by MJ Blehart
Cam understood. She did have a way with people, he was loathe to admit. “She knows?”
Dak nodded his head once in response. “I was a faceless, nameless raider, til her previous deputy got careless. She noticed me, pressed me into service as her
Second. I told her everything, and she still took me.”
“No one in this group is without a past, huh?”
Dak responded solemnly, “Indeed.”
Cam rode wordlessly a moment or two. Quietly, tentatively, he asked, “Are we friends, Dak?”
“I’ve never had many friends, Cam Murtallan,” Dak responded. “But I’d count you among them.”
“Thank you, Dak Amviir.”
They rode on in silence.
*****
Nadav couldn’t help but be nervous. Not only was this a delicate operation, but it was unlike anything he’d had to do before.
He worked on breathing much like Lyrra-Sharron had trained him to, when concentrating before using the sword. He grimaced slightly as he thought about that. He was more than adequate with his rapier, but he would never equal his master, Lyrra-Sharron, in ability.
His thoughts drifted back to the last words he’d had with his father. Angry words, as Nadav was given no choice, and was to go immediately into training in the foreign ministry. He wanted no part of politics, and had tried to join the army. But Lord Norvil Rivarr had other plans, and made certain his son could not join up. Nadav had left, and took his few possessions and began to travel.
Nadav departed when he was sixteen, and had only been a cadet to Lyrra-Sharron as a rapier student for a year. While only a little more than a year junior to the Princess, he was more than a decade behind her in his study of the sword. But his father had been a proficient combatant at Nadav’s age, and the departure from training would be perceived as another slight to his sire.
He’d traveled to half the nations on the continent, where he discovered that his unassuming build, reddish-brown hair and green eyes let him blend in anywhere, teaching Nadav the most intricate details about each place he visited.
When he returned, he heard the stories of the Princess and her Falcon Raiders. It wasn’t long before he made contact, and joined up.
At first, he’d been just a common soldier. But he was treated well, and Lyrra-Sharron even consented to continue his rapier training. Then came the mission that took her and Dak Amviir to Gara-Sharron, and Nadav was given command.
Assigning Torman to Tarmollo, he’d then found a third location, and left a small contingent of Falcon Raiders there. For his actions, upon her return Lyrra-Sharron kept Nadav a part of her senior officers.
He returned his thoughts to the present. Nadav admitted to himself that this plan would just not allow his mind to be still.
He heard rustling in the bushes beside him, and drew a long knife, but relaxed when Morick came through.
“I see them, Nadav,” he reported. “Coming south. About a dozen wagons, and two-dozen Sharron soldiers. Plus another dozen private guards.”
“Damn. We are outnumbered. How long til they get here?”
Morick thought a moment, “Fifteen minutes.”
Nadav considered the odds. “Okay, we have ten archers, two crossbows, and a bunch of swords. Take a half dozen, Morick, and get to the head. Right after we attack, charge. When you ‘realize’ you are outnumbered, run for it. Draw them off. See if you can get clear, then.”
“You’re not gonna be able to take all the carts, Nadav,” Morick pointed out to him.
He sighed, shaking his head. “I know. So we burn some.”
“That’s not the plan,” Morick reminded him.
Nadav looked to his second. “We are supposed to be different from Torman’s group. They pillage, we pillage and burn. Same effect.”
Morick bowed his head at that.
“Before you go, tell the others to wait for my signal. The swordsmen get to take on the private guards. You set?”
“Yes,” Morick responded.
“Go. I’ll signal when it is time.”
He was alone again, and now even more unhappy with the plan.
It was a large road, a major thoroughfare between Sharron and An-Quarvan. The only traffic on the road was the approaching caravan, as civilian travel between the two nations was not a regular occurrence.
The sound reached him first. In the distance, the clacking of hooves on stones along the dirt highway, the creak of wagon wheels, and the occasional voice could be heard moving towards his hiding spot.
