Demontech: Rally Point: 2 (Demontech Book 2) (11 page)

Haft resisted the impulse to snap at them for sneaking up on him. “Bandits,” he said softly.

Kovasch nodded. He and Meszaros stayed hunched below the top of the bank and waited for instructions.

Haft rose back up. What should they do? He didn’t know who the horsemen were. If they were Jokapcul, he should leave the ambush alone and let the bandits kill the enemy. But what if they weren’t? They hadn’t seen any sign of Jokapcul in several days; there was an excellent chance the company was still ahead of the invaders—especially inland on the peninsula. It was more likely the horsemen were refugees, in which case they should help them. But how? Four men and a wolf. What could they do against the dozen ambushers he could see? Worse, how many more bandits were there that he couldn’t see? The best he could hope for if he simply called out a warning was the bandits would run and all of them would get away. Even that best wasn’t very good—the bandits would all be free to attack them or other travelers another time. Yet the odds were too great for him and his few men and the wolf to attack directly.

He heard the horses almost directly to his front now and saw the bandits ready themselves, the ambush was about to be sprung. He had to do something. A passage from
Lord Gunny Says
came to his mind;
When you are in doubt as to the best course of action, choose one and follow it decisively. Inactivity when action is required is the worst enemy of the warrior. Any action, taken decisively, is better than no action.

He made a decision and dropped back down.

“There’s at least a dozen of them,” he said. “There might be more I can’t see. We need to even the odds right away.” He took inventory of his men’s weapons as he talked. Birdwhistle and Meszaros carried short bows, only Kovasch had the more powerful, more accurate longbow. It didn’t matter, they were close enough the short bows could hardly miss. “Wolf, go that way,” he pointed along the streambed. “When you reach the far side of the ambush, attack the man at that end.” He felt stupid giving the wolf instructions, but sometimes—usually, though he didn’t like to admit it—the beast seemed to understand.

Wolf gave Haft a look that, had he been a man, Haft would have interpreted it as, “Are you crazy? And what are
you
going to be doing while I run the suicide mission?”

“We,” he addressed the men, “will wait for Wolf to attack. The instant he does, we shoot the four men on the right side of their line. With any luck, the rest of them will be so distracted by Wolf’s attack, they won’t notice right away and we can charge and hit them from the rear.”

Wolf nodded, seeming satisfied that he wasn’t being sacrificed, and sprinted up the streambed.

Haft kept giving instructions as he watched Wolf head for his part of the attack. “Kovasch, you’ve got the best bow. Put a couple more arrows into them while the rest of us charge. Questions?”

The three looked at him grimly; they understood the need for this desperate action.

“Let’s get up and get ready. See where you are in our line. Meszaros, you’re on our right side, take the man farthest to the right. Everybody else follow suit. Got it?”

They nodded. Haft slithered back to the bank top. He looked to his sides before drawing his axe and laying it on the ground where he could grab it as soon as he fired; he ignored the bee that briefly crawled on his cheek before buzzing off. The three scouts were readying their bows. Kovasch laid out three extra arrows. Haft aimed his crossbow and waited for Wolf’s assault. Before Wolf reached the end of the ambush line, the people riding on the road fully entered the killing zone. Someone shouted a command and the ambushers rose to their knees and fired arrows. Shouts came from the road, commands and screams.

Without hesitating, Haft fired. He had his axe in his hand and was on his feet racing forward before the quarrel hit its target. Birdwhistle and Meszaros were with him. He heard screaming from the distance, Wolf’s attack on the other end of the line. An arrow from Kovasch’s bow
zing
ed past, rapidly followed by two more. Then they were on the ambushers.

Haft swung his axe in a mighty overhead arc and buried its half-moon blade in the back of a man who was looking toward the commotion to his left. He saw Birdwhistle race past and thrust with his sword to skewer the next man in line. Meszaros was right behind him and chopped through the neck of the next. Haft dashed toward the next ambusher. That man heard the footsteps coming toward him and turned to look, but it was too late, Haft was already on him and his swinging axe clove its way deep from the bandit’s shoulder into his chest before the bandit could reach his feet—but not before he cried out a warning. Other ambushers looked back and shouted surprise and anger at the attacking quartet. They leaped up to counterattack.

