by Duncan Lay
‘My dear Ambassador, what is the matter? You have nothing to fear from us—your excellent bards and your brilliant new saga have helped make this possible!’ Gello announced.
All eyes turned to Ezok, who smiled in return.
‘For that acknowledgement, I thank you, your majesty. But I do have one tiny concern.’
‘Out with it, man!’
Ezok sighed. ‘Waiting months before heading north to crush this pitiful rebellion seems like excessive caution. Surely we are giving them a chance to escape, or to try something to get out of the clever trap we have placed around them. You have more than enough men, and the country is behind you in your quest to wipe these Rallorans off the map. Why not go now?’
All eyes turned to Gello, who smiled generously.
‘Ambassador, I understand you are worried about Captain Martil. He has confused, tricked and defeated your armies repeatedly. But here in Norstalos it is a different matter. He has nowhere to go. The dog still has teeth, however, and I grant you his Rallorans will not be easy opponents. That is why we will not go north until we can send an enormous army into battle. We will only face him when he is outnumbered by at least ten to one—and before I can take that many men north, I need to be sure I can trust them, and that the country is behind me.’ He paused. He had failed once before, when he attempted to draw the Dragon Sword. He could not stand the thought of failing again. He would not do anything until he was certain of success.
‘Besides, haven’t we sent the Berellian Champion out to hunt Martil down? It would be sporting to give him a chance to finish his task! Without him, my idiot cousin won’t have a clue what to do. She’s a woman! About as useful at leading men as a dog is at painting!’
Gello enjoyed the sycophantic laughter that line provoked from around the table. ‘So here is our task, gentlemen. Secure your districts and your regiments. Beq, that means you, as well as Grissum. The archers and the rangers could mean the difference up north. Two thousand bows make an enormously powerful weapon. See to it.’
He watched them go and wondered if he should stop bringing Ezok along to these meetings. After all, having the man question him in front of his council and captains was not to be accepted. Still, it was too early to turn on him. He might yet prove useful.
Captain—now Lieutenant—Kay was wary about being invited to Captain Beq’s office. After all, it was Kay’s old office. And the last time he had been asked in there, Beq had all but ordered he throw himself on his sword.
But when he was shown in, it was to find Beq in an expansive mood.
‘Captain, please, sit down. Can I get you some wine? Juice? It’s fresh apples, you know!’
Kay allowed himself to be given a goblet of apple juice and a comfortable chair beside Beq’s desk. He was unsure why Beq was no longer calling him ‘lieutenant’.
‘Tell me, did the men—and did you—enjoy the bard’s performance?’ Beq asked.
Kay took a sip of juice to cover his confusion. What was all this about?
‘Of course. The men were angry and fearful to hear Rallorans were killing people in the north. As was I.’
‘Good, good!’ Beq smiled, then leaned forwards. ‘What if I was to tell you an important secret?’
Intrigued, Kay leaned forwards also.
‘King Gello is very concerned about these Rallorans. Knowing they are raping and slaughtering innocent Norstalines in our north upsets him greatly. We are putting together an army to destroy them before they can do much more damage. Obviously we would like to have the King’s Rangers march with us. What do you think?’
‘Of course! Every one of them is a loyal Norstaline! Anyone who invades and attacks our country is our enemy!’ Kay declared hotly.
Beq nodded. ‘I am pleased to hear you feel that way. Once we have secured the north, we will then go south to punish the Rallorans who schemed to let loose their darkest warriors on our people. If we were to do that, well, I will be taking command of one of the new regiments and the King felt that the Rangers would need a new captain—a trustworthy man. Your name was the first that came to mind. But, of course, as we will first be marching against the traitor Queen that you were forced to serve, he does understand if you are not able to agree…’
‘I agree!’ Kay almost spilled his goblet in his excitement. He felt alive again—here, at last, was the chance at redemption he had sought. Regain his honour, regain his regiment, defend the people! It was perfect!
Beq’s smile grew wider. ‘Then we need to train, Captain! The men have to be ready for this test! Now, I have some more good news for you. We will soon be visited by another bard, as well as the Lord of Bellic, the only survivor of the terrible massacre there. On that day, I would like you to join me in welcoming the Lord of Bellic to our barracks and entertaining a man so riven by tragedy.’
4
Martil signalled to his archers and the attack began. This was the third of the passes they had assaulted and they had perfected the technique. Of course, their attacking force was smaller now, as they had left two companies at each of the other two passes. But they still outnumbered the defenders six to one—and Gello’s men were light cavalry. As Martil had proved in the forest and at Sendric, they were not up to the task of close-order fighting.
The line of hills across this corner of Norstalos ranged from the impossibly steep to the merely imposing but, in three places, the slope was gentle enough to allow a road to have been constructed. At first glance the passes looked formidable enough. Each was several miles long, with the cavalry at the midpoint, the area where the hills on either side pushed in close. Here, a crude barricade of overturned wagons had been put across the road, with an even cruder battlement of upturned barrels behind that. The cavalry’s camp was set up one hundred yards further behind, close enough that they could rush to the barricade swiftly in the event of an attack. A frontal assault on such a structure, with their advantage in odds, would succeed—but not without losses. However, Martil had never seen the sense in a frontal assault when a side assault would do just as well: the cavalry had thought like cavalry, and envisaged a charge up the road into the teeth of their defence at the barricade. Martil, on the other hand, had sent a company around either side of each pass, which had climbed the side of the hills and crept into position unseen. Martil waited at the front with two more companies, as well as his cavalry company and his archers, to draw the defenders’ attention.
