Wayland came forward, taking up the white surcoat and jacket from the priest with his other arm. He placed his heart hand down on the mottled white piece of stone, flecked with red, and the edge of Sunnil’s hand pushed back against his as she joined him in the pledge.
“I do so swear it, by the great and magnificent Three!” he said loudly, so the audience could hear. Lady Sunnil looked across at him and smiled in victory, as the Tourade standing behind the crowd cheered out loudly, and spilled the ale from their cups as they made and impromptu toast.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
WAYLAND
TOURADE CAMP, OUTSIDE RYDOL
The Tourade had set up a great military encampment and staging area just off the road, about a half mile from Rydol’s north gate. The city itself could not accommodate any more soldiers inside it, and it was experiencing crowding from the great number of war refugees coming up from the regions of the southern Gure and the Ressel. There was a steady stream of people going by on the road all day, some with wagons drawn by oxen, some riding on their work horses, and some carrying just what they had on their backs.
Kustan Kalla, the great general of the Sund was working his way slowly north toward Rydol, one castle or hilltop fort at a time. The Geciks were finding that their fortifications were inadequate to withstand Kovekund’s new methods of siege. They would speak of a place one day where there was fighting, and the next it had fallen, and they were then talking about another. Crews were out widening and deepening the ditch around Rydol, and there was a plan to use a canal dug over from the Gure River to flood it, and turn it all into a proper moat.
It had begun to snow, just lightly during the nights. Soldiers were claiming there was ten feet of it to the south up in the mountains already, freezing the bogs and making it easier to move across and attack. But the roads were now a mess, it was certain. People also said Kustan Kalla had made tunnels under the snow by digging it out, and then lined them with logs, to bring his needed supplies and soldiers quickly up over the mountains. How they knew this, Wayland had no idea.
He planted the butt of his bill hook on the ground, and stood there, trying to look formidable. He had on a suit of chain mail, with greaves and armbraces, and the white and black surcoat of the crusade was upon him. He had bought a helmet that fit him better than any other he had ever owned, and it had thus not added to his misery. It had a pierced grate over the eyes that could be lifted like a visor, with the tip of a red horse tail wound around a screw of metal on its top.
Wayland had fought with a bill before, while in the service of Marmad when they had invaded Egel in Galfan. Few others there could profess to such a thing, so it had come from the armory over to him. He would fight with the foot, as he had none of the special equipment or training required for fighting with knights in a squadron, and so he had been detailed away from Sir Trois to these.
“Please, a blanket sir!” a boy called over to him, as he stood there on the side of the road shivering, as the other refugees went on by.
“Don’t have but my one,” Wayland replied back. “I already gave the rest away. It’s warmer up to the north, and there’s a soup canteen set up on the road to Kavvar, just two miles on. The Grand Prince and the travelers will feed you all, may the Three bless them. Keep moving along.” He looked back over at Trotter, a sergeant from Ballatch who was also wearing a black band and lily for something he had done there, and they frowned at eachother as the boy moved off. A little way over, a woman stopped on the road and turned to walk into the Tourade’s camp, through the picket. Wayland walked over and intercepted her.
“You have business in the camp?” he asked her.
“I’m the daughter of the Sir Johnas Audent,” she said. “Let me through.”
“I can’t do that,” Wayland told her. “But I’ll have my hairy friend here go and bring him or his servant out from the camp, to verify who you are.” At that she turned around and walked back away. Trotter and Wayland looked over at each other, and Trotter gave a little snort.
“Another one,” he said to Wayland. They watched the line of miserable refugees go by, and the work beyond being done on to the earthworks circling Rydol.
“Why are you here, Trotter?” Wayland asked him.
“One of the local lord’s sons said he raped my daughter,” he replied. “When nothing came of that, he tried to steal my cows. He won’t be stealing any cows ever again. It was hard to say I did anything wrong at all, or if I was even involved in his death.”
