All the Syldoon spanned their crossbows, and half of them walked into the alley as well, disappearing into the shadows, while most of the remainder moved off into the opposite alley. Clearly, we were intending an ambush of some kind. Assuming he was correct and there was someone to ambush.
Braylar summoned Vendurro over, and having nowhere else to go and following the advice to stick close to the sergeant, I jogged after, careful to keep the crossbow pointed toward the ground, but not directly at my feet. I’d nearly discharged the weapon accidentally more times than I could count, so if it ever happened, hitting my own foot was preferable to shooting a Syldoon or Memoridon, which would result in a great deal more pain for me.
The captain was having a low conversation with his two lieutenants and remaining sergeant, the mail drape still obscuring most of his face, which was no less disconcerting out here in the open as it had been in the confines of the stable. I overheard Hewspear ask, “Do you expect them to come down Broadbeef Lane, Captain?”
Braylar nodded, his mail tinkling ever so slightly. “I do, though I can’t be entirely certain they won’t approach down Furl Street. In the very crooked and maddening layout of Alespell, it also leads to the Grieving Dog, though at an angle to Broadbeef, intersecting just east of the inn. But all… indications are they come down Broadbeef.” He turned toward Vendurro and pointed toward the alley where the horses had been led. “You made sure that actually leads somewhere, yes?” Vendurro nodded. “Good. I hope not to have use of them, but should we need to retreat, it proves awfully difficult in a dead end.”
He led us to the other alley, opposite the mounts. While I had no wish to fight at all, as I was clearly only marginally better than inept, and would only be more of a danger to our company if I attempted to do so from horseback, I had misgivings about leaving my horse, even in another alley. It tolerated me, and it was far faster than I would be running if it came time to flee.
Braylar stopped just inside the entrance to the alley. Mulldoos was a little further in, and when a rat darted out from behind a barrel, he stepped on its back, breaking it with a crunch, ending its life with nary a squeak. If it had brethren, they were smart enough to stay put. I moved next to Braylar, but not so close that I crowded him. “I don’t presume to know much about combat—”
“Truly? You carry yourself like a puissant champion of a thousand battles.”
“But why have you chosen to dismount and fight on foot? If we have to fight, that is.”
His hand drifted to his left side, fingers idly tapping the haft of Blood-sounder. Even with his face and scowl hidden by the aventail, there was no disguising the irritation in his voice. “We will have to fight. Make no mistake. It is more… absolute now. And as to the how of it, perhaps you failed to notice, but the chief virtue of a horse is speed and mobility. Neither of which you can put to any use in these narrow and crowded avenues, especially once the denizens start milling about. We would only get in each other’s way here, unless we headed to the thoroughfare, by the central plaza. But then, hiding twenty horses is awfully challenging, yes? Which makes setting an ambush decidedly difficult. Now be silent. Idle chatter also proves an impediment to surprise. Beyond which, it is incredibly annoying.”
We waited, and much like waiting for Henlester’s underpriest to show himself at the temple, it was about the least calm anticipation I could imagine. I tried to distract myself from the fact that our lives were very likely hanging in the balance or could be snuffed out in mere moments by focusing on the small details around me, but given my state of mind, all I dwelt on were things unpleasant, uncomfortable, and nearly unbearable. The heavy stench of urine in the alley from animals, drunks, or thieves, that was like a damp blanket wrapped around my head. The dead rat’s siblings, nibbling away at decay and rot in the deep shadows and the droppings and most rotten leavings even unfit for them. The pocked and crumbling wall at my back that had surely been pissed on, as it felt like barely congealed powder and paste. The fact that the last time I sat waiting like this, I at least had Lloi there to keep me company, but now there were only the deadly Syldoon and even more mysterious or perplexing Memoridons.
It was almost better to think of the impending battle and bloodshed.
Braylar turned to me. “Ready your weapon, Arki. When we move out, stay near Vendurro until that proves impossible, then remain in the rear. But do not loose the bolter unless you absolutely have to and you are in mortal peril. And maybe not even then. I’m still not sure I trust you not to shoot someone I like in the face.”
