I entered a small room, just as Lieutenant Haster had described it. There was almost enough headroom to stand upright, though my helmet would scrape across the ceiling if I didn’t take care to avoid it. The room was over thirty feet wide, so it must have filled almost the entire width of the bridge. The far wall had the tunnel entrance we were looking for – it was hardly five feet wide and six high. I didn’t hesitate and ran towards it. There were more oil lamps along the walls and in the distance I could see activity to indicate that other men came towards us. It didn’t matter how many there were, since they could only come one at a time. Even had they been able to come three at a time I fancy I would have chanced my arm. I wasn’t in the mood for pissing about with them.
I kept my shield raised and charged along the tunnel. The four other men of my squad were with me, Weevil and Beamer carrying iron-headed hammers. I met the first of the oncoming enemy about forty yards along the tunnel. The man carried a dagger, but was wholly unprepared for the ferocity of my attack. He died and was trampled underfoot before he could stab at me twice. There was another behind him and more after that. My shield gave me a great advantage, as did my experience with fighting in places like this against men who wanted to be elsewhere. I killed three. The fourth must have come from the gutter and he thrust his two knives at me with the skill of a man who’d committed murder against others of his ilk. I swore at him for delaying us by the ten seconds it took me to get through his guard and cut his throat. As we ran over his body, I gave him a kick. It accomplished nothing and didn’t reduce the feeling of frustration.
“Want me to take point, Captain?” asked Beamer. “You’re getting old and slow.”
The words eased the tension within me and I pressed on. I couldn’t see anyone else in the tunnel and we soon reached the place I’d been told to look out for. Right in the middle of the tunnel’s length, there was a raised spiral motif on the wall, about a foot in diameter. It had no business being there, since the rest of the tunnel was bare of decoration. I stopped and examined it. When I looked closely, I could see that the motif wasn’t part of the wall – there was an almost imperceptible gap around the edges. I put my fingers along the top edge and pulled downwards as Haster had instructed. The motif wasn’t more than half a centimetre proud of the wall and I couldn’t get much grip. After my fingers had slipped away two or three times, Beamer asked me to stand away from it. He unslung his hammer and swung it in a half-arc onto the motif. The contact of metal on stone produced a sharp clinking sound and the motif slid a few inches towards the floor. Beamer hit it again and once more the spiral-patterned disk scraped downwards. This time, there was a rumbling sound and then a click. A crack opened in the wall a little way further along the tunnel.
“There,” I said, moving towards it. The crack was less than four feet high and I pressed on it with my hand. A masterfully-crafted stone door fell open on hidden hinges, revealing a black space behind, into which the light of the tunnel struggled to penetrate.
“Get one of those lamps,” said Weevil to the man at the back.
A lamp was passed forward and I held it into the darkness. It wasn’t exactly a room I saw – it was really just a space that allowed access to the top of the archway that supported the south side of the bridge. Whoever had built it had evidently crafted the tunnel over the top of the arch, yet still given themselves a way to access the structure beneath.
Beamer and Weevil hopped through, taking the lamp with them. I retrieved a second lamp from the tunnel wall and placed it on the edge of the doorway. I saw the pair of them inspecting details that I couldn’t make out myself. Then, the face of Weevil reappeared.
“The keystone is massive,” he said. “There’re dozens of pins holding it and there’s hardly the room to swing a mallet.”
I looked along the tunnel to the south – there was no sign of the enemy. We might have killed them all, since they had little reason to be anywhere but in the middle. “Best get to it,” I told him. He nodded and his face vanished from the doorway.
“Aren’t these things meant to be free-standing?” asked Fiddle.
“Oh hark at the professor, here,” said Frost in feigned mockery.
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “The pins must be there for a reason. I don’t know why this bridge was made, but I can think of many reasons they might have wanted the ability to destroy it if they wished. And many other reasons why they might not.”
I could see Weevil and Beamer hard at work. The ceiling was too low for them to get in a full swing, so they dropped their hammers from a half-height. Each blow produced another sharp clink. Both men moved slowly away from us, bringing the lamp with them. After ten minutes, they’d made it a third of the way over the width of the bridge. There was a sudden, violent cracking sound and a split appeared in the stone next to me. The floor didn’t move, but I felt the scraping of stone on stone, somewhere deep within the structure.
“You’d best start at the far side,” I called to Beamer and Weevil. “I don’t know how much time you’ll have to get back here.”
They acknowledged the words and moved off to the far edge of the space in order to continue their work. There was an explosive bang and another split appeared in the stone wall, this one wide enough to get my fist into.
“The floor dropped that time,” said Fiddle. “Do you think we’ll be able to get out in time?”
“We’ve got this one chance,” I said. “If we fail and Flax gets his men into this central tower again, we’re going to lose. It’ll happen tomorrow afternoon.”
“I wasn’t saying that we run, Captain.”
“I didn’t think you were,” I told him, patting his shoulder. “It’s this or face destruction.” He nodded and said nothing more.
