The Last March: A Grimdark Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 6)

by Andy Peloquin

  “Lieutenant, sir!” Sergeant Nygar slowed to a halt in front of Lieutenant Vorris. “Think this’ll do?”

  “It had better.” Lieutenant Vorris clapped the man on the shoulder and took a clay jar from his hand. “Linseed oil?”

  “Pig fat, sir,” the Sergeant replied. “Might be tough to keep our armor nicely polished without it, but it’s the best we could do.”

  “Let’s hope it works!” Lieutenant Vorris took two strides, whipped his shield aside, and hurled the jar over the parapet. A loud crash echoed from below, followed by more as Sergeant Nygar did likewise with the bottles of liquor he’d collected. Shouts of alarm, confusion, and rage billowed up from the Eirdkilrs. Koltun leapt up onto his wooden crate in time to pick off an archer drawing a bead on Lieutenant Vorris. The force of the bolt sent the man sprawling into the comrades behind and beside him.

  The burning brand reached the Lieutenant before Koltun had finished reloading his crossbow. Taking the improvised torch, Lieutenant Vorris shot a glance at Koltun. “Cover me!”

  “Aye.” Koltun rose, trained his crossbow on the enemies below, searching for any archers. In the same instant, Lieutenant Vorris hurled the burning brand onto the ram-bearing Eirdkilrs now drawing dangerously close to the gate.

  One moment, the howls of the Eirdkilrs shrieked their fury, rage, and triumph at reaching their target. The next, a loud crackling hiss exploded up from the clustered barbarians, and their screams turned to agony and panic. Billowing clouds of black smoke burst into the air as the liquor caught alight. A heartbeat later, the heat of the alcohol-fueled flames set the pig fat splattered onto the Eirdkilrs’ shields, weapons, furs, and flesh ablaze. Terrible cries of agony pierced the barbarians’ war chants and shouts.

  Koltun was too short to see the Eirdkilrs directly beneath the parapet, but the stink of charred flesh, burning hair, and scorched pig fat told him everything he needed to know. Another loud WHOMPH echoed as the burning Eirdkilrs abandoned their ram and fled, screaming and batting at the flames. Koltun counted at least three dozen of the giant barbarians running down the Cliffpass, fire consuming them from head to toe.

  “Hah!” Triumph echoed in Lieutenant Vorris’ voice as he peered over the wall. “Take that, you bastards!”

  Cheers and shouts rang out all along the wall. A hundred Legionnaires clashed swords and shields, shouted insults, and hurled mocking laughter after the retreating Eirdkilrs.

  Lieutenant Vorris turned to Koltun. “We got lucky,” he said, a broad smile on his face. “The liquor and fat dripped onto the ram itself, and the metal’s red-hot.”

  Koltun’s eyebrows rose. “Lucky indeed!” Unless they had some other plan to storm the wall, the Eirdkilrs would have to give the ram time to cool before renewing the assault.

  That meant a respite for the Legionnaires. Short, perhaps as little as half an hour, but that was long enough in a desperate battle for survival. The soldiers of Highcliff Motte could see to their wounded and dead, could assess the defenses and the forces available.

  Yet one glance at the Eirdkilr forces on the Cliffpass below, on the vast horde preparing to renew the assault on the wall, set dread twisting in Koltun’s gut. Even with the Mistress’ fortune, they were in a bad situation. Too few men trying to hold a position against too many enemies.

  The best they could do was hope to defend the walls long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

  Chapter Six

  “What do you mean, there are no reinforcements?” Koltun couldn’t stop his voice rising to a furious shout that echoed off the stone walls within Captain Hadrick’s command office.

  “Precisely that!” Captain Hadrick snapped. “Commander Brintus sent a report just last week with an update on Onyx Battalion’s status.” He waved a parchment in front of Koltun’s face. “Fighting on the western front has increased exponentially in recent months, and casualties in recent engagements have been so high Onyx Battalion has been forced to withdraw north of the Chain until more Legionnaires can either be recruited from the Princelands or ferried from the mainland.” His gaze darted toward Vorris and his other Lieutenants. “He’d insisted that even the Legionnaires close to finishing their three-year service remain here until they can be replaced.”

  Lieutenant Vorris’ jaw clenched. “That’s nearly one-quarter of Ninth Company, sir.”

