The Cerberus Rebellion (A Griffins & Gunpowder Novel) (33 page)

“Are there any additional ships within a few days’ travel?” Eadric asked.

“Tallert left a handful of frigates and a few schooners in the straits,” Robert said. “But finding them could take some time.”

“Pass the word to Tallert. Have him detail some corvettes to collect the ships he left in the straits,” Eadric ordered. “Until those ships are in the harbor, we need to continue hitting the fortresses with our field artillery. Bring in the howitzers if we need to; if we can rain shells down on their powder magazines, we can speed up this siege.”

“The howitzers won’t have the range, my lord,” Chief Engineer Henrik Thayne said. “Their rounds will fall well short of the wall.”

Eadric glared at his advisor. The short barreled howitzers could lob their rounds over the fortress walls better than a field gun, but sacrificed much of their range to do so. “Then have your damn engineers dig the trenches closer,” he said. “The field guns can keep their heads down.”

Henrik bowed his head. “As you command, Your Majesty,” he said. He snapped his fingers and a runner hurried over to the table; he scribbled out orders on a scrap of paper. “Run these orders to the engineer post.”

The runner bowed low and dashed out of the command post.

“What of the supply trains from Aetheston?” Eadric asked.

“The Kerberosi razed nearly all of the lines from here to East End,” Robert reported. “We can’t get a single train from East End without transferring it three or four times.”

“Why have the lines not been rebuilt?”

“They did quite a bit of damage to the lines, milord,” the chief engineer reported. “They burned most of the bridges, tore up miles of track, and twisted the rails around ever tree they could find. We’ve had to bring in rails from our foundries at Cutler. It has taken more than than we had hoped.”

“I hope that it doesn’t take too much longer,” Eadric said. “Once we’ve crushed this rabble, we’ll need to get our soldiers back to the west. Those lines are going to be our best option.”

“Of course,” Henrik said.

Eadric looked across the map. “I want the infantry brought up from the Gerich.” He traced a line around the edge of his army’s position. “I want this entire area encircled. No one should be allowed to escape.”

“I think it would be best if we let the men rest,” Alden said. “They’ve spent much of the year on the march, or packed into trains, We need them fresh when the Kerberosi retreat to their city.”

“They’ll get fat and lazy sitting in the valley,” Eadric said, the anger in his voice mounting. His advisors seemed to oppose him at every turn. “They will encircle the city, and when the Kerberosi break, we’ll run them down like dogs.”

Chapter 27 - Roland

Explosive shells whistled as they fell over the walls of Fort William. Roland Jarmann ducked behind a garrison cannon and held his hands over his ears. The rounds buried themselves in the courtyard and exploded; dirt and shrapnel flew in every direction. Roland could hear the chunks of metal pinging off of the cannon he had used for cover.

He placed a steel nail into the primer hole at the rear of the cannon, raised his hammer over his head, and brought it down with all of his might. Another handful of swings buried the nail deep. It was the last functioning cannon in the fort and Roland allowed himself a brief moment to look around the ruins.

The Kerberosi engineers had only just managed to repair most of the damage from their takeover of the fortress when Eadric’s guns had opened fire. The outer walls had done better than Roland had expected, but once the Ansgari howitzers had started dropping explosive shells inside the walls, it was clear that Fort William would not be safe for much longer.

Except for the men necessary to keep the cannons firing, the fort had been abandoned for more than a day. Most of the garrison had made their escape under cover of darkness. As each of the huge garrison cannons had been spiked, their crews had retreated as well. Roland and a small contingent of guards were all that remained in Fort William.

“We should get going,” Aren Falk, Roland’s head guardsman, suggested. “Their artillery has ceased fire.”

Roland realized that the thunder of cannons, scream of falling shells, and boom of explosives that had been ever-present for a week were suddenly absent.

“Best to get going then,” Roland said. “Their infantry will be on us soon.”

The small cadre of guards gathered around Roland, carbines in hand. A private came from the stables, horses in tow. Horns sounded in the distance and the rattle of drums echoed down from the hills surrounding Agilard City.

“Mount up boys,” Roland said as he threw his leg over the saddle of his stallion.

The last of the guards heaved the huge fortress doors open and climbed onto their horses. The drums were growing louder and under the sound of the horns, Roland could hear the thunder of cavalry charging across the plains. Fires burned on the other side of the valley in what had once been Fort Sigurd, black smoke drifted into the late afternoon sky in thick clouds.

Roland put his heels into his mount, urging the horse forward at a trot. His guards followed him out of the fortress gates, carbines cradled in their arms and eyes scanning the western horizon for signs of enemy riders. A handful of the guards galloped forward, leading the rest of the column around the trenches and obstructions set up to slow the advancing infantry.

The riders moved in silence, weaving their way through the craters, breastworks, and barriers. While the bodies from battles past had long been removed, and scavengers had picked over the fields, abandoned equipment still lay in the trenches and craters. The horses pushed tin cups and coffee pots, empty haversacks, and bedrolls further into the muddy earth.

A horn sounded to the west. “Riders!”

A patrol rounded the corner of Fort William, riding hard. In the waning afternoon light, Roland could see the king’s flag at the head of the party. There were only a handful of riders, less than half as many guards as surrounded Roland. The urge to turn and fight was strong, but these would only be the first. More cavalry would be behind them and getting caught out in the open would be disastrous.

“Ride on!” Roland ordered as he urged his mount faster.

The pursuers struggled with the defensive emplacements, but they pushed their horses harder to catch Roland and his men. The crackle of carbine fire echoed in the distance, but they were too far out of range for the shorter barrels to be effective. Roland and his men pushed forward, through the last of the trenches and earthworks and into the open ground that surrounded Agilard City.

