by Peter Kenson
“Sentries.” David pointed them out to Jeren.
They followed the line of the canyon as it twisted through the hills and suddenly the screen filled with multiple heat sources clustered together.
“They’re still there!” Jeren exclaimed.
“So far so good. Now the interesting question is whether they’ve posted sentries at the top end of the valley.”
“And if they have?”
“Then I’ll set down a little further away and you’ll have to send someone to take care of the sentries.”
They reached the head of the valley and circled around, looking for the best place to land. There were no obvious heat sources and David was starting to lose altitude when Jeren spotted a blip on one of the screens.
“Damn,” David said as he took the shuttle back up to a safe height and hit the replay button on the recording. The blip was only there for a second but it was definitely there. They circled around again and David reset the scanners to get a side view. This time the blip showed up clearly.
“That’s too big to be a man,” David said, swinging the optical camera onto the same bearing. “Let’s see what we have here.”
He zoomed in on the spot and enhanced the image. A small crofter’s cottage came into view, with a lean-to stable on one side. A horse moved restlessly in the stable, its senses picking up the whine of the shuttle’s motors more clearly than a human ear.
“Looks like the sentry’s sleeping on the job,” he observed. “I’ll set down far enough away that the horse doesn’t get nervous and you can go and wake him up.”
The trail at the head of the valley curved through a narrow defile, no more than three paces across, and then dropped slowly down to a small plateau before descending into the next valley. David set the shuttle down on the plateau and cracked open the cargo hatch. There were some smiles of relief and a lot of surprised looks as the warriors took in their new surroundings.
Jeren despatched a couple of men to take care of the sentry and led the others across to the defile.
“Bern, place your archers on the slopes to either side and set the screens and stakes in front of them. Carl, you and the others, block the trail with rocks or whatever you can find. If they can’t get through the defile, they’ll have to come up the slopes towards Bern’s men and that’s where we’ll hold them until Feynor arrives.”
“I can’t leave the shuttle out in the open here, Jeren,” David warned. “That spy platform will start to rise above the horizon one hour after dawn. I’d stay if I could but I have to be back under cover at Marmoros by then.”
“I understand. And I do appreciate what you’ve done for us here tonight.”
“Good hunting, your Majesty.”
***
Feynor broke camp in the pre-dawn light and led the main body of men towards the canyon. He and Ash had spent time the previous evening, poring over the maps and trying to decide where Deribe’s sentries would be. Then in the middle of the night, Ash had pushed on with a small group of his scouts, to try to get behind them. The closest sentry point they thought, would be on a small hillock, on the near side of the valley entrance and with a clear view of the approaches.
Ash led them in a wide circle to the rear of the hillock and they were about to break cover when two more raiders came trotting down the valley. The new arrivals were too involved in their own conversation to notice the scouts waiting for them and died quickly in the saddle with a pair of arrows in each of their chests.
“Must be the relief sentries,” Ash whispered as they calmed the captured horses. He picked out two scouts of a similar build to the dead men. “You two take their helmets and cloaks. Ride on up there and see if you can ‘relieve’ the sentries. We’ll follow right behind you.”
It turned out that there was only one sentry on the night shift. He looked round as Ash’s men approached and raised his hand in silent greeting. It was the last action of his short life. It was still too dark to make out the sentry point on the other side of the valley entrance but Ash was sure they would be in sight of each other once the sun came up. He left the two men in the raiders’ cloaks in plain view and led the others back under cover.
There was no time left to take out the other sentry position before dawn and, he reasoned, their relief sentries had probably arrived by now. He sent one scout back to Feynor to ensure that the approaching force kept the hillock between them and the far sentry position and settled down to wait.
As the sky started to lighten there was a hail from the sentries across the valley. Ash’s men waved back in acknowledgement and then looked down at where Feynor and the main force were starting to emerge through the mist. Once the sun cleared the horizon, the mist burnt off rapidly but the line of approach was good and there were no shouts of alarm from the other side of the valley. Ash rode out to meet Feynor as they reached the base of the hillock.
“This is as far as you can go without being seen. As soon as you move out, you’ll be spotted by the sentries on the far side. My men will try to intercept them to stop them from raising the alarm but from here on you’ll have to move fast.”
Feynor nodded in agreement and began to issue orders. The men formed up four abreast and swept round the hill at a fast trot, heading for the entrance to the canyon. Shouts of alarm went up and Ash’s men waved back happily. Suddenly the far sentries realised what must have happened and made a dash for their horses. They raced down the slope into the canyon under a hail of arrows from the scouts. One man was hit in the shoulder and fell, but his foot caught in the stirrup and he was dragged along behind his panicking horse. The other sentry, however, survived the barrage and disappeared around a bend in the canyon just as the first of Feynor’s men reached the entrance.
