In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 15

Starhaven, Duchy of Kingsheart, Sidor

“How could this happen?” Serwyn demanded, his voice shaking with barely controlled anger. “How could a bunch of peasants defeat trained knights? I thought you told me the disruption would be minimal. Bailiffs and knights murdered. Supply shipments ransacked? Ever since I listened to you, uncle, my kingdom has been in chaos. How could you let this happen?”

Every noble and courtier in the throne room tried to find somewhere else to look other than Edmund or the king. That in itself was unusual. Many of the men who’d gravitated toward the throne over the last several months were exactly the type who usually glorified in this kind of display. It’s why half of the men in this room came here, to see the misfortune of others and, occasionally, get an opportunity to enhance their own station from it.

This was not one of those displays. Both king and duke were notorious for their ability to hold grudges, and everyone knew who the real danger in that room right now was. Edmund might be keeping his entire focus on his nephew, but that did not mean he wouldn’t be making a list of every man that took pleasure in this moment. And everyone knew retribution would be swift.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Serwyn continued when Edmund did not answer right away.

“Your Grace, I share your anger at this tragic loss. But we must keep perspective-”

“Perspective?” Serwyn interrupted him, half-rising from his seat. “I’m losing my kingdom, listening to your advice and council. What other perspective do you think I should have.”

Edmund took a slow, calming breath before continuing, his eyes never leaving his nephew, “You are right to be angry, Your Grace. I understand your frustration. These… events are indeed troubling. Are the peasants displeased with the law? Of course. It’s only natural for them to be unhappy with limitations, much like a child is displeased with a parent takes away a play thing or refuses a request. Does that make the parent’s decision to limit them, for their own protection, bad? Of course not. The real problem here lies with the Barons, who are failing in their duty to you. It is their job, as your vassal, given power by your hand, to enforce your laws and edicts. You have, as the kings before you, given them the decision of how to best enforce those laws, as they know their own people. While that has worked in the past, it is clear now, that the current crop of barons and lords are unable, or unwilling, to do their duty in the manner their fathers did. They have failed to maintain order in their lands, and now, we are all paying the price.”

“I thought that was the point,” Serwyn grumbled.

Edmund frowned. The boy lacked any subtlety or understanding of the game. That was, indeed, the point, but to say it out loud, in court, was an error. The barons would already know, of course, that these new laws and edicts were ultimately to reign in the power they’d rested from the crown over the last hundred years, but that was a different thing than having it put into words so directly.

The king all but saying the laws were passed in order to hurt the barons was tantamount to justification for further disobedience, as it broke the traditions that made up the foundation of the liege-lord relationship.

“My goal, and advice, has always been solely to deal with unrest in your lands. Unrest that is common when the crown changes hands. I promise you, however, that this will not stand. I will not stand idly by while this rebellion spreads. I will see to it that something is done about these people, and the barons who have allowed them to flourish.”

“You better,” Serwyn said, glaring at his uncle. “I won’t tolerate any more of this.”

Edmund nodded solemnly, bowing his head slightly, as he worked to school his face. Serwyn might be young and inexperienced, but he wasn’t a fool. Worse, he had Gavric’s temper, which would often be short and targeted at the first person he saw. Gavric had moderated his anger with a sense of duty to the kingdom that did not get passed to his son. While Serwyn’s more … inward looking nature made a useful tool in directing him, it also made the boy less able to be assuaged when his anger did fly out of control.

“I understand, Your Grace. You have my word,” Edmund said as he started to back away from the throne, before turning and taking his leave.

As soon as he was out of the throne room and the massive doors were pulled shut behind him, Edmund quickened his pace, quickly walking toward the east wing of the palace where the families rooms and work areas were located.

He schooled his features to remain calm, but inside he was simmering with anger. Things were getting out of hand. How that fool Blout could have let his men get waylaid like that, Edmund would never know. Bailiffs he could understand, since most weren’t much more than jumped up peasants themselves but twenty seasoned men-at-arms and two experienced knights?

