Chapter 20
"Nothing of worth comes without cost."
- Quendon Franklin, 12 Oprili, 1788 AC
Three platoons waited in front of the tent, most men holding large man-sized battle shields with hardened leather wrapped taught around the thick wooden hull. Aidan recalled the nervous energy that pulsed through camp the day they fire-hardened the wooden roundels as the smoke from the bellowed fire billowed like great black towers and announced their position. Watch was doubled, sharpshooters mounted in trees with elemental-loaded crossbows strung and ready. But no one came. And now they had proper shields that would hold up against abuse of battle. More than worth the risk.
"Sir Aidan and fellow members of the council," Ygretta began, bowing deeply and with a tolerable level of mock courtesy, "if it please you, I would like to present a demonstration."
Aidan nodded, forcing himself to be patient. Ygretta always clowned when she was nervous - it was how she overcame her fears. But Aidan was beginning to feel the pressure of their situation more acutely than before. When he envisioned the battle that lay before them, it ended only in defeat. This had better be important, Ygretta, we have little time for diversion.
"Form up!" she yelled to her platoons, who jumped to obey. One squad arranged itself in three ranks, the front having about half as many Soldiers as the two behind. Those at the front were among the burliest of their group, broad shouldered and thick chested. There were a few women among them, and they took up position locking shields just like the men, forming a convex wall of protective cover. The second rank stood close behind, their burlap-wrapped long spears and pole-axes staggered among the shields over the shoulders of the bulky people who held the front. The third rank squatted, and from their angle, none of the War Council could see whether they even held weapons at all.
The other two platoons arrayed themselves in a wide formation for an enveloping attack, a predictable but effective tactic. Even if they approached in columns, Aidan had no doubt that the Deputy's troops would rearrange themselves in similar fashion before the initial charge. Surround and destroy. They also held their large battle shields locked to present a flat, regular surface for Plaz to spread upon impact, minimizing its explosive contact.
The one defending platoon just held its position, waiting while the attackers approached slowly and gradually at first, cautious as they awaited some enemy trap. Likely more caution than our foes will display, Aidan thought, wondering why no muskets had been drawn and click-fired.
The attackers grew impetuous, and when they were within twenty strides of the besieged platoon, they steadily gathered speed for their initial charge. They were fifteen strides away. Now ten. As quickly as Aidan reckoned humanly possible, the Spearmen pulled their spears back and took two quick steps back. Musket barrels appeared between the shields now, and they clicked in mock fire.
The effect was about what Aidan expected, the few attackers who had foolishly dropped their shields in anticipation of contact dropped to the ground and rolled quickly off the field so they wouldn't' be trampled. The rest stopped as though absorbing the impact, then grew lax in their shield locking and charged as though they were each fighting alone. Then the muskets click-fired again, simulating the second shot that the heretic had enabled, unbeknownst to the enemy, who would be pretty unprepared for such a tactic. It was enough to halt the charge, and every enemy in the front rank now rolled off the battlefield so they wouldn't be trampled.
The two attacking platoons were in disarray just long enough for the defenders to prepare a counter charge. The second and third ranks of the defending platoon merged into one, a proper phalanx. The attackers formed back up right before their shields hit, but they were still picking up their own spears and drawing swords and axes while trying to avoid being jabbed by their enemy's burlap-blunted points. More of the would-be attackers fell, but a few slipped their covered weapons under or over the shields before them and claimed about five of the solo platoon.
The attackers broke, fleeing in mock panic, and the front rank dropped their shields to reveal that they were carrying loaded muskets which they now click-fired twice. Of the two platoons of twenty-five Soldiers each who originally took the field to attack, only about seven Soldiers remained alive. Anyone not serving as sentry had gathered to watch the scuffle, and they now cheered the winning platoon, who dropped their shields and waved magnanimously as though they were conquering heroes in a parade.
"Impressive!" Aidan yelled, walking to Ygretta, giving her a warm embrace, and doing his best not to chuckle at the catcalls of the bawdy Soldiers. He kept an arm around her as he addressed the troops. "You would all do well to listen to Lady Ygretta. The fight will not prove easy, but heed her commands, and we will achieve victory!"
The rest of the council gathered around, joining in the clapping and cheering and hugging Ygretta. Aidan noticed that Charlene whispered something to her as the two exchanged a hug, but he could not hear it over the cheering. He could only notice that Charlene looked like she might start crying with happiness.
The council, Ygretta included, re-entered the tent, still congratulating her on the discipline she had clearly instilled in the troops. Marke couldn't stop saying that it was the most remarkable thing he'd ever seen and how Ygretta clearly had a head for command. Aidan gave a few moments for everyone to be happy before taking up the task of asking the difficult questions once again.
"It was an impressive demonstration, Ygretta, make no mistake." Aidan felt the smile melt from his face into a stern marshal's mask. "But what happens when the enemy regroups and holds rank on the second volley?"
The laughter faded quickly as though he had shut it into a box. The others glared at him with disapproval, wanting to enjoy the prospect of victory a little longer before reality disagreed. Ygretta, however, began discussing it without any hint of disappointment.
