by Duncan Lay
Tiera smiled her thanks and, as soon as she was out of earshot, Martil grabbed Barrett’s arm and hustled him over to a quiet corner.
‘What is all this about?’ Barrett demanded.
‘You were right, wizard. The battle plan is flawed. We can hold them off for a while but it is not a winning plan, not with the few archers we have. But I have thought of a way to win. You will create that magical protection for me, then help me use an oak tree to appear next to Gello. By the time his guards stop me, Gello, his Berellian friends and his commanders will be dead. Then Merren can just walk down the hill and take control of Gello’s army.’
Barrett just stared at him.
‘Are you serious?’ he finally managed to say.
‘This is not a time for jests!’ Martil growled. ‘Will you help me with this, and one other thing?’
‘What’s the other thing?’
‘Karia. She will need plenty of help after I am…gone.’
Barrett looked at Martil anew. He thought he hated the man, but he could not do so any longer. ‘You would do this to save us all?’
Martil held his gaze. ‘Yes, I would.’
Barrett held out his hand. ‘It is a noble gesture,’ he admitted. ‘Of course I shall help you, in any way I can. But what of Merren? I can’t see her approving this plan.’
‘We tell her that we are both going, me to kill Gello, you to bring us back afterwards. But in reality, there could be no chance of return. She does not need to know that.’
Barrett nodded. It was clever, and it had just enough truth to be plausible. There were only advantages in this plan but he found himself regretting that Martil had to die. He would miss arguing with him. Not that he was about to say anything like that, however.
‘I will do it. What next?’
‘We have to find Rocus, and explain to him that the Queen will be expecting him to make several charges to clear our front line but he is to ignore all orders from the Queen. Leading a charge will only get men killed needlessly. Only you can tell him to advance, which you will do when you see that I have killed Gello.’
Barrett hesitated. ‘You are sure of this course of action?’
Martil recognised that Barrett was, delicately, asking him if he wanted to die.
‘I’d rather live, but this is the only way we can win.’ He shrugged.
Barrett was prevented from making a further plea by the arrival of a sweating rider.
‘Captain Nerrin’s compliments, sir. The Norstalines are leaving their camp and forming up for an assault on the pass. The captain expects them to reach the pass tonight, and assault either during the night or at first light.’
‘It’ll be first light,’ Martil predicted. ‘He won’t want to try a night attack with inexperienced troops. And, after what we did to Havrick, he’ll march during the day and give them a night to recover before the attack. Get back to Nerrin and tell him to fall back to Pilleth. Leave the cavalry company to give the impression we plan to make a stand but have them slip away during the night. Meanwhile, use every other horse he has to drag as many of the ballistae as he possibly can up Pilleth. If we don’t have enough archers, we can at least give Gello’s men a nasty surprise.’ Martil clapped the man on the shoulder.
The Ralloran saluted.
‘Do you have a plan, sir?’ he asked hopefully.
‘It’ll be like Mount Shadar, only better,’ Martil told him and the Ralloran hurried off with a smile.
‘I can send a bird with those instructions to Nerrin, if you like,’ Barrett offered.
‘Excellent. I’m off to find Rocus, then we’d better brief the Queen. We have to get down to Pilleth as fast as possible. Gello won’t get there until late tomorrow but we need to be ready in case he sends his cavalry through.’ Martil paused. ‘I can trust you to help me, can’t I? This is the only way to save the Queen.’
Barrett extended a hand. ‘You have my word,’ he said simply.
Martil could not help but smile as he clasped the wizard’s hand in the warrior’s grip, wrist to wrist. ‘Shame it was only a desire to see me die that brought us together,’ he offered.
‘I might want to help you die, but that doesn’t mean I’m a friend of yours,’ Barrett replied with a wink. ‘Now we’d better find the Queen. If Merren sees us shaking hands, she’ll know there’s something strange going on.’
