer looming overhead, he closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate.
He heard the sound of the weapon whistling through the air and a loud clash, but Lanard felt no impact. He opened his eyes and saw the beast of a man struggling against another equal in size.
Kaz? Where did he come from? The black man’s sword had caught the warhammer as it descended. The enemy struggled to overpower the mercenary, but Kaz would not budge.
The white of Kaz’s teeth peeked through parted lips as a war cry erupted that sent a shiver down Lanard’s spine. He could have sworn he heard the ox-man whimper. With a shove of his shoulder, Kaz flung the man from the wall. Four quick slashes followed and four more bodies fell.
Kaz grabbed either side of a ladder. Another sound that seemed to have come from the very bowels of hell erupted from the black man as he heaved the ladder from the wall by himself.
A flash of lightning raced across the sky.
One Above, I’ll never doubt Moren again.
Kaz turned to face Lanard and yelled over the surrounding mayhem. “Will you make it?”
After that, what can I say? I dare not tell him no. Lanard nodded.
“Good,” said Kaz as he reached down and picked Lanard up with one arm. The strength of the mercenary both humbled Lanard and renewed his strength.
“I’ve got things here,” said Lanard. “Thanks.”
Kaz nodded and turned without another word, carving his way through anyone who dared stand in his way.
* * *
The smell of death hung in the air and filled Kaz’s nostrils as he hacked his way through the press of bodies. Blood splattered across his cheek as he opened a man’s throat, then turned in time to avoid the thrust of another. With a grunt, his sword pierced a weak spot in the man’s armor and he fell, blood spilling on the cobbled wall-walk.
Kaz had been running from one part of the castle to another, drawn to wherever the fighting seemed most intense. He stayed until he got things under control, and then moved on to the next area, wreaking havoc on anyone who came against him.
As far as his memories told him, he never smiled much. Yet with each parry, thrust, bob, and weave, the corners of his mouth seemed to lift into a half-smile. For the first time since waking on Slum Isle, Kaz felt at ease, relaxed. If the few glimpses of his past told him anything, it was that he found solace in war.
Rise and Fall (Book 1) Page 49
