“Might as well. I don’t want to be here for the next circle of mages.”
They returned to oversee the final preparations and begin the march to the next camp. Robaz met them at the first clearing, his face a mask of tightly leashed fury. “What are we supposed to do now?” he asked, as soon as they were within earshot. “It’s just a matter of time before they decide to attack us here, too.”
“We must make a move before their next one,” Kefier said.
Caiso turned to him. “As surprising as that sounds, coming from you, I think maybe prudence is our best option. We were ordered to gather our men, not outright charge them.”
“But it was coming to that, wasn’t it?” Kefier asked. “If they slowly attack the camps, one by one, we’ll have nothing left for our own assault.”
“I agree with the Commander,” Robaz said, his jowls wriggling. “If I’m going to die, it’s running at the enemy in full daylight, not by something slinking about in the dark.”
“I’d prefer not to die at all,” Caiso said.
“Launching a full-scale siege against their fort will force them to rethink their strategy,” Kefier said. “They’ll have to hole up. Busy themselves with trying to stop us from breaking through the wall.”
“You do know that this wall is made of granite and really fucking tall, right? Oh, silly me, you’re not blind and you’ve seen it yourself.” Caiso groaned, turning to Sthura, who had just come riding up to them. “Here’s our war expert, come to save the day. What’s your opinion, Sthura? Should we die with our pants down or our pants up?”
“I have made contact with Master Gorrhen,” Sthura said. “He advised us to gather everyone and meet with the rest of king’s army at the Trayfor’s Rock. I got the impression that this was the King’s orders. They’re already marching there as we speak.”
“Seems like they’ve both got the same thing in mind,” Robaz said.
“Send a messenger to the other captains.” Kefier turned to Sthura. “Did he tell us how we’re supposed to deal with Lady Dahrias?”
“No,” Sthura said. “I asked specifically.”
“This assault is all that bastard can think about,” Kefier grunted. A deep well of despair was building up inside of him, but he tried to ignore it, convincing himself it was only exhaustion. He had less than a couple of hours of sleep since the attack on their camp and it was starting to get to him.
Trayfor's Rock was a distinct peak in a series of white limestone formations an hour southeast of Fort Oras. The creamy colour of the rocks was a stark contrast to the black cliffs that marked the region, with its smooth, streamlined surface that appeared to have been sculpted by the sea. Under the setting sun, it gave the impression of a stream of milk being poured from an iron cup.
The designated outpost was a clearing with a sharp view of the actual formation. Kefier rode ahead of his group by pushing his horse faster than he normally did, which made the animal irritable and uncooperative by the time he arrived. He handed it off to a stable boy and strode up to a guarded section of the camp which contained the King’s pavilion.
Other Hafed lords were standing around the fire when Kefier appeared. They turned as the guards came up to block him. From the look on their faces, they had already been informed of last night’s events. He caught sight of a man among them and recognized that he was wearing Beeching’s colours.
“Commander Kefier,” Duke Iorwin said, approaching him. As soon as his name was mentioned, the guards pulled away, allowing Kefier to enter. “We were just getting a first-hand report of your mishandling of the affairs from the past few days.”
“I’m here to discuss that with all of you,” Kefier said. “We were attempting to negotiate with them, to secure their cooperation. Lady Dahrias was too hasty.”
“So you say,” Iorwin said.
Kefier took a deep breath. He had been warned several times in the past to maintain his patience with Hafed nobility. “I’m here to give my report to the King. Apart from Lord Tarron himself and Lady Isobel, only Captain Caiso and I were there.” He glanced at the Beeching man. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else’s version of the events.”
“Why should we trust yours? The bitch has got you in her pants, hasn’t she? I find no other compelling reason a minor house with less than a hundred men to her name would choose to march for your cause,” Iorwin spat. His eyes were dancing.
Kefier pulled away from him. “It’s not my cause, my lord. You forget that these are your king’s orders.”
Iorwin allowed him to walk away. He strode past the fire, noticing that all the lords’ eyes were on him. He didn’t even know most of them—a couple of faces he recognized, but it was mostly the colours of their house that stood out. He ducked into the king’s pavilion, coming face-to-face with two guards in the vestibule. One held out a hand while peering into the main pavilion. He heard the King’s voice, allowing him in.
“Commander,” King Elrend said. He was standing around a table with Knight-Commander Dowan, his son Fenri, and Gorrhen yn Garr. It was suddenly clear that the lords’ discontent went beyond Kefier—they were being left in the dark while their king made plans with his trusted confidantes.
Yn Garr looked up. “Undead in the dark,” he said. “I should have expected something like that. You survived, I see. Good for you.” There was no mention of Abel or their scouting party’s mishap at the fort. Sthura must have failed to mention it; it was a relief to learn that she was not as transparent as she seemed.
“He should have,” Dowan said. He was a thin, hollow-faced man in his mid-fifties. Elrend had inherited his service from his late father. Kefier wasn’t sure if he could ever hold his own in battle, but Dowan seemed to be of the opinion that he could. “He needs to clarify exactly what happened in their meeting tent that resulted in Rohn Beeching’s son’s death.”
