The town surrounding the castle was not meant to be defended. A six foot wall surrounded it, but its purpose was more to stop the invading forest than invading men; at this time it was being taken down and its materials removed to the ramparts adjoining Thunder Bay, that the incoming armies would have no ready materials to form their own protections. The town itself was quickly coming apart as well, and the materials of its buildings stored within the castle; hundreds of men worked day and night on these things: every dawn found years of work swallowed by the arts of war. This included, to the supreme indignation of Oren Lorenzo, the humble church of which he was abbot; but, in the end, he acquiesced for the betterment of the cause. Nothing was built to replace the town and only the castle and the distant ramparts remained to fill the void of civilization. While hundreds of years had been spent forcing back the wilderness of Atilta, it returned full force in but a few days. It was as if no one had ever been there.
A dirt path communicated between the castle and the harbor fortifications, lined with small guard posts in case of a precipitate retreat. It came right up to the castle doors, behind which were several deep holes drilled with stakes, to support the door against a battering ram. On the other end, it reached the ramparts along the shores of Thunder Bay, built to keep the hostile fleets from disembarking. The whole of the bay was heavily wooded. No landing could be attempted anywhere but a hundred yard stretch on the southern side. It was there that Alfonzo had built a series of fortifications: first, a six foot ditch covered with wooden planks and then three feet of dirt, leaving a hollow tunnel with holes for archers to attack from with impunity; then a tall rampart, its foundation of logs and its top of earth. Several tunnels connected the corridor before the ramparts with the defenders behind them, and those within the first could easily retire when their position was no longer tenable. These connecting tunnels, however, were held open by only a few logs. Thus, with little labor and in no time, a defender could pull these logs from their place and the connecting tunnel would fall in upon itself, sealing the entrance.
The only other human scar on the area was an extension of the Treeway: a series of military platforms built in the upper canopy. They formed a ring around the entire plain, but were most heavily congregated to the north – by Thunder Bay – and to the east – by the route to Eden. Each was garrisoned with a dozen archers and enough supplies to last them months. When the enemy soldiers passed underneath, a thunderstorm of arrows would greet them. They would be unable to return the attack. Still, a dozen men can do little to bodies of five thousand. The rangers assigned to these platforms were only partly in place, with the remaining rangers placed under Blaine and Osbert, to harass the advancing legions as they came through the heart of the forest.
These plans were all shown on the map. When those present had finished looking over them, the conversation resumed. Milada spoke first:
MILADA: You have done well in my sickness, Alfonzo. But what did I expect? I have known you for many years and you have never been weak or unprepared.
LORENZO: No, but he is a warrior, by Isaiah! But as a man of God, I am pained by the loss of his house.
ALFONZO: You have a room for the altar and for worship, but more we cannot spare.
LORENZO: Of course, of course! But I loathe the beating of the church into a castle and the plow into a sword; yet if we can beat the enemy into the ground, I will still rejoice.
ADMIRAL: Loathe, indeed, Oren; but God has no place in councils of war. I see you made no plans to defend the bay by ship, Alfonzo, and I assume you leave that to me.
ALFONZO: I do.
ADMIRAL: Very well, I will begin at once. Milada, I trust you did not lose sight of the chain we took from Gylain after the coup?
MILADA: Not at all: it sits in the basement armory as we speak.
ADMIRAL: It is not wise to put such a massive chain in a basement armory, for it will be difficult to remove. It was built to protect the harbor in Eden, but it will do just as well in Thunder Bay. After that, we will sink whatever debris we can, to foul their larger ships. Then we can only hold the line or be damned.
ALFONZO: Any word from abroad?
ADMIRAL: None.
They were interrupted by a sharp knock on the outside door, which was opened without a wait. A man walked in, just from the forest: he smelled of trees and air. He wore leather armor, somewhat dirty, and his beard was thick, dark, and in every way the beard of a forest man.
MAN: A message for Alfonzo, from Osbert and Blaine.
