During their third day from Lythylla, James locates a force of at least five thousand men heading north, most likely to reinforce the force that used to be at Lythylla.
“Should we take them on?” Jiron asks.
Shaking his head, James says, “That’s not the idea. We are to draw them after us and out of Lythylla, avoiding any direct confrontation with large forces for as long as possible.”
“Besides,” adds Illan, “the force remaining at Lythylla will be able to handle them.”
By the fourth day, any caravans they raid are no longer sent back. Instead, what they need is transferred to their pack animals and the rest is destroyed. Axes are used to chop the wagons apart, the supplies they aren’t taking are destroyed in one manner or another. Nothing is to be left that will be able to aid the Empire. Any civilians with the caravans who aren’t killed in the initial assault are allowed to go free. James simply can’t bring himself to slay innocents. Plus, they’ll begin to spread the word of what they’re doing which is precisely what he wants.
James is surprised at the lack of response from the Empire. He thought there should have been something by now. The only thing he can figure is that the word has yet to reach local officials. Those who they’ve left alive have been on the fringe of the Empire and communications in this world being as they are, it may take awhile before they get word to the powers that be.
On the fifth day as they approach where the old border used to be between Madoc and the Empire, patrols and troops become more frequent. Still they continue as they have, either taking out the enemy should the force prove small, evading it should it prove large. Anything they come across from this point on, if it can be used by the Empire in the war effort, gets destroyed.
During the midafternoon of the fifth day while using his mirror to find enemy patrols, James discovers a fortress to the southwest sitting along the main road running north and south.
“That has to be Al-Ziron,” Illan explains when he informs him what he found. “It’s been guarding the Empire’s border for centuries.”
“I take it that it will have a sizable garrison?” asks James.
“Perhaps,” he replies. “With this no longer being the border, they may not feel it requires many men.” After riding a few more moments in silence, he asks “Do you plan to take it?”
Shaking his head, James replies, “No. It would be too risky. Let Madoc’s soldiers take on the enemy, we’re primarily interested in the country’s infrastructure and its war industry.”
“Then I suggest we skirt more to the east to avoid any possible patrols which may be in the area,” offers Illan.
“Good idea,” he replies.
Later that day when he again checks his mirror for enemies in the surrounding countryside, he spies what looks to be a long supply caravan escorted by several hundred soldiers heading eastward. When he informs Illan, Illan says, “Most likely heading toward the army fighting with the Kirken Federation. How far away are they?”
“A couple miles,” James tells him.
“One last fight before nightfall?” Illan asks.
“We do have numbers and the element of surprise on our side,” replies James.
“I concur,” he agrees then hollers for Ceadric. After a couple minutes for James to show them the supply caravan in his mirror and to work out the battle plan, they alter their course and move to intercept.
Ceadric and most of the riders take off to the north in an attempt to get around them while Illan, James and his people move directly toward them.
“We’re finally going to get in on the fighting?” Jiron asks.
“Yes. There are too many for Ceadric and the Raiders to take by themselves.”
“About time,” Scar says from where he overheard his reply. “Hate just riding along while others get to have all the fun.”
From up ahead one of the scouts they sent to keep an eye on the caravan appears riding quickly toward them. “They’re not much further ahead,” the scout reports as he comes abreast of Illan.
“Does it look like they are aware of our approach?” he asks.
Shaking his head, the scout replies, “No. They’re strung out in a line over a mile long. Most of the accompanying soldiers are at the head of the column, the rest are bringing up the rear.”
“Excellent,” Illan states. To Delia he asks, “How are your slingers on horseback?”
“We’ve done some practice while mounted but they’re not very accurate unless on the ground,” she admits.
He nods his head and wishes he hadn’t sent all of Hedry’s archers with Ceadric, the only ones left are Errin and Aleya. “Who is fairly accurate?” he asks.
“Other than myself, probably Devin, Caleb and Nerrin,” she replies. “The others simply can’t do it.”
“Alright, here’s what we do…”
Jiron and his riders are riding guard on Delia and the other three slingers who are accurate on horseback as they ride quickly toward the enemy caravan. Errin and Aleya ride with them as well, as do Moyil and Terrance, each of whom is bearing a lit torch. They plan to target the center of the caravan where there are the fewest number of soldiers.
The drivers of the enemy wagons take note of their approach as soon as they appear on the horizon. Several draw crossbows and one sounds a horn which summons the riders on either end to their aid.
When Delia comes within sling range of the wagons, she brings the group to a halt. The four slingers wind up their slings and let fly a single oil bomb each. Simultaneously, Errin and Aleya set one of their treated arrows to string, then wait as Moyil and Terrance light them from the torches they’re carrying before sending it after the oil bombs.
Just as the first oil bomb strikes one wagon, Errin’s flaming arrow follows and the wagon erupts in flame. A second later another wagon is struck by Aleya’s arrow and is soon being engulfed by fire. They quickly ready two more arrows and let fly at the remaining two wagons hit by the oil bombs. Crossbow bolts fly toward them but miss their mark, they just aren’t that accurate over long distance.