“I’ve only got to fight in the next battle,” Wayland replied. “Then I’m leaving Gece and going back to Marmad. This is the second time I’ve tried to do the right thing and been punished for it. It might take me ten years to earn back the money the Traveler Knights took from me, but I won’t end up dead somewhere with a nobles’ footprint on my back. Perhaps I’ll try the sea next.”
“Aye, that’s a fine business,” Trotter replied. “For me it’s just two more battles, then maybe another one if they offer me land.”
Wayland watched as a group of mounted men came out of the city and rode in through the perimeter of the Tourade’s camp.
“Those were Rydol’s colors,” Wayland said. We’re moving on maybe.”
“We’re advancing then! Two more battles!” Trotter agreed. After a few minutes in the lords’ rows, two of the men rode out to their picket and stopped there, getting down off their horses.
“Lord Rhus!” Wayland said, identifying one of the men immediately. “Do you have a letter for me, or did you just come here to gloat?” The other man traded a look with Rhus, chuckled, and set his hands on his hips. He stood firm and let Wayland get a good look at him.
“I heard you were in camp here, so I came out to see you,” he said. “I wanted to get your opinion on something.”
Wayland saw that the young man was dressed in an old black cloak, with a purple cap of velvet on his head. The cap was embroidered all over with the gold suns and swans of Kavvar. It was an old saying in Gece, one that Wayland would not dare utter now, that the sun could either shine on you, or the swan shit on you.
“Grand Prince Zhury usually wears a cap like that instead of a crown,” Wayland said. “He does so because crowns have a deep religious significance, and he does not pretend to directly represent God.”
“I like his sense and his taste,” the young man replied back, admitting nothing. He looked over at Trotter. “You’re from Ballatch, aren’t you?”
“Aye, I am,” Trotter replied.
“Please sir, do you have any food?” a man from the road asked them, having ventured over because of the horses there.
“Wait here a minute,” the young man said over to him. He went to his saddlebags and got out a wrapping full of meat pies, and he handed them over. “I’d give you my cloak, but I’ve already given the rest away, and am afraid the realm might suffer if I do.”
“The Three bless your sir,” the man replied, and walked back to his family out on the road. The young man broadly smiled, and then turned back to Wayland.
“It’s the matter of Johnas Tygus wanting to marry that girl from Krolo,” he said. “What do you think of that?”
“I heard that the Grand Prince, may he be forever victorious, wished for him to marry into one of the Varri noble families, but he chose the rose of the West Lands instead.”
“Why do you think he did that?” he asked Wayland.
“He took a liking to her when they first met, I remember. That’s where the nickname for her comes from, and he could have decided on her right then. There were others there like Sascha of the Krag, Sir Otel’s son, a Varri fire mage named Leofind, and even myself. We were all sniffing about Krolo’s garden, but Johnas Tygus picked her, and took her back with him to Grotoy.”
“So it’s not to spite me then?” he said, puruseing it like a hare.
“He said something to me in camp once, when we were out in the Varmond looking for the countess. He said his father felt that Grotoy had mar
ried before too softly, and that he now feared their blood was weak.”
“They’re calling her the iron rose you know, from all the stories being told in Rydol, and at Kavvar’s court.” He waited to see what Wayland thought of that.
“You wouldn’t curse a noble girl for hunting a wolf. Her father’s lands just happen to have buggers raiding across them instead. It’s a hard thing all those people bear, and we never give them the gratitude they rightly deserve.” He nodded back in understanding to Wayland, and scratched at his short, dark beard with the cup of his hand.
“I could just ask him,” he said, “but I would never know if he was telling me the truth. There is a great aunt in Veps right now trying to cause some trouble. I have Sascha of the Krag watching her.” he motioned for Wayland to move away with him from Trotter and Lord Rhus, and then he continued.
