IronStar

by Hallman, Grant

  “Of course I fear death.” Another pause, longer, then:

  “I know a place… a small pond, one tree beside it. When the wind is calm, you can see the moons rise and shimmer on the water. I used to go there often, when I was young. It is very peaceful for me to think about being there. When I need to be calm, I remember that place.”

  “But you must be alert to danger when you fight. Do you not find it difficult to come from your …calm place, into battle?”

  “I do not come from it. I bring it with me, I fight from inside it, it is wrapped around me even in the thickest part of a fight. It makes things happen slower, I can see two enemies at the same time.”

  “That is very …interesting, Irshe’jasa.” …and a pretty good description of battle-mode training, too – except yours helps ‘before’ as well as ‘during’. “We shall speak more of this, if you will.”

  “I would be pleased to show Kirrah Warmaster the pond I speak of.” That’s not what I asked, and we both know it, and what is it, behind those attentive gray eyes just now, my friend? High overhead, a second large raptor joined the first, wheeling in graceful counterpoint.

  “Places, everyone. It’s show time. Captain Og’drai, I would appreciate a word from you when you judge the lead ship has chosen to ignore our command to stop.”

  “Yes, Warmaster,” said the second captain, a short, plump man whose elderly vessel was currently moored mid-river and flying the dark blue and light blue colors of Lord Tsano, plus four more fifteen-centimeter wide ribbons, black at the top and white at the bottom, with various colored bands in between.

  There are so many of them, Kirrah’s mind kept saying as the flotilla drew near. Each O’dai ship was only thirty meters long, but with two masts and big square sails, and five, seven - nine oars down each side, those three rows of four ships made an impressive sight, a veritable forest of masts and rigging. The rest of the Talamae scouting party, another sixteen scouts who had been shadowing the O’dai movements, had ridden in a few minutes earlier and taken places beside the mortar crews.

  “Now, Warmaster!” said the short Captain, “See, they furl their sails, they will stop.” Where… oh, that’s what those fellows were doing up the mast, right - up go all the sails in big sausages of cloth under the yardarms. Very precisely done, too. Shortly the three columns of ships came to a halt in the channel, with the lead ship in the nearest column standing directly opposite the place where the Talamae boat was tied up on the shore. Sailors lowered a small dinghy over the stern of the O’dai craft, and several figures climbed down. In a few strokes, they drew up half a dozen meters from the Talamae boat tied up at the riverbank. Four oarsmen and a helmsman, at the service of a gaudily dressed figure in the bow, wearing plate armor with a half-meter feathered plume on his helmet. Kirrah and three archers, plus the Captain to translate, walked down to the water’s edge to meet them. On the far shore, the head of the Wrth column drew up and stopped, while the main column of riders continued upriver.

  “Warmaster, they are not setting anchor or mooring,” the short mariner beside her whispered. “They hold position in the river current with oars. They do not act like they plan to wait long.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Who seeks parley with the O’dai twelfth fleet?” boomed the voice of the plumed man, in slightly accented Talamae.

  “Kirrah, Warmaster to the Talamae nation, seeks parley.”

  “A bold name for such a small ‘warmaster’. Speak then, we will not tarry long.”

  “Why are you here? This river is part of Talam. There is no reason for difficulties between us, yet you travel with our enemies.”

  “We have treaty with the Wrth. We fulfil our obligations. Does not a warmaster travel with an army? I see no army.”

  “I have all I need, but I am not here to make war with you. We hope for peaceful trade with the O’dai. A year from now, Talameths’cha will be a very good partner for trade. I would know the name of the Captain I am speaking with.” Never hurts to overestimate rank…

  “A year from now, Talameths’cha will be empty. You may tell Lord Tsano he may find a living in O’dakai, if he does not wait too long. Our capital can always use another blacksmith. Tell him Captain Durkalo says so.” Several of the oarsmen and a number of the crew leaning over the ship’s rail seemed to find this funny.

  “Captain Durkalo. Have your allies the Wrth told you how well they fared against Talameths’cha’s walls? Against me? Our boat in the center of the river, and the rope mooring it, is as far as you may proceed. I have ready the means to destroy your fleet. Yet I prefer no fighting between us. We have much to profit by trade, and your ruler would be pleased with whomever brings him our friendship and commerce.”