His tactic had worked at the previous two passes and he saw no reason why it would not succeed now.
‘Keep them pinned down! I want them looking at us and nowhere else!’ he barked and his lieutenants relayed the orders.
His bowmen were raining arrows down on the barricade now, a steel-tipped hail that had the defenders crouching and ducking for cover. Any that stood were picked off.
‘Cavalry to advance! Don’t press home the charge!’ Martil ordered and his cavalry company formed up into ten lines, a squad per line, and began to advance at a slow walk.
‘Now the infantry!’
The two companies advanced at the fast walk, shields held high. Drawn up in a long column of twenty ranks, each rank containing ten men, they were advancing parallel to the cavalry.
Martil waited until he was sure the defenders would be focused on this attack, and wondering how to stop them when to show yourself was a death sentence from his archers—then waved to his trumpeter.
‘Now signal the flanking companies to move in and the archers to change their aim!’
He could not help but feel a pulse of pleasure as the companies that had worked their way around the sides of the barricade now stood and charged down. His archers switched their aim to the centre of the barricade, as Rallorans hit either side. Meanwhile, the cavalry spurred into a gallop and the infantry broke into a run. It took an enormous amount of training, as well as trust, to be able to get isolated companies to work together so smoothly, attacks coming in from all directions, so the defenders were given little or no chance
to fight back. Martil felt a surge of pride for these men—they were making a highly difficult task look easy. Martil watched his company flags swarm over the barricade, saw swords flashing and heard the sound of metal on metal and metal on flesh as the defenders were torn apart.
Then a Ralloran leaped onto the barricade and waved the Queen’s flag, telling everyone that the third, and final, pass was in their hands.
‘Right then, let’s see what we’ve got,’ Martil announced.
As he urged Tomon forwards, he felt a strange sense of sadness. Planning and executing these attacks had occupied his mind for the last four days. Now he would have nothing to distract him from his dreams. Every night since he had left Sendric, the dreams had returned. Or, rather, the dream had returned; it was now the same one, night after night. As soon as he closed his eyes, the Berellian mother and son he had killed stalked him through the dead streets of Bellic. Each night he tried to get away from them but every time they cornered him. Just as he was about to attack them, the murdered Ralloran mother with the dead baby grabbed him and blamed him for her infant’s death and her own torture.
The lack of sleep was beginning to tell on him. Planning these attacks had kept him fresh and his mind alert, but now they were done, he could feel the tiredness steal over him. He wanted to lie down and sleep—really sleep. But he dared not do it. Perhaps if he could get back to Sendric, and Karia…
‘We have taken two score prisoners, sir, they’ve got the same number of wounded and the rest are dead,’ Nerrin reported. He had led the flanking attack on the barricade.
Martil, who had begun to doze off in the saddle as he rode to the barricade, roused himself. ‘Good work, Lieutenant. And our losses?’
‘About what we suffered on the other two: three dead, another eight wounded. All the wounded should be fit to return to duty—the healers and priest are with them now.’
Martil nodded. They had brought two of Sendric’s healers, as well as a priest. Thinking about the dead and wounded made him shudder. Not even a dozen men dead—it was a light toll indeed. Back in the wars, securing three vital passes for the loss of a dozen men would have rightly been seen as an astonishing victory. But he could not focus on the positive aspects. The spectre of more dead Rallorans—and more to come—haunted him. Perhaps even worse was a comment he had heard back at the second pass, from a pair of soldiers helping to carry out a body of a comrade: ‘At least he’s at peace now.’
Martil shivered at the thought.
‘Sir—what if people try to get through these passes?’
Martil forced his mind to the problem. ‘Well, you should be able to see anyone coming, as long as you post picquets further down the road. If they are potential recruits, or merchants hoping to sell us supplies, for Aroaril’s sake let them through. If they are bards, with Gello’s men to guard them, I want to talk to them. There might even be a few loose up here already, and when they learn the passes are in our hands, they might try to slip past you. Don’t let them. I want to speak to these bastards going around telling this Real Saga of Bellic.’
‘That will be our pleasure, sir,’ Nerrin said viciously.
The pair of them rode on—they did not even need to dismount, as his men were already pulling apart the arrow-spiked barricade, preparing to move it down the pass, to block access from the south. The pass wound its way around for another mile before emerging in the plains below, although further along there were too many opportunities for an attacking force to slip around the side of a barricade.
‘The camp is full of supplies, enough to keep a company of cavalry in food and fodder for at least a month. With what we brought, it will be enough,’ Nerrin continued.
They rode towards the camp.
‘What about the wounded cavalry, and the prisoners?’
‘Same as before.’ Martil forced his tired mind to concentrate. ‘The healthy can carry the wounded on litters. They leave everything behind—swords, armour and horses. We’ll need the lot—once we get enough men.’