"I've taught them proper commands and drilled their Sergeants," she said, her mouth still curling at the edges in a subtle proud smile. "The demonstration was an example, not a model. Things change in the field, so I am told."
Her voice had a hard edge that Aidan had never heard before. She had been enjoying her time among the outlaws, as far as he could tell. It was a grand adventure, at first. But it will soon come to an end.
"Now that we have a better idea of troop capabilities," Charlene said, "perhaps we can better plan our defense?"
Aidan nodded, and Rodrig went back to work, arranging the Kahess pieces, moving and counter-moving, calculating casualties and trying to account for accidents and unexpected flanks. They had run at least fifty different scenarios before Connel offered to fetch whatever scraps the cook had left for their dinner. They had been so engrossed in planning that it had grown dark without their realizing it.
The next day, Aidan made plans to meet with the council after lunch, allowing them the morning to do as they liked. Too much planning could lead to worry just as easily as too little. His dreams had reminded him of this: He was in the Urral Valley once again, surrounded by corpses and an AutoPlaz rifle in his hands. Even as a field Lieutenant, it was clear the commanders of that fort were overplanning. The Federated Army didn't suffer from the same hesitations and second-guessing that exposed his own forces so badly that his platoon was killed nearly to the man. Aidan himself had only escaped because of yet another uncertain sortie that required the presence of the Anarchists.
He woke three times in the night from that dream. It was shrouded in darkness, the rancid scent of burnt flesh and the cries of men who wished themselves dead. What could he do but return? He needed rest, nightmares or no nightmares.
The closer they inched toward the battle, the darker his dreams became. Worse, the dreams were starting to affect his patience with those around him. He didn't want to imagine what shape his dreams would take the night before they actually started marching toward Barrowdown.
After a brief visit to the heretic, he went straight to the stables and retrieved his horse. All
around him, Redtails busied themselves with preparations. The shouts of men training with Ygretta in the distance mingled with the tink-tink of the smithy and the chirps and squawks of sparrows and hawks. Aidan closed his eyes, absorbing the sounds and trying to rid his mind of the dark thoughts that had followed him unbidden from the world of dreams. The sound of humans and the sound of nature merged in perfect harmony; it was as though the forest was united in its purpose, and its purpose was to restore Aidan's fortunes. Good day for a quest.
Midnight ran fast and eager, huffing and frothing through the forest as he sped Aidan toward his objective. The poor horse had been tied up for three days as Aidan and the others planned and worked, and he apologized to the animal chivalrously as he pushed him faster and faster through the woods. Finally they came to an area where yearling trees, already bigger than he remembered them last, were growing in a circle around a single hay-wrapped maple.
"Hello, Nadya," Aidan said after dismounting and walking to the central tree marking his former Steward's grave. "I have come to ask a favor."
He drew his hip dagger and unwrapped the tree, careful not to yank and tug when the hay insulation snagged on one of its branches. Trees grew fast on Caledonia. Something in the soil inspired them, or so the heretic told him as he searched for the item Aidan requested. Already, the yearling tree sported several thick branches, three of them large enough for his purposes. He gingerly severed one from the tree, sawing his dagger back and forth with reverent patience. He set the branch aside and smeared the stump he created with the tincture Windhill had given him. Should work, but you never know, the man had said. To Aidan, it was worth the risk.
He wrapped up the branch in a small blanket he had permanently packed into a saddle pouch, as though it might get cold if he simply carried it bare. It was a hearty stick, thick as his wrist and heavier than it looked. It would more than suffice.
He returned to their camp atop the flat hill as Ygretta was leading her second group of the morning through their warm-ups, Marke was having a heated discussion with the cook, and Charlene was laughing as she loosed arrows against a round painted hay target with a few of the other bandits and some Deumar-liveried Soldiers. Rodrig was likely checking his sentries on the perimeter, giving them coffee or dried meat snacks as needed.
"Kluny smith," he said, unwrapping the branch he'd procured from Nadya's tree. "I have need of your services."
"Lovely cut of maple," Kluny said, taking the thick branch and bouncing it in his calloused hand a few times. "Sturdy, too."
Aidan thumped his mace on the workbench erected near the wheel-mounted furnace kiln. "Is it sufficient to make a new hilt?"
"Plenty of material." He spat as he turned the wood over in his hand, running his fingers along its grain as though it were some mysterious artifact. "Take maybe a few days to cure the wood."
"Take a week, there's no rush." Aidan felt a tinge of reluctance to leave such a holy relic in the hands of this common steel worker, but he knew Kluny could be relied upon to deliver professional craftsmanship he wouldn't have expected based on his disheveled appearance. I don't care if he wears a dress and called himself Sally, the man knows his trade.
Kluny nodded, and Aidan stalked back to his tent. He had been reading his father these days, believing it would help him to reflect his pragmatism and simple wisdom. He lunched with a group who were sharing stories of times they'd almost gotten caught by lawmen. One had to break out of the jail in Twigton, which Aidan remembered was in the Duchy of Ohio, immediately to the west of their own region.