We waited impatiently for another fifteen minutes. Beamer and Weevil worked tirelessly, striking at the stone pins which anchored the keystones. I didn’t know anything about building, but there had to be more than just stone keeping something as big as this bridge standing. Maybe it was magic of a sort that was no longer used, since neither Ploster or I had come across buildings made with sorcery before. He’d told me that magic faded over time and I knew this bridge was very, very old.
I was shaken from my thoughts by another thunderous sound. A jagged tear snaked away along the tunnel, whilst tiny stones and dust rattled down onto us. Something definitely shifted and I was halfway to opening my mouth to call the men back, when Beamer dropped his mallet and came sprinting towards us, with Weevil close behind.
“That’s got them,” he panted, diving through the small doorway and standing up.
“Come on,” I said, waving them ahead of me. I pulled Weevil to his feet and pushed him forward, not that he needed the encouragement. The structure around us produced a mixture of sounds – grating and scraping as ancient stones pressed against each other in ways they hadn’t been intended to. We fled, running as fast as we could until we reached the room beneath the central tower. The floor was a myriad of cracks, one of them at least three feet wide. I vaulted over it and saw that it went down deeper than the light could reach.
We got up the steps at double time. The tower room was empty, except for a great pile of bodies – far more than when we’d been here thirty minutes ago. They were a mixture of Flax’s archers and his infantry, with a couple of Haster’s men amongst them. Outside, I could hear fighting.
“I think we’re too late, Captain,” said Beamer. Through the doorway, we could see a press of men in the gateway tunnel. It looked as if Flax had decided to send his men to see what we were up to in the towers. Night time fighting could be brutal. I’d seen the best of men die to lesser opponents in the dark.
One of the enemy soldiers noticed us. He shouted to his fellows and pushed through the remains of the broken door into the tower. His eagerness cost him his life, as well as that of the next two men who followed him.
“Up the stairs,” I commanded. Beamer and Weevil didn’t have shields with them and I
didn’t fancy our chances of holding the ground floor room for long without them. They didn’t wait for a second invitation and ran up the steps, with Frost and Fiddle behind. I came last, using my shield as cover and stabbing at a fourth and fifth man who hoped to take advantage. They didn’t stop me and I was able to complete my ascent into the room above. The steps came through a wide opening in the floor and we’d be much better-placed to defend up here.
I looked around – the men we’d left in the tower must have cleared out the rest of the archers after we’d gone into the tunnels. I was glad – I didn’t want to have the enemy coming at us from two sides. As it was, the infantrymen in the room below didn’t looked especially keen to come up for us. It was obvious that the bravest man would be the first one dead. Without their officers to instruct them, they milled around on the ground floor, cursing us as cowards when in fact it was they who lacked the balls to fight. I saw more of them arriving. Eventually they’d pluck up the courage to come for us, or the press of new men would force someone up the steps.
“Shout for Craddock,” I instructed Weevil, pointing towards one of the slit windows with my sword.
He nodded and ran off. The floor of the tower shuddered suddenly and I had to fight for balance. Below, the enemy soldiers were knocked into each other and a couple fell into the walls.
“The tower’s cracking,” said Frost. “On the far wall.”
I didn’t need to look. On the other side of the room Weevil reached the window. Something happened – I didn’t make out the details immediately.
“They shot me, the bastards!” he exclaimed, half turning. There was an arrow deep in his chest.
“That’s just a scratch,” said Fiddle. “Shout for the Lieutenant.”
Weevil grumbled and I saw him stand to one side of the window. He produced a white handkerchief from somewhere. It was pristine and I had no idea how he’d managed to keep it so. He waved it gingerly out of the window, before sticking his head quickly around again. I hoped the man who’d shot him now recognized it was Weevil.
I turned my attention to what was happening on the steps. The chaos in the room below had almost subsided. A group of heavyset soldiers pushed through towards the steps. I guessed they’d had enough of waiting for the others to climb. The first of the five mounted the steps and charged up with his shield held in front. He would try and buy a few moments for the others to follow him. Another convulsion of the bridge sent him staggering and it was an easy matter to decapitate him and kick his body into his fellows. One of them tumbled from the steps and the others were forced back.
Before they could recover for another rush upstairs, a groaning noise made itself heard to everyone. It started as a low sound and increased in volume. Something grated and vibrated and then there were screams – easily heard above the tumult.
“Get to the other window!” I called Weevil.
“Aye, Captain,” he said weakly. He’d need some attention soon.
By the time he’d staggered over to the south side windows, the message had reached the men in the ground floor room.
“The bridge has collapsed,” I heard someone shout. The message was repeated dozens of times by many different voices. The more it was said, the more I heard the fear creep in. Those men who hadn’t fallen into the chasm were doomed regardless. When a man is confronted by his certain death, he becomes unpredictable. Some will allow themselves to die without lifting a finger to stop it. Others will fight tooth and nail to preserve the most precious thing they own. Others yet will try to flee, even if the flight guarantees their death as well. Those men who were runners pushed their way up the steps towards us. I didn’t know where they hoped to go – rational behaviour had left them. Their headlong flight only shortened their existences and we smashed them apart as they attempted to reach the first floor.
