The Wounded Guardian (50 page)

The officers nodded. As well as seventy crossbowmen and a score of archers—a few more hunters having been found to join Tarik’s dozen—he had one hundred men with javelins to put into houses, and a mass of more than four hundred men armed with a variety of weapons, from spears to axes to pikes to swords, and wearing a variety of armour, from thick leather jerkins to mail hauberks to several thick winter coats. The last would not stop a sword blow but gave the wearer a feeling that they had some sort of protection.

‘I shall speak to the men,’ Merren decided.

That night the volunteers massed in the courtyard, where they made an impressive sight. Merren and Martil stood above the gate, Martil holding aloft the Dragon Sword, a squad of guardsmen holding torches, so they were bathed in light.

‘Soldiers of Norstalos!’ Merren shouted, Barrett ensuring her voice could be heard across the courtyard.
They cheered that line, as Martil had known they would. He had secretly instructed Wime and Sirron to get their men to lead the cheering of the speeches, so that the other men would be in the right mood.

‘Soldiers of Norstalos, we shall write a new and glorious chapter into the history of this proud country! The man who ordered his soldiers to rape and kill your friends and family, to burn homes and steal all they could, is coming here to destroy this town. But he will find you, instead! We shall defeat him, through your bravery, and in years to come, Sendric will be able to boast that New Norstalos started here! Our road to triumph started here, and you will be forever proud of that!’

They cheered her again, and Martil had to wait until it had died down before he stepped forward and held up the Dragon Sword.

‘Here it is! The Dragon Sword given to King Riel all those centuries ago! In all that time, no Norstaline army has lost when it was led by the Dragon Sword! Remember that! It will help you win!’ He waved the Sword high then and they cheered him. ‘Now go and enjoy yourselves—and know this, any man who is wearing the blue sash of a volunteer can drink at any inn in town and never worry about paying a coin!’

That brought an enormous cheer, and they filed off then, eager to test his statement.

‘Lose the torches and join the fun, lads,’ Martil told the guardsmen, who were delighted to obey.

‘They will be ready now,’ Martil predicted, waving at the men who jostled their way out of the courtyard, spreading out in search of inns. He felt a little sick. He hated making speeches before battles to fire men up so that they would die more willingly on the morrow.

‘What about you?’ Merren asked. Her stomach was churning at the thought of what tomorrow would bring. He was supposed to be the strong one, yet he seemed to be in a worse state.

Martil shrugged. ‘We’ve done all we can. It is up to the men—and Havrick—as to how the battle goes now.’ He looked out over the town and laughed harshly. ‘I swore I was done with my last battle when I left Rallora, yet here I am, ready to fight another—and if we win this one, it will lead to even more. Truly, Aroaril must want to punish me.’

Merren stepped closer. ‘Or Aroaril could be helping me. I know of no other warrior who could have brought us to here. And I doubt any other could give us victory tomorrow.’

Martil shrugged. ‘Even if we win, many of those men will die; die under my command.’

‘No!’ Merren snapped. ‘They will have died under my command. This is my burden, more than it is yours. We are all here because of me. I will not have you take on that responsibility when their deaths need to be on my conscience.’

Martil looked at her and saw the fear in her eyes, as well as the grim determination. For a heartbeat he forgot about the battle and thought only of kissing her.

‘Now I have one important duty for you, Captain,’ she told him.

‘What is that?’ His imagination jumped ahead, his heart beat a little faster.

‘You need to read Karia a book, then get a meal and a good night’s sleep. She’s been annoying me, because she can’t see you. So cheer her up. That is a royal command!’

He could not help but smile at that.

‘That’s better! You need to smile more, Captain. Your face has been entirely too grim of late.’

‘I can’t think why,’ Martil said wryly.

Merren smiled and gestured towards the stairs. ‘Hurry up, Captain. I had to promise Karia that you would see her, or she would never have left me alone!’

Martil escorted Merren back towards the keep, where they had all been staying. The women and children would wait here during the battle, so Conal would command a group of old men to guard its walls, protecting the keep in the unlikely event of the battle getting that far.

Merren knew she needed to keep Martil’s spirits light but also wanted to hear what he thought about the speeches.

‘Do you think they will make a difference?’ she asked. ‘I have never had to give a speech before a battle before.’

‘If it affects one man, it will be worth it. That one man might turn the battle for us,’ he reflected, then thought he should sound more positive. ‘And this night with the families is just the thing to stiffen the men’s resolve.’ He gestured to where many of the women were joining the rush of men heading off to the inns.

‘What about you? What do you need to stiffen your resolve?’ she asked with a smile.

