Redemption (Book 6) (3 page)

They turned their heads to investigate.

A road ran parallel to the field on one side. A man riding a small cart piled high with firewood had stopped his horses, and was gazing at the three of them in mild curiosity.

Kara gave Joseph and Maklavir a rueful glance. “Ask them.”

The man shifted his gaze, even more curious.

Joseph sighed. “We’re...fine. Just fine. Thanks for asking.”

Maklavir grabbed his cape off the fence, his arms shaking from the cold breeze on his wet skin.

“You folk headed into Shawnor?” The cart driver called. “I could give you a lift, if two of you don’t mind riding on some firewood.”

Kara turned eagerly back towards Maklavir and Joseph. “We could be there before nightfall,” she said under breath. “This is perfect.”

“We have to pack up,” Joseph protested weakly. He was already shivering at the thought of riding in the cold air on the back of the cart with soaking wet clothes.

“I already packed most everything,” Kara said excitedly. “I just need to put out the fire. There’s some leftover cheese and apples we can have on the way.” She turned back towards the cart driver. “Thank you! Give us five minutes.”

The old cart driver turned and spat onto the dirt pathway. “Same enough to me. I’ve got time.”

Kara turned and dashed off towards the edge of the field, in the direction of some drifting smoke.

“Cheese and apples,” Maklavir said in a quiet voice as he crossed over to Joseph. “Sounds like a fantastic breakfast.”

Joseph ignored him. He reached down and snatched up his greatcoat, then his rapier.

Maklavir dabbed at his lip, then grabbed his own rapier off the ground. He looked down at the weapon for a moment. “I suppose....” he started to say. “That is to say, I guess we should—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Joseph said curtly. He turned towards the road.

The man on the cart was waiting patiently for them. He put down a canteen he had been drinking from, and his eyes widened a little at the sight of Joseph and Maklavir’s swords. “Ah, I see,” he said with a nod at their weapons. “Bound for Redemption, I take it?”

Both men stopped, surprised at the cart driver’s clairvoyance.

“As a matter of fact,” said Joseph warily, “we
are
heading that way.”

The man nodded. “I’d head out there myself if I was a younger man. Afraid those days have passed, though.”

Maklavir couldn’t quite contain the bemused look on his face. “You’ll have to forgive us...we’ve been on the road for quite a bit. What exactly is happening in Redemption?”

“
What is happening in Redemption
?” The cart driver put down his canteen as it was halfway to his mouth. “You really don’t know?”

Joseph and Maklavir looked at each other.

“All the barbarians in Jothland are throwing themselves at the Wall,” the cart driver said with a wheeze. He slapped a hand across his knee. “They’ve almost broken through half a dozen times or more. There’s a call out for volunteers to go and assist with the defense of the town.” He gave the swords another meaningful glance. “When I saw your blades, I just assumed—”

“Wait,” said Joseph as he held up a hand. “The barbarians haven’t broken through the defenses yet?”

The old man gave a crafty smile. “They
should
have.” He lowered his eyebrows. “You two sure you haven’t heard all this? You’re not pulling my chain, are you?”

“We really haven’t,” Maklavir said between chattering teeth. “What’s going on over there?”

“What? More like
who
.” The cart driver leaned in with a conspiratorial glance around. “There’s a general over there who’s beating back the pagans at every turn. Hammer of the Jombards, they call him. An old war hero. They say he can’t be stopped.”

Joseph and Maklavir both felt a strange thrill pass through them at the man’s words.

“This general,” Joseph said haltingly, “he’s an...Arbelan?”

The cart driver gave an exaggerated shrug. “Can’t rightly say. Rumor is, though,” he glanced around again, as if afraid someone would overhear his words, “rumor is that he was at Vorten, during the start of the Despair. The Demonbane, they’re calling him.”

Maklavir’s mouth dropped open. “
Kendril
? This man...his name is Kendril?”

The cart driver gave a puzzled shake of his head. “
Kendril
? No, no, can’t say I’ve ever heard that name.” He took another swig from his canteen, and rubbed a dirty sleeve across his mouth.

Joseph and Maklavir exchanged confused glances.

“Then...what
is
his name?” asked Joseph between shivers.

“
Ravenbrook
,” said the cart driver after a moment’s reflection. “That’s it. Lord Ravenbrook.”