Suddenly, uniformed men rushed up the slope from the road, swords in hand. The newcomers saw Birdwhistle’s uniform and recognized it instantly—its fur and helmet were very similar to their own. They attacked the men Birdwhistle and his three companions were fighting.

Haft was distantly aware that the screams and shouts from the far end of the ambush had lessened. He wondered fleetingly how many men they were attacking; if it was only the dozen or so he’d seen the fight should be over already with the reinforcements they suddenly had. But it wasn’t, there were still too many bandits. Three charging bandits, one armed with a pike, came at him.

Haft swerved to the side, avoiding the thrust of the pike and moved inside the arc of its swing. He swung his axe, chopping into the side of the pikeman. On his backstroke he sunk the spike on the back of the half-moon blade into the shoulder of one of the other attackers, knocking him down screaming. He wanted to look to see how his men were doing, but didn’t have time—each of the two bandits he’d downed was immediately replaced by two more. He backpedaled rapidly to keep them from surrounding him. One of them used his sword to block a swing of the axe, but the blow shattered the blade. The bandit dropped the useless hilt and picked up the pike. He steadied himself and felt the balance of the long weapon, then lunged forward and thrust its point at Haft. Haft barely had time to see the strike coming. He reached out and hooked one of the others with the corner of his axe blade and yanked him into the path of the oncoming pike. The pike’s long, steel point went all the way through the bandit’s body. The mortally wounded man screamed three times—when the axe point hooked him; when the pike’s head burst through the front of his body; when Haft twisted the axe to turn him and throw his body to the ground. The pike tore out of its wielder’s hands, its shaft slammed into the legs of another man and knocked him off his feet.

For the moment, Haft only faced two men armed and on their feet. He roared a battle cry and leaped toward one, swinging his axe in a diagonal arc. The mighty blade severed the bandit’s arm and thunked into his side—he toppled, dying. Before Haft could turn to the other, the man who’d been knocked down by the pike shaft was back on his feet and charging in with his sword arm cocked for a swing; the disarmed bandit had a fresh sword in his hand and was shouting instructions to the other two. The charging bandit skidded to a halt before he got close enough for Haft to strike at him. The one who shouted orders moved slowly, methodically, toward Haft, the other two just as methodically moved to the sides to come at him from different directions.

Haft backed up to keep them from reaching his sides but his heel caught on a root and he staggered, windmilling to regain his balance. The center bandit cried out in glee and rushed in to drive his sword into him, but the weight of the axe at the end of Haft’s right arm twirled him back and to his right, the sword merely grazing his abdomen. The bandit to Haft’s right rushed in at almost the same instant, but Haft’s swinging axe smacked into the point of his extended sword and deflected the blow. Knocked farther off balance, Haft fell heavily. Now the third bandit rushed in, sword high above his head, ready to swing down.

Before he began to swing his sword forward and down, an arrow thudded into his chest. His mouth opened to scream, but all that came out was a gout of blood. He dropped the sword and clutched at the shaft protruding from his chest, staggered forward until he tripped over Haft and fell flat on his face. His body shielded Haft from sword blows from the other two. Then a second bandit fell with an arrow through his neck, and the other was fleeing.

Fletcher and the other three scouts had arrived. Spinner, Silent, and Xundoe were right behind them. All except the mage fired arrows after the fleeing bandits and knocked down several of them—but the panicked bandits were running so fast that Spinner had time to get off only one bolt from his crossbow before they disappeared through the trees.

“After them!” Haft shouted. He sprinted into the trees where the bandits had vanished. The other dismounted scouts and the men the bandits had ambushed raced with him. The two mounted warriors and the mage galloped through their ragged line.

Though the bandits were out of sight, their voices were clearly audible. So were the jangle and the creak of tackle as they clambered onto concealed horses, the thud of hooves as they sped away. Silent broke into a small clearing where bandits were still mounting their horses. His war cry boomed and echoed off the trees as he crashed into the bandits, swinging his sword. Several went down immediately then Xundoe screamed “Back!” at the steppe nomad. Bouncing on his pony, the mage fumbled a phoenix egg from a sack carried over the crown of his saddle. Silent saw what he was doing and kneed his horse into a leap to the side. The maneuver bowled over several bandits and horses.

