Gasping slightly from his sprint and jump, Lewis nodded Varaa on. He’d learned Mi-Anakka had better night vision than humans and it made sense for her to lead. Scrunching along as low and quiet as possible, they moved fairly quickly as their eyes searched for movement and they listened to the booming on the bay and the growing stutter of shots from the camp. Lewis risked a glance over the wall and saw they were even with the caisson and their horses. Some of the local carriage drivers appeared to be looking around in concern, but some were just gone. Up at the main entrance, it looked like people inside were starting to panic, trying to get out, and Burton, Meder, Hudgens, Leonor, and now some Ocelomeh, were pushing them back.
“Those are your men over there,” Varaa hissed, flicking her ears at the dragoons, who’d moved to surround their animals. Crouching down, they had their Hall carbines pointed all around. A slim figure in an officer’s frock coat was jogging toward the entrance.
“That’s Olayne,” Anson stated definitively. “Maybe all our concerns, here at least, have been for nothing.”
“No,” Varaa hissed. “There are men with bows near some of the coaches and quite a few more gathering to join them from the direction of the temple!” She hesitated. “Most are dressed in gray tunics.”
“ ‘Trusted captives.’ ” Lara snorted sarcastically.
“Indeed,” Varaa said. “They’ll be Holcanos. Tranquilo or Don Discipo must’ve armed them and set them against us”—she glanced at Lewis—“promising freedom, no doubt, for the murder of our leaders.” She added ironically, “You were right, Captain Cayce. We were safer in the forest with the inhuman monsters. I see their plan now, however. The disturbance in your camp was designed to draw us out of the Audience Hall, where we’d be well-illuminated targets for the archers. But the warning Lieutenant Burton raised alerted us before they were ready.”
“Makes sense,” Anson agreed. “But what’s our plan?”
Varaa grinned. “Come now, Captain Anson. Yours, mine, Captain Cayce’s—all our plans are the same, are they not? We kill them.” Her eyes shifted to Lewis. “We have the advantage. Our enemies already in position don’t know we’re here. We take them from the side and fight our way to your dragoons, then attack the larger force by the temple before it’s ready, yes?”
“Damn. That is what I was thinking,” Lewis admitted with a smile, removing his saber belt and scabbard and laying them quietly on the ground. The bright steel scabbard might make a noise or trip him in a fight like this. “And our firing away from the Audience Hall will send people back inside, or at least out the back, where it’s safer.”
“Good plan,” Anson agreed, raising his pistol, “but I’ll go to the right an’ start that firin’ as the others come. That’ll discourage ’em, an’ distract the ones you have to go through.”
“Fine,” Lewis agreed. “Go with him, Alferez Lara—if you please.” Lewis still felt uncomfortable giving orders to a former enemy officer, but—even more ironic—the man already seemed much attached to the Ranger.
“I was going to ask if I may,” Lara whispered a little defensively.
Varaa pointed where she saw former Holcano captives/servants using carriages for cover—there were six, at least, on the near side of the clump of dragoons—and showed Captain Anson where he and Lara could go to get in front of the larger force starting across the broad plaza from the temple. It’s a good thing we have her along, Lewis thought. To him, the figures were all but invisible. Anson and Lara scuttled away behind the wall while Lewis and Varaa hopped over and spread out, each aiming for three specific adversaries. It wasn’t until then that Lewis realized, for the next few moments at least, he’d be alone. He was no stranger to fierce combat, and the excellent artillery saber in his sweating hand was an old and trusted friend, but all his fighting had been in the midst of battle, a group effort, so to speak. Regardless of the same very personal risks, his opponents had always been impersonal, almost faceless members of their own groups. This was the first time he’d ever set out to kill other men, other individuals, on his own. Yet he was doing it for the “group,” for his people and their new friends, and strange as it might feel, he didn’t hesitate.
The commotion in the entry arch where partygoers tried to get past Coryon Burton’s detail was growing shriller, more determined, as the thunder on the bay intensified. The first Holcano Lewis neared was raising his big, powerful bow, anticipating the break sure to come, readying himself to shoot leaders as they appeared. Lewis crept silently closer, heel plates on his boots making no sound on the grassy soil, but “city” clothing or not, the Holcano was an Indian who’d spent most of his life honing survival instincts in a forest wilderness more lethal than any Lewis could imagine “back home.” Either he actually heard Lewis or some inner voice told him he’d gone too long without checking his surroundings. Arrow still nocked, he suddenly glanced around, eyes fastening on Lewis.
