Elizabeth of Starland (The Colplatschki Chronicles Book 1)

by Alma Boykin

  None of the Turkowi raiders had worn armor, aside from chain mail. What about the main army forces? Another thing she needed to learn more about, she decided. Chain mail provided some defense against the new muskets the Imperials had, but crossbows got through it. Without thinking she reached into her large belt bag, her fingers counting off the crossbow bolts in their sack, two extra strings, and the spare trigger mechanism and cocking lever that she carried.

  Lazlo reappeared, panting. “Not only can you see the battlefield, my lady, but there’s a natural gun platform.” He picked up his pistols and cross bow, adding, “that pseudo-boar trail? It leads back into the valley, crosses a shoulder of the mountain.”

  “So they could flank Montoya.”

  “Yes. You think that’s the goal?”

  She looked up slope to where the convent sat, then back down into the forest. “I don’t know, but we’d better stop them either way.”

  The Starlanders rejoined Sabino and his men. “So, do they know we’re here?” Sabino asked under his breath, crouching behind the rocks.

  “How could they not, between the dead horse and how badly we tore up the trail?” She shrugged because it did not matter, not really.

  “If we abandon the convent, my lady, we can keep them off that other trail,” Lazlo reminded her.

  She clenched her teeth. “We do not know that the convent is not their goal. They might think we’ve fortified it.”

  Sabino snorted as he looked down the trail. “Not even mules could get cannon up here, my lady.”

  Elizabeth always remembered the silence. Years later, after all the other battles, after the stories had been polished and gilded for posterity, their uglier details lost to memory, she could not forget the quiet. As the Imperials watched from cover, the Turkowi slogged up the trail. They’d used cloth and leather to keep their equipment from rattling or clinking. Cloth covered anything that might reflect light. They’d even cut their beasts’ vocal cords. Elizabeth marveled at the silence as she counted how many men and horses passed by the tree at the farthest point of approach. The trail curved back before it reached the Imperials’ position, giving them a little more time before the Turkowi could see them. That was, if the Turkowi even looked for them, hiding back among the rocks and buried in brush. The minutes stretched, crawling as slowly as the black and yellow-clad figures inching up the trail.

  Sabino waited until the first handful of Turkowi walked past the center of the Imperials’ position, then looked to Elizabeth and nodded. She waved her hand, sighted and fired on her first target. The bolt hit a donkey just behind the ribs. As she’d hoped, it staggered and collapsed, blocking the trail. Her next shot got the donkey’s handler in the back. He squealed before staggering into the brush. She dropped flat, rolled onto her back, and cranked furiously. This time she had to wait for her targets, but managed to catch an officer. I want those plumes, she gasped, amazed by the huge feathers on his helmet.

  As the Imperials fired from cover, some of the Turkowi tried to break out of the killing ground. One charged directly into the Imperials and Elizabeth found herself fighting for her life, ducking a short sword and hunting knife as she tried to keep her saber between his blades and her throat. Lazlo saved her, grabbing the Turkowi’s arm and pulling him off balance. As the two men grappled, Elizabeth scrambled forward on hands and knees, then swung up, slicing open the Turkowi’s femoral artery and severing other things as well. They don’t wear protection like we do, part of her observed as the rest of her scrambled clear of the falling body. She cut his throat after Lazlo stabbed him under the arm. They wear mail vests but no sleeves. Interesting.

  As they fought, Elizabeth tried to keep track of the battlefield. She noticed that Sabino had vanished and wondered what had happened, and where. Then she was busy grabbing her troopers and sending a few up to the second ambush, to stop the Turkowi as they tried to break through. “Behind us,” someone gasped. “They’ve left the trail,” and the soldier pointed to a flash of yellow. The others fell back into the woods, to where they’d left their horses, and Elizabeth mounted. They rode into the next batch of Turkowi. This she could do, and she and Malcom selected their target, a small man on a nervous black horse.