  “I know.” Captain Hadrick’s nod set his jowls wobbling. “But those are the Commander’s orders, passed down from General Traighan himself. Ours not to question, is it?”

  The Lieutenant’s eyes darkened, but he remained silent.

  “Surely there’s got to be someone!” Koltun interjected. He wasn’t bound to the same chain of command that forced Vorris to hold his peace. “Any of the Battalions in southern—”

  “There isn’t.” Captain Hadrick’s eyes flashed. “All of the Battalions are stretched thin as is.” He waved the letter from Commander Brintus again. “Pearl Battalion was nearly destroyed in the last battle, and Jade Battalion’s spread out between Spear, Anvil, and Gallows Garrisons already. The same for the others.”

  “And what of Sixth Company stationed in Kaldrborg, sir?” Lieutenant Vorris asked. “That’s just on the northern side of the mountains, a hundred and fifty miles away.” His jaw clenched. “Surely, if we send for their aid—”

  “They cannot come because they are no longer in Kaldrborg!” Captain Hadrick barked, slamming his fist onto the table. “They, like the rest of Onyx Battalion, have been pulled back.” He shook his round head again. “One of Ruby Battalion’s companies—the Seventh, I believe—is marching to replace them, but they won’t reach Kaldrborg for another week.”

  A week. The words hung in the air like an ill wind, and the stone-walled room plunged into silence. The faces of the seven Lieutenants in the room grew grim.

  “We are on our own.” Captain Hadrick spoke in a quiet voice. Tension lined his florid face and every few seconds his gaze darted toward the south-facing window, as if expecting to see the attack renewed. “We must hold Highcliff Motte at all costs.”

  Koltun stifled a derisive snort. Half the men couldn’t even hold their fat bellies unaided. That thought, and the knowledge of what awaited them beyond the fortress’ southern wall, filled him with cold dread. His fingers tightened reflexively, seeking the solid comfort of his crossbow and finding only empty air.

  “You did well today, Vorris.” Captain Hadrick gave the man a curt nod. “Your quick thinking bought us a few more hours.”

  Just a few. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds less than a quarter-hour earlier, and night fell fast south of the Sawtooth Mountains. The Eirdkilrs could renew their assault at any moment; everyone in the Captain’s office knew that, and the knowledge had them coiled as tight as watchmaker’s springs. Even Koltun found his pulse spiking with every sudden noise that drifted through the window.

  “Even now, “ Captain Hadrick continued, “Sergeant Pellyn is rounding up every bottle, jar, vial, and skin of flammable alcohol and oil he can find. Corporal Sellos is leading the miners in their labor of hauling stones from the East Silver Shaft to aid in the defense of the walls.” His eyes locked on Vorris. “Something must be done about that ram. Select four platoons and prepare to take them through the gates to retrieve it. If we can snatch it from the enemy’s hands, we deprive them of their most powerful weapon.”

  “All due respect, sir,” Lieutenant Vorris said, “but that won’t work.” He continued quickly as his Captain’s eyes darkened. “The Eirdkilrs have pulled back from the walls, but only a few hundred yards, just out of crossbow range. The second they see that gate opening, they’ll storm up the pass and hit us with everything they’ve got.”

  “Not to mention the weight of the bloody thing!” Koltun shook his head. “It’s twenty feet of solid iron and takes the better part of two-dozen Eirdkilrs to haul it. Our lads are as strong as they are brave, but there’s no way they’re lifting that thing. And in the time it’d take to get a team of horses set t
o drag it into the gate, the Eirdkilrs would tear us apart.” He grimaced. “The only thing we can do now is make sure they don’t get that Keeper-damned thing any closer.” A vain hope, he knew. But the whole situation was short on hope.

  Captain Hadrick scowled at Koltun and Lieutenant Vorris. His lips puckered into a sour frown as he turned to another Lieutenant. “How goes the work on the ballista, Lerron?”

  The officer cleared his throat. “Er…as well as can be expected, Captain.” He looked sheepish. “Wood is scarce, and the snow rot has settled deep into the beams.”

  Captain Hadrick scowled and muttered a curse.

  “But the cables are still sound and we have found rope,” Lieutenant Lerron hurried onward. “While it may take some effort, I believe we can have the ballista operational by morning.”

  “Morning?” Captain Hadrick’s eyebrows shot up. “And if the Eirdkilrs renew their attack now?”

  Lieutenant Lerron couldn’t hold his commander’s gaze.

