by RW Krpoun
“Enjoying your wading, rock-breaker?” she asked with a wide, flashing grin, her Pradian oddly accented.
“Not much, boat-lover,” he grinned back, noticing that she had a tattoo covering her upper left arm that seemed to involve a porpoise and a turtle, with lots of waves around the two. “Where do I get off this contraption?”
“Here,” she pointed with her spear, and he saw offshoots of the walkway leading to the river bank. “Yours are the last troops from the North Group; once you have disembarked we shall begin dismantling the walkway, but fear not, boats are being readied to extract you when the time comes.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” the Captain shrugged, trying to get a feel for the fighting beyond the mist. “It’s a short walk back to the walls.”
The Harthrell grinned at that.
There was a dead Orc lying in the water next to the bank, and a couple more where Durek waited while his Company came ashore, all three corpses having been stripped of valuables and weapons; sentries killed by the Harthrell, he guessed.
He had gone inland to a point where the river-mist thinned enough so he could get a look at the battle, and what he saw boded well for the success of the mission: confusion reigned within the Hand forces. Two alarm systems were used, one that sent the troops to man the Inner Line, and the other to garrison the Outer Defenses, and in the confusion generated by the attack both alarms had been sounded, badly scattering the force. Further confusion had been caused by the opening of the city gates and the obvious troop movements, but the Hand commanders were beginning to realize that the only real fighting was occurring within their earthworks, and reacting accordingly. Still, the situation seemed very exploitable.
Fassburg’s plan had been simple enough once the force was ashore and in place, as the veteran Lord Commander knew that detailed planning would be largely useless in the confusion of a night-attack. The Badgers had been assigned a strong point on the Inner Line that they were to capture, with orders to establish themselves in the fort and then wreak as much havoc in the surrounding quarters, supply dumps, and artisan shops as they could. Durek had kept his planning simple as well, having limited himself to giving a general briefing and establishing various means of communication.
The fort which was their destination was not visible from the riverbank, being some four hundred yards inland, but the Captain had carefully studied the maps of the area and was confident that he could find it. The fort itself was a trench-circle thirty yards across with a timber blockhouse in the center whose roof supported a ballista, communications trenches linking the partially-sunken block house to the circle-trench at each point of the compass. It would serve as an excellent place for the Badgers to operate from.
As the last of Silver Platoon came ashore Durek gave the order to move; led by the Scout Section the Badgers set off through the flame-torn night, the sounds of fighting echoing on all sides.
They passed through an area where a Hand reaction force had clashed with the Navians; the ground was littered with broken war-gear, the corpses of a dozen Marines, and sixty dead Direbreed, a pall of decay hanging over the field. A burning lumber-yard helped cut the smell and aided the Human’s vision, the light multiplied by a score of blazing huts a bit further on, the handiwork of Marine raiding parties busily wrecking as much of the Hand’s encampment as they could.
The destruction and fighting made for an mad landscape, one bordered on each side by carefully-built earthworks and block house fortifications, and containing whole villages of troop billets, workshops, lumber yards, supply dumps of all sorts, animal corrals, wain parks, cook tents, administrative centers, slave quarters, and hundreds of other edifices, structures, and complexes nestled between the two lines. Most save the workshops and supply points were empty, as nine-tenths of the Hand troops had marched north to confront the Army of the Heartland, but still the mercenaries seemed to be marching through a long, narrow city that was rapidly being sacked and burned.
It was humbling to move through this area; the Phantom Badgers were both a large and respected Company within the mercenary ranks, but they were keenly aware that the army which had inhabited their positions could match a thousand warriors for every Phantom Badger and still have thousands left.
The fort had a thin stake-belt around the inner side which thickened to twenty yards wide on the west side which faced Sagenhoft. Starr slipped through the angled spikes without difficulty, keeping a careful eye out for knee-breaker holes as she moved, an arrow ready in her bow. Dropping into the trench, she signaled scouts to circle the fort while she led Duna down a communications trench, heading for the block house built on the slight rise which was the reason the fort was established. She was hoping it would be unoccupied and was fairly confident it would be, as Lanthrell patrols had not seen anyone in or near it for the last two days; with the withdrawal of the main force the remaining garrison could not man all the defenses on either line. Her hopes were swiftly borne out: the blockhouse, which contained a single large room furnished with a log table and benches fastened to the walls, was clean and deserted, while the ballista on the roof was partially dismantled and carefully covered with canvas.
“Right, we’re in place, time to start looting and burning,” Durek announced to the assembled officers in the blockhouse, a yellowing light rod stuck into a handy crack in the rafters illuminating the stark room. He laid out a sketch Starr had made of the fort on the table. “Drop off the incendiary gear and tools here, wounded are to be tended here in this communications trench, and loot is to be stored here in the blockhouse. Blue Platoon will secure the fort, Janna...Bridget, get the ballista in operation and swung around to face inward, and put a detail to clearing several paths through the west stake belt so we can run for the city if things turn sour. Put another detail positioning the caltrops on the other side, leave three paths.” Every Badger had carried, besides two days’ rations and their war gear, a pound of caltrops and either a tool or a pack of incendiary supplies.