It should have been impossible. Worse, he had to put the blame on Blout for this, since it happened in his Barony. Langmere had remained one of the more loyal of the barons, in spite of everything. He’d have to send a Wyvern to him, let Quentin know this time he had to be the sacrificial lamb, and make promises of paying his service back in the future, when things were more settled.

Edmund found the man he was looking for in one of the courtyards, watching five men train with swords while he leaned on a column, looking bored.

“Captain, a word,” Edmund called.

Colm looked up and then back to his men, as always going his own speed, never in any great hurry, before pushing himself off of the column and joining Edmund.

“Your Grace?”

“Walk with me,” Edmund said, setting off deeper into the palace, toward his rooms, Colm falling into step with him “Were you able to gather the men I asked for?”

“I did. They aren’t cheap, but I have seventy-five good men, ready to do whatever you require.”

“I don’t care about the price. Things have escalated, and I need the situation along the border of River Mark handled. I’d hoped the barons themselves could take care of it, but they are proving inept.”

“I always said knights were all talk.”

“Yes, well, the situation is outside of their expertise. The peasants have become guerillas, operating in hills and forests, ambushing smaller groups and fading away before the full weight of the kingdom can be brought down on them. Regular forces just aren’t trained to deal with that.”

“My men won’t have the same problems.”

“Good. I want you to do whatever you have to do to chase these people down. Draw on any men you need to in my name as Duke, or even the King’s name, if you have to, but I want them dealt with brutally, executing any man found in defiance of the King. I will give you letters of marque to that effect.”

“Consider it done.”

“Good. I know how you hate giving reports, so I’m sending Orlan with you to give me updates and keep me informed on your progress. He is there as an observer and will not interfere with you, but you are to see to it that he is not harmed in any way. If he dies, you will bear the blame for it.”

Colm made a grumbling noise but nodded before he walked away. He knew Colm would hate having a minder, but he needed to be able to tell Serwyn something, and he knew if he send Cole off on his own, the man would be a ghost for weeks or even months until he reappeared, his task finished. He just had to hope Colm, or one of his thugs, didn’t kill Orlan in the process. It would take forever to train another assistant properly.

***

Chasol River, Lynese

William crouched behind the thick underbrush watching the opposing bank, his men lined up behind him, waiting silently in the dark. It was only three days after Pride’s Fall and the moon was still high in the sky. He would have preferred to do this when the moon was out, or even on a less clear day, but their supply situation was becoming worse. If they were going to take the river and push forward, it was going to have to happen now.

In the distance, the sound of hooves and jangling tack grew louder as a Lynese patrol came into view, right on schedule. William held his breath, which wasn’t really needed considering the rushing of the river and distance between them. They were well concealed now, and it seemed unlikely that they’d be discovered this early, but this entire plan was his idea, and relied on stealth as much as anything else.

Not that the Lynesians were paying much attention to his side of the river. The current here might be slower, but it was much too deep to be forded, and armored men swimming across a river was never a good idea.

Or, at least he hoped that’s what they assumed. He’d watched them on his scouting last scouting pass and left men to watch this spot for the past several weeks, and they’d held the same schedule every time. He waited after they passed, listening for the sounds of the horses to fade north into the distance. After a few more minutes for safety, William waved Dominic forward. A fisherman living on the Kingshold river, the man spent his life in waters similar to this, and everyone attested to him being a strong swimmer.

“Be safe. Tie it off and get into your hiding spot until we get across. May the ancients watch over you,” William said as one of the sergeants handed Dominic, who was wearing only simple trousers, a thick rope line and a knife.

“Thank you, ser,” the man said, his crooked smile showing badly rotted teeth, tying the rope around his midsection.

