by RW Krpoun
“I see.” Another ploy of Laffery’s: not only does he save his army, delay the Hand, and buy time to remove or destroy the supplies cached at the Royal Bridge, he cripples the Hand’s intelligence assets within his own army. Losing the bulk of two Legions would offset the gain, of course, but it did not change the fact that once again the Grand Marshal had neatly side-stepped another trap.
With a thundering roar of howls and battle-cries, forty Darkhosts surged forward as swirling groups of Eyade swept in to pepper the Imperial lines, taking heavy return fire as they wheeled away. Lights appeared on the flag staffs of the two towers, small colored lanterns that shone brightly despite the newly-risen sun. “Must be too early to use signal flags,” Descente commented. “What are they signaling?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the intelligence chief admitted. “I assume they keep Laffery advised as to the events here on the east bank, and control the withdrawals; see, each tower is signaling a completely different set of signals.”
“Yes; ah, the dragon is beginning its attack.” The huge beast swept in from the north with a scream of tortured air, a net-full of bricks clutched in its hind legs.
“It’s a shame we cannot devise some means of communication with the beast while it is in flight,” the intelligence officer watched the dragon with a thoughtful gaze. “Given its intelligence, it could offer us unparalleled levels of information.”
“We couldn’t afford it,” Descente shook his head. “It costs us fortune for each attack, regardless of its success, and...what the blazes?”
The dragon suddenly dropped the net far short of the Heartland’s lines and flared upwards as a lance-sized bolt was fired at it from the west bank, the long shaft trailing blue-yellow sparks as it flashed overhead. Two more swept upwards, one missing, the other ripping through the creature’s left wing, provoking a hoarse, reptilian scream.
“War engines, siege-level gear,” the intelligence officer gasped. “With enchanted bolts.”
The Grand Commander, jaw set like granite, watched as the dragon clumsily tried to wheel to the east, only to take the fourth bolt square in the side with an audible impact. Thrashing madly, the beast fell from the sky as gracelessly as a sack of rocks, smashing into the ground not far from the right, north, flank of the Bohca Tatbik’s battle line. A distant roar of cheering rose from the two Legions, while the Hand forces wavered; none who saw or heard the impact the dragon’s crash had made had any doubt as to whether it lived.
“Nullification,” the intelligence chief muttered, pale with shock. “I’ve read of it, but I never thought I would see it....the bolts were enchanted with a spell that dampens the dragon’s own natural magic, without which it cannot remain airborne. It only lasts a minute or so with a direct hit, but...” he waved mutely at the huge shattered corpse.
“Ambush.” Descente spoke the word with careful precision. “Laffery wanted the dragon dead, and set us up so we would commit to a full-scale attack...” sudden realization filled him; cursing, he turned to his operations officer. “Sound the recall at once; those towers are to control enemy artillery.”
Even as the Darkhosts milled uncertainly, confused at the sudden recall, black clouds could be seen flashing over the river heading east, and the ground shook under the impact of twenty five-pound stones hurled by a single cast of a heavy trebuchet, closely followed by several more, and an extended volley of single five and ten pound stones hurled by the four Legions’ artillery cohorts.
The towers flashed their lights and ran both lanterns and flags out on their projecting staffs to adjust the aim as the Direbreed pulled back, losing fifty or so of their number to the rain of stone. When the last unit was out of range the operations officer saluted and reported. “Your orders, sir?” he asked as he completed his report.
“Prepare to march north,” the Grand Commander instructed him sourly. “We shall have to take and repair the Royal Bridge for our siege trains and baggage.”
“What of the enemy, sir?”
“Let him withdraw; I believe we’ve given him enough of a victory for one day.”
“Xern, you are a genius,” Baron Noury hooted, slapping the Grand Marshal on his armored shoulder as the last troops of the Fifth Legion crossed over the sandbag ford; boat-mounted engineers immediately went to work pulling the ford apart with hooked poles and grapnels tied to ropes. The ferry-bridge and walkways were already disassembled and burning. “You played the Hand like they were a harp, every move just so. Brilliant.”
