To Be a Maestro

by John Buttrick

  Horse lines and wagon teams were tied together and slowly led single file between the trees, heading several spans to the west where Breaker team would watch the spoils. Jacob led the rest of his squad north to the next staging area.

  -------

  Lieutenant Runyan Lymin sat saddle on a hilltop looking down at a solid stone wall that stretched at least a span wide, a wall that should not be here. In fact, nothing should be here. This should have been a straight march south to Fort Casum and an easy victory before awaiting further orders from the General. What chance did men behind log walls have against flaming balls of pitch? They either come out and die in battle or stay inside and roast to death. The scene before him was far from expected.

  Ducaunan cavalrymen lining the thirty cubit high structure provided a deadly deterrent to a full on charge. Reports from positions around the wall indicated the enemy had more than a legion inside, which meant this campaign could take far longer than anticipated. Taking siege of the massive holding has spread the assault force thin and thanks to the trees within, Runyan could not even see what the wall was protecting.

  Accomplished Nettle’s report, sent by his zombie messenger, had made no mention of this structure or the arrival of the Northwestern Legion, only that the Aakacarns of Aakadon had departed. That much seemed to be accurate and it proved what Runyan had been saying to his superiors all along, “Aakacarns only see other Aakacarns as a threat and ignore us as if we were nothing more than gnats to be brushed away.”

  His previous encounter with the Accomplisheds of Aakadon showed their clear contempt for non-Aakacarns in statements such as, “Like a single drop of rain trying to put out a forest fire, their lives were the ones extinguished, quickly and with about as much affect on the outcome.” The young Accomplished of the Eagle Guild had been speaking of Pentrosan lives. The words haunted Runyan and were seared into his brain. All of the sun-blasted Melody Wielders were the same, no matter the guild, and the puny lives of ordinary folk did not concern them.

  Marks had gone by since he arrived with Colonel Fyborn along with two full legions. The commander did not share his misgivings with subordinates, and why should he? Even so, this development clearly required a change in tactics. A constant buzzing sound came from the trees behind and added to the uneasiness. The first catapult crew should have been here by now. Runyan shook his head in disgust. All of the catapult crews should have been here by now. What was keeping them?

  “I know the Cubs are unseasoned, but surely they can escort supply trains without getting lost,” the Colonel remarked. His left eyebrow twitched; an indication of his growing irritation.

  Runyan stared straight ahead while answering, “No one could get lost when all they have to do is know what direction is south. Something is holding them up.”

  Fyborn nodded his head. “Lieutenant Howcum, take your squads north, find out what is keeping my catapults from being where they should be, and send a messenger back with a very good reason for this delay or there will be consequences.”

  Reen’s eyebrows drew down in contempt, not for his commanding officer, Runyan was sure, but for the apparent incompetence of the escorts. “It will be as you say, Colonel,” he replied with a salute and then signaled his men and they headed north.

  Runyan knew Reen Howcum to be a good officer and had complete confidence the man would set things in order. The concern now was the men on the wall above the north gate. He peered through his opticals. Most of them were wearing the green with gold trim uniforms of the Ducaunan Royal Cavalry, most but not all, for among the defenders stood soldiers in sky blue uniforms. Runyan did not recognize whose men they might be or the falcon clutching a lighting bolt symbol on the gates. He had been present when the officers of the Royal Pentrosan Cavalry had been questioned after regaining consciousness. Neither they nor their subordinates had any memory of the battle with the Aakacarns that had laid them low. It was those sun-blasted poppy plants. Not a single survivor had a firm recollection of events beyond arriving and then waking up. Could the men of this holding have been involved?

  A sharp sting on the neck caught his attention. He grumbled and smacked at the offender that struck the vulnerable spot between his chain mail and helmet. His quick reflexes were not fast enough to squash the sun-blasted insect. Up and down the line men were slapping at themselves, even the Colonel. Horses kicked as wasps stung their rumps and whatever other fleshly parts underneath they could reach. Runyan flew up, forward, and out of his saddle as Stomper, his mount, suddenly bucked. He hit the ground and the momentum sent him rolling down the hill. All around him men were tumbling, having been thrown by their steeds. Through no small effort he managed to angle to the right, flip onto his back, and use his legs to bring himself to a stop half way down the hill.

