Nothol Coll’s first strike ripped a broken skull from the neck a moment before he kicked the remains to dust. The skeleton collapsed in a ragged heap, taking three more with it. This might not be so bad after all. He swung again, this time splitting one at the waist. More came. And more. The skeletons now numbered more than fifty. Even with Nothol Coll hacking and slashing, the dead soldiers continued to break free. Bones piled around them.
Dorl Theed watched the situation worsen. He desperately wanted to help but there simply wasn’t enough space for both men to maneuver without cutting each other. Frustration made him tremble. He watched as a skeleton burst apart from the force of Nothol’s boot in the ribs. The skull rolled to rest at Dorl’s feet.
“We have to help him,” he told Argis.
The former captain stood with his mouth agape. Shock immobilized him. Never in his wildest thoughts could he imagine an army of the dead. His knees were weak. His mind refused to obey his body. Twice he almost dropped his sword. Delranan had had no foe like this, ever. He struggled to comprehend what assailed them, but his mind failed to rationalize any of it.
Dorl snarled and slapped the man on his back. “Damn it, Argis, snap out of it! We’re all going to die down here if we don’t act.”
Recognition flashed in the back of his pale eyes. “What can we do against this?”
At least he still has his tongue. Dorl frowned. “Send them back to the underworld and hope for the best.”
Dorl Theed only managed to take a small step forward before being violently jerked backwards. The force made him drop his sword. Bony fingers gripped him tightly, trying to rip him apart. He let out a strangled cry as they dragged him to the ground. Dorl struggled with all his might. He punched and kicked. A bony arm ripped away and became his only weapon. Dorl used the arm to lash out at his attackers. Blood seeped from a dozen scratches, but the skeletons only clung tighter.
The sudden attack finally forced Argis into action. His resolve strengthened, the old man clenched his sword and attacked. Dust and bones flew wildly about the small chamber. The Delranan noble fought like never before. Vague ideations of what would happen to him should he fail pushed him harder. His muscles soon screamed and began to ache. The old man didn’t have much left. Skeletal warriors broke to pieces wherever his sword touched them.
Dorl used the distraction and managed to break free. The sell sword rolled to find his sword through the mayhem and unleashed his pent-up fury. Every beating and taunt from Harnin’s guards came back now. Hatred, agony, embarrassment, and fear burst from the inner well of his soul. Dorl attacked and attacked, with sword, fist, and boot. He didn’t stop until Argis placed a weary hand upon his shoulder.
Dorl looked around. His breath was ragged, clogged with dust and bone matter. The battle was over. All of the skeletons were destroyed, sent back to the decay of their eternal death. Argis dropped to a knee. He was much the worse of the two. Nothol leaned against the far wall, head hung low between his shoulders as he struggled to catch his breath. His tunic was shredded in places and smeared with his own blood. Maleela sat huddled in the corner. Even with all she had been through she couldn’t bring herself to accept a battle against the dead.
“What just happened?” Argis asked through strained breaths. His body ached from unexpected exertion.
Nothol sheathed his sword. “This place is cursed.”
“I have seen much in my life, but never anything so foul. Those creatures should not exist,” Argis added softly.
“Should we go and get the wizard?” Dorl asked hesitantly. The rage was gone, leaving him numb. He had had enough of magic and having Anienam around made him queasy.
The ground trembled and shook violently. Huge chunks of ceiling crashed down. The walls shattered and started to collapse.
“Cave in!” Nothol shouted.
Argis forced himself back to his feet. “We must flee!”
Dorl passed a desperate look to the empty doorway. There was no sign of Skuld or the damned wizard. Duty and honor urged him to go and look for them. Reality screamed otherwise. The very walls were coming down around them. Waiting was not an option.
“Run!” he tried to shout above the roar.
He pushed Argis ahead and ran for his life. Dorl Theed gave a last thought to the others and kept running before they all died. Large chunks of the ceiling continued to drop.
FOUR
The War Begins
“Archers!”
