Nothing but Tombs

by Tim Stead

  He didn’t push it, but lightened the conversation, talked about his own life, told humorous stories and eventually Hale loosened up and began to laugh – about half way down his third glass. After that the meal was almost jolly.

  When it ended Caster stood up. “A fine meal, no?”

  “Yes, sir. Very fine.”

  He put his hand on the captain’s shoulder. “You’re a soldier, Hale. It’s in your blood. I trust your instincts even if you don’t. Remember that tomorrow. Now go and get some sleep.”

  Hale saluted. He couldn’t stop himself, but he smiled at the same time, which Caster saw as a victory of sorts.

  “Good night, sir.”

  Alone in his tent, Caster poured himself the dregs of the wine and swallowed them. Tomorrow would bring what it brought. He, at least, would sleep well.

  *

  The following day broke dull and grey, and Caster’s two regiments of foot bustled about in the gloom. He watched as Hale’s scouts assembled, were given their instructions for the day, and rode out to the north.

  So far so good.

  The camp was packed away and loaded onto wagons and the column assembled. Caster kept his wagons between his van and his rearguard, separating the two regiments. They contained all the food, water, tents, kindling, pots and pans – things he didn’t want to lose. He’d also put two archers on the back of each wagon just in case. He walked just ahead of them and the two colonels joined him.

  “Chance of some action today,” Yelland said.

  “We’ll get enough of that if we get to Bas Erinor,” Karran replied. “A nice boring walk right up this magical gate would suit me.”

  Caster ignored them. His own hopes strayed more in the direction of Yurdal’s regiment and Sheyani. If all had gone well, she should be at the turn or only a few miles short of it. That would suit him, but if there was fighting to be done he didn’t fancy going up against a couple of hundred horse soldiers on a flat road.

  A heavy dew kept the dust down most of the morning, and they arrived at their midday point in good spirits. Caster called a halt for twenty minutes while the men ate the cold rations they carried in their packs. He sat on a rock on the roadside facing west. If there was trouble it would come from west or north.

  The men shouldered their packs again and the march resumed. Caster could feel the tension. It was only a couple of hours until they reached the turn. By now Hale and his scouts would have reached the area. If there was going to be news, it would come soon.

  He took a mouthful of water. The dew had burned off and it was getting dusty.

  “My lord, a rider.”

  Caster looked, and sure enough there was a rider, his horse lathered but still pushing hard. That was bad news, Caster thought. No man would push that hard without good cause. He walked out of the column and waited with the colonels to hear what it was.

  *

  Hale rode steadily north. He had split his twenty scouts into ten pairs. In theory one to watch and one to report back anything that was seen. In the first instance they were to report to him, and so he kept a little behind, always riding below a ridge line or against a hillside. He rode with Sergeant Imaris, and Imaris rode a fast horse. If a message needed to go back to Lord Caster, then Imaris would carry it.

  He was beginning to think they should stop for a bite when one of his scouts rode up at speed, drumming across the open ground below the next ridge. It was Ekman.

  “Horses, Captain, about two hundred, but you’d better come and see.”

  “You mean cavalry?” Hale asked.

  “No, sir. They seem to be abandoning their mounts.”

  Hale glanced at his sergeant, who shrugged. “Then we had better see for ourselves. Lead the way.”

  They rode across the meadow and round a low knoll to find the other scout hunkered down behind a rock, his horse tethered down slope. The man saw them coming and waved them forwards, signalling for them to keep low. They secured their mounts and came forwards on hands and knees to the ridge line.

  “See, Captain?”

  Hale saw. There were two hundred horses, maybe more. They were tied in a line, like you would when making camp, but their riders weren’t camping. The soldiers were forming a line, armed and armoured, getting ready to attack something. It made no sense to Hale. Why would cavalry abandon their mounts? It only made sense in a siege, not an assault over open ground.

  “Sir, look. It’s Wakelin.”