  Captain Hadrick wagged a threatening finger at the officer. “You have until midnight to have them ready for action, Lerron, or I’ll have you counting tunics under Sergeant Pellyn. Is that clear?”

  “Y-Yes, sir.” The Lieutenant saluted, spun on his heels, and hurried out the door. A moment later, the sound of his barked orders drifted through the window.

  The Captain’s attention shifted back to Lieutenant Vorris. “Lieutenant, you are to lead the defense of the walls.” He gestured to the three men standing beside Vorris. “Cenye, Rearden, and Enthrak answer to you. Understood?”

  “Yes, Captain.” The four Lieutenants clapped fists to their breastplates.

  “The rest of you,” Captain Hadrick addressed the others, “prepare for battle as best you can. We cannot run from this fight, and we must win it on our own.”

  We, eh? Koltun clamped his jaw shut to keep the retort from bursting out of his mouth. I don’t remember seeing you during the fighting.

  He’d caught a single glimpse of the Captain while the battle raged. For another officer, he might have written it off as nothing more than the fog of combat narrowing his vision and reducing awareness of his surroundings. But for Captain Hadrick, he’d gamble his best boots that the officer had spent the duration in the safety of the stone command building, sheltering from Eirdkilr arrows rather than on the wall fighting beside his men.

  The Lieutenants trooped out of the office—Vorris paused only long enough to shoot a warning glare—leaving Koltun alone with Captain Hadrick. The Captain glanced at him, irritation flashing across his face. “Yes?” he demanded.

  “We can’t win this fight, sir.” Koltun spoke in a calm, level tone. “If we hold here, we die. Plain and simple.”

  “And you suggest running?” Captain Hadrick’s eyes blazed.

  “I do.” Koltun stood to his full height, back straight, meeting the Captain’s gaze levelly. “We both know that to successfully defend a walled position like this, we’d need at least one Legionnaire for every five to ten of theirs. The odds are closer to thirty to one. We’ve no siege weapons—”

  “Neither do they, beyond that bloody battering ram!” Captain Hadrick snapped.

  “That we know of.” Koltun raised a battle-scarred hand, palm turned upward. “But we didn’t expect them to have that, either.”

  Captain Hadrick’s face darkened. Though his expression screamed at an overpowering desire to argue, he had at least enough good sense not to.

  “We’ve got two things going for us.” Koltun held up a pair of fingers. “First, they can’t flank our position thanks to the cliffs, nor can they tunnel under the wall. Second, we’ve got a straight line of communication and resupply over the Sawtooth Mountains.”

  “I know this much!” Captain Hadrick snarled.

  “But that’s not going to be enough, Captain.” Koltun shook his head. “Even if we killed twenty of theirs for every one of ours, we’d still lose. Without reinforcements, we’ve no chance of holding them off.”

  “So you suggest abandoning the fortress?” Captain Hadrick’s pudgy lips twisted into a half-snarl, half-sneer. “Deserting the post Commander Brintus has ordered us to hold?”

  “I do.” Koltun lifted his chin. “Right now, we’ve got a day, maybe two before the Eirdkilrs get through the wall. No matter what we do, they will get through.” The words left a bitter taste on his tongue, but they needed to be said. “We use that time to set the miners working on a way to bring down the walls of the Cliffpass. We hold as long as we can, until the last moment, then retreat and seal the pass behind us. Hopefully that’ll buy us enough time to get an urgent message to the nearest Legion outpost and get as many soldiers to back us up as we can.”

  “Hopefully?” Captain Hadrick’s voice was flat, dull. “You’re basing your strategy on the hope that there are Legionnaires near enough to the northern side of the Cliffpass to give us a fighting chance?”

  “What else is there?” Koltun threw up his hands. “Right now, we’re on our own, with nothing but our pathetically tiny force of soldiers to repel a bloody damned horde of Eirdkilrs. Hope’s all we’ve got to go on!”

  The moment the words left his mouth, he knew it had been a mistake. Captain Hadrick’s face hardened, and his lips pursed into a sneer.

  “You forget who you are speaking about, Sergeant.” The Captain spat the word like an insult. “We are the Legion of Heroes, not some rabble that runs and hides at the first sign of danger.” He slammed a pudgy fist onto the table with such force it knocked over a bottle of ink. “Commander Brintus expects us to hold this position, so hold it we shall! With every drop of courage these fine soldiers possess, until our last breath, we will fight for the sake of the Princelands and the honor of the Legion of Heroes.”

