An Ending of Oaths - Chapter 21

Treweg, Barony of Stourshire, River Mark

Aldric surveyed the field where a hundred conscripts drilled with spears, their movements still unpolished after days of practice from atop the stone walls that surrounded the market town. Sitting at the point where the Horn Road and the East Road merged, becoming the South Road that went all the way through River Mark and deep into Shadowhold, it was a critical piece of land, to be sure.

It also wasn’t where he wanted to be. After taking Selwyn almost two weeks ago, Aldric had wanted to quickly march on Twyver and push Edmund’s forces back across the Thunderhorn. The taking of Treweg had been costly to his already damaged army. Worse, the crown forces had been aggressively counter-screening, whittling down his already small scouting source, leaving him mostly blind to what he was facing up north.

So he’d held here, trying to put together what forces he could. One of his biggest problems so far had been scouts, and the problem was only getting worse. The bulk of the horse ranches in the kingdom were in Kingsheart, leaving few options to replace the ones lost for new scouts. When they could get their hands on more horses, they were relying more and more on poorly trained locals to act as scouts, which meant they were losing more of them each time they sent men to see what Edmund’s forces were doing.

The only bright spot, so far, was that he’d received word from one of the barons in Shadowhold, who was sending what forces he could to join the fight, breaking with Duke Blackwood’s chosen path of neutrality. It would mean a desperate influx of fighting men, which he desperately needed, but it was a long march from the Kingshold, and as far as Aldric knew, they were still assembling.

So he held and waited, training what conscripts he could in the meantime. More to keep his men active and alert for the fight ahead than with any hopes of turning them into a real fighting force any in time.

Shouts from out beyond the training field drew Aldric’s attention. A man was running down the East road in what seemed like extreme panic. Not a scout or a messenger. From where Aldric was he’d guess a laborer of some sort, lacking armor, shouting something as he ran.

He collapsed in a heap a dozen or so feet from the soldiers who’d been training the conscripts. As the men ran to him, Aldric made his way down the stairs from the battlements and to the front gates.

Whatever was happening, it was important. The man had seemed panicked. In a frenzy. There was only one thing Aldric could think of down the East Road that would lead to that response, and it wasn’t good.

They had the man on his feet, dragging him inside to see the healers when Aldric made his way outside.

“Wait. Wait,” the man said as he saw Aldric. “Your grace … an ….”

The man was struggling to get the words out, clearly exhausted from the run, sweat having soaked clean through his tunic and made his hair as wet as if he had jumped in a river.

“NO! It’s a … a massive force and it’s heading this way. Thousands of men under the banner of the crown.”

“Damn it all,” Aldric muttered, stopping for a moment to look north, imagining what the man saw.

“Thank you, my friend. Let them take you inside, to have water and rest,” he said, squeezing the man’s shoulder gently, before turning to the sergeant who’d come with them from the training field. “Sound the horns. Get everyone behind the walls. Send riders north to bring in as many civilians as they can. They are not to stop here, we’ll be enveloped almost certainly. They are to keep moving.”

“Sir, the man with the report. He was schooled in his numbers from the Disciples. What he described is a force much larger than the one we chased from here two weeks ago, or the one that chased us out of Twyver. They have reinforced.”

“Not a surprise. Edmund can draw from Kingsheart now that the Icelanders occupy Garris. Go. Get the men moving. Every moment counts.”

As the sergeant hurried away, Aldric waved over the gate guards. “Once our people are inside, I want that gate reinforced. Double the bracing. And send for the engineers. I want them to build barricades at every major intersection. If they breach the walls, we’ll make them pay for every foot.”

The waiting proved worse than any battle. Hours crawled past as Aldric worked to get the defenses as strong as he could do. Not that he had a lot of options to get ready. Short of men, short on supplies, all he could do was pull behind the walls and hold out as long as he could.