16
Gello was not about to make the same mistakes as that idiot Havrick. His men were ordered to make the eight-mile march up the pass at a slow pace, with rests every turn of the hourglass. When they arrived in midafternoon, the men were stood down and ordered to eat and drink. They would be on half-rations after this day, but he wanted to make sure they were well fed for the battle tomorrow—although calling it a battle was hardly fair. He had learned the way Martil had taken the passes and decided to copy it. Archers would pin down the defenders while a three-pronged attack would curl in and crush the defenders. Then he could release his cavalry to chase the Rallorans down.
But the cavalry would not be making the initial assault, so he ordered they provide the sentries for the night’s guard. He wanted his men to be rested but would not put it past the Rallorans to try a night attack.
Not that they seemed to be doing much. He could see their banners were still flying, and they had men on the ramparts, but they were hiding.
Cowering, more like it, he decided. Cowering like the dogs they were.
He thought about touring the campfires, talking to the men, inspiring them and encouraging them to fight like lions in the morning. But he could not be bothered. The scum had better fight, or he would have the backs flogged off them.
He ordered his tent constructed, then called for wine, food and Lahra—in that order.
‘And you are certain of this?’ Merren said suspiciously.
Martil and Barrett had explained their plan to occupy Gello’s forces, then spring a trap on him by using a magical gateway. But it sounded too good to her.
‘Your majesty, you wanted him dead earlier. This is just a variation of that plan.’ Barrett shrugged.
‘Merren, I ask you to trust me. I will deliver you victory,’ Martil promised.
Merren paused at that. It was eerily close to the words Nott had spoken to her about Martil.
‘But why did you not think of this before?’ she asked.
‘My mind was occupied with Bellic, and my nightmares,’ Martil sighed. ‘I was too tired to think straight. This morning, I could think again, and the plan came to me.’
Again, Merren was struck by the similarity of his words to the prediction Nott had made. They had no time to come up with a different plan, anyway. She nodded.
‘Then we shall do it. Draw the men up for the ride south. Thank Aroaril we have taken so many horses from Gello since the fighting began! But, before we leave, I want to speak to the men.’
Ezok put aside the now empty bowl and looked up at Cezar and Prent. They had spoken with Brother Onzalez, but had received little useful information. The Fearpriest had only been able to say that the next few days were going to be vital. They had to be ready for the unexpected, and seize control of any situation that presented itself.
‘Tomorrow, we need to stay close to the King. He needs to win, but the victory needs to come at a high price. That is what Zorva wants, and that is what He shall get,’ Ezok instructed.
‘Certainly. But now can we get on with the sacrifice?’ Prent asked petulantly.
Ezok sighed. The new Fearpriest’s eagerness for blood and power was understandable, but getting a little tiresome. Luckily there were plenty of minor nobles that Gello did not care about. And Zorva would appreciate a taste of noble blood.
‘Who are these?’ Ezok gestured at the bound man and woman.
‘Baron Wollin and his wife.’ Prent grinned down at the elderly couple, who were writhing in their bonds. The Baron had already supplied the blood they had used to contact Onzalez.
‘Then let the ceremony begin,’ Ezok
said wearily.
Eagerly, Prent began to chant, and Ezok forced himself to pay attention, rather than think about his plans for the morrow.
‘Do we stay or do we go, Sarge?’ Turen asked as they sat around eating a rather tasteless stew. There wasn’t even much of it.
‘We stay, for now,’ Hutter replied. ‘But there’s something else going on here. Have you noticed there’s fewer nobles than what we started out with?’
Turen looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘No, Sarge.’
‘Well, I have. Pass the word for a couple of the lads to get themselves put on latrine duty. If I was going to dump a body, I’d put it in an old latrine trench. Nobody’s going to go digging there.’
Kay had been feeling much happier about things. He had attended a brief war council and, although he was standing at the back, he had been able to see the King, and hear him order the archers and rangers to take the lead.