They finally came into view. Two soldiers in the lead, just ahead of the column. Then the body of the convoy. Nadav hoped Morick would take the scouts out before his part of the attack.
The caravan was nearly where the Falcon Raiders planned for them to be. As they got closer, Nadav noted that the hired guards all wore simple leather jerkins, and appeared tough and scarred. Brawlers, most likely, not overly skilled professional brutes. It was the soldiers he was concerned with.
The convoy was right where the attackers wanted them.
Nadav gave the signal, the whoop of a non-native bird, and arrows lashed out at the Sharron Army soldiers.
From just ahead, loud cries as Morick led his group in an attack. They made an awful lot of noise, and the surviving soldiers eyed them angrily as they came into full view.
They attacking Falcon Raiders came to a halt, and Morick made a point of counting soldiers. Overacting, his eyes grew wide, and he screamed “Retreat!” and ran down the road, the others pounding after him.
It was a good performance, Nadav had to admit. Eight soldiers charged after them, as the other survivors eyed the woods, looking for the hidden archers.
Nadav gave the signal again, and his group charged out.
They put up a hard fight, the nine Sharron Army soldiers that remained. Nadav heard several cries, but could do nothing, faced with a pair of hired thugs.
His rapier was drawn, and his opponents had stout cudgels. But Nadav was quick, ducking beneath an attack and slicing his assailants’ belly. He stepped to the side, and ran the second through the chest.
Nadav looked around himself, and saw he had no one left to face. He turned, and found utter chaos.
The Sharron Army soldiers were dead, some still on horseback, some having fallen to the ground. He noticed three of his own men, down and not moving. The merchants and their hired guards were nowhere to be seen.
One of his people, Radoln, staggered up to him, his thigh bleeding from a knife wound.
“They’re on the run, Nadav. We couldn’t capture ‘em, half the merchants were armed, too. And we got wounded.”
Nadav cursed, and shouted for the survivors to come to him.
They’d begun with two dozen. Not counting Morick and his five, they stood now thirteen.
“Alright, move fast. Get the wounded and the dead on the last three wagons. Turn them around and get to the dump point. Gravin, Julonn, Salman, Voriff, Eldan, and Talad, see to it. Move fast! The rest of you, burn it. All of it.” He looked around. “We will take the soldiers’ horses and run. Move!”
While the dead and wounded were loaded onto the northern-most three wagons, flames quickly overtook the rest. Nadav ran back and forth, making certain they were done and able to get clear as swiftly as possible.
Under cover of heavy smoke, they rode north hard, turning off the road through the woods to a small clearing, chosen as their dump site.
They waited for Morick and his company to return.
Nadav was becoming impatient, and he wanted to go back. But his duty was to the mission, so he remained, growing more concerned.
The sun had nearly set, and darkness would come soon. Nadav could not await Morick much longer. They’d have to be away.
Of his thirteen surviving, two more had died of their wounds. Only seven of the remaining Falcon Raiders were un-injured.
And still, there was no sign of Morick and his men.
As night came upon them, Nadav’s wor
ry turned to anger, and he made ready to order them off.
A lone man rode into the clearing from the road. They’d raised their weapons, ready to fight, until they recognized Bormann, one of Morick’s people.
He was clearly weary, and wounded. He was grateful when Julonn took his horse, and was unsteady as he got to his feet.
“Bormann,” Nadav addressed him. “What happened?”
“We turned to face them, after almost a quarter mile,” he wheezed. Someone offered him a waterskin, which he accepted gratefully. “They were tough. They got Pangar, Truman and Ven quick. Morick, Urvil and I fought hard, but we could barely hold them. Urvil had the last two totally occupied, and made Morick and I jump horses. We saw him run the last one through, as we rode off, but he took a knife to the gut and was slain in the process.”
He took another drink, and sighed, sinking to the ground. “Morick was worse wounded than he let on. Halfway here, he toppled off his horse. He died in my arms.” A tear came to the corner of Bormann’s left eye. “We almost made it back together. I…I barely made it at all.”