Harvests hadn’t started yet, but they pulled in what food and livestock they could, moving them into the city should Edmund try and starve them out, not that Aldric expected that. Edmund was impatient. He would take the wall.

At least they got most of the civilians moving south, toward Selwyn. If his army fell, that city wouldn’t last long either, but it would spare them for a time. And who knows. Maybe they would survive this.

Aldric looked at the men on the walls, and the smile faded. Hardly men. As many grandfathers and young boys as men of fighting age. The odds of them holding were slim for sure.

They saw the dust cloud from the army before they ever saw it. When it came into view, Aldric knew what the farmer had meant. The force was huge, bigger than either he’d faced at Selwyn or Twyver. The only good thing about this army was that it was nearly entirely men at arms. Edmund had wasted a lot of knights so far, which were much harder to replace, needing extensive training. Calling up veterans of past campaigns and pulling bailiffs, city guards, and whatever other men that had experience with sword or spear would have been faster.

Especially in Kingsheart, which had not drained its fighting men for the war in Lynese like River Mark and Iron Keep had. It was why Aldric wanted Shadowhold to join them so badly, as they were the only remaining neutral duchy with any significant men under arms left, now that the Icelands had committed.

Either way, this was a force large enough to take the walls of the City. Of that, Aldric had no doubt. The only question was what cost they could make Edmund’s forces pay before the city fell.

They were well trained, that much was clear as the crown forces spread out before Treweg’s walls, their ranks extending well beyond the town’s perimeter. Archers came to the front, preparing to try and soften them up.

“Archers!” came the cry down the wall, as swordsmen crouched down, close to their side of the wall, hoping to avoid being hit. The few archers they had on their side of the wall prepared to return fire.

Far fewer than what the crown army had. Arrows darkened the sky as they were released, most clattered harmlessly against the walls. Not all, as some men on the wall or waiting below to join the fighting screamed as an unlucky arrow found them.

Before the crown forces could loose another volley, Aldric’s archers returned fire. Without the protection of the city walls, their forces took more hits, arrow for arrow, but with so few archers available to him, the actual numbers of men hit ended about the same.

“Keep shooting!” Aldric ordered as he moved along the wall. “Make every arrow count!”

Not that it mattered. This battle would not be decided by the arrow.

The exchange continued for several minutes, until finally their line began moving again. Through the storm of arrows, enemy soldiers rushed forward carrying ladders.

The attackers split into smaller units, rushing forward with the ladders, slamming them against the wall, iron hooks at their tops latching onto the stone, digging deep into the mortar and holding fast. Men began scrambling up as soon as the ladders were set. Many never made it to the top, caught by crossbows shot over the side, down onto their heads, turning their bodies into falling objects taking many men with them, to the hard ground below.

They had men to spare.

The defenders rushed to push the ladders off, hacking at the iron hooks with axes and swords to cut through where the metal met wood, and dislodge them. For some it worked, the ladder becoming unstuck and easily pushed off, sending it falling to the ground laden with men, injuring those not quick enough to get out of the way and killing many who’d been near the top of the ladder.

For every one they took down, however, there were two more ladders.

Men with spears stabbed down, trying to keep those near the top from climbing into the battlements, men with axes and swords stabbing those who got past the spears.

Taking a wall was difficult, bloody business and bodies rained down on their comrades below. The death, however, was not all one-sided. Arrows targeted those who leaned over to stab men on ladders. Swords took those at the top trying to defend the last moments before the climber got over the battlements.

Men died on all sides.

One climber near Aldric’s position managed to heave himself up despite a spear through his side. He swung a heavy mace, crashing it into a defender’s shield and splintering wood. A second blow sent the soldier reeling off the side of the battlement into the city below, his helmet askew.

The climber raised his mace high for another strike, but Aldric had gotten to him, his blade cutting through the man’s breastplate and torso with a single, brutal sweep. He followed it up with a kick, sending the mace wielder’s body over the side of the wall, dropping down on his friends.

“Push them back!” Aldric urged.