With one hand the mage pulled on his pony’s reins. The pony skittered to a stop, almost throwing the mage over its shoulder. Xundoe retained enough balance to turn his movement into a clean dismount, looked to see where the most bandits were, planted his feet, twisted the top of the phoenix egg, and threw it.

The egg struck the ground under a horse leaping away from the fray and cracked open. The phoenix burst forth and unfurled its flaming wings. Men and horses screamed as the fiery bird’s wings and the heat of its flames beat into them.

Spinner quickly shouted “Hold!” when he saw Xundoe throw the phoenix egg. He jerked on his reins and twisted around to see that his order was being obeyed. Not even Haft or Silent looked anxious to pursue the bandits through the fire and ash left by the phoenix as it rose through the trees.

“Is everyone all right?” Spinner called. “Where’s Wolf?”

He heard Haft and Fletcher checking their men. A throaty
Ulgh
from the side told him Wolf was well.

“Who are you?” he asked one of the men in the uniform of the Skragland Blood Swords.

“I am Captain Dumant of the Skragland Blood Swords,” said one. He was a big man, even by Skraglander measure. His shirt and breeches, though of the same design and cut, were of far finer woven cloth than other Skragland soldiers Spinner and Haft had met. His fur cape, like those of his men, was dyed a deep red. The chain that secured it around his neck was silver, as was a medallion on his chest. He carried a bastard sword, too big for most men to comfortably use one-handed, not quite big enough to be a two hand sword; he was big enough to wield it one-handed. “Who are you?” He quickly glanced at the men who had broken the ambush. “Skragland Borderers, Zobran Royal Lancers and Border Warders, and, and—Frangerian Sea Soldiers?”

“We prefer to be called ‘Marines,’ ” Haft said.

“Call us ‘armed refugees,’ ” Spinner said before Captain Dumant could react to Haft. “They call me Spinner. Haft,” he nodded toward his friend, “and I are trying to find an open port and a ship back to Frangeria.”

“All these soldiers,” Dumant mused. “Where are your officers?” Dumant looked about.

“We are the commanders,” Haft said.

Dumant looked at him curiously. He’d never met any Frangerian sea soldiers, not even before they began calling themselves “Marines,” but he had seen color engravings. These two Frangerians had silver mermen on their cloaks rather than the gold worn by the officers, and their jerkins didn’t have the gilt rank insignia so evident in the engravings.

“We don’t actually have any officers,” Spinner put in quickly. “These—”

“Then I’m in command here,” Dumant cut him off. “Put people to caring for the wounded. Gather the dead in one place. I want a roll of everyo—”

“Excuse me, Captain,” Spinner interrupted him before Haft could speak again, “the dead and wounded are already being taken care of. And, with all due respect, the Skragland army is not in our chain of command. We,” he indicated himself and Haft, “are not under your command. As I said, Haft and I are making our way back to our own command.”

Dumant, much taller than Spinner, used his greater height to overwhelm them. Or he tried to. “I recognize your uniform,” he said. “I’ve seen engravings of Frangerian sea soldiers. Your uniforms and insignia indicate that you’re junior enlisted men. You say you have no officers. I am a captain. That puts me in command, I don’t want to hear you arguing that point. You say you are trying to make your way back to your own command. How do I know you aren’t craven deserters who have turned to banditry? As senior officer present, I am in command, and you are under my command. Take care I don’t have cause to discipline you for insubordination.”

“Now listen here,” Haft said heatedly, but Fletcher cut him off.

“Sir, with all due respect, we are not in your army, Captain,” Fletcher spoke calmly but firmly. “Nor are any of us deserters. These two,” he nodded toward the two Frangerians, “are survivors of the Jokapcul capture of New Bally, and they truly are seeking a way back to their own command. These people you see all around here, including the soldiers, some of whom are sergeants in their own armies, have chosen to accompany these Marines to a place where they might find safety. Perhaps you can claim command of the Skragland soldiers among us, but I don’t think you can assume command of the Zobrans or other soldiers. You most certainly cannot simply assume command of me and the other veterans who are no longer members of any army. Please disabuse yourself of the notion that all of us are under your command.”