Against the Empire: The Dominion and Michian (10 page)

“There’s no sign of tracks coming out of the canyon yet, and the scouts don’t see anyone coming down towards us,” Hopkins reported as he rode up next to her.

“Why don’t we go see where the ghosts live?” Imelda impet-uously decided. The day was less than half over, with more than enough daylight left to detour up the canyon and still return to the village before the stars came out.

The troop turned and began riding in a column along the narrow canyon track, following the rising twisting way. Within an hour and a half, a scout came riding back to the main body at a dangerous full gallop.

“
There are noises up ahead! It sounds like a battle,” the scout reported, motioning towards a bend in the canyon that cut off their view three hundred yards ahead.
Imelda noticed that though the walls of this narrower gorge were still clad in bushes and plants and especially evergreen trees, ahead at the bend in the canyon she could see a dramatic change in the color of the stones that rose upward to define the space they rode in.  The familiar red rock they’d seen all day ceased and gray stone began right at the point where the gorge turned out of sight.

“
Take three others with you, and dismount past the bend there. Climb up high as you advance and try to get a view of whatever you hear. We’ll advance towards the bend and wait to hear from you,” Imelda ordered as her adrenaline started to rise.

The scouts quickly departed in advance of the troop. Imelda looked at those who were still present. Less than a dozen and a half gathered, with strained looks on their faces as they stared at her.

“Get your swords ready, and especially get your bows ready before we draw any closer. In these canyons we’re not going to be able to gallop and swing freely at infantry. We’re going to have to be ready to shoot arrows from a distance, and then slog in to swing swords in hard contact. Rashrew had as many people as we had, so if he isn’t cleaning up light resistance, we may be up against a larger band of smugglers than I expected,” she told the group. “Ride quietly to the bend, but don’t make yourself visible until you see the scout call us forward.”

The force rode forward, and stopped just short of the stony outcrop that defined the canyon’s change in direction. The scouts’ mounts stood at the site waiting for their riders to return. Imelda dismounted and walked forward, examining the terrain in front of her. She did not see the scouts as she panned from wall to wall, but heard faint sounds from a clash somewhere out of sight. She returned to her horse, mounted, then led the riders slowly forward and around the stony sentinel of the inside wall of the canyon, and the men cautiously crept forward, bringing the scouts’ horses with them. The shouts of warriors in battle became clear from somewhere ahead.

Within five minutes they had spotted one scout, who signaled for them to stop. He clung to his perch high on the canyon wall, then scrambled back down to Imelda to report.

“We can see the battle. Rashrew is trying to keep his forces in order as they retreat back this way,” he breathlessly informed her.

“Rashrew is retreating?” Imelda asked in surprise. “Why?”

“He’s outnumbered five or six to one, and they aren’t fighting like rabble,” the scout said. “Rashrew is trying to bring his wounded with him, and it’s slowing him down.”

Imelda looked at the scout with disbelief, then began to consider her options. “Hopkins, get a half dozen archers up the walls with a good supply of arrows just inside the bend. The rest of us will ride forward, help Rashrew dis-engage, and pull back quickly. When we lure the bandits well inside range, have the archers start picking off the forces in the back as fast as possible to isolate the front ranks. We’ll attack the leaders, and try to whittle this down to a manageable fight.

Carter,” she called forward one rider. “You are to climb in the saddle and start riding back to the village. Rally the forces there to start riding this way. If something goes wrong,” Imelda paused without filling in the awful blanks in that possibility, “then you need to go back to South Harbor and report to the Bondell commander there.

“No protests now. This is as important as swinging a sword. Take Davon with you,” Imelda stilled Carter before she could speak. “Send support from the village as fast as you can. Now go!” She watched the riders turn without a word and depart from the scene of the pending battle, then turned back to face forward towards the expected arrival.

“I’m going to ride forward to meet Rashrew and tell him to bring his folks back here as fast as possible,” she told Hopkins. “Stay here with the others and be ready.”