“Superb planning,” Lord General von der Strieb nodded in agreement, a half-smile brightening his normally gloomy face.
“I salute you,” Duke Radet toasted Laffery with a crystal glass of white wine. “And offer you a case of the best with which to reply.”
Grand Marshal Laffery tried not to beam like an idiot as he waved away the compliments. He had been racked with fear and uncertainty ever since the Bridge had burned and this contingency, which he had put in place while retreating from Mancin, became essential. Too many things could have gone wrong, too many factors could have fallen in the Hand’s favor. Had Descente been more aggressive yesterday afternoon, if a Hand spy could have gotten the word to him in time for a night attack, any one of a hundred possibilities could have turned this morning into a blood-bath. “It was luck, for the most part.”
“Luck, nothing; the dragon dead, plenty of spies a’hanging, the Hand made a fool of, and a victory gained,” the Baron of Kordia ticked off the points on his fingers. “It was the love of the Eight, the strength of the Light, and one damned fine general that gave us a victory at Laffery’s Ford.”
“Hear, hear,” Duke Radet raised a newly-filled glass. “And not one of my horses lost.”
“Enough praise,” the Grand Marshal grinned. “We’ve won an action, not the war. We must map out our next moves in this campaign.”
“No, you must map them out, and tell us what to do,” Duke Radet peered into his empty glass. “And I’m going to get roaring drunk.”
“As will I,” Baron Noury announced.
“As you wish. I am going to release Duke Sorgen and his forces from our army so that he may attend to the defense of his capitol. The Heartland Army shall now march north along the Coast Road to the eastern terminus of the Bloody Road, where we shall reform and await reinforcements. I understand the Empire is sending another Legion, and the King of Arturia has made additional forces available as well, plus contingents from various other sources. The Hand shall have two options before it: the first will be to lay siege to Sagenhoft or to march north to face our army. I hope they will undertake the latter course, but I expect they will instead focus upon Sagenhoft. Should that be the case, we shall build our strength, ready our forces, and sally forth to engage the foe when the time appears to be ripe, acting as the hammer to the Star of the East’s anvil. So long as the Army of the Heartlands and Sagenhoft exist, the war goes in our favor.”
“Hear, hear,” Duke Radet saluted with his glass. “Well said, and completely true. We’ve all learned a great deal about the business of fighting the Hand; let us lick our wounds a bit and we’ll teach those Void-loving bastards a new waltz or three.”
“That we will,” Lord General von der Strieb agreed. “Time is on our side: the real siege of Sagenhoft cannot begin until Apartia falls and the Hand’s heavy gear marches west, and by march I mean by wheel and hoof, no enchantment can move heavy siege engines. Let Apartia hold out for three or four months, and the damaged Royal Highway will be rendered impassable by the fall rain.”
“And having seen the Sagenhoftian troops in action, I cannot see the Hand crossing their ramparts alive,” Baron Noury saluted Duke Sorgen with his mug.
“Thank you,” the lean nobleman bowed back. “I look forward to watching their attempts fail.”
Commander Descente studied the faces of his staff and unit commanders. They were uniformly grim: Laffery’s ruse had sent an ugly pulse of urease through the Bohca Tatbik: after a month of marching and fi
ghting such as had not been seen since the Ostwind War the enemy still had not been vanquished. Always the Heartland Army slipped out of the final noose and escaped, leaving dead and equipment behind, but always preserving the force as a whole.
“The balance of the campaign must be decided,” Descente tried to sound confident, but in truth gloom had settled in his heart as well. “We must plan the final steps to victory.”
“From the enemy’s supply movements, it would seem that the Heartland Army will withdraw to or near the Eastern terminus of the Imperial Highway, leaving Sagenhoft exposed,” the chief quartermaster observed.
“Exposed, but not undefended,” the operations officer shot back. “To lay siege to the city would mean allowing our army to be split by the Bercer River, and in any case the light siege train is still two weeks away. We should deal with the Heartland Army before closing with Sagenhoft.”
“To leave Sagenhoft to our rear without investing it begs for a stab in the back,” the intelligence chief countered. “It would take little time for enemy troops to be moved through the city’s port to strike us from behind.”