  “You know nothing of our ruler, woman. You are full of questions; now answer one of mine. How can you destroy my fleet, if you are full of my arrows?” With that he gestured, and his oarsmen all reached to their feet and raised cocked crossbows. Not the light Wrth crossbows, Kirrah noticed, but heavier, more powerful weapons. Although it was a little hard to judge the length of their bolts when they were all pointed straight her way… And this plumed gentleman standing there with his hand raised, just like a toy soldier.

  “Captain Durkalo, this is your last chance to live. Do not make war with me.” His hand raised a fraction, preparing to sweep down in a gesture that would release all five bolts. At that moment from the two raptors wheeling high above came a piercing cry: Keeeee…raaaaa! For an instant, the man looked up at the two raptors soaring overhead, and his crossbowmen were distracted by his distraction.

  Kirrah snatched her sidearm free and fired into the water half a meter short of their boat. An explosion of spray and splintered wood erupted, flinging scalding water on the occupants and throwing a wall of steam into the air between them. She and her companions scrambled back. Even before the mist cleared, three crossbow bolts thudded into the ground where they had stood seconds before. Her three archers loosed almost in unison, taking down the other two crossbowmen who were trying urgently to clear their eyes from the hot spray. The plumed captain struggled to his feet, shouted orders to the ship twenty-five meters out in the river, and bent to come up with one of the cocked crossbows. As he struggled to reload the bolt into its firing groove, Kirrah said, loudly enough to be heard on the ship:

  “This captain is obviously not honorable. You may kill him for me.” He stared at her in mingled horror and disbelief, still trying to get the bolt back into the groove of his crossbow, and then staggered backwards as three heavy bodkinpoint arrows at point blank range whacked through the breastplate of his armor within a few centimeters of its center. Nice grouping, Kirrah thought. Looks like they didn’t penetrate the back, must be heavier armor than the Wrth wear. As the man toppled over the far side of the boat, she caught a glimpse of two of the points protruding a finger’s length from the back plate. Not bad, still, heavier armor than the Wrth.

  The archer beside her grunted, several more bolts from the ship sizzled past them. Something punched Kirrah low on the side, she felt the bolt break and fall away as it spent itself against the suit’s tight weave. That smarts! Time to withdraw, she thought. Together the five of them raced back up the bank. One of her archers was limping with a crossbow bolt in his leg just below the right hip.

  “Mortars, fire on that ship, one volley!” she called, and was rewarded by four very prompt whump-sounds from behind the screen of tents. They reached the scant shelter of a cluster of bushes and turned to see a column of water erupt off the starboard bow of the ship, another behind and port, and two shattering explosions near the stern, one on each side. Pieces of wood flew in all directions and a cloud of blue-gray smoke lifted to reveal a three-meter gash in the near rail, and a meter-long hole between the deck and the side of the ship. A few men were struggling weakly in the water, others were strewn around the deck. Broken rigging ropes hung in tangles from the aft mast.

  “Is there another captain?” Kirrah sh
outed into the ringing silence. “Someone who will parley without drawing weapons?”

  “Warmaster, they are cocking their siegebows. All of them!” Captain Og’drai was pointing to a place on the foredeck of the damaged ship, where five or six men were busy with a winch and another group was carrying a missile that looked like a three-meter long arrow. Similar activity was boiling on the decks of the other ships visible from where they stood. Awww, damn!

  “Mortars, target the lead ship! One volley! Archers target the damaged ship, fire it!” Within seconds, a volley of twenty fire arrows from Lieutenant Rash’koi’s position arced across the river and shattered audibly against the hull and fittings of the first target. One or more enterprising marksmen had found the opening blown in the side of the hull, judging from the flickering orange light visible in the dark interior. Six whumps sounded in a ragged volley behind her. That’s a quarter of the mortar rounds gone, some computer in Kirrah’s mind reported.

  “Peetha, grenade arrows against the crew working on the big bows, four archers at each ship! One volley, then keep their heads down.” And speaking of heads, deploy your helmet, you keep forgetting that in a firefight. On the river, the first mortar round landed short, then another just a bit long. Huge splashes lifted out of the river’s surface. Two more shots landed squarely on deck, one amidships and one forward, scattering the siegebow crew and tearing a hole in the decking. The sixth round managed to hit the yardarm on its way over the ship, blowing a couple of meters off its port end and shaking two crewmen off the huge beam.