Once the wagons are burning, Jiron hollers, “Time to go!” From either end of the caravan, riders ride hard to close with the attackers. As one, Jiron and the others turn to race back to where James and the others wait.
Not many were left behind when the raiding party set out. James, Illan, Miko, and the Hand of Asran, as well as the few slingers whose accuracy from horseback was less than desirable, were all that remained.
As they flee from the approaching riders, Jiron and the others see their comrades already in position to ward off the attackers with James and the Hand of Asran stationed in front. As he and the others race around to their rear, a greenish glow surrounds the brothers.
Hundreds of green sprouts rise from the earth before the oncoming horsemen. Growing quickly, they rise three feet or more from the ground, large thorns appear and soon a wall of thorns impedes the path of their pursuers. Some of the horses leap over the barrier, others go around, but the majority comes to an abrupt halt.
Crumph! Crumph!
The ground erupts beneath the riders swinging around the ends of the thorn wall throwing riders and horses into air. Arrows and slugs fly toward those riders who had jumped the wall, felling them rapidly.
Of the dozen or more who had jumped over the barrier, only four continue toward them. Illan and Jiron move to the fore to stop them. Suddenly, a massive apparition appears before the riders. Seven feet tall, green and looking for all the world like a man made of leaves, it spreads its arms wide and lets out with a roar.
The charging horses roll their eyes in fear and rear backward, knocking their riders to the ground. Before the riders even hit the ground, the apparition disappears and Illan and Jiron move forward to engage them.
Over their heads, arrows and slugs continue to fly into the riders moving around the barrier to attack with deadly accuracy. Jiron reaches a rider who’s dazed from his fall and quickly strikes out with a knife, taking
him through the throat.
As the dead man falls, he moves on to the next who is already up and in position. Next to him he hears another rider fall from the death blow Illan dealt him as he engages the rider.
The rider strikes out with his sword as Jiron approaches. Sidestepping, he allows the blade to pass next to him. Lashing out with one knife, he catches the rider along one side, leaving a six inch trail of blood across his swordarm.
Jumping back, the rider looks at Jiron in anger. With a cry, he takes his sword in both hands and hacks down with all his might. As the blade descends toward Jiron, he dodges to the side and strikes the descending blade with a knife. At the same time, he lashes out with a foot and knocks the rider off balance. Before the man has a chance to regain his balance, he thrusts with his other knife and slips it through a gap in the armor beneath the ribcage, sinking the blade to the hilt.
With a cry of pain, the rider staggers a couple of steps before dropping to his knees as blood flows from his side. His sword falls from his hand as he topples over and hits the ground where he lies still.
Retrieving his dagger from the fallen man, Jiron looks to find Illan having already dispatched his two.
Horns sound behind the attacking riders announcing the arrival of Ceadric and his bunch. With the odds so much against them, the enemy riders break off the attack and flee.
Hedry’s archers fire at the fleeing riders while riding at a full gallop. Some of their arrows find their marks, but the majority go wide. He divides his men in half, sending each half after the two groups of fleeing riders.
“Wagons secured,” Ceadric reports as he nears.
“Any survivors?” James asks.
“Most of the drivers and about a dozen soldiers,” he replies.
James glances to Illan and nods. “Good,” he says.
To Ceadric, Illan says, “Keep them at the wagons. We’ll wish to interrogate them.”
“Yes, sir,” Ceadric says as he salutes and turns around to head back to the captured wagons.
“Went pretty well,” comments Jiron.
“Yeah it did,” agrees James. “Let’s move to the caravan and see about the prisoners. We need to get out of here before too much longer.”
Illan nods as he says, “I agree.”
As everyone gets under way, James glances to Brother Willim and then nods to the thorn barrier. “Is that going to last awhile?” he asks.
“Maybe,” he replies. “It’s real so it could thrive here if it’s the will of Asran. Though I doubt it, too dry.”
Working their way around the thorn hedge, James, Illan and the rest make their way across the recent field of battle to where a score of Ceadric’s riders guard those who survived their assault. When they arrive, Illan directs Ceadric to have his men gather what supplies they require before destroying the wagons.
Ceadric gives him a ‘Yes, sir,’ then orders two of his junior officers to take care of it.
“Take what rest you can,” Illan announces to the others. “We leave in under an hour.”
While the group from The Ranch dismounts and begins distributing rations among themselves for a quick meal Illan, Ceadric, Jiron and James go to where the prisoners are being held.
The men being guarded are a sad, dejected looking lot. A dozen civilian drivers plus over a score of soldiers sit in a group off to one side. “Sergeant!” Illan barks upon approaching.
One of the soldiers guarding the prisoners steps forward and asks, “Yes, sir?”
“Release the drivers,” he tells him. “Get them out of here and moving on the road north.”
“Yes, sir!” the sergeant replies with a salute and with the help of two other Raiders soon has the drivers free of their bonds and heading down the road. When they don’t move along fast enough, some of the Raiders decide to hurry them a bit with the broad side of their swords.
Illan turns to the remaining soldiers and asks, “Who here understands me?”