William slapped him on the shoulder and then he was off, wading into the water and disappearing from view. Even with the moonlight, it was hard to pick him out, but the rope began unraveling, slowly turning south, downstream as it went. For several minutes, they watched the rope travel, meter after meter, across the beach, further and further downstream. William started to worry, if something happened

“Look,” one of his men whispered, pointing past William toward the opposite beach.

He was well south of them, but he’d made it, dashing across the beach and up the treeline until he was roughly parallel, where he tied the rope off to a tree before dipping out of sight into a large piece of foliage.

William waved and half a dozen men came forward, dragging small boats out of the treeline. As soon as one got into the water, men piled into it, every one of them holding onto the rope, pulling their boat through the water toward the other side, fighting the current.

William got into the second boat, and joined the men with him, pulling with all of his might. The current might have been low enough to swim against, but he could feel it pulling hard against them. Every moment it felt like they were going to be pulled from it and go sweeping down stream, toward the Sidorian bridge under construction and the enemy.

And then they were across, the boat scraping onto sand.

The five boats made it across, and then the harder part began, as three men in each boat pulled it back to the opposite shore, where it would fill with even more soldiers for its next trip. If even one of the boats failed and went downstream, the entire mission would almost certainly be a failure.

William also didn’t have time to wait and watch the progress. The men in the first group had been chosen for their ability to move swiftly and silently, and their ability in a fight. They all knew their assignment and were ready when William signaled. At William’s command, they followed the road north, after the Lynesian patrol. The enemy had a decent head start, but they hadn’t seemed to be in a big hurry. William set a brisk pace, worried they might turn off the road or stop to rest before he could catch them. The last thing he wanted was to lose them and have an enemy force running around in his rear.

After fifteen minutes of jogging through the woods, William spotted the bobbing lights of the patrol’s lanterns ahead. He raised a clenched fist, bringing his men to a halt, and waved them into the trees, out of sight. They crept forward, finding the patrol had stopped, talking in loud voices, drinking from flasks, taking a break. Reaching as far as they could get without exposing themselves prematurely, William pulled his sword, his men following suit.

Looking back to ensure they were all ready, he raised his sword and his men charged forward, out of the trees with a savage cry.

The Lynese whirled in shock, scrambling to draw weapons as the Sidorians slammed into them. Caught by surprise, they managed little resistance. William impaled the first man through the back before he could turn his horse. The rider toppled from the saddle, dead before he hit the ground.

William’s men made swift work of the rest while they floundered in confusion. In half a minute, the six Lynese soldiers lay dead or dying.

“Strip and release the horses, and hide the bodies and tack in the bush. Hurry, we need to get back to the rest of the force.”

The men moved to follow his commands, quickly removing any trace of their fight beyond the blood soaked into the dry roadbed. In a few hours, any sign of the ambush would be gone.

***

Five hours later, William was crouched behind a thick wall of foliage, shrouded in the dark blue of early dawn. His men were half exhausted, scattered out behind him, recovering from hours of running through the darkness as they retraced their steps on this side of the river. They’d run into two more patrols along the way, wiping both out in the process.

The string of bodies they were leaving behind them worried William some. Every one was more opportunity for someone to discover them and sound the alarm. His Uncle’s attack wasn’t for another hour at least, which gave time for word of the patrols’ death to reach the main Lynesian army. If they started investigating, there was a good chance his small force would be discovered. They were good men, but a hundred Sidorians stood no chance against the weight of Lynesians gathered on this side of the river.

He couldn’t see the enemy from here exactly, holding his men back far enough to be able to hide in the forest, but he could see the smoke from their cooking fires drift up on the other side of the small rise ahead of them, blocking the army from sight.

For thirty minutes, they sat there, waiting, watching the river as the Sidorian army gathered on the other side.

“Ser,” one of the men next to William whispered.

William pulled his attention off the Sidorians and the bridge to the rise between them and the Lynesian army. Two men were ambling down the rise toward them. William turned to the man who alerted him, thrusting his head toward the rest of the men. The sergeant nodded and moved slowly, at a crouch, making gestures and leaning in to whisper, spreading the warning of the approaching Lynesians.

