Stronger than Bone (23 page)

(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)

Duke Dennison and his group of loyal nobles marched a combined army of five thousand men and four thousand horses to rendezvous inside the western border with General Virden’s rebel army of five thousand soldiers. An additional two thousand of the rebel’s mounted infantry camped on the rebel side of the border.

The meeting of noble and rebel leaders was tense. The Duke’s army was not loyal to the current holder of the crown, but years of battling with rebel forces had ingrained distrust and hatred between these new would-be allies. Those on the rebel side felt the same toward the nobles, and perhaps even more so considering the roots of their ideological war.

General Virden held the meeting in a large command tent. It was Spartan to say the least, and well below the noble’s regular “field accommodation” standards. The Duke wrinkled his nose in disgust as he walked in. In the center of the tent was a long table with a crude map of the kingdom and surrounding land and sea. The General’s commanders stood on one side, while the Duke and his commanders stood on the other.

While the General was introducing the guests to his commanders, wine was served by young men in rebel military dress
. “Apparently the rebels do not keep serving girls in camp. The day I don’t need these primitive dogs and can set them to slaughter cannot come soon enough,”
thought Hawk Dennison as he took a cup from one of the soldiers.

Introductions complete, the Duke walked to the other side of the table and stepped in close to the General as if to look at the map. He whispered to General Virden, “I think it appropriate that I take my place at the head of the table right away, don’t you?”

General Virden looked as if he wished to say something in return, but stepped back instead and gave his place up to the Duke. The tension in the tent rose immediately as the rebel commanders stiffened, and the nobles adopted smug looks and even let a few snide comments fly.

The Hawk seized the opportunity to shake things up even more by drawing attention to the map. “Now!” he began. “We are standing on the western border, and the capital city is within two days march. The Priest’s army is gathering there and growing stronger while we stand here and growl at each other.”

He looked around the tent and met each man’s eye with a stern look. He had the air of an irritated school headmaster, and those who fell under his gaze felt as if they were his students.

“Our combined force is more than a match for his army, but not behind his walls. There he is stronger! We must bring him out to meet us on the open field. The question is, how do we accomplish that?” The Hawk looked around the room again. This time his gaze asked a question, and each man felt compelled to offer an answer. Most of them stood mute feeling inept, or stammered some harebrained strategy too quickly, but a lone figure in the back of the tent spoke with confidence.

“Take his knight,” a deep voice offered from under the uneven brim of his hideous head covering. The man was a full head taller than any other in the room, even the Duke. He wore a leather vest, open and exposing many knife handles. His skin was beyond pale, almost to the point of translucence, and scarred heavily. His arms were sinewy and heavily corded with blue veins, and his hands seemed unnaturally large, even compared to his abnormal height.

The men at the table turned to look at the giant and some of the nobles recoiled at his sight. Death smiled a terrible and fractured reproduction of a real smile at their reaction. The rebel commanders whispered among each other and the nobles immediately placed a hand on their swords. Only the Duke and General Virden looked unsurprised.

“The king has a puppet. His ‘champion’ and pawn,” said Death. “Take him and his power will falter.”

The nobles began murmuring and the name Lynn Hayes was spoken aloud.

“But!” shouted Death with a force and anger withheld until now, “when the time comes…his death will be mine alone!” With no warning, he turned and swiftly left the tent.

The Duke smiled grimly. “My orders are these: General Virden, take your two thousand horses east across the North River and south to the King’s Road. Intercept the priest’s champion and destroy him before he crosses the river. He only has a battalion.

Prepare the rest of your army to march south and then east. I will send two thousand horses with them. Raze the countryside as you go. My army, traveling slower than your cavalry, will go east and then south doing the same. We will meet at the southern coast near the North River in one week.”

(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)

By midday the battalion was formed and ready to march to the capital. Emotions were mixed as they waited on the command to step off.

The younger men were excited to go. Many were from the city, and all were anxious to exercise their new found celebrity. Being a soldier in the Colonel’s battalion was as good as being a prince these days. Their Colonel was the King’s Champion and was even called the Savior of the Kingdom. The young ladies of the capital would be drawn to his brave and trusted men.

