Shadow of the Ghost Bear (The Tale of Azaran Book 2)

by Arbela, Zackery

  A order bawled out from the front ranks. There was a shuffling about as men turned in place, lowering their spears and forming a shield wall. Those caught in front cleared away as fast as they could, leaving behind hacked corpses and blood soaked grass that was slick underfoot. Azaran looked to his left and right. Several of his men lay on the ground, dead or wounded it was hard to tell. The lines of shields forming would be a harder wall to breach than ranks of panicked fellows hit from behind.

  "Follow me!" he shouted, hurling himself forward, leaping into the air and planting both feet against a shield just as it was whirling about to lock in place with its neighbor. The polished wood cracked under the impact. The man holding it went flying back. Azaran stumbled as he hit the ground and fell sideways, knocking down another warrior and nearly falling himself. A sting on his back - a spear had jabbed his mail could with enough force to get the point through the rings and padded coat beneath. Painful, but not fatal, at least not for him. He spun about and knocked that man back. He punched open a gap and the rest of his men forced their way through, boring into the enemy ranks like a mole tunneling through the earth. The world was a mad mosaic of screaming faces and stabbing spears striking at him. He struck back, even as a part of his mind heard more commotion from the front.

  Gwindec ordered his ranks to advance. The slingers and javelin throwers cleared the field and a solid block of men towards the stakes. Several of them rushed forward, holding not spears but ropes with loops tied at the end. With great courage they ran forward, dodging arrows and hurled stones, to toss the loops about the stake, pulling them tight and running back. More men ran out from the ranks to help, taking hold of the ropes and pulling the stakes down. Meanwhile a company of warriors broke free and headed towards their right, around the stakes towards the same flank that Azaran and his comrades were cutting their way through.

  Panic swept through the enemy ranks. Men turned to flee, headed northwest, first singly, then in groups, until finally the entire lot of them took to their heels. Gwindec's men passed through the gaps in the stakes and took the position, but did not give chance. "Hold here!" Gwindec shouted. "Let them run!"

  Azaran stabbed his sword into the turf, open space suddenly cleared before him. When upwards of several thousand men choose to run away in the same direction, there is apt to be considerable disorder, the sort any commander who was half awake would take advantage off. But Gwindec was allowing them to run away. He spat to the side, grab his sword and stepped past the bodies,.

  He found the Prince kneeling by a body sprawled on the ground twenty feet beyond the stakes. A broken javelin stuck out from the neck. "I knew this man," he said as Azaran approached. "We played together as children. Our mothers were friends."

  Azaran shrugged. "In war, men die."

  Gwindec closed the dead man's eyes. "What a waste." He stood, looking Azaran square in the eye. "So...say what you are going to say."

  Azaran pointed at the fleeing enemy. "Why aren't we giving chase? They are broken and disordered. they will not remain that way..."

  "And when they reform," said Gwindec, cutting him off, "it will be under my banner."

  Azaran shook his head. "Or they might get themselves behind strong walls. Or march west to join the King. It's too much of a risk."

  "We'll see." Gwindec shook his head. "There's been enough killing on this day. Leave it be, Azaran, we've won. The men know they can win. Let tomorrow take care of itself."

  There was celebration in the camp tonight. The rebels had faced off against men loyal to Ganascorec and proved themselves the stronger. Wiser heads whispered that these were merely clan levies, not the hardened fighters waiting for them at Bellovac, but on this night they were ignored. Any victory was better than none.

  But the celebration did not last long. Come the morning they were on the march again. The wounded were left behind with the Veteronag's, who promised to tend them. By evening they'd crossed into the lands of the next clan (someone mentioned the name of Azaran, but by this point the various Eburrean clans were starting to blend together.) They continued on through the night. When dawn came the tired men were in front of the clan's stronghold, a timber and earth fort raised on the summit of a low hill. Armed men stood at the ramparts, watching as the rebels surrounded them,

  Demands for surrender were made and rejected, the chieftain addressing Gwindec with a cold politeness much removed from the insults of two days before. Soon after, sharp eyes spotted a pair of birds taking flight from the stronghold walls, flying towards the east.