“Aii!” he cried, spinning as fast as a striking snake to bring his weapon up. Lewis leaped inside the long, heavy head of the arrow and crashed into the man at the same instant the point of his saber passed through ribs high in the Holcano’s chest and crunched out his back through his shoulder blade. The man tried to scream or shout a warning, but only hot dark blood flooded from his mouth, spraying Lewis full in the face and drenching the right side of his beautiful new coat. Lewis savagely wrenched his saber in a circle, to widen the wound and free the blade, then pulled it out and let the man drop. Gasping with adrenaline and effort, he paused to look at the next carriage Varaa assigned him.
They were out of time. Festively dressed people were breaking past Burton’s American and Ocelomeh guards and Lieutenant Olayne, now standing at the bottom of the steps. Burton must’ve called out what they were doing, and Olayne was trying to urge people back. For an instant, it seemed to be working. An impatient Holcano must’ve thought so as well, and Olayne might be the only “leader” he’d get. An arrow slashed across his upraised arm and deflected straight into the chest of a plump-looking woman charging down the steps. Olayne staggered aside, clutching his bicep, but the woman screamed and fell. Then everyone screamed and more arrows flew.
Lewis dashed toward the next archer just as he released his arrow and his sweeping blade cracked into the heavy bow stave the man used to block it. The Holcano lunged, and Lewis jumped back, instinctively aware that any man who could draw such a bow and hurl such heavy arrows could probably crush the life out of him. One of Captain Anson’s pistols barked sharply, farther than Lewis expected, but it drew the big Holcano’s gaze, and Lewis darted forward, bringing his heavy blade slashing down between his opponent’s neck and shoulder. More blood fountained in the darkness, and the man staggered back and fell.
An arrow tugged at the coat at his side, and Lewis sprinted toward “his” third carriage. “Keep those people back, Lieutenant Olayne!” he roared, uncertain he’d be heard over the tumult and Anson’s continued shooting. To his dismay, he also heard the heavy boom of muskets. “Lieutenant Burton, to your dragoons! There are more enemies coming!”
The Holcano in front of him launched another arrow at him, but all it did was tear off his left shoulder board. At only ten yards, he was sure it would’ve killed him if these men hadn’t been without weapons so long. Or maybe his commands, bellowed so fiercely in an unknown language, unnerved the man? He’d never know. Just as the Holcano turned to flee from his upraised saber, he ran directly onto Varaa-Choon’s rapier and screamed in agony and terror. Lewis well understood the man’s dying fear. Even if he’d seen Mi-Anakka before, with Varaa’s luminous blue eyes peering from a face with fur as thick with blood as Lewis’s beard, she looked every inch a demon.
“You finished your three?” Lewis gasped at her as she withdrew her blade and they ran for the dragoons. “And one of yours,” she confirmed lightly, “though you would’ve had him.” Lewis got the impression she was surprised he’d done as well as he had.
So was he. “Don’t shoot!” he called ahead, where dragoons were aiming carbines in their direction. “It’s Captain Cayce and Varaa-Choon! Form a skirmish line, face to the west and take a knee. But hold your fire! Captain Anson and Alferez Lara are out there!”
Burton, Meder, Hudgens, and Leonor all ran up, even as more arrows whipped past from the left, reminding Lewis they’d only dealt with half the closer assassins. “Koaar and Lieutenant Olayne have assembled all the Ocelomeh who were here, sir,” Burton reported. “The people are returning to shelter, but I fear a dozen or more fell to arrows,” he added bleakly.
“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant. You did your best.” Lewis retrieved his pistols from the pommel holsters in front of Arete’s saddle. Without his saber belt, he had to tightly knot his sash and push them in it. He saw Leonor already taking her father’s pommel holsters with his big revolvers from his horse, Colonel Fannin. “Everyone, get your weapons. You have your rifle now, Private Meder?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Take cover behind the caisson and shoot anyone you see to our left. You’ll stay with him with your musket, Private Hudgens, in case anyone rushes him while he’s reloading.”