  He looked. Sure enough another of his scouts was coming across the valley behind them, moving fast. Lieutenant Wakelin had been on the eastern flank, almost on the road itself. He abandoned his horse and hurried up the slope behind them.

  “What is it, lieutenant?”

  “Something odd on the road, sir. There’s twenty men, maybe more. They’ve taken up a position on a hill overlooking the turn. Some of them look like Yurdal’s, some I don’t recognise.”

  “How good is their position?”

  “Better than good, sir. They’ve got steep slopes on two sides, marshland on the third and it’s a narrow approach up the open side. They’ll have fifty yards advantage with their bows.”

  So that was it, then. These two hundred men were going to attack the twenty-five. Overwhelming odds against a good position. It was a classic strategic problem. Hale guessed that the men on the hill would lose, but it would cost the other side dearly.

  He looked at the mass of tethered horses. Without those animals they’d be easy meat for Lord Caster’s army, but Hale only had five men with him, and there were that many sentries left behind. He needed more.

  “Wakelin, ride back and send anyone you pass back here to me, then come back yourself. Imaris, you ride back to the column and tell Lord Caster what we’ve found, what we think is about to happen, and that we’re going to try to cut their horses loose and drive them off.”

  The two men scrambled back to their horses and raced away. Hale turned back and watched as the enemy marched off towards the road.

  “Sir, we’re not going to help those men on the road? That could be all that’s left of Yurdal’s.”

  “We’re not enough to make a difference, Ekman. But if we can steal these horses, that’ll save lives.”

  They waited.

  The bulk of the enemy force vanished over a low saddle, heading for the king’s road. It would be a while before they reached it – perhaps half an hour. By that time Imaris should have reached Caster and Caster would be moving. But it was all about timing. How many scouts could he gather and how quickly? How long could the men on the hill hold out? How long would it take Caster to reach them?

  They waited some more.

  *

  The rider reined to a halt a few feet away from Caster.

  “My lord, a message from Captain Hale.”

  “What news?” Caster demanded.

  “About two hundred cavalry, sir, but they’ve abandoned their mounts to attack a small force of friendlies on the king’s road. Captain Hale intends to take their horses and make off with them.”

  Good man, Caster thought. Maybe he hadn’t needed to speak to Hale at all.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Colonel Karran, I want four hundred men to follow this rider back the way he came – on the double. Get behind them. I’ll march up the road with all speed and we can catch them horseless with their backs to the blade.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  Karran was off at once, calling out the units he wanted, appointing his major to command the remaining troops.

  Caster laid a hand on the sweating mare’s neck. “She’ll make it back?” he asked.

  “She’s tough as boots, my lord,” the rider said. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Then go, sergeant. Spring our trap, and tell Hale well done from me.”

  Within minutes they were on the march again, Karran and his four hundred trotting off to the west with their guide, and the main column driving up the road. The only thing Caster could have asked for was another regiment coming
down from the north to close the gate. He wondered where Yurdal’s was, or if those few men were all that was left.

  It was all about timing now.

  *

  Wakelin came back with five others. Eight men. He had eight mounted men to take on five sentries and two hundred horses. The sentries were on foot, which was good. If they tried to cut their mounts from the line and ride to meet Hale’s men it would take too long. They didn’t have time. If they stood their ground they’d be at a classic disadvantage.

  “We go,” Hale said. “The sentries first, then the horses.”

  They went down the back slope and mounted out of sight of the enemy. Hale took them back another fifty paces.

  “We crest the ridge at a gallop – flat out until we hit them. I want them on foot, and I want them dead. Are we ready?”

  They nodded, and Hale dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and she surged forwards, climbing the shallow slope as if it wasn’t there. Hale’s small force broke the line of the ridge side by side, and at a full gallop. The sentries saw them almost at once and panicked. One man tried to untie his horse from the line, two picked up lances and set them in the ground and the others just stared for those few vital seconds.