The older men were less enthusiastic, and it showed on their faces. It wasn’t that they were reluctant, or less willing to go, they just had a better understanding of what they were in for. The seasoned soldiers remained calm and waited quietly while the younger men laughed and joked nervously. They all looked to the front, wondering if their commander would speak to them again before he led them to the capital. He did not.

When he did speak it was never about the battles that made him famous, but they had all heard the stories. They knew he rose from the enlisted ranks, and they saw in him what they wanted to become.

The camp followers and support personnel were nearly twice as many as the soldiers in the battalion and they would travel much slower. The soldiers were all mounted, while the followers walked or rode in wagons. Even so, they were in good spirits. Many of them had been in this remote outpost for years and this was the first time they would be back in the capital city in at least as long. Joszette and Charity, and her recovering pup rode in one of the wagons. They were welcomed warmly by the other camp followers.

At the head of the procession was the battalion flag. It was the largest and held up the highest. It carried the commander’s personal emblem. It was a single bladed battle axe colored black on a field of red. As the battalion stood ready, the commander’s flag began to move slowly forward. The Sergeant Major’s voice echoed back through the ranks with the preparatory command, “Forward!” Then after a slight pause, “March!”

As each rank of mounted soldiers marched through the gate they nodded or waved at the rear party; the group of soldiers selected to stay behind and keep the camp until relieved. It was undesirable duty, but necessary. No one was sure what the coming days would bring, but this camp was key terrain. It had walls. Another unit would be on its way to assume the post soon, and only after they arrived could the rear party rejoin the rest of the battalion.

Anyone walking or riding along the route to the capital would see an impressive military spectacle. The soldiers and their mounts were decked in polished light armor and mail, and they travelled in precision rank and column formation. More impressive was the sound as they passed by. Each company sang its own song and flew its own flag. They would show the villagers that the kingdom was still strong and valiantly protected.

In the front of the main body, just behind a squad of near scouts, and half a mile behind the squad of advance scouts, the Colonel rode in silence. In his mind he was rehearsing battle drills and commanding troops. Every scenario played out to the final blow, where he stood with his battalion intact or all alone on a field of broken bones and blood soaked corpses. He wasn’t choosing death for his men, or wishing defeat. He was exercising determination to see every possibility through to the very end. He was preparing his mind to never accept defeat, and to never surrender.

From time to time his thoughts would turn to the capital city and his birthright. As soon as those thoughts arose, he would smash them down. Now was not the time to worry about politics. There was a lot of road to cover before reaching that place. His present duty was here with these men. A battle was looming, and perhaps a terrible war. He’d be damned if he was going to stand by and let other men fight and die for a crown that would one day be his.

Chase was riding a rank behind the commander, and he was also silent. In his mind he was fencing. He imagined perfect movement and perfect form. In his head he was faster than every opponent and a step ahead of every attack. He often reached for the pommel of his sword or the handle of his knife. Practiced movements made perfect action when the time came. He also took note of the surrounding terrain as they travelled, and tried to determine which commanders he would assign to each area if the time came. It was an exercise in strategy as well as testing his recall of each unit’s strengths and abilities.

Corvis kept a watchful eye on the surrounding forest as he rode next to the Colonel. They had been on the road for a few hours already, but he refused to become complacent. He ran scenarios in his head of what he would do first if an attack came as they approached every farm house or water crossing. He was determined to act decisively and make the right move for the good of his men. He looked behind every once in a while to verify who was close at hand if immediate action was needed. He understood that in the event of an attack, his first responsibility would be to coordinate the defense of the wagons and supplies that followed the battalion. The Colonel and the Battle Captain would command the main body of soldiers.

Farther back in the column, at the head of the camp followers, Charity sat on the seat next to the wagon driver. Joszette sat quietly under the canopy in the back. Cuddles also rode in the back and was sleeping, curled up in Joszette’s lap. Charity was trying to stay awake, but the swaying of the wagon and the symmetrical movement of the horses pulling the cart made her drowsy. Her mind drifted to dark places as she began to nod off. She thought of Death and the terrifying struggle under the cabin in Hidden Valley. She thought of the crushing weight of losing Joszette and knowing it was her own fault. As her eyes closed and her head began to dip forward to her chest, a shrill cry came from somewhere behind her.

