Fort Covenant_Tales of the Seventh

by Marc Edelheit

  Using his shield longways, Asus hooked it between the top rungs and pushed with Stiger. The ladder resisted a moment more, then toppled backwards to the ground and over those below.

  “Nice work,” Stiger said, picking up his sword.

  “Thank—” A sword point exploded through Asus’s throat, blood spattering Stiger in a terrible spray. Asus toppled to the ground, a Rivan officer standing over the dead legionary.

  Impossibly, it was Crief. The lieutenant’s eyes widened in recognition, then narrowed.

  Stiger saw red.

  Roaring his rage, he charged.

  Crief wielded a long cavalry sword. The enemy officer swung downward, a vicious yet clumsy blow that Stiger blocked with ease. The two swords met in a ringing clang. Hand stinging from the impact, Stiger pushed Crief’s sword away. As the other attempted to recover, Stiger drove a fist into Crief’s jaw, snapping it back. Crief dropped his sword and stumbled back a couple of steps. Stiger was on him in a flash, driving his sword into Crief’s exposed arm. Crief screamed as Stiger opened up the arm to the bone.

  “I told you if I ever saw you again,” Stiger said, “I would give you some steel. Where’s your daddy now?”

  Cradling his injured arm, Crief took another step back and glanced around for aid. There was none.

  Stiger punched out again, this time aiming for the neck. Seeing the blade coming, Crief tried to duck back, but Stiger’s attack was lightning fast. The sword went in just enough to nick the artery. Blood immediately fountained from the wound.

  Crief staggered, hand gripping his ruined neck in a futile attempt to stop the flow. Blood began to run out of the enemy officer’s mouth. He stood there in stunned shock, choking. A moment later, the life left his eyes and he crumpled to the grass.

  Stiger stood staring at the body of his enemy. Crief had gotten no more than he deserved.

  The sound of the fighting crashed home, jarring Stiger awake to his surroundings. Dergo was the only man Stiger had led in who was still standing, and he was locked in a one-on-one fight. Stiger jumped to his aid, distracting Dergo’s opponent by landing a powerful blow along the man’s chest armor. It was enough for Dergo to slip in a strike, which dropped his opponent.

  “Behind you!” Dergo shouted.

  Stiger turned as two Rivan soldiers attacked him, one swinging a slashing attack. Stiger blocked it, the two blades coming together with a powerful ringing. His fingers went numb and his hand started to tingle. Stiger held on tight to his sword and forced the blow aside.

  A sword from the second attacker jabbed painfully into his side armor. Stiger took a step backward in an attempt to gain some space. Even as he did so, he blocked a strike from the first man. Their swords met again in a ringing clang that sent sparks flying into the air. Stiger flicked his gaze at the second man. He had started working his way around Stiger’s side, only to have Dergo engage him.

  Free now to face one opponent, Stiger stepped forward and punched out with his sword, even as he drew his dagger. The enemy soldier dodged Stiger’s strike and then lunged. Stiger again forced the strike aside, stepped in close, and stabbed with his dagger into the side of the neck. Stiger’s hand was immediately coated in warm wetness as the dagger went in deeply.

  The Rivan soldier dropped his sword, sighed once, and fell to the ground, where he twitched his last.

  Breathing heavily, Stiger looked around for Dergo and saw him tightly engaged. Stiger was about to step to his aid when motion from his left caught his attention. He looked and saw three Rivan soldiers several feet away and closing in. One pointed his sword at Stiger and said something to the others. Stiger could well imagine them relishing the idea of taking down an officer.

  Stiger dropped his dagger. He reached down and picked up a discarded shield, never taking his eyes off the three as they carefully closed the distance and fanned out. Stiger brought the shield up.

  The one who had initially spoken shouted and they leapt forward. Stiger took a step back and used his shield to block the first blow. He immediately pushed back, throwing his shoulder into it, and caught the man by surprise, sending him bodily backward to the ground. Before Stiger could fully face the other two, there was a flash of reflected light. Something glinted as it flew in front of Stiger’s face. There was a meaty thwack. A dagger had taken one of his opponents squarely in the throat. Eyes impossibly wide, the man staggered like he was drunk before falling to his knees and then toppling over. Stiger caught a glimpse of Eli to his left and assumed it had been the elf’s dagger, but there was no time to think on it. He focused his attention on the man before him.

