by Brian Bakos
I am fascinated by this display of power, almost forgetting that we are its target. Twice more the ships fire into the settlement. Then they raise their aim. The next shot flies over the town and beyond.
“There’s one for Afflis!” Norman cries.
Three more shots hiss by on their way toward Afflis’ camp. The last one snaps the flag pole like kindling. Our beautiful new banner tumbles down.
“An evil omen,” Petra says.
“No, Captain,” I answer sharply, “I refuse to believe that!”
The cannons fall silent at last.
“Those buccaneers have let us know they object to our presence,” Talbot says.
“They sent Afflis the same message,” Norman says. “That’s some comfort, at least.”
“Petra, tell me about cannons,” I say.
“It’s simple enough, Your Lordship.”
Petra mimes the actions of loading and firing.
“Just pack gunpowder inside the barrel and ram a stone ball on top, or maybe some scrap iron. Light the thing and Poof!”
“That’s it?” I say.
Petra nods.
This mechanical description brings the seeming magic back down to earth – but my excitement at this amazing new weapon is still very keen.
“Cannons are mostly used by armies to blast city walls,” Petra explains. “They are less common on ships. Grapple and board are still the preferred attack methods.”
“Are there gunpowder weapons small enough for a man to carry?” I say.
“Aye, my lord,” Petra says, “but such guns are slow and dangerous to use. They cannot best a good longbow – not yet anyhow.”
I return to the outer stockade with Talbot and look out across the fields toward Afflis’ troops. More enemies arriving all the time, and so few of us. I imagine our fortress walls bristling with cannons.
What we couldn’t do then!
***
Night descends on the besieged town. Chill fog muffles everything in a nightmare gloom. Sentries stare through the mist, expecting an attack any moment. The waiting becomes unbearable, men finish their watches nearly driven mad by the strain.
Out on the bay, the pirate ships lurk nearly invisible except for single lanterns burning on their decks. All their daytime beauty is gone. They seem to be great, hulking beasts peering through the murk.
Toward dawn a witch breeze blows off the fog. It whistles in every nook and crack, terrifying us in our sleep.
43: Opening Attack
Petra is waiting for me in the square when I come out to meet the new day.
“Good morning, Your Lordship,” he says. “Might I accompany you?”
“Of course,” I say. “I wish to inspect the outer stockade.”
We walk together through the silent town. The day seems fresh and alive with the promise of good things. I think of King Bertram and the Sopronian army traversing the Eastlands on the quick march, hastening to our aid. I think of Clyde who miraculously braved the frozen mountains to bring us relief.
Pray that they arrive in time!
We pause in the open area behind the main gate and look up toward the stockade.
“Talbot has done well with the fortifications,” I say.
“Aye,” Petra says. “Them bloody pirates never thought to strengthen their defenses, confident that nobody’d dare attack them.”
Talbot and Norman stand on the main platform above the gateway, our troops flanking them in battle position. Everything looks quite efficient. I begin to scale the ladder to the main platform.
“Coming, Petra?” I ask.
“No, my lord. A man of my bulk had best stay off such high places.”
Talbot meets me at the top.
“How are things going, Captain?” I inquire.
By way of answer, he points toward the enemy camp. I cross the platform and peer over the stockade. What I see takes my breath away.
“So many!” I gasp.
“Six hundred, at least,” Norman says.
My sense of well-being vanishes into thin air. However powerful the Sopronian army might be, it isn’t here. Brutal reality is here, spread all around us like a plague.
Foot soldiers move about Afflis’ camp. Horsemen ride among them shouting orders. Curses and the clatter of weapons drift across the fields.
“An assault cannot be long in coming,” Talbot says.
Even from this distance, the enemy troops appear to be very fit. I look to our own men – ragged and scrawny from weeks of short rations – stretched thin along fortifications that now seem terribly flimsy.
“You must return to the inner defenses, my lord,” Talbot says.