The canyon was nearly three kilometres long but the first two of those were fairly flat and they maintained a good pace in pursuit. The camp when they reached it, filled the widest point in the canyon and stretched for three hundred paces along the banks of a stream. The sentry had obviously raised the alarm but they had achieved their objective of surprise because the camp was in chaos. Some of the tents were being taken down but others were still standing and breakfast fires were still burning.
The last of Deribe’s horsemen could be seen racing out of the far side of the camp but their pursuit was hampered by a group of more than thirty women and children who had been left behind and who began hurling abuse, stones and even excrement at Feynor’s men. Exasperated, he detailed a squad of spearmen to round them up and hold them to one side of the trail so that they could continue.
At the head of the valley, Jeren had posted lookouts to warn of the approaching horsemen and, at their signal, the archers readied themselves behind the screens. The valley floor was steeper here and the first riders came round the final bend at no more than a fast walk. There were six of them riding point ahead of the main group, and they stopped at the entrance to the defile to examine the blockade that Carl had created. Then one of them spotted the wicker screens on the slopes to either side and pointed them out excitedly to his companions. As one they wheeled their horses and set off back down the trail at a full gallop.
“Now,” Jeren shouted and Bern and his men stepped out from behind the screens to loose a volley of aimed shots. Three of the riders went down immediately with feathers protruding from their shoulder blades and a fourth was thrown as his horse was hit in the flank and stumbled. The other two had their round shields slung across their backs and, although the shields were hit, the riders escaped back down the trail. The one who was left behind got to his feet somewhat unsteadily and started to run towards the cover of the rocks at the side. He did not make it.
Nothing else happened for several minutes then a small group of horsemen appeared with shields raised and stopped to form a line across the trail just out of bowshot. Behind them, two men and a woman rode up to examine the scene. From his vantage point, Jeren could see a heated discussion taking place as each o
f Bern’s screen placements was pointed out. Then another rider came into view and joined the group, this time pointing back down the canyon. The discussion ended abruptly and all the riders disappeared back around the bend.
“So, are they going to take their chances with us or with Feynor?” Jeren wondered aloud. They did not have long to wait for an answer. The line of horsemen came into view again with their shields raised. Behind them came another line and then another and another, until there were more than eighty horsemen walking towards them.
“I didn’t realise she had so many men left,” Jeren said. “It looks as though she’s sending her full force against us.”
“We suspected she would gather the survivors from High Falls,” Baltur replied. “But some of those men are wearing Duke Henry’s colours.”
“Damn! So Paelis is actively aiding Deribe then.”
The horsemen continued to approach at a walking pace until they came within maximum bowshot and then urged their horses into a trot. Bern kept his men under cover and began to fire volleys of arrows from behind the screens. The rain of arrows came down from on high and the riders raised their shields above their heads for protection. Some shafts got through and a couple of men went down. Some of the horses were hit as well and riders struggled to control the injured animals.
As the distance closed to a hundred paces, the archers stepped out from behind the screens to make aimed shots. The riders responded by lowering their shields in front of them and urging their mounts into the fastest pace they could manage up the slope. The group split into two, charging up the steeper slopes towards the archers on both sides of the trail. Horses and men were going down in numbers now but they still kept coming.
Jeren had divided the swordsmen in anticipation; five with Carl to the right of the trail and five with Baltur and himself to the left. He pressed the stud on the hilt of his sword and the blade glittered blue as he stepped out to face the charging horsemen. He parried a spear thrust, the blade slicing cleanly through the haft of the spear as the warrior went passed. The man wheeled round, drawing his sword but Jeren was faster, slashing through the leather peytral on the horse’s chest. The animal reared up in agony and he ducked to one side to avoid the lethal hooves. As the horse came down, the rider aimed a slash at Jeren’s head only to scream in agony himself as the sword fell to the ground, still clutched in his hand.
He whirled round to find a new target as horse and rider bolted. His other swordsmen were fully engaged holding the gap between two sets of stakes and he moved to join them. Horsemen were trying to go round the outside of the stakes to get behind them but Bern’s archers had pulled further back up the slope and were picking them off with ease. He looked across the valley to where Carl was standing in the centre of a circle of carnage. The swordsmen on that side were more than holding their own and the rate of fire from the archers started to drop off as the number of available targets diminished.
Suddenly it was all over. The remaining horsemen wheeled around and fled back down the trail, slinging their shields across their backs as they went. The men who had been unhorsed during the battle threw down their weapons and raised their hands in the air. Some of the wounded dropped where they stood, kneeling or sitting amongst the piles of bodies.
“Secure the prisoners off to one side,” Jeren ordered. “Make sure they’ve surrendered all their weapons. What casualties do we have?” he asked Bern.
“Cuts and bruises on this side. Some of them are deep but they’ll live. I can see one swordsman down and not moving on Carl’s side. I’ll send someone to check.”
“Keep half your men on alert until Feynor gets here. He may drive them back up towards us again.”
There was a shout of alarm as one of the archers gave a sort of wet cough and dropped to the ground with an arrow in his throat. Jeren turned in surprise and felt the wind of a second arrow flash past his face. A third shaft embedded itself in the ground at his feet.
