She gave him a queer look at his sudden boldness and opened her mouth to protest. The hard look on his face was enough to quell any rising argument she might have. Ingrid reluctantly did as she was instructed and not a moment too soon. Dozens of mercenaries broke through the front lines and converged on her previous position. Orlek, having sensed their strategy, summoned those rebels nearest him and formed a solid defensive line. The mercenaries threw themselves upon the massed ranks of rebel fighters, all trying to win through and murder the rebel leader. Her blond hair made her stand out, even in the night.
The tactic was bold, but doomed to fail. Orlek snatched a man by his throat and drove his dagger deeply into the exposed belly. Shoving the dying mercenary backwards, Orlek left his dagger in the belly and brought his sword up. The enemy attacked with fury and passion he begrudgingly respected. Each had to know death was the only way out. That made them dangerous. Several rebels went down suddenly, exposing a small hole in the lines. Mercenaries poured through before Orlek rallied his forces to seal the gap.
He snatched the nearest rebel by the collar and roared, “Hold the line! No one else gets through or I’ll kill you myself!”
The stunned rebel nodded determinedly and turned his attention back to the battle. Orlek sprinted after the mercenaries, knowing who their target was. Heart pounding with dread, the rebel leader slashed diagonally downward and ripped open an unprotected back. The mercenary screamed in raw agony as his nerves were severed. Orlek ran past his falling form and shoved the next mercenary off balance.
“Ingrid!”
Heads turned his way. Ingrid lunged forward to stab her attacker through the right eye. The squishy pop as her steel drove into his eye immediately sickened her. Orlek’s blade could be seen dancing through his enemy. Other rebels responded and closed in on their hated foe. Fueled by memories of Harnin’s harsh rule and campaign of oppression, the rebels killed with reckless abandon.
Boen ripped his sword from his latest victim and stared hard at the lone attacker still facing him. Defeated, the mercenary lowered his sword enough to stay Boen’s aggression. He reached up and removed the hood covering his hair and half of his face. Both Boen and Bahr stared back hard.
Skaning spat a mouthful of blood on the ground as he dropped his mask. “Bahr. I’ve hated you for so long, building up your image in my mind to rival that of your brother. How disappointing it is to look upon you now.”
Grinding his teeth, Bahr offered a wry grin. “Sorry but I don’t seem to recall ever seeing you before.”
“That’s Skaning, one of Harnin’s boy puppets,” Boen supplied.
Skaning’s eyes flared. His face tightened. “Ah, Gaimosian. I’ll enjoy it when your kind no longer contaminates the rest of the world. Killing you will be a pleasure.”
Boen responded with deep, booming laughter. “Be my guest. Better men than you have tried. They’re all food for worms now. Come, join them.”
The Delranan lord failed to respond to Boen’s goading. Instead he held his ground and turned back to Bahr. “It doesn’t need to be like this, old timer. I didn’t come to kill you, well not specifically. Harnin doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t even know you’ve returned. Give me the blond bitch and I’ll leave.”
“There’s only one thing wrong with that, little lordling,” Bahr answered. “You’re part of what’s wrong with my kingdom. Getting rid of you all is the only way Delranan is going to recover. You need to die.”
“Besides, we’ve already killed all your hired swords,” Boen taunted.
Skaning tensed. “Perhaps killing a Gaimosian will seal my place in history.”
He attacked with what little strength remained. Boen spied the move before it began and blocked it without effort. He backhanded Skaning across the mouth. Blood and teeth flew as Skaning stumbled. Boen didn’t wait for him to recover. Kicking hard, he caught Skaning in the stomach and dropped him to his knees. Groaning in pain, the lord of Delranan didn’t have time to look up before Boen’s great sword drove down through his back and into the ground. Skaning died without a sound.
Boen jerked his sword free and turned to Bahr. “That…felt good.”
Bahr had nothing to say.