  "Messengers," said Segovac when the news was brought to the headquarters. "Bound for Bellovac. Likely asking for help."

  "Then we should leave this place," said Azaran. "We gain nothing but casualties if we assault, and lockup inside they pose no threat."

  "Gwindec wants to wait," Segovac replied.

  "Segovac, that is a mistake,” Azaran protested.

  "No, it is the right move,” Segovac answered. “I yield to your expertise when it comes to work on the battlefield, friend Azaran, but this is a battle of a different kind, fought in the minds of chieftains."

  Two days passed. On the morning of the third, a bird was spotted landing on the walls, to be grabbed by the men stationed there and taken below. A few hours later the doors opened on and the chieftain walked up, waving a blue rag over his head, the Eburrean symbol for a truce. By sundown the clan forsook his loyalty to the King and men who were trying their best to kill Gwindec and his rebels the day before were now marching alongside them. Among them were two sons of the chieftain and the sons of other notable men. No one called them hostages, at least in public.

  "They sent word to Bellovac, asking for aid." Gwindec explained the situation to them over dinner that night. "Ganascorec sent word back saying none could be had. He's pulled all his men close. By guess is that when we arrive they will go inside the walls and we will have to lay siege to the place."

  "Makes sense," said Azaran. "Time is on his side. We do not have the resources to sustain a long siege of that nature."

  "And the army will not hold together long enough to see it through." Gwindec shook his head.

  "But it makes Ganascorec look weak as well," said Segovac. "Who will follow a King who does not face his enemy in the field?"

  They continued on the next morning. As a gift, and to make amends for the fighting of only a few days before, the chieftain handed over his most prized possession - a bull mastaerna in his prime. The beast stood twenty-feet tall at the shoulder. When Gwindec rode out on the top, the rest of the army looked on and cheered themselves hoarse. For many, the sign of their leader atop the mount of Kings was itself kingly, though Gwindec looked uncomfortable sitting on it.

  Another week passed. Four more clans sworn to the Aranacs lay along the road to Bellovac. None offered resistance, all greeted the rebels arrival with their stronghold doors open and fulsome praise. Word of the Kings abandonment had run ahead, taking with it the last vestiges of Ganscorec's authority over his vassals. It resembled less an army on the march and more of a leisurely mass stroll through the green Eburrean countryside. The late summer heat even dropped a bit the closer as they turned north, giving them pleasant days and balmy nights.

  A small stream tricked down southwards, with an ancient stone bridge thrown across it. Once across, they were on Aranac lands. Several villages and innumerable farmsteads lay before them. Many were deserted, their inhabitants fled north. Others had barricades themselves before makeshift walls, ready to fight to the death against these invaders from the west. The rebels marched on by with a minimum of looting.

  At one such village, Gwindec spoke with the headman, who was induced to come out from behind a walls of overturned carts and piled earth. Apparently they knew each other, for it was observed that soon they were laughing at some shared joke. The conversation ended with Gwindec slapping the fellow on the shoulder with a smile on his face. But when he turned to the column his face was troubled.

  "I
was right," he said. "Ganascorec has withdrawn inside the walls of Bellovac with his mercenaries. They stripped the countryside of anything useful, including enough food to last them three years."

  "What about water?" asked Azaran.

  "Bellovac has its own well."

  "And how many men?"

  "Five thousand," Gwindec answered. "He must have emptied the treasury to but them. The walls of the place are strong and he has strengthened them over the years."

  "One man behind a strong position is worth three in an open field," said Azaran. "So a frontal assault is out of the question. Likely he expects you to give up when the winter comes."

  "He will be disappointed," said Gwindec in a hard voice. "One way or another, his time is done."

  Azaran thought on these developments. "From what I know of Ganscorec, he is a man who prefers facing his enemy in the field, even when outnumbered."

