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Authors: David Andrews
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disappeared.
* * * *
Helene joined the Westlander on top of the rock. “How long?” she asked. “The others are nervous.”
He was sitting in the concealment of the crowning bush, apparently relaxed, his arms folded loosely around his knees. “I’d guess the ambush has sprung by now. There’ll be hard fighting at first, people rushing here and there until a leader emerges to assess the situation. If he’s given time, he’ll focus on a breakout, throwing everyone at a single point in the line. If he succeeds, they’ll start rolling back the line on either side and the bowmen on top of the cliff will know the battle’s lost. They’ll fade into the hills and make their way home. The survivors of the spearmen will fall back into a defensive circle and fight to the end. There’ll be no mercy shown.”
“Where will he be?”
“With the spearmen.”
She bit her lip in vexation. Even the least worthy High Born would have the good judgment to command from the safety of a cliff. The sergeant was too valuable to risk himself so foolishly. She wished he was here, so she could shake some sense into him. She needed him to survive.
“The sergeant won’t let it happen.” The Westlander’s confidence was unshaken by the description of disaster. “He’s kept the two best archers to mark any leader. They won’t loose at any other target and he has a reserve to strengthen any part of the line under pressure. The spearmen know he’s there to protect them and will focus on their fight, leaving the rest to him. He can be trusted to do the right thing.”
“Could he lead an army?” This was a thinking man. She sensed a depth of experience, which could explain his absence from his homeland. He’d probably left before they could pronounce banishment.
“I’ve a feeling he soon will, and I want to be part of it. Your lot is on borrowed time. He’s built a reputation as a just man through every principality, and it only needs his nod for the peasants to rise and follow him.”
Helene felt a chill presentiment. Men like the Westlander would flock to the sergeant’s banner and the peasants would follow. It had been unthinkable when she was young, but the incidents were multiplying. They might have to swallow their pride and do a deal with the Federation to prevent it.
A terrible thought followed in its train. Would the Federation prefer a deal with the sergeant, trusting his inexperience would provide them with a bargain ?
* * * *
Kamran limped clear of the line of spearmen and stood where the circle of smugglers could see him. Three quarters of their number carried broken arrows in their limbs. A tortoise-like covering of shields now protected them from the archers above.
“Surrender,” he offered them a choice.
A spear winged its way toward him and he waited to the last moment before deflecting it to one side with his sword. He heard it clatter on a shield behind him, but didn’t look back.
“You’ll hang us,” one of the smugglers called.
He nodded. “You knew the penalty when you chose your trade.”
“Damn you.” Four of them broke free, running toward him with weapons raised. None of them lasted more than a few steps. You can’t run with your shield held above your head .
Their example halted the others. He could see them judging the light, estimating the time to the fall of night.
“I won’t wait that long,” he warned. “You have till the sands run out.” He held the hourglass aloft. Less than ten minutes of the sand remained. He bought time for half his archers to arrive on the level ground behind him. Then the smugglers would have a choice where they held the shields, but neither would save them.
* * * *
Helene saw the first formation move clear of the trees, a hedge of spears above them, and knew her sergeant had won. She leaped to her feet and slid down the side of the rock. “Back to the camp. They’re coming. I want food prepared and an area cleared for the treatment of the
* * * *
Helene joined the Westlander on top of the rock. “How long?” she asked. “The others are nervous.”
He was sitting in the concealment of the crowning bush, apparently relaxed, his arms folded loosely around his knees. “I’d guess the ambush has sprung by now. There’ll be hard fighting at first, people rushing here and there until a leader emerges to assess the situation. If he’s given time, he’ll focus on a breakout, throwing everyone at a single point in the line. If he succeeds, they’ll start rolling back the line on either side and the bowmen on top of the cliff will know the battle’s lost. They’ll fade into the hills and make their way home. The survivors of the spearmen will fall back into a defensive circle and fight to the end. There’ll be no mercy shown.”
“Where will he be?”
“With the spearmen.”
She bit her lip in vexation. Even the least worthy High Born would have the good judgment to command from the safety of a cliff. The sergeant was too valuable to risk himself so foolishly. She wished he was here, so she could shake some sense into him. She needed him to survive.
“The sergeant won’t let it happen.” The Westlander’s confidence was unshaken by the description of disaster. “He’s kept the two best archers to mark any leader. They won’t loose at any other target and he has a reserve to strengthen any part of the line under pressure. The spearmen know he’s there to protect them and will focus on their fight, leaving the rest to him. He can be trusted to do the right thing.”
“Could he lead an army?” This was a thinking man. She sensed a depth of experience, which could explain his absence from his homeland. He’d probably left before they could pronounce banishment.
“I’ve a feeling he soon will, and I want to be part of it. Your lot is on borrowed time. He’s built a reputation as a just man through every principality, and it only needs his nod for the peasants to rise and follow him.”
Helene felt a chill presentiment. Men like the Westlander would flock to the sergeant’s banner and the peasants would follow. It had been unthinkable when she was young, but the incidents were multiplying. They might have to swallow their pride and do a deal with the Federation to prevent it.
A terrible thought followed in its train. Would the Federation prefer a deal with the sergeant, trusting his inexperience would provide them with a bargain ?
* * * *
Kamran limped clear of the line of spearmen and stood where the circle of smugglers could see him. Three quarters of their number carried broken arrows in their limbs. A tortoise-like covering of shields now protected them from the archers above.
“Surrender,” he offered them a choice.
A spear winged its way toward him and he waited to the last moment before deflecting it to one side with his sword. He heard it clatter on a shield behind him, but didn’t look back.
“You’ll hang us,” one of the smugglers called.
He nodded. “You knew the penalty when you chose your trade.”
“Damn you.” Four of them broke free, running toward him with weapons raised. None of them lasted more than a few steps. You can’t run with your shield held above your head .
Their example halted the others. He could see them judging the light, estimating the time to the fall of night.
“I won’t wait that long,” he warned. “You have till the sands run out.” He held the hourglass aloft. Less than ten minutes of the sand remained. He bought time for half his archers to arrive on the level ground behind him. Then the smugglers would have a choice where they held the shields, but neither would save them.
* * * *
Helene saw the first formation move clear of the trees, a hedge of spears above them, and knew her sergeant had won. She leaped to her feet and slid down the side of the rock. “Back to the camp. They’re coming. I want food prepared and an area cleared for the treatment of the
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