“Certainly not!” I say. “My place is here.”
“Forgive me, Highness, but I cannot allow you to remain,” Talbot says.
Hobbs and another soldier come to stand beside Talbot.
“How dare you try to order me around!” I say. “I’m staying right here. Norman, give me a bow.”
“Talbot is right, my lord,” Norman says. “You must go back now.”
I am speechless with rage. Talbot and the men flanking him present a grim wall. I do not doubt that they will remove me by force if I press them further.
I swing onto the ladder and climb back down.
“Petra!” Talbot calls. “Escort His Royal Highness back to the square.”
“Aye, Captain,” Petra replies.
I stomp along ahead of Petra, burning with humiliation.
“Insubordination – treason!” I splutter. “I’ll have Talbot flogged. I’ll have him hanged! I’ll ...”
I turn on Petra and stab a finger at him.
“You’re in on this too, aren’t you?”
Petra gives a helpless shrug.
“Please try not to be upset, my lord.”
“Upset? I’ll upset all your heads before this is over!”
I pass into the inner fortifications, my royal dignity in shreds. I scale the ladder to the observation post over the entryway. Petra starts climbing up, too.
“Isn’t this a bit high for a ‘man of your bulk?’” I taunt.
“That it is, my lord.”
By the time he reaches the top, he is out of breath and sweat glistens on his bald head.
“A bit of starvation might benefit you, Captain,” I say with maximum nastiness.
At least the view up here is good. Standing on a heap of rocks, I can see that Talbot has divided our fighters into two battle groups on the outer stockade. The men to the right of the main platform are under his direct control, while Norman commands those to the left.
Beyond, Afflis’ troops keep bustling around their camp but do not begin an assault. Their busy movements seem pointless.
“That swine is toying with us,” I say. “He could have attacked a dozen times by now.”
“So it would seem, my lord.”
I climb down from the rocks.
“Afflis will attack when it pleases him,” I say. “Why should I miss breakfast on his account? Fetch me some food.”
“But Your Lordship – ”
“Don’t worry, Captain, I’ll not escape. You’ve all made it very clear what my place is.”
I know that I am being unfair, which makes me even angrier. Petra huffs back down the wobbly ladder.
Why doesn’t Afflis attack already? The strain is unbearable. My fingers itch to be on a bow string. I scarcely notice Petra’s return, and I gnaw the bread and cheese he brings without even tasting it.
***
A horrid, out-of-tune trumpet blast announces the assault. Sea gulls leap from their perches, their startled caws heralding death. With a savage cry, Afflis’ foot soldiers throw their massed strength against Norman’s section.
Horsemen bring up the rear, driving the infantry forward. Crossbowmen screen the advance with a volley of bolts, forcing our defenders to duck for cover.
The surging enemy troops reach the stockade, fling ladders against
it and attempt to climb up. The crossbowmen cease their volleys lest they strike their own men. Norman’s troops fight back desperately – knocking over ladders, hurling rocks, slashing with swords and clubs. Men from Talbot’s sector rush to help.
The attack begins to falter. Masses of enemy foot soldiers try to run, but the cavalry stops them. The horsemen drive the infantry back into formation and hurl them against the fortifications once more. This time they strike Talbot’s sector.
Another furious struggle begins. Several enemy soldiers penetrate the defenses before our men strike them down. But once again the attack falters.
Afflis’ men stumble back, falling over each other. Their discipline cracks entirely, and they run for their camp. Not even the cavalry can stop them.
A mighty cheer rings from our battlements.
“We’ve done it!” I swing a fist through the air. “Gave them a good bloody nose!”
A stream of wounded men hobbles back towards us, and my joy turns to sorrow.
44: Second Assault
After a few hours of treating the wounded, I am about done for. To our great good fortune, Petra’s men include the ship’s surgeon; and his skill is prodigious.
I sit with him and Petra now amidst the patients, many of whom are sound asleep. The storehouse loot includes a powerful pain-killing drug which the doctor has used liberally.
