Draconis' Bane (15 page)

Tristan had listened
intently to many of the officers recount the strategy and targets
of the bands of brigands, he also called upon the lessons Kevin had
given him on tactics. Because of preparation he had a likely idea
of what his goals were, even if he had no clear beginning.
Shrugging off his irritation he decided that doing
something
was far better than sitting idly. He’d sent the 7
^th
forward to a likely target to begin their journey. Less than a
hundred yards from the hills a scout returned reporting that he
could smell morning cooking fires over the first set of bluffs in a
small valley.

Deciding that a
cohesive unit was going to serve him far better than just sending
everyone into a possible ambush, Tristan called all the men
together into a tight circle. In hushed tones he began outlining
his plan of attack.

“It’s likely that
these bands survive as they do by striking at undefended and
unprepared peasants. Among other things, we’re going to have the
element of surprise on our side. That will only last so long.” He
began. “I want the scouts moving along the southern line where the
forest breaks before the hills. The four of you will circle around
their encampment to the north, when you’re settled; I want you each
to pick a target. Anyone will do, just make sure you at least wing
them.”

The four scouts
nodded and set off at a brisk jog as Tristan turned to the grizzled
Sergeant. “Sergeant Frose.” He ordered. “I want you to take fifteen
of your best runners and take shelter to the east of their
sentries. When you hear a commotion, come running into the camp.”
The sergeant nodded and moved to leave, tapping his fifteen men as
he passed them on the shoulder.

“Lieutenant
Halvorsen.” He turned to one of the young Lieutenants he’d spoken
with the night before. “Take twenty men and cover the west, once
you’re in place and your men are ready, draw weapons and try your
best to walk without purpose into the middle of their camp. By the
time you get there the first few arrows will have already fallen.
Once they have; strike.” The Lieutenant nodded and headed off,
motioning his squad to follow.

The young Prince then
turned to the Captain and with a slightly sarcastic look on his
face, he said; “Now my good Captain, we shall try our best to look
like brigands looking for work. Everyone take off your tabards and
stow them, make sure you can put them on in quick order so our
scouts don’t pick one of us off mistakenly.”

The rest of the
7
^th
moved out as ordered, the remaining eleven men along
with Captain Robertson and Tristan snuck up as quietly as possible
to just below the closest hill. Tristan leaned back against the
incline, listening carefully for Halvorsen’s men or the first
downed by bowshot. The Captain came next to Tristan and slowly
peaked over the hillside. When he came back down his face was
white.

“Do you have any idea
how many men are down there?” He asked the young Prince.

“Judging from the
trails leading out of that valley I’m going to assume there’s at
least a hundred and fifty men down there.” Tristan replied
calmly.

“Er, don’t you think
three to one odds are a little tilted?” The Captain asked in
shock.

“I was trying to find
a bigger group of them, but this will do for a warm up.” Tristan
joked.

“If any of my men
die…” Robertson began.

“If any of
my
men die, Captain, I’ll accept the responsibility.” Tristan cut
across him.

“Hmph.” The Captain
replied, obviously still put off by the change in leadership.

“Listen Captain. You
don’t need to respect me, or even like me. But let me be clear,”
Tristan turned and locked his gaze with the Captain. “If you don’t
obey my orders I’ll hang you myself. Morale be damned.”

Before the Captain
could answer Tristan heard the whistle of an arrow fly followed by
a sickening squelching sound as it hit a human target. Shouts
echoed down from the east and west as the smaller companies came
pouring over the hillside. Tristan stood, drew his sword and
shouted an animalistic cry as he ran into the valley. By the time
he reached the camp his men had already secured a number of
bandits, tying their arms behind their backs and laying them face
down.

Walking purposefully
through camp towards the largest tent Tristan was confronted by a
rather large man wielding a dangerous looking mace and shield. The
man moved towards him, brandishing the mace over his head in a
large arc and bringing it down towards Tristans’ head. Tristan
sidestepped the swing, stepped in and sliced the back of the man’s
legs. The larger man grunted in pain and fell to his knees. Wasting
no time he swung around and hit the man in the side of the head
with the flat part of his blade, knocking him out.