“I’m curious, as well,” Elrend said. “Rumours have it that Lady Dahrias and yourself have been conspiring on the side. I am aware of the nature of gossip, and how fast it travels, only it does not sound right, does it? Considering I hired you, and not her?”
“He would’ve done no such thing,” Yn Garr broke in. “The boy’s no schemer. If anything of the sort had happened, he would’ve blabbed about it a long time ago.”
“Your trust in this man…” Elrend began.
“I know my men well,” Yn Garr said. His words took Kefier by surprise. To his recollection, Yn Garr had never uttered anything that ever suggested he trusted him. “If this is an issue, let it wait until after the assault. You can put Lady Dahrias on trial, then.”
“Your plan involves letting Commander Kefier and his soldiers lead the charge,” Dowan said. “How do you expect the lords to follow him, with all of this hanging over his head?”
“Commander Kefier has more battle-wits about him than your lords, who have spent the last few decades hitting each other with sticks over pasture rights and turnip fields,” Yn Garr snarled. “Or are you telling me you have so little confidence in your army that you cannot expect them to obey your orders?”
“We’ve not gone to war in our lifetimes, Sir Gorrhen,” Dowan hissed. “Before this campaign began, Hafod has known only peace and prosperity.”
“What peace?” Yn Garr snapped. “What prosperity? One more famine threatens to topple everything your ancestors have accomplished. Trade established Tilarthan. What are you selling now? You’ve drained Hafod of resources the way a greedy farmer sucks out all the honey from a hive. Now you don’t even have enough for wasps to fight over. At this rate, Cael will build an empire over your ashes.”
Dowan looked pale. “If Cael had not gone under our noses and sold their stone themselves…”
“Progress beyond yourselves, Knight-Commander. It is a thing the Hafed have never understood. I am trying to show you that now.” Yn Garr pressed his finger into the map. “These lands used to be yours. From north of Tilarthan to halfway to Fort Oras. Look at how Hafod had been in those days.”
“We wouldn’t know,” Dowan said. “We weren’t there.” He turned to the king. “Your Majesty, I beseech you. Listen to reason. We would give up all we know for a merchant’s ramblings?”
“I can see where Captain Teoman was getting his ideas from,” Elrend murmured. “Knight-Commander, I dislike being questioned for this. My decision is firm. Sir Gorrhen yn Garr knows what he’s talking about. He’s created a merchant empire stretching from Hafod to Gaspar. Can you match his accomplishments?”
“You have just admitted that a mere company is more powerful than the Kingdom of Hafod.”
“Have you forgotten you are speaking to your king?” Elrend cried. “Leave it be, Knight-Commander!”
Dowan dropped his head. “As Your Majesty commands.”
“Wait,” Kefier said. “You want me to lead the charge?”
Yn Garr stifled a sigh. “You will take your best contingent to storm the walls, with the Hafed army waiting to support you.”
He felt his hands grow cold. “You want my men to be fodder.”
“We cannot risk it the other way around, Commander,” Elrend said. “The initial assault will be bloody. If the mercenaries see our men fall first, they might fold. We cannot hope to intimidate the fort’s defences if they see only a thin sliver of soldiers storming the wall. They’ll just pick at our men, one by one.”
Yn Garr nodded. “It is important that the first charge batters them into giving up. The road to Lon Basden is clear. Once most of them retreat, it will be easier to overwhelm whatever’s left of their defences.”
“You’re putting all of this on the hopes that they give up?” Kefier asked.
“It is not as ridiculous as it sounds,” Yn Garr said. “Tides of battles are turned by hearts of men. Do you know what it feels like to be a handful of untested soldiers, staring at a huge army marching towards you? Even the walls of Fort Oras will feel paper-thin. All you need is to get a battering ram on that door. Once you’ve broken through, the rest will fall into place.”
Kefier licked his lips. “When do we start?”
Yn Garr glanced at him. “Tomorrow morning,” he said, after a pause.
“Tonight would be better. Give us a chance to catch them unprepared,” Elrend said. “I can rally the rest of the lords to join them when they are ready.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Yn Garr repeated. “The boy needs his rest. He looks like he’s about to fall over.”
King Elrend looked like he would argue for a moment. “Very well,” he finally murmured. “You are all dismissed. I will inform the lords and we will have another meeting later tonight.”
“Eat something,” Yn Garr told Kefier, grabbing his arm on the way out. His concern sounded like another shovelful dirt, but Kefier couldn’t back away now, even if he wanted to. He had more than started digging his grave—he was already waist-deep in it.
What stood out for Kefier the morning of their assault on Fort Oras was the fervour and excitement with which the men approached their preparations. They went through their ranks, strapping on armour, readying bows and arrows, and sharpening blades with a frenzy that could only be described as cheerful. It confused Kefier. He had expected protests when he announced that they were leading the charge, had thought that the men would not be so eager in being the first to die.
Kefier had not played soldier as a boy.
Enosh had; he had picked up the ideas from his books, reading stories about the armies the High King of Gorent used to have, how they had clashed against the Dageians in a glorious battle that led to their defeat. The idea that they were defeated had not seemed to bother Enosh at all. Kefier couldn’t remember why—something to do with the gloriousness of it all, perhaps, the feeling of doing something so great that the annals of history would forever hold a record of your deed.