“You are a commander. You can’t put yourself in jeopardy by going forward,” Hopkins protested. “We need you to think about your own safety and leadership.”

“The scout said that Rashrew is bringing his wounded people with him,” Imelda replied. “You know what I can do for injured people now. If I can heal them, we’ll have a better force to fight our way out of this,” she said with determination. “Listen,” she held her hand up and pointed forward. “They’re getting closer. I have to go.”

She spurred her horse forward, and galloped across the rugged ground towards the battle that was growing increasingly loud as it crept closer. She saw the archers positioned above her as she rode past them. Within two minutes, she saw Rashrew’s forces, and she felt her stomach flip as she saw the size of the opposing forces that were hounding them as the small group of Bondell fighters tried to avoid being flanked.
Imelda listened to the voices of their opponents as they screamed and cursed and urged.  Their accents were noticeably different from those of the Goldenfields and Bondell fighters.

Imelda reached the first of the wounded Bondell fighters who were riding slowly beyond the battle. She reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, then concentrated on the healing abilities she had, willing them to help the man, who had been deeply cut across his shoulder.

The wound healed before her eyes, leaving an ugly scar, but the man stared at her in amazement, then flexed his arm, rapidly in all directions. “I never knew that Goldenfields had such power among its fighters,” he told her, as he unsheathed his sword.

Imelda left him and went to the next horse, a healthy fighter cradling a severely wounded companion. Imelda placed her hand on the wounded woman, a girl younger than herself, and again concentrated on using the healing power. The girl revived significantly as Imelda’s power was drained, although one leg still hung uselessly on the side of the horse. “Come climb behind me, and let your companion go fight,” Imelda told the girl. They facilitated the transfer, and Imelda carried her new passenger forward towards the front.

“Rashrew! Rashrew!” she called.

He risked a quick glance back, then faced forward again and continued to fight. “Imelda!? Why are you here?”

“I’m healing your wounded. Pull back fast, now. Let’s go out of the canyon. Get your people moving fast, now, as fast as you can,” she urged, then retreated away from the action.

Imelda wove over to another wounded rider, one who appeared nearly unconscious as he slumped forward. She called upon the last of her energy to give him healing power, applied it, then decided to withdraw. She started riding back towards where the Goldenfields forces were waiting in ambush, and called back over her shoulder, “Rashrew! Come now! Bring them all as fast as you can,” and then she paid no more attention but let the horse continue on its journey away from the combat.

She saw the archers above her as she rounded the turn, and then the small line of fighters mounted and ready to go on the attack. “It’s an ambush?” she heard the girl ask behind her. Imelda nodded.

“Put me down and give me your bow and arrow, and I’ll help,” the warrior said with bitterness in her voice.

Without answering, Imelda rode to a high rock on the side of the canyon, and helped the girl off. She looked at her, and handed over the bow and arrows. “The archers on the walls are going to shoot at the rogues in the back. We’ll be fighting the front line. You aim at the back, not the front, alright?”

The girl notched an arrow without speaking and nodded with a grim look on her face.

“I’ll come by to pick you up on the way out. Be ready; as you can see, we may be in a bit of a hurry,” Imelda told the girl, who grinned for the first time.

Imelda heard the sound of the approaching battle, and rode rapidly back towards the front. As she arrived, the first Bondell horses came around the corner. They reared in startlement, then settled down and were directed into the line.

Rashrew was the last of the defenders to arrive, and the bandits came into sight. The faint sound of arrows’ fletchings cutting through the air suddenly multiplied from none to many, darts across the sky confirming that the archers had let loose their arrows, and suddenly screams of pain instead of victory began to come from the other side of the line.

Imelda watched as the arrows fell among the tightly packed riders in the rear of the opponents who were slowing to turn around the canyon’s bend. Many fell quickly, forming an unnatural barrier of horses and men that split the pursuers formation in two. The reinforced line of Bondell and Goldenfields fighters, now over two dozen in number, began to fight fiercely against nearly even odds in taking on the foremost opponents. The bandits in the rear of the melee pulled back out of range of the arrows, and the archers began climbing down the walls rapidly.