  An arrow landed in the ground between his legs, missing his privates by a finger length. The sky was filled with arrows arching up and angling down. He turned and began scrambling up the hill, zigzagging in an effort to avoid the deadly shafts raining down. Men fell with arrows in their legs, shoulders, and necks. Sergeant Reiden, just ahead, caught a shaft in his right thigh and fell. Corporal Taza grabbed him and they started up as Runyan passed them by. He could no longer see the forces arrayed on the hilltop, other than the dead.

  Runyan reached the top, cursing himself and the Colonel for not anticipating those longbows, they were not standard issue. Hundreds were dead, including Fyborn. The commander’s face and particularly his neck had swollen, closing his throat, and choking the life out of him. Turns out he was deathly allergic to wasp stings. The main force had pulled back to the northern slope to escape the shafts and bulky Major Lopin sat his horse while organizing the new position. He and everyone else were slapping at wasps. Runyan wondered if this same situation was playing out all around the outskirts of the wall. By his estimate, hundreds of men just died, and this siege was far from over. Taza and Reiden did not top the hill, few men did. Runyan slapped at a wasp and hoped this campaign ended soon, yet knew such was unlikely. General Kall will have their hides if they retreat before ordered to do so.

  -------

  Lieutenant Reen Howcum eyed the surrounding woods suspiciously while guiding, Vengeance, his well trained warhorse to the north, along with his five squads. All one hundred men were highly skilled fighters, well seasoned, and ready for action on the instant. Each man wore chain mail, a black shield strapped to his left arm, a sword sheathed at his belt, and a battle ax holstered beside his saddle. The Pentrosan Royal Cavalry based out of Los Collins had been referred to by him and his cohorts as being cubs, after having given them the gray with black trim uniforms to wear rather than their traditional browns, all to make the Ducaunans believe they faced both legions of the Sutton Guard. The cubs were relatively inexperienced, not nearly as well trained, yet Reen wondered how even they could manage to get lost.

  Sergeant Bleecher cleared his throat while peering into the trees. “I can imagine conscripts getting lost, but not their officers.”

  He was right of course, Reen had to admit, the command staff of the regulars are professionals and unlikely to make such foolish mistakes. “My gut tells me there is something going on in these woods. Everyone stay sharp.”

  Guardsman Kainer, riding point, raised his hand, indicating he had spotted something up ahead. Reen heeled Vengeance in the sides and the horse shot forward, weaving through the trees, and then came to a stop beside Bleecher, who had raced along with him. Up ahead, just within view of where Kainer sat saddle, was the scene of a massacre. Reen raised his hand and with a few simple gestures, signaled his men to draw their weapons and proceed with caution.

  Bleecher arrived first and dismounted in front of a dead officer, whose horse had collapsed under him. “A hole has been punched clean through his back and the neck of his horse as well. I see no sign of the weapon used.”

  Reen surveyed the scene, men and horses dead, wagons punctured where they were not splintered into useless pieces. He dismounted, wa
lked among the carnage, and came upon a man who looked familiar. “This is Lieutenant Klomin,” he announced while bending down to take a closer look at the body.

  “He was killed by a different weapon,” Sergeant Bleecher stated the obvious.

  Given the fact that Klomin’s left temple was caved in, his neck snapped, and the way he lay crumpled on the ground forever staring up at the trees above, Reen could only agree. “This man was hit in the head by a heavy blunt object,” he replied, “The blow not only busted his skull at the temple it also snapped his neck.”

  Kainer walked up and saluted. “Lieutenant, I found some sacks of food, all of which were torn open with the contents spilled on the ground, yet this train should have had more sacks than we found. I think whoever killed these men have taken the undamaged sacks along with the wagons, of which only the damaged ones remain.”

  “I see no catapult,” Bleecher seemed fond of stating the obvious.

