“Enough.” His brother said calmly.
The remaining rage bled out of Tristan as he lowered his sword and retrieved his dagger. He turned towards Kevin, nodded once to his brother and his wife, turned on his heel and left the shocked Captain staring after him. Storming back to his room Tristan re-sheathed his sword, kicked the door to his room open and slammed it shut. He removed his belt and tossed it onto the bed and slumped down in front of the fire, shaking with anger and still fuming about tonight’s events.
The chill of the night began to descend on him, but he was too filled with anger to get up and grab a blanket off his bed. He sat, staring into the flames for what seemed like hours. A quiet knock came at his door. Tristan stood up, stormed over to the door, meaning to yell whoever dared to disturb him; he jerked open the door taking a deep breath.
“Can I get you something my Lord?” Asked the same timid girl who had taken his armor and clothes away for cleaning.
He exhaled, unable to bring himself to yell at her. His shoulders slumped as he shook his head no.
“Duke Kevin asked me to come and see to you sir.” She prompted.
Tristan couldn’t even speak; the shock of how badly he let his anger slip and very nearly killed one of his brothers’ officers left him speechless. He simply nodded at her turned and walked back and sat in front of the fire. She motioned for him to lie on his stomach on the plush rug, he complied as he was too full of anger and regrets to refuse.
As she kneaded his muscles, the tension and anger began to subside. Her delicate yet firm touch reassured him in a way that words couldn’t right now. She hummed a little tune while she attended to his tense muscles, which yielded to her touch. He began to nod off to sleep so he tried to strike up a conversation to keep himself awake.
“What’s your name?” He asked, half asleep.
“Maggie.” She softly replied.
Whatever other forced conversation he would have made was impossible as the relaxation spreading down to his very soul took over and he fell asleep. A short time later a calm quiet voice convinced him to rise and head to his mattress. It seemed like it was made of some light cloud rather than the feathers it had been filled with. Before she had even left the room his snores began to echo off the walls.
The next morning Tristan was politely roused at daybreak. He was led, still groggy, down to the dining hall where his brother and his wife sat chatting. He shut the door quietly behind himself and made his way to the table.
“Feeling better?” Alison inquired.
“Much.” Tristan answered sheepishly.
Kevin indicated the seat to his right again as Tristan made his way around the table and sat down. A solitary servant came in moments later with breakfast which was more or less eaten in silence. Finally, when the remains had been collected and carted off by the servants, Kevin turned to his brother.
“I know you’ve got hesitations about his assignment little brother.” He began. “But know that if I didn’t think you could handle the situation, I wouldn’t even dream of putting you up to this.”
Tristan chose his words carefully before speaking; “Look. I’m not sure what makes you think I can do this, but Robertson obviously has issues with taking orders from me. Why not just make me his squire or something? Why do I have to lead them?!”
“You’re a Prince; at worst you’re going to have a keep of your own someday. You need to learn that career military personnel are going to have problems with your leadership until you prove you’re worth your salt.” Kevin explained. “Your subjects will follow you if you’re their Prince, they’ll die for you if you show them you’re their commander.”
He considered these words for a moment, and wasn’t sure if he truly believed them. Most of this was still rather new and very strange to him. None of his memories had resurfaced since they’d left Metao, causing the ever present anger in him to constantly be on the verge of being unleashed.
“Fine.” He snapped. “I’ll do this, but if it fails and it wouldn’t surprise me if it does, you and father need to put aside your grand plans for me.” Tristan replied darkly.
“Deal.” Kevin said, “Now, you have a command to assume. Good luck to you, but I have this funny feeling that you won’t need it.” He laughed as he ruffled Tristan’s hair.
Tristan shot him a mock dark look and then he smiled crookedly at his brother and sister-in-law and made his farewells. After a quick stop in his room to put on his newly cleaned his armor, he rushed out to the courtyard, tying his hair back with a strip of leather. As he stepped out of the keep he was shocked to find far more than just the men he was expected to lead, it looked like most of the keep and her staff had turned up to see the troupe off. He was slightly confused until he saw them all looking expectantly from the Prince to Captain Robertson.
Apparently the story had spread of his duel with the war veteran and everyone who hadn’t witnessed the first even had shown up in hopes for a repeat performance. Not wishing to give the crowd the satisfaction he walked calmly over to Robertson.
“Captain.” Tristan said evenly.
“Sir.” He replied as he turned around to reveal the black eye caused by the young Prince’s head butt.
“Is everything ready?” The Prince asked.
“It is.” He replied curtly.
“Take the men out then.” Tristan ordered.
“Yes, sir.” He nodded.
Whatever bitterness the Captain had in the privacy of the council hall, he held it well in check in public. This was a trait that Tristan appreciated. The crowd began to break up with more than one servant poorly hiding their disappointment. Maggie came running out of the keep, clenching something in her hand as she rubbed at the stitch in her side from running so quickly.
“My Lord!” She called as she ran up to him, placing his family ring into his hand. She hesitated a moment, rose up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
She turned and ran back into the keep as Kevin and Alison came over to say their goodbyes. Kevin annoyingly raised his eyebrows as he looked from Tristan to Maggie chuckling. Alison dug her elbow into his side and he laughed. As Tristan slipped his ring on, his brother offered his advice.