Watching them, William began to worry as they got closer and closer to where he and his men were hiding. If they’d been sent to retrieve firewood or something else that would send them into the trees, things were going to get very bad very quickly.

Thankfully, they stopped a handful of spaces away, turning and leaning out to get a better view of the Sidorian forces. They were so close, William could hear them breathing. The trees were thick, and worked well for people at a distance, but if they turned and started looking into the forest for more than a few seconds, they had a good chance of seeing someone.

They stood there for ten minutes, speaking in Lynesian, while William and his men held their breath. Finally, they finished whatever inspection they were making of the Sidorian movements from here and ambled away, back toward the Lynesian forces.

William let out a long breath, feeling his men relax around him.

That had been close.

For the next hour and a half, he and his men hid at the treeline, watching the drama of the final sections of the Sidorian bridge being put into place. Archers on both banks continued to exchange volleys, enough of the Lynesian arrows embedding themselves into the wooden barricades which were now only a few handspans away from the opposite bank, still protecting most of the bridge builders.

A few times the Lynesians tried to use polearms and lances to catch the barricaded, but his Uncle’s engineers had done their jobs well, calculating how far from the end they could get before bringing in the section that would extend off the final section of bridge.

On the opposite bank, also protected by portable wooden barricades, his uncles forces were assembled and ready, hunched low to avoid the arrows. Finally, the last span was brought forward. William felt a moment of pity for the men in that detail, knowing what was going to happen next.

As they reached the end of the bridge, the barricade was cast aside, dropping into the rushing water below, the men dashing forward and dropping the bridge section into place, fastening it as quickly as possible. It didn’t need much in the way of fastening, the engineers knowing what kind of assault the crew would be under as soon as the barricade dropped. Even still, the death toll among the final crew was brutal. Dozens of replacements stood ready to run in and take up the tools of a fallen man, all motivated by not only the victory so near their grasps, but also the supplies on the other side of the river, held by Lynesian forces.

Aldric had done his best to spread out supplies, reducing everyone’s rations, foot soldier and knight alike, but the pain was still being felt. That hunger motivated each man who dashed out under the rain of arrows to help attach the final bridge span.

From his angle, William could also see what his Uncle had said about the bridge being higher than the opposite bank. Knowing they couldn’t actually connect it to the bank, the bridge they built had slowed up ever so slightly, ending a few meters higher than the other bank, allowing the soldiers who crossed an easier leap as they made their assault.

Another trumpet blew as the bridge crew, what few survived, made the run back to safety. They were passed mid-way by the first wave of Sidorian foot soldiers, who let loose a screaming battle cry as they stormed across the bridge, shields raised in front of them, already peppered with arrows.

Reaching the end of the bridge, then men began the leap across and down into the Lynesians, who’d gathered at the other end, closer than William would have placed his men in their place. It allowed the Sidorians to drop into the midst of the first and second ranks of men, causing instant chaos. If it was him, he would have set his men several paces back, allowing a solid wall to push against the men jumping across. Once the Sidorians were mixed in with the Lynesians, it kept their rear ranks from easily pushing the attackers out.

The sound of clashing steel and screams of the wounded carried over the churning water as the men fought and slashed, working to clear a bridgehead for the Sidorians following behind them. Even with the chaos, at first, the Sidorians made little headway, each man making the leap across finding himself completely surrounded, stabbed at from all sides.

The second Sidorian wave surged forward to reinforce their faltering comrades. The constant flow of soldiers tumbling off the bridge into the Lynesians started to have its effect. For a moment, there was a gap around the bridge as the Sidorians began to connect with each other, protecting and fighting with their comrades, forming a curving wall around their landing point.