“I almost envy these poor fellows,” I say. “I’m tempted to take a strong dose of that drug myself – just to forget all this horror.”
Petra gives me a kindly smile. “Yes, but when the drug wears off, the horrors will still be here, worse than ever.”
He fills two cups from a wooden cask and hands one to me.
“Try this, Your Lordship. It’s the proper stuff to lighten your mood.”
I sniff the libation cautiously.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Whisky,” Petra says. “I found it in a storehouse. Lots of barrels there – oil, whisky, salted fish – I’ve not had time to examine the half of them.”
He knocks back a draught, and I foolishly do the same. Flaming liquid scorches my throat. The back of my head feels like it has been struck with a club.
“Water!” I croak.
“Sorry, Your Lordship.” Petra hands me a water flask. “I should have warned you of its potency.”
I drain the water flask. When I put it down, the room is moving across my vision all on its own.
“I’d rather my mood was a bit heavier,” I say, “and my throat less burned.”
The doctor says something in his foreign language.
“What’s that, Petra?” I ask.
“He says Your Lordship would make a fine physician. You have the healing touch.”
“Tell him thanks,” I say, “and thank him for helping my soldiers.”
The two men exchange comments in their foreign language. The doctor looks toward me, nodding and smiling. His approval, blended with the whisky, warms my heart.
Then the eerie trumpet blast freezes my blood.
“Those dogs are coming again!” Petra says.
***
We dash across the square and mount the observation post just as the enemy forces slam against the outer stockade. Their numbers are fewer now, but still vastly superior to ours.
At first the assault seems a repeat of the morning’s battle – an attack on Norman, a brief retreat, then another attack on Talbot. Our soldiers shift about, trying to parry the blows, but this time the enemy fights with better discipline. When they retreat, they stay in good order, regrouping behind their screen of crossbowmen. There is no panic in their ranks.
I watch appalled, helpless.
Then Afflis’ force divides in two. Both wings advance at once, hitting widely spaced areas of the stockade. Our defenders spread out, trying to hold back the onslaught. For a while the defenses do hold, but a breakthrough soon occurs, then another. A big gap opens in Norman’s sector and enemy troops pour over the stockade.
Norman’s men jump down from their positions and try to fight their way through an increasing swarm of foes.
“Hurry!” I shout. “Get back here!”
Talbot’s men are abandoning their posts now too, enemy troops in hot pursuit. The streets became a mad swirl of fighting men.
“Come on!” Petra yells.
A small group of enemy soldiers dashes through the makeshift gate of the inner defenses, into the square below us. They halt, glancing about savagely. Then they look up – right at us!
“Up there!” someone shouts.
I fling a rock as hard as I can. One of the enemy goes down. A crossbow bolt whistles past me.
Petra hurls another rock.
“Take that, you scum!”
But the bandits dodge away. The crossbowman retreats beyond range to reload his weapon. The others slip under our platform, out of sight. I peep over the stockade at the battle outside. Talbot and Norman have joined forces and are now fighting a desperate rear guard action.
“Get down!” Petra says.
The top of the ladder begins to shake. I maneuver my dagger out of its scabbard and lie frozen, scarcely daring to breathe. A brutal face pokes into view. I lunge.
“Yaaaah!”
The enemy soldier jerks back, throwing up his arm, and I jab the dagger point into it. He tumbles away shrieking. Petra sends the ladder crashing after him. Another bolt shoots past my face. Then ...
“Let’s go!” someone shouts, and the bandits flee from whence they came.
With a last desperate heave, our troops gain the inner defense line. They crowd through the gate and barricade it shut just ahead of the onrushing enemy forces.
“They made it!”
I leap into Petra’s arms with such force that he nearly falls over.
Our men scramble onto the makeshift stockade. Afflis’ infantry halts outside, howling with rage and frustration. But their force is spent.
