“And in the long run?” Relam asked before he could stop himself.
“You let me worry about that. You have quite enough on your own mind to get on with,” the king replied. “Is Oreius meeting you at the west gate as well?”
“Yes,” Relam said, finishing off the first pancake and starting the second.
“Good man to have along, if he’s anything like I remember,” Orram muttered. “Good fighter too.”
They continued eating in silence, the king wolfing down his food, Relam eating at a reasonable pace, and the queen picking at the contents of her own plate, mouth set in a thin line. Finally, Relam finished his breakfast and stood.
“I should be off,” he said awkwardly. “The men will be waiting.”
His father nodded and rose to embrace him, his napkin dropping to the floor as he did so. “Be safe,” he said gruffly. “You’ll do well. Clear those bandits out and come right back, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Relam said, grinning.
“Good man,” his father replied, clapping him on the shoulder. Then, he promptly returned to his breakfast and the queen got to her feet.
“I still don’t approve of this,” she said, shooting Relam’s father a dark look. “But I will support you Relam. Be careful. Take no unnecessary risks.”
“Yes, mother,” he said, gently embracing her. “I’ll be back, I promise you.”
She smiled wanly, then resumed her seat at the table, biting her lip. Relam turned and made for the door, looking back as he laid a hand on the latch. His mother and father were still watching him, his father proudly, his mother anxiously. He tried to smile at them one more time, but his muscles didn’t seem to want to obey. Instead, he jerked the door open and marched out into the hall, nodding greetings to the guards as he made for the entrance hall and the world beyond.
Relam paused on the front steps of the palace and breathed deeply of the crisp morning air. The sky above was heavily clouded and there was a hint of moisture on the air, but none of these things could dampen Relam’s spirits. He was headed out on a mission of his own, free of the confines of palace life! He was off on a few days of adventure, riding straight into battle for the first time.
The young prince trotted down the palace steps and began making his way through the city to the west gate. Relam turned onto the River Road first, moving past the Citadel, past Tar’s facility. The gates were locked this morning, and cadets were just beginning to line up outside, ready for their morning drill. Relam grinned as he remembered those seemingly grueling days, then kept on walking, squeezing around a slow-moving cart in the road.
Finally, he came to the bridge, the only way to cross the Furnier River within the city. Each end of the bridge was guarded by a squadron of the city guard, sheltered in small guard houses on the right side of the bridge. The guard houses were three stories tall, with a flat roof to post archers on in the event the bridge came under attack. They had been added before Relam was born, in the early days of his father’s reign. River pirates had made a habit of robbing businesses in the area with hit and run raids in the past, running their boats up beside the bridge, darting ashore, and then racing downriver with whatever loot they had managed to capture. After the guard towers had been added, two boats of river pirates had tried to repeat their past success. One successfully moored to the bridge, but its men were shot down by archers before they could get to land. The other boat had started to come in for a raid, seen the guard houses, and fled down river. They were picked up by the harbor patrol and imprisoned for past crimes.
The guards gave Relam no trouble though as he stepped onto the bridge and began the shallow yet long climb to the center of the river. The bridge was over a hundred meters long, and the shallow arch allowed most ships to pass under it without a problem. But, every now and then, a larger ship needed to pass upriver. To solve this issue the third and fourth guard towers had been constructed, standing upright in the middle of the river, on the south side of the bridge.
The very center of the stone bridge was composed of wooden planks held up by thick tarred ropes. In the event of an invasion, the center of the bridge could be removed, leaving enemy armies with no way across the river. But this was an impractical solution for allowing ships to pass, so the ropes had been wound about a windlass. This allowed the guards in the towers to lift the center sections of the bridge and allow larger ships through if needed. Once the ship was past, the wooden planks could be lowered again and the bridge would be complete once more.
This morning though there were no large ships plying the river and the bridge was in place as usual. Four guards were standing at the center of the bridge, two looking downriver, two looking upriver, watching for approaching ships. They did not even look up as Relam passed, merely carrying on their watch, talking quietly to each other to stave off boredom.