"They expanded the jail, but skimped on the new foundation, see?" He said, dunking his spoon into his soup and pulling it out full of potatoes and carrots. He had a kind of nervous tic that made his left eye constantly wink, but insisted it made him a better shot. "Stones under the walls and bars, but the floor was just dirt, see?"
"How'd you escape, Goph?" The man who asked, Aidan was reasonably certain, was Niall Groeden, one of the few white-skinned Saukasi in their group besides Connel and perhaps a dozen others. He had a thick, badly healed scar that almost framed his jaw, as though someone had once tried unsuccessfully to cut his throat.
"My Da tended peaches, see? I knows about digging, I do. Don't need no shovel to get a good-sized hole going; hands are quieter anyway. Most places don't bother mortaring foundation stones, and this place was no exception. I dug around one of the stones until I could pull it right out. Then I dug through to the other side and was three hours gone by sunrise." He took a drink of what smelled to Aidan like tea. "That's why they call me Gopher, see? Gyermol the Gopher!"
They all laughed at the story, including Aidan. His smile faded as it occurred to him that Gyermol the Gopher may have been locked up for rape or murder or both. He forced a chuckle anyway because part of being a commander was laughing at your Soldiers' stories.
"Sir Aidan?" A lad with red-brown-burgundy skin and wispy black hair said sheepishly. "Have you ever escaped from ... somewhere?"
"Not jail, if that's what you're asking." Aidan did his best to use a jocular, easy tone, but the chuckles from around the circle sounded forced and nervous. "But I did once jump out of a window."
He told them the story of his homecoming, which felt to him like years ago though it had only been four months. What should have been a welcome turned quickly into a betrayal. He spared no detail, even telling them how Lord Meadows actually shot him in the face with a Plaz pistol as his eyes were adjusting to the vision provided by his helm. They listened intently, and by the end they had even stopped eating.
"Godsdamn," Gyermol said, an impressed-sounding whistle escaping his teeth. "That's a hell of a thing."
"Indeed," Aidan said. "The magic from the War in the Heavens healed my body, but it hurt like nothing I've ever felt. Thought I was dying, truth be told."
They all nodded, and a few looked at him with something like religious awe. He smiled and took another bite of soup, trying to think of what he could say to restore the entertaining atmosphere that he knew his too-serious tale had destroyed. What would Charlene say? "Not something I'm eager to try again, I can tell you that. Still, nothing was quite as painful as the smell from that night we all slept in the command tent. It's a good thing that it doesn't have windows to jump from, eh?"
"If it had windows," the burgundy lad said again, "we could have at least opened them."
"Then broken fast with the remains of all the animals that died from the smell!" Gyermol chimed, restoring the fun atmosphere at last.
Aidan's heart was filled with gladness. Let them enjoy the moment. Won't be too long until some never have moments like this again. He thought of the bodies they'd planted in the graves encircling Nadya's tree, of Nadya's own face when they placed her in the ground. Humankind's true destiny.
The next few days, Ygretta handed her classes over to skilled students, many of whom were division and platoon leaders, so that she could attend the strategy sessions. The council looked at different scenarios, debated about the proper use of various weapons and the relevant advantages and weaknesses. One thing they all agreed on was initiative.
"It would be best to defend one of these positions," Rodrig said, pointing at a few treetopped hills on the map with his short sword. "And we would do well to keep our people from charging."
"That won't be a problem," Ygretta said proudly. "I have taken extra care that each one knows their job, and have been drilling them on orders."
"Still," Aidan said, remembering a time when he was as convinced that his own Soldiers were as disciplined, "they'll take their cues from us, so let's take care to listen to one another in the field."
The third day after Aidan had given his mace over to the blacksmith to have its handle remade, there were two long blasts from the perimeter sentries. Friends. It was the Shrikes, who apparently had grown desperate of waiting for summons and were low on supplies.
"Sorry for the inconvenience, My Lord," Sir Gary said, wiggling his mustache as he sniffed. "I
t was either drag our raggedy asses over here now or wait for your messenger to find our corpses in a few weeks."
"It's good to see you, Sir Gary." Aidan was hopeful that they had brought some of their entertainment with them. "Did your minstrel survive the ambush?"
"He left us long before. Travels a circuit in the winter, when he's less likely to be set upon by folk like us. Some Lords pay him good coin, too."
"Shame," Aidan shrugged, letting himself feel just a little disappointed. "We would be glad of the diversion."
"I imagine that's so. Still, all's not lost! My men are good hunters, and I intend us to pull our weight. We earn our keep, you'll see."
"I'm sure you will." Aidan told him of their plan, at least the broad strokes. "If you like, you can join the council when we next assemble. I am eager to hear your ideas."
"Would that I were as eager to share them. Never had a mind for strategy. More of a Soldier than a commander."
"Then why do you lead the Shrikes?"
He shrugged, rubbed his nose with a finger. "Someone's gotta do it."