Horses exploded from the tree line on Charity’s right side. At first there were only a few, but in seconds there were too many to count. They were swarming the supply train. Mounted soldiers charged down the column from the front on both sides of the battalion to fight them off. Captain Brente was among the first to arrive and he was shouting orders as he charged past Charity’s wagon.

“FACE OUT!” he shouted as he raced on horseback past the ranks of mounted soldiers. As he reached the rear most company his orders changed to, “TO THE REAR!” and, “FOLLOW ME!”

He had no idea how large a force he was dealing with, but the trees along the narrow road worked effectively to reduce the numbers of any mounted enemy assault. They also eliminated the chance of an effective enemy formation. He knew their best chance was to form a defensive wall against the tree line and break the attacker’s momentum.

His horse was much larger than most in order to accommodate his own large size. It smashed into a rebel mount broad side and sent it tumbling, with the rider, under the hooves of the others. Corvis continued shouting orders and encouragement to his men as he swung his sword in swift and sweeping arcs through armor and flesh belonging to men and horses alike. He raged at the sight of wagons bowled over and civilians murdered.

As more soldiers arrived to shore up the defenses he forced himself to pull back and look at the big picture. So far he estimated the attackers to number over one hundred. He had one hundred and fifty men from the rear company forming a defense around the supply train.

A soldier rode up and reported that the commander was leading four hundred men in a flanking movement from ahead. If it succeeded then the attack would not last much longer. The report was accompanied by the order to move the supply train forward and out of the attack area.

The tempo of the fight on the road began to slow after a few moments, and then finally stopped.
“The flanking movement must have worked,”
thought Corvis. He ordered the Captain of the rear guard to keep his men in column on either side of the supply train. They were to defend them at all costs and then to expedite movement forward as soon as those carts and wagons still in good repair could be set back in motion. As the workers and helpers scurried to salvage what they could and get moving, the sounds of battle beyond the trees gained in volume and intensity.

Within minutes, the supply train was moving again under heavy escort. Captain Brente ordered the remaining soldiers of the main body to form a heavy front and heavier rear guard. The combined group of civilians and soldiers pushed up the road as fast as the carts and wagons could go. They stayed in a tight mass as they raced for the next defensible position.

Charity and Joszette lay still in the back of the wagon. They were lucky to be in the front of the supply train. Farther back, the camp followers had not been so lucky. During the fighting, Charity had peeked from under the canopy, and saw people being butchered mercilessly by the rebel riders. She tried to put it out of her mind as she lay curled up next to Cuddles and Joszette.

A young soldier who said he was under orders directly from her father rode next to her wagon. The Captain had placed other soldiers near her wagon, but it was comforting to know one was there just for her. The wagon bumped and jostled as the driver cursed and whipped the horses, urging them to keep up with their armed escorts.

Left behind, Guy lay under an overturned wagon. He was unhurt, but effectively trapped. The wagon had been bowled over when the attack began, and was considered a loss when the supply train re-started movement. No one had heard his shouts for help over the frantic cries of the wounded men, women, and horses. After a few minutes of laying still and listening, he pulled out his dagger and began to dig at the hard packed surface of the road.

“Slap your sister,” he grumbled as he pulled the loosened dirt back and away from the growing hole.

He squeezed his way out from under the wagon through the ditch he dug under its side. Before dragging himself completely clear of the wagon he stopped and listened again. He could hear the moaning of the wounded, and the sounds of more fighting through the trees, but nothing threatening in the immediate area. Guy stood up on his one good leg and looked around. Sighing with relief, he hobbled over to a horse that was standing still over its expired rider. The reins were tied around the corpse’s wrist, so that when the horse raised its head, it also raised the man’s arm as if in waving gesture. Guy waved back as he approached
. “It’s the polite thing to do,”
he joked to himself morbidly. He reached down and cut the reins rather than trying to untie them, and climbed into the saddle.

Guy turned the horse toward the capital and was just starting to head out when the strangest thing happened. “What the…?’ he said when he saw one of the dead rebels roll over, stand up, and start attacking a wounded horse laying near it. It wasn’t using a sword or a knife to cut into the horse’s flesh. It was using its own teeth and hands. “Slap your sister,” he said as he watched in horror. Then, as he looked around he saw more of the rebels rising up and attacking the nearest living thing.

“Uh oh…”