Dark Tide: Book Five of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

  He ought to have been in a good humor, having reached his ultimate object with the majority of his army intact, but the gloom which had beset him after Laffery’s Ford had yet to lift from his spirits. He worked hard to conceal his urease from his subordinates, but the fire was gone from him and he was not alone.

  The enchanted scrolls and mirrors that allowed instantaneous communications over vast distances kept him in touch with how the war went elsewhere, and the news was generally good: in the north and south Hand forces were accomplishing their aims, leaving him free of worry about his flanks. Behind him at Apartia the siege was over; on the thirty-first of Summteil Henry II had attempted to send his family to safety across the lake, only to have all slain or taken, the latter dying horribly in full view of the defenders. Two days ago the walls had been breached and Hand troops entered the city, which fell after thirty hours of bloody house-to-house fighting. Henry II died at the head of his troops, fighting like a hero, it was told, but die he had and the heavy siege train was west-bound before the monarch fell, the heavy wains being dragged towards Sagenhoft at an incredible rate by pre-positioned teams of oxen and teamsters who were changed every few miles so that the train travelled around the clock. It left scores of ruined beasts in its wake, but it would reach Sagenhoft in less than half the expected time.

  That was the good news; there was also bad news as well: after the death of his family, Henry II had named his new brother-in-law, Baron Noury of Kordia, his heir, and sometime today the Baron would be crowned as Nicholas I of the united realms. That was very bad news, as Noury was a fighting fool, a madman on the battlefield who was also a solid supporter of Laffery.

  Not that Laffery had to worry of being relieved: on the twenty-eighth the Queen of Lashar had died in childbirth, producing a boy child which had survived her for only a day. The King was sunk into the deepest despair, while Laffery’s position of heir to the throne was assured for some time to come. Now the bastard sat near the eastern terminus of the Bloody Road rebuilding his force, absorbing replacements while watching for the slightest sign of weakness on Descente’s part.

  The Grand Commander called for wine and moodily glared at the distant walls. The intelligence agents in the city had managed to ensure that the bulk of the refugees had not been ejected before the city was sealed; now the city was jammed to over-flowing with useless mouths which had to be fed, with disease and rioting becoming a growing threat. Other plans weren’t going so well: the fools had failed to kill the Lord Chancellor and had likewise left a member of the Sorgen family alive to act as a rallying point for the pig-headed locals. He had long since dismissed the promises of his intelligence officers and concentrated on a conventional resolution of the siege. Since starving them out was impossible unless the port could be closed, a task clearly beyond the Hand’s capabilities, the only possibility that remained was to breach the walls and storm the city, a course that daunted even the most blood-thirsty officer on his staff.

  Descente’s plan for the seizure of Sagenhoft by brute force was simple and conventional, a methodical approach that would surprise no one, but that was hardly unexpected, as siege war was plodding and predicable by its very nature. First his troops had encircled the city’s landward marches by a trench-line five hundred yards from the walls, safely outside the defender’s heaviest engines, adding strong points here and there to defend against sallies from the garrison, creating the Inner Line. When this was completed a second defensive line of trenches, strong-points, and earthen forts (the Outer Line) was built nine hundred yards out from the walls, with the defenses facing outwards, to defend against sudden attacks from the Heartland Army. Bohca Tatbik made its camps, work areas, and supply depots between these two lines, protected from either direction. That accomplished and his army secured Descente ordered the next steps in the reduction of the city: from a half-dozen points on the Inner Line trenches were dug towards the walls, each trench dug at an angle in relation to the walls, switching direction every ten yards or so to create a zig-zag effect that protected those within the trench from the worst of the defender’s fire as the trenches inched into range, the trench-diggers further protected by mantelets, timber walls built on rollers. When the trenches were within three hundred yards of the walls they halted and a new trench parallel to the wall was dug, complete with strong-points and artillery positions. This new line, the Assault Line, was still under construction; when finished dozens of trenches would zig-zag forward to the walls themselves.