Nadav stood, quietly asking Radoln to get Bormann cleaned up, and ready to move. He walked to the edge of the clearing.
When he was alone, Nadav swore to himself. He considered this a failure in his leadership.
He had chosen to take only two dozen, and left Varnon at the base with the remaining eight, the newest recruits among his crew. Perhaps, even as unskilled as they would have been, the numbers might have made a difference. But now it was over.
Nadav’s mission may have been a technical success, but the cost had certainly been too high.
Chapter 17
Dak held the looking glass to his eye. It was almost totally dark, and the fires on the walls of the barracks were the brightest source of light.
The fortress at Brivarn was a large affair. Housing two companies of the Sharron Army, it was a defensive post against a southern invasion from the Medaelians, or any landing off the ocean to the south.
The Town of Brivarn, to the west, was a walled trading post, as well as the location for the Southern Sharron University. The school was a well respected place of learning, having produced some of the greater thinkers since The Falling, outside of the near legendary schools of Anaria and Afpar.
About four miles separated the two, and the barracks was built upon a plateau rising ten feet above the woodlands that surrounded it. The forest had been cleared for nearly a hundred yards all around, and the walls stood a good twenty feet. Easily defended, hard to attack without terrible casualties. That was the case in daylight.
At night, fires were lit. It marked the location of the barracks, and provided a defense against attack. But it also ruined the night vision of the soldiers atop the walls, and though the blind spots this made for were relatively small, they were enough to be exploited with the proper planning.
Thorough planning was a big part of the Falcon Raiders operations. The average military commander considered a night attack to be a large waste of time and effort, as coordinating a battle in the dark was difficult at best, and moving about with torches and lanterns provided wall-mounted archers with easy targets. Worse yet, stumbling around in the dark was an easy way to injure more of your own soldiers than the enemy would. All in all, not the best way to win a fight.
Lyrra-Sharron was well educated, and not the average military commander. Neither was Dak Amviir. Together, the unconventional plan they’d dreamt up would be an interesting study if it worked.
Of course, they had every intention of it working successfully.
Dak stepped back into the woods, placing the looking glass in his saddlebag.
“Report,” Lyrra-Sharron commanded quietly.
“Before they lit the torches, I caught a dozen walking the walls. I marked arrow slits every ten feet or so.”
“One of our people from Brivarn reported a company rode out this morning, going north,” Lyrra-Sharron reminded him. “No doubt joining the search for us, though it is possible they are reinforcing our soldiers at the Medaelian border, if what we have heard is to be believed.”
“Let’s hope that whatever it’s about, they have less to defend the barracks with,” Dak stated. His tone changed “We’re all in position. It’s nearly time,”
They both turned to look at the Sorcerer. Cam stood, arms crossed, waiting. “I only need about two minutes.”
Lyrra-Sharron took a deep breath. “Alright. Let us proceed.”
Dak, Cam, and Lyrra-Sharron moved back to the edge of the woods. Cam would need to see their objective to do what they had planned. Dak and Lyrra-Sharron both hoped he was right about what he could do.
They were on the edge of the treeline, looking at the fortress. Cam sat down, beginning to focus. Lyrra-Sharron drew a rapier, and Dak held a small hand crossbow, waiting.
Cam concentrated, took in the fortress before him, and then closed his eyes. He began examining his power, thinking about what he wished to achieve. It was not a very complicated magic required.
He immediately found the sphere of light and color that was his power made material. Cam looked over the opening, felt along its edges, noting how much it would allow him, really analyzing if what he wanted to make happen was possible.
He could do it, he was completely certain.
Cam paused, took a deep breath, then looked to Lyrra-Sharron.
“I’m ready.”
Lyrra-Sharron glanced towards him, and bobbed her head once in response. She looked now to Dak.
“Give the signal.”
Dak pointed the hand crossbow up. He fired, the tip scraping across the flint as it ascended. Just above the road to the gate, it burst into a small blue flame that was there in only the blink of an eye.