Martil truly did not know how to respond. With a whore or a barmaid, the women he had most associated with over the past dozen years, he would have made a ribald comment. But with a queen…Even though he felt there was something between them, he suspected Barrett would probably be lurking around in case he tried anything. He had to
change the subject—and quickly—before he blurted something he shouldn’t.

‘I need to tell Karia how I feel about her,’ he said without thinking.

‘She does know, although she desperately needs to hear it,’ Merren agreed softly.

‘Has she said something to you?’ Martil asked immediately, worried.

Merren smiled gently, and a little sadly. ‘No. But I know how it feels to be a small girl who loves her father, and wants to hear how much he loves her, and waits in vain.’

Martil did not hear the sadness, just the words. ‘Of course I love her! It’s just that saying it…’ he said defensively.

Merren laid her hand on his arm.

‘I know. One day you will just say it, and everything will be fine. But you can’t force it. Anyway, I’ll look after her tomorrow. You just try and stay out of the fighting, merely direct the battle.’

Martil laughed, pleased to be on an easier topic. ‘If there is one thing I know, it is a plan never works perfectly. Something will go wrong, or something unexpected will happen. I will probably end up fighting, because I am trying not to. It is the way battles go. And if my fighting saves men’s lives, then I will do so, even if it means my own is in danger.’

He put his hand on the hilt of the Dragon Sword as he stepped aside for Merren to go inside the keep first. Strange, he must have been standing too near a torch. It was curiously warm. He shrugged and followed Merren inside.

‘We should wait for the supply wagons to catch us up. The men are tired, thirsty and hungry. The town cannot escape us, so we can delay our assault until the morning, when the men are fresher,’ Jennar suggested, as Havrick and his officers surveyed the town.

‘Wait? Do you think a few score men and some shopkeepers and farmers can stop us?’ Havrick snorted. ‘Two companies will be all that’s needed to drive them out.’

‘With respect, sir, the men have been in the field for weeks. Most of the horses would be declared lame by a stablemaster at any barracks, my men have endured a forced march to keep up with the cavalry and everyone has spent the last few days on short rations. I know what the keep of Sendric is like. Even if the Queen only has one hundred men in there, we could lose double that taking it. But if we wait until tomorrow, when the men are fresh, our losses will be much smaller.’

Havrick looked around. The infantry were mainly sprawled on the ground, drinking the last drops from their waterskins. The cavalry had also dismounted, to give their horses a rest. Many of these were almost
painfully thin, the ribs showing through, the coats lacking the gloss of good condition. The ambushes and the repeated arrow attacks in the woods had left him short of men. The wizards, of whom he had held such high hopes, had proved less than useless and had been unable to keep up with the march. They were on the supply wagons and would not arrive until late that night, if not tomorrow. His infantry, their numbers boosted by the heavy cavalrymen who had survived ambushes but lost their horses, were down to barely one hundred and fifty. His heavy cavalry was now just one company, his light cavalry was in the best shape of them all, but had still lost most of one squadron. More than five hundred men was easily enough to put an end to this rebellion but to arrive back in Norstalos City with less than half of the men he had set out with would hardly help his career. Perhaps he should wait…

‘In fact, sir, might it not be best to just bottle the town up and send word to Duke Gello? Within a week, he could have two regiments of heavy infantry here, and we would win easily.’

Havrick thought of the two war captains that would accompany their regiments north; how they would take the glory, claiming that Havrick was not able to finish off a few shopkeepers and farmers. He imagined his father laughing at him, and had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from shouting at Jennar. He was in charge and he would make the decisions. ‘We have enough men to do this ourselves. Duke Gello does not care about losses, only results. We shall wait until morning. Our presence here will give the townsfolk a chance to think about the assault that is coming. They may well hand over the rebels to us rather than fight.’

‘And if they do not, sir? What are your orders for the town?’ Jennar asked.

‘We punish it. Destroy the town, so that no others dare to rise against us,’ Havrick declared. ‘Let Sendric be a lesson to any other rebels.’

‘Sir, with respect…’

‘Lieutenant Jennar, if you attempt to use that phrase to me again, I shall have you dismissed! I have given my orders! Now tell the men to stand down and rest—no less than fifty men for guard duty tonight. And, Jennar, you can be officer of the guard.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Jennar saluted wearily, knowing he would not sleep that night. He wanted to protest more, for he could see his concerns about slaughtering the townsfolk on the faces of several of the other officers. But none said anything.