  "Times change. And it is the Queen who rules him now and she may prefer thick stone between us and her."

  "Or there may be something else we haven''t seen." Azaran frowned. "Send scouts to watch the northern approaches."

  "Do you suspect something?" Segobac asked.

  "Hopefully not," was all Azaran replied.

  The next day, Bellovac appeared on the horizon, growing bigger with each step they took. The stronghold of the Aranac clan was build atop a hill, as most Eburrean strongholds were. The bottom third of it was ringed by a stone wall half hidden under moss. Two more concentric walls circles the slopes half way and near the summit. The spaces in between were filled with thatch-roofed houses. clinging to the slope. At the summit was a great hall whose stone walls were painted blue and hold, the great beams supporting the roof a brilliant red. Three tall stone idols stood just past the western face, looking out towards the sunset. Even from this distance they could see the details - three women, one with a cloth about her eyes and holding a knife, the middle one carrying a set of shears, with a pair of ravens sitting on her shoulders, the last a maiden of great comeliness, holding a basket in one hand and a knife in the other.

  "The Goddesses three," said Segovac. "It is said Brannegaia modeled for the third one."

  "I can believe it," Azaran said, appreciating the artistry and skill. "Did Saerec's idol stand there beforehand?"

  "Saerec has no idols beyond the Spiral. That area held a tomb for the ashes of old chieftains, until the King had it moved."

  Azaran shifted his gaze to the outer walls. As expected, they bristled with warriors. Light glinted off spear points and polished helms. Horns sounded as the rebels approached and a great shout was raised, the King's men screaming defiance at their enemy.

  "Five thousand at least," said Azaran. "They have not the look of Eburreans. Must be the mercenaries. Which makes little sense...such men would not stand for a siege against an enemy of greater numbers. There is no profit in staving to death within those walls."

  "Maybe the King grows overconfident."

  "I doubt it." He turned away from the city. "There is something we are missing. We shall set our camp accordingly."

  The army quickly set about its business. Two camps were set at Azaran's insistence, one to the west and the other to the north of the walls. The warriors put down their swords and spears and picked up shovels, digging two sets of fortifications about the place, one facing inward, the other outward. Gwindec gave the others but it was Azaran who directed the actions.. Three days went by, during which he slept very little. Earthen ramparts were raised. A nearby forest was much reduced in size to provide enormous numbers of stakes facing out in both directions. Every so often Azaran would look to the north, waiting for the scouts to return.

  A week went by. Demands that the garrison surrender were rebuffed with the expected hostility. Emissaries were sent around to the nearby villages, Gwindec meeting with the headmen and local notables, addressing many of them by name. Some pledged their loyalty, others proved reluctant. Most of the warriors provided by these villages had marched west with the King and returned east with Ganascorec, which helped sway some opinions. Others preferred to wait and see. Gwindec chose not to press the issue at this time.

  Several bits of intelligence were gleaned from these conversations. Ganascorec had expelled all useless mouths from Bellovac days before the rebels arrived. The nearby villages were filled with women and children , old men and the sick, the halt and the lame, any and all who could not carry a spear in the defense of the stronghold. The only exception to this were the Ghelenai - not a one of the witches could be found within three days ride of the stronghold. They'd all fled within Bellovac's walls, in most cases only a few steps in front of lynch mobs. Though the hardship faced by their fellow Aranacs was heartbreaking, it did relieve their conscience in other ways - if the place had to be taken by assault, those who died in the massacre that customarily followed would be foreign scum and various others the Eburreans had no compunction in killing.

  More ominously, riders were dispatched northwards toward Cavarag. One woman who'd labored in great hall claimed that the cells beneath it were filled with men from the north wearing the remnants of once-fine clothes and speaking in a tongue unknown to her. The story was confirmed by an older fellow, a clan elder whose advanced years made his serving in battle problematic at best. After the Cavaragi clans were defeated in battle, Ganascorec returned south with the sons of the leading men as hostages. From that it was not hard to deduce the purpose of the riders.. When the scouts returned a few days later, the news they brought was mere confirmation.