ALFONZO: Go on.
MAN: We have met the enemy, sir. I was dispatched right away, to raise the alarm.
ALFONZO: Very good; and their number?
MAN: Five thousand, at least: the same force that left Eden two days ago. Blaine hopes to cripple them before they gain the open plain.
ALFONZO: He is ambitious, if trusty. Still, if he does not cripple them, they will do the same to us. It is time, friends: to war!
With that, he left the room to attend the preparations, as did the others.
Chapter 83
It was late afternoon, though the sun had already set in the deep Atiltian forest. The distance became invisible, the veranda blocked by rising trees. Still, the forest rangers could see what others could not.
“It begins,” Osbert said to Blaine Griffith, who stood beside him.
The former, with his low tide lips and sandy hair, wore only a plain leather jerkin. A bow rested in his hand and a large quiver on his back, while his leaf-shaped bronze sword was left in his belt. Blaine was attired in the same manner, though adorned with his animal eyes. In civilization, he was a meek and indirect man; in the wilderness a beast, a fierce hunter, a man of arms.
“So I have heard,” Griffith said. “The men say they are five thousand strong and our lives are forfeit in the attempt.”
“The men say many things,” Osbert hesitated, “Though in this they may be right. Come, old friend, let us grasp hands for the last,” and the two embraced firmly. “Once we reveal ourselves we will not rest until the battle is won, for us or for them.”
“So it will be: you take the left and I will have the right. There are arrows hidden along the way; perhaps we will meet when we rearm ourselves.” Griffith paused. “We will fish when we are through: you, me and Barnes. The men say the trout are best this time of year.”
Osbert looked away and the moist air condensed around his eyes. “Yes, we will have our trout.”
They crouched low to the ground as they spoke, a hundred yards from a large body of marching soldiers. While they stood directly before the soldiers’ path, there were two bodies of rangers – each a hundred strong – hiding to the left and right. The two friends returned to their men and took their positions in the fore. None of them wore armor or shields or helmets, only a bow and a bronze sword and a quiver of arrows on their backs. In the forest, nothing more was needed.
Osbert knelt behind an exposed root as he reached his men, taking his bow and fitting an arrow to its string. The others did the same.
“Let us not shoot too powerfully,” he whispered, “For beyond the soldiers crouch our comrades. If Gylain’s soldiers charge, fall back without hesitation and reform in the distance. We are not here to meet them in battle, but to weaken them for our comrades.”
In front of the soldiers rode an officer on horseback, a magnificent plume of feathers making his helmet conspicuous. Osbert pulled his arrow back until its string was steel, then waited: he could not shoot until they advanced to a certain spot, when both sides would attack simultaneously. The officer came forward slowly, drawing ever nearer to the fateful spot. Then, the same instant the horse’s hoof hit the spot, Osbert released his arrow. Its tail swirled silently as it sliced the air, then came a hollow clang, then the officer fell lifeless to the ground with an arrow camped in either side of his helmet. Yet before he had fallen, there was another arrow on Osbert’s string, and it was sent away as the officer’s body hit. The air was devoured by a dim droning
and obscured by flashes of horizontal lightning.
Before the second string had been released, fifty of the soldiers had fallen. The remaining mass, however, was not thrown into chaos; rather, they continued marching at the same double pace they had previously employed. The leading officer was replaced by another with a thicker helmet and the actual commander was hidden safe within the ranks, out of the rebels’ sight.
“They take our assault without hesitation,” Osbert cried. “Keep up the pace, men!”
He returned his attentions to his prey, since no soldiers were detached to displace them. The first soldiers had passed through their ambush, though the long line continued to advance and take theirs in turn. Yet a battalion of soldiers from the rear had crept up and circled around Osbert’s company while they shot. Then, just before the ambuscade was ambushed, a cry came up from the rebels.
“Retreat!” he commanded, getting to his own feet. “Retreat, retreat!” and he fled into the forest abyss.