  She rode at him, leaning down and planning to hamstring the beast as they passed. Instead the other horse charged, colliding with Malcom. Both horses grunted and Malcom screamed a challenge. Elizabeth ducked a saber swing and stabbed with one hand. Her knife skittered off the man’s thigh armor. Malcom backed, almost stumbling, and she tried to keep her seat. He screamed again, falling backwards, and she threw herself clear, rolling onto her feet, saber still in hand. Her opponent smiled. She swung up, blocking his blow, then ran uphill. He turned and followed, intending to ride her down. She drew her pistol, whipped off the safety cloth and aimed for the horse’s unarmored chest. Instead the rider leaned over, arm outstretched. She fired at his head and dropped to her belly, rolling out of the horse’s way. Scraping sounds followed a meaty “thunk” from behind her and she looked up to see the rider lying beside a tree, his horse still running uphill, but slower. The red mess where the tree had scraped the man’s face off told the tale.

  She reloaded her pistol and looked around. The horse came to a halt not far from his late rider and she eased up to the nervous black gelding. A sound down slope distracted him, giving her time to grab the reins and pull herself into the saddle. “Ugh.” His former owner had very short legs, and there wasn’t time to dismount and reset the stirrups. The horse kicked and tossed his head, but she forced him to go more or less where she wanted. Malcom would have to wait.

  She found her way back to the main fight in time to help finish off one more rider. The fighting seemed to be winding down. She saw a handful of dead Turkowi and more dead or wounded Imperials than she wanted to. “Twee, twee-lee-lee,” cut through the woods. She fished her own whistle out and answered.

  Lazlo appeared, on foot. She started towards him. “Look out!” he screamed. She twisted away from a shadow as red fire exploded against her arm. Thunder roared in her ears and the horse spooked, rearing. Once again she lost her seat, this time landing across a log. She felt ribs break and screamed, then passed out.

  “My lady?” Someone shook her and she cried out, then bit her tongue to stop the sound. “I’m sorry, my lady, but we have to move. More Turkowi are coming up the trail, and they have a cannon.”

  She blinked up at Lazlo. “A cannon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give me the crossbow and your spare pistol,” she ordered. “Then go. I’ll stay here.” If she braced the bow with her feet, she thought she could cock it.

  “Elizabeth,” he pressed.

  “I’m not abandoning the convent,” she snarled. “Go with the others, stop the cannon and whatever else they have.”

  He saluted and vanished. She heaved herself into a place where she could brace against a tall stump, watching the trail but still near cover. She heard fighting, but no more Turkowi came up the trail. Or did they? She blinked, frowning. Yes, someone had moved closer, ignoring her and the dead. He carried an odd shaped bag on his back. That’s not one of mine, she decided. What’s he carrying? She aimed carefully as the figure wove in and out of focus. Elizabeth waited until he came into killing range, and pulled the trigger. He dropped and she waited. The world started spinning and she wondered if she’d hit herself with the recoil. Can’t, must, damn, and she sat down, hard. She heard more roaring and passed out again.

  She woke up and saw pine needles. “Huh?”

  “Don’t move. I’ve almost finished stitching the gash closed,” a voice warned, and she stayed still. “There. Not bad, my lady, you collected two saber slices, at least two broken ribs, and a concussion.”

  “Found my horse?”

  A new voice asked, “What did she say?”

  She tried again, wondering why she could not breath deeply. “Have—You—Found—Malcom. Horse.”

  “Your gelding? Yes. Broke a leg whe
n he stepped into a hole. We put your tack on a captured beast.”

  “Thank you,” she managed, trying not to cry. He’d been a good horse: a pain in the ass at times, but a good fighting horse. She’d have to explain to his majesty how she lost his horse, she thought, still fuzzy.

  “The troopers? Sabino? The convent?”

  Lazlo’s voice answered. “We lost ten, plus wounded. He’s scratched but will survive, and unharmed, in that order. Go back to sleep, my lady.”

  “Can I?”

  The voice of the person with the needle said, “Yes, you can.”

  When she woke, she heard voices and the crackle of flames burning wood. It seemed dark out. She stayed still, letting her body rest. Her arm and side hurt, but her head felt much better. Someone said, “That’s quite a sight.”