Piper Joach clenched his jaw in anticipation. He wanted to smile. The simple thought of extracting a measure of revenge on the same enemy who had thoroughly embarrassed him made his blood hot. Prince Aurec deserved an arrow through his heart and more for that alone. This was a matter of pride, but deep inside he knew it wasn’t enough. Skirmishers and ambushers were one matter. This was the Wolfsreik’s first real test against Rogscroft infantry battalions. His expression soured. Aurec was not on the field.
The battle, which shouldn’t have happened, developed over the last week. Wolfsreik scouts hounded the enemy out of their hiding places, forcing them into the open where they’d be vulnerable. General Rolnir used the diversion to push his main body ahead of the retreat, effectively cutting off the disorganized Rogscroft soldiers from reinforcements. Or so they hoped. War was always the fickle bitch.
Piper failed to understand how Aurec let his heavily outnumbered forces get caught in such a simple trap. Trained to an extent yet hardly seasoned, Aurec’s army was better suited to hit and run guerilla tactics. Meeting the enemy on the open field in rank and file was tantamount to suicide. It left Piper with an uneasy feeling. The trap had been too easy to set, as if Aurec allowed it to happen. He briefly contemplated abandoning the field just to see how Aurec would respond.
The battlefield was good ground. Neutral, but good. There was a slight slope of almost negligible grade that would serve a heavy cavalry charge but, as Piper had already learned the hard way, the snows were too deep for the effective use of heavy horse. Fortunately the Wolfsreik was primarily heavy infantry. Lightly forested hills formed a natural barrier on the right flank and a small river babbled softly on the left. The only way for Aurec’s army to escape was straight through the Wolfsreik.
He watched the enemy infantry crouch down behind their heavy wooden shields as the flight of arrows sped down towards them. Piper had been there many times as well over the course of his career. It was an unpleasant feeling. The panic and the fear. The surge of adrenaline as the whistle of incoming arrows built to a screech. It was capped off with a symphony of screams and cries from the dead and dying. An archery assault was, in Piper’s mind, the worst fate on the battlefield.
He gave his field commander a tight nod.
“Fire.”
The first flight perforated the air. Piper almost wished he’d order the shafts to be set on fire. Fire was much more demoralizing than a simple attack.
“Nock!” the field commander ordered.
Three ranks of archers obeyed. Three flights of arrows sped away. Piper was disinclined to wait for a response from his foes. He immediately ordered a battalion of pike men forward while the defenders were still in disarray. Ranks of swordsmen followed with cavalry waiting on the flanks should the attack stall. Piper Joach dispassionately watched the battle unfold. He had no love of the enemy, but where there had once been nothing, utter contempt had grown. He wouldn’t stop until Rogscroft burned to the ground.
The distance between the two armies closed quickly. The defenders were in a simple linear formation. Four ranks sat high on sloping ground. Basic wooden barriers had been hastily erected. They clearly had not been expecting the speed with which the Wolfsreik marched. The underestimation was going to cost them dearly. Piper scanned the tree line on both sides of the enemy position half hoping that Aurec and his murdering army would magically appear at the last moment. Vindication fueled his rage.
“Commander Prost, advance the archers so they can range that tree line. I do not want any surprise
s once we are fully committed,” he ordered.
Prost stopped giving an order to one of the message runners and took a quick glance to where Piper pointed. “Sir, I don’t think that is a good idea. It will take away the advantage of our long bows and place them within enemy range.”
“Just do it. I accept full responsibility for any consequences.”
Prost nodded, against his better judgment, and issued the order. He was about to stalk off when Piper stopped him.
“Never question my orders in front of the men, Prost. Never.”
Prost took the warning for what it was worth. He hadn’t gained his current rank by meekly obeying every command blindly. That got men killed more often than not. “Sir, what kind of leader would I be if I didn’t have the concern of my men in mind?”
Piper cracked a thin smile. “A poor one indeed. We must remember the mission comes first though. It is impossible to bring them all home alive. The campaign must come first.”
“I understand, sir.”