  Reen followed the dead man’s stare up into the treetops. “These men were ambushed from up there,” he concluded. “Mount up, we are moving north.”

  He had his men spread out to his right and left, to make them harder targets, as they weaved their way through the heavily wooded area. They no sooner were beyond sight of the first massacre than a second came into view. Fewer horses were dead on the ground, which meant the rest had fled or been stolen. This scene differed from the first in several disturbing ways.

  “This man died of bee stings or something similar,” Guardsman Trollen called out from thirty strides away, standing over the swollen remains, and staring grimly.

  Bleecher came from behind a tree farther to the right. “The one back there seems to have been killed by a lion,” he said while gesturing with his thumb.

  Reen studied the area around him, taking in the images, analyzing them, trying to fit them into a larger picture. Crossbow bolts littered the skirmish site, lying on the ground, embedded in trees, and what remained of the wagons. He could find no sign of enemy dead, yet it was clear as a spring morning the cubs did not go down without a fight. Swords had been drawn and were lying uselessly in the dirt. There were holes in the ground, holes in the men, holes in their shields, all the exact same diameter, meaning the same type of weapon had been used. Even so, he saw no lances, spears, or javelins, which should have been here given the types of wounds inflicted. Men were crumpled up on the ground as if something massive picked them up and slammed them down with bone shattering force, while others, like the man found by Bleecher, were clearly taken like prey.

  An osprey circled in the sky well above the trees and then flew north. Trollen walked around examining bodies while the rest of the squads stood ready as if expecting an attack at any moment, which is as it should be. “I see wagon tracks,” Kainer announced.

  Reen went to the area indicated, squatted down where the guardsman stood pointing, and said, “Whoever killed these men headed west with our supplies. I think it is time we go retrieve what is ours and inflict serious pain on the thieves. Mount up!”

  Kainer took point position and Growmin took flank. Pon and Mora took positions to the right and left as the company followed the tracks through the forest, up and down hills, while raptors screeched from their perches in the treetops. Reen ignored the annoyance, preferring to concentrate on finding his prey, which is the way he now chose to think about the ambushers. His force continued weaving through the trees, careful to watch for an attack from any direction, including up, until the point man topped the latest hill and then quickly withdrew. He raced back down. “Horses and wagons are in the clearing just on the other side of this hill,” Kainer reported.

  Reen trotted Vengeance to the foot of the hill, dismounted, and then crawled up to the crest and lay flat. Bleecher crawled up on his right. “Those are our food and supply wagons alright. And look, they have twenty catapults and even the portable smithy,” he spoke in a soft voice.

  “A little low on man power,” Kainer observed.

  Both men were stating the obvious. Reen counted four lightly armed soldiers in blue uniforms on horseback, in a broad clearing, riding slowly around a huge circle of wagons, which were also being used to corral hundreds of horses. Each rider had a miniature crossbow, sword, and dagger, yet no shields, armor, or chain mail. On the ground, under a tree to the right, sat a shirtless man wearing gray pants with a black stripe, could this be a survivor? A gray bandage circled his head, covering his eyes and ears, and his fingers and thumbs were similarly wrapped.

  “Sergeant Bleecher, take your squad and come at them from the north. Sergeant Machen, take your squad and hit them from the south. Sergeant Sequan, come out of the west with yours. Sergeant Lellen, be ready to charge at them from the east. The rest with me and all of you be ready to charge when I do,” Reen ordered and watched as each squad moved in quick compliance to his commands.

  The four men in blue continued their easy ride around the wagons, totally unaware of the danger about to befall them. Reen smiled while waiting for Bleecher and the others to signal their readiness, knowing the executions would then begin. This encounter would be a slaughter, not a battle, and the real fight would come when the ambushers with the deadlier weapons come back with whatever additional spoils they managed to take.