  When a section of wall was knocked down the attack would begin, with Hand infantry advancing through the trenches to rush the beach, or attacking the wall itself with siege towers, or both, depending upon the circumstances. Losses would be heavy, staggering even, but once a foothold was established on the wall the fall of the city would be virtually assured. Of course, the Dragon Isle would require a separate siege, but that would be incidental to the campaign as a whole.

  With eighteen hundred Dayar (all that was left after the Royal Bridge fight) working mindlessly night and day the earth-work was proceeding at an amazing rate, with the completion of the Assault Line being expected within days, but the earthworks were not his primary concern. The walls of Sagenhoft were massive Dwarven-designed constructions of dense stone footed in bedrock; to breach them would require engines that could hurl a heavy stone with consistent accuracy, catapults of the heaviest order.

  Descente planned on distributing the catapults of the light train to four widely-separated points on the Assault Line to harry the defenders and deceive the enemy as to his exact intentions for as long as possible. When the heavy train arrived he would put two-thirds of the engines to firing on the primary target area, a stretch of wall between towers Nine and Ten on the north wall, while the remainder pounded the secondary, backup site on the South Town wall. Fortunately there were several quarries nearby, and the skilled stone-cutters in the light train had already established workshops for the production of ammunition.

  He had not neglected his army while conducting these preparations, however; Laffery wasn’t the only one rebuilding and reforming. He had had reformed the surviving Dayar into a single Holding after storming the Royal Bridge forts, and had received through his Gates enough replacements for his Human Holdings and Sacred Bands to bring them up to strength. The replacements were all rankers with at least two years of service, while he was required to send back one veteran for every five replacements. Over the last month, encouraged by the loot and slaves which were flowing out onto the Plains, six entire Eyade Ket had joined his army or were on their way, with thousands of individual replacements as well to bring his existing forces up to strength. The Orcs likewise had sent two more Horcs as well as replacements to his army, while the Goblins of the Brazen Shields had raised a Lardina of foot troops, although the other keibas had restricted themselves to sending replacements, as the losses in wolf-mounts were beginning to tell. He had received enough new Breedstones to replace his losses and field ten more Darkhosts, although he had been required to send five hundred veteran Direbreed back to the homelands (replaced by five hundred new Breedstones).

  Bohca Ileri had been ordered to march to Sagenhoft once Apartia was fully subdued and the army’s units rebuilt, bringing with it ten Darkhosts, four Orc Horcs, and two Sacred Bands, having left a Sacred Band and three Human Holdings behind as a garrison for Apartia and two Eyade Ket as road-security for the Royal Highway. Descente had added the new Goblin foot to road-security as well, as the Hand only held the narrow corridor from the Wall to Sagenhoft, and bands of guerrillas were beginning to cause problems.

  The Dayar could not be replaced as the Hand had purchased them from the Sundered Gate cult, but the additional forces balanced things out; without counting Bohca Ileri and the road-security forces he had slightly more troops now than when he had crossed the wall, and his force was now well-blooded by the fighting in the east. When Bohca Ileri arrived, he would look into turning the siege over to it and marching north to finish Laffe
ry and the Heartland Army, having already begun a road which connected the Royal Highway with the Coast Road, bypassing Sagenhoft, which would allow him to move supplies without ruining scores of wagons travelling cross-country.

  That would be the way to lift his spirits, Descente knew: seeing Laffery’s head on a lance after shattering the Heartland Army on the field of battle.

  Grand Marshal Laffery watched moths dance around the lantern hung in front of his tent. The sounds of his guards presenting arms drew his attention to his left. “Good evening, your Majesty,” he bowed and gestured for his aide to pour wine. “I was not aware of an impending Royal visit, else I would have turned out an honor guard.”

  “Bugger off,” Nicholas I, King of Ilthan, which now included the Barony of Kordia, advised him. “I’ve been a monarch for four hours and already it’s wearing damned thin.”