He glanced over at the walls of Sendric, walls he had served behind for two years now. As a northern fortress town, it had always had a strong garrison in case of goblin attack. It was only recently that two other companies had come to join his men, ostensibly to secure the northern mines although in reality they had preferred to stay in the comforts of the town. So he knew many of the people inside, and he wondered about taking his company over the wall tonight to join the defenders. He knew the heavy cavalry troopers assigned to him would not come; he was hard pressed to get them to do anything other than complain that they had no horses. But his men would follow him, and could make all the difference tomorrow. He could feel something pulling him towards that course of action. It made no sense, yet his heart told him it was the right thing to do. The feeling was quite intoxicating and it took a physical effort to turn away from the wall. He was thinking
about turning back when a trumpet call from the town made him turn, made everyone turn.

A score of men in heavy armour, riding on captured cavalry horses, but wearing the blue surcoat of Sendric and carrying its white-on-blue crest, had ridden out of the gate and formed up before it. It was a challenge, an obvious challenge. Too obvious. Jennar opened his mouth to say so but it was too late.

‘Mount up! We assault now!’ Havrick screamed.

Already the heavy cavalry were forming up, wanting to charge these impudent rebels who rode
their
horses and wore
their
armour—and so flaunted their defeats in their faces.

‘They’re at our mercy!’ Havrick exulted. ‘That’s half their force there! We can smash them now and end this tonight. Once inside the town, our men cannot be stopped! Heavy cavalry at the front, lights behind, your men to bring up the rear, Jennar!’

The column hurriedly formed up, going from their marching formation of four men per rank, to a solid column of ten men per rank, thin enough to go down a street, but strong enough to shatter a shield wall.

‘Ignore the townsfolk! They’re sheep to be slaughtered after the real work is done! Kill those scum up there, sack the keep, then you can have all the wine, food and women you want in the town!’ Havrick roared, before easing himself into the column of heavy cavalry, about two-thirds from the front.

Meanwhile the men in blue sat patiently on their horses.

‘Get them!’ Havrick bellowed, and his trumpeter sounded the advance.

Then the rebels turned and spurred their horses back into the town. Havrick’s men gave a roar and
followed, although the horses were barely able to make it to the trot. Still, it forced Jennar’s infantry to jog to keep up. Jennar thought about telling Havrick that this looked like a trap but he knew it would not do any good. Besides, he was running out of breath attempting to stay with the cavalry.

The walls did not show any defenders, and the gate was open, but still Havrick tensed as they rode underneath, then laughed when it became obvious there was no-one on the walls. That, more than anything, told him the townsfolk had not risen in any great numbers.

He had been shocked to hear the Queen had taken the town, and at first had feared it meant the Dragon Sword was working, and the whole district would be against him. His initial terror had passed when his officers had informed him even just one company of heavy cavalry could shatter a mob of poorly-armed peasants. Then, when they did not march out of the town, he realised the rebels had made a fatal error. There would be no more fruitless searches through woods. No more despatches to the Duke where he had to lie about numbers of rebels killed. Just one final attack and then the chance to ride back to the capital and receive his rewards.

But he was still wary of the number of ambushes his men had suffered. So although his cavalry officers begged for the chance to charge, and although the score of rebels trotted disdainfully ahead of them, he ordered the men to rein in. There would be no wild charges until he could see the keep, and know there were no barricades placed ahead of him, lined with archers to destroy his cavalry.

Deeper and deeper into the town they went, Havrick now wondering a little at the complete
absence of people. Undoubtedly they were afraid, and had hidden themselves, but he still expected to see a few around. The little group of rebels trotted ahead of them, teasing them almost, and it took all Havrick’s authority not to let his men spur into the charge.

By now they were so far into the town that his men were strung out over several streets, and he could not see the rear of the column. He had just decided to pass an order down that Jennar should stay close, but the light cavalry should peel off and ride through the side streets, when the trumpets sounded.

Instinctively, men looked around, and the column slowed.

‘Do you hear that?’ someone called.

Havrick could only hear trumpets, a strange call that he did not recognise. Then he heard something else, a strange rumbling noise.

‘Look out!’ someone screamed.

A large farm wagon, filled high with straw and well ablaze, was hurtling down a side street towards them. Trapped by men in front and behind, Havrick forced his way forwards and out of its path. Others were not so lucky. Men and horses were struck by the impact and fell, or ran screaming as they caught alight. Other wagons had rolled out of other side streets, and up and down the column there was confusion, men shouting and screaming, wounded begging for help. Men instinctively tried to rally together but were being cut off from comrades by the flaming wagons.