The men around him surged again as more hands appeared over the edge. With an easy swing, Aldric’s sword cut through the metal hooks, not even bothering to aim for the wood, the magic sword severing the connection to the wall. With a collective shout, the defenders shoved the ladder back. It toppled, taking a dozen men with it as it crashed to the ground below.

It was a short-lived victory.

More ladders rose to replace those knocked off. The Crown forces were relentless with fresh soldiers coming up to replace those who fell while Aldric’s men were tired.

Although the enemy had begun to move around to the western and eastern walls, they were still keeping the bulk of their fighting on the north wall. So far, where he was on the eastern half of the north wall, they had managed to repulse every foothold gained.

As he cut down another ladder and his men pushed it over, shouts began to ring out from the wall on the other side of the city gates. A dozen ladders were up in a small area and his men had been pushed back, opening up a foothold on the battlements with the enemy pouring into it.

“My lord!” called one of his sergeants. “They’ve breached the wall!”

“I can see that,” Aldric said, turning to a group of men on this section of the wall. “You men with me.”

He didn’t look to see if they followed as he charged over the bridge that crossed the gate and onto the other section of the wall. His men were trying hard to keep the enemy back, but they were too well armored and trained, and they were quickly starting to outnumber the men left on this section.

Worse, they had pushed up a siege tower, which was rolling to this section of the wall. The massive construct was an iron-shod monstrosity, covered in dampened hides to resist fire, its wooden frame bristling with sharp spikes to deter defenders from pulling it down. Men on its platform readied crossbows, loosing a rain of quarrels meant to clear the battlements for their approach. Aldric only just got his shield up in time to block one of the bolts.

Not everyone was as lucky. A man to his right cried out, clutching at his shoulder where a bolt had punched through mail and flesh.

“Archers!” Aldric called out, pointing at the tower. “Someone get one of the oil pots.”

It only took a moment for his men to see that was the real threat and begin shooting arrows into it, at least making the crossbowmen duck for cover, not allowing them to shoot with impunity.

The tower ground to a halt just short of the wall, and with a deep, grating creak, its bridge lowered. Crown soldiers surged across. Aldric and the men with him met them, trying to close the breach.

The first attacker fell, his head split open by Aldric’s strike. Another came at him, wielding a heavy axe, but Aldric sidestepped, his sword cutting through the weapon shaft and then the man behind it. Blood sprayed, and the soldier crumpled.

“Push them back!” Aldric roared.

Around him, the defenders fought with desperate fury. The crown forces pressed harder, using their numbers to try and break the defenders’ will. One of them, a towering man wielding a spiked maul, charged forward, his weapon smashing into a shield and crumpling it like paper. The defender behind it stumbled, gasping for air. The maul-bearer raised his weapon high, ready to strike again. Aldric lunged, driving his enchanted blade through the man’s side. The maul fell, its wielder collapsing beside it.

Even as they repelled the initial wave, the enemy kept coming. Crown soldiers, pouring across the bridge.

“Your Grace,” a man yelled behind him as two conscripts carried a large pot of very hot oil between them.

Aldric nodded and waved his men forward, “Clear a path to the tower.”

The men saw what he wanted, and a chance for them to stop this from becoming a full rout, and pushed hard, buoyed by Aldric at the vanguard, the Sword of the Whittons felling men with every stroke. Slowly, ever so slowly, they began to make headway, pushing the enemy back, some down the wall and some back into the tower.

He needed to hurry. He’d pulled too many people from the right side of the gate, weakening that section.

“Oil!” Aldric called out, striking down two more men, clearing the way to the tower.

The men carrying the pot charged forward and together heaved it into the open tower. Men who’d been coming up to join the fray screamed in pain as the boiling oil splashed out, covering them as it spilled down the inside of the tower.

“Torch!”

The outside of the tower was covered in drenched leather to protect it from fire. The inside, not as much.