  Koltun’s heart sank. He knew the mulish look of an obstinate officer digging in his heels. Any attempt to dissuade Captain Hadrick would only make the matter worse.

  “Of course, Captain.” He spoke in a curt, clipped tone, his spine going stiff. “As you say.” With a crisp salute, he turned on his heel and marched toward the door.

  “If you insist on fleeing, Sergeant Koltun,” Captain Hadrick called after him, “I will understand. But if you choose to remain in Highcliff Motte and fight at our side as true Legionnaires, you will do well to remember that you and your men follow my orders!”

  It took every shred of Koltun’s willpower not to snarl a retort, to keep his face forward as he marched out of Captain Hadrick’s office. He wanted nothing more than to drive his fist into the stubborn fool’s teeth, to knock some sense into him, but he couldn’t. Even for the Screaming Howlers, assaulting officers was a court-martial-worthy offense. He’d have to bite his tongue—at least for now—and find a way, somehow, to keep as many Legionnaires as possible alive until they came up with a plan that didn’t end with everyone in Highcliff Motte slaughtered.

  Chapter Seven

  The short walk from Captain Hadrick’s office to the Screaming Howlers’ hut did little to cool Koltun’s temper. The chill breeze blowing through Highcliff Motte only served to fan the flames of his anger at the Legion Captain.

  The fool’s more concerned about Legion honor than his Legionnaires! Koltun’s fists clenched of their own accord. It’s Commander Tureyn all over again.

  Dread sank into the pit of Koltun’s stomach. Twenty-four years earlier, at the Battle of Marrow’s Gulch, he’d been just another Legion Corporal serving in the Commander’s aide corps. He couldn’t have done anything to influence the outcome of that battle. He’d been helpless, forced to stand and watch as hundreds of brave men marched to their doom on the orders of a man as foolishly arrogant as Captain Hadrick.

  But he wasn’t that same young man. He was no longer helpless. The Captain far outranked him, a mere Sergeant, but his position in the Screaming Howlers gave him both a degree of latitude and an air of authority. General Traighan had hand-picked every man and woman in their crossbowyer company—not only for skill with their weapons, but a
n ability to think outside the battle lines and shield walls of the Legion.

  He would do everything he could to keep the soldiers alive. He’d stay and fight at their sides, to his last crossbow bolt, his last drop of blood. But he could only speak for himself. The rest of the Screaming Howlers needed the opportunity to make their own choices.

  Firelight glinted through ragged holes in the fur that served as the pitiful door to the wattle-and-daub hut where Captain Hadrick had billeted the Screaming Howlers. Too small for their twelve-man company, too cold to stay truly warm at night, and too shoddily built to be worthy of any proper Legionnaire, it stood as proof of the Captain’s sheer delight at their presence in his fortress.

  Koltun shoved aside the heavy fur and stepped into the hut. He stopped at the entrance, surprised to find all of his soldiers present—including Thog, who stood next to Arch-Guardian Dayn and apprentice Bradon. Thirteen pairs of eyes locked on him, questions written in every expression.

  With a sigh, Koltun shook his head. “He’s determined to hold.”

  A chorus of explosive groans, curses, and insults burst from the lips of the Screaming Howlers. Every one of them had agreed with Koltun’s assessment of the situation.

  Koltun gritted his teeth. “The Captain’s of the mind that the Legion doesn’t run from a battle.”

  “Even one that’ll get every damned one of his men killed?” Caela’s eyes flashed, and anger edged her words. “Stubborn, pig-headed, arrogant fool.”

  “He might be wrong, but he might not.” Connell spoke in his slow, heavy drawl, scratching at his eyepatch with a callused hand. “The battle’s not guaranteed to turn against us. As long as that ram doesn’t reach the gate, there’s not a lot the Eirdkilrs can do to get in.” He shook his head. “I saw no ladders, climbing poles, or ropes today.”

  “Just a bloody damned lot of Eirdkilrs!” Thog rumbled.

  Connell inclined his head but didn’t back down. “Aye, so there are, but we’ve bolts aplenty.” The grizzled veteran gestured toward a pair of wooden chests sitting in one corner of the hut. “Two hundred apiece, same as always. If we can whittle their number down enough, they won’t have the men to storm the gate.”