The raid ended in abject failure. Only a handful of mercenaries were taken alive. Ingrid stayed their execution, instead offering them payment and the chance to live by joining her personal retinue. Orlek exploded in opposition but the offer had been made. All but one accepted. Snarling, Orlek stalked up behind the holdout and slit his throat. When Ingrid shot him a questioning look he merely scowled and returned to his place.
Several rebels were killed and twice that wounded. Those that could be moved were patched up by medics while the rest were given a small security detail and told to find the nearest village. This time Ingrid ordered the bodies left where they lay. Time was up. Efforts to resume the march began quickly. Bahr made his rounds with people, pausing only upon noticing the wild, almost untamable look malingering in Groge’s eyes. He didn’t know why, but the look left him feeling less than what he had been before the battle.
Orlek’s harsh voice disturbed his thoughts. “All right, let’s move. We’ve still got a long way to go.”
The tired rebel column resumed their long march to destiny.
TWENTY-ONE
The Last Castle
Piper looked out over his force with admiration. They’d captured all but one of Harnin One Eye’s defensive fortifications in less than two days. Casualties were acceptable given the almost unnatural conditions they’d been forced to fight under. His one regret was that hardly a prisoner was taken. Whatever Harnin and Badron had told them drove the defenders to near suicidal fervor. It was all Delranan blood in the end. Piper hadn’t returned home to kill his own people and the notion left him sickened.
Fires continued to burn around him. The warmth felt good on his face and hands, helping to remove some of the sting of battle. Nerves had already calmed. Piper hovered around that level of shock he experienced after every battle. He was beyond exhausted. It had been a continual battle ever since returning to Delranan. The mental strain threatened to wear him down to a fatigue level he hadn’t experienced since the beginning of the campaign in Rogscroft. His eyes constantly burned. Decisions came slower. Sooner or later he was going to make a critical mistake that would cost lives. Unfortunately there were no breaks in combat. He didn’t get to stop until the war was over.
Already his mind swarmed over details pertaining to the coming battle. Given the enemy’s current tactics and their inability to understand surrender was the better part of valor, Piper didn’t believe there would be much of an issue in capturing the last redoubt. Thus far he’d managed to attack almost unannounced, completely enveloping the fortification before the defenders were able to react.
Piper wasn’t one to trust to luck. His mind raced over new tactics that would result in saving lives. As much as he wanted to avoid any casualties there was simply no way to break through to any of Badron’s soldiers. They were pure fanatics wholly devoted to the deposed monarch. Piper didn’t expect any in the coming battle to surrender either, forcing him to kill them all.
The idea sat ill with him. He’d always been a loyal son of Delranan and killing his own people, no matter how foul or corrupted they became, was a matter of intense sorrow. Reluctantly he forced aside the bonds of brotherhood and viewed the defenders solely as enemy combatants. It was the only way for him to retain what minor fragments of sanity he had remaining.
He took solace in this being the final battle before his task force could link back up with Rolnir and the main body. Piper figured they must be nearing the rendezvous at Arlevon Gale and preparing for the push into Chadra and, hopefully, ending the long war. Thoughts of any blissful future had to wait, however, as Piper Joach was once again called back into the combat frame of mind. He stretched, yawned deeply, and strode purposefully back to his command group.
“Commander.”
Piper returne
d the salute. “Consolidate equipment and get ready to move. It’s a three-league march to the final redoubt. I want ranks formed in ten minutes. Are there any prisoners?” He already knew the answer, but had to ask.
“None. This lot was tougher than the others. Gave us a good bit of trouble but we finally rooted them all out,” his senior sergeant explained. “I’ll have squad leaders take accountability and send the medics through the ranks, sir.”
Piper nodded grimly as his thoughts returned to the coming fight.
The march went swiftly. His field force arrived at the last redoubt in less time than he took account for and immediately set about preparing for the attack. There was an undeniable air of excitement rippling through them. At last their struggle was about to end. Many, if not most, wanted to return to the main body and carry out the war properly. While they viewed this task as important to the overall war effort, the redoubts were isolated and away from the front lines. Their friends and comrades were busy liberating the rest of the kingdom, risking their lives while the soldiers in Piper’s task force wasted their time in dealing with fanatics.