  “It really is. I’ve never seen a battlefield from above.”

  “Damn sight better than from inside it, that’s for sure.”

  The first person grunted. “Glad we can’t hear anything.”

  Several grunts and other noises answered. Silence returned. Now she could hear horse and mule noises, and a human complaining about something. She used the arm that still functioned to get herself into a sitting position. Her bladder complained and she tried to get to her feet.

  “No, my lady, don’t,” Sabino protested.

  “Need a bush,” she explained.

  “You what, my lady?”

  Lazlo put his arm around her. “I’ll help her.” He guided her to a tree. “I’m going back a few steps. Use the branch to balance,” and he retreated to give her at least the illusion of privacy. She used her good hand to lift her skirts, then her other hand to hold the material out of the way. It worked well enough.

  Lazlo helped her back to the camp. As she sat, she asked, “How are we doing, Captain?”

  Sabino nodded towards the other fires around them. “We were doing fine until the second wave got here. Had a cannon in pieces,” he raised one hand, forestalling the obvious questions. “You can look at it by daylight, my lady. They fought very hard to get that monster to the battlefield overlook, but we stopped them. We lost ten dead, fifteen including you are injured but will survive. Captured a good number of horses and mules. We can go down tomorrow.”

  “So the convent was not their target.” The words tasted bitter. They could have abandoned it and the sisters would have been unharmed.

  “Not their primary, no my lady, but I don’t.” He stopped. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

  She’d begun hurting all over. Elizabeth decided to let it rest. “Very well, Captain. I’ll take third watch.”

  “Very good, my lady.” With Lazlo’s help she found where she’d been sleeping and laid down again. She remembered nothing until Sabino woke her for the watch.

  The next morning she stalked the hillside, tracing the flow of the fighting. It scared her. I made such a terrible mistake. I should have forced the sisters out or not tried to hold the convent. If Sabino had not been as wary, if one of the Turkowi horses had not slipped and dropped its load, forcing them to delay while they cleared the trail, if there had been a few more Turkowi or fewer Imperials, she’d be dead. If she was lucky. And the Turkowi could have gotten the strange gun into position. “Could they really hit the battlefield from here?”

  The men had no idea. “I do not think so,” Sabino replied, looking down on the Kidron Valley and the remnants of the previous days’ carnage. “But until a real gunner can look at it, I’m not going to say no. The gunpowder your last target carried feels different from what I’m used to,” he added. “Finer. Burns faster, too.” He’d been carrying a gunpowder bomb, or so it appeared.

  Elizabeth studied the battlefield below them. It looked nothing like the neat boxes and lines on maps, or the colored markers she’d used playing battle games with Anthony Armstrong, Aquila Starland, or Gerald Kazmer of Babenburg. What she saw instead was a jumble of colors, blue, yellow, and brown, piles of things that she knew had to be the bodies of men and horses, and a trail of flattened grass and shattered trees. She wished she had a pair of the distance glasses that Aquila and the other commanders used. No you don’t. Do you really want to see the broken bodies, dead and dying horses, and guts? Of course not, she told herself, but she needed to see how the battle had gone, to try and learn from what had worked and what had not.

  Sabino joined her study. “Flanked Count Montoya, looks like.” He pointed to the south end of the line. “See all the horses? Montoya’s line was supposed to end at big rocks there, use them as an anchor. Turkowi must have come in from behind, or worked around.”

  “Where did they come around from?” She craned her neck, trying to see through the mountain’s flank. “Is there another pass to the south, or were they advance troops prepositioned?”

  The Wandertruppen officer scratched his nose. “If I were a betting man, I’d guess they found a trail near the mouth of the pass and followed it south. Maybe that one that we crossed a kilometer up this route, my lady? I can’t think of any trail to the south that’s suitable for heavy cavalry like those seem to have been.”

  “Heavy cavalry?”

  He pointed. “See the metal shine? That’s sunlight on plate armor, my lady. Turkowi don’t wear plate, except for their heavy cavalry. Got it from the damned Frankonians,” he grunted.