  Time for a little high-tech support… Kirrah took careful aim with her beamer. A single shot shattered the straining wood of the bent siegebow on the next ship in line. As the torsion energy in the nearly-cocked weapon was released suddenly, pieces of bow flailed around the deck, scything down several more men. A few thin trickles of smoke were seeping out of the nearest ship, her first target. A steady drumbeat of grenade explosions kept the crews disorganized. Men were running around on the decks, some shouting orders, some of the oarsmen were beginning to pull the ships forward.

  The four cargo vessels began moving toward the far shore, where the Wrth column was collecting in four large knots of horsemen. Occasionaly a crewman managed to get to the rail with a crossbow, but the low fire rate prevented the sort of massed volley that was so effective with longbows. Two of Rash’koi’s men were down with feathered shafts in their limbs, however the chain mail seemed to be protecting their torsos adequately from anything but point-blank crossbows.

  “Rash’koi! Move back now! We have the range advantage, let’s use it! Peetha, half your warriors with grenades, use Irshe’s men to fire more ships! And keep the range open!” The cargo ships were drawing up against the far bank, Wrth seething to embark. Panting, Kirrah arrived at the mortar emplacements. Behind her, a sound like a pole falling marked the release of one of the siege weapons. Kirrah whirled to see a dozen head-sized boulders spin through the air and crash down among Rash’koi's retreating archers. Five men fell. Others rushed to their aid and carried them away from the river.

  “Peetha! Target the siege weapons! Don’t let them have another shot!” Kirrah shouted. “Mortars, as soon as the first cargo ship gets to the far bank, put a volley of six on it. But fire one at a time, so you learn from the misses. Captain Crath’pae, when you judge the fire is unstoppable on a ship, tell me. I won’t waste more arrows on it.” Several blazes were now visible on three of the ships, including the one that had launched the catapult.

  The excise ships began to move upriver again, some with less than all nine oars working on this side. Two of the cargo ships were now drawn up near the far shore, splashes visible in the shallows behind them as the Wrth horsemen waded out to board. Kirrah patted one of the mortar crew on the shoulder and pointed at the nearest ship. After a careful adjustment to the front leg supporting the tube, he motioned others back and dropped the firing lever. Whoomp! Kirrah could actually see the round lofting high into the air, lost it as it started down. Another huge splash, well short of the target. The second mortar crew, the same woman from the starthrower guild who had accompanied Rash’koi on the first raid, muttered:

  “Looks like another thirty hab’la,” made a small adjustment on the front strut of the tube and touched it off. The resulting impact was less impressive, but the shell dropped right into the hold of the open cargo vessel. A third round followed the second, exploding on the inside of the port gunwale. Fires were burning on four of the six excise ships and a steady volley of grenade-arrow bursts kept the defenders down. A patter of Wrth quarrels filled the air, not dangerous to mailed soldiers at this range across the river, but a hazard to unprotected flesh and the unarmored boat crews.

  “Good, that’s two hits for three rounds. Now the second cargo ship.” Kirrah ordered, pointing to where the second one had stopped a bit farther downriver. More careful muttering and adjustment from the three ready mortarmen. The three in the front row continued their urgent reloading. Whoomp! from the back row. Another splash, just a few meters short. The second round landed squarely amidships, blowing a hole through the bottom and throwing men into the air. A horse screamed twice and suddenly stopped. A third round impacted just forward of the second, more screams. The first cargo ship was beginning to list. The other two cargo ships were pulling back into the river, one turning upstream and one down. Large parties of Wrth followed each vessel, harried by occasional grenade bursts. Oh-oh, thought Kirrah. Separate targets…

  “You three in the front row, take your mortars and three rounds each and follow that cargo vessel downstream! When it stops, sink it. I do not want Wrth on this side!

  “Peetha! Take your forces downstream, follow that cargo ship! Boat crews, fetch their horses! Back row, drop one into the mass of Wrth following the other cargo ship, then try for the ship as it passes us! Rash’koi, how many men are still able to draw?”