Kefier thought it was bullshit.
He had been in skirmishes when he was just a straggler in the Boarshind. It was different; he went because his friends were going, fought because he had to survive.
If he wanted to survive now, all he had to do was drop the act and run the other way.
The prospect of loot and glory did not entice Kefier. They never had. All he had ever wanted, his whole life, was something to call his own—love that recognized him, that allowed him to stick around for his sake. He had only ever had that with Rosha. People had gone to war for less.
He put on each piece of his armour meticulously, double-checking to make sure he remained comfortable. There was no sense in being protected if he couldn’t move well. The mechanical motions dislodged most of his anxieties about the whole affair.
“We’re ready, Commander,” Officer Eswenna called from outside his tent.
Kefier got up, sheathing his sword. He took one deep breath and said, “Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Fourteen
Despite the fact that the Dageians knew that they were coming, the morning of the attack began as silently as any other. In the clear, cold daylight, a single arrow, prematurely let loose by a Boarshind archer, pierced the throat of a soldier peering over the battlements at the top of the wall. He toppled down, his body splintering against the black granite before it smashed into a heap of blood and bone on the ground.
Chaos followed. The group of archers, functioning under Dasten’s command, released a volley of arrows, most of which clattered against the wall itself. Archers on the other side of the hill did the same thing. Their attack conjured the image of a kitten, swiping at an enormous dog.
The archers were asked to reposition, marching forward to create cover for the foot soldiers. Mid-way through their march, the Dageians responded with their own arrows. Their terrific vantage point allowed most to meet their mark. A quarter of Dasten’s men lay dead on the ground, black arrows sticking out of them like pincushions. The Boarshind soldiers stared at the strange arrows for half a second before they heard a crackling in the air.
The arrows exploded. More men died.
In the distance, the sound of creaking wood marked the firing of the first trebuchet. A massive rock smashed into the crenellations of the wall to the left of the gates. Two others were released in quick succession—one sailed past the wall while the other hit the wall itself, barely making a dent.
More Boarshind archers arrived to take place of the dead ones. The chaos formed by the trebuchets allowed them to let another volley loose. The foot soldiers hit the end of the forest grove, where they had been hiding. Another exchange of arrows, another explosion. Kefier noticed that the men looked rattled, and tried to point out that the soldiers on top of the wall were scant few. “They won’t be able to pick us off when we reach the gates,” he said, hoping this was true. “They’ll have to send soldiers to meet us.”
“Commander, we didn’t know about the exploding arrows,” a man said. “What else do they have that we don’t know about?”
“Perhaps they’ve got some sort of beast in there, waiting to be unchained,” another pointed out.
Kefier knocked a fist against the man’s ear. It was as soft a blow as he could make it. “I gave you all plenty of chances to walk away. You’re here now because you wanted to be here. You turn back now, you won’t get far. The Hafed lords will cut you down. They think we’re cowards. Are you going to prove them right?”
“But Commander…”
A horn blasted in the distance, signalling another round for the trebuchets. As the rocks met their target, Kefier lifted his sword. At almost the exact same time, arrows from the wall flew into the archers closest to them. The men charged before they could explode. Out in the open, they had no choice but to continue running.
Kefier found himself at the gate, urging the battering ram past the dead bodies. It didn’t make it halfway past the stretch of land between the woods and the wall. Dageian arrows found their targets. A moment later, the men holding the battering ram burst into chunks. The battering ram fell to the ground, unmanned, blanketed by a thin layer of fire.
Kefier
grimaced, turning back to the gate. The men who had reached it with him were hacking at the enormous wood with their swords. He was torn between the excitement of battle and telling them to save their energy. He drew closer and saw one man shaking his head.
“It’s too tough, Commander,” he said. “We need the ram. This is ancient hardwood. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the like.”
Kefier glanced out at the field. Their archers had thinned out. There were still reserves in the back, and the Hafed army have yet to march forward, but he didn’t know how long that would last.
“Those arrows only explode when they’re in you,” Kefier said. “They probably need human blood to trigger the spell.”
The soldier looked at him, face pale. “Maybe. What are you thinking?”
“That I don’t want to die here like a helpless rabbit in a snare,” Kefier said. “Give me your shield.”
The man handed it over. It was light, more wood than metal. He didn’t think it would last against a full-on assault. “Everyone else who has shields, come forward,” he said.
The men looked at him. “You want to go back out there?”
“Without the ram, we’re doomed,” Kefier said. “We need to break into the fort.”
“We could wait for the trebuchets…” one man started.
Kefier thumped his fist against the man’s chest. “Die like a coward, if you want.”
One of the men with the shields stepped forward. “You want us to cover you and whoever else is going to grab the ram, yes?”
“Good man.”
“We won’t last too long out there.”
“We get there fast and we get out fast. Pull like you’ve never pulled in your life. On my signal. Are you ready?”
The men nodded.
Kefier turned to look at the field again, waiting. He saw the Boarshind archers draw their bows. “Now!”
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