That the end of this portion of the campaign was finally in sight fueled the soldiers. Axe and sword were sharpened. Minds were focused. All Piper needed to do was give the order. They’d all been through the drill enough times there was little need for much talk. Soon enough squad leaders and junior officers filtered through the column to lead their elements into assault positions. Hearts beat a little faster as the moment of attack quickly approached. Despite having done so nearly ten times already, the soldiers in Piper’s command continued to exhibit nervous energy in the long moments leading up to their short charge across open ground.
The thrill of being peppered with arrows made them move faster. The scare of murderous swords and axes awaiting them once they gained the top of the wall sent fear coursing through many. It was all part of the great game of war. Few worried about death. Their time would come or not depending on the vagaries of fate. There was no rhyme or reason as to who died or why. War was as simplistic as it was complicated. Those who tried to over think were often the first to crack under pressure. Piper knew most of them had been weeded out long ago. What remained was the core of his fighting force.
Piper closed his eyes briefly to offer prayers to the old gods, hoping against hope they listened. He’d purposefully ignored the advice of his senior leaders and took his rightful place at the head of the main assault column. There wasn’t much of an argument. He was a leader and, contrary to some belief, felt it necessary to lead from the front. A true leader could only sit behind the lines and direct for so long before the respect of his subordinates waned. As it stood, Piper had already been forced to worry over every other assault since returning to Delranan. If for no other reason than sanity’s sake, Piper needed to be in the assault.
It took a bit of haggling but Piper finally agreed to follow the orders of the senior captain. Piper quietly bit his tongue but knew it was for the best. This core group had been through numerous assaults already and was accustomed to working together. Realistically he was only going to be in the way and could easily get someone killed. He hesitated, thinking of changing his mind, but it was already too late. His only fear was that one of his soldiers would be injured worrying over their commander.
Arrows zipped overhead, signaling the assault. Piper broke out into a dead sprint along with one hundred of his best. Lightly armored, they moved much faster than normal heavy infantry. Piper hoped this ploy would play out again the way it had in the previous engagements. With a little luck his forces would be at the base of the walls before the defenders understood what was going on. Luck was very fickle.
Torches flared to life in measured intervals along the walls. The clang of armor and swords being drawn sang out into the night. Piper caught the telltale sounds over his own breathing and winced. This was not going to be pretty. He gripped his sword tighter and ran faster. Another salvo barraged the wooden walls, some arrows sailing over. Enemy casualties would be minimal but they’d be forced to keep their heads down long enough for the infantry to strike. Or so went the plan. Piper was veteran enough to know most plans survived first contact with the enemy. He briefly wished for one of the engineer’s war machines. They’d make quick work of the outer perimeter. Wishing was a monumental waste of time. Piper had only his archers and infantry.
The lead soldiers reached the walls and began uncoiling ropes. Others hurried and slammed into the unforgiving wood. Breathing heavily, Piper did the same and pulled out the small, handheld shield from his back. Enough soldiers had arrived to follow suit and raise a protective barrier against incoming fire. A handful of archers stood on the flanks, waiting for any enemy foolish enough to peer down. More than one body fell from the walls, the price paid for trying to gain intelligence on the threat. Ropes went up and soldiers started scrambling up after.
On cue, another platoon of assault troops rushed the front gates. These soldiers were heavily armored and ready to bear the brunt of the enemy’s wrath. Piper dared a glance as the massive iron wedge began hammering the gates with axes. Shouting sounded out from within the redoubt as forces were shifted to the gates. Whoever commanded was convinced the gates were the main assault. Piper didn’t have time to dwell on it as it was his turn to grab the rope and climb.
Fighting was already breaking out atop the walls. A handful of bodies lay draped over the pointed wood. One was impaled. Most were defenders but a handful wore the Wolfsreik colors. Short sword in hand, Piper crested the top and dragged himself over. He was immediately confronted by a half-mad defender. Piper barely had time to raise his shield and block the blow. His enemy was quick, but he was more experienced. Piper dropped under the shield and stabbed into the defender’s unprotected stomach. Blood frothed on his lips before he slid down.