Chapter 2

Captain Lockhart stood atop the third level of the wooden tower. He peered out through the pre-dawn darkness along the length of the Wall, looking north towards Hangman’s Hill.

There was a flash of light. A few seconds later the echoing
boom
of a gunshot rolled down the Wall.

“No beacon yet,” remarked Lieutenant Sharpton. He stood just behind Lockhart, his dragoon uniform worn and patched.

“No,” said Lockhart thoughtfully. He turned and walked across the wooden floor, then looked out through the dark night south along the Wall. “Nothing from Dyke?”

Sharpton shook his head. “No, sir. Just—”

Two more flashes lit the hill to the north. They were quickly followed by two
bangs
.

Lockhart scowled. He stroked his mustache as he pondered his options.

“I could take a squad, sir,” Sharpton offered. “Be up there in less than ten minutes.”

Lockhart didn’t answer. He turned and looked out over the Wall itself, directly east into the tangled woods that covered most of the continent of Jothland.

The Wall
. That was what it had been called, ever since the first skeleton structure had been carved out of the ground almost a century before. The Wall was the first and greatest line of defense against the Jombard tribes that inhabited the dark interior of Jothland. It had stood the test of time, it had been assaulted again and again, but always rebuilt and re-manned.

It was a symbol, both of the defiance of the colonists back in Redemption, and also of the constant danger that threatened their livelihood. It and the men who manned it were the only things holding back a wave of barbarians who wouldn’t hesitate to kill, burn, and destroy everything between the Wall and the Strait of Jagara.

Sharpton cleared his throat. “Sir?”

“I’ll take a squad up myself,” Lockhart said. “I want to check out the situation. You hold down the fort here, keep an eye to the south.”

Sharpton nodded. “Yes, sir.” He seemed as if he was about to say more, but hesitated.

Lockhart looked back to the north. “Something on your mind, :Lieutenant?”

Sharpton clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s just...begging your pardon, sir, but you haven’t slept in two days. If I might suggest, let
me
take the squad up.” He glanced up as another flash appeared from Hangman’s Hill. “It’s probably nothing anyway, sir. Just a raiding party, or perhaps a few infiltrators—”

“Maybe,” said Lockhart doubtfully. He chewed on the corner of his mustache. “I wish we had eyes on the other side of the Wall. Some way to know where the blasted Jombards are massing.”

“The general sent some scouts through yesterday,” Sharpton said quickly. “I saw them go through the central gate when I was returning from Stockade. He—”

Lockhart turned quickly on the lieutenant. “I would remind you, Lieutenant, that Lord Ravenbrook’s rank is merely a commission in the local militia. He’s no more a ‘general’ than you or I.”

Sharpton straightened. “Yes, sir.”

Lockhart nodded absently.

“Sir,” Sharpton began again, more hesitantly this time, “give me the word and I’ll take the squad up to Hangman’s Hill myself. There’s no reason for you to go.”

Lockhart smiled. “You’re a good man, Sharpton. But we’re
all
tired. The Jombards haven’t let us sleep for almost a month now, have they?”

Sharpton gave a brief shake of his head. “No sir.”

Lockhart put a hand on Sharpton’s shoulder. “Hold the line here. I’ll be back in less than an hour.” He moved towards the ladder without waiting for a response, and scooted down the rungs to the second level of the watchtower.

The Wall incorporated more than twenty miles of coordinated defenses. Chief among these were the mileforts, small barracked enclosures every mile or so along the wall itself. Some were larger than others. The fort that Lockhart and Sharpton were at, known by the dragoons posted here as Hangman’s Rest, butted up against the Wall itself. The milefort was flanked by two wooden watchtowers that reared over the turf wall and wooden palisade, allowing an unobstructed view out onto the barbarian side of the Wall.

Another milefort was located at Hangman’s Hill, about a mile to the north. It was significantly smaller than Hangman’s Rest, which was easily large enough to house a full company of dragoons with mounts and supplies. The largest milefort was not located on the Wall at all, but was several miles to the west. It was known simply as Stockade, and it was a free-standing fortress.

Stockade was where Lord Ravenbrook had his headquarters, along with the other irregulars from Redemption. Lockhart and his men, by contrast, were all regulars in the Arbelan Army, members of Sir Richard Northhampton’s Dragoon Regiment.