Roars went up from across the plain. Piper opened his spyglass. His pike men were fiercely stabbing over the barricades. A new man stepped into the gap whenever a man fell. Piper watched his enemy cast spears and crossbow bolts into the lightly armored pike men. He and Rolnir willingly sacrificed armor for speed. Unfortunately it meant that men would die. There was nothing glorious or romantic about it. Hot blood splashed the once pristine snow. Viscera and body parts flopped down. Screams howled across the air, weakening knees and worse from those not yet engaged. Piper watched the battle unfold and snarled. His infantry was getting mired down.
“Now, Prost. Send in the cavalry. Both wings, double assault. We break them here.”
A full hundred heavy horse launched their attack. They were the heaviest forces in the Wolfsreik. Rolnir like to call them his line breakers, and Piper agreed. There were very few formations capable of withstanding a charge of heavy horse. Piper relished the feeling of the ground trembling beneath the charge, silently thanking the infantry for breaking down the snow enough. Enemy commanders caught the incoming riders and frantically tried to shift their defense. It didn’t matter. There was small chance of success.
Time slowed. Piper never bothered with the why or how of it. Another twenty meters and the cavalry would make contact. Piper shifted his focus back to the fighting. Men from both sides were steadily dropping, either dead or wounded in the melee, but his forces were getting the better of it. The enemy center was slowly breaking. He allowed a tight smile. Several of the barricades were already lying broken on the ground. He guessed he outnumbered the defenders by at least three to one. The sheer weight of his numbers was driving them back.
The cavalry on the right wing struck a fraction of a second before the left. Rogscroft defenders were trampled and speared. Horses and riders smashed into them from both pincers, each driving towards the center. Piper watched as his counterpart was trampled under the wall of horseflesh. Satisfaction entered his thoughts. This battle was effectively finished.
“Commander, bring me my horse. I am going to the front,” he told Prost.
The few enemies alive and unharmed broke free of the press and ran for their lives. Dozens more were either run down or hacked to death before the Wolfsreik calmed down enough to take prisoners. A handful escaped over the low rise. Piper didn’t care. Those few would tell others of the defeat and spark the terror for him. The road to Rogscroft would lie open and waiting. He passed a glance at a file of fifty prisoners being escorted away. None of them bore the look of defeated men. He sighed. The capital city was still many weeks away. Until then it was one battle at a time.
Piper frowned despite the ease of victory. Perhaps it was that ease that left him troubled. It didn’t make sense. Their stand resulted in heavy losses Aurec could ill afford. He supposed it could be blamed on the vagaries of war, but experience suggested otherwise. He was missing something. Anxious, he struggled to sort through the random bits of information leading up to the battle. Prost found him with a queer look when he returned with the horse.
“The army performed brilliantly,” Rolnir congratulated his adjutant.
Piper gave a modest nod. He was not the one to do his job for recognition or glory. He did it for Delranan and the honor. Nothing more. “Thank you, General. I do not deserve such credit, however. Field Commander Prost developed the strategy and led the men. If anything I was in his way. He should be so honored, not me.”
Rolnir feigned a smile. He expected such from his friend. “Ever humble, eh Piper?”
Piper rubbed the stubble on his chin. “They were in a static defense. I doubt they were in position very long. All of the wooden obstacles were fresh cut and green.”
“And their numbers?”
“Manageable. They didn’t have more than two hundred. We killed or wounded one hundred twenty-seven and took sixty-three prisoner. I allowed the rest to escape to spread the word of our coming.”
Rolnir approved though his gaze darkened slightly. “Our numbers?”
“Twenty-four dead. Thirty wounded.”
Higher than he had hoped or anticipated. Sadly, there was nothing for it. War was as unpredictable as the direction of the winter wind. Men died and the battles continued. The only way to stop the dying was through ending the war. Rolnir knew the end was too far away to begin thinking about.
“Why did they stand? Your force was strong enough to wipe them from the field in less than an hour. There must be some ulterior motivation,” Rolnir mused, echoing Piper’s earlier misgivings.
Piper threw up his hands. “The only conclusion I came to was that we had them cornered. Cut off from Rogscroft, they had no choice but to stand and fight.”