The battle was in full swing now. Piper caught his breath and surveyed the scene. His group’s primary objective was to swarm the walls and open the gates from the inside, thus allowing the rest of his force entry. The redoubt would fall in short order and the eastern campaign could finally draw to a close. The sheer amount of enemy soldiers massed at the gates put all of that in jeopardy. Piper opened his mouth to issue orders but was already behind. His captain was directing soldiers to strike the rear of the defense.
Their swords and axes hacked and slashed through the rear ranks, slaughtering dozens before the enemy managed to shift focus and defend. Even with the advantage of striking first, the Wolfsreik was heavily outnumbered and didn’t stand much of a chance at breaking through. Piper sheathed his short sword and drew his preferred long sword. The time had come for him to attack. Collecting a squad-sized element, Piper hurried around the top of the wall, coming down directly besides the now furious fighting at the gate. His soldiers were given one task: open the gates no matter what.
Piper charged down the short flight of wooden steps, followed closely by his brave twenty. They fell upon those few defenders at the gates and rushed to remove the massive bar blocking the gates. Piper cut down one fanatic before being forced backwards by a dual axe-wielding opponent. It had been too long since he last confronted a worthy opponent and Piper was soon reeling in the vain attempt at gaining the advantage.
He smelled partially chewed meat caught between his attacker’s teeth. Felt beads of sweat drip onto his hands and face. Piper stared into dark eyes filled with aggressive hatred and felt the strain of exhausted muscles as he tried to push back. All of his focus lay in the struggle just to survive. He feared he might have made a catastrophic mistake by insisting to join the assault. Lord Death’s chariot could be heard racing across the night sky.
Piper suddenly changed tactics. Giving in to his opponent’s strength, the Wolfsreik commander jerked back and sidestepped. Momentum forced his enemy ahead and it was all he could do to stop in time and compensate for the lack of resistance. Piper had just enough time to recover and raise his shield. Two quick blows jarred his forearm. Sparks danc
ed from his iron shield. Gritting his teeth, Piper launched into a furious counterattack.
Swords met. He attacked from a low guard, knowing it might prove his undoing, but this was close-quarter combat, not the open-field warfare he’d grown accustomed to since assuming command of the vanguard. It was intimate, far more personal, and Piper battled for his life. Every action was told in the eyes. Every move telegraphed without doubt. However much aggression his enemy bore, it was no match for the cold experience of a veteran. Piper eventually wore his enemy down and slipped past his guard.
His sword bit deeply, crunching bone in the right shoulder. Wounded, his enemy cried out and reeled back. Piper had the opening he needed. His sword moved like lightning. The tip caught at the base of the throat and plunged through the back of the neck. His enemy dropped in a pile of flesh, grasping his throat as blood pumped freely down his chest. No time to waste, Piper stepped over the dying man and cut down another from behind.
“Open the damned gates before we’re all killed!” he shouted above the roar.
Instinctively he knew that several of his assault teams were dead. Soldiers fought harder, desperate to clear the way and let in reinforcements. Eventually the defenders were subsumed, dead to the last. Piper pitched a shoulder into raising the heavy bar. Ten soldiers added their strength while the handful of others still capable of fighting defended them from the melee going on in the courtyard.
The bar lifted with a groan. Men strained. Dust and wood chips fell to the muddied ground. Finally freed, Piper’s group tossed the bar aside and hurried to pull the gates open. Scores of angry soldiers charged into the redoubt. Piper and the others barely had time to duck aside before they were trampled beneath heavy boots. With the gates open, the battle heated quickly and ended quicker. The defenders had no stomach for the level of violence the Wolfsreik brought. They fell by the dozen. Soon enough the enemy standard was ripped from the flag pole. The redoubt had fallen.
Even Gods Must Fall Page 20