"By the Gods," swore the duke, "what are those?"
"Orcs," said Sir Nigel, visibly paling.
"Where in Saxnor's name did they come from? There aren’t any Orcs in this part of the realm, are there?"
"It appears there are now, Lord."
"How many of the beggars are there?"
Sir Nigel calculated quickly, "I'd say there are two hundred, or so. I've seen them before, at Eastwood, but never formed up with spears. It's most unusual."
"This whole attacking army is unusual. I daresay they've scraped together a rather hodge-podge collection of forces. How can they possibly control them all?”
The duke watched for some time while the enemy carried out their manoeuvres.
"I see the princess has moved her standard," said Sir Nigel.
"Yes," the duke agreed, "she's hiding behind the green-skins. I heard they were tough at Eastwood."
"At Eastwood, they greatly outnumbered us, my lord. Here, the numbers are much more in our favour."
"Are you sure of that, Sir Nigel."
"It is apparent that the rebels have more troops than we thought possible, but they still lack sufficient numbers to take the city, Your Grace."
"I wish I had your confidence."
"What would you like to do? Shall I sally out with the knights?"
"No, let them wear themselves down on our walls first. I'd like to see what they have planned. How will they attack, do you think?"
"I suspect they'll try a ladder assault; they don't have any siege engines to pound the walls with."
"We must be wary of this enemy leader, whoever he is. He might have a trick or two up his sleeve."
"I doubt it, Your Grace. He shows little aptitude for properly deploying his troops."
"Let us hope you are right, Sir Nigel. I wouldn't like to be surprised."
Gerald sat astride his horse, just behind the Orcs, with Anna beside him as their archers moved forward.
"They'll form a skirmish line ahead of us," he advised her.
"Don't you normally put them on the flanks?"
"Yes, but I have Elves and Dwarves to anchor the lines. This cloud of bowmen before us will draw out their archers."
They watched in fascination. There were close to three hundred archers, all of them Human, though they were a mixed bag of nationalities.
They advanced steadily, spread out to avoid concentrated enemy fire. Soon, they were within range, and arrows began flying toward the north wall of Colbridge.
"It's not very effective," said Anna.
"It doesn't have to be, watch."
It didn't take long for the royalists to counter with crossbows, their bolts striking out with accuracy.
"We're taking casualties," said Anna.
Instead of looking south, toward the city, he looked west, to the end of his line. The Elves, on cue, began moving forward. They only advanced a short distance and then started loosing off their arrows with deadly accuracy. "Our archers have drawn out their crossbowmen. The Elves are famously good shots; now they can pick off their opponents."
Crossbowmen fell, but only a few. Those that remained took cover behind the parapet.
Gerald turned to a mounted soldier waiting behind him. "Signal one," he called out.
The man reached into his satchel to pull forth a green flag that he affixed to a staff. He hoisted it into the air, waving it about.
Moments later the Trolls appeared from the edge of the woods behind them, each pulling a sled piled with rocks. They passed through a gap in the line of footmen and continued their progress south where they faced the flat walls of Colbridge.
Someone on the walls must have noticed for the crossbowmen reappeared, sending a rain of bolts toward the new threat. Most of the shots did little, but at least one Troll fell, a quarrel lodged firmly in his leg.
Slowly they drew closer and then halted, dropping the reins. Trolls are immensely strong, and now they ran to the back of their sleds to heft up rocks. These they threw across the distance to crash against the crumbling walls of Colbridge.
The Elves moved closer to more accurately control their shots. The first rocks smashed against the wall, making loud cracking noises as bits of stone broke away from the structure. It didn't take long for cracks to appear. They were small at first, but the repeated strikes were proving effective. One rock struck a parapet, clipping a crossbowman and carrying his upper torso into the town beyond while his lower fell out of sight.
Another Troll went down, and Anna gasped, "They're taking casualties. How much longer?"
"The next group is moving up, and the first group will withdraw as soon as they do. Where's Revi?"
"Right here, General."
"Don't go anywhere, I'm going to need you very soon."
Gerald turned to Arnim, "Send word for the men to prepare. As soon as the wall comes down, I want you taking them in. You know what to do?"
"Yes," said the knight, turning his horse and galloping off.
"Will there be enough of them to take the breach?" asked Revi.
"No," said Gerald.
"Then for Saxnor's sake," added the mage, "why are you sending them?"
"We must draw them out," said Gerald.
"But the casualties..."
"The Men of Kingsford volunteered, they know what they were getting into."
A large rumble echoed across the battlefield as a portion of the wall collapsed. The men of Merceria moved forward, yelling in triumph, Arnim at their head.
It was agonizing to watch. Gerald wanted to be there, to lead them himself but knew he was needed here, to watch over the battle. Even so, his nerves were taut, his body working through his tiredness on pure adrenalin.
He could only observe as Arnim led them on. They were soon at the base of the wall. The collapsed structure had formed a ramp of rubble, and now the men struggled to climb it, to gain entry into the city beyond.
Gerald could imagine the experience, for years before he had climbed through a breach after the siege of Bodden. The sight then had sickened him, and now he wondered if, perhaps, he had made a mistake.