“The south half of the bridge is nearly gone,” said Weevil. “I don’t know how many of their men were on it.”
“Can you see how many they have left on the north end?” I called over to him, kicking out at one of the enemy soldiers who’d come too close.
“The line of sight isn’t there,” Weevil said. “I can’t see what’s straight below us.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Are you going to make it?”
I saw him grin. “Always, Captain. And then I’m going to find out which one of Shooter or Eagle did this and I’m going to knee him in the balls.” He was at least half-serious. If he lived, I trusted the parties involved to sort it out amongst themselves.
We stood guard at the top of the stairs for another twenty minutes or so. The forays upwards came less frequently. I was sure a number of the enemy had fled through the trapdoor in the hope they’d be able to find a hiding place somewhere. We’d root them out soon, but they were no longer important. Once they’d ceased to be a threat we didn’t need to worry about them. The ground floor room eventually emptied and the five of us descended, wary in case anyone decided to attack us. I poked my head outside. Torchlight cut weakly through the darkness and I saw men both dead and alive. Those who lived were my own and I stepped out to greet them.
“Where’s Corporal Grief?” I asked.
“Far end of the bridge, attending to the wounded,” one told me.
“Help Weevil here. Take him to the corporal at once,” I commanded. The man acknowledged and offered his shoulder for Weevil to lean on while they went to look for our surgeon.
“What about Lieutenant Craddock?” I called out to another man. It was Loafer – he looked pleased to see me.
“He’s over there, Captain. Trying to keep things together.”
I nodded to him and went to see where Craddock was. He greeted me with a smile and I shook his hand. “Thanks,” I said. Nothing more was needed.
“They came not long after you’d broken into the tower. Luckily, we were there to meet them. They didn’t like fighting in the half-light any more than we did. Still, we won and they lost. I don’t like to think what would have happened if the bridge hadn’t fallen in.”
“Did we lose many?”
“Always too many, Captain. We won’t have the numbers till it’s light, I think. I wish we still had Maims with us. Corporal Grief and Slicer are too few to handle it alone.”
“I’ve been slow to replace him,” I said. “I’ll appoint two more in the morning.”
“What are we going to do now?” he asked.
“Organize a couple of squads and send them to the north tower,” I said. “Flush out any of the archers that are left. Let the men know that there might be others hiding in the tunnels as well.”
“I’ll get it done,” he said.
“We’ll set a camp in the fields to the north. Out of range of the tower. The men need a rest.”
“What about the morning?”
I grinned at him, feeling only a touch of humour. “The Emperor awaits us, James. We’ll march for Angax as soon as we’re able.”
21
We weren’t able to march as soon as I’d hoped. Haster’s men – the new men of the Cohort – didn’t heal like we did and I wasn’t going to leave them behind. Grief and Slicer worked through the night and well into the following day patching up the injured. I came to see their work and asked for recommendations on who they’d like to replace Maims. Grief had a couple of names and I determined to speak to those mentioned in the near future.
We’d lost almost three hundred men in total during the fighting, out of the near thousand we had. Of those who remained, Grief thought that forty wouldn’t last the day and another thirty or more wouldn’t fight for days or weeks. I’d expected as much, but it still wasn’t the news I’d wanted to hear.
We cleared out the north tower in the early hours of the morning. There’d been fifteen of the enemy still there and we killed them without suffering further injuries ourselves. Archers were generally not best-suited to close-quarters fighting. Their cries of pain reached us at our camp. I took no comfort from the sounds.
> When daylight came, I was able to see the damage we’d wrought to the bridge. I took a walk along the span with a few of the men. The stones were blood-spattered and I wondered if the stains would be so deeply ingrained that they’d never wash away. The bodies of our enemy were piled high and already flies swarmed amongst them. In a few weeks, all that would be left would be their skeletons, clothed in the armour which had failed to preserve their lives.
The south archway had collapsed into the gorge, leaving a gap of more than one hundred yards. It was precarious to come too close to the edge and we heard occasional stones rip free and clatter away. On the other side of the gap, was a man on a horse, surrounded by others. I didn’t recognize him, but presumed it was Lord Flax, come to survey the scene of his defeat. Assuming we hadn’t actually accomplished the task he’d been sent here for. I ignored him.
“How many does he have now?” I asked Craddock.
“Not much more than forty thousand. Unless he’s sent some away in the night.”
I didn’t know how many we’d killed in direct fighting – certainly nothing like twenty-five thousand. “If he’s lost so many, he must have had them crammed onto the bridge when it went,” I said.
“We’ll never know,” said Ploster. “They were only our enemy when they lived.”
“That’s the truth,” I said.
“May they find in death what they were looking for in life,” said Craddock. It was an old soldier’s refrain and one I’d not heard spoken for many years.
We left the bridge after we’d spent a few seconds in quiet contemplation at the spot where Sinnar had fallen. He was one amongst the many who I’d sorely miss. At least Weevil had made it. He’d already started making wisecracks at the other injured men around him when I’d visited that morning.
Death's Chosen (First Cohort Book 3) Page 23