The prisoners return blank expressions, all that is except one. A soldier in the center of the group hesitantly says in heavily accented northern, “I can.”
“You know who I am?” he asks.
“You are the Death Hawk,” he replies, venom dripping from his words.
“Death Hawk?” James asks as he turns to Illan.
“That’s the name they gave me,” he says then turns back to their prisoner. A look of stony defiance is set in his face as he stares back to him. “What can you tell me of the defenses at Al-Zynn?” At this time one of the two bands of riders that had set out after the fleeing riders returns.
The soldier simply stares back in silence.
The leader of the band comes to a stop before Illan, snaps him a salute then says, “Got ‘em all.”
“Excellent,” Illan tells him. “Have your men stand down until we leave.”
“Yes, sir,” the rider replies. He gives Illan another salute before he and his riders move to the pack horses to retrieve some food and drink.
Turning back to the prisoner, he asks, “Now, what do you know of Al-Zynn?”
“I’m not telling you anything!” the soldier states defiantly. “Though it’s sure to mean my death, I will never help one who so ravaged the Empire.”
“Al-Zynn?” Jiron asks Ceadric.
“Al-Zynn is a major city that holds the Empire’s stockpile of weapons and supplies for its northern armies,” he explains. “During our last campaign here, we planned on razing it to the ground. But before we could get close enough, the Empire brought in too many forces to defend it and we had to go elsewhere. At the time we didn’t realize it but that marked the beginning of our retreat from the Empire.”
Nodding over to Illan, he adds, “The fact that he wasn’t able to take it has gnawed at him since then. He means to head there and take it before they’re able to bring in sufficient forces to stop us.”
Jiron glances over to James who nods in agreement.
At this time the second band of Raiders shows up from their pursuit of the fleeing Empire riders. The lead rider comes forward at a gallop and says, “Black Hawk! A force of over four score riders may be on the way.”
“What happened?” he asks.
“We gave chase and took down all but half a score when another force appeared. Those we were chasing joined up with them so we returned as fast as we could to give you the news. There were too many for us to effectively deal with.”
“Very well,” he says. To Ceadric Illan says, “Get ready to ride.” After a brief glance to James, he adds, “And kill the prisoners.”
“Yes, sir,” Ceadric says then signals several soldiers to aid him as he draws a knife and begins slitting their prisoner’s throats. The first one he comes to is the man who they were questioning. Taking the prisoner’s hair in one hand, he pulls back the head and cuts his throat before moving on to the next one.
“We’re leaving!” Illan hollers, loud enough to be heard by everyone. “Mount up!”
It takes but a moment for everyone to get in the saddle and when all are ready, Illan leads them with all speed southward.
He was sure he was a dead man when his hair had been pulled back and saw the glint of the knife out of the corner of his eye. Somehow the knife failed to penetrate his throat and missed the jugular. Still bleeding from the cut encircling his throat, the soldier feigns death as Black Hawk and his men ride away.
When the sound of their horses begins to fade away in the distance, he rises to a sitting position and glances around at his comrades. None but he remains alive. Tearing a strip of cloth from the shirt of a dead friend lying nearby, he binds it around his neck to stem the flow of blood from the thankfully shallow cut.
The caravan he was escorting had been on the way to resupply those fighting the Kirkens. They will now be sorely pressed to remain effective without the much needed supplies. Getting to his feet, he stumbles among the bodies in a futile search for another survivor but only manages to reaffirm what he already knew to be true, he alon
e survived.
Just after he finishes checking the bodies of his comrades, the sound of approaching horses alert him that others are approaching. At first afraid that more of Black Hawk’s men were nearing, he lies down and pretends to be another of the dead. But when the riders draw closer he sees they are from the Empire. Returning to his feet he waves them down.
“What happened here?” the commander in charge of the riders asks. Among those riding behind him, the soldier notices several riders who had been among those guarding the caravan.
“They slew everyone,” he explains. “Somehow, the man who cut me did a poor job.” He lowers the cloth to show the commander his wound.
“How many were there?” the commander asks after taking in the scene.
“Hundreds,” replies the soldier. “But commander!”
The tone in the soldier’s voice causes the commander to turn his attention once more upon him. “Yes?”
“They are planning to take Al-Zynn!”
“Tell me everything,” he commands.
Chapter Thirteen
Leaving the scene of carnage behind them, they head fairly due south as fast as the horses can carry them. Illan glances over to James where he’s checking his mirror and asks, “What are they doing?”
Glancing up from the mirror, he says, “They just reached the dead soldiers. The one we left alive is talking to the commander.”
“Think they’ll take the bait?” Jiron asks.
“We were pretty convincing,” Ceadric says.
“Thought you had actually cut his throat for a moment,” James tells him.
“So did I,” he admits. “Then I saw him move his hand up to his throat and apply pressure to stop the blood flow while attempting to appear like he was dead.”
James returns his gaze to the mirror then says, “Looks like they did.” He glances to Illan and adds, “Riders are moving at breakneck speed in all directions. The majority are heading south, just to the east of us.”
“Makes sense,” Illan says with a nod. “That’s the general direction of Al-Zynn.”
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