  "The Cavaragi clans sworn to Ganascorec have mustered an army," Gwindec reported that night. "Fifteen thousand men march, with another ten thousand soon to follow after. The King no doubt sent word that the lives of their sons were forfeit unless they kept their oaths."

  "It would explain the confidence of the men within Bellovac," said Azaran. "They know the siege will be short."

  "And once the Cavaragi arrive, they will trap us between them and the stronghold." Gwindec shook his head. "We will be crushed like a nut under a hammer."

  He sighed, sitting down in a chair. "We've come so far," he exclaimed, looking only moment away from tears. "Two years on the run. At last a chance to bring that bastard down. I should have know he'd have one last move to play. We can't fight the Cavaragi with the King at our backs..."

  "How long until they arrive?" Azaran asked, cutting off the maudlin litany before it could begin.

  "Two weeks, or so the scouts think."

  "And the oath that draws them south, it was sworn to Ganascorec directly?"

  "Yes...but without their sons as incentive, they would not obey."

  "Then the solution is clear. The King must die. Today, if possible."

  "Azaran, why else would we be here?" Gwindec gestured in the direction of the stronghold. "Everything we have done is towards that goal..."

  "But now the stakes are raised. Before we had the advantage of time. Now we must act quickly. Without the King, their oath's are void. And with their sons returned, they have no reason to head south."

  "Soon enough the news will spread," said Segovac. "Many who follow you will leave, preferring to take their chances rather than face certain death."

  Gwindec nodded, seeing the truth of the words. "What do you have in mind, then?"

  "One final throw of the dice. I'll need fifty of the best men we have. Ropes, grappling hooks..."

  "You plan to raid the stronghold." Gwindec shook his head. "How will you get in?" The walls are crawling with men. It would take weeks to tunnel under them."

  "Which is where Segovac comes in," came Azaran's reply.

  "Me?" The Rhennari looked surprised. "I suppose I could climb a rope, if another man helped..."

  "You will aid another way." Azaran looked him in the eye. "Saerec blesses our endeavor, or so you've been saying all these weeks. Perhaps it's time for some divine aid?"

  Segovac rubbed his chin, thinking it over. "Perhaps it is," he finally answered. "For what
you have in mind, friend Azaran, you will need all the help you can get."

  Chapter Nine

  Night fall. Torches were lit along the walls of Bellovac, turning the stronghold into an island of light in the midst of the late summer darkness. Fires lit up in the camps of the rebels outside and when the wind blew one way or another it brought the smells of cooked food and the occasional snatch of song to liven up the monotony of a siege. Men manned the walls, looking out weapons in hand, vigilance striving against boredom, looking out for any sign of a possible attack against with the likelihood that this night would pass without incident. The men beyond the wall, staying well out of arrow shot, could only look back with much the same attitude.

  Yet on the eastern side of the walls, there was movement. Bands of men dressed in dark clothes, their faces streaked with lines of dark pigment made from the ashes of the campfires, crept out from the lines, threading their way through the stakes and moving swiftly across the open expanse of ground separating them from Bellovac. Weapons were sheathed and wrapped in dark cloth to prevent any reflection of the light. Those who wore armor eschewed chain mail for plain leather coats - most wore nothing more than black or gray shirts. If things went as planned, speed would be their ally. If it failed, no amount of protection would help.

  Azaran led the way, as was becoming his habit these days. He went ahead, threading his way across the broken ground. The ground beyond the walls of the stronghold were kept clear of houses, the better to keep lines visibility open. A blessing for the defenders, a curse for Azaran this night as he advanced across open ground with only the shadows to hide him. Clouds were gathering in the late afternoon. By the time the sun set they'd stretched to the horizon, blocking the light of stars, moon and Mansion, making this night darker than most. As the Rhennari predicted,.