“Against impossible odds? They are fine enough fighting behind rocks and laying ambushes, but they’re not battlefield quality and you know it,” Rolnir scolded sharply. “Could be Aurec just wanted to see the full measure of what he’s facing. Even if meant sacrificing a few hundred men.”
“Prince Aurec was not on the field,” Piper added.
“He is not my main concern. Every day takes us deeper into enemy territory. Our supply lines are getting stretched and more difficult to maintain. At some point we will be forced to take an operational pause for resupply and refit,” Rolnir told him. “The prince will be brought to task in due time. I need you to stay focused on the task at hand.”
“Does that mean we ignore what just happened? I somehow doubt Aurec is foolish enough to waste valuable resources so blindly.”
Rolnir stalked over to the wall map and pointed out a series of positions. “We’ve engaged and destroyed three enemy outposts in the last day and a half. King Stelskor is no fool and neither is his son. He is not about to sacrifice his men for no reason. I believe these outposts are designed only to slow us down, nothing more.”
“I agree. The king must have a plan. Trying to figure it out has been most infuriating.”
“Until we know what that plan is, we remain cautious. I share your uneasy feeling about this affair, Piper,” Rolnir reluctantly admitted. “My gut tells me Aurec’s using these forts to draw us in, but for what I don’t know.”
Piper waited patiently. They’d worked together long enough to understand each other’s moods. Rolnir was clearly deep in thought and anything Piper had to say would only disrupt his train of thought. As in any military affair, the campaign progressed at varying degrees. The initial deployment was slow thanks largely to the treacherous crossing of the Murdes Mountains. Once they managed to get the full weight of the army in the field, the advance moved rapidly, only slowing for smaller fights and shadow attacks. Rolnir didn’t know what to expect from Aurec and that unsettled him, so he directed the army to advance with all haste towards the capital. Take the castle and the rest of the kingdom would fold. Or so he hoped.
Finally, the general said, “Their entire defense hinges on Aurec. I must know where he is.”
“Headed north the last we knew. He could be anywhere by now.
”
Rolnir shook his head. “No. I think he is much closer than we believe. Aurec has all of the advantages except strength. He can pick up and move quickly whereas we take time. I think he’s going to strike the supply lines. They are our most vulnerable point of attack, and we don’t have the manpower to defend them and carry on the offensive.”
Piper scanned the map. His combat experience during this campaign was limited to two battles. Pride demanded more. Anger at his initial losses still burned in him. He would not find satisfaction until the prince and he came face-to-face. The guilt from losing so many men in that first battle insulted him, clouding his judgment.
“Are you listening?”
He looked up, cheeks flushed crimson. “Sir?”
Rolnir scowled, but kept silent. He understood. He’d been there himself long ago. The best thing for it was to let time heal. He decided to take Piper’s mind off the past. “I asked if you were ready to lead the advance.”
“Just give the word.”
Confident, and slightly cocky. Good, Rolnir mused. The sting of the initial defeat hadn’t yet rendered him useless.
“Take a full battalion out and scour the enemy positions an hour before dawn. Secure and prepare for further infiltration. I want to be within sight of Rogscroft proper by the end of the month. We must move quickly. Winter is nearly on us and the last thing we need is to be bogged down and cut off from our supply lines for four months. Hells, it’s already snowing. Any more and we might need to sit tight until spring.”
“We may not have a choice. The enemy is unwilling to fully engage,” Piper replied quickly. “They will try to delay us for as long as possible and let winter hinder our campaign.”
“It would not be the first time such has happened.”
“But?” Piper asked. He already knew the answer.
Rolnir raised an eyebrow. “You know exactly what I am talking about.”
He nodded emotionlessly. Badron. The king was the single biggest distracter in the whole campaign. He, more than anything else, was hampering the army. The war might easily hinge on his fanciful obsession with King Stelskor. His fervor was already having a negative effect on morale. None of the soldiers knew the true reasons for the invasion, but their king proved more than willing to sacrifice them all for his gains. That didn’t sit well with any soldier. It fell to Rolnir to keep as many of them alive as possible for the return home.
Tides of Blood and Steel Page 4