As Tristan continued
to approach the tent a tall slim man rushed out, a rapier in one
hand and a main-gauche in the other. His eyes narrowed as he made
himself ready to fight. Tristan drew his dagger, flipped it over in
his hand, reversing his grip, and stood in front of the dangerous
fighter. The bandit’s rapier lashed out, Tristan brought his blade
up and deflected the thrust at his chest. His opponents’
main-gauche followed closely behind looking to slice at Tristans’
sword arm. The Prince turned his blade, using its slight bend to
bat away the main-gauche as well.

The bandit’s eyes
widened slightly as he began calculating distances and possible
escape routes. The fear and realization that he wasn’t just facing
a common soldier was clearly etched on his face. He lunged again,
attempting to drive the young Prince back and open an avenue of
escape. Tristan deflected the sword with his dagger and drove his
opponents’ sword down, exposing the bandit’s entire right side.
Wishing to wound the man so he could get information out of him,
Tristan’s blade snapped up and sliced half-way through the man’s’
sword arm. His rapier fell to the ground as he gasped in pain, his
main-gauche reflexively coming up to defend against another attack.
Tristan was too fast though, he batted aside the dagger and sent it
flying out of the man’s weakened grip.

All around him the
7
^th
Infantry was quickly subduing the bandit force and
frog marching them into a makeshift stockade that had served as a
horse enclosure. The bandit Tristan was fighting sought to take
advantage of his distraction to escape. He made three running
strides before Tristan picked up a discarded club and threw it. It
hit the bandit leader in the back of the head knocking him
completely out cold as he landed painfully, sending his torso
sliding forward and his legs bending up behind his head painfully.
Two soldiers picked him up by either arm and dragged him off to the
stockade.

The 7
^th
quickly incapacitated the rest of the band, killing them outright,
knocking them out or accepting their surrender as they dropped
their weapons and placed their hands up behind their heads. The
commotion in camp died down as all of the dead were piled and a
pyre lit. Then all of the prisoners were bound, gagged and tied to
the stockade fence. Captain Robertson came over to Tristan who had
sat down on a long near the cooking fire.

“I never would have
believed it if I hadn’t just seen it.” He commented, his amazement
barely held in check.

“How many did we
lose?” Tristan asked, rubbing his face with his left hand.

“Not a one! One of
Halvorsen’s men got himself knocked out, but everyone else is
fine.” Robertson replied in shock.

Tristan was still
irritated by the man, but at least he could see now that Tristan
wasn’t some helpless spoiled royal. “Any idea on how many they
actually had at this camp?” he asked.

“One-hundred and
sixty-three men, sir. Ninety-eight still alive in the stockade.”
Replied Sergeant Frose as he approached them. “The Lieutenant found
something in the commanders tent you’re going to enjoy sir.” He
said with a lopsided smirk.

Halvorsen came
walking up beside the sergeant and handed over a large piece of
parchment. Tristan opened it and smiled widely.

“What is it, sir?”
Robertson asked.

“Have a look for
yourself.” Tristan replied, handing over the parchment.

Turning towards
Halvorsen he said; “Take half the men and march the prisoners to
mile marker three. There should be a company of men camped near the
road. They’ll take the command of the prisoners and then you can
return here. Tomorrow morning we’ll pack up whatever we need and
head for the next camp at…” Tristan looked over to Captain
Robertson for the answer.

Captain Robertson
looked up from the parchment. “Klement’s Pass. It’s a small valley
a few miles from here.” He replied.

“Off you go
Lieutenant.” Tristan urged.

