CHAPTER 11
The dim light of false dawn revealed scores of war luses tethered in the courtyard, their hard split toes wrapped with padded leather. Knights, swords silenced with strips of blankets around the scabbards, gathered in two groups. The infantry silently stood by the barracks, awaiting word to move out. Balthus insisted on absolute silence and men had worked all night to pad the chains that would lower the drawbridge.
“If this plan is to work we must have complete surprise,” said Balthus for the hundredth time. He and Adrianna rode through the courtyard with the group captains. “Let’s go over our parts once more.” The group groaned but Balthus ignored them and addressed the knights’ captain. “Justin. Your part?”
Justin didn’t grimace too much. “My knights will charge the forward lines of the enemy, driving them from their entrenchment. We will not advance into the general camp and will hold for the infantry.”
“Good. Arthuro?”
“My infantry will rush the entrenchment and keep the way open for the return of Sir Estagon’s strike group.”
“Excellent. Stanzak?”
“My archers will cover all from the walls as the men fall back.”
“Sir Estagon?”
“There is no need to go over this again, Balthus,” said Estagon with a sigh. “I and my men know our part.”
“Perhaps I’ve forgotten it?” said Balthus, smiling to ease the order.
Estagon scowled, “Very well then. I and my strike force will charge directly for Baron Yorburg’s tent. It was foolish of him to place it so close to the front line. He will pay the price for insulting us with this siege!”
“Remember, Estagon, we want him alive,” said Balthus.
“Alive, humph!” spat Estagon. “Hanging is too good for the cur.”
“Yes, but dead men don’t pay reparations very well, and Lotho can use the coin.”
“As you say,” said Estagon, bowing. “I assume you and the Lady Adrianna will be riding with my strike group?”
“Oh yes, we wouldn’t miss it. If Yorburg can be taken, his mercenaries will disappear like fog on a bright summer morning.” Balthus rose in his stirrups and scanned the men one more time. “All looks in readiness. Let’s go to work.”
The officers nodded and returned to their men.
Balthus leaned toward Adrianna. “Well, let’s see if my luck still holds.”
“It is a good plan, Balthus,” said Adrianna. “If this works, this war will be over today.”
Balthus signaled the gate keepers. The portcullis rose and the drawbridge descended. The drawbridge thumped when it hit the ground and Balthus bit his lip.
His plan was simple. With the Baron’s tent so close to the castle, a quick sortie and the capture of the Baron would put an end to this madness. Lotho also thought it was worth the try and approved the attempt. Sir Estagon, of course, had told him it was underhanded.
The knights moved out and formed up past the drawbridge. The jingle of armor and bridles made more noise than Balthus wanted, yet the enemy raised no alarm.
Estagon pointed to the Baron’s tent and rose up in his saddle. “Charge, men!” he yelled. “For our honor!” He galloped off, the strike force following close behind.
“Fool!” yelled Balthus, drawing his sword and galloping hard after Estagon.
The first thing to die in battle is the plan, and it just fell over stone dead. Balthus knew they could have gotten more men out before the alarm sounded but there was nothing more to do now than ride hard and hope nothing else went wrong.
Alarm shot through the enemy camp like an arrow. The mercenaries were up, pulling on armor or stabbing at the strike force as they rode past. Balthus knocked aside a spear thrust and with the back slash, sliced into his attacker’s face.
After several more small encounters, he neared the Baron’s tent. He looked back to see Adrianna close behind. They would cut their way into the Baron’s tent, one from each side, while Estagon entered from the front. This way they could cut off the Baron’s retreat and make sure Estagon didn’t do anything too stupid.
Balthus pulled up alongside the tent and leaped from his luse. Slashing a large rent down the canvas, he leaped inside. Adrianna rushed through the other side at the same moment. Balthus nodded. They were a good team, thinking and acting as one.
The Baron was alone, awake and striding toward the tent’s entrance.
Estagon leaped through the front flaps and struck a pose like a heroic statue. Pointing his sword at the Baron, he said, “Vile cur, you have broken nobility’s rules and I, Sir Estagon, am here to give you the abasement you deserve!”
Gods, thought Balthus, moving closer to the Baron from behind, he’s giving him a speech!
The Baron halted a dozen feet from Estagon and raised his hand, palm outward. A lance of brilliant red light blazed from his open hand, burning a finger-sized hole in Estagon’s chest, right through his plate armor. Estagon, a look of amazement on his face, crumpled in a heap.
Shock caused Balthus to hesitate only a split second before rushing the Baron. He brought his sword down in a mighty, whistling arc that ended at the Baron’s neck. The sword clanged as if Balthus had hit a bell, numbing his arms. The Baron fell sideways, the force of the blow knocking him to one knee. A large cut appeared on his neck but no blood welled forth. He rose and turned to face Balthus. Stunned, Balthus stared at his sword as the Baron raised his arm.