Or maybe urine and decay were preferable.
Suddenly Braylar raised a hand. I wondered if he sensed the approach through Bloodsounder, but then I realized why—the very faint but detectable sound of many feet on the cobblestones of Broadbeef Lane. They weren’t marching or tromping, and any other time of day, the sound would have been lost amid the clamor of other noises. As it was even with all senses alert, it was still very difficult to hear the approach of the men. I looked between some crates, saw them heading west on Broadbeef toward the Grieving Dog, passing the intersection with Bulwark. They were armed men, to be certain, and many in mail hauberks as far as I could tell. Just as the captain had predicted. Foreseen. All of them were moving as quietly as men could while in armor in a city before it truly wakes up.
I was counting them as they passed and disappeared from view when I noticed something else that threw me off. They were all wearing baldrics. As most of them were right-handed and had their swords and daggers on their left, I did catch one of them turning to look down Bulwark and glimpsed the horn handing on the end of the baldric on his other hip.
So it was Hornmen and not Brunesmen approaching stealthily with intent to capture or kill us—there were at least thirty soldiers. Possibly more. It seemed the Hornmen thought their jurisdiction included Alespell inns after all, or at least they were willing to risk Brune’s wrath in taking the Syldoon.
I was certain Braylar must have noted the baldrics as well, but just in case he hadn’t, I heard Vendurro whisper from right behind my shoulder, “Not Brune’s boys at all, Cap. You sure do know how to piss off them Hornmen, though. Real glad we ain’t still in bed.”
Braylar turned toward me as he responded. “It would indeed be a bad day to still be abed.” While the dawn light was working its way down the buildings, it didn’t penetrate the alley at all, and even if it had, with his face obscured by mail and his eyes lost in shadow, I couldn’t make out the slightest expression, but I could feel the malevolence in the stare. The fact that I only heard it somehow made it even worse.
I had advocated sparing the young Hornman in the grass, and I had been spotted by him in the bazaar. I had trouble swallowing, realizing that whatever blood was spilled this day would be in large part due to me.
“Where are their horses?” I asked in a croak.
Vendurro replied, “Probably got them stowed a couple blocks away. Figure easier to sneak up on foot, guessing.”
A Syldoon stepped out from a doorway near the intersection that I hadn’t even known was there. He’d been ten feet from all the soldiers who’d passed. He gave some hand signal that meant nothing to me, which clearly put me in the minority, as it immediately set us in motion. Braylar stepped out into Bulwark, crossbow still relaxed but ready to dispatch death from a distance. We followed him out, and without another word, he turned away from Broadbeef and started walking pretty quickly in the opposite direction. This didn’t seem an oddity to anyone else except me either, as the Syldoon fell in behind him and we were all on the move, even if it seemed to be going the wrong way. I tried holding my crossbow like the soldiers around me, so if it somehow discharged, it would angle up and away from anyone in the company. Though the same couldn’t be said for anyone who happened to pop their head out a second story window to empty a chamber pot or see what the commotion was about. Still, it was smarter than aiming it at my feet.
When we got to the end of the block though, the decision
to head in this direction made more sense. We turned onto Furl Street, heading northwest, and kept up a brisk pace as it slowly angled toward the Grieving Dog as well.
Closing in on the intersection, Braylar slowed down and crept closer to the facades and locked doorways which were still resisting the dawn with all the stark shadowiness they could muster. As the street slowly curved toward Broadbeef, I had to fight off the sudden and mad urge to laugh. Skulking through the shadows was like being a boy, playing Stalk the Stalkers, only the men were armed with real weapons, not sticks, and blood was about to be spilled. Quite a bit of it.
As we approached the intersection, I was sure we would be heard, just as we had heard the Hornmen. While our party wasn’t as large, and we were attempting to move with stealth, armor can’t be quieted completely, and there were still quite a few of us. But as we crept to the end of the building on Furl street, I realized two things: we had been expecting them and listening intently, while they were expecting to raid an inn without men sneaking up on them; and the Grieving Dog seemed to be occupying the Hornmen’s complete attention.