“Get under cover,” Bern yelled, pushing Jeren behind one of the wicker screens. “Where the hell are these arrows coming from?”
“They’re on the hillside above us and to our left,” one of the archers called, peering out around the edge of the screen. He ducked back hurriedly as an arrow hit the screen, a hand’s breadth from his ear. One of the prisoners took advantage of the distraction to push past the guards and make a break for freedom. He weaved from side to side as he ran, trying to avoid the arrows from Bern’s men but eventually his luck ran out and he pitched forward with the haft of an arrow protruding from his back.
“Get the rest of those prisoners under cover and out of sight,” Jeren ordered. “Kill them if they give you any more trouble.”
“There are three archers standing out on a ridge above us,” Bern said. “They’ve only got the shortbows that they normally use from horseback, as opposed to our longbows but with their height advantage, we’re well within their range.”
He picked out two of his archers. “You take the one of the left; you go right. I’ll take the one in the centre. When I give the word, we step out, fire and get back under cover again.”
They each selected and nocked an arrow. Then on Bern’s command they moved out into the open, aimed and fired before dodging back behind the screens as arrows flew through the space where they had just been standing. Cautiously, Bern looked over the top of the screen in time to see one of the archers fall and the other two promptly disappear behind the ridge line. He shaded his eyes to get a better view.
“Damn, that’s what they were protecting. Look at the cliffs behind the ridge,” he told Jeren.
On the far side of the ridge, the sides of the canyon rose steeply again. The cliffs were not quite vertical but they were steep enough to make an awkward climb. Nearing the top of the slope were three figures, a woman and two men, one of whom was much smaller than the other.
“That’s Deribe and Krasta,” Jeren exclaimed. “Round up some of those horses,” he ordered the archers.
“Don’t waste your time,” Bern said. “Even if you could find a route around the outside of the valley, by the time you get there they’ll be long gone.”
He carefully selected another arrow and nocked it to the string.
“Can you reach them from here?” Jeren asked.
“I don’t know. It’s extreme range even for me but I’ll give it a go.”
Jeren could almost feel the strain on Bern’s shoulders as he bent the bow to its maximum extent and released the shot. They watched for what seemed like hours as the shaft flew towards its target. Suddenly the smaller of the two men lost his grip on the rock face and started to slip backwards. The woman climbing alongside him reached out a hand towards him and would have fallen herself had not the other man grabbed her and pulled her back. They both looked down as Krasta bounced off a rocky outcrop, his body gathering pace as it tumbled down the slope.
After a few seconds, Deribe raised her head and looked directly at where Jeren was standing. Even at that distance he could feel the hatred in her glance. Her companion was still holding her arm and dragged her with him as he reached the top of the slope. He pulled her up to stand beside him as Bern nocked another arrow. They both took a last look down at the valley below them as Deribe drew a short sword from her belt. Slowly she extended her arm until the tip of the weapon was pointing directly at Jeren. Then her companion pulled her arm again and they disappeared down behind the clifftop.
“That woman means you harm,” Baltur said to his friend.
“No more than I mean her. Send some men to recover that body. This isn’t over between us.”
Chapter 22 – Sorinto/Ystradis/Belsia
The persistent bleeping from the communicator gradually penetrated the fog of sleep and the man lazily waved a hand at it. He hit a button at random and the bleeping stopped. Two seconds later it started again and General Andros Marcel, military commander of the Sorinto Defence Force, angrily dragged himself into a sitting positi
on. This time he carefully selected a button on the communicator.
“This had better be bloody important,” he growled.
“Sir, we’re under attack.”
“What do you mean, ‘we’re under attack?’ Who’s attacking us?”
“We don’t know, sir. An unknown warship suddenly appeared on our screens. It was already in orbit around the planet and just began firing at the surface.”
General Marcel snapped into instant wakefulness. “How the hell did it get into orbit without being detected? Never mind. Launch interceptors. Have we got any missile batteries that can bear on this ship?”
“We have one battery coming into range in two minutes, sir.”
“Well tell them to launch as soon as they’re in range. And bring our outer defence ships in from their patrol regions to engage the ship.”
“The patrol ships are already responding, sir. They started to move as soon as the ship appeared but it will be twenty minutes before the first of them is close enough to engage.”
“Dammit! What is this ship and why is it attacking us?”
“The ship is not listed in the database, sir. It’s a frigate class warship and one of the technicians thinks that it might be Vostovian, but we don’t know for sure.”
“But why would Vostov attack us? What is it targeting? Is it a random attack?”
“No sir. The frigate is directing all its missiles at the larger of the two Ystrad domes. The shields are holding for the moment but they’re not designed to withstand that sort of continuous barrage.”
“Get some medevac teams over there with full ground support. If that dome breaches, those people will only survive our atmosphere for two or three hours at most. And contact the Ystrad council. Suggest they begin an immediate evacuation. How long before our interceptors are in range?”