Colonel Northampton was not at the Wall, or anywhere else in Jothland for that matter. The last Lockhart had heard, the man was ‘leading’ his regiment from his estate near the Forest Grim, back in Arbela. That left Lieutenant Colonel Yearling in charge of Northampton’s regiment. And despite Lockhart’s disdain for militia commissioned ranks, a lieutenant colonel did not outrank a full general of the militia.

Lockhart reached the bottom of the watchtower, and climbed down the turf embankment that made up the wall itself. Atop it was the palisade, a wooden wall with fire-sharpened tips and a rampart that ran along its length. A line of steps led down into the milefort itself, a rectangular, turf and palisade-lined enclosure that adjoined the Wall.

In the small courtyard of the milefort a dozen dragoons stood by their nags. Carbines were on their shoulders. They were all dressed and ready to ride.

Lockhart smiled. Sergeant Madison was always one step ahead of him.

The good sergeant himself stepped forward and saluted sharply. His face was covered with a well-trimmed but thick black beard. “Sir! My squad is ready for your orders.”

Lockhart gave an approving nod. “Mount up, Sergeant. We’re heading for Hangman’s Hill.”

Madison saluted again. “Sir, yes sir!” He spun on his heels. “Alright, you heard the Captain. Check your carbines and mount up.”

There was a bustle as the squad mounted onto their nags. They were dressed in leather buff coats, and armed with carbines and swords. Many, including Sergeant Madison, had wheelock pistols holstered at their belts.

A stable boy brought over Lockhart’s own mount, a larger and finer beast than the small and shaggy nags ridden by the other dragoons.

Lockhart mounted his horse. He wound his own wheelock pistol out of habit.

The stable boy handed the Lockhart his open-face lobster helm. He held it with both hands, struggling to lift it over his head.

Lockhart took the helm and put it on, latching it into place. He nodded to the boy, who scurried off in the direction of the stables.

Sergeant Madison wheeled his nag around. “We’re ready to move, sir.”

Lockhart ran an eye over the dragoons. Unlike the troopers of a cavalry regiment, the men wore no cuirasses or even helmets, but only their buff coats and slouch hats. The dragoons were essentially mounted infantry, able to rapidly move from one location to another, then dismount and fight on foot.

Lockhart motioned to Madison. “Lead the way, Sergeant. At a trot, if you please.”

The dragoons turned and trotted towards the northern gate of the milefort.

The guards at the gate gave a call. The heavy wooden doors swung open.

Lockhart and the dragoon squad rode out into the night, following the broad path that led north.

In the distance came several more flashes and echoes of gunfire. Something was certainly going on up there.

The dragoons pattered through the darkness, following the course of the road.

Lockhart knew from experience that it would take less than ten minutes to get to Hangman’s Hill. There was no point in exhausting the nags by forcing them into a gallop, not unless the situation looked to be extremely dire. He glanced back behind him, feeling the cold metal of the helmet press against his neck.

The gates of the milefort had already been closed. There was no sign of any disturbance to the south yet, but Lockhart knew that Sharpton would be keeping an eye on it.

Ever since the first major pushes of the Jombards against the Wall had been beaten back three weeks before, the barbarians had become cleverer with their attacks. They would often test one section of the Wall, only to throw their full strength at another section when troops had been moved to defend the first.

The dragoons manning the Wall had been stretched thin. The men were exhausted. In the last four weeks they had already lost almost two hundred men dead and wounded, a fifth of their total number. Repeated requests had been made to the government in Archangel to send reinforcements, but the replies had all been negative. The Arbelans were facing a virtual civil war with the rising of the cultists around the city of Kelmar. The Lord Protector and Parliament claimed that no men could be spared to help. Redemption was on its own.

And as much as Lockhart hated to admit it, it was because of Lord Ravenbrook and the ragtag militia from Redemption that the Wall had held against the Jombards this long.

The night was cold, and the scent of rain was on the air. The road was easy enough to see by the moonlight and starlight, and the long high shape of the Wall to the right made getting lost difficult. To their left were the smudges of more dark woodland, broken here and there by the occasional farmstead and field. White mist clung to the trees and lay about on the open fields in-between the woods and the Wall.