“The Scout Section will move to this point,” Durek pointed on the map of the Hand encampment. “And watch for the inevitable counter-attacks; Starr, don’t be a hero, get a good count and run like a rabbit. Silver Platoon, I want you to attack in this direction, and Gold Platoon towards here. Grab any loot that looks valuable, and burn or wreck anything else you can find. Don’t get into any fights you can’t handle with just your own platoon, and run for cover if things start looking rough; we’re here to wreak havoc and gather loot, not get Badgers killed. Any questions?”
A couple points were raised about signals to be used when re-entering the fort to prevent fatal mis-identifications, and then Dayyan raised his hand. “What do we call this fort?”
“Fort Trellan, for Trellan Northwind, a Badger who was killed in action in fifty-one,” Durek answered, having already given the matter some thought. “He was killed saving several of our original orphans, including Duna and Picken. See to your troops, I want operations to begin as soon as possible.”
Bohca Tatbik and the Army of the Heartland were drawn up on opposite sides of the village of Lightwater, both planning on joining battle on the morrow, having encountered each other in late afternoon with the autumn day too far gone for battle to commence.
Grand Commander Descente was just laying down on his cot after overseeing the last touches to the morrow’s plan when an aide burst into his tent. “Sir, you’re needed at the command tent.”
“What now?” Descente flung the blanket back and reached for the clothes he had just removed. “Is the Heartland moving?”
“No, sir, trouble elsewhere, but I’m not sure what.”
The command tent, which was actually four large tents set up together, was abuzz with rushing staff officers and running messengers. Descente ignored the salutes and sought out Kansa. “What in the Void is going on?”
The harried operations officer shook his head. “Bohca Ileri is under attack and the enemy has taken the Royal Bridge.”
“What? How
?”
“Things are very unclear at the moment, the best information we’re getting is from our network in Sagenhoft itself, but from what I can piece together, since we left the garrison has been making feints as if to sally forth, and that Ileri has come to ignore them. Tonight it was not a feint. With help from Harthrell a sizeable force came up the Bercer River and struck to the north and south. Fighting is still raging in the camp, and while the siege cannot be broken it will take some time to eject the raiders; it has been established that the Sagenhoftian troops intend to dig into our defenses and force us to root them out by frontal assault.”
Descente gave that some thought. “It could work, there are numerous forts built to withstand an attack from any quarter in both lines, and Ileri is spread thin. What of the damage within the camp?”
“There we’re less informed,” the operations officer scowled. “And the raiders are still raising havoc, but it can be safely said that large amounts of supplies are going up in flames, and that we have lost at least two Gate egran, perhaps as many as seven.”
The Grand Commander shook his head in silent horror: without the Gates it would be impossible to sustain his army in one place for any length of time, and while he had better than two dozen Gates supporting his force, they were only just sufficient; losing any of them would weaken his force in the long run. “What about the Royal Bridge?”
“It appears that there were far more Lanthrell lurking about than we had anticipated; the commander of the Ileri assigned the Black Death to secure the four forts, which seemed an excellent place to let the Horc reform. Around the time the raid began the ramparts of all four forts were swept clean of their guards by Threll archers and access gained; obviously, the Threll had been watching and scouting for weeks, while the ‘Death had only been there for hours. Our last communication indicated that the Orcs still hold all four forts, but the Threll hold the ramparts and much of the upper stories, as well as the outer walls, so the Bridge is in their hands. A quarter of the Horc was out on patrol, guard points, or on pass in the area, and must be written off as dead; easily that many more are dead or too badly wounded from the fighting with the Threll. Since the Horc had less than half its normal compliment before the fight started, I would think that the Lanthrell will have the entirety of the forts before the day is out.”
“So it would seem,” Descente nodded dazedly. The loss of the Royal Bridge meant that Bohca Ileri was cut off from replacements and those supply items which were being hauled off the Plains, and since Ileri guarded Bohca Tatbik’s supply base, that meant that his army was now threatened as well. The Grand Commander sat heavily on a stool and stared at the maps that covered the table. It was the ford all over again: Laffery had led him around by the nose, only to strike where the Hand was the weakest. “Can Ileri clear the defensive works and retake the Bridge?”
“The commander thinks not; she can clear her defensive works, but re-taking the Bridge while holding the siege-lines is beyond her capability, especially since the relief force would have to cross considerable open country without cavalry in the face of Lanthrell harassment.”
“True. How confident is she that the defenses can be cleared and the damage contained?”
“That will not be determined until she can reorganize and mount some preliminary attacks, say six hours.”
“Six hours.” That wasn’t unreasonable, except he had planned to go into action against Laffery in less time. With his supply base threatened and his ground lines cut, things would have to change. “Too long. Issue the orders: we will break camp and march towards Sagenhoft; burn one-quarter of our supplies to speed our journey. By forced march we can be back in a day and a half, or less.”