After several minutes, Relam reached the far end of the bridge and found himself on the wide road that ran to the west gate of Etares, still far off in the distance. The west side of the capital was not as well organized or wealthy as the east. Here, the buildings seemed to lean over the road as though in danger of collapsing and the cobbles were dirty and worn smooth by the passage of many hundreds of years. Some were cracked and broken, revealing the earth beneath.
It had been many years since Relam had ventured to this side of the river. He had not remembered how different it was from the glittering, well organized eastern section of the city. Of course, these were poorer neighborhoods, and the twisting confused streets facilitated a serious problem with crime. Even on the main road, Relam felt exposed and at risk. He quickened his pace accordingly, trying not to turn and look at every flicker of movement in the numerous alleyways he passed.
As he continued walking though, Relam did look around more. He was naturally curious, and this was a whole new part of the capital to explore, to understand. A whole separate world that he would one day be king of. And the more he looked, the more disturbed he was. Here, the houses were ramshackle, on the verge of falling down. The streets were narrow and dirty, strewn with rubbish and covered in filth. And the streets were alive with shadowy figures, darting from alley to alley, but never venturing onto the wide main road.
Ten minutes of fast walking later, Relam reached the west gate, where his hundred cavalry men were gathered. Every horse was saddled and burdened with equipment, and the men were gathered in their ten-man squadrons, talking quietly. Right by the gate was the normal contingent of city guards, watching a riderless horse that was roped to a post just inside the wall.
“Your highness!” the leader of the city guard called as he approached. “Welcome. Everything has been prepared according to your instructions.”
“Thank you, corporal. I take it this is to be my horse?”
The corporal nodded. “Yes, your highness. This is Buck.”
Relam’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Buck?” he asked in disbelief.
“Don’t worry your highness,” the corporal said, grinning. “He hasn’t thrown anyone off in years. He’s mostly over that now, aren’t you Buck?” he slapped the horse’s flank affectionately and Buck snorted in reply, shaking his pale mane.
Relam eyed the white horse doubtfully. “If you say so,” he said finally. “I’ll just load up and then we’ll get on our way, corporal.”
“Fair enough,” the soldier replied, hitching up his sword belt. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need, your highness.”
The corporal wandered back to where his men were standing by the gate, leaning on their spears. Relam meanwhile went to tie his pack on behind the saddle when a familiar voice stopped him.
“It’d be better to empty the pack and put everything in the saddlebags.”
Relam turned and saw Oreius standing against the wall, a dappled gray standing beside him, searching for grass amongst the cobbles. “Really?”
“Yes,” Oreius grunted. “Never ridden out for a campaign before?”
Relam shook his hea
d. “I only ride when hunting or traveling, and usually gear is taken care of in a wagon or we don’t need any.”
“Thought as much,” the warrior replied. “Stuff everything in the saddlebags, hanging down there, see. Then tie your empty pack on top. Buck here will appreciate that, more comfortable for him.”
Relam quickly did as Oreius instructed and inspected the result. “Not bad,” he allowed. “How long have you been here?”
“An hour,” Oreius replied. “I wanted to get to the wall before this side of the city started stirring. I had no wish to be robbed on my way out on campaign.”
“Is that common?” Relam asked, surprised.
“Extremely,” the old warrior said, frowning. “Never been over here?”
“Not recently, no.”
“Humph. Well, here’s your first lesson: The rest of the world isn’t like the east side of the capital.”
Oreius turned away and mounted his own horse, ready to move now that Relam was here. Relam climbed into his saddle as well, and around him the cavalry began following suit.
“Form up!” Relam shouted over the chaos. “Stick to your squads, ranks of five.”
The cavalry quickly arranged itself in a long column, extending back down the main road some ways. Relam checked that everyone was in position, then nodded to the corporal.
“Open the gate!” the corporal bellowed.
