The Dark Spawn (Battle Lords of de Velt Book 5)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Until the siege engines began flinging rocks and boulders at them. The land around Berwick was rocky, so there was no shortage of projectiles to load into the buckets and sling at the Scots. Even a small rock could do damage hitting a man in the skull, so after a morning of bombardment, the Scots were forced to pull back or risk being pummeled to death.

  The English moved closer.

  “We need to take the bridge,” The Marshal said to the commanders around him. “Once we control that, we can control this battle, so we must move forward to secure the bridge.”

  The men listening in were Christopher, David, Alexander, and Jax. Everyone else was spread out with the armies, including Cole. He was in charge of loading up his father’s catapults, which were still doing spectacular damage. Next to The Marshal, Christopher was wrestling with a warhorse who was eager to chomp down on some Scots flesh.

  “There is another bridge upriver about a mile to the west,” Christopher said. “They call it the Ord Crossing. Our support wagons have been gathered near it, away from the heart of the fighting.”

  “I know,” The Marshal said. “I do not see the Scots using it to counter us at this time but, at some point, we must control that bridge, too.”

  Christopher nodded his head. “I would say we should control it now,” he said. “If this is the beginning of our three-pronged attack, then we must evaluate this situation carefully.”

  The Marshal looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  Christopher gestured to the ridge north of the town. “Let us start with that,” he said. “It seems to me that not all of the army is between us and the bridge into Berwick.”

  The Marshal knew that. He was looking to the north, too, where hills overlooked Berwick, and they could see smoke rising in those hills. Where there was smoke, there was an army.

  They were lingering up there, waiting and watching.

  “The army before us is not all of the men The Rough has to offer,” he said, pointing to the hills. “If I know William, he is lying in wait, up there where the smoke is. Therefore, I will keep the Scots at this bridge busy while you take your army and de Velt and cross the other bridge. You are right; we should control it now. You can come around to the rear of the Scots to the north and keep them from reinforcing the ranks in the city.”

  Christopher was looking around. “I will,” he said. “But I will take Teviot and de Bourne with me. You keep de Velt with you and put him on that castle. That is what the man does best. If we want to take Berwick Castle, he is our best chance. Jax, do you have anything to say to that?”

  Jax was looking across to the castle, a behemoth structure that was one of the more impenetrable bastions in England and Scotland. He was listening to the conversation between The Marshal and Christopher, but all the while, his mind was working.

  “Nay,” he said. “But I will take the castle my way.”

  Everyone looked at him. “What do you mean?” The Marshal asked. “Honestly, Jax, I am afraid to even ask that question. Of course you can do it your way, but do you mean in the same fashion you took Fountainhall?”

  Jax simply looked at him, those dual-colored eyes making the hair on the back of The Marshal’s neck stand up. Understanding his silent meaning, he put up a hand.

  “Jax, I am in full support of whatever you wish to do with the occupants of Berwick but leave the castle intact,” he said. “I want it. Can you do this?”

  The corner of Jax’s mouth twitched. “I can do anything,” he said. “But you are taking all of the fun out of it.”

  Christopher started to chuckle. “Ah, Jax, my good and true friend,” he said. “Everyone wants to spoil your good time. I’m so sorry.”

  Jax’s grin broke through as he looked over at the castle again. “Especially the Scots,” he said. “And they are going to pay, just like their brethren at Fountainhall did.”

  The Marshal could see there was no use in holding him back. Jax was the warlord they all feared, brutality personified.

  He was going to put that to good use.

  “Do your worst, de Velt,” he said. “I will get you across the bridge, but you must be prepared to act once I do.”

  “I will be ready.”

  As Jax spun his black warhorse around and headed towards his army, The Marshal turned to Christopher.

  “God help us all if I do not get him across that bridge in a reasonable amount of time,” he muttered. “He may start taking his frustrations out on the rest of us.”