“Balthus, run!” yelled Adrianna. With a quick slash, her sword shattered the tent’s center pole. As the tent collapsed, Balthus snapped to awareness and fell to the floor, a blast of red light appearing where he had been standing. He rolled away from the Baron as the tent settled down on them.
“Balthus, get out!” screamed Adrianna. Balthus rolled in a different direction and ripped a hole in the tent. He escaped through the rent and Adrianna was at his side. “We’ve got to run for it now!” she yelled.
Balthus backed away from the thrashing thing under the tent. “Yes,” he said numbly.
Adrianna grabbed Balthus by the collar. “Move!” she yelled into his ear. Balthus shook his head to clear his brain and they ran from the Baron’s tent. In the confusion, no one attacked them, believing they were other mercenaries. Balthus grabbed the bridle of a fallen knight’s luse and leaped into the saddle. He held out an arm and Adrianna was up behind him in an instant. Looking across the field, dawn’s full light revealed that Estagon’s strike force hadn’t halted as planned but had ridden forward into the main encampment. The mercenaries were up in arms, pulling the knights down one by one.
“Damn,” said Balthus. “Nothing to do now but save as many as we can.” He spurred the luse and rode toward the castle. “Back!” he yelled. “Back to the castle! Retreat, men! Retreat!” Riding along the infantry’s front line, he continued his shout.
Balthus reined in at the drawbridge and Adrianna slid off his luse. “Organize the defense of the walls in case they counter-attack.”
“Leave it to me,” she said, as Balthus turned his mount.
He started back, then pulled up. “– And Love? Don’t let them raise the drawbridge until I get back inside, all right?”
“Count on it!” She waved her sword and ran across the drawbridge.
The hammer-and-anvil din of sword against shield lessened as Lotho’s men retreated. The mercenary knights were now mounted and mustering for a charge. Balthus gauged the retreat. He needed to buy more time or the infantry would be ridden down. He rode out past the entrenchment and grabbed a shield suspended from a spear near a tent. When he was close enough to be of notice, he held up his sword and beat it on the shield, the universal signal for a challenge. “Who is the best knight among you?” he shouted. “Who is it?”
A single-duel challenge was something mercenaries respected. It was the way they established rank among them and was also very entertaining.
; The mercenary archers and footmen halted their attack preparations to watch the spectacle. They would always choose watching mounted knights in action over the possibility of being killed themselves. The mercenary knights milled around arguing for several minutes.
“Good,” muttered Balthus, “keep arguing… keep arguing.” After a few minutes they reached an agreement and a lone rider separated from the pack.
He was huge.
His luse was eighteen hands high at the withers, but still appeared barely big enough to carry his rider. The rider stopped two hundred feet from Balthus.
“I am Oldwick!” he roared. “I am the mightiest warrior on Ravar!”
Balthus looked back over his shoulder and saw the last of the infantry running into the castle. He nodded at his massive opponent. “I just bet you are!” he yelled. Balthus tossed down his shield, wheeled his luse and galloped full speed back toward the castle. The mercenaries were stunned for a moment, then with a cry of outrage, they gave chase.
Balthus had a good lead. Looking over his shoulder, he knew that he would easily beat the mercenaries to the castle. His smile, brought on by his own cleverness, fell when he saw the drawbridge starting to rise. He urged his luse onward but knew he wouldn’t make it in time. After rising three feet, the drawbridge suddenly clanked to a halt. “Thank you, Adrianna!” sighed Balthus. He jumped his luse onto the drawbridge and galloped into the castle. “Draw the bridge!” he yelled as he dismounted, but the gatemen were already pulling frantically on the chains. He dashed up the stairs to the wall and spotted Adrianna, bow in hand, preparing to direct the archers’ fire.
The mercenaries’ fury drove them to the moat where they hurled curses at Balthus. Adrianna readied her answer. “Fire!” she yelled. As one, the archers on the battlements released. At that range, their yard-long shafts pierced armor and saddles emptied. The mercenary’s rage held them at the moat for one more volley, then they retreated from the castle. Balthus looked for Oldwick and saw him riding away unscathed. “Damn,” he said to Adrianna, “I was hoping some of those shafts would find his hide. I think I made an enemy there.”
“I’ll put his name down on the list,” laughed Adrianna.
Balthus hugged her and lifted her in the air. “Thanks for not closing the drawbridge. I must admit my blood ran cold when I saw it rising,” he said, smiling.
“A few well-placed shafts on the capstan put some spine into the gate handlers,” she said. “But I thought your blood would still be cold from the encounter with Yorburg.”
Balthus sobered as he remembered the Baron. “Yes, let’s let Lotho know what happened.” They turned and left the battlements.