  Hale reined in a few yards from the lance men and shot one with his bow. The other turned and ran. Wakelin caught the man trying to mount up just as he climbed into the saddle and cut him down. The other three were slaughtered as they tried to flee.

  A victory. A clean, bloodless victory – at least on Hale’s side.

  “Now the horses,” he said. “Cut the lines. Drive them west or south if you can.”

  They set to, cutting lines, shouting and slapping the horses with their bows or the flats of their blades so that they ran.

  “Captain!”

  Hale wheeled his horse and saw the danger. Thirty horsemen were approaching from the north at a swift canter. A raiding party, perhaps, come to re-join the main force. The sensible thing to do would be to run. Eight against thirty wasn’t a fair fight, but half the horses were still on the line.

  “Wakelin, you finish getting these beasts loose. When you’re done, ride for Karran’s force. We’ll follow.”

  He put an arrow on his bowstring, loosened his sword and rode at the oncoming men. To their credit Ekman and the other rode with him without hesitation. It was a crazy thing to do, but it worked. The thirty riders reined in and pulled out their own bows. Hale shot his arrow and heard other bowstrings around him. Men fell in the enemy line – only two or three, but that might be enough.

  Hale turned and rode hard to the west, away from Wakelin and the horses. Already most of them were free and running and Hale took his men in among them, shouting and striking out with his bow, urging them on.

  The intention was to prevent the riders from using their bows, and it worked, but some of them turned after Wakelin. But they were too late. Wakelin had finished his work and was riding as fast as he could southwards with half a dozen of the enemy on his tail. The rest were coming after Hale.

  He and his men swung south, taking the bulk of the freed horses with them – a stampede of sorts. It was lucky, but Hale was willing to ride his luck.

  Every turn they made would bring the pursuing cavalry closer, so he had to guess right. If Caster was the general Hale thought he was there would be a force marching up the long valley to cut off the enemy’s retreat, and it would have set off almost as soon as Imaris had delivered his message. Time had passed since then and Hale was riding down a parallel course in the opposite direction. If he cut left to head east at the right moment then he should come within sight of that force and lead his pursuers into a trap.

  There were a lot of ifs, but it was the best he had. It was the only plan he had. A glance behind told him that they were holding their own. The enemy riders were a hundred and fifty yards back but not closing. He’d sacrifice fifty of those in the turn, but it had to be done.

  An arrow flew over his head and struck one of the freed horses. The animal screamed and fell, the herd splitting around its distress like a river around a rock. Hale saw the horse trying to rise again, and then it was behind him.

  Now.

  He signalled and turned east.

  This time they did not take the herd with them and, as they picked up Wakelin and his sergeant, they broke free of their living cover and raced for a low saddle that would take them into the next valley.

  Now the enemy were free to use their bows and they did. Hale rode flat against his horse, making the smallest target possible. He could do nothing to protect his mount, but he urged her on. An arrow bounced off his mail shirt, another whispered miraculously beneath his horse, missing everything. Beside him a horse fell. He didn’t know whose it was and there was no time to look. A moment later he crossed the saddle and plunged down into the next valley.

  All his prayers were answered. His timing had been perfect. Laid out before him was half a regiment of foot and they were flying Karran’s colours. At their head he could see a single horseman – Imaris – he would know the man anywhere.

  He pointed back over his horse’s rump. “Behind!” he shouted. “Enemy behind!”

  Immediately the column changed shape like a rapidly uncoiling snake. Shields came up; bows rose above them as Karran’s men spread out rapidly into a line.

  Quick as they were, the manoeuvre was only half done when the enemy crested the col behind Hale. It was enough though. As he swung round the far side of the column Hale heard their bows let go, a whispered shout of death. He turned in time to see his pursuers torn apart, horses, men, almost all came tumbling to earth. There were two men still on horseback and they turned and fled back over the ridge.