Imelda saw that the unified forces had gained the upper hand for the moment, and were winning the battle as their opponents fell one by one.

“Rashrew, we need to pull back now,” she shouted as she came alongside her counterpart.

“We’re winning! We need to finish this filth off,” Rashrew argued.

“They still have the numbers over us,” Imelda pointed out. “Our archers are back down on the ground, so we can’t hold if the rear echelons move forward against us now; we don’t have enough arrows besides. We need to pull back and hook up with the rest of our forces if we’re going to have a chance to beat them.”

“No! They’ve killed too many of my men,” Rashrew countered violently. “I want revenge,” he said, and Imelda saw tears in his eyes.

“Look at how many of them we’ve killed here. You’ve had revenge for now. Pull back to regroup at the village and you’ll have enough to win revenge! We’ve got to go now or they’ll finish us off,” Imelda pointed out at the canyon beyond the bend, where a charge was forming among the opposing cavalry. As she looked, she lost her focus as she saw a sight she’d never seen before.

An ugly animal, slightly shorter than a horse, heavier and wider as well, was carrying a single rider. The animal was unlike anything Imelda had ever seen before. It was ugly, but didn’t appear designed to move fast. Then as she watched, it vanished from view, disappearing into thin air, taking its rider with it.

A chill went up her spine at the inexplicable sight, and she felt frightened, in a way she’d never felt in battle before.

“Rashrew, I’m withdrawing my forces now. I hope you’ll come with us, and live to fight another day,” she said sadly, and rode back away from him without waiting for an answer.

She saw the look of surprise on his face, and then she gave two short whistles and a long, the signal for her followers to disengage. Imelda turned her horse and rode over to the side of the canyon where her injured archer was perched. She heard fighting still going on behind her, and saw her squadron forming up in some confusion further back in the canyon.

“What’s happening? Are you forming up for another charge?” the injured woman asked as Imelda leveraged her into the back of the saddle.

“No, we’re leaving while we can. If Rashrew is smart, he’ll pull back with us,” Imelda responded. She guided her tired horse towards the spot where the rest of her followers were milling.

“Troops start pulling back. We’re going to the village to hook up with the forces back there,” she said without meeting anyone’s eyes. She turned and looked back at Rashrew’s small remnant of a squad.

They too were disengaging and pulling back towards her riders. Their opponents were either confused or had enough battle for the moment, because there was no immediate pursuit.

Imelda fell behind her riders, and waited for Rashrew to catch up. “Do you have an extra horse for this fighter?” she asked.

Rashrew looked behind him. “Bring Acco’s horse up here,” he shouted, and a rider brought a horse with an empty saddle. They transferred Imelda’s passenger to the horse whose rider had fallen.

“Thank you for healing me,” the girl said as she took the reins in hand.

“And thank you for saving us,” Rashrew added a moment later. “You saved us, and then you were right to disengage,” he looked behind him, where no pursuit was evident. “I don’t know where they all came from, or what they’re up to, but they aren’t just friggin’ country smugglers and ruffians. They were professional and organized! That’s an army! Did you see them use their horses just the way you do or we do?”

“You’re lucky you survived, Rashrew,” Imelda told him in a tone of plain warning. She looked around at the slowly moving group. The sun was no longer shining down on the floor of the canyon as it moved towards the west.

“Everyone stop,” she ordered loudly. “Water your horses. Wounded come to me,” she added. “Rashrew, post guards around us. Let’s take time to get ready for the ride back to the village.”

Imelda looked at the nine riders who were hurt badly enough to admit it by coming to her. She knew she didn’t have enough healing ability to treat them all, so she focused on the four worst injuries, two broken bones, a pierced shoulder, and a hand that had lost two fingers. The injuries healed, or at least the pain diminished, she re-mounted her horse, and the cavalry group started moving south again towards the main canyon.