“Yes, sir.” Kansa kept his face blank.
“If we do battle here it will be well over two days before we can return to the city, and Laffery knows it,” Descente explained. “If there are more forces available in Sagenhoft, or if the Duchy is willing to take risks, they could continue to ravage our supply base by throwing more troops into their foothold. We cannot delay.”
“But our intelligence sources report no additional troops other than the Navian regiments...”
“They didn’t mention any Harthrell, did they? But there they are, making a river-raid possible somehow. And let’s not forget the last estimate which put Lanthrell strength at less than a hundred warriors; somehow I’m beginning to think that that might be just a bit low. Even if we wreck the Heartland Army, we still lose if the enemy captures or destroys half our Gate egran; without the Gates the siege cannot be prosecuted and our army maintained in the field. Not to mention that if we lose too much of our siege equipment the same result comes into play. We shall see to the restoration of our supply base; Laffery will follow, and we will do battle soon enough.”
Grand Marshal Laffery was sitting in the darkness outside his personal tent, sipping wine and watching the stars. An aide coughed behind him discretely. “Yes?”
“Sir, the Hand forces are falling to and burning supplies.”
“Are they forming to attack or withdraw?”
“Appears to be withdrawing, sir.”
“Very good. Send a message to all commands to have one-quarter of their men standing ready in full battle gear until dawn, and advise the operations staff to prepare orders to move.”
“Yes, sir. Sir, which way will we move?”
“South.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The eastern horizon was graying as Gold Platoon closed on the artillery park; the Badger unit was on its second foray. Maxmillian had been eager to make a second strike into the Hand areas, and so had most of the platoon. It was getting more dangerous as the Hand was getting organized, but after months spent cooped up in the city everyone was eager to come to blows with the enemy.
The Hand had occupied the defenses immediately north of the Badger’s position on the Inner Line and those just north of the Seventh Cohort on the Outer Defenses, but there were no defenses designed to defend against an attack coming up between the two lines, so the best the Hand could do at the moment was sending fighting patrols into the center area and wait for more units to be brought up from other points on the siege line.
Maxmillian briefly conferred with his subordinate leaders in the lee of a wagon: Bulldog would take the Second Section into the park to set fire to the war engines, which were dismantled and loaded onto specially-modified wagons, while First and Third Sections would flank the park on either side to protect them against Hand patrols. Elonia was to take Jothan and Dayyan (who had tagged along with Gold Platoon) and investigate a cluster of tents to the east of the artillery park.
Elonia slipped through the darkness to the three large tents nestled together, her crossbow at the ready and her yataghans loose in their scabbards; since the manoples prevented her from using her crossbow or nets she only wore them when melee would be the only real option.
Crouching by the wall of the nearest tent, she listened intently before drawing a yataghan and swiftly cutting two long strokes like a four-foot ‘v’ in the wall of the tent, the bottom point of the ‘v’ reaching the ground. Jothan darted through even as she was finishing the cut, followed closely by Dayyan; sheathing her blade, Elonia followed, mildly amused at the two mens’ enthusiasm. Inside she found herself in a spacious sitting room, the tent having been fitting with a raised wooden floor which was covered with carpets and filled with lovely if mis-matched furniture, loot from plundered homes along the Hand’s advance.
“Dayyan, check that entryway, no one? Good, search this tent, take anything of valuable that’s portable and leave anything you don’t understand to me.” Motioning for the interpreter to follow, she slipped into the nearer of the two connecting tents, which turned out to be a storage ‘room’ filled with cases and trunks, with one small area for two cots. Repeating her instructions to Jothan, she passed through the sitting room where Dayyan was expertly searching with a light rod held in his teeth, and entered the third conne
cted tent, which was a opulently furnished bedroom. Activating a light rod of her own, she began to search the area, moving with the speed of long experience.
It was quickly obvious that this tent complex had been home to a woman, apparently a very high-ranking Hand Markan, most likely from one of the branches other than Ra or Fet to judge from the love of luxury. The woman had fled in haste, accompanied by her two slaves or servants, and had had the presence of mind to grab her jewelry and to load her slaves with her portable field desk and boxes that most likely contained either files or apparatus for the use of her Arts; Elonia found the desk’s folding chair and marks on the floor where the boxes had sat.
Lighting a lamp as her light rod died, its enchantment expended, the Seeress worked her way methodically about the room, packing what items of value that she found into the empty back pack she wore. There was a fair amount of portable loot: bottles of perfume, an ermine cape, a lovely brush set, a jeweled dagger, and some money, as well as a couple items of interest: what appeared to be a journal, a couple maps, and a wood box filled with sticks of incense that seemed to have an odd aura about them.
Slinging the half-full pack onto her shoulder, she stepped back into the sitting room and found Dayyan prying apart a divan looking for lost change, his pack already on his back indicating that he was done with his search. “Find anything interesting?”
“There’s an odd pendant,” the standard bearer motioned to an end table. “I’m going to see if Jothan needs a hand.”