“Remember now. Lead and they will follow.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Tristan replied dryly as Alison hugged him.
Tristan approached and nodded to the Captain. He had the men formed up into pairs and marching through town in no time.
Three hours later, fifty-four soldiers made their way on foot along the Western Road. The entire unit, including officers, was likewise attired in full sets of black leather armor. Kevin had explained the necessity of going about this mission on foot. As evidenced, these bands of men were eager to avoid large mounted companies. Most of the soldiers had elected to bundle their swords and shields over their backs to make light jogs easier and virtually silent.
Each of them carried a pack containing jerked beef, two skins of water and thin blankets to shelter them from the morning dew usually persistent during the present season. Tristan had no clear idea of where to start. He assumed though that Captain Robertson was eager to have his new commander fail. Tristan wouldn’t give the old veteran the satisfaction of seeming as clueless as he felt. He’d spent some time since his arrival familiarizing himself with the local terrain and likely hiding spots. He directed Robertson to take their men to a nearby collection of rough hills he surmised was able to support at least one set of caves and valleys used by bandits for shelter.
Tristan had listened intently to many of the officers recount the strategy and targets of the bands of brigands, he also called upon the lessons Kevin had given him on tactics. Because of preparation he had a likely idea of what his goals were, even if he had no clear beginning. Shrugging off his irritation he decided that doing something was far better than sitting idly. He’d sent the 7th forward to a likely target to begin their journey. Less than a hundred yards from the hills a scout returned reporting
that he could smell morning cooking fires over the first set of bluffs in a small valley.
Deciding that a cohesive unit was going to serve him far better than just sending everyone into a possible ambush, Tristan called all the men together into a tight circle. In hushed tones he began outlining his plan of attack.
“It’s likely that these bands survive as they do by striking at undefended and unprepared peasants. Among other things, we’re going to have the element of surprise on our side. That will only last so long.” He began. “I want the scouts moving along the southern line where the forest breaks before the hills. The four of you will circle around their encampment to the north, when you’re settled; I want you each to pick a target. Anyone will do, just make sure you at least wing them.”
The four scouts nodded and set off at a brisk jog as Tristan turned to the grizzled Sergeant. “Sergeant Frose.” He ordered. “I want you to take fifteen of your best runners and take shelter to the east of their sentries. When you hear a commotion, come running into the camp.” The sergeant nodded and moved to leave, tapping his fifteen men as he passed them on the shoulder.
“Lieutenant Halvorsen.” He turned to one of the young Lieutenants he’d spoken with the night before. “Take twenty men and cover the west, once you’re in place and your men are ready, draw weapons and try your best to walk without purpose into the middle of their camp. By the time you get there the first few arrows will have already fallen. Once they have; strike.” The Lieutenant nodded and headed off, motioning his squad to follow.
The young Prince then turned to the Captain and with a slightly sarcastic look on his face, he said; “Now my good Captain, we shall try our best to look like brigands looking for work. Everyone take off your tabards and stow them, make sure you can put them on in quick order so our scouts don’t pick one of us off mistakenly.”
The rest of the 7th moved out as ordered, the remaining eleven men along with Captain Robertson and Tristan snuck up as quietly as possible to just below the closest hill. Tristan leaned back against the incline, listening carefully for Halvorsen’s men or the first downed by bowshot. The Captain came next to Tristan and slowly peaked over the hillside. When he came back down his face was white.
“Do you have any idea how many men are down there?” He asked the young Prince.
“Judging from the trails leading out of that valley I’m going to assume there’s at least a hundred and fifty men down there.” Tristan replied calmly.
“Er, don’t you think three to one odds are a little tilted?” The Captain asked in shock.
“I was trying to find a bigger group of them, but this will do for a warm up.” Tristan joked.
“If any of my men die…” Robertson began.
“If any of my men die, Captain, I’ll accept the responsibility.” Tristan cut across him.
“Hmph.” The Captain replied, obviously still put off by the change in leadership.
“Listen Captain. You don’t need to respect me, or even like me. But let me be clear,” Tristan turned and locked his gaze with the Captain. “If you don’t obey my orders I’ll hang you myself. Morale be damned.”
Before the Captain could answer Tristan heard the whistle of an arrow fly followed by a sickening squelching sound as it hit a human target. Shouts echoed down from the east and west as the smaller companies came pouring over the hillside. Tristan stood, drew his sword and shouted an animalistic cry as he ran into the valley. By the time he reached the camp his men had already secured a number of bandits, tying their arms behind their backs and laying them face down.
Walking purposefully through camp towards the largest tent Tristan was confronted by a rather large man wielding a dangerous looking mace and shield. The man moved towards him, brandishing the mace over his head in a large arc and bringing it down towards Tristans’ head. Tristan sidestepped the swing, stepped in and sliced the back of the man’s legs. The larger man grunted in pain and fell to his knees. Wasting no time he swung around and hit the man in the side of the head with the flat part of his blade, knocking him out.