"They're faltering," cried out Revi.
"Send in the men of Weldwyn," ordered Gerald. "Have them support the attack."
"But they're stuck in the breach!" came a voice.
Gerald swung around in anger, directing it at an aide. "You," he jabbed a finger, "send word immediately. The Weldwyn Volunteers are to support the attack."
The rider wheeled his horse about, riding off to do the general's bidding.
Sir Nigel ran up to the duke, his bloodied blade still held in his hand. "We're holding them at the breach, Your Grace. Our defences are working perfectly. They're throwing their men away, exhausting their manpower."
"Prepare your knights, Sir Nigel. When the enemy breaks, I want you riding them down. We'll massacre them as they run and then follow the rabble into their own lines."
"With pleasure, my lord. This will be the shortest siege in history. I shall bring you the head of the princess."
Sir Nigel made his way to the great gatehouse. The Knights of the Sword were already formed up, waiting for the word to ride forth. Their commander took up his position at their head and raised himself in the stirrups, turning his mount to face his men.
"The enemy is retreating," he announced. "They have ground themselves to dust on our walls. Now, it is time for us to ride forth and bring death to them all. Onward to glory!"
With a cheer from his men, the portcullis was raised as the soldiers in the gatehouse worked the massive winch. A moment later, men ran forward, pushing open the great doors and then standing aside to let the riders through.
He led them out of the city, the morning sun reflecting off their armour. Out rode fifty of the finest soldiers in the realm; the unstoppable force that is the Royal Order of the Knights of the Sword.
"What a glorious day," Sir Nigel shouted, but the jangle of his armour and the noise of hooves drowned out his voice.
/> They cleared the gate and then turned north, forming into a wedge with Sir Nigel in the lead. He spotted the enemy footmen running for cover, some dropping their weapons as they streamed back toward their own lines. The green-skinned Orcs moved left and right to let their compatriots through the line, breaking up the formation.
"Now is our chance!" yelled Sir Nigel. "We shall bring death to this usurper!" The knights broke into a full gallop, heading directly for the standard of the traitorous princess, and the weakened rebel line.
Ten
Assault
Winter 961/962 MC
Gerald watched as the line wavered. "Let them through," he cried out, "they've done their part."
"Enemy cavalry approaching," warned Anna.
"Yes, I see them," said Gerald. "Master Bloom, are you ready?"
"Yes, General."
"Hold a moment longer, we must wait till they've committed to their charge."
The tension built as Gerald forced himself to count to ten, rolling his shoulders as he did so.
"Wait...Wait...Now!"
Revi began the incantation. The air buzzed with magical force as he traced the runes in the air. A small light appeared in his hands, growing brighter as he continued his chant. The mage focused his attention on it, levitating it as it glowed even more. Soon, it was above them all, a huge beacon in the chilly winter sky.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" asked Anna.
"We've lured out their knights," offered Gerald, "and now it's time for Hayley and Beverly to do their part."
"A nasty surprise for them," said Anna. "Will they be able to see the signal, Revi?"
"Trust me, Highness," responded the mage, "Hayley has the eyes of a hawk."
Beverly's leg began to cramp, and she uttered an oath.
"What was that?" asked Hayley.
"I said my leg aches. I need to stretch them soon. How much longer, do you think?"
"There's the signal," answered the ranger.
"Let's go," said Beverly, rising to her feet. Behind her the men stood, appearing from the undergrowth as if summoned by some spell. They were on the west side of the river, looking across the frozen water to Colbridge.
They began making their way down to the ice while Hayley led her own group, a band of Orc archers.
Halting at the river's edge, Beverly cast her eyes about until she spied the markers. She and the ranger had spent the better part of the night crawling across the river, marking the thicker parts of the ice flow with stones and now they began the crossing in two single-file lines.
It all hinged on surprise. Arnim had told them the gate to the docks was left open and lightly guarded, but if the defenders saw the attack coming, it would be a simple enough task to close it.
No one was in sight on the far side as they began their trek across the ice. To Beverly's mind, the bank seemed such a long distance to cross. She kept expecting someone to call out, but no one raised the alarm. The ice was slippery, and so they took their time, careful not to make any sound.
They were halfway across when Beverly spotted an observer. A man stood by the docks, his eyes shielded from the sun as he stared over the frozen water.
Beverly tried to pick up the pace, but the unforgiving ice forced her to slow down when her foot slid forward, almost tumbling her. The observer turned suddenly, perhaps finally recognizing the coming threat. He ran toward the gate, but an arrow hit him in the leg, causing him to fall. A moment later a second shot struck him in the back. She glanced to the side to see Hayley, her bow in hand. The ranger nocked a third, but it was unnecessary; her target lay, unmoving.
The docks drew closer until Beverly finally reached up to the wooden planking and hauled herself onto the pier. She paused for only a moment to help the man behind her and then sprinted towards the gatehouse where the doors were wide open. A bored guard leaned against the frame, smoking a pipe, his eyes closed. Beverly's blade struck the man down before he could react. She paused, letting her men catch up to her. Hayley was off the docks now, her Orcs outpacing her to the gatehouse.
