Vesteal 01 – 01 – Ghost in the Yew

by Blake Hausladen

  “Company E,” I ordered, “divide by threes. Spread out in the trees west of the clearing and find good spots to lay ambush. They will send scouts next to try and get a look at us. Kill them as you can but keep a good skirmish line. Do not let them west of you. When they get up the nerve to cross the clearing in numbers, regroup west of the basin and proceed as previously ordered.”

  They got straight to it, and I led my men south to make more mischief.

  85

  Arilas Barok Yentif

  Erom and Fana followed me back up to the east corner of the battlement. We had a bellyful of some of the Dame’s best cooking to date and were still grinning from the tale Leger’s greencoat had told us while we ate. One grabbed a brush and drew us a crude map of the forest around the spot on the road where Leger had made first contact.

  My news back to Leger was as good. Dia and Thell had ridden north without delay, Avin had recovered enough to heal the single greencoat who had been stabbed through the cheek, and everything of value outside the palisade had been well hidden: millstones, pig herds, and the road out to the orchard. I was also able to brag that I had not set foot outside the keep once.

  The view of the surrounds only added to the day.

  Very nearly every man and woman in Urnedi was working along the tree line below, and the progress they’d made was astounding. Erom had suggested I turn the job over to the man responsible for my timber camps—the one Leger had hired in Almidi so long ago. I’d forgotten his name again but had already told Fana twice to prepare documents that would sign over to the man a one-tenth share in all three of my timber camps if he was able to get the work down in time.

  North and south of the road, he had teams cutting back all the brush beneath the sections of forest we needed to clear, and his timbermen dropped and stripped the exposed trees twenty at a time. The few score of Fells we had left in town then dragged the logs halfway across the open ground between the distant tree line and palisade and left them there, half stacked, half strewn in a wide and treacherous barricade. The way the overseer built it, we laid the odds at fifty-fifty whether a man could cross the pile without shifting a log and get himself or someone else crushed.

  A fourth team of timbermen worked like mad along the brush line to cut waist-high poles from the cut saplings and branches. A fifth team carried the poles out along both sides of the barricade, and after pounding them into the ground in random directions, the exposed ends were sharpened.

  “Heh,” Erom scoffed and then pointed. “Now that’s beautiful.”

  It took me a moment to see what had caught his attention, but then I spotted a newly-arrived wagon, stacked high with some kind of green brush. Its contents were being lifted carefully out and laid over top of the spikes or set into the open spaces in the barricade.

  “Stinging nettle?”

  Fana observed, “He is using entire brambles of the stuff. How treacherous. Can you imagine trying to cross that ground while someone is firing arrows at you? What makes a man think to do such things?”

  Erom said coolly, “Hatred. Pure hatred.”

  I very nearly asked him to tell me at last the tale of what Kuren had done to him in Almidi but rightly left the man’s hurt alone. I asked, instead, “What has your hatred of the fat man dreamt up?”

  To my surprise, he pulled a neatly-folded piece of vellum from his inside pocket. “I am not sure of it yet, but we might try this.”

  To the man who reads for Kuren,

  Prince Barok will pay you one full weight of gold for each officer you convince to walk with you down the road and surrender.

  You may tell them they will each receive three weights of gold for doing so and will be released when the Hessier are dead.

  Our fight is with them, not with you

  “Could that work?” I asked.

  “Costs nothing to try.”

  Fana’s mouth was hanging open—mine too for that matter.

  “Four weights each could end up being quite a sum, Erom.”

  He shrugged. “Without officers, those Tracian boys will run the first chance they get. The Hessier will be too busy holding the army together to do much else. How much would you pay to make that happen?”

  I said to Fana, “I think someone has earned himself a tenth of the quarry.”

  She did not respond, but instead had hold of her chin.

  “What stirs?”

  “Hang on. I am trying to think up something that will earn me a half of something.”

  We laughed so long my side ached. I sent Erom’s message to Leger with instructions to deliver it. His reply arrived at a gallop near sundown.

  Barok,

  Our afternoon saw similar success. Many of their scouts fell to the ambushes we laid, and a full company of three hundred regulars were slowly picked apart and routed off the south slope by Captain Sahin. He did a proper job of pursuit as well and spent only seven dead and fifteen wounded in exchange for killing or wounding every man.

  * * *

  I sent Erom’s message in the lull that followed, but I think perhaps it went astray. They tried the road right after, sending levies and regulars up the road and bailiffs through the trees on both flanks. We got lucky. The two forces arrived separately. Gern was able to route the main force and adjusted in time to bloody the bailiffs. The archer from town did proper work throughout, and I chased the Tracians back down the road. All told, the day cost us thirty-eight dead and one hundred twelve wounded in exchange for some seven hundred dead and likely twice that number wounded.

  * * *

  Merit, I dread to report, was amongst those who fell.

  * * *

  The captured weapons and those too badly hurt to continue to fight will arrive shortly. Prepare for their arrival. Know also that I think it unlikely that we will hold them back tomorrow. The Hessier drive this enemy beyond reason. Be prepared for our retreat.