As Tristan continued to approach the tent a tall slim man rushed out, a rapier in one hand and a main-gauche in the other. His eyes narrowed as he made himself ready to fight. Tristan drew his dagger, flipped it over in his hand, reversing his grip, and stood in front of the dangerous fighter. The bandit’s rapier lashed out, Tristan brought his blade up and deflected the thrust at his chest. His opponents’ main-gauche followed closely behind looking to slice at Tristans’ sword arm. The Prince turned his blade, using its slight bend to bat away the main-gauche as well.
The bandit’s eyes widened slightly as he began calculating distances and possible escape routes. The fear and realization that he wasn’t just facing a common soldier was clearly etched on his face. He lunged again, attempting to drive the young Prince back and open an avenue of escape. Tristan deflected the sword with his dagger and drove his opponents’ sword down, exposing the bandit’s entire right side. Wishing to wound the man so he could get information out of him, Tristan’s blade snapped up and sliced half-way through the man’s’ sword arm. His rapier fell to the ground as he gasped in pain, his main-gauche reflexively coming up to defend against another attack. Tristan was too fast though, he batted aside the dagger and sent it flying out of the man’s weakened grip.
All around him the 7th Infantry was quickly subduing the bandit force and frog marching them into a makeshift stockade that had served as a horse enclosure. The bandit Tristan was fighting sought to take advantage of his distraction to escape. He made three running strides before Tristan picked up a discarded club and threw it. It hit the bandit leader in the back of the head knocking him completely out cold as he landed painfully, sending his torso sliding forward and his legs bending up behind his head painfully. Two soldiers picked him up by either arm and dragged him off to the stockade.
The 7th quickly incapacitated the rest of the band, killing them outright, knocking them out or accepting their surrender as they dropped their weapons and placed their hands up behind their heads. The commotion in camp died down as all of the dead were piled and a pyre lit. Then all of the prisoners were bound, gagged and tied to the stockade fence. Captain Robertson came over to Tristan who had sat down on a long near the cooking fire.
“I never would have believed it if I hadn’t just seen it.” He commented, his amazement barely held in check.
“How many did we lose?” Tristan asked, rubbing his face with his left hand.
“Not a one! One of Halvorsen’s men got himself knocked out, but everyone else is fine.” Robertson replied in shock.
Tristan was still irritated by the man, but at least he could see now that Tristan wasn’t some helpless spoiled royal. “Any idea on how many they actually had at this camp?” he asked.
“One-hundred and sixty-three men, sir. Ninety-eight still alive in the stockade.” Replied Sergeant Frose as he approached them. “The Lieutenant found something in the commanders tent you’re going to enjoy sir.” He said with a lopsided smirk.
Halvorsen came walking up beside the sergeant and handed over a large piece of parchment. Tristan opened it and smiled widely.
“What is it, sir?” Robertson asked.
“Have a look for yourself.” Tristan replied, handing over the parchment.
Turning towards Halvorsen he said; “Take half the men and march the prisoners to mile marker three. There should be a company of men camped near the road. They’ll take the command of the prisoners and then you can return here. Tomorrow morning we’ll pack up whatever we need and head for the next camp at…” Tristan looked over to Captain Robertson for the answer.
Captain Robertson looked up from the parchment. “Klement’s Pass. It’s a small valley a few miles from here.” He replied.
“Off you go Lieutenant.” Tristan urged.
Halvorsen nodded to both men, turned and began organizing the men to take them back to the Western Road. Tristan motioned for the Captain to follow
him as he headed over to the commanders tent. Entering he saw numerous things that if he hadn’t seen the map, would have shocked him. The banner of Terum, an eagle flying over a snowy mountain top, was hung on the back wall behind a large table on which was an enlarged map of Tristan’s country. There were small wooden figures all over the map, but the greatest concentration was along the Western Road between Irudin and Kenting.
Tristan motioned to a pair of plush chairs as he and the Captain sat down. “Bandits my eye.” The Captain muttered, causing Tristan to smile.
“You and I need to get something straight.” Tristan began, losing his smile. “We’re about to take on a small army, I think we can both agree this isn’t some random group of freebooters we’re dealing with.” Tristan concluded.
Captain Robertson nodded his reply, his eyes relaxing from their narrowed gaze.
“They’ve grown used to taking on travelers and farmers, an organized raid must have caught them off guard.” The older man observed.
“I don’t think anyone escaped the camp, but it’s possible. It’s likely that little trick won’t work again and it’s even more likely that the word is being spread as we speak to those other hidden camps.” Tristan explained.
The map had contained a detailed disposition of Terum forces in the region, one of the larger ones they had just captured. There were another half-dozen or so left four smaller ones north of the Western Road and two to the south, one of those was a small fort nestled in the woods near the Great River.
“I would agree with that my Lord.” Robertson replied evenly.
“Good because you and I need to put our differences aside and trust each other. We number just over fifty men and we’re about to challenge ten times our number. I’m going to do my damnedest to keep as many of our men alive as I can, but we’re severely outnumbered.” Tristan brooded.
Draconis' Bane Page 11