‘The enemy will assault you with siege engines, and they have a company of archers as well. But you must stand firm and overwhelm him.’
Kay had saluted then. It had felt good.
‘Soldiers of the Queen! We march now to fight the enemy and defend our homes, our families and our very way of life! If we don’t win, then our country will be ruled by Berellians and Fearpriests! They want to sacrifice your wives and children to their Dark God! It is up to you to stop them. Remember that! And you will stop them! The battle will be hard, I will not lie to you. But we will have the advantage of the high ground. We shall trick them, outwit them and defeat them! Remember, we not only have the Dragon Sword, wielded by a man who has never been defeated, but Aroaril is with us!’
Merren’s voice, magically amplified, boomed out across the keep’s courtyard, where her Norstaline companies, all in blue surcoats—some dyed more crudely than others—stood in crisp lines. They cheered her then.
‘I will go with you, I will stand with you and I will share your joy when we win a victory that will resound through the ages and stand next to anything even the fabled King Riel achieved!’
‘The Queen!’
Someone started the cry, others took it up until it echoed off the walls. Outside the courtyard, the streets were lined with townspeople, ready to wave their soldiers off. They too took up the cry, screaming it out, until the afternoon air rang with the chant.
‘Are they ready now?’ Merren asked.
‘As ready as they can be,’ Martil agreed.
‘Soldiers of Norstalos, follow me to victory!’ Merren called.
She and Martil walked down the stairs of the gatehouse to where horses were waiting, along with Barrett, Rocus, Nott, Milly, Quiller, Conal and Karia. Gratt had been left in charge of the town while they were gone, with instructions to get out and head north if things went bad.
Martil waited until Merren had climbed into the saddle, then he mounted Tomon and followed her out of the gatehouse tunnel, into streets lined with cheering and crying women and children, tossing flowers in their path.
He felt at peace. He knew what he was going to do and he knew it would work. For once, the fact he had been unable to get the Dragon Sword to work was unimportant. It would kill for him. That was enough. He had not looked at the hilt for days, and even Merren had given up on asking him to inspect it for signs of life. That was a relief in itself.
Gello could feel the tingle of anticipation as he sat on his horse, watching his regiments march smoothly up the road into the pass. The criminals and the militia were ragged compared to his regulars but that was to be expected.
‘Any moment now,’ he murmured, as the archers marched swiftly toward the Ralloran blockade.
Last night had been uneventful. The Rallorans had not tried anything. He had almost been disappointed with them. Perhaps their reputation was overblown.
Still, he would be able to rewrite his own reputation soon. His destruction of a regiment of elite Rallorans in his first battle would be a fine beginning to his legend.
He noticed the archers were within range of the catapults but the huge siege engines would take so long to reload that they would be lucky to get off three volleys before they were overrun.
But nothing happened. He sat forwards in the saddle when the archers marched into range of the ballistae. He wanted to see if the archers would take the punishment and keep going—only then could he judge how loyal they really were.
Again, nothing happened. This was curious—and the lack of activity on the barricades even more so. He could only see a handful of helmets above the makeshift ramparts.
Now the archers were within bowshot, and they smoothly deployed, nocking and loosing as swiftly as they could. A never-ending stream of white-tipped arrows soared down onto the barricade—but nothing was coming back in return. Suspicion began to nag at him, a suspicion reinforced when he saw a mounted officer gallop back from the front.
‘They’ve gone, sire!’ Beq roared, as soon as he got close enough. ‘There’s nobody on the ramparts!’
Gello chewed his lip. Order a general advance?
‘It could be a trap, sire,’ Ezok warned.
‘Indeed. Send a company of rangers in to look. That is what they are trained for, and if they die, then it is no great loss,’ Gello decreed.
Beq turned his horse and galloped back.
Gello and his captains watched in silence as a company of rangers eventually ran forwards, bows drawn, and raced up to the barricade. After just a few moments, their officer ran back to Beq, who immediately heeled his horse around and galloped furiously back down for a second time.