“There is also a problem developing at Berize. The monster you fought has survived and appears to have journeyed there to haunt its woods. Incidents are occurring, and they are now calling it the ‘Beast of Berize.’ There are nasty rumors too, that the Lady Sunnil practices witchcraft, that she wears the skulls of two children fashioned into bracelets on her wrists, and that she chased her guardian into a church.”
“There aren’t any witches in Gece,” Wayland said, with great conviction, “and magic to the buggers is being able to read and write. We can’t hang all the barristers for doing that, can we?” He let out a snicker that the other man also shared with him for a moment.
“The lady and I are just arguing out a point of conscience between us,” Wayland said. “I momentarily held a holy sword in my hand and it burned me when I tried to strike the creature down. Anyone would have had second thoughts about killing the monster, if put in my place. I feel satisfied with my actions, if never vindicated.”
“Well, I need you to go back there if you can, and get things in hand,” he said. “Her position,” he added, and paused to look over at the city wall of Rydol, then back at him, “is again on soft ground.”
“I will consider it,” Wayland replied, “if I am able. You must know that she is very angry at the way fate has treated her, and I am perhaps only half as angry right now as she is.”
“Well, there is a lot of rebuilding to be done in Gece after this war is over,” the man said. “If someone did this favor for me, even if it was just some Tolly, I might grant them a charter to export products from the royal estates and stores, to facilitate in our repairs.”
“I have a battle to win before that,” Wayland said. That would be a great prize, if it was truly attainable, and it moved him a little in the opposite direction.
“You do,” he agreed. “Be careful of the hammers, if they are used. You will know what I mean when you see one of them.” He gestured with his hand to Lord Rhus, and the man brought over their horses. He pulled himself up into the saddle.
“Good luck to you in battle. May the Grand Prince be ever victorious!”
“May he be ever victorious! Long live Grand Prince Ewald Zhury,” Wayland said back. He raised his purple cap to him at that, and in farewell, and then the two rode away, back toward Rydol’s north gate.
“Who said picket line duty was boring?” Trotter commented over to Wayland, and then he turned back to walk his line.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
WAYLAND
EAST OF RYDOL, AT ASSIEL’S FORD
The day was bright and cold, with a listless wind that sometimes lifted the pennants up, but could not make them stand or snap. The army of Grotoy, bolstered by the Tourade had come across the frozen ice of the Grue River, perhaps on the first morning it had been deemed safe to support such a weight, and the passage of the heavy horse. It was the time in winter when all the rivers in Gece began to ice up, to support what was called the winter road, when sleighs and sledges mostly carried the people and things back and forth on their white lengths. Wayland remembered what Captain Tig Morten had glibly told him, of how fast one could reach Aukwen and the coast by the Gure River ice if they paid for the service of the sled.
Wayland had been placed in a pike line, on the right side of the formation, with Trotter just five men over to his right. The rest of the squadron was out with the horse, and they rode across and deployed on the far right with the other mounted men, so that he could not even see them.
Wayland’s file took up its position on a patch of tilled farmland on the east bank, forming a rank about five men deep and about fifty wide. They halted, stood and watched as the rest of the army got into position. Skirmishers and archers soon came up behind them, in about four ranks of each, and stood there looking at the men ahead with their tall spears in disdain.
Agu Kalla had split from his brother and chased a small army of Varreks and the remains of Troli’s army north out of the valley, and then they had overrun the small earthwork fort built near the ford. The idea today was to stop Agu Kalla men from eventually marching across the Gure and laying siege to Rydol, or perhaps just going north down the Gure to Sarsving Castle and attacking it. Wayland himself doubted that Agu Kalla had any idea that such a thing was possible, because the river had frozen over.
Grotoy’s pike came up next to their line and formed up, into eight separate pike squares, of about six hundred men each, which held to their own formations and did not make a solid line. Aukwen stood on the far left, formed in a thin line much like the footmen were around Wayland. Some other lines of soldeiers came up and formed in back, and to the sides, and then no one else moved.