They all had their backs turned to us, as they stopped in front of the main entrance, with the leader gesturing toward the stables we had recently left.
We stepped out onto Broadbeef and approached. The moment was at hand. As commanded, I stayed near the rear of the group, not far from the Memoridons, careful to keep my hand away from the long steel trigger, even if the crossbow was pointed up.
The Hornmen seemed ready to begin their raid to capture or kill the handful of Syldoon they assumed were inside. They clearly didn’t expect those same men to attack them from the rear just then.
Syldoon spread out into a single line, and Braylar brought his crossbow up and sighted down the length, and the other Syldoon did as well. That left the Memoridons and myself as a much smaller second line. Skeelana looked at me, and seeing that I still wasn’t aiming my crossbow at a Hornman, raised both pierced eyebrows in surprise before returning her attention to the silhouettes in front of us as the first volley was loosed. She seemed remarkably calm for someone unarmored in an armed conflict.
We were less than a hundred paces away, but the Syldoon were excellent shots on horse, and twice as able lining up their aim on foot—I don’t think many missed their targets, even without much light to aim by. While the Hornmen Braylar drove off in the Green Sea had been poorly armored in gambesons, many in this group had hauberks. So while more than a dozen of them were struck by bolts and cried out or grunted, only a handful dropped to the ground, most in the gambesons as far as I could tell, though some in mail appeared to have been hit in the backs of the legs. It took the Hornmen a moment to recover from the shock of being ambushed, but they figured out the threat was from the rear quickly enough, all of them spinning around, shields up.
Meanwhile, the Syldoon worked the devil’s claws on their weapons with frightening dexterity. I’d seen Braylar and two other Syldoon manage the speed spanning on horseback, but without that added difficulty it was amazing how fast the crossbows were loaded again, the bolts dropped into the slots and the ropes drawn back with alarming alacrity, and the claws folded back out of the way as the crossbows came up to bear again.
I expected to see the Hornmen run, or at least scatter for cover, sidling up against the buildings or hiding behind posts and barrels. But the leader of the Hornmen ordered those with shields to form a wall and the rest with only spears to fall in behind, and the wall was already moving forward when the second volley hit home.
At this range, there was no possibility of arcing any bolts over the shields in hopes of hitting the men behind. Several bolts thunked into the shields low and high, but a fair number made it past, some skipping off the tops of the helms, but one taking out a spearman in the second line, striking him square in the face, and he was done. Others were hit in the lower legs, below the hauberks, and one man fell to his knees and broke the shield wall completely, and another was hobbled badly enough to disrupt it. The Hornmen slowed briefly, closed the gap, pressing forward again with renewed urgency and leaving the wounded behind.
The Syldoon still managed to span and loose a third volley, and while it wasn’t synchronized, most flew at approximately the same time, they were so practiced and fluid. It was like they weren’t facing a larger group of armed and angry men at all, just performing some training exercise, they were that smooth.
Two more Hornmen fell, one with a bolt in his neck, the other with one in his knee. The Syldoon dropped down to set their crossbows aside, gently almost, and drew their shields and swords, falchions, slashing spears, and one particularly vicious flail, and got ready for the charge, forming a longer line in front, with a smaller group several paces behind.
I was the only one still holding a crossbow, but in no hurry to attempt to shoot between or around the Syldoon to strike the Hornmen. Soffjian readied her ranseur though made no move to step forward, and Skeelana stayed close to me, as she was the only one less prepared for a fight than I was. And yet she still looked more focused than frightened or even nervous, and didn’t seem to be fighting off panic like I was. She continued looking in several different directions, and not solely at the large group of men charging toward us. I looked where she did and saw only signposts, darkened doorways, and the Grieving Dog. Nothing that should have attracted more attention than the armed men who so clearly wanted to cut us into pieces.