  “I must say, that was as simple a coronation as I’ve ever seen,” Laffery observed.

  “It would have been a damned sight simpler if my wife wasn’t here: just hand me the blasted crown, have an Arch-Templemaster mutter a prayer, and hooray, everyone get drunk. When are we moving south?”

  “In due course, your Majesty.”

  “Piss off with the ‘your Majesty’, Xern: we’ve known each other since before we had hair on our chests. If your brother doesn't remarry you’ll end up wearing one of these,” the newly-made King gestured to the simple gilded band he wore across his brow. “And you’ll find it a heavy bastard indeed, let me assure you. We’re getting sorted out here so it’s time to start planning on the strike south.”

  “In due course, Nicholas, in due course. You may be King, but I still command the Army. Wait patiently and train your men well; the time will come when I send you into the enemy’s ranks like a hurled javelin.”

  “The enemy’s growing stronger even as we are,” Noury pointed out.

  “Yes, but we can’t win through strength because the Hand will always outnumber us; we will have to win through timing, subterfuge, and the grace of the Eight. The Hand planned to reach Sagenhoft, reduce it, and mop up, assuming the Heartland Army would be destroyed along the way. We brought the army out in decent shape, and now we’ve gone beyond the Hand’s planning. I believe we may show them a thing or three in the next few months, Nicholas; after all, they’ve taught us a great deal about how to fight a war. Enjoy your new wife and your new title, and prepare; when we march from these camps it will be a final journey for a large number of us.” He smiled tiredly at his friend. “And since you are a brother-monarch to my brother, whose mind is on matters other than his concepts of national honor, I will place the Lasharian troops under your command, thus keeping command within the Heartland much simpler; when Sagenhoftian forces rejoin us you’ll command them as well.”

  “There’ll be howling over that.”

  “Let them howl-my eldest son is regent in all but name back in Wexford; the odds are long that he or I will be Lashar’s next King, and any who have not discerned that are too foolish to be much of a problem. So long as Sagenhoft holds as it has in ages past, you and I rest secure in our positions.”

  “That is an uncertain proposition,” Nicholas drained his glass. “If the old Duke was still running things I would think otherwise, but with a Regency over a young girl, I must say it bodes ill.”

  “Not if she marries well, and soon.”

  “You ought to consider that, Xern; you’ve been a widower longer than I had been.”

  The Grand Marshal stared at his friend. “By the Eight, Nicholas, I am two years younger than her father.”

  The King shrugged, unperturbed. “I’ve met her, plain but quick-witted and charming in a girlish sort of way; she’d be easy meat for a great hero such as yourself.”

  “I said, I‘m old enough to be her father.”

  “And she brings the best port in the Realms and some nice land with her as a dowry. ‘Xern Laffery, Grand Marshal of the Dark Tide, King of Lashar, and Duke of Sagenhoft’, has a ring to it.”

  “My youngest son is twenty-two.”

  “You started early. Too bad he married young, just like dear old Dad, who’s the only unmarried Laffery other than a recently-wifeless King.”

  “She’s a child.”

  “We’re talking royalty, Xern: what could get you hung in some countries is perfectly acceptable so long as there’s a title involved. After all, your wife was a year younger than Eithne is now when you married her.”

  “I was seventeen at the time,” the Grand Marshal shook his head. “You are going be known as ‘Nicholas the Mad’ if you keep spouting nonsense.”

  “Just so long as they add ‘hero of the Dark Tide’ after it,” the King shrugged unconcernedly. “After all, someone has to do the deed, and my only surviving son is a moron. His greatest ambition in life is to lead a Squadron in battle, which he does passably well so long as the division commander keeps an eye on him, to kill the enemy in personal combat, which he is damned good at, and to sire enough bastards to repopulate the Realms after this war is over, to which he’s made a good start. Fortunately, Henry specified that the heir to the throne will have to be a child of his sister.”

