The Starfall Knight (25 page)

The rangers broke from the column and advanced on the town, silent shadows flitting through the grass and fields.  An owl hooted and the soldiers followed.  Captain Rayce’s company shuffled further down the road, following an eastern trail.  As Sturgar’s soldiers headed south, Marzell gestured and her company moved forward.

Devan found himself marching next to Marzell and a squad of swordsmen.  The soldiers bore round shields on their left arms with longswords hanging from a belt.  Their red tabards were ink-black in the night and their chainmail jostled with every step.  As captain, Marzell bore field-plate armour –a breastplate, pauldrons and gauntlets with chainmail that protected the gaps.  Along with her steel leggings and high boots, the field plate was lighter than a full suit of armour and where it would not provide the protection of steel, Marzell would have the agility to block or dodge.

The rangers marked the safe route with strips of cloth tied to branches and fenceposts.  As they drew close to the town, the gaps in the palisade became apparent.  Devan’s nape tingled, the sight reminding him of Verovel’s defenses.  The soldiers approached, only a bow-shot away from the walls.

“Stop!”  The voice echoed through the darkness.  “Go no further!”

Marzell raised a fist and the soldiers scattered to either side of the road.  Devan sidled next to a fence-post, joining Marzell and a group of archers despite the little protection it would afford.  A lamp sprang into illumination at the top of the palisade, over the gates.  Several figures appeared, all wearing familiar chainmail and swords on their belts.

“I am Leonus.  You will withdraw your forces immediately.”

“That is unacceptable,” Marzell answered.  “We are better armed and better equipped than you.”

“And we outnumber you four to one.”

“It didn’t help your sentries at the way-station.”

“No matter,” Leonus said.  “You will leave this place.”

“We offer mercy to those who surrender.  They will be allowed to return to Sirinis unharmed.”

Chuckles rose from the palisade.  “Do you take us for cowards?”  A rustle of clothing and a new figure emerged – a woman.  “State your name.”

“Arel.”  The woman’s voice trembled.

“And?”

“And I’m the wife of the miller.  I have three sons and four daughters.”

“Have you been treated well?”

“Y-Y-yes.”

Leonus shoved Arel and his men took her away.  “We have the townspeople in our grasp, Centaran.  Sound your retreat immediately or they die, one every half-bell.  Starting with Arel.”

The soldiers remained silent, their discipline reminding Devan of the training that differed from the rangers.  Marzell glared at Leonus and his accompanying silhouettes on the palisade.  Devan ventured, “Captain?”

Marzell glanced at Devan and shook her head.  “We’ll find a way.”  Out loud, she said, “We are retreating, Leonus.”

Her company formed up on the road and began the withdrawal.  To the south, Captain Rayce had ordered the same.  Marzell touched Devan on the shoulder and said, “Let’s go, ranger.”

Devan followed the soldiers down the road.  As they marched, Marzell said, “They did not sound the alarm when Benton and Marsa struck our paths.”

“They’re still up there?”

“Yes,” Marzell said.  “We’ll soon see what’s what.”

A slim figure sprinted across the fields.  “Captain?”

“Yes?”

The runner hurdled the fence and Devan smiled as he recognised Rika.

“Captain.  Devan.”  Rika shot him a quick smile.  “One of Erlend’s scouted the southern edge of the aerock.  Sirinis has not only grappled onto Masteney but they are stealing andonite.”

“How?”

“They must’ve stolen a conduit.”

Devan said, “We’ve a friend in the mines, Captain.  From what I’ve been told, the andonite piping would allow a flow between aerocks, even if crudely installed – but only to the weak side.”

“I’ve seen no reports of Masteney failing any time soon,” Marzell said.

“It must be Sirinis, then.”  Devan jerked his chin back at the town.  “They’re stalling.  Once they have drained enough andonite from Masteney, they will have nothing to lose.”

“They should’ve cut off Masteney and taken it, town and all.”  Marzell punched a fist into her opposite palm.  “Sergeant Akara!”

A slim halberdier trotted from the woodlands and snapped a salute.  “Captain!”

“Take a squad and escort Ranger Devan to the south,” Marzell said.  “See that he reaches his destination.”

“Yes, Captain!”  Akara returned to the forest to gather his soldiers.

Marzell asked Rika, “Who’s your captain?”

“Benton.”