  “Captain Hale,” Karran shouted. “Report!”

  Hale rode up to Karran. “Horses dispersed, sir. That was a raiding party, about thirty men, and you’ve done for most of them.”

  “But they’ll carry word back.”

  “Not a bad thing, colonel,” Hale said. “Those poor bastards bottled up on the king’s road might get some relief, and you’ve plenty of time to get between the enemy force and a westerly escape.”

  “Then we go,” Karran said and signalled his men forwards. The column quickly reformed and began to march again. Hale looked around and was shocked to see that besides Imaris and himself there were only three other riders. Wakelin was one of them.

  “Colonel, permission to seek out our wounded, sir?”

  “As you wish, Captain.”

  Hale steered his horse out of the column and dismounted. He unhooked a leather bottle from the saddle and drank a mouthful, then took his helmet off and poured half of what was left into it. This he offered to his horse. Wakelin and the others followed his example. Their horses had run too far too fast and needed a rest. After a couple of minutes, they remounted and rode slowly back up to the col. They backtracked, and it wasn’t long before they found their fallen comrades. They all lay between the point where Hale had turned east and the col. All of them were dead.

  Hale climbed down from his horse again. One of his men was lying face down with a couple of arrows in his back. He broke the shafts and turned the man over. It was Ekman. He straightened the corpse’s limbs.

  “You were a good man, Ekman,” he said.

  This was war, he told himself. This was what his grandfather had known in such depth. Your comrades, your friends, men you liked, they all died and you counted yourself lucky to be alive. It could have been him lying here. No skill on his part could have prevented it. You just kept you head down when the arrows started to fly and you hoped.

  Wakelin dismounted next to him.

  “At least they died for something,” the lieutenant said.

  Hale grunted. He doubted that Ekman had cared who the Duke of Bas Erinor was, or that the southern lords were robbing their people, or any of the causes of the great. Ekman had just been a simple man who’d gone for a soldier in times of peace and stood by his friends when it mattered. That had
cost him his life.

  He swung up onto his horse again.

  “If I don’t get through this and you do, make sure these lads get a decent burial,” he said.

  *

  Colonel Backling looked up at the small hill on which his quarry had gone to ground and sighed. This was all supposed to have been easy. When the enemy cavalry had headed south, he had been left with a simple task – harass, chip away at Yurdal’s regiment, and make it less than it was. A full assault would have been suicide against so many. He could have taken two thirds of them with him, but Backling wasn’t a commander who was willing to lead men to their deaths with no hope of victory.

  He’d watched the enemy marching and made certain that they saw that they were being watched. He’d tried to burn them out, but by some freakish magic a river had put out the fire.

  He’d sent men to attack their scouting party – fifty men against twenty-five – and they’d been slaughtered because of some other magic that drove their horses mad.

  Now he’d decided to finish off that party on foot and they’d found a defensive position that would cost him another fifty men. He questioned whether it would be worth the sacrifice. He waited, just out of bowshot, while he sized up the risk.

  To attack he would have to swing round the bottom of the hill, all the while in comfortable range of the enemy’s archers, and advance up a steep, narrow slope against a concentrated barrage of arrows. His scouts told him that the regiment marching south was three hours away, so his time was limited. He’d sent a small party to raid their rearguard and slow them down, but even so…

  He looked around at his men. They were nervous and he couldn’t blame them. No man wanted to face magic because no shield could stop it, no sword kill it. Best perhaps to take his remaining men and ride south through the open country. He could join Alwain in the siege of Bas Erinor. But that, too, failed to appeal. He turned to his second.

  “Captain Amik, what do you think?”

  “We’d lose more men than we’d kill, Colonel,” Amik said. “And who cares about a hill in the middle of nowhere?”

  Alwain would care. Alwain would use his refusal to attack twenty-five men sitting on a hill as a stick to beat him and impugn the honour of his lord and his regiment. But did that matter as much as the lives of fifty men?