  Stiger’s opponent attacked, forcing him to block with his shield where the sword hammered home. The strike was communicated painfully to his arm behind the shield. Stiger jabbed out where he thought the other’s leg was and felt the tip slide home, sinking in several inches. The Rivan soldier collapsed to a knee, crying out. Stiger’s next thrust silenced his voice evermore.

  Dergo had dispatched his man. In the process he lost his sword, which had been ripped from his grasp as his opponent tumbled down the rampart. Screaming madly, Dergo jumped on the man Stiger had first knocked down as he was attempting to stand. He pummeled the man in the face, hitting him again and again until he slumped back to the ground.

  Stiger turned around, looking for the next threat, and saw Eli engaged with a Rivan soldier. The elf wielded two wicked-looking daggers that could almost have been described as short swords. Eli’s opponent did not stand a chance. The elf sidestepped and danced aside, avoiding a strike before landing one of his own, nearly decapitating the man.

  There was a shout from behind. Stiger turned and saw Tiro’s bunch push forward, cutting down the last of the Rivan facing them. They surged around him and descended upon those still pressing Tride’s group.

  “That was a bold move, sir,” Tiro said, coming up. The sergeant was breathing heavily as he looked over Stiger, who was also just as winded. “You saved the wall, sir.”

  Stiger glanced down at the body of the enemy officer he had killed. “I got Crief, but not before he killed Asus.”

  “I saw the bastard come over the wall,” Tiro said and spat on the body. “I could not get at him. Shame about Asus. He was a good man.”

  “Crief should never have come back,” Stiger said as the fighting around them died down somewhat. He felt a sense of satisfaction. The breach had been contained. The imperials still held the wall.

  “Great gods,” Tiro gasped, abruptly looking past Stiger.

  Stiger followed the sergeant’s gaze to the east wall. The defenders had broken, with men throwing down their shields and running for their lives. The enemy was coming over the barricade at several points, and in large numbers.

  He glanced around, gaze sweeping the western wall. With the breach contained, the enemy were still trying to overcome the defenders, but they were managing to hold. Stiger was surprised at how few defenders there were holding the wall. Bodies, both friend and foe, were seemingly everywhere.

  “Sir.” Knuckles bloody, Dergo pointed at the southern wall. The defenders were abandoning their positions as well, as were those to the north.

  “It’s over, sir,” Tiro breathed, and in his tone Stiger heard defeat.

  Chapter Twenty

  Stiger could not believe his eyes. With men running every which way, the scene before him was one of utter chaos. He was unsure what could be done.

  “Whatever you plan on doing,” Eli said, coming up beside him, “I suggest you do it quickly.”

  Stiger glanced at Eli.

  “Unless it is giving up, of course,” Eli said, with a sour expression. “I don’t much care for that. You aren’t the kind of man to surrender, are you?”

  The elf’s words were offensive and stung. His anger flared. Then it hit him. Eli’s words had been intentionally barbed.

  No, he would not give in. Stiger knew what he had to do.

  “It’s not over,” Stiger growled at Eli and started
moving down the rampart. “On me! Form on me!” Stiger waved his sword in the air and shouted for all he was worth. “Form on me! Hurry now.”

  Tiro shoved men toward Stiger while also taking up the call.

  “Form on the lieutenant!”

  Stiger picked up a shield as men from across the wall began to rally to him, at first coming in ones and twos and then a steady stream. Stiger glanced back at the wall where Asus’s body lay, along with so many others. For just a moment, they had succeeded in holding the wall. But that small victory, purchased at such a high price, had been fleeting. Unhindered, the enemy were now freely climbing over the barricade.

  “Form up!” Stiger roared as a few auxiliaries ran for the safety of the keep. One of the fugitives was Lieutenant Tride. He shot Stiger a guilt-filled look but continued on.

  “Tiro, I want two ranks,” Stiger ordered.

  “You heard the lieutenant,” Tiro shouted. “Two ranks, quickly.”