Nettle-Fish Oil was sticky and burned at a high temperature, which is why it was used for heating, and why it had to be diluted with plant oil before it could be used in lamps. And why it was the preferred oil for siege defense.

A torch sailed through the opening, catching the oil on fire, which quickly spread to the men inside, who were already screaming from the heat of the boiling oil. As it caught light, they screamed, some running from the base of the tower, the oil stuck to them and burning hot, turning them into human torches of their own, catching those around them on fire as they ran through the crowded men at the bottom.

It was burning hot enough even the defenders had to take a step away from this section of the wall to avoid being scalded inside their armor. This section of the wall was safe for now.

The enemy was far from done.

From the bridge above the gates, there were more shouts of alarm. Aldric leaned over the wall, looking down toward the gate, and cursed.

“Battering rams,” he called out, pointing to the approaching threat. “Get more men to the gate. Now!”

The ram was surrounded by a cohort of soldiers carrying large shields, which they held over they been carrying the ram, protecting it from the archers. Their arrows bounced harmlessly off the overlapping shields.

There was only one solution to that.

“Oil!”

“Your Grace,” one of the defenders said. “We’re out of oil! We’ve sent for more from the western gate, but the fire has taken over a section of the wall, so they have to come across the city and back up.”

Aldric knew they wouldn’t come in time. The ram made it to the gate and began to smash into the door, over and over. It would not hold long, and once the gate went, the wall was lost.

“Get word to the sergeants. When the walls are breached, fall back to the prepared positions in the streets. No heroic last stands.”

The messenger darted away as another impact slammed into the door, shaking the gatehouse. Aldric’s men above dropped rocks and debris, but the shield wall held firm.

Another cry, this time from the western wall, where the enemy had gotten ladders over the wall, establishing a foothold. Men ran from the gatehouse to reinforce and try to close the breach. He was now split between defending the gate and containing the breach. He had too few men to do both effectively.

A second ram joined the first, alternating smashing into the gate, whose reinforced timber began to splinter.

“Your Grace, what are your orders?” A panicked soldier asked.

Aldric looked to the wall, where the enemy were gaining more of the wall, and then down at the gate. They’d failed to contain them. Once the gate went, they would be swamped. It was over.

“Get the reserves ready to..”

He was cut off by the sound of a war horn in the distance. Another answered it, then another, coming down the Horn Road. The bridge was still out, so it couldn’t be another crown army, but Aldric knew there were not enough forces for an allied force to be rallying to them.

The handful of Shadowhold men hadn’t even crossed the Kingshold the last time he heard. The enemy must have been confused because the rams stopped slamming into the gate as nearly every soldier on the field looked toward the sound of the horns, trying to figure out what was happening.

Through the smoke of the burning tower that had created a haze over the battlefield, it made it hard to see what was coming. A slight breeze came through, clearing the smoke enough to show the unfurled banner with a gold lion on black, defying Edmund’s traditional colors of a gold lion on white. It wasn’t a huge army, but it was larger than the one Aldric had at his disposal.

More importantly, it was all battle-hardened men, knights, and men-at-arms marching in crisp, even lines.

The crown forces below scrambled to reform, abandoning several of the ladders against walls as men rushed to deal with the new threat.

“Hold your positions!” he bellowed. “Back to the walls. Back to the walls.”

Officers barked orders, frantic to realign themselves, taking advantage of the confusion in the enemy ranks.

Beyond the walls, William’s knights began their charge, hitting the poorly formed enemy line like a hammer. Lances splintered through shields and armor, horses trampling those who survived the initial impact. The enemy formation shattered almost on impact, men scattering in all directions.

The horses charged back out, creating almost the same impact on another section of the line as they cleared out for another charge, so as not to get bogged down in close fighting.

Not that it saved the crown forces. William’s infantry advanced on the heels of the knights, smashing into the already shattered line. The enemy, torn between continuing the fight on the walls and defending against the new threat in their rear, had started to come apart, falling to chaos as even their leaders couldn’t figure out what to focus on.