The Lynesians could see it too. Now that the enemy wasn’t dropping in the midst of their front rank, they began pushing, threatening to force the second wave of attacks under the bridge and over the edge, down into the river. The ground around the edge of the bridge was choked with bodies, causing both sides trouble.

“Now, ser?” the sergeant asked.

“Not yet,” William said. “We need enough engaged that they can’t turn half their line to face us and still have enough to push the bridgehead back. They’re making progress. A little further and we’ll have a bridgehead well established. Then they’ll have to choose between fighting us or the main army, and whichever they choose will cause the other side to fail.”

The sergeant didn’t look particularly sure of that, but didn’t argue back. He felt for the older man, who probably couldn’t help but second guess the youth he’d been commanded to follow. In this case, though, William knew he was right. He’d like to say it was because of some innate tactical ability, but truthfully it was because Pembroke and his uncle had made sure to cover the topic very thoroughly, knowing that timing his attack would be critical to the success of the battle.

As the wall began to be pushed back, the third wave dropped in their midst, beginning to turn the tide around the bridge. The cost was still very high, and William shuddered to think about the death toll when this was all done, but this new wave of men was having its effect. Step by step, they pushed the Lynesians back, absorbing the losses as more and more men piled in behind them, able to land now that a bridgehead had been established, before charging into join the fight. Each man that fell was instantly replaced by a new soldier, the bubble around the Sidorian bridge growing by the minute.

“It’s time. Remember your assignments, and no war cries until we’re over the ridge and the enemy sees us. Keep together, and hit them hard. On my command.”

The sergeant nodded and began to pass the word back. His men, who’d been waiting, pretending to be on relaxed but really on edge as William himself was, began to form up behind him.

They’d practiced this several times in the woods near the Sidorian army camp, to prepare for this moment. They’d scouted the area thoroughly ahead of time. They’d gone over the plan again and again.

Now it was time for all that planning to become reality. William pushed himself up, his legs protesting after hours of crouching, and raised his sword above his head as he began a slow trot out of the woods, conserving his men’s energy until they were on top of the enemy.

William broke from the treeline, his men streaming out behind him as he led the charge up the gentle slope. Reaching the crest, he caught his first glimpse of the vast Lynesian forces arrayed below. Row upon row of armored men stretched out before them, attention focused on the raging battle at the bridge.

“For Sidor!” William bellowed, his battle cry echoed by over a hundred voices.

Swords held high, they thundered down the hillside like an avalanche. The Lynesians whirled in shock at the war cries and the sudden appearance of a hundred Sidorians coming out of, what must have seemed like, nowhere. Few had even turned all the way to face this new threat when they slammed into the flank of the enemy forces like a tempest.

Fueled by adrenaline and hours of watching the enemy, his men assaulted the Lynesians with a fury that seemed to catch them off guard.

And then they were in the thick of it. All around, his men smashed into the confused enemy, steel ringing against steel. Dozens of the enemy died in those first moments, unprepared for the sudden attack. William knew it wouldn’t last, but they pressed their advantage while they could, carving deep into the side of the Lynesian line. William’s sword cleaved through the neck of the first soldier, nearly decapitating him in a spray of crimson. All around him, his men were cutting down soldiers, some of whom tried to turn and run, only to find themselves stuck in a mass of fighting men.

As he predicted, their disorganization was short-lived and a few minutes later, the Lysnian resolve stiffened. They began to coalesce into a more organized line, their greater weight of men threatening to envelope and surround William’s small group.

“Back,” William commanded, taking a step to the rear as he parried a sword thrust from a burly soldier, then dispatched his attacker with a riposte through the armpit.

They had seen this result coming enough to have prepared for this moment as well, his men taking practiced steps backward as they continued to fight. Slowly, his force was pushed back to the rise they had just come over, their numbers beginning to diminish as they did. William fought hard, trying to keep his men alive and organized as they retreated, as an axe split the helmet of the man beside him, dropping the soldier lifeless to the ground.