‘They’ve gone. Pulled back to Sendric,’ Gello snarled. ‘Get the cavalry ready for pursuit. Livett!’
‘Sire, my men stood guard all night—they will mount up as soon as possible but it will be at least a turn of the hourglass before the horses are saddled and ready,’ Livett stuttered. ‘Then we have to bring them up the pass, through the other men.’
Gello clenched his fists. He was tempted to have the man dismissed but it had been his orders that saw the cavalry on night watch.
‘As fast as you can! Every moment we waste, they march further north!’ he bellowed.
Kay stood by the barricade, trying to get his thoughts in order. He had been shocked when Beq had ordered a company up to the barricade. If the Rallorans were trying to spring an ambush, it was a certain death sentence.
‘Don’t argue, Kay, the King himself commands it!’ Beq had spat.
‘But, sir, this is ridiculous! Sending a company when one squad could do the same—and would not be nearly so tempting a target,’ Kay had argued.
‘This is the King’s order! Do you dare disobey it?’ Beq had exclaimed.
‘I question it, if it makes no sense and endangers my men!’ Kay protested.
Beq softened his tone. ‘Look, Kay, it’s just one company. They do not matter. They’re easily replaced. But the King’s memory is long—just obey the order.’
But Kay was having none of that.
‘That’s a hundred men’s lives! Why sacrifice them for nothing? I’ll send a squad forwards instead,’ he had insisted. ‘I will not order men to their deaths like that!’
‘Then you can lead them!’ Beq snarled. ‘Take a company forwards, now!’
‘You can’t be serious, sir!’
‘I mean it! Lead a company forwards now, or I shall have you arrested and court-martialled for cowardice and desertion!’
So Kay had run forwards. He and his men were alive because the Rallorans were gone. No thanks to the King or Beq. It was galling. Their lives—his life—were worth nothing. It had been like a bucket of cold water dashing into his face, waking him up from a strange dream. Serving the King, restoring his reputation, winning back his regiment—these were all things he had been dreaming of but he had woken to a nightmare. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have listened to someone like Beq? He could see clearly now. The Queen’s sudden appearance at the barracks all made sense now. He thanked Aroaril that she had
been there. Otherwise he might still be following Gello and Beq, still thinking that they were offering him a way to regain his honour. They were giving him nothing—other than a way to see his men killed to bring them honour and riches.
But knowing that did not help much. How was he to do anything now? He watched as Beq returned, full of anger.
‘Form your men up, Kay—we march in pursuit of the cowardly Ralloran dogs. Luckily for you the King did not see your hesitation. But it will not go unpunished. You can expect guard duty tonight. At the latrines.’
Livett had a thick screen of scouts out—a full company riding as much as a mile ahead of the main body of troops. He had heard all the reports of how skilled these Rallorans were at ambushes, and as a result his progress was less the bold pursuit that Gello had demanded and more an attempt to sneak through the pass without loss.
Even outside of the pass, the pursuit was less than dashing. Luckily they did not have far to go.
‘We’ve found them, sir!’ one of his sergeants reported breathlessly, and Livett spurred his horse forwards to the foot of a nearby hill from where he had been riding in safety at the back of the column.
‘I found a lad from around here—he tells me the locals call the hill Pilleth,’ the sergeant reported. ‘It’s deceptively steep, sir. Because the slope is so long, it doesn’t look too bad—but a cavalry charge will lose all momentum by the time they are halfway up, and infantry will be exhausted.’
But Livett was not really listening. Instead he was inspecting the dominating hill, massively wide but probably only two hundred yards in height at the summit, which was crowned with a small stand of trees. Here the Rallorans were drawn up in battle formation, flags flying. Perhaps a score of ballistae stood just in front of their lines.
‘A full regiment, I’d say, wouldn’t you, Sergeant?’ Livett asked hesitantly.
‘Yes, sir.’