The crown forces abandoned their rams entirely as their commander led them to the line trying to form up and stop William’s men-at-arms, while a commander for the reserve troops pulled his men out of the very same line to try and support the section of the wall they still had.

“Take back our walls!” Aldric called, leading men to that same section, which was wavering.

He ducked under a man swinging a mace that looked to be commanding, trying to keep his men formed up to defend their foothold, slashing through him easily, severing the weapon’s chain before opening the man’s throat.

Two more crown soldiers rushed him. Aldric caught the first’s sword on his shield, then ran him through. The second managed to nick Aldric’s arm before the magic sword took his head.

His men pushed hard, collapsing their foothold to just a few feet, pressing the men together into a small section of the wall, as they grew desperate, the crown forces realizing they were trapped. Some tried to surrender, dropping their weapons, while others fought with the fury of cornered animals.

Those men didn’t last long as the numbers shifted against them, falling quickly until the entire wall was back in their hands.

Similar situations were happening below. William’s cavalry had wheeled around for another charge, slamming into the crown forces again, pressing the line further and further back until it was pressed between the wall and men trying to kill them.

With the Crown forces joined by those on the wall, starting to throw down their weapons and surrendering, those who didn’t died.

Horns sounded in the remaining Crown forces, signaling retreat as the Crown commander finally came to his senses.

The Crown forces who could still flee did so, abandoning their trapped companions as they ran north up the East Road. William’s cavalry gave chase, running down many of those who ran. Some would escape, but the enemy was shattered.

***

“Sergeant, get those men there with the rest,” William called out, pointing at a group of Crown soldiers being herded down the east road back toward the city.

He had been forced to stop the chase of the remnants of the Crown army after only ten minutes, worried that he had not had time to properly scout and did not know what was in that direction. This was a significant force, but he hadn’t had any contact with Aldric since just before the treaty was signed. William hadn’t even expected to find a battle in progress when he arrived. He had landed at Cloud Bay; he had been told Aldric had pushed the Crown forces north, defeating them handily weeks before.

He didn’t want to hold in Cloud Bay to wait for a wyvern, and would have sent them to multiple cities and hoped none were in the hands of his father. Instead, he had left as soon as his men got assembled and ready, hoping his father had pushed them all the way back to the Thunderhorn.

It was a good thing he hadn’t waited, since Aldric was in serious trouble when he arrived, with Crown men on the walls and rams at the door.

Men from Aldric’s army who were helping stack bodies for burial waved as William rode back, a few cheering his name, seeming to have picked up his nickname from his own men, who were mixed with his uncles.

As he neared the city walls, his uncle appeared through the gates, stopping once or twice to talk to his men being tended to near the gates. William shook his head. He had seen this in Lynese. Too many injured and not enough places for the Disciples to tend to them, so they got treatment against walls, in alleys, and anywhere they could find a spot for the men to sit or lay down.

William reined in his horse next to the gate and swung down from the saddle. As soon as he was on the ground, Aldric rushed forward and threw his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

William hugged him back just as hard, happy to see him again.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Aldric said, stepping back. “Thought you’d still be in Lynese, managing the withdrawal.”

“I figured you were going to be in trouble, so I left that to Pembroke.” William brushed dirt from his sleeve. “Loaded every ship I could find with men and sailed straight here.”

“But how are you here? You’re smart enough to not try and land in Kingsheart, since you knew Edmund would never let you cross your forces to get back to me. And sailing around the continent should have taken months.”

“We didn’t sail around. We crossed the Straits.”

“Have you lost your mind? No fleet has attempted that crossing in decades.”

“Single ships have. I talked to those captains and we took it very slow. It still took us way longer than it should have, because we had to do it at a crawl, and even with that, we had some close calls. Besides, there wasn’t time for anything else. You and Garris were outnumbered, and most of your trained men were with me in Lynese. I knew you’d need support.”