  “Who is nearly half your age, I might point out,” Laffery shook his head.

  “And pretty to boot,” Nicholas grinned unabashedly. “The crown was just a bonus, from my way of thinking. Speaking of which, I should get about working on an heir. Keep my suggestion in mind, Xern; we’ll need to see to the security of the Realms once the Hand is beaten, and there isn’t anyone in Sagenhoft’s nobility that I would trust with a spavined horse. If we don’t take some steps in that direction some damned Arturian will be in there before we know it, mark my words.” The King tossed off his glass and strode out of the lantern light, his bodyguards joining him just before he reached the line of sentries that guarded the Grand Marshal’s tent.

  “They’re planning an ambush for Philip,” Arian explained to Durek, having found the Captain standing guard at a wall post in order to let a line Badger get some much-needed sleep. “Simer says they’re getting set to grab Philip and wipe out every contact of his. Bits of Philip will be sent back to the Company as a warning about meddling in their business.”

  “When is the ambush?”

  “Tentatively set for the seventh, the day after tomorrow; they intend to eliminate our ability to seek them out.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “We let them take our contacts, and act as if the attack on Philip has spooked us; we withdraw from all visible intelligence-gathering entirely.”

  “And this would help us how?”

  “They would believe they’ve won, that we are no more of a threat to their operations than any other unit in the garrison. Meanwhile our two insiders work to track down a place where we can get to ‘A’ and settle our score.”

  “All right, but how do we keep Philip alive?”

  “Simer has gotten on the wrong side of the agent in charge of his section; when the ambush was decided upon he immediately suggested missile weapons. The Agent immediately throws that out and goes for taking him alive, which works in our favor. They’ll use five trusted bully-boys, which gives us odds of five to two, with our two knowing when and where it’s coming.”

  “A lot can go wrong with five to two odds,” Durek growled. “I’ve lost too many Badgers on this trip. How close are we to finding ‘A’?”

  “Not close; both our assets are low-level and he’s a professional, very experienced and sharp. His only weakness is that he doesn’t expect us to use this style of poison-control, that’s something the Hand uses, not vice-versa. And even they don’t use it often. Mind you, we won’t be using it again unless we capture some more of the base toxin.”

  “Just as well, I dislike all this sneaking about,” the Captain scowled. “Cut the odds, Arian; you’ve come up with better plans on shorter notice. Work your talents to their fullest, and keep my people safe.” A thought struck him. “If Philip and Tonya carve up th
e five, will that give us away?”

  “Not if it looks natural; after Janna’s stand and some our other exploits, our reputation is better than we deserve.”

  “Speaking of which, how is Janna?” The former Silver Eagle had been staying in a Temple hospital on Dragon Isle since her wounding, barred from any visitors.

  “Weak, still. The Healers at the Temple have had to do further Healing on several organs which were hurt by the blood-loss and the coma, but she is coming around. They tell me it is simply a matter of time. A great deal of time. Meanwhile, I have my plotting.”

  “Then get to work.”

  Philip, dressed in a somber blue coat and tan breeches, strolled through the teeming street, Tonya on his arm. The tall former standard-bearer was wearing a knee-length dress of creme-colored cotton, a lace shawl and pale blue stockings, a simple canvas parasol shading her from the hot summer sun, and a large wicker picnic hamper at her side, as she often did a bit of shopping on these trips. Both Badgers stove to appear casual and unconcerned, and to any uninterested watcher they would appear to be exactly that.

  As they neared the entrance to the alley which was their destination three burly men wheeled a handcart piled high with crates towards them with elaborate unconcern while two more men who had been ‘loitering’ at a knife-sharpener’s stall leisurely stepped into the street and followed the two Badgers.

  “Oh, these lads are subtle,” Philip muttered to his companion. “Given that we’re supposed to en route to a covert meeting, I think noticing these buffoons would not seem out of character.”