With a rumbling crash, the portcullis began to rise and the timber doors swung outwards, revealing the flatlands west of Etares and a long, dusty road stretching off into the distance. Oreius casually maneuvered so that he was beside Relam, and nodded to the prince.
“Ready?” he asked.
Relam nodded. “Forward!” he called. Then, he and Oreius led the way at a slow canter through the open gate. The cavalry followed close behind in perfect formation.
The moment the last of Relam’s force was through the gate, the portal began to close, the portcullis sliding downwards and the massive doors swinging ponderously back into place. Finally, with a rolling boom, the west gate was sealed once more. Relam looked back once, then focused on what lay ahead.
“We’ll follow the road into the Midwood,” he said to Oreius. “And make camp late this afternoon. Tonight, we’ll gather the squadron leaders and the informant and brief everybody, then develop a plan of attack.”
Oreius nodded slowly. “That’s a good start,” he agreed. “Have you given any more thought to the attack itself?”
Relam shook his head. “Not really. Nothing has changed since we last spoke.”
“Did it occur to you to use the men differently? Not as cavalry but as infantry?”
The prince frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure how a hundred swordsmen would be any better than a hundred riders. We’d lose quite a bit of mobility. I suppose we would gain some stealth though.”
“There’s something more important that we would gain,” Oreius prompted.
Relam looked back at the column of riders. The nearest squadron was riding just two meters back, their sergeant in the center of the front rank. The two men flanking him had bows in their hands, and quivers of arrows slung over one shoulder.
“Archers,” Relam said, remembering. “Nearly half of these men are archers.”
Oreius nodded. “And that gives you a great many options. Does that spark any ideas?”
“Surround the camp,” Relam said immediately. “Start picking them off with arrows.”
“Be hard to pull off without being seen,” Oreius pointed out. “But yes, that is a possibility. One disadvantage is that it spreads your forces in a thin perimeter, and a thin perimeter is more likely to be broken and allow many of the bandits to escape.”
“Then we keep a cavalry reserve to run them down,” Relam suggested. “After all, if we’re pouring arrows into the camp we won’t be sending ground troops in.”
Oreius nodded encouragingly. “Good. Now, what about the archers themselves? Where will you position them?”
“As I said, all around the-”
“No, where will you physically place them?”
Relam looked at the sword master, not understanding. “In a circle?”
Oreius sighed heavily. “Let’s think this through. The archers are firing into the enemy camp. Bandits are running for the hills. A bandit spearman or swordsman stumbles on an archer. What happens?”
“Dead archer?” Relam guessed.
“Precisely,” Oreius agreed. “And a break in your perimeter. Two problems for the price of one. And you might as well throw in the difficulty of a ring of archers all facing each other wildly launching arrows at running targets.”
“That does sound dangerous,” Relam admitted, somewhat deflated. He had been so confident in his idea as he was putting it together. And now Oreius had ripped the whole thing apart in seconds, after putting Relam on this track in the first place. What did the old man want? Had Relam missed something?
“Yes, very dangerous” Oreius grunted. “Fortunately, there is a wonderfully easy way to counter all these problems.”
Relam looked up excitedly. “There is? What is it?”
Oreius shook his head. “That’s for you to figure out before tonight. You should have plenty of time to think while we’re riding.”
“Any hints?”
“Of course not.”
Relam sighed and began racking his brain for a solution. As he did, he continued to lead the cavalry down the road, kicking up a massive dust cloud in their wake. Ahead, the Midwood was rearing up to greet them, a great shadowy tangle of trees and underbrush. The perfect lair for a force of bandits.
As the morning wore on, the clouds overhead became swollen with the promise of rain. The sky hardly brightened, even though the sun was on the rise. A light mist began to fall, cold and stinging. The soldiers pulled cloaks from their saddlebags and wrapped themselves in the water-resistant wool garments to stave off the rain, pulling hoods forward to shield their faces.