  * * *

  The moon will be bright again tonight. Trust your health to nothing.

  The time that followed was a blur. The wounded filled the practice field, and the town’s efforts became much divided between them and the work on the surrounds. Avin took an excruciatingly-long time choosing which men he would heal, and the priest would not use his magic until Geart was brought down. I was ready to club the man, but the Chaukai Leger had assigned to him held me back. I had not understood how infrequently he could use his magic. When he got to it, though, he saved the lives of three men with slight but deadly wounds. I apologized after witnessing the blue light but nearly rode out to the tree line in my frustration at seeing the rest he could not save. I managed, instead, to walk a course around the battlement with Erom calling encouragements to those who worked in the trees. Fana stayed upon the practice field to help care for the wounded.

  Leger and I kept riders moving back and forth throughout the night. The soldiers slept upon their hill. The town worked to make them a strong place to retreat to. But the dawn colored the horizon too soon. Too much work needed yet to be done on the surrounds, and the next rider up the road was badly wounded and grim.

  We met the haggard man at the gates. Erom had to catch him as he came out of the saddle. He grabbed the waterskin my bodyguard offered, and after a long drink, he managed to say, “Lord Prince, the enemy sent its conscripts against us by moonlight before the dawn. They did not care how many of them we killed. They forced the flanks and pushed us off our fortifications. The town’s archers flee here now.”

  “Where is Colonel Mertone?” I demanded.

  “He stayed to command the retreat.”

  86

  Colonel Leger Mertone

  The Battle of Urnedi, Day Two

  “Order,” Gern cried from the center of the road in the gray light of the coming dawn. “Withdraw by the line. Address there, recruit. Keep it tight. I’ll call you Chaukai if we make it back down this road.”

  I was on his left with the thirty from my three troops still fit to fight. Sahin was somewhere on the fa
r side, but I had not seen him since before first light. The town’s archers had gotten away clean and the lieutenant worked with the 400 men he had left to get us free long enough to fast march back to Urnedi. The Tracian would not yield.

  “Call out the range,” Gern yelled.

  “Twenty.”

  “Order—ready ... aim ... loose. Order—ready ... aim ... loose.”

  Each flight of arrows shocked the enemy back and left a score of dead upon the road. But again, the enemy reformed and pressed forward. The greencoats’ shields and spears were taller and longer and the collision spattered the road with Tracian blood.

  “Front and switch by twos,” Gern called and took his turn again in front. As it had in Bessradi, his fierce spear punctured man after man and the half-broken line before him fell into tatters.

  “Quick order—shield wall and fire at will.”

  The forward line of spearmen crouched behind their shields, and arrows zipped over them. The opportunistic fire tortured the enemy, and they withered back yet again.

  Gern reformed his line and ordered four more wounded men to withdraw. They leaned on each other as they made their way down to the last lines of ponies and began the terrible ride back to the keep.

  “Colonel, they come again.”

  It was the bailiffs this time, pressing up around our left side.

  Kuren needed only to deliver his forces together to finish us, but he had not managed it yet. It almost did not matter anymore. My thirty were not enough to turn them again.

  I whistled and caught Gern’s eyes. “Order, withdraw by the volley and fire by the line.”

  He snapped to, and his men got into line and started to march backward down the hill. The forward line kept spears and shield pointed toward our foes, while the second and third prepared to rotate and fire over them.

  I looked for a quick target of opportunity through the trees or upon the side of the road, but found none. The enemy was bunched together in their fear of our arrows and our able cavalry. I withdrew west, instead, heartened only by the first addition of the sun’s color upon the horizon.

  I understood the enemy’s game then. They did not mean to rout us. They meant to pin us and grind us to dust. This enemy did not care for its men. They cared only for our destruction.

  The bailiffs on both flanks tried to collapse on the infantry, but Gern’s withdrawal had pulled them free of the envelopment. The bailiffs met, instead, the sharp corners of Gern’s box, and they paid the same terrible price they had each time before. Two mean volleys of arrows from the back ranks killed an equal number. I charged those who withdrew into the trees, and the entire force was routed yet again.

  I felt the black weight and cried out, “Quick order—Retreat at the double. Hessier close. Hessier close.”

  The infantry turned and ran, and I kept my thirty close on their left. On Gern’s right, I caught a glimpse of Sahin doing the same. Up the hill behind us, half the Tracians charged. We got clear of the black touch, and Gern scrambled to reform his lines.

  “There’s one,” I heard someone call and looked east over the thousands charging toward us. At the very top of the road was a Hessier upon one of our missing ponies. The sight lit a furnace of rage in my chest.

  “All ranks, order—” Gern called with the same fire, “make ready spears and prepare to charge.”

  A charge? I was too far away to countermand him.

  The enemy raced headlong down the road, reached the edge of the Hessier’s magic, and died upon our spears. They withered back, and our young lieutenant gave the unthinkable order.

  “All companies, order—charge!”

  His tactic was suicide. But I couldn’t leave his flank unguarded. I ordered my thirty forward, and we crashed with the rest into the enemy upon the edge of the blackness. They were stout there and would not yield. My tired arm raised my sword again and again, and the unarmored enemy fell around me. But there were thousands more and close. Too close now for us to disengage. They would break, or we would fall.