They rode in silence for a few moments.
‘Will we get enough men, sir?’
Martil did not have the energy to answer that question—and did not want to give voice to his own fears. If those bards were going around to every town and village and turning them against the Rallorans, how could they rally more men to their cause? Instead, he made himself think about their next step.
‘Nerrin, I am leaving you in command of the most northerly pass. By leading the attacks on all three, you have proved to me that you are not just a promoted sergeant, you are a captain in the making! I will stay here just long enough to see that Gello does not launch an immediate assault, then will return to Sendric. When I do, you will take command of all the passes.’
The officer’s face seemed to flush with pride. ‘Sir, I don’t know what to say…’
‘Say nothing. You deserve every honour that comes your way. Now, these passes are the difference between victory and defeat. With them in our hands, Gello will be fearful of what is happening in the north. If I was him, I would try to take them back and, as we have proved, they are not easily defended. We will have two companies at each pass, with the remaining four companies guarding our flanks, and the space between each pass. You’ll need to patrol forwards aggressively as well. Don’t let Gello just stroll up the passes the way those dozy bastards let us sneak up on them. Meanwhile we’ll take our time and use the supplies that Gello has thoughtfully left for us. I want as many siege engines as you can build. Ballistae, catapults—whatever you can come up with. We have a number of men who served in engineer companies. Use them. But we don’t have the men for desperate last stands. If the attack comes when I have gone, fall back rather than stand and die, understand?’
Nerrin nodded, his brow furrowed.
Martil could feel himself flagging and forced himself to blink. ‘When I go back to Sendric to plan our next move with the Queen, I’ll just take one squad with me: Kesbury and his men. We’ll need to work out patrol rosters to keep them off the line. Meanwhile, Barrett supplied us with some of his magicked birds, so you can send word back to us of any developments. Now, I think I’m going to lie down for a little while. Any questions?’
Nerrin watched his captain sway a little in the saddle and thought about asking what was the matter—but decided against it.
‘Nothing, sir.’
Karia was not happy about being left. And she was not backwards in letting everyone around her know about it, either. Part of her knew that acting like this was not going to make people want to spend time with her. But she couldn’t help herself. It had taken her years to find a daddy, and now people kept taking him away from her. Her fear at being left alone, as well as her loneliness, threatened to overwhelm her. She needed to know that people cared for her but only Martil seemed prepared to show her.
She was riding on her own horse, next to Merren, Rocus, Wime and Barrett. Not that she had ever ridden a horse before but her ability with magic meant she had told it what to do, where to go and to be nice. The horse seemed happy enough and normally she would have enjoyed speaking to it but chose instead to keep a ferocious look on her face and her arms folded. As soon as they were far enough away from the town so that she could be heard, she let out an exasperated snort or an exaggerated sigh at regular intervals.
‘Can’t you do something about her?’ Merren muttered to Barrett.
His heart leaped. His campaign to win her over—or at least interest her as a man, not just a magician—was hardly going well. Looking at it realistically, he knew he was trying too hard. But this was the perfect opportunity to impress her in a different way. So he slowed his horse and let Karia ride up beside him.
‘What is the matter?’ he asked.
‘I’m not happy,’ she told him loftily. ‘Why couldn’t I go with Martil?’
Barrett looked over his shoulder along the path they had travelled. He used the time to control his irritation. With Merren so close—and Martil far
enough away—he thought he needed to show his sensitive side. Perhaps Merren would like that.
‘We did talk about this. You can be more help to us, and going with Martil might be too dangerous. Besides,’ he added, in a burst of inspiration, ‘we’d miss you.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. Now, why don’t we see what sort of birds we might be able to summon—we need to see what is happening at Gerrin.’
‘All right.’ Karia unfolded her arms. The thought that Barrett and Merren would miss her made her feel better. Barrett watched her call down a circling hawk and caught Merren’s eye. She smiled at him gratefully and he felt his heart swell. This was more like it, he thought. She just needs time to see me as a suitor, not a servant.
Merren sighed with relief that she did not have to deal with Karia, or Barrett. She just was not in the mood for talking to either of them. For all her brave words back at the town, she was horribly aware that this was a considerable risk. It was also on her own shoulders. Since she had escaped from the palace, Martil had been there to advise, to plot and finally to fight for her. Now she had sent him off in another direction, with another mission, and all the responsibility rested with her. It was daunting, although it was also exhilarating. She wanted to not just take back the towns for herself but prove she was truly a queen—not merely a woman who was being helped by powerful men. She would be seen to make the decisions, not Martil, Barrett or Sendric. That was the thought that strengthened her when she started to worry about the alternative—that she would fail miserably and not only lose men but also the respect she had earned.
Merren gritted her teeth. Now is not the time for negative thoughts, she told herself. You are a queen and you will succeed. This is what you have trained for since the Dragon Sword refused Gello. Just approach the problem logically, think of what the enemy will probably do—and use Barrett’s and Karia’s special powers to make sure you know his plan. Then, you can come up with one to defeat it: the best way to defeat an enemy is with the unexpected.