Within the hour, they had reached the Midwood. They did not pause at the forest’s edge, but rode right on in. Under the thick, tangled canopy, the rain was less noticeable. It did not fall continuously anymore but in inconsistent thick fat drops that rolled off leaves high above and plummeted earthward. Whenever the wind blew, a veritable shower would come crashing down on the riders below.
At midday, Relam called a brief halt for a quick meal. The soldiers broke out their rations, dried meat and bread for the most part. Some also had cheese, which they ate sparingly of, trying to save as much as possible. Relam for his part ate with Oreius, feasting on dried meat, cheese, and a crisp apple. Throughout the meal, no one said a word and the only sound on the still air was the sound of raindrops sliding downwards.
Less than thirty minutes later they were on the road again. The rain had intensified, more of it making its way through the trees now. Relam blew several droplets off his nose and shook his head to dislodge others. His cloak, waterproof in mild conditions, was starting to absorb the rain. The soldiers were suffering the same problem, shivering with the damp and cold.
Late in the afternoon, Relam began searching for a campsite large enough for a hundred men. So far, they had passed few substantial clearings, and that did not change as they rode on. Finally, with the sky darkening rapidly and the rain still falling, Relam was forced to accept that they would not find a clearing, and would have to make do with the space between the tightly packed trees.
“Get camp set up!” he called to the soldiers as they dismounted. The cavalry began untying tents from their horses’ backs and looking for suitable places to put them. Sergeants started giving orders, trying to keep their squads together and in good order.
Relam dismounted slowly, groaning, then reached for his own tent. Buck turned and watched him with one eye. “Sorry,” Relam said to the horse. “I can’t do anything about the rain. Horses don’t get tents.”
Buck snorted and pawed the ground agitatedly, shaking his main fiercely and swishing his ta
il. Relam shrugged and began pitching his tent, a low, lone man affair with a waterproof canvas bottom. It took him only a moment to prop up the roof along the centerline and create a dry triangular space. This done, he tossed the rest of his gear inside to keep it dry and looked around the burgeoning camp.
Green tents were springing up everywhere, like mushrooms after a rain. They sprouted in clusters of five two-man tents, enough for a squadron. The squadrons, without being told, had formed two rings around Relam’s tent, the inner ring composed of four squadrons, the outer ring of six. Oreius had pitched his own tent only a couple meters away, similar in style and construction to Relam’s.
“Not bad,” the old man grunted as he joined Relam. “They certainly know what they’re doing.”
“Yes,” Relam agreed. “I’d like to be rid of this rain though.”
He could not see Oreius’ face beneath his hood, but he guessed the older man was frowning. “A little water never killed anyone,” he replied. “It’s the cold I’m more worried about. If the clouds break tonight, we’ll see the temperatures drop. And there’s no telling how far they’ll drop with us being into the fall season now.”
Relam nodded. “We’ll see I suppose. I’ll gather the sergeants for dinner. Any chance we can get a fire going?”
“No fire,” Oreius said immediately.
The prince frowned. “Why not? Everyone is wet and cold and miserable. A fire would keep us warm and help dry things out a little bit.”
“It could also cost us our lives,” Oreius replied grimly. “We are in enemy territory, boy, and that means we should not do anything to draw attention to the fact that we are here. Like building whacking great bonfires.”
Relam looked away, nonplussed. “Oh,” he said finally. “I guess you’re probably right about that. Anyway, I’ll gather the sergeants and we’ll see if we can find a dry place to sit around here.”
The prince left Oreius standing by their horses, and began moving among the clusters of tents. At each, he would ask for the sergeant, then tell the man that they would be gathering for a meeting at the center of camp. Invariably, the officers would nod their understanding, then continue spouting orders at the men under their command. As Relam was approaching the last group of tents, he noticed that soldiers were leading the horses to a slightly open space on the edge of camp. Making a mental note to picket Buck with the rest, he approached the last squadron, all of whom were standing in a loose circle in front of their tents.
The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 20