“And the men? They followed you across those waters?”

“They’re loyal to Sidor. They’ll fight for what’s right.”

“Loyal to Sidor … or you?”

William knew what he was asking. In a war like this, being loyal to Sidor could mean a lot of things. Running into a fight midway and seeing a Sidorian town under attack was one thing, marching on Sidorian cities themselves was another.

“I’m not sure I could …”

“This isn’t a time for modesty, William. I need hard-eyed assessments.”

“Yes, they’re loyal to me. Now what’s the situation?”

“It’s dire. Garris is losing ground in Iron Keep every day thanks to the Icelanders, whose involvement has freed up all of Edmund’s men to come straight at us. We’re outnumbered.”

“What of the eastern baronies? I thought they supported you and Garris.”

“They did, until … things changed.” Aldric shook his head. “Now they’re hesitating.”

“Saving their own necks,” William spat.

“It’s not that simple.” Aldric said, placing a hand on William’s shoulder. “Even the most courageous baron must think of his people. They might risk their own lives, but they won’t risk their people’s. They can’t back open rebellion unless victory seems certain.”

“What about Shadowhold?”

“The same. And without both regions, this rebellion cannot last. Even with your men, we’re badly outnumbered.”

William looked to the ground, thinking. He knew things were bad, but this was worse than he thought. There was something else that was bothering him, something that Aldric almost addressed, and then skipped right past.

He had been thinking about it ever since news reached Lynese.

“I need to know. Did you kill Serwyn?”

Aldric made a face, as if he knew the question was coming eventually, and he had been praying it wouldn’t.

“No. Your father did that. I’m sorry, William.”

William’s mouth tightened, and he was quiet for a moment. He hated his father, hated him for as long as he could remember. And he hated his cousin. But... he hadn’t wanted him dead. The idea that his step-father could kill his own blood was shocking. He had known Aldric hadn’t done it, but that hadn’t meant he had considered his step-father’s involvement even for a second.

“William?” Aldric said when William was silent for too long.

“Why? Why would he do it?”

“Power. Control. He saw his chance to seize the throne. It gave him a chance to end the rebellion, or at least turn things back in his favor. The moment Serwyn died, many barons who had signaled support for Garris or planned to stay neutral flocked to Edmund’s banner. Some out of loyalty to the crown, others from fear of backing the wrong side.”

“I always knew how cold Father could be, but this... murdering Serwyn and framing you? It’s beyond anything I imagined him capable of.”

“As did I. I knew Edmund was ambitious, ruthless even, but this...” Aldric said, his words trailing off.

“How do we turn this around? Most of my army is still in Lynese, and it will take time to extract them without undoing everything we accomplished. And I’d rather not risk more crossings of the straits unless absolutely necessary. We don’t have enough ships, so getting the bulk of our army back would require many ships or multiple voyages.”

“No, leave them for now. Send a wyvern to Pembroke. Have him gather ships for their eventual return. Until then, we’ll make use of the men you brought.”

“That won’t be enough.”

“No,” Aldric agreed. “But there’s a chance we can shift the tide. If we can threaten Twyver while showing we’ve pushed Crown forces from River Mark, and if Garris delivers a victory in Iron Keep, those eastern barons might reconsider their position. They’ll want to be on the right side of history, and they won’t fancy being caught between our army and Garris’s.”

“I have men from several eastern baronies in my force. They could reach out to their lords, tell them the truth about Serwyn’s death. Maybe convince them to switch sides.”

“Worth trying. Until then, we do what we can. Push to the border and try to get enough victory to change their decision,” Aldric said, and then smiled, pulling William back into another hug. “I’m so proud of you, nephew. What you achieved in Lynese was remarkable.”

“Thank you.” William paused, then added casually, “Oh, and I got married.”

Aldric stepped back, his mouth falling open. William smiled at him. It was rare to get the drop on his uncle, and he decided to enjoy the moment, before they had to turn their attention back toward their present problems.