  Stiger estimated he had at least thirty men in his scratch formation. The enemy, having gained the wall, was thoroughly disorganized. He figured they would not likely challenge an organized formation, which was what he had just created. At least, they wouldn’t until an officer or sergeant imposed some semblance of control. With the defense of the fort having collapsed, Stiger suspected the enemy’s first impulse would be to loot.

  His thinking was rapidly confirmed. Stiger was sickened, but also at the same time relieved, to see the Rivan soldiers who had made it over the barricade behind him begin looting the dead. It bought him the time he needed to act.

  Stiger swept his gaze around the fort. Everywhere he looked, there was the enemy. They were looting, wildly running down the last few isolated auxiliaries, or locked in individual combat. One of the barracks to the left had caught fire and begun to burn fiercely. Yet amidst the chaos, Stiger’s formation was a sea of ordered calm as the last men stepped into place.

  Stiger glanced over at the keep. He saw Merritt, along with a handful standing before the entrance, struggling against a mob of the enemy. Stiger spotted Varus in the mix. Lieutenant Tride was almost to them when he was attacked from behind and brutally cut down. He had never seen his attacker, who set about looting the lieutenant’s body. Stiger felt a mix of disgust and sadness. Had Tride’s courage not fled, he would yet live.

  “Your orders, sir?” Tiro sounded nervous. That unsettled Stiger more than a little. He had never known Tiro to be anything but steady.

  “We’re going to advance in good order to the keep,” Stiger shouted at the mixed bag of auxiliaries and the handful of legionaries he had formed up. Stiger pointed with his sword. “The keep is safety, and that is where we’re going! We’re gonna murder the bastards. We’re gonna kill each and every one we come across until we get to the keep. What are we going to do?”

  “Kill,” the handful of Stiger’s legionaries in the scratch formation shouted. Without the auxiliaries adding their voices, it sounded pitiful.

  “I can’t hear you!”

  “Kill!” they shouted in unison, the auxiliaries joining in. “Kill, kill, kill!”

  “That’s bloody better,” Stiger roared at them. “Advaaance!”

  The formation started forward.

  “Tiro,” Stiger said, “pull a couple of men to watch the formation’s back. I don’t want any of the enemy coming up on us from behind.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tiro said as Stiger turned his attention back to the advance across the parade ground. Holding his shield forward, Stiger joined the end of the line, Eli at his side.

  Merritt and the handful of fighters before the keep were hard-pressed. An enemy sergeant had appeared, leading an organized section of men against the defenders. The prefect was doing his best to hold the way open for as long as possible, but that window was fast closing.

  Wounded were streaming in ones and twos through the keep’s door. Stiger caught a glimpse of a limping Hollux being helped into the keep. Pazzullo was assisting his lieutenant.

  Stiger saw Merritt glance his way and wave with his sword before turning back to his defense. Stiger considered ordering the formation to advance at the double, but decided against it. Had he been leading only his men from the Seventh, he could have trusted them to remain organized, but the majority of his formation was made up of auxiliaries Stiger did not know. So, he kept the pace what it was—slow and steady.

  The distance closed—thirty yards, twenty, ten. With each step there seemed fewer and fewer defenders before the keep. Merritt and his men were in trouble. Then the prefect went down, stabbed clean through the leg. Varus stepped forward and stopped the killing blow with his sword before deftly flicking the blade around and jabbing the tip of his weapon into his opponent’s arm. Unseen, a Rivan soldier punched his sword into Varus’s side. The corporal shuddered from the force of the blow and then turned to face his attacker and stabbed back, taking the man in the throat.

  “What are we going to do?” Stiger roared to his men.

  “Kill, kill, kill!” The shout drowned out the fighting. Those pressing the handful of defenders just steps away turned in surprise at the formation’s approach. Then Stiger’s front rank made contact, hammering away with shields and jabbing with swords.

  “Two inches of steel is all you need,” Tiro called. “Just like you do with the whores, give ‘em love with your two inches, boys!”

  Stiger’s line smashed into the enemy, cutting down six or seven, including the sergeant, before the rest turned and broke, running for their lives.

  “Hold!” Stiger called. “Stay in line there.” Exhausted and nearly spent, the men didn’t need much encouragement and responded.

  “Dress yourself on your neighbor,” Tiro roared. “Straighten out that line or so help me I will put you on a charge.”