  Christopher snorted. “Then that is prime incentive to take that bridge,” he said. “If we do not want to be the focus of his aggression, then we had better do what we say we are going to do. Now, may I make a suggestion?”

  “Please do.”

  Christopher pointed to the bridge. “Put de Winter and Savernake on driving the Scots across the bridge and away from the town while de Velt attacks the castle,” he said. “De Winter and Savernake are your best war machines right now, so use them. Have East Anglia watch your flank and rear. We are close to the border and there could be a flanking maneuver, just as we are about to do.”

  It was the truth and William knew it. Their plans of splitting the army still held true, as those were their original plans, but now that they had a better look at the topography and the position of the Scots, those plans had to be flexible.

  “Very well,” he said. “Take Teviot and de Bourne and root them out of those hills. How far behind is Richmond?”

  Christopher looked at him. “At least a day,” he said. “We received word from Maxton last night. They’re moving as quickly as they can, but Richmond is a big army.”

  William digested that. “When Cai and Maxton arrive, direct them to the mouth of the river,” he said. “Tell Cai to put a line of archers with flaming arrows around the mouth and then in the sand to the north. As soon as they see those ships, launch the arrows. Burn those bastards at sea.”

  “I will tell them,” Alexander said. “I am keeping a watch on any armies arriving from the south, so once they are sighted, I will move them towards the river’s mouth.”

  “Excellent,” The Marshal said, turning to Alexander. “And everyone else? What does your gut tell you, Sherry? How far behind us are they?”

  Alexander sighed faintly. “It is difficult to know,” he said. “The messengers I sent out last night have yet to return, so they are not close in any case. The last I heard, Gart and Pembroke were at least a week behind us, so that would put him at possibly five days or more. I would assume everyone else is still the same – Canterbury, de Lara, de Nerra.”

  That wasn’t exactly what William wanted to hear, but that’s what he’d known all along. Perhaps he was hoping for Alexander to tell him something different and come up with a miracle. He motioned to the soldier next to him, the man who always carried The Marshal’s standards.

  “Send for the commanders now,” he said. “Bric, Dash, Kress, Achilles, Peter, Alastor and Ares, Addax and Essien… send them to me. Quickly.”

  The man was gone, yelling to other Marshal soldiers to seek out the Executioner Knights, who were now leading their armies. Spies who worked in small groups, or sometimes alone, were in truth seasoned knights with vast command experience. Like Dashiell and Bric, they commanded massive war machines.

  Those war machines were about to get down and dirty.

  “They’ve no’ taken the Ord Crossing yet,” a breathless Scotsman said. “We can use it tae flank their position, yer grace. Their entire north flank is open and that includes the provisions and surgeons tae the rear.”

  William was on a rise overlooking Berwick on this cold, misty morning. He’d just watched the English destroy the defensive line he’d had set up between the English and Berwick with their siege engines. His eyesight wasn’t very good, but he had excellent intelligence. They told him exactly what he needed to know so he could form a larger picture.

  “My old friend, William Marshal, has arrived,” he muttered, sounding oddly satisfied. “The Sc
arlet Lion is once again in action for the English. Tell me the other standards ye see.”

  MacDuff was next to him astride his big, copper-colored steed. “’Tis difficult tae see from here,” he said. “I’m told de Lohr has arrived along with de Winter and Savernake. Big and powerful houses, yer grace.”

  William was smiling, an odd gesture. “The Marshal has brought his most important warlords and if I know William, this is no’ the end of it,” he said. “There are more on the way. They will take Berwick unless our Northman allies arrive here in the next day or two. Where are they?”

  “Sighted near St. Abbs,” MacDuff said. “They’ll be here by the morning.”

  “How many?”

  “I’m told at least a dozen.”

  William calmly mulled over the information. “Then we must hold Berwick until they arrive,” he said simply. “If we canna flank them or push them back, then we must weaken them.”

  MacDuff looked at him. “But how?” he asked. “They’re too big tae flank, but we must hold the bridges. I’ve men at the Ord Crossing now, but no’ enough if they try tae cross.”

