Sergeant Eckels from Company B’s Third Platoon stood close by. “A man will say anything to avoid a whipping.”
“I’ll still be whipped if they aren’t there,” argued Will.
“If they’ve got units behind us and a solid force at the top of the pass, we’ll be hard put to survive,” said Lieutenant Latimer.
“Which is why we scouted the area so thoroughly,” growled Sir Kyle. “And they found nothing.” He glared at Will. “Have you had any training as a scout?”
“No, sir,” he admitted.
The knight captain’s face was pensive, but after a minute he gave his orders, “Stop the march. Send runners to Lord Fulstrom and the other captains.” That done, he glanced at Will. “Return to your squad.”
Will did as he was told, donning his armor and waiting with the others while Lord Fulstrom and his knights decided on their course of action. Corporal Taylor watched him the entire time with eyes that seemed as though they would burn a hole through his armor. Tiny didn’t ask him any questions, but Dave was far from reticent.
“What the hell did you do now? The entire camp is on standby. Why aren’t we marching yet?” asked the ex-thief.
Will shrugged. “I saw some lights last night and Sir Kyle sent me out scouting afterward.”
The horns sounded then and they had to fall in line. Three companies were sent directly south, while Company B and the other three were ordered to move a full mile west before also heading south. They remained in a standard marching formation until the shift south, at which time they were shifted into a combat line three ranks deep.
After a mile and a half, they reached the sloping entrance to the ravine that Will had found that morning. Companies A and C stood to the left and right respectively, their lines angling forward, while Company B took the center. When they within a hundred yards of the place where the walls of the ravine began to rise up, the officers called a halt and they began to wait.
Half an hour passed, and thick clouds of smoke appeared in the distance, coming from the ravine ahead of them. Horns blared, and the sounds of men shouting followed soon after, and then Will caught sight of the Darrowans emerging from the ravine. The enemy formation was anything but orderly, but the mob of soldiers began to form a line once they spotted the Terabinian troops waiting for them.
“Forward march double-time!” yelled Sir Kyle from behind, and the sergeants repeated his order. Company B began moving forward.
Will glanced at Tiny, who was on his right, and the big man nodded at him. “Keep your head down,” said the big man, his lips tight.
The Darrowans were already in rough line when they finally made contact. Shouts went up, and the clash of spears against shields filled Will’s ears. Something struck the top of his helm, and then his shield was nearly torn from his grasp as a more forceful blow struck it as well. A spear tip came through the gap as Will’s shield shifted. It struck the right side of his belly, almost knocking the wind from him, but it didn’t have enough power behind it to pierce his mail.
The enemy was getting the worst of it, and they might have broken, but their soldiers were desperate. They had nowhere to run. Companies A and C closed on the enemy flanks, and the Darrowan soldiers began to die in greater numbers.
As the enemy started to panic, they surged forward, threatening to overwhelm Company B’s line. Will saw Sven fall on his left, and the enemy began to push forward, overwhelming Dave and the men farther down.
In seconds, Will knew their defensive line would break, and the fight would turn into a chaotic melee. Dropping his spear, Will did the only thing he could think of, casting the one spell he knew. A second later, a green line connected with one of the enemies and he pushed a generous amount of his turyn into the man before dismissing the spell. He repeated the spell as quickly as he could, and one after another the Darrowans nearest him began to collapse, vomiting onto the ground. Five, six, seven, Will kept going, though his head was beginning to spin. The first rank of Company B had collapsed, falling back while the second rank moved forward to take their place.
Will’s knees started to buckle, but a strong hand caught him. Tiny pulled him up and braced him. “Don’t stop,” said the big man.
Rather than pushing turyn out, Will drained the next enemy he caught with his spell. His energy returned, along with a brief wave of nausea. Once he had recovered from that, he began repeating his previous actions, injecting his personal turyn into every Darrowan that came within fifteen feet of him.