The rebels were unencumbered with heavy armor and soon left the soldiers behind. Still, a dozen of their fellows were lost in the surprise.
“Forward,” Osbert cried as he galloped through the trees. “Do not stop, or we will be slain.”
When they were safely away, they stopped and listened to the skirmish in the distance. Their pursuers could not be heard, but they did not stop to rest, following the rampant Osbert back into the fray. He led them to a point in advance of the enemy line and their attack began anew – albeit with sentries.
This time they released ten strings of arrows before they were displaced, and none of them were lost but a few who tripped along the way. Now, however, Osbert led them to a place where the grass was slightly discolored. He grabbed onto a knob that stuck out from the ground and pulled open a secret chamber, filled with arrows. The men refilled their quivers and refreshed themselves with water from a spring, then were once more sunk into the deluge of war. Only seventy-five remained.
This was continued all through the night. The soldiers were forced to continue their march without rest. Many were slain. By the next morning the men were weary and the adrenaline which had sustained them through the night began to give way. Their commander pulled them into ranks, where, under heavy guard, they ate a hasty breakfast. While their enemies rested, the archers kept to their work. They aimed high and shot far, dropping arrows deep into the camp, from which could be heard the sounds of dying men. Thus it was that the rangers – who would stop their work to assist an elderly man, or run through the night to fetch a doctor for an ill stranger – found themselves killing men whom they did not know and with whom they had no quarrel; they were merely on a different side of a name, a standard, a cause. This was war and there was nothing personal about it; yet those who killed and those who were killed were each persons. Such is the mystery of war.
The soldiers resumed the march and the rebels their harassing attacks. Then, at noon – after twelve hours of combat – Osbert pulled his twenty-five men together.
“We draw near the castle. Our best has already been given: if we grow tired and are caught, it will do our friends no good. So let us rejoin our comrades in the Treeway, where a spell of weakness will not mean death. We cannot sustain this fighting any longer.”
Only the strongest and most fortunate of the rangers survived, and these were glad to hear of their reprieve. They turned their fleet feet to the west, charging until they came to the first of the ring of platforms that skirted the plain. The enemy soldiers were not far behind.
“Hurry, friends!” Osbert called up, “Let down the ladders: the enemy approaches quickly. Signal the castle at once.”
“Yes, sir,” a ranger lowered his voice as he lowered the rope ladder. The canopy was several hundred feet above the ground with no branches within a hundred and fifty feet from the ground. Nor was it possible to climb the trees, even with spikes or ropes, for the wood was strong and the height too great. There were only a few places, bordering the mountains on the far northeastern side of Atilta, that could be climbed by assiduous exertion. Once up, the forest could be traversed along the branches and the rebels built their Treeway further and further into the forest, until it reached the Western Marches, where it was invincibly high: no one could enter from below without their assistance. So the ladder was lowered and a flaming arrow shot into the plain: the preconcerted signal that the enemy approached by land.
“I will ascend last,” Osbert said, looking anxiously into the forest. “Hurry, for they will be upon us soon.”
The rangers began the ascent, but only two or three could climb at once, lest the ladder break and they fall to their deaths. As the others climbed, Osbert peered into the forest. “What has come of you, my friend?” he whispered to himself. He seemed upon the edge of despair when, from the far left, he saw a rapidly approaching band of rangers. It took them a moment to come up, but Osbert smiled when they did.
“Griffith!” he cried, “I am glad you are well. What has come of your followers?”
“Alas, it is only me and these five. The battle was fierce and some chose to fight rather than come back alive: an obstinate choice, perhaps, but they will have done more than we.”
“The loss of a brother is grief. Go, the officers ascend last,” Osbert motioned to those newly arriving.
Blaine looked warily into the forest, where the soldiers were spewing from the trees in the distance. “If they approach while the ladder is down, we are lost,” Blaine said. “We should retreat to the castle, as there is not enough time for us to ascend without compromising our companions.”
“We should, old friend; yet after this night of battle, I have not the strength for such a sprint.”