  “Stand,” I cried to those around me. “This is where your families live or die.”

  Ponies and riders went down, but on we fought. I caught a glimpse of Gern through the trees, and saw then the reason he had thrown us into hell. He stood behind the ranks, his bow in hand, and was by himself taking aim up the hill at the Hessier.

  “Great Mother, see this man,” I prayed, though the shot was impossible. The range was three-fifty uphill and at an inhuman thing plated in steel.

  The report of his bow snapped my head up the hill. It was a quality shot, but I could see already it would miss the mark. The arrow descended and struck instead the rump of the Fell.

  The pony reared, spun, and despite the severe handling of the Hessier, it bolted east. What a shot! He’d been aiming for the horse.

  The evil, terrible tingles of fear and dread left me all at once, and the forward edge of the Tracians lost their spine and came to a halt. Gern took up his spear, shouted to his men, and charged forward through the ranks.

  “Parsh, parsh, parsh,” came the greencoats reply and their spears stabbed into the Tracians with a butcher’s pace. The exhausted enemy wept for mercy but received none. The Hessier’s touch withdrew further and the Tracians fled.

  “Parsh, parsh, parsh,” the lads chanted again and again as they marched up the hill murdering every man too tired to escape them.

  I got free of the trees before Gern gave the order to chase them clear to the sea.

  “Reform,” I ordered. “All companies, order—reform on me.”

  Gern was reluctant but turned, perhaps remembering the count of the Hessier.

  Sahin and his men appeared then, too, from the far side of the road. They were as bloodied as the rest of us. The three of us gathered beside the road while the men got themselves together. The bowyer’s nose was badly broken, his voice a raspy gurgle.

  “Lad, I would never have thought to try that shot. Never in a thousand years.”

  “You taught my father how to make the bow that did it,” Gern replied with a salute and the tiniest prideful smile before he got back to our business. “How long before they reform?”

  “Not long,” I replied. “The Hessier will turn them. A wise man would be happy to take the high ground and see his superior force fed and well rested. But we are not so lucky.”

  “They will come again?” Sahin rasped.

  “Yes. The general Geart told us about is not responsible for this madness. The Hessier are in charge, and the way they press the Tracians, I would bet my life they are after Geart. They will not stop. We must withdraw while we can.”

  “Gather up the weapons?”

  “Not this time, Lieutenant. Worry only for our wounded. Get every man not fit enough to double-time it back to Urnedi upon a pony. Double up if you need to—take the cavalry mounts if you need to.”

  The order filtered through the ranks, but the result was sobering. Even my weary horse was needed to carry a wounded man. They started west and left behind just 280 fit men on foot.

  We began the long march in earnest. My knees and hips screamed at me for marching after so long in the saddle, but mine was a trivial pain. Too many others had suffered wounds upon their legs. My steel leggings were rare amongst the greencoats.

  I cursed our lack of iron and marched.

  “Infantry close,” someone yelled, and I turned to see a group chasing after us. It did not seem possible that any of the enemy could have the legs to run us down. I was wrong. The group was almost on top of us..

  “Order—form ranks, make ready bows.” My voice was hoarse. “Quick there, lads. Let’s knock these idiots off our road.”

  The men moved to it as they could. There was little left of them and their quivers were near empty. But by the time they were formed up and ready to take aim, the enemy had slowed to a walk. Their number was also discernible, no more than forty men—officers and sergeants all.

  Was this the result of Erom’s letter?<
br />
  The Tracian officers came to a halt. Their swords were sheathed, and their helmets were under their arms. I stepped forward of the ranks. Three senior men came forward to meet me—a general and his colonels, if I was any judge of such things. The senior man I recognized from my visit to Almidi. He was likely the same man Geart had spoken of, but the day had not treated him well. His scalp had been slashed, likely by a Hessier, and the sweat pouring from his blood-caked hair was dripping new stains upon his battered uniform. He straightened it as best he could and pulled Erom’s thin letter from a pocket. But the man did not ask about the gold as I expected him to. He addressed me, instead, as an equal.

  “Leger Mertone, my apologies that we were not properly introduced when we met at Almidi,” he said with a tired but polite bow. “My name is Erd Oklas, brother by marriage to our lord arilas and general of his army. I have come to offer my surrender.”

  I wondered if he was related to Erom Oklas, our mayor, but the situation could not bear the distraction. “You so willingly leave your men behind?” I asked.

  “My duty cannot be to serve them up for slaughter. I can do no better for my boys than to leave my job to the Hessier and pray that Prince Barok sees their evil ended.”

  “What of the man who reads for Kuren? Where is he?”

  “Dead. He showed the letter to me, and we showed it to the arilas. But Kuren repaid our loyalty with distrust. He ordered his bondsman hung and gave command of my army to the Hessier. Our objections were not heard. I started walking west after the rout. These behind me chose to follow. Some came for the gold. Others are good men.”

  Back down the road the enemy’s thousands marched over the top of the hill. The Hessier had wasted no time.