Eventually he exhausted himself again, and this time he stumbled before Tiny could catch him. Will tried to rise, but a pain in his side made it difficult to get his feet back under him.
“Relax,” said Tiny. “You’re hurt. The others are coming up from behind them now. It’s almost over.”
Looking down, Will saw blood soaking the right side of his gambeson, though he couldn’t find a hole in his mail. How did that happen? he wondered. Tired beyond belief, he sat down, and the next thing he knew he was opening his eyes to stare up into a blue sky. Somehow, he had wound up on his back.
Tiny was sitting next to him, so Will asked, “Did we win?”
The big man nodded. “We did. We took some losses, but fewer than they expected, given how many we faced.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You had a lot to do with that,” said Tiny.
“I couldn’t do much.”
Tiny chuckled. “You took the wind out of their charge. I think you must have put at least twenty of them out of the fight.” He glanced to one side, then back again. “Shhh, Sergeant Nash is coming.”
“Is he dying?” asked Nash when he was close enough.
“I don’t think so,” said Tiny. “Something narrow went through his mail, but it wasn’t deep. He’s lost some blood. Where’s the doctor?”
Sergeant Nash’s face appeared above Will, blocking out the sun. “I’d love to know how you spotted their fires last night.”
“Why?” asked Will, doing his best to concentrate on the sergeant’s words.
“Because I heard from the companies that smoked them out that the Darrowans apparently kept a cold camp. There was no sign of campfires,” said the sergeant, studying him suspiciously.
“Maybe they had a patrol with lanterns,” said Will. “I definitely saw something.”
“They’d have to be incredibly stupid to do something like that,” said the sergeant before turning away. “I guess we should be grateful that the enemy is so inept.”
Chapter 48
Will’s wound was even less serious than Tiny had first thought. The puncture in his side was fairly small, though it had bled a lot. He never discovered what had actually given him the wound, but the prevailing theory was that it had been a crossbow bolt with a bodkin point, since quite a few of them were found on the field after the battle, and several other men had been wounded by them.
The tips of such quarrels had a square cross-section that tapered to a long, slender point. Fired from close enough range, they sometimes split rings and went completely through mail, but Will had been more fortunate. His mail had held, and only the tip of the point had gone through far enough to pierce him. It had been pure dumb luck that it had nicked a small vein and caused him to bleed so much.
Sven admitted to some jealously. While Will’s injury wasn’t enough to get him sent back, it did free him from duty for the next couple of days. Will wasn’t quite as enthusiastic, since Dave was also lightly injured and the two of them would be spending their time resting in close proximity. The ex-thief had fallen down when their line started to collapse, and he the rush of men had nearly trampled him. Dave had been fortunate to escape with nothing more than a few large bruises.
Lord Fulstrom had ordered their force to remain in camp for two days while the aftermath of the battle was taken care of. The wounded were sent back to Branscombe, and the dead were buried. The Darrowan force of some four hundred had been slaughtered nearly to a man, and the result was a mound of d
ead that was difficult to deal with.
In the end, the Terabinian army piled up the enemy corpses within the ravine and burned them, after stripping them of armor, weapons, and valuables. A few of the Terabinian soldiers were lucky enough to scavenge mail from the bodies that would fit them, though not many, because such armor was just as rare amongst the common soldiers of Darrow as it was amongst the Terabinians.
Sven was the first to return to the tent after the first day’s hard labor disposing of bodies. He glanced at Will and Dave sourly. “Enjoying your holiday?”
Dave grinned. “Absolutely.”
Will’s expression was considerably less enthusiastic, and he looked in Dave’s direction before meeting Sven’s eyes. “Not so much,” he answered. “How was your day?”
“Just the drab life of a grave digger,” said Sven. “Things would have been a lot better if Lord Fulstrom hadn’t been so bloodthirsty.”
“What do you mean?” asked Will.