They blew horns, and then the entire formation slowly marched up in their lines and squares and stopped on the highest ground there was, looking down into the countryside north of the Troli Valley. Agu Kalla had made his camp on the east side of an earthwork fort the Varreks had built, and occupied it with his men. He was supposed to be light on soldiers and food, and everyone was saying that they had gone on too far and for too long, just to make this appearance and menace the great city a little. Wayland hoped that was so.
The earthwork had its long north wall visible ahead, and it had not reained the snow the way the regular ground had and was a dark line, between the white ground and the green fir trees behind it in the distance. There were more trees around it: a broken forest of small firs, aspen and maples, and it was hard to see what was there and beyond them.
As Grotoy came forward off the rise, a detachment of Isur cavalry rode by in front of them all, their bright lacquered armor, bronze fittings, and yellow tabards identifying them. They also mostly rode black horses, which gave them several colorful nicknames. They had short horn bows and they used them now to fire across and back into the ranks of Grotoy and the Tourade, but their arrows seemed to just mostly hit on shields, or bounce off the men’s breastplates. A couple of the soldiers made pissing noises with their lips and tongues, and the whole line continued moving.
Then the flags went up and they stopped, still well out of the foot’s range, far away from the earthwork wall, and the army of Grotoy sat there for a good hour, perhaps giving Agu Kalla time to form up in good order, but Wayland considered that the Amash warlord had know they were coming now for hours. There were pits and trenches dug out in front of the position, and sharpened stakes and horse traps made from wood, rope, and chain.
They were finally given the signal to go forward again, down the gentle slope toward the fort and Agu’s army. The foot knights called out for them to keep moving, the banners dipped once, and they all moved in to close with the enemy lines they could not see properly. The ranks of Agu Kalla’s army mostly sat in the defenses, behind barricades of wood, atop the fighting walks of the earth fort, with staked trenches before them to be crossed. The archers behind Grotoy’s ranks stopped and began shooting at these scant targets, and finally Agu Kalla’s archers responded back, shooting volley after volley at Grotoy’s great pike squares, but mostly ignoring everyone else on the field.
Half of Grotoy’s pike squares broke up, roared, and began infiltrating through the t
raps and wooden walls, going across the ditches and up to the top of the earthwork, where they reformed and began to fight with the enemy. Bugles blared out near Wayland, and they moved about as the knights ordered them, putting their pikes down into position.
“They are trying to flank us,” one of the foot knights called out, looking about through his helmet, his visor turned up. Wayland wasn’t sure of that. Through his own helmet he could see the walls of Rydol still, like a tall green cliff of stone to their right, just over through the trees, with the frozen river below and hidden. Several squadrons of cavalry came by on their right flank, then turned and rode off through the light woods in front. The officers of the foot called out, and made them bend the line, then bunch up, so that they stood on the highest ground that was there. Wayland knew it was a bad idead to bend a line, but it had been reinforced, so he thought it would plainly be in contest there, because someone had thought it a strong position. The archers were massing there at the rear of their line, and so it might just be worth it.
Two of Grotoy’s pike squares suddenly moved, turning, and coming past their rear, and then lining up to stand out on the far right. He heard fighting going on, from the trees, or from the fort. He did not know for sure.
“We’re committed now boys,” a foot knight called out.” For the Tourade!”
Almost immediately a line of Sund pike came through the trees at them, from the right of the earthworks, and they stopped to form up, their uniforms a motley of pale red and green, with some wearing tall red tassels on their helmets, reminding Wayland a little of his own. Heavily mailed men were out in front, with great, wavy swords in their hands. These swordsmen came on first, as the fort’s wall began to shoot some arrows out at them, and the regular spear marched up. The swordsmen baited the pikes tips forward with their great swords, and then sheared off the metal heads if they could.
A War of Stones: Book One of the Traveler Knight Page 73