The Conqueror (28 page)

“
Hard a
starboard.”

“
Yes, put us in, put us in,
sir.” Lowren’s heart was beating hard, up about his throat
somewhere…

Men were running down to the beach, and
at least some of them had weapons. Even as Lowren watched,
clutching his sword, even as the first Lemni arrows were launched
into the soft morning air, one of the more intelligent enemy
soldiers, a man in a shiny silver helmet and a long blue cloak with
grey epaulettes, turned and pelted off up the hill, creamy sand
spurting up from the soles of his boots as he did so.

The puff of dust that came when a
half-pound of steel and hardwood punctured a man right in the
middle of the chest was always going to be a little bit
surreal.

The shock of the dying man’s nearest
companions was considerable, and yet they still looked on in
complete disbelief even as more arrows landed among
them.

Men on shore started screaming and
pointing and running about in all directions.

“
Well. That’s torn it.”
Vaeomon’s accent and the flat, unemotional tone cracked up the
small party around him. “We are in a lot of trouble
now.”

The rest of the men up and down the
shore remained in straggling little groups, as if not quite sure of
what they were seeing.

“
They’re ready to unload
for us, sire.”

“
Yes, good lad. Now stick
with our group, all right?”

Vaeomon’s two sons, Berchtold with a
large axe and the younger one, Jaellyk, holding a short pike with
their animal-headed flag just below the point, were poised and
looking rather eager for action.

“
All righty then, brace
yourselves. Oarsmen, remain at your stations—I repeat, oarsmen,
remain at your stations!” Captain Rollo had no intention of losing
them the instant he hit the beach.

“
Ah. Here we
are.”

The prow of the
dragon-headed ship
Cygnus
ground to a halt on rippled sand, in about two and
a half feet of