From the road, flaming arrows soared out at the wooden gate, now sealed. Several struck, and the portcullis began to smolder.
Shouts from atop the walls, and missiles flew out at the invisible attackers from the arrow slits nearest the gate.
More fiery arrows responded, striking the massive door again. It was well and truly beginning to burn.
Another storm of arrows lashed out from the slits, joined by more from the top of the battlements. There was much shouting, and movement could be seen atop the walls between the flames, soldiers repositioning near the apparent attackers.
While this mayhem began, Cam had sunk into a semi-meditative state, concentrating on his power. He slowly chanted in the ancient tongue, requesting his spell. He was far more methodical than he’d ever been with the casting, and was certain he could understand nearly all of the ancient language he quietly bespoke. And with the conclusion, feeling the energy build to a crescendo, he prepared to release it.
“Incendere.” he spoke quite clearly.
It took a moment to be noticeable. At first, it was hard to believe. Soon, it was unmistakable.
The torches became brighter. Hotter. Bigger. It was soon almost blinding how powerful the fires became. Not only those atop the walls, but any burning within the barracks, Cam had no doubt.
Both Lyrra-Sharron and Dak were clearly taken aback. Cam stood, observing his handiwork.
“Not bad,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’d probably start the stone afire at full power.”
Dak drew his sword, and Cam took up his staff. Lyrra-Sharron gestured towards the barracks. “Let us go.”
Crouched low to the ground, Dak ran across the open space towards the wall. Once there, he stayed against it, between arrow slits. A moment later Lyrra-Sharron followed. Cam took a deep breath, and ran across the intervening space to join them.
Cam felt his heart thumping in his chest, nervous about being seen and shot. He felt the cool air brushing his face as he crossed the field, heard the crackling of the flames, the twang of bows and crossbows, and conflicted shouts of the soldiers of the barracks. Finally, he reached the wall, the smooth, night-chilled stone reassuring him that he was relatively safe.
“Ok, we’re this far. Wh
ere are they?” Cam asked, taking hold of his breathing.
As if in answer, Andim and Kallan lead their group into view, for only a moment, then disappeared again into the woods along the side of the road.
The blazing gates were throne open, and several dozen soldiers ran out. Some threw buckets of water to put out the flames, while others charged into the woods to face the opposing force. A sound tactic, leaving a solid defense.
If it had been a frontal assault…which it was not.
Dak stepped away from the wall, swinging a grappling hook at the end of a long rope. The hooks were covered in leather and cloth, to prevent any sound when they hit the walls. The torches made it almost daylight, and when Dak sighted his intended target, he tossed the hook up quickly. He pulled, making the rope taut in his hands.
“Go!” he hissed.
Lyrra-Sharron sheathed her rapier, and grabbed the rope. She climbed quickly. Reaching the top, she clearly winced at the intense flame. But it would not be as hot as it looked, being half fire, half illusion. As she’d wanted. In a moment, she was over the wall. She gestured to the men below.
“Go!” Dak hissed again.
Cam started up the rope, pausing as Dak wedged the staff into his belt at his back. He scaled up as fast as he could, elated at his own strength. Soon he was at the top, freeing the staff first, then pulling himself over the wall.
The battlements were wide enough for a small cart. The spell had rendered the night powerless, and it was clear the fortress was well maintained. The odor of the torch oil permeated the air.
It only took Cam a moment to observe the soldiers above the gate, not seeing the intruders scaling the walls behind them, still seeking the attackers.
It took him only a moment more to see that they had not arrived completely unnoticed, as soldiers were running towards him and Lyrra-Sharron from both sides.
“Spread out!” she cried, drawing her second rapier.
Cam faced the other direction, spinning his staff. The first soldier to reach him had a longsword. He struck, but Cam blocked. Ducking, he swept the soldier’s legs out from under him. As he fell, Cam stood, leaned in, and bashed the man’s head with the end of his staff.