Once the Hornmen realized the threat of more bolts was gone, they closed faster, shields no longer locked together, shouting curses and unintelligible roars, angry they were taken unawares instead of the other way around, furious their numbers had been cut down before they even had a chance to engage the enemy, and now filled with a bloodlust, sensing their superior numbers and ferocity would simply overwhelm their foes, and it didn’t look like they were mistaken. The Hornmen came on in a mad, undisciplined rush.
The Syldoon held their ground, though, maintaining the first line stretching across Broadbeef, too few to form a proper shield wall to repel the foe, but not allowing any room for the Hornmen to rush around them and flank them either, with a handful of soldiers behind them, waiting. The Syldoon in front blocked or avoided the first blows and let the Hornmen’s momentum carry them through the first rank, striking them as they passed but trusting their comrades to take care of them. Mulldoos’s falchion chopped into the back of a Hornman’s neck, biting deep, unleash ing a spatter of red, and that soldier was down and twitching; Mulldoos turned his attention to a Hornmen who had been struck in the arm by another Syldoon as he passed through, injured but not incapacitated, who was spinning around to face him when Mulldoos moved in, the falchion coming down fast. The Hornman got his shield up just in time to turn the blow, but left himself open to the other Syldoon, who slashed across the back of a hamstring, just below the mail. With a howl, the Hornman fell over. Mulldoos kicked the shield and knocked him on his side, and the other Syldoon moved in, sword arcing down twice before the pair of them moved quickly to aid their brothers.
This action or something similar happened up and down the line, as the overly impulsive Hornmen allowed through were cut down in short order. In the line ten paces in front of me, the Syldoon let a Hornman rush past, tripping him as he did, but neither scored a decisive blow. The Syldoon couldn’t engage and had to help a comrade alongside who was fighting off three Hornmen harrying the front line, exchanging a series of blows and blocks, shrugging off the first and second that struck mail.
The Hornman who made it through wasn’t set upon immediately, as the other Syldoon behind the front line were all occupied, so he considered me for a moment, and seeing a non-soldier pointing a crossbow mostly in the sky, chose to attack the exposed Syldoon who let him through. He would have had his choice of open targets, but as he stepped forward to deliver a blow, a ranseur shot out, the long tip striking him in the side of the knee, and the curved blade catching the back of his leg. He nearly crumpled, regained his balance, and turned to face So
ffjian. She thrust twice more, high, then low, and he blocked one and managed to sidestep the other, though it was clear he couldn’t move quickly on a badly injured leg. Even though her polearm wasn’t quite as long as Hewspear’s slashing spear, it still afforded her better range than the Hornman.
He stepped forward to close the gap, but his leg briefly buckled, and Soffjian picked that moment to lay in. She raised the ranseur as if she were going to slash down at his head, and the Hornman saw the potential blow and lifted his shield to protect himself. Which was exactly what she’d been counting on. She dropped the tip and it lashed out like a viper, the long spike hitting the soldier in the thigh of his good leg, penetrating the gambeson. As the Hornman’s legs gave out, he braced his fall with the knuckles of his sword hand. But that sword wasn’t doing him any good down there, and Soffjian had already closed, the curved cross blade flashing in dawnlight as it slashed across his face.
The Hornman rolled in the dirt screaming, hands trying to hold his face together, blood soaking the front of his gambeson down to his sternum. Soffjian turned to give me a baleful look. I wanted to protest that I’d been ordered to stay out of it unless there was no other recourse, that I should have been holding a quill, maybe surveying the battle from the relative safety of a second story window, but obviously she wouldn’t have cared. She stabbed the wounded Hornman twice and finished him off.
Even with their disorganized charge and the casualties they’d sustained in the first exchange, the Hornmen still had the advantage, and while the Syldoon were more competent, supporting each other and drawing their opponents into slips or exposure, numbers still mattered, and the Hornmen seemed to be forming up better now and attempting to flank the Syldoon soldiers. I saw two of Braylar’s men dead or dying as well.
Veil of the Deserters Page 10