“Not to mention that virtually every good road running north in this area passes through Sagenhoft,” the chief quartermaster tapped a map for emphasis. “If we drive north without taking the city we’ll be going cross-country, fine and good for the line units and vassals, but we’ll beat our baggage train to bits within weeks. After Dorog and the enemy’s retreat from Apartia, you ought to be able to appreciate how vulnerable supply wagons are.”
“Laffery is using the city as a shield, just as he tried to use Apartia,” the commander of the Direbreed pointed out. “It failed at Apartia because we had our reserve army ready to invest the city, freeing our forces to pursue. Here we have no reserves, and the loss of the dragon has weakened us. To bypass or lay siege, either course involves heavy risk.”
“If we invest Sagenhoft, our assets within may be able to resolve the situation for us,” the intelligence chief suggested.
Descente let them discuss the problems and solutions for the better part of an hour before calling an end to the talk. “All points have been well-made, but it is time for my decision. We shall invest Sagenhoft, and encircle it with earthworks and defenses preparatory to the arrival of the siege trains. When Apartia falls, we shall leave the siege to Bohca Ileri and press north to destroy the Heartland Army and secure the eastern terminus of the Bloody Road. From there we shall operate as events dictate. Should our Intelligence assets deliver the city to us ahead of plans, then all the better, but for now we shall plan on conventional tactics having to carry the day.”
There, it was official.
What worried him was that it might be the course Laffery wanted him to take.
Chapter Sixteen
The Sagenhoftian forces fell out of the army’s ranks and waited in place for a full day while the Heartland Army travelled north in order to speed the larger force along. Durek took this opportunity to complete the complex process of distributing the weapons and armor acquired at Dorog, and to swear in the five young men recruited at the Great Crossing. The proximity of the many quartermaster depots nearby also allowed the Company to sell off the rest of their military loot and the two farm carts which they had obtained in Dorog, as transport and dray animals of any type were in high demand.
The leisure time afforded the Captain the opportunity to convene a Council of Awards, in which the officers and Senior Badgers reviewed recommendations for decorations and made the awards they felt were truly deserving. Although a mercenary Company the Phantom Badgers had a fully developed system of awards and decorations to mark exceptional actions. Besides the Onyx Fang to mark major wounds there were four decorations and the Roll of Honor, the latter being a form of recognition of acts which, while exceptional, were not sufficient to warrant a formal decoration. Badgers wore a gold skull for each Roll entry they had earned.
Dayyan Reinert received a Roll entry for his heroism at the Battle at Mancin, his first; Elonia and Starr each received Roll entries for the cult fight outside of Apartia, both having three previous entries. Henri was awarded the Opal Claw for his actions in the Great Fallow, while Emory ‘Mad Dog’ Bohmlerz received his second Roll entry for his actions in that battle. Lieutenant Axel Uldo received the Opal Claw (his second) for his command of the detachment guarding the Arturian fodder-wains, and Duna Kadal received the Ruby Claw for saving the life of another while placing her own life in danger, in this case the captives in the worker’s barracks. Janna received the Ruby Claw for saving the little girl; the ex-Silver Eagle was also awarded the Opal Claw for her actions in the Battle at Dorog. Both Veda Sligh (Rolf’s low-key girlfriend) and Corporal Barthel ‘Bulldog’ Gayton received Honor Roll entries for their fighting prowess in the same battle, this being Bulldog’s second such award and Veda’s first.
After the Council the Company held a small celebration to mark the eleventh year of the Company’s existence. Stories were told of the early days of the Badgers by the four surviving Founding members (Durek, Axel, Bridget, Janna), and old Honor Roll entries were read out loud to the assembled formation, with a hearty meal and plenty of drink afterwards.
The Company and the Sagenhoftian troops marched into the city on the evening of the thirty-first, tired and worn. Only family members turned out to receive the returning veterans, as the Army of the Heartland had been passing through for two days and what enthusiasm the local populace had for their soldiers had been quickly spent. The Badgers moved into the warehouse they had occupied before heading east two months ago and got some rest.