“I heard the sergeants talking about it,” said Sven. “According to them, it was poor judgment not to allow the enemy to surrender, or even run if that wasn’t practical.”
Dave scowled. “It served them right. They should learn that death is the only payment for invading us.”
Sven shook his head in disgust. “We lost more than a hundred men, most of them after the Darrowans started to rout.”
“A hundred dead?” asked Will.
“No, maybe forty dead, but another sixty or so had injuries so severe they had to be sent back. For those of us here that’s just as bad.”
“What does that have to do with not letting them surrender?” asked Dave angrily.
“If you don’t let the enemy flee, they keep fighting,” said the older man. “Even the injured ones that can’t run are still dangerous. They’ll stab you from the ground, and the ones still on their feet will fight like the damned if they know they’re about to be slaughtered.”
The ex-thief still wasn’t sympathetic. “It isn’t as if we can afford to take that many prisoners.”
“You still don’t get it. We lost a hundred men, and three-fourths of those were hurt after we could have stopped fighting. Even if we had captured the entire Darrowan contingent, we could have escorted them back to Branscombe with only forty or fifty men to guard them, and there were far less of them by that point anyway. It’s simple math. Let’s say we had captured the last two hundred. Disarmed and put in a line, we could send twenty men to escort them back. If we had lost twenty-five of our own and then sent twenty with them, we’d only be down forty-five.”
“And we’re already short. They outnumber us,” put in Will.
“Who says?” asked Dave.
“I do,” said Will, feeling irritable. “There’s twice as many waiting for us in the pass, and a lot more about to march up from Barrowden.”
Sven stared at him intently. “How do you know that?”
Realizing he had said more than he should, Will looked away. “I don’t know it. It’s just a feeling.”
“The same sort of feeling you had when you claimed to see helmets in the brush the other day, or lights at night, when no one else saw them?” asked the old soldier.
“Something like that,” said Will.
Tiny ducked through the door of the tent, saving him from answering any more awkward questions. “Sergeant Nash said to get you.”
Will got to his feet. Other than feeling slightly fatigued, he was none the worse for the previous day’s injury. “What does he want?”
“Lord Fulstrom wants to talk to you,” said Tiny.
Uh oh, thought Will, but he kept his concern to himself. Exiting the tent, he found two mailed armsmen waiting to escort him. They were obviously men from the baron’s personal guard. Will didn’t bother asking them questions while they walked. He recognized the one on his left; it was the same man who had bloodied his lip during his first meeting with the baron. That’s not a bad sign, he told himself sarcastically.
Baron Fulstrom’s personal tent was less impressive than the one he had occupied in Branscombe, but it was still the biggest in the camp, a modest pavilion some fifty feet wide on each side. Will bowed when he came into the Lord Commander’s presence. Lieutenant Stanton sat nearby at a small table. “You asked for me, milord?”
The lord studied him quietly for a long minute, during which Will became increasingly uncomfortable. Eventually he spoke. “Have you had any training as a scout, Mister Cartwright?”
“No, Your Lordship.”
“Then how is it that you have not once, but twice found what none of our scouts could find?” asked Fulstrom.
“My mother always said I had the sharpest ears and the keenest eyesight in the village, milord,” Will prevaricated. “I also spent a lot of time in the forest as a boy, playing games of hide and seek with my friends.”
“And do you think this has given you skills my scouts lack?”
“No, Your Lordship,” said Will hastily.
Lord Fulstrom frowned. “False modesty will do you no favors here, young man. Twice you have demonstrated your skills, and twice you have succeeded. I am told your wound was not great. How is your injury?”
“I lost some blood, milord, but I think I fainted from exhaustion as much as from that,” said Will.
“I would like you to ride with my scouts, tomorrow,” announced the baron. “Are you capable enough for it?”
Will’s mind raced as he considered his options. Refusal seemed impossible, and this was a chance to provide the army with the information he had already gained. Plus, he thought he might discover more on his own. Having other eyes beside him would only limit what he could claim to have seen. “I am, milord, but I would rather not.”