The soldiers grew closer. The vanguard was only a hundred yards away.
“Come,” Blaine said, his voice firm, “If we wait longer we are lost: you first.”
Osbert nodded and jumped onto the rope; Blaine followed after he had gone thirty feet. The two climbed with all their strength; yet of that there was little left, and the foremost soldiers reached the ladder before they were halfway up. The ropes creaked and grew too taunt to be easily climbed; the ladder began to swing uneasily about. At length, Osbert reached the platform and rolled onto its safety. He waited only a moment, then took up his bow and turned over the edge to resume his attack on the invaders. Yet what he saw made him cry out in distress.
“Blaine! You must hurry, for they climb faster.”
Blaine Griffith, tired from the night’s work, was still twenty feet from the platform; beneath him the soldiers were growing closer. Their heavy armor added to their weight and it was too much: the ladder seemed ready to snap. At last, his hand reached over the platform and was grasped by Osbert, who held onto it in fear. Just then, the rope ladder snapped and fell to the ground, which clubbed the soldiers to death as they met it. But they were not the only ones.
“Blaine!” Osbert grasped his hand, but his strength gave way, “Blaine! This cannot be!”
There was no answer: only silence from below; then, far below, a muffled thud. Osbert raised his anguished face to the sky. Both were dark with storm.
“Blaine, my friend, what has happened?” he cried. “This war has taken many lives, but now? Now, it has begun in earnest.”
As he spoke, his voice was defeated by the charge of the legions below. They had begun passing into the plain, their way hotly contested by the rebel arrows. With gravity behind them, the arrows broke through to the soldiers’ vitals; but with fate behind them, the soldiers broke through to the plain.
“Let us die together,” Osbert moaned, “And our blood mingle with our enemies’!”
The soldiers below yelled and shouted and did all the things men do to encourage bravery and abandon; but as they ran, their ranks were abandoned, if not brave. A mound of the dead erected itself in a ring around the Treeway. With every moment it became more difficult for those below to pass. Osbert took his bow and sent his arrows off with the last of his streng
th. His hands began to quake and his arms to shake, his fingers danced in his exertion. He had pushed his strength to its limit in the night and only his iron will held the morning; but now both his strength and will were defeated. His hands he pushed forward in pain and blood came with his sweat.
Then, he could move no more. He pulled back an arrow and found its prey, but could not release it. Instead, it fell limply to the floor. A faint moan escaped his lips; he was powerless to do more. His mind was imprisoned within his worn body, but the latter could not be forced to continue. A tear fell from his eye like a star from the sky. He drew his sword as if he drew the earth. He held it before him, shaking violently, and surrendered himself to death. He fell forward, pivoting at his knees. His upper body swung over the side and began descending to the ground. He fell, swiftly and without noise. He fell, his face a mountain, his fate a valley. He fell, but his eyes were already lifeless, empty, without form. For even as his body charged the ground three hundred feet below, Osbert was dead.
Chapter 84
Meanwhile, a mile to the east, Alfonzo rode horseback along the rampart that bordered Thunder Bay. The rebel forces were positioned there in strength, prepared to prevent the landing of the enemy fleet. Oren Lorenzo was at his side, on a mule, and each was armed with a sword.
“The signal!” Lorenzo cried, his fiery mustache quivering.
“Yes, the signal,” Alfonzo returned, “Let us hope Blaine and Osbert prove themselves once again.”
“Gylain’s soldiers will have an early taste of eternity, either way,” Lorenzo said soberly, “And may they repent beforehand.”
“May they, indeed! But it is too late for such things now,” Alfonzo shook his head.
As he spoke, a horn sounded from the rebel fleet, straddling the channel into the harbor.
“They call the charge!” Alfonzo cried, “But why? Have they seen the soldiers?” He spurred his horse and galloped down the line until the trees no longer obstructed his view of the harbor. Then, “Can it be? The fleet arrives early! To arms men: the enemy is upon us!”
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