  “But they havena yet,” William pointed out. “The more we talk, the more chance of them trying tae come across that bridge. We need tae cross it first.”

  “Cross it tae where? Tae attack them?”

  William shook his head. “Ye said that provisions wagons are exposed.”

  MacDuff nodded. “Aye, yer grace.”

  William looked at him. “Capture them,” he said. “We want tae weaken them in a way that willna cost us many men, so capture their provisions. Bring them back across the bridge and hold that bridge until the Northmen arrive. After that…”

  MacDuff was catching on. “After that, they’ll be busy with the Northmen as well as the Scots,” he said. “And we’ll hold what’s precious tae them.”

  “Indeed, we will. Go, now.”

  MacDuff was off, shouting to men as he went. He collected hundreds of them in short order, all of them racing for the bridge known as the Ord Crossing.

  The battle for Berwick was about to become more interesting.

  “Can you see anything?”

  Corisande was asking Gaia, who stood on the wagon bed, shielding her eyes from the morning sun as she watched the distant battle. Or, at least she was trying to.

  “Nay,” she said. “Too many trees and hills. I cannot see anything!”

  Now, she was jumping up and down, as if that few inches of height advantage would help her see clearly.

  But for Corisande, it was a nerve-wracking waiting game.

  Men had already started to trickle in to camp, being tended to by their own surgeons. There were just a few of them, really, men who had tripped and broken an arm, or one man who had been singed by his own flaming arrow. No one from the de Bourne army had come to them for medical care, so Corisande paced around, wringing her hands, wondering what in the world was happening. As far as she knew, the battle had commenced just after sunrise, but they were far enough away that they really couldn’t see it.

  “Mayhap we are too far away,” she said. “How can men find assistance if we are too far to the rear to help them?”

  There were a few de Bourne soldiers with them, about twenty of them, men who usually helped Corisande in the case of a battle. They were either too old or too crippled to fight, really only good for helping out those who could.

  Their encampment was only half-set up, just a couple of tents to receive the wounded at this point. Because the battle was fluid and they would be presumably moving closer to Berwick, they hadn’t set everything up. Like the other surgeon’s wagons, they were waiting for the order to move forward, which was why Corisande was so edgy. Since they couldn’t even see the battle from where they were, she had no idea what was going on.

  Or how Cole was.

  That was her trouble, really. Thinking of Cole in the midst of that battle was driving her mad. Her brothers and father were in the midst of it, too, but she was accustomed to that. She was accustomed to them fighting. But Cole was a new element in this battle, an unanticipated concern that she had no control over.

  It was a waiting game.

  The position of the encampment was in a marshy meadow near the River Tweed. Behind them was an old stone bridge, spanning a narrow point in the river. They could see the bridge and its big, rock arches. It was a bright day and the fields and hills around were shades of green once the morning mist lifted but, in general, the area was heavily forested.

  And it all seemed eerily quiet.

  As Corisande milled around aimlessly, a rider appeared over the hill, heading in their direction. The men from the other encampments began to shout and everyone took notice. The soldier drew closer and they could see that he was wearing a de Lohr tunic.

  He drew his frothing steed to an unsteady halt.

  “The armies are on the move,” he shouted. “Prepare to move forward!”

  Everyone began to scramble, including Corisande. She ordered the men to break down the tents and put the horses back in the harnesses, and the soldiers moved quickly to do her bidding. Other wagons for other armies weren’t as broken down as de Bourne was and they were able to move out more swiftly. De Winter was one, followed by Savernake. Those wagons were already on the road, moving towards Berwick.

  Corisande didn’t want to be the last one in a line of surgeon’s and provisions wagons, so she urged the men to hurry. There were six de Bourne provisions wagons and the drivers were quickly hitching up the horses. Their encampment was closest to the river with Teviot positioned next to them. De Velt didn’t even seem to have much by way of provisions, so they moved out quickly enough. Teviot and de Lohr, who seemed to be the largest, were moving more slowly, preventing those behind them from moving forward quickly.