“Are you still maintaining position near the town?”

“Yes, captain.”

“Good.  Tell Benton to stay put.  The Sirinese are stealing andonite.  Rayce and I will circle around and attempt a strike from the foothills.  Before the sun rises.”

“Yes, captain.”  Rika turned on her heel and disappeared into the wheat field.

Akara returned, a group of six soldiers in tow – two swordsmen, two halberdiers and two archers.  “Ranger?  We’re ready.”

Devan nodded.  He said to Marzell, “Thank you, captain.”

“Good luck, ranger.”  Marzell shook Devan’s hand, her metal gauntlets scraping against his leather.  “For what it’s worth, I think Marshal Romaine has chosen well.”

Devan smiled his farewell.  He followed Akara’s squad into the forest.

The team stamped through the woodlands of southern Masteney, following a trail of broken bushes, crushed grass and deep ruts in the mud.  For most of the aerocks, there was little else other than the central towns so no roads led to the outside edges.  Devan surmised that they were on the path blazed by the Sirinese in their assault.

The trees thinned and the dark silhouette of Sirinis loomed across the night sky.  Akara motioned for caution and the squad slowed their march and picked their way through the vegetation.  They weren’t quite as silent as a novice ranger, Devan thought, but it was whole sight better than their previous reckless speed.

“I see they’ve learned something,” Akara said, gesturing to the gap.  Rope ladders of multiple heights spanned the gap between Sirinis and Masteney.  With additional planks and scaffolding, the Sirinese had formed a sturdy bridge – if their cables held.  “Do you see any guards, Devan?”

“No, but I must be wrong.”

“Why?”

“No one would leave a crossing unguarded.”

Akara shrugged.  “The Sirinese are lawless animals.  They’re not rational.  Why would they guard this area that’s so close to their home?”

“You have a point, sergeant,” Devan said.  “Let’s wait a few minutes and see, shall we?”

“As you wish.”  Akara motioned to the squad and they hunkered down in a line, all eyes on the bridge.

The wind stirred the leaves and branches creaked overhead.  Devan watched the bridge as it swayed between the aerocks like a cradle.  He had often daydreamed of the moment that he stepped onto Sirinis and every time, he had a sword in either hand and the blades dripped with blood of the slain.  Yet, now as he contemplated living out his fantasies, he knew that he could not seek wanton revenge.  At least, not yet.

A faint bell tolled in the distance, to the north.  Masteney.

Shadows peeled away from the bridge.  The Sirinese guards got to their feet and gathered their gear.  Within moments, they set off for the town.

Akara nodded at Devan.  “Well picked, ranger.”  He motioned to the squad and they advanced.

“Servius, they’ve retreated to the forest.”  Leonus hopped the last couple steps from the palisade onto the ground.

Alessa replied, “How do you know?  Can you see in the dark?”

“I can see their shadows.  They’re no longer in the fields.”

“Your eyes are blinded by the lamp,” Alessa said.  She turned to the thrashers gathered at the gate.  “Pelio.”

“Yes, Servius?”  The thrasher had always been a friend to Leonus but ambition had now drawn his loyalty from his friendship.

“Get on the wall and walk thirty paces to the north, away from the lights.  I want a report on these Centarans.”

“Yes, Servius!”  Pelio leaped up the stairs, his boots thudding on the timber.

Alessa pointed at Leonus.  “Bring Nasius and Dene, now.”

Leonus bowed and jogged towards the cottages in the northern sector where the Serpens and Ceres had taken up residence.

With the majority of the townsfolk imprisoned in a barn at the edge of the town, the Sirinese had taken over the rest of the buildings.  The stables served as a whorehouse where no payment was required.  The tavern and inn had run out of food and drink within minutes but some thrashers hadn’t ceased their carousing until a few hours ago.

At night, only patrolling guards populated the main road and the palisade while the rest of the force slept – by command of Alessa.  She knew she could not mould the Sirinese into a cohesive fighting force with such little time but at least they would face their next battle fresh, rather than drunk, as most raids were executed.

Alessa, flanked by Grunos and a handful of thrashers, headed towards the town hall.  The central structure was a modest affair that barely rose above the height of the protective walls.  The wooden tower housed a bell that had last pealed during the Sirinese victory.

A shout drifted through the air, ephemeral like the shadows that lined the road.  Alessa halted and listened.