The baron’s eyes hardened. “I see.”
“Begging your pardon, milord, I would rather go alone—or separately at least,” Will hurried to add.
“Explain your reasoning.”
“Men on horseback are easier to spot,” said Will. “I believe I can get closer on foot.”
“Men on horseback are also harder to catch,” said the baron. “They are more likely to survive to give a report. You think you can avoid being seen?”
Will nodded. “Yes, milord.”
“The scouts leave at dawn tomorrow,” said Fulstrom. “I would like you to go as well. If you prefer to go alone rather than with them, I will allow it.” The baron turned away, clearly dismissing him.
But Will wasn’t done. “Excuse me, Your Lordship. I would prefer to leave in the evening.”
Fulstrom turned back, curiosity on his face. “I intend to march the morning after tomorrow. Our best estimate is that we can reach the enemy camp in less than two hours. If you leave at night, your report will come too late to be of any use.”
“I’ll start before nightfall,” said Will. “Once it is dark, I should be able to enter their camp. If they have any surprises planned, I can discover them.”
Lieutenant Stanton spoke for the first time. “It will be too dark for you to see anything. Assuming you aren’t caught.”
Will shook his head. “The new moon begins to wax tonight. There should be a sliver in the sky. If we have clear weather, I will be able to see. I’ll definitely see better than the enemy.”
Stanton looked to the baron, who seemed lost in thought. Finally, Lord Fulstrom made his decision. “You seem sure of yourself, and I have little to lose gambling on your cocksure attitude. We march early that night so we can catch them at dawn. Be back two hours before then or any knowledge you gain will be wasted.” The baron waved his hand. “You may leave. Stanton, give Sir Kyle my instructions.”
***
The next day passed slowly. Will felt fine, but he was still off the duty roster, so he had little to do. He had spent part of the night focusing on the small wound in his side, trying to replicate something of what he had done for Joey. He wasn’t really sure if it had made a difference or not, but the wound showed no sign of sickening and the skin had nea
rly closed. Given what he knew of such wounds, he thought it was healing faster than usual, but he couldn’t say for sure that it wasn’t his imagination.
He tried thinking about what he would do when he left that evening on his special assignment, but it wasn’t possible to plan much. The whole point of scouting was to find new information, so he would have to rely on his judgment to decide what to do once he had seen the enemy force. Other than that, all he could think was ‘be sneaky,’ and his inner critic had nothing but sarcasm for that plan.
In the late afternoon the first scouts began to return, and Will was summoned to Lord Fulstrom’s tent once more so that he could listen to what they said. Their reports matched what Tailtiu had told him previously, though the scouts gave a more detailed account of distances. Darrow’s army was four miles distant, at the narrowest part of the pass. Their forward sentries were a half mile closer, and the scouts had been unable to confirm just how many men the Patriarch had waiting for them.
Will feared that the soldiers of Branscombe would be slaughtered if they followed Fulstrom’s plan to engage the well-defended position, especially given the fact that they were almost certainly outnumbered, but without a good reason for the knowledge he had no hope of convincing the baron of that.
When he returned to his tent, he shed his mail armor. He considered keeping the gambeson, but even that was stiff and rustled more than he liked, so he removed it as well. Instead he wore his tunic and a heavy cloak, bringing only his sword for defense. He’d be somewhat cold, but the cloak would keep him well enough, and its dark gray color would be useful in the darkness.
His squad mates were still out, performing their duties, so he was spared the trouble of explaining his departure.
Setting out, he jogged through the camp and no one stopped him until he reached the perimeter guard, but they waved him on after he gave his name. His body felt light, almost ephemeral. He had been forced to wear the heavy gambeson for months and the mail shirt for the past few weeks. Without them it seemed as though he floated over the ground. Without shield or spear, his hands were free and felt he stronger that he ever had.
The Choice of Magic Page 39