  The screeching of the raptors in the treetops grew so loud; it took awhile for Reen to notice a constant buzz had joined the chorus. He drew his battle ax and tuned out the noise when Bleecher and then the other Sergeants signaled their readiness using small reflectors to catch the sun’s rays. Reen swung the ax thrice and charged out into the open with twenty horsemen right behind him and the remaining squads bursting out of concealment from all compass points at once. The four soldiers in blue quickly formed a line, daggers drawn, and faced the charge of Sergeant Sequan and his squad. He laughed at their audacity.

  Hornets swarmed out of bushes, lions roared, and the full bellow of a sasquatch sounded throughout the clearing. The swishing sound of an unseen javelin whizzed by his ear and Reen glanced in the direction it seemed to come from. To his left a horseman in blue with sergeant stripes on his tattered sleeves led a team of four straight at him. Another team of five raced to engage Sergeant Machen and a fourth clearly intended to take on Bleecher and his squad. Lellen and his men they ignored completely. If not for the raging creatures making a ruckus, the situation would be laughable. Four teams of lightly armed men seemed eager to battle heavily armed squads five times their size.

  Kainer, on the horse to the right, screamed and fell to the ground squirming with a hole in his left shoulder that seemed to have come from above. Reen stared up into the tree and spotted a woman in blue sitting on a branch and holding a dagger. She pointed the dagger at Kainer and suddenly a hole appeared in the scout’s chest and ended his suffering. These people had some new kind of weapon and Reen had seen enough evidence at the massacre sites to know his shield would be no protection. He raised his ax and signaled a retreat, deciding it was better to fall back, regroup, and wait until he gained a better understanding of this new weapon.

  A sasquatch yanked Lellen right out of the saddle and slammed him onto the ground. The Sergeant gained his footing and went limping on the attack, swinging his ax at the huge hairy beast. Hornets stung his hands, his face, his neck, and yet he managed to plant the head of his ax in the neck of the gray-black monster. He had one solid kill to his credit and then a black panther lunged at him from behind and he died with his neck in its jaws. His entire squad was quickly overwhelmed and killed by hornets, panthers, and scores of sasquatches. The reason his squad had been ignored by the men in blue had become painfully clear.

  All around him men were dying, unable to comply with his order to withdraw. Reen realized he had been correct, this is a slaughter, but not in the way he expected.

  The Sergeant in blue, dagger in one hand and sword in the other, faced him on horseback. “You are better armed than the other soldiers we faced,” the young man said.

  One hundred men were
now dead on the ground and Reen knew he would soon join them. The hornets were withdrawing, the panthers walked beside the Sergeant’s horse as if they considered him part of the same pride, although the stallion eyed the huge cats as if he did not share the same familiarity, and did not trust them. The sasquatches were climbing back into the trees. Eighteen mounted men, their blue uniforms torn, smudged, and splattered with blood, formed up, encircling Reen, well seventeen men and one woman. After all he had observed since coming to see what happened to the supply trains, the presence of female soldiers seemed the least of the surprises.

  “I don’t see that it mattered given your allies and those death daggers,” he replied while maintaining a tight grip on his ax. “I do not recognize the falcon clutching a lightning bolt insignia. May I know who has bested me before we end this?” He remembered seeing the same emblem on the north gate before being sent on the mission.

  The woman smiled. “We are the Chosen’s Sentinels.”

  A bald man, who seemed to have lost his helmet, flicked the reigns and his horse moved to stand beside the mounted Sergeant. “We serve the Champion, the greatest Maestro of them all.”

  Sasquatches and yetis serve Tarin Conn, Reen knew for a fact. Why would soldiers working for the Serpent Guild fight against their allies? Maybe Runyan Lymin was right all along about the Aakacarns. “We are supposed to be on the same side, why are you fighting us?”

  The Sergeant laughed at him. “Hardly the same side, we serve Daniel Benhannon, and you are now my captive,” he said and then lost the humor when an osprey landed on his shoulder and let out a screech. It appeared to be the same one that had flown to the north. “Would you rather that we kill him?” The squad leader inquired of his feathered friend.

  Reen could not help but gawk when the raptor actually shook its head, giving a clear negative response in answer to the question. Even though he expected to die, it never occurred to him his fate would be decided by a bird. “Who is in command here?”