The ranger halted to catch her breath, "Well, that was exciting."
"Everything's gone well, so far," said Beverly. "You know what to do?"
"Of course," she replied, looking over her Orcs. "I've got all my hunters."
"And I have mine," the red-head returned. "I'll see you when this is over."
"Yes," said Hayley, "and no arrows in the back this time."
"Agreed."
They headed into the town. The city itself appeared deserted. The inhabitants, perhaps fearful of siege engines, had taken to hiding indoors, leaving the streets bare of traffic. Beverly spied only one person, an elderly woman walking with a cane, trying to hustle along when the invaders came into sight. Beverly dispatched a warrior to see her safely home and continued on her way.
Hayley headed directly north, turning east as the duke's residence came into sight. The great walls of the city had been designed to hold enemies at bay while allowing those within the city to reinforce the walls quickly. The crenellations faced outward, but the interior lacked these defences. This now worked to Hayley's advantage as her Orcs formed a line and let loose with their arrows.
* * *
The onslaught was completely unexpected and the crossbowmen, their attention focused solely towards the enemies outside the wall, fell quickly, their armour insufficient to protect them from the Orcish volleys. Most of the remaining royalists abandoned the wall, running to whatever safety they could find. A few of them tried rushing their adversaries, only to be cut down by Orcish blades.
Beverly headed northeast, trying to get her bearings. The city was a maze of streets, and she temporarily lost her way, darting down a side street to a dead end. They emerged from the alley to a startled group of militia who took one look at the armoured warriors and fled. She cast about trying to orient herself as one of the men pointed out the church tower.
"This way," she called, leading the charge once more.
It seemed to take forever to get to the gate tower. The gates had been closed after the knights left, but there were still guards here. They were mainly atop the wall, looking out at the battle unfolding before their eyes.
Beverly waited until her men caught up and gave them a moment to catch their breath. They had been recruited from the heavier cavalry and were well armed and armoured. Their thick chainmail hauberks were heavy and slowed them down, but the protection the armour afforded was well worth it.
She peered around the corner of the building to watch the gate tower. Only one guard stood at the ground level, while the others remained within the structure, presumably intent on the battle outside their walls.
Waving her hand, Beverly advanced at a jog, sword at the ready and shield unslung. The guard heard her before she attacked and was fumbling for his weapon even as her sword struck him down. Leaving her victim convulsing on the ground, she rushed past, pausing at the door. There, just inside, was a set of stairs that presumably led up to the winch room, her target. Detailing two warriors to guard the door, she led the rest upward, their heavy footsteps echoing in the stone tower.
The winch room was large, holding a massive drum around which were attached the chains that lifted the portcullis. The two soldiers here were staring out the arrow slits to the north. One heard their approach and turned to face Beverly. She stabbed out, her sword penetrating the links of his mail, and he fell loudly to the ground. The remaining fellow, fortunately for him, was on the other side of the mechanism. Hearing his partner go down gave him time to draw his own weapon.
"Draw the portcullis up," yelled Beverly as she struck out.
Her opponent was slippery, dodging her first attack. He struck, the blow easily absorbed by her shield. She pushed back, the force of it sending him to the ground where she smote him in the leg with her sword. He screamed in agony, dropping his blade, and she kicked it away, then turned her attention back to her men.
They had grabbed the
levers that worked the portcullis chain and were now heaving them back, the mechanism clanking loudly as it did its work.
She yelled down the stairwell as she ran. Her men outside rushed under the portcullis as it rose and now removed the bars that held the outer doors in place. The doors squealed as they protested the effort, but they swung open, revealing the cold, clear air of the wintery countryside.
Sir Nigel looked left and right. His knights were no longer in a tight formation as some horses, perhaps more excited, ran ahead. The green-skinned Orcs were shortening their line, moving their spears closer together, but the Knights of the Sword were committed. The horses' hooves were thundering, sending snow and dirt flying into the air.
Sir Nigel heard a yell to his right. He quickly cast his eyes in the direction but all he could see was a horse rearing up in panic, and then the knight beside him went down, disappearing from view as the charge advanced.
He heard a rending sound behind him and a blur appeared out of the corner of his eye. He risked a glance to see an unbelievable sight; massive dogs were running amongst the knights, tearing into their formation. He tried to spur on his horse, but the hounds were closing in and running faster than his heavily encumbered mount. His horse lurched forward when a hound bit into its leg, and then the mighty Mercerian Charger went down. The knight commander catapulted himself from the saddle, hitting the ground and rolling to avoid injury.
Rising to his feet, he saw the line of Orcs ahead of him, watching with great interest. He yelled at them, taunted them, but they remained in place, much to his frustration. From behind him came a low growl, and he turned to see his worst nightmare; a massive hound with blood-soaked teeth, advancing towards him.
Gerald looked on as the mighty Kurathian Mastiffs tore into the Knights of the Sword. It was almost too much, and he had to briefly avert his eyes as horses had their legs pulled from under them. The screaming was the worst part, for the animals weren't dead, merely critically injured. The dogs also tore into the riders as they fell, but he had little sympathy for them; they had sworn to serve the tyrant, Henry.
Fate of the Crown Page 10