“Hold the noise down,” Doctor Kuhler called to the unruly line in front of him. The Healer was acting in his secondary function as accounts-master for the Company, specifically, in paying the troops their monthly wage, having already drawn the sixty-five hundred ducats owed to the Company from the Ducal Treasury. He sat at a table in the common area of the warehouse-barracks with the pay ledger in front of him and a cash box at his side. “Right, next is Brightgift, Starr, Corporal.”
“She isn’t here, we’ll take her pay and give it to her when she comes back,” Kroh offered; he and Rolf were sitting with their legs across a blanket-wrapped bundle that was thrashing, kicking, and making muffled noises.
“Nice try,” the Healer sneered.
“Worth a shot,” the Waybrother shrugged unabashedly as he stood and unrolled the blankets that imprisoned the red-faced Lanthrell.
Kuhler jumped down the list and paid Rolf while Starr sought revenge; when she tired of flailing at the laughing Dwarf with a mop-handle, the little Corporal reported to the pay table. “Corporal Brightgift.”
“Yes, let’s see, you have no debts for equipment issued; very well, Corporal’s pay, forty ducats, archer’s bonus with maximum skill rating is twenty ducats, scout bonus with maximum skill rating is twenty ducats, seniority bonus of five years is twenty-five ducats, total pay one hundred five ducats. Loot shares are set at twenty-six ducats per share, as a Corporal you receive four shares, your loot bonus is one hundred four ducats. Your total pay is two hundred nine ducats; this pearl is valued at one hundred eighty ducats.”
Starr examined the pearl. “This’ll do.”
“So noted.” The Healer made careful entries in the ledger of valuables and in the pay accounts, then counted out twenty-nine ducats in cash. “Sign here for the pearl, sign here for the coins, and sign here that you received your pay. Very good. Starshine, Elonia, Corporal.”
“Twenty-six a share is less than I thought it would be, given all the loot we picked up,” Starr observed, joining her two comrades on a bench in front of the warehouse. “I got this pearl.” She offered the velvet bag to Kroh, who examined it critically.
“Durek held out half for the war chest instead of the usual one-quarter,” Rolf pointed out. “In case we need the money later in the campaign. If it turns out it won’t be needed, the money or what’s left will be split up between those of us who survive. Plus a lot o
f what we picked up was war gear which was issued to the troops, we always see a big cash loss that way.”
“Looks pretty good for one-eighty,” the Dwarf conceded, handing the stone back to the Lanthrell. “We’ve money and time; where do we go first?”
“To the Duke’s reception,” Janna answered the Waybrother, stepping out of the barracks door. “In full war gear, less missile weapons. The Company has been invited, and Durek has ordered that all officers will attend.”
“Mandatory entertainment,” Starr sighed. “Have fun or face charges.”
“Yep. Here’s your invitations and a brass gorget you are to wear whenever you are out of the barracks,” she indicated the curved brass plate she had clipped to the neck of her breastplate which bore the Duke’s seal etched across the front. “This marks you as a member of the city garrison, with powers of arrest and the authority to bear any arms and armor within the city.”
“We can arrest people?” Kroh’s eyebrows climbed.
“Not until Durek briefs the Company as a whole, but the city is now under martial law, and we’ll help enforce it.”
“Why are we wearing war gear to a reception?” Starr asked. “I’ve a lovely dress I picked up in Apartia.”
“The Duke has banned all fancy dress at public gatherings for the duration of the war,” the scarred Badger explained. “So we go in war gear: armor and melee weapons. Give your gear a bit of polish before you go.”
“When is it?” Kroh asked, puzzling over the ornately inscribed invitation; the Dwarf could read Pradian as well as his native tongue, but the elaborate calligraphy was proving a challenge.
“Noon, at the Amphitheater on the south docks,” Janna explained, having had Henri decipher the writing for her in advance. “We’ll form up at the east entrance and come in as a group. All officers, the Doctor, the standard-bearer, and anyone else who wants to attend. The Duke is holding this reception in honor of the units which fought in the east, and we’ve been invited along with the regular military, which is quite an honor. Durek wants the Company to have a good turn-out.”