“Sir!”
Lewis nodded toward the flare of one of Anson’s pistols and the answering flashes of several muskets. More arrows still came but they were less accurate and falling from high trajectories. The nearest Holcanos must be falling back. “The rest of us will join Captain Anson against those other”—he paused—“rebels, I suppose.”
“On foot?” Leonor asked. “Some’ll get away.”
Lewis managed to smile at her, though he doubted she saw it.
“I admire your confidence and priorities,” he said, “but as much as I’d love to send a force galloping around behind the enemy, we’re not sure where ‘behind’ them is, and there aren’t enough of us. Certainly not enough to split in a city the enemy knows better than we do. As you’ve probably seen, there’s more going on than our fight. There’s a sea battle in the bay and an attack of some kind on our camp. We’ll destroy as many attackers as we can, but must be content with just stopping them, for now.”
“Then let’s just mount up and charge ’em!” Leonor persisted.
Lewis had never questioned orders in battle and wasn’t used to explaining his own. This was a different situation, of course, and he’d probably have to learn to do that as they built their new army, but at the moment they were wasting time and he was losing patience. “We won’t fire until we join Captain Anson,” he said flatly. “Hopefully, the enemy won’t realize we’re there until we do, and that alone will break them. They will see us sooner, charging on horseback, and that’ll increase the risk to ourselves and our animals.” Meder’s rifle flashed and cracked behind them, and a man screamed off to their left.
“Take that, you sneakin’ bugger,” Hudgens muttered, patting Meder on the back as his friend began to reload.
“Well done, Private,” Lewis told him, shifting his gaze to Coryon Burton. “Advance your men in skirmish order, Lieutenant, but keep them low.” He looked around. “We’ll all stay low. Varaa, tell me what you see as we go.”
They started moving in the direction they last saw Anson shoot. An enemy musket flashed and boomed and a ball whizzed past.
“Anson and Lara are in those decorative shrubs that serve as a boundary between the plaza around the temple and the one around the Audience Hall,” Varaa said. “You may remember from earlier. The shrubs provide little protection, but should already conceal our movement, and Captain Anson has been moving between shots.”
“And the enemy?” Lewis asked.
“Still in the open in front of the temple. They’ve halted and seem to be bunching up.” Varaa chuckled quietly. “In light of the failure of the first part of their plan and Anson’s continued harassment, I suspect they’re debating whether to press their attack. Remember,” she added, “these are not Doms. They hate us and will work for Doms for their aid, but few would fight to the death for them.”
“Then let’s end their debate and make up their minds,” Lewis muttered. “Where’s Captain Anson?”
“He and Lara are just ahead, to the right.” Without a word, she scampered forward, lithe as an otter, and hissed at Anson that they were coming just as Lewis made the man out. “Spread out along here,” he told the dragoons, “down behind this brush.” Dropping to earth beside Varaa and the Ranger, immediately joined by Leonor, Lewis winced at the perpetual ache in his side, resigned to the probability he’d aggravated it further with all his exertion, and peered through the tangled limbs. Now he could see perhaps thirty men of the “main” force starkly silhouetted against the whitewashed backdrop of the pyramid. Apparently unaware how visible their position made them, they did indeed appear to be arguing among themselves.
“Took you long enough,” Anson growled. “Alferez Lara an’ I had about decided you’d forgotten us.”
“Never, Father,” Leonor said, pushing the pommel holsters up beside him.
“Bless you,” he said. “My Patersons’re almost empty an’, silly me, dressed for a ball, I didn’t bring reloads. I’ll never do that again,” he swore darkly. “What are your intentions, Captain Cayce?”
“You can speak to them?” he asked Varaa.
“Of course. Their language is virtually the same as my Ocelomeh.”
“Then call for their surrender. I want prisoners, and you said they won’t fight to the last for Doms.”
Varaa hesitated, then whispered back, “Not for Doms. But don’t forget, many are Holcano warriors who’ve already been captives. Whether they fight or run, they won’t meekly surrender back into captivity. Especially the harsher variety that’ll await them now.”
“Harsher?”