  And that was to be their undoing.

  Corisande didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late. Her men had just finished loading the tents into their wagons and securing the horses when the trees around them suddenly came alive. Men in long leine tunics, with their faces smeared with mud and clubs or pikes in their hands, began to pour from the trees. Corisande watched in horror as Gaia was grabbed by a man who leapt onto the wagon bed.

  But Gaia wasn’t his target. The wagon was. He threw Gaia down onto the bed of the wagon and leapt onto the wagon bench. The old soldier who was already sitting there tried to fight him, but he brutally clubbed the old man and as the man fell off the wagon, Corisande jumped into the bed. The Scotsman was screaming and whistling to the horses and the terrified animals bolted. Corisande clung to the wagon bed as it took off through the trees.

  “Gaia!” she screamed. “Jump! Jump out!”

  Gaia was hysterical. She was clinging to the back of the wagon bench, refusing to listen, refusing to release it. Corisande couldn’t let go of the side of the wagon for fear of being pitched off and she wasn’t going to leave her sister, so she begged Gaia to let go and jump, but her sister wouldn’t do it. She simply held on and screamed. The Scotsman drove the horses at a frantic pace onto a road which led straight to the old, stone bridge.

  Corisande could see it in the distance.

  “Gaia!” she cried. “Please listen to me! Jump out!”

  Gaia wailed. Corisande dared to let go of the side of the wagon, creeping over to her sister, but being forced to grab on to the young woman when the wagon bumped over the terrible road. No matter how hard Corisande tried, she couldn’t force Gaia to release the wagon bench. She was incoherent with terror. Corisande managed to look behind them and she could see several other wagons following them, driven by Scots.

  So many English wagons, heading for Scotland.

  Corisande had to do something.

  The Scotsman driving the wagon was inches from her. Looking around for a weapon, there wasn’t anything other than sewing kits and medicament bags. Fortunately, they were strapped securely to the wagon bed for travel, and they contained knives and bone saws. If she could ge
t to them, she could use them as weapons, but the way the wagon was bouncing around made the process of retrieval extremely difficult. She’d have to get over to the bags, retrieve the weapons, and make it back to the bench without the Scotsman seeing her. That would prove impossible.

  But she did have a kerchief on her.

  Maybe she could strangle the man.

  The stone bridge was looming closer. Corisande knew that once they crossed that bridge, it would be very difficult for them to return to England safely. They had to break free while they were still in England. Removing the kerchief from her head, she wound it up, took hold of both ends of it, and tried to stand up.

  The Scotsman wasn’t paying any attention to her as she managed to get her knees behind him. It was enough fabric to get the kerchief over his head and around his neck, but the moment she tried to do it, the wagon lurched and she ended up falling sideways. The Scotsman, realizing she was trying to attack him in some fashion, kept one hand on the reins and grabbed her by the hair with the other. In one swift move, he slammed her head against the side of the wagon, hard enough to knock her senseless.

  One more blow and everything went black.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Berwick

  They made it across the bridge.

  Nearing sunset on the first day of the siege on Berwick, the English had managed to make it across the bridge and into the town. De Winter, led by Bric, and Savernake, led by Dashiell, had breached the city walls and cleared the town of any hostile Scots for the moment, leaving the berg quiet except for pockets of fighting. Now, it was the de Velt army sizing up Berwick Castle, which seemed to be an impenetrable fortress. However, as everyone knew, that rule didn’t apply to Jax de Velt.

  But it was definitely going to be a challenge.

  The gatehouse was a fairly small but fortified structure that protected a bridge that spanned a wide moat. That bridge led into a second gatehouse built into the wall of Berwick, which was substantial. There was also part of the wall that went down to the river and, it seemed, was perhaps the weakest part of the wall of protection. A barbican from the river protected stairs that led up into one of the towers.