The Lynesian line surged, threatening to break William’s depleted force. He knew they couldn’t hold much longer against such overwhelming odds. He also knew he didn’t have to. The Lynesian force had reacted as any army would have, turning to meet a new, and at the time, more dangerous threat. But they’d taken their eye of the real threat, and as William started up the rise in reverse, a Sidorian war horn blared, reminding everyone where the real battle had been all along.

As soon as William’s force had charged and the Lynesians had wheeled to meet it, the Sidorian waves became a constant flood, pouring into the bridgehead. Now that flood increased again as armored knights joined the men at arms and the balance of numbers began to shift back to the Sidorian side.

“Forward,” William called as the pressure on his own men eased, the Lynesians turning to take on this new force.

It was too late for them. Step by bloody step, the two Sidorian forces pressed inward, toward each other, a third of the Lynesian host trapped between them like a vice.

Split, outnumbered, and in shock, their defenses began to buckle.

It took time, and the losses had begun to stack up frightfully, but William’s men and the men coming from the bridgehead began to near each other, completing their cutting off of a third of the Lynesian army. He could see the Sidorian soldiers in front of him as he smashed the pommel of his sword into a soldier’s face with a satisfyingly wet thunk.

Victory was so close William could taste it.

Cries of panic spread through their ranks as the knights, not mounted, but full-armored and well-seasoned, penetrated deep into the enemy host from the bridgehead. Some Lynesians threw down their weapons and turned to flee, only to find themselves hemmed in on all sides while others fought on desperately, knowing retreat was impossible. They sold their lives dearly, but the tide had turned decisively against them.

And then he was through, only a single Lynesian soldier between him and his comrades, standing over the fallen form of a Sidorian soldier who’d tripped in the mass of bodies and blood, dazed as the Lynesian began to bring his sword down to end the man’s life.

William felt no pity for the Lynesian as he ran his sword through the man, the steel appearing on the other side, the stunned soldier gurgling once before William pushed the man’s body off his blade, sending him crashing off to the side.

Looking down at the Sidorian on the ground, William was surprised to realize he recognized the man. He was one of the men William arrested along with Garr and the other Sidorians. The man sat there, on his back, staring up at William, a shocked look on his face.

“Don’t lie there all day,” William said, reaching a gloved hand down toward the man. “We have Lysnians to kill.”

Grabbing the man’s hand, he hauled him up and then stabbed past him, dispatching another enemy who had just started to come in from the side.

The soldier smiled and said, “Yes, my lord.”

Turning, they fought next to each other, side by side. William was honestly impressed by how well the man fought, killing several enemies who attempted to come in from the left. William was happy his uncle had decided to pardon some of the men. Seeing the man fight, William felt vindicated in his defense of them to Aldric.

The Sidorian line was now complete, a solid wall facing the Lynesians, the bridgehead firmly established. With a large section of their army cut off and being cut down mercilessly, the enemy line began to waver, and then crumbled completely. Panic spread like wildfire as soldiers threw down their weapons and turned to flee.

Just as with the battle at the fort, William was again amazed by how quickly battles end. One minute he was fighting all out, his life in danger every second, and the next the enemy line all but vanished as the trickle of retreating men became a flood, none wanting to be the last soldier fighting, all on his own.

William finally lowered his sword, smiling at the soldier who’d stayed by his side since the rescue. The rest of his small force, maybe thirty left that he could see, looked to him, as if asking if it was really over, if they’d won.

William raised his sword and bellowed, “For Sidor!”

His men, the adrenaline and terror of battle turned into elation, raised their weapons in return, and matched his energy. And then surpassed it.

“For Sidor!” they yelled. “For Lord William!”

The sound crashed over him, the cries being picked up by men who hadn’t been with him, who’d been with the forces to come over the bridge. Even the soldier he’d arrested, standing next to him, joined in, his sword held high in the air, yelling with all his might.

William kept his sword held high as his men crowded around him. This was a moment he’d never forget.