“Servius?”

“Quiet.”  Another shout, the crash of wood and metal.  “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” Grunos said.  “A brawl, no matter.”

Smoke rose to the west, lit by flames from beneath.  “No,” Alessa said, “not just a brawl.  Go to the tavern and gather some men.  Cut free the prisoners from the stables.”

“Let them loose, Servius?  Moons above, everyone will riot.”

“No.  Bring them here.”

The thrasher howled.  Perhaps he had scared previous victims into submission with his breath.  Devan ran him through and kicked him off his sword.  More Sirinese clambered over the bridge, buoyed by bloodlust and the promise of loot – if they could kill off Akara, Devan and the squad.

The two halberdiers and two swordsmen kept the Sirinese at bay.  The archers huddled next to a fir, a short distance away but with a clear line of sight into the bridge.  One of the soldiers carried a wound to his flank but continued fighting.  Without him, they could not cover the width of the rope bridge.

“Devan!” Akara called out.  “You must find another way.”  The sergeant cut down another thrasher, slicing open chest skin and muscle.  All of the soldiers were covered in blood and gore.  Few of the Sirinese wore armour and those that did may as well have worn nothing.

“There is no other way,” Devan replied.  He darted between the halberdiers and stabbed another thrasher.  “I brought no rope.”

“We cannot hold for much longer.”

Devan did not reply.  He pushed between the Centaran soldiers and clambered onto the bridge, one hand steadying himself against a length of timber.  He pushed away the thought of the endless nothingness below.  If the night hid the sky, then Devan could tell himself that there was solid ground just underneath.

A thrasher hurled himself forward and Devan blocked a club, the shivers running through his arms.  No, it had been a mace constructed entirely of metal.

The thrasher swung again and Devan pivoted around and planted his sword into the thrasher’s leg.  A halberdier slammed the point of his weapon into the enemy and the body tumbled off the side of the bridge into silence.

Another swarm of Sirinese appeared and started to cross.  To Akara’s squad, Devan said, “Move back!”

He chopped at the rope, severing one of the cords.  The planks twisted with the weight shifting around the Sirinese.

“Devan, no!”

“It’s the only way, sergeant.”  Devan chopped at another cord.  “Order your men to cut the bridge.”

“By Tyn, you’re as insane as them,” Akara said.  He shook his head and called out, “Bring it down!”

The soldiers retreated onto solid ground and began hacking at the ropes.  At the other end, a voice screamed, “Do not allow the Centaran across!”

Devan whipped around.  The Sirinese sawed at the ropes from their end.  Not for the first time, Devan thanked the moons for the shoddy weapons of the Sirinese.  But it would not be healthy to be caught between the aerocks.  Devan dared not look down lest he lose his courage.

With his sword in one hand, he scrambled to the next rung.  Arrows hissed in the air and the Sirinese swore.  A cable whipped past Devan, and then another in the opposite direction.  He halted, realising that Akara may well have been right.  A plank swung loose and dangled underneath the bridge.

Devan swallowed his fear but it bloomed again as he reached for the next rung.  The Sirinese jeered at him and another rope slithered away.  Arrows thudded into bodies and the Sirinese scrambled for cover but the thump of metal against rope did not cease.

Moons above, he was going to die.

The bridge split down the centre as the rope ladders collapsed from the supporting cords and beams.  Devan sheathed his sword, half slicing his leather gauntlet in the process, and grabbed onto the nearest rope as everything tumbled down.

“Devan!”

He shut his eyes and held onto the line as he fell.  Devan’s bowels clenched and his knees tingled.

The rope caught and Devan’s arms jolted.  He crashed against Masteney’s side and the shower of loam had never felt so sweet.  Devan’s gauntlets scraped along the rope for an interminable moment.  Held.  Devan whispered a prayer to Vaere as his jerkin caught against an exposed root.

Devan looped his boot around the rope.  Other strands of cords dangled from above as the echoes of a ranged battle rang out.  His palms burned.  Devan checked his gauntlets –they had been ripped in the fall or in the battle.  Still, some leather around his fingers was better than nothing.

Devan stretched out.  The underside of Sirinis floated a couple arm-lengths away, strewn with a curtain of ropes and half a ladder.  The wind tossed around the lines but none strayed within reach.  Devan pushed against Masteney, his palm searing as the rope-burn pressed against the earth.