The city’s guns opened fire. The fifteen pounds guns were small compared to the garrison guns of Fort William, but their explosive rounds would be more than enough to fend off the small patrol of riders.

“They’re still coming!” someone shouted. “They’ve cleared the trenches!”

Roland looked over his shoulder. There was no sign of additional riders sweeping in from behind the fort. “Turn and fight!” he ordered as he reined up and wheeled his horse around to face the patrol. The guards around him turned.

Roland brought the carbine in his lap to his shoulder and looked down the barrel. He sighted up the lead rider, the man carrying the king’s flag. Roland pulled back his carbine’s hammer and waited. The man rose and fell with each stride of the charger beneath him; Roland followed the movement. The riders around him fired; horses collapsed as bullets pierced their flanks or cut through their legs, and Ansgari riders slid out of their saddles with gaping holes in their chests. Roland’s target still rode forward, flag raised high, shouting at his fellow riders.

Roland squeezed his carbine’s trigger, the hammer fell on the pin, and the gun jumped as flame spouted from the end of the barrel. The flag-bearer dropped the king’s flag and clutched at his chest as he slumped in his saddle.

Another volley went out from Roland’s guards; more Ansgari riders fell. The survivors wheeled around and rode hard back toward Fort William.

“Back to the city!” Roland shouted.

The gates, wide and thick oak banded with steel, swung inward as the riders approached. Soldiers lined the walls, rifles at the ready; more waited inside. The gates groaned as they closed behind Roland and his men.

The city was overcrowded with refugees and soldiers. Tent cities had gone up in the market squares; men and women and children huddled together in canvas homes hoping to survive another day on the scraps of food they begged or stole. The stench was horrible. As Roland led his horse toward Hellhound Castle, hordes of refugees pressed against the flanks of his horse and grabbed at the reins.

“Shelter, milord!” a man yelled.

“Food, my lord, for my children!” a woman screamed.

“Back you rabble!” One of Roland’s guards shouted, pushing his horse between his prince and the pressing crowds.

The guards moved forward to form a shield around Roland and his mount, protecting him as they moved through the center of Agilard City. The low half-wall that separated the outer city from the merchant’s district was guarded by another string of guards. The gates were open, but the crowds were held at bay by stern looking sergeants in the black and red uniforms of the Agilard Duchy.

“Apologies, Sir,” Aren Falk said after they had passed through the gates and into the merchant district. “The crowds have become difficult to manage.”

Roland glanced over his shoulder at the crowds still gathered outside of the gate. “How many refugees have we taken in?” he asked.

“At last count, two hundred thousand,” Aren reported. “And that’s the ones that declared themselves. There are many that came in earlier, as merchants or travelers, and decided that leaving wasn’t in their best interest. Your father’s bread program is helping, but there just isn’t enough food to go around.”

“They should have left the city before the siege,” Roland mused as they rode past a particularly large villa. A handful of mercenaries stood watch along the small fence surrounding the complex. “At least outside of the city they wouldn’t have to deal with those conditions.”

“They were warned, my lord,” Aren said. “A few left, but not enough to improve things.”

“Perhaps they will come to some use if the walls are breached.” Roland led his guards past a series of warehouses and into the shadow of Hellhound Keep. The structure loomed large in the faltering evening light; torches burned along the outer wall and in the towers. “Put a gun in their hands and they’ll be dangerous, at least until they need to reload.”

“A good plan, my lord.”

Magnus Jarmann was waiting inside the steel gates, his closest advisors clustered around him. “I’m glad to see that you made it back safely,” he said.

“We spiked all of the garrison guns,” Roland said as he swung down out of his saddle. “There was some trouble as we rode back, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“The guards passed word,” Magnus said. He walked with a slight limp and he seemed to have aged by decades in less than half a year. His eyes carried the disappointment that only he could understand. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

Magnus led Roland and his other advisors into Hellhound Castle. Even the castle had become crowded. The lesser lords of the Agilard Duchy had retreated within the castle; most had brought their families and servants. The guest rooms were past full and the servant quarters had spilled out into the storerooms and passageways of the lower castle. Magnus picked his way through the crowded floors and led the others to the main council chamber.

Alger Greenbow was already seated at his customary place. His right arm was wrapped in bandages and hung in a sling. He had been in command of Fort Sigurd before it too had been abandoned. His face was grim, his eyes fixed on his clasped hands.

“I saw Fort Sigurd burning,” Roland said as he took his seat.

“Explosive round hit one of the powder magazines,” Alger said, not looking up from the table. “Set half of the fort on fire.”

“Were you able to spike the guns?”

“Those that weren’t blown up by the magazine,” the elder noble said with a small nod.

“All of our forts, save those in the harbor, have been abandoned. Nearly all of the garrison cannons have been spiked,” Magnus said. “Fort Rotham’s magazines were left half full; we couldn’t get the wagons past their field guns.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Roland said. “With the rail lines destroyed, they’ll be having trouble bringing in powder and shot.”

“We’ll just have to make due with the hand that we’re dealt,” Magnus said. “I want the field guns positioned to counter any attacks from the west. We know that Eadric was among the camps in the Gerich, he’ll be attacking from there.”

“Our field guns aren’t going to do much against their heavy cannons, Your Grace,” Alger said. “They’ll either dig out more trenches or use the ruins of our fortresses for cover. Fort Sigurd is well within range of their fifteen pound guns.”

“We’ll have to take that risk,” Magnus said. “We will not surrender this city without a fight, Gentlemen.”

Chapter 28 - Magnus

Magnus and Roland stood on the bulwarks of Hellhound Castle and looked out over what had been Agilard City. The walls, built centuries before gunpowder, had held up poorly against the heavy field artillery that Eadric had brought. The walls were crumbling, the outer parts of the city had been abandoned by the masses, and fires raged along the edge, near the walls.