Halvorsen nodded to
both men, turned and began organizing the men to take them back to
the Western Road. Tristan motioned for the Captain to follow him as
he headed over to the commanders tent. Entering he saw numerous
things that if he hadn’t seen the map, would have shocked him. The
banner of Terum, an eagle flying over a snowy mountain top, was
hung on the back wall behind a large table on which was an enlarged
map of Tristan’s country. There were small wooden figures all over
the map, but the greatest concentration was along the Western Road
between Irudin and Kenting.

Tristan motioned to a
pair of plush chairs as he and the Captain sat down. “Bandits my
eye.” The Captain muttered, causing Tristan to smile.

“You and I need to
get something straight.” Tristan began, losing his smile. “We’re
about to take on a small army, I think we can both agree this isn’t
some random group of freebooters we’re dealing with.” Tristan
concluded.

Captain Robertson
nodded his reply, his eyes relaxing from their narrowed gaze.

“They’ve grown used
to taking on travelers and farmers, an organized raid must have
caught them off guard.” The older man observed.

“I don’t think anyone
escaped the camp, but it’s possible. It’s likely that little trick
won’t work again and it’s even more likely that the word is being
spread as we speak to those other hidden camps.” Tristan
explained.

The map had contained
a detailed disposition of Terum forces in the region, one of the
larger ones they had just captured. There were another half-dozen
or so left four smaller ones north of the Western Road and two to
the south, one of those was a small fort nestled in the woods near
the Great River.

“I would agree with
that my Lord.” Robertson replied evenly.

“Good because you and
I need to put our differences aside and trust each other. We number
just over fifty men and we’re about to challenge ten times our
number. I’m going to do my damnedest to keep as many of
our
men alive as I can, but we’re severely outnumbered.” Tristan
brooded.

“The 7
^th
is ready and able sir.” He replied eagerly.

“And you?” Tristan
probed.

“I’ll follow.” The
Captain admitted.

“That’s going to have
to do for now. Let’s go find something to eat. We’ve got some
bloody plans to draw up.” Tristan said grimly as he rose and exited
the tent.

The next five days
found Tristan and the 7
^th
Infantry striking into three
of the remaining four camps. A few bruises and scrapes had thus far
been their only concerns. They were only a couple of hours away
from Irudin now. The temptation of a warm soft bed had more than
one soldier, Tristan included, looking off into the distance at the
tallest tower of Irudin keep. The sun had set moments ago and
everyone could clearly see the lights of the town and the tower
itself on the horizon.

Over the last few
days Tristan had found a new respect for the old Captain. He was a
no nonsense man of little words, his men need only be told once
what to do and they sprang into action. Grudgingly, Tristan found
himself admiring the man. True to his word the Captain had obeyed
all of Tristan’s commands, bringing suggestions to his attention
and generally being an excellent help and teacher in the thick of
the fight.

The scouts had just
returned from their trek over to the last enemy camp just a hundred
yards away and reported that they had few sentries out. Ever since
they took the first encampment Tristan assumed that someone will
have gotten away or regular communication would be missed. Thus far
every camp had been surprised to find a small armed force capture
them.

“What do you think
Captain?” Tristan asked.

“I favor the Four
Point Strike again m’lord.” Robertson replied smiling.

After the men had
taken the first camp Sergeant Frose began calling the ambush a
‘Four Point Strike’ and now everyone was calling it that. Tristan
had been hesitant to use it again as he feared word had reached
each camp in turn. With the light sentry compliment, the rather
large bonfire in the middle of their camp effectively blinding them
and presenting his scouts and archers with ample targets, Tristan
was forced to agree.

“Agreed. Divide the
men up as before and let’s see if we can make Irudin and nice soft
beds by midnight.” He ordered.

The Captain grunted
theatrically as he stood up from his seat near the fire. “A capital
idea sir. I’ll see to the men.” He said as he walked off out of
sight.

Tristan stood and
stretched. He pulled at the healing slash across his stomach, a
reminder of a time when he and the Captain could barely be in the
same room together. The young Prince chuckled to himself. How could
two men, who would rather kill each other, work together so well?
He made his way over to Captain Robertson who already had the three
other forces moving along the hills.