“Farming farther from the city where predators are bolder—if they’re lucky. More likely, the mines.”
“Nevertheless,” Lewis insisted, handing one of his pistols to Alferez Lara. “Press yourselves down as flat as you can, lads,” he called around.
Varaa raised her voice very loud, calling on the enemy to lay down their arms if they wanted to live. Most of that was in straightforward Spanish that Lewis understood. Varaa immediately hugged the ground—just as a fusillade of arrows and a half dozen muskets fired in their direction. “I told you,” she said through the grass in front of her face.
Fortunately, there’d been no screams from his people, and Lewis called, “Third dragoons. Take aim!” He heard hammers cocking back as he pointed his pistol at the clump of men about fifty or sixty yards away. That was a near-impossible range for him, though he might hit someone in the press, but this would all be about volume of fire. Burton had retrieved his Hall as well, and his dragoons could fire their odd breechloaders very quickly. Lewis saw Anson, Leonor, and Lara aim pistols. “Fire!” he roared, and a stuttering volley slashed out.
His otherwise excellent-quality Johnson contract M1836 smoothbore pistol might be limited in power and accuracy at this distance, but it was point-blank for Hall carbines. They could easily hit a man, and sometimes another behind the first at this range. People weren’t nearly as tough as the monster that got Lieutenant Swain. More men tumbled screaming to the ground than shots had been fired and a few poorly aimed arrows whipped through the shrubs in a shower of clipped leaves. “Reload,” Lewis shouted, aware most had already begun. He couldn’t reload either of his pistols, but Anson slapped a Paterson in his hand, and another in Lara’s, before pulling one of his big Walker Colts from its holster. “There’s only two shots left in each of those,” he cautioned them.
Lewis gazed at the ingenious long-barreled revolver, surprised to see no trigger until he cocked the centrally located hammer. He almost chuckled when the trigger popped down out of the frame. “I’ve never fired one of these,” he confessed.
“Neither have I!” said Lara.
“It’s easy,” sai
d Anson. “Just cock it and pull the trigger. Pretty accurate too, even from here, but probably not lethal unless you hit ’em in the eye!”
“Or up the nose,” Leonor murmured, and they both snorted at some secret joke.
“Ready, sir!” Burton said.
“Take aim!” Lewis called. “Fire!”
Sparky orange jets of flame stabbed out at the huddled mass of men, and another large number melted to the ground. Quite a few were starting to run, bolting into the gloom around the corner of the temple where they’d come from.
“That’s it,” Lewis cried, shifting the smoking Paterson to his left hand and taking up the saber in his right. “At them!”
“Charge!” Burton bellowed, young voice suddenly deep and fierce.
Few arrows came as all eleven of them, including the dragoons, leaped over the low shrubs. Most enemies still standing seemed too stunned to do anything but stare, and Lewis believed—as he’d hoped—even as puny as his volleys had been, they’d crushed the spirit of those whose bodies they’d spared. Few Ocelomeh possessed firearms (Lewis had forgotten to ask where Varaa and Koaar had gotten theirs), and for some reason even fewer Uxmalos had them. He wondered why. They knew about guns, and judging by their fine jewelry, their artisans had the skill to make them. For whatever reason they couldn’t or wouldn’t before, that would have to change, Lewis resolved.
But at the moment, his plan of attack was based on the fact none of these Holcanos had been at the battle on the beach and had almost certainly never received a concentrated volley of fire—however small—in their lives. He’d counted on panicking them, but even he was surprised by how thoroughly it did. Of the fifteen or twenty still standing when the Americans came for them, few even tried to fight. There were a pair of wild musket shots and a few more panicky arrows—one taking a dragoon in the leg—but most who could simply bolted. A couple were hacked down from behind by dragoon sabers as they ran, and all the dragoons and Alferez Lara gave chase, loudly shouting at one another. Varaa was beset by two men with empty muskets, trying to bash her, but nimbly avoided every blow, darting past with the tip of her rapier, poking and slashing them almost as if in sport. Anson shot one, then stopped and stood, almost casually shooting anyone who seemed inclined to make a stand. Leonor was beside him, reloading one of her pistols. She’d carried a small flask of powder, as well as percussion caps and pistol balls tucked in her vest pockets.
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