  “Good to know, Captain, thank you.” Once again she wondered if Laurence could see past the end of his nose. If the Turkowi overran the Eastern Empire, the Poloki and Freistaadter could not stop them. And then what would Laurence do? Run hide behind the skirts of whomever he’s currently sleeping with? Maybe he’d rise to the occasion. She doubted it. She continued to study the battlefield, wondering how long it would take to bury the bodies and what equipment could be salvaged. She was glad to be up on the mountain at the moment. You have your own bodies to bring down, she reminded herself.

  They stayed in place one more night, but the Turkowi made no further attempts to climb the mountain. The soldiers devised two horse litters for the most seriously injured, and the rest rode on horses or mules, including the captured beasts. The survivors strapped the Imperial dead to the pack animals. Elizabeth salvaged the rest of her tack from Malcom’s body and rode the horse that it fit. The reddish-brown gelding had a tolerably placid disposition, suiting the tired woman just fine.

  They rode down into the stench of rotting bodies. The summer heat brought the worst of the miasmas out of the earth and Elizabeth was not the only soldier trying not to heave. The heat made her arm throb and thirst tormented her, but she knew better than to drink from anything near the slaughter.

  She soon had more worries. A group of guards in Eulenberg and Windthorst colors met the group a kilometer from the edge of Montoya’s encampment. “Elizabeth von Sarmas,” their leader demanded.

  “Here,” and she and Lazlo rode forward to meet him.

  “Elizabeth of Frankonia, you are under arrest for treason.”

  Chapter 10: A Second Battle

  Elizabeth stared at the Windthorst officer. Then she leaned back in her saddle and began laughing, despite the pain from her ribs. She couldn’t help herself. She’d survived riding across three countries, fought Sworn Acolytes, been shot at, sliced, trampled, and now this idiot in clean clothes, on a prettily groomed horse, said she was a traitor. When she managed to get herself back under control, Elizabeth panted, “Captain, if that is your rank, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in months. Has his Grace Duke Aquila or his grace Archduke Lewis of Babenburg confirmed this order?”

  “You are under arrest,” he repeated, stung by the laughter, or so Elizabeth thought. “If you do not come peaceably, I will be forced to—”

  “To do nothing,” Sabino snarled, riding up and putting his horse between the captain and Elizabeth. “Lady Sarmas remains under direct command of Count Montoya and thence of Duke Aquila Starland, and cannot be arrested without their permission. This is wartime, Captain.” He reminded the stranger. “You must h
ave Lady Sarmas’s commander’s approval.”

  “No, I do not!” The sound of the Wandertruppen men’s swords clearing their sheaths ended the argument. Elizabeth’s men drew closer, waiting. The strangers backed down and moved off the road, opening a passage for the others. “You’ll pay for your insolence,” the Windthorst captain warned.

  “That’s what their former owners said, too,” and Sabino jerked his thumb back towards the heavily laden pack animals and captured equines. The horses with the bodies of Elizabeth’s men came last in line, and the Windthorst men scattered farther, some making signs of blessing.

  Sabino remained at the head of the column until they reached the Montoya camp. Once there, Elizabeth let a groom lead the captured horse away, after warning him, “The tack is mine. I want it in my tent, or wherever I’m staying.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Beasts seen to, she hurried as best she could to the medical area, intending to make certain that her men were being taken care of.

  A churigon, looking worn and tapping ash off a roll of nicotiana, met her at the knee-high rope marking off the medical section and stopped her. “We have your men, Lady Sarmas, and will take the best care of them.” He took another puff of nicotiana. “There is no room for visitors right now.” Behind him she could see makeshift shelters for the less-seriously wounded, those who could be left alone for several hours at a time.

  “Thank you.” She made no effort to cross into his territory. She’d heard campfire stories over the past year about the fate of people who made the churigons angry.

  “Do you need aid, my lady?”

  She glanced at her arm as she shook her head. “No, thank you. It’s a clean cut and is healing already.” The ribs required time, nothing more. She left, wincing a little at the pull of the muscles as she walked to Count Montoya’s tent. Lazlo, despite her orders, insisted on coming with her.