  The formation quickly became ordered.

  “Wheel right!” Stiger brought his formation around and stopped it with the shield wall facing outward and their backs to the door of the keep.

  “Tiro.” Stiger turned to him. “Use the second rank. Get what wounded you can into the keep. Hurry.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tiro said.

  Stiger scanned around the parade ground. The enemy had completely overrun the fort, but they were still terribly disorganized. Looting was clearly more important than overcoming the last of the defenders. The Rivan soldiers wanted nothing to do with the organized formation standing before the keep. They gave Stiger and his men a wide berth while they searched for plunder.

  Satisfied they were out of immediate danger, Stiger went in search of the prefect. He found him lying on the ground, an auxiliary at his side. The prefect’s cloak had been used as a tourniquet on his leg.

  “Nice move, Stiger.” Sweat beaded Merritt’s brow. “Get the men into the keep, will you?”

  “I will, sir.”

  “Don’t give up the keep,” Merritt said. “I may shortly pass out. Hold unto the last. We hold out for as long as possible. I will not end up a prisoner again. Understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Stiger said and then, with the auxiliary’s assistance, helped the prefect up and onto his feet. Supported by his man, Merritt made his way through the door and into the keep.

  Stiger was about to order the men inside when he spied Varus lying on the ground a few feet from where the prefect had been. Tiro was at the corporal’s side. He looked up, grief etched upon his face as Stiger approached. The sergeant puffed out his cheeks and slowly shook his head.

  Stiger stood there in shock, looking down on the corporal’s body. There was a deep gash high on Varus’s left thigh. Blood stained the ground around him.

  “Sir.” Tiro stood. He gripped Stiger’s shoulder and shook him. “Sir . . . it is time we bring the boys into the keep.”

  “But Varus,” Stiger said. He did not want to leave the corporal behind. He could not.

  “He’s dead, sir.” Tiro’s voice was gruff and filled with raw emotion. “It is time to look after the living.”

  Stige
r pulled his gaze from Varus to his formation. “Get the men inside.”

  Tiro snapped out an order as Stiger turned back to Varus. The men quickly made their way into the keep, leaving Stiger and Tiro alone.

  “Come on, sir, Varus would want us to live.” Tiro took hold of Stiger’s arm and guided him into the keep.

  Several men slammed the door closed and dropped its heavy locking bar in place once they were inside. Stiger saw Nera tending to a wounded man. She looked up and scanned the room, clearly looking for Varus. When she could not find him, her eyes fell on Tiro. The old veteran held her gaze and then looked uncomfortably away.

  Shoulders shaking, she covered her face with a bloody rag and sank down onto the floor.

  “We need to brace the door,” Pazzullo said. The sergeant’s armor was covered with blood, and judging from the cuts on his face and arm, some of it was even his own. “They are bound to try to force it.”

  Stiger gave a nod and glanced around the crowded makeshift hospital ward. Everyone, including the wounded, was looking in his direction. Hollux, with a pasty pallor, sat in a corner holding his leg with his hand. Blood bubbled up from between his fingers. Lieutenant Teevus was also there. He too had been wounded and looked to be unconscious. Stiger’s eyes fell upon Lears for a moment, who glared back while cradling his broken arm. Prefect Merritt was nowhere to be seen. Stiger figured he had been carried upstairs. Not counting any of the walking wounded, Stiger had perhaps thirty men, twelve of whom were from his company. It shocked him that was all he had left. At the same time, it reignited his anger.

  “Right,” Stiger said, thinking fast and pushing his grief for Varus aside. The men needed his strength. “This is what we are going to do. I want the wounded moved upstairs. Break up the tables and chairs to help brace the door. Any man who can carry a sword and shield is to remain here. Pazzullo and Tiro, find anything that is heavy. Select six men and have them start hauling whatever they find up to the roof. When the enemy tries to force the door, we can give them a nice surprise. Also, see if there is any lamp oil . . . We can throw it over and ignite it.” Stiger sucked in a breath. “The Third is on her way, boys. We need to hold for as long as possible.” He swept his gaze around the room. It wasn’t much, but he had given them a little hope. “Now, it won’t take the bastards long to get organized, so we need to hurry. Are there any questions?”