The trumpet blares a sour note, and the enemy withdraws to their newly won territory. Crossbowmen fire a few parting shots.
Our soldiers slump at their posts, exhausted.
45: Ultimatum
Talbot approaches me. He is battered and bloodied, but otherwise unhurt. Norman has also survived, but the number of our troops is cruelly reduced.
I feel a tremendous surge of pride in my soldiers. I want to embrace them all, starting with Talbot. But he only stands at attention, cool and distant.
“Captain Talbot reporting for sentencing,” he says.
“Sentencing?” I say. “What on earth for?”
“Insubordination,” Talbot says. “For refusing to allow Your Lordship to join the battle as you desired.”
This is absurd, unbelievable! I want to dismiss the whole matter with a wave of my hand. But Talbot is deadly serious, it would be an insult to take him lightly.
The others are watching, too. I’d been an idiot earlier, and Talbot was right to stop me. The chain of command had been violated, though, and it needs to be restored. I summon my most severe voice.
“Very well, Captain Talbot,” I say. “For an act of insubordination, you are sentenced to twenty lashes.”
Talbot stiffens, but betrays no emotion. The men suck in their breath. I scan their faces, see no rebellion lurking within them. Norman, along with Hobbs, grips Talbot’s arms and begins leading him off.
I hold up my hand.
“However,” I say, “owing to the present grave circumstances, and in light of your many services to the Crown – sentence is suspended.”
A murmur of approval runs through the men.
Thank heaven, I seem to have handled things properly for once!
“Return to your duties, Captain,” I say. “Let us speak no more of this.”
A lone horseman bearing a white flag nears the stockade. He halts, observing us with cool arrogance. His horse is less calm, though, pawing the ground and bobbing its head.
“What do you want?” I c
all down.
“I present a goodwill gesture from Lord Afflis,” the horseman replies.
“So, he’s Lord Afflis now,” Talbot mutters.
“Well?” I say. “Get on with it.”
The man turns and snaps his fingers. Two other men approach on foot. A third person walks between them. I can scarcely believe my eyes.
“Clyde!” I yell. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, my lord. And I’m mighty uncomfortable out here. Please let me in.”
The horseman retreats with the foot soldiers, and Clyde scrambles up the ladder we lower down. The moment he gains the top, I rush to embrace him.
“I thought I’d never lay eyes on you again!” I cry.
Talbot grasps his hand.
“Welcome back, Clyde.”
From along the stockade, men shout their greetings. Clyde’s face glows, brightening the whole area.
“How did you get here?” I ask after the uproar has died down.
“I came with the King’s army!” Clyde shouts so that all can hear.
“Hurrah for King Bertram!” everyone cries.
Our elation is boundless. We can almost see the Sopronian army marching up beside us. Our deliverance seems written in the heavens!
Talbot draws Clyde away from the crowd.
“And what of His Majesty?” he asks in a low voice.
“The King’s army is bogged down at the river,” Clyde says.
My joy abruptly turns to ashes. All around, the men sense the bad tidings and they cease their cheers.
“The enemy holds the north bank,” Clyde says, “and we dare not outflank them through the Barrens. Our scouts entered that cursed place but did not return.”
“We cannot expect immediate relief, then?” Talbot says.
“No ...” Clyde says, “but the King will surely break through in another day or so.”
“Too late,” Norman mutters.
“Why didn’t you stay with Father?” I say. “You’d be safe there.”
Clyde holds out his hands.
“I just had to come, that’s all, so I slipped away. Afflis’ men caught me, and here I am.”
“And what of Niels?” I ask.
“Lost in a storm, my lord,” Clyde says. “He saved my life.”
Fresh anguish stabs right through me.
“Why did Afflis release you?” Norman says. “Surely not just for the sake of ‘goodwill.’”
“He wants us to learn of the King’s delay from a trusted source,” Talbot says.
Clyde withdraws a little scroll from inside his shirt.
“Afflis bade me deliver this message, though I detest the idea.”