Ahead, the rebels had stopped, but before Havrick could think to give the order to charge, other men in blue wheeled yet more wagons across the road, then tossed torches into them. These wagons also went up
in flames, creating a barrier that no horse would charge. Their way ahead was blocked, the way behind was probably also cut off, which just left the side streets. Havrick opened his mouth to order his men to scatter into the side streets, when a new trumpet call sounded. This was one he did recognise—it was the call for archers to attack.

Instantly the column was raked by a hail of arrows and crossbow bolts. Men and horses fell, and not just from the arrows. Havrick saw a javelin sink deep into a horse’s haunch, the animal reared and the trooper fell backwards. He caught sight of something flying towards him out of the corner of his eye. He threw up his shield and it stuck into the shield’s face with a loud metallic thud. Glancing down, he saw it was a wickedly pointed star. A caltrop. Any horse that stood on one of those would not walk again that day.

‘Form up! Draw swords!’ the heavy company officer bellowed, trying to restore some order. Havrick thought he should be doing the same, but the words just did not seem to be coming out. Then he saw the officer hit by three crossbow bolts and realised that anyone shouting orders was swiftly going to become a target for the archers and arbalesters in the houses. He decided his first priority was safety, so he stayed low and kept his shield high.

Sergeants were now yelling for the men to dismount and break into the houses, take the fight to the archers, but every shouted order provoked a flurry of missiles.

‘We have to get off the street! Sir! What are your orders?’ a sergeant yelled at Havrick.

Before Havrick could think of a reply, the man’s horse stepped on a caltrop and reared high. The man
threw his hands up to keep his balance, and a crossbow bolt smashed into his head, splattering Havrick with brains and blood.

Havrick stared as the man’s body slowly toppled over and tried to think what he could do. He knew he should impose himself on the battle. He had plenty of men, although at the moment they were cowering in doorways and hiding behind shields, rather than doing anything that would win this fight. But all he could think of was how angry Gello would be if he lost this battle, and how his brothers would have been proved right.

Then he heard a third trumpet call.

Martil watched Havrick fall into his trap with relief, but he knew it could not last. Scores of men had gone down from arrows and the fire wagons, but there were plenty left, and these would have to be tackled man to man. The plan was for Wime and Rocus to drive into the centre of the column, cutting it in half, then Rocus to push towards the head and Wime to push towards the rear, where, hopefully, the two pockets of men would surrender when they saw they were trapped.

‘Sound the attack,’ he ordered.

He watched as Rocus and Wime led the screaming rush of townsfolk out of side streets and into Havrick’s column. The remaining officers and sergeants—those that the archers and arbalesters had not already picked off—shouted at their men to get off their horses and form lines. They were not quick enough.

Rocus, fresh from luring Havrick into this rash advance, led the charge into the confused troopers. The men in the middle of the column were light
cavalry, carrying just swords. Rocus, his guardsmen, Sirron and his farm boys drove into them, their shield wall giving them a decided advantage. Into the gap poured a variety of townsfolk, at the front mainly militiamen or men who had served in the army before, but behind them ordinary men.

These men had seen their friends and neighbours robbed, raped and murdered. Their own families were sheltering in the keep. They knew what it would mean to lose. Their hatred, their anger, their fear for their families, these propelled them into the troopers with a fury.

On the other hand, the troopers had spent weeks walking through woods, being picked off by archers. They had drunk little water and eaten only scraps that day, their horses were tired and they were expecting a short battle followed by a night of drunken looting. But they had been trained well, and after the initial surprise, when a score were cut down easily, they tried to stand their ground and fight back.

‘Don’t let them rally!’ Rocus knew the bulk of his force was yet to reach the battle and he had to create space for them to spill into the street.

He smashed his shield into the face of one trooper and let the men behind finish the writhing man off. Rocus had been insulted by men like these for years: told he was just a chocolate soldier, who would melt in the heat of battle, told he was little better than a servant, good for opening doors and standing at attention and nothing more. But the last month had been a true learning experience. He was fitter, stronger and far more skilled thanks to Martil. And when Martil told him he would be leading one of the attack, that he was now better than many of the officers Martil had known back in Rallora, he swore
to himself he would make his captain proud. His men were formed up tight, shields locked together in a wedge shape, with himself at the point. Sirron led another wedge and the two of them forced their way into the mass of troopers. Even the weight of his chain mail hauberk seemed as nothing, as adrenalin drove him forwards. A man lunged at him, but it was easy to block the blow with his shield, then stab with his own sword to open a huge wound in the man’s groin. He screamed horribly and fell, so Rocus stepped over him, trusting a townie to take care of the man later. Behind him, his guardsmen stayed close, cutting down troopers who tried to tackle them individually. Their weeks of hard training were paying off, the men working together.