  “Twelve, Warmaster.” His voice sounded strained. Kirrah turned and saw blood staining his jacket from an arrow wound on his left arm. Oh, no!

  “Eight down? How many live?” Another mortar tube coughed behind them.

  “Six, Warmaster. A catapult stone crushed Scout Aga’roi’s chest and another broke the skull of Maitoth’ga. The others will live, if we can care for them, but they are through fighting until their bones and wounds mend.” Behind the Lieutenant, Kirrah could see the mortar round land short of the Wrth, in the shallows at the far edge of the river. The O’dai warships were rowing hard upstream. The lead ship was just passing the tethered Talamae freighter… no, it was ramming it. The smaller vessel splintered and rolled under the prow of the larger one. Beside her, Captain Og’drai groaned audibly. A second mortar fired.

  “Those tasgaths!” he swore. “Warmaster, the two lead ships are now well afire and cannot be saved. Including the one that rammed my beautiful little Flowerpot, may they rot at the bottom of the Geera for eternity. The two behind will soon be firewood too, if we can only keep those men with buckets, away from the fires.” The second mortar round slammed down among the dense mass of Wrth riders, tearing a ragged hole in their formation.

  “Rash’koi, take your men plus replacements from the returned scouts, and keep the sailors busy. Mortars, reload and target the last cargo ship moving upriver.”

  Another flash and billow of smoke, as the first mortar reloaded and fired. Another huge splash, just off the starboard bow of the cargo ship. A moment later the second mortar fired. Another miss, again just short of the bow. The third mortar fired, a third miss, again just off the starboard bow. Damn! These mortars have too long a transit time to be effective against moving targets, Kirrah realized. By the time one tube fired and the range was found, the target had moved half a length or more. Soon the first mortar was ready again, lobbed a round right over the desperately rowing cargo ship and narrowly missing it on the far side. The second round of that volley overshot farther, as the ship’s helm turned them back towards the center of the river. The third round str
uck on the port rail amidships, spraying splinters among the rowing crew and cleaving a two meter hole in the side of the vessel, although from her vantage point Kirrah could not see whether it was a fatal blow. The first two cargo ships were foundering on the far shore, one rolling forty degrees or so to starboard, the other settling straight down in the water up to the gunwales, at which point it seemed to come to rest on the riverbottom. Eyeing the diminishing supply of ammunition, Kirrah ordered:

  “Cease firing. We have seven rounds left here, save them for a sitting target. If they keep rowing upstream, we can burn them with fire-arrows from horseback. Let’s get ourselves mobile, people. It would not be polite to abandon our guests.” Indeed, two of the lead warships were now burning merrily and making for the far shore, and sailors could be seen battling the flames on the next two ships in the column. Sporadic volleys of grenade arrows from Rash’koi’s squad kept the firefighters from effective work.

  From downstream, another watery explosion signaled Peetha’s party getting the range on the last cargo ship. Frustrated Wrth galloped up and down the far riverbank in impotent rage. Next to pass their position were the two O’dai vessels with the large siege weapons amidships. Yes, thought Kirrah, those towers between the two masts look pretty much like those trebuchets I saw in the history books. Hmmm, here’s an opportunity to pull the enemy’s teeth if I ever saw one…

  “Wait here, my armor will keep me safe!” she called, and set off at a run toward the river, on a diagonal intercept with the two siege ships. Another concussion from downstream, and the sound of screams. In a moment Kirrah reached the riverbank, and took aim at the thirty-centimeter thick wood beams supporting the hinge of the nearer trebuchet, ten meters above the deck. Her sidearm's first shot blew a ten by eighty centimeter splinter out of the wood. The second shot deepened the crater. Another mortar's concussion boomed from downriver. After five beamer shots, the massive timber split apart. Too expensive, she judged, I can’t afford five shots per beam. Let’s try… Another Crack! and the thinner wood over the massive hinge blew apart, dropping the swing arm to sway at a precarious angle. Another shot, and the twenty-meter arm fell from its supports, crashing down on the deck. A quick glance downriver showed the fourth cargo ship sinking near the far bank, its bottom clearly holed. The three mortarmen quickly packed up and with the forty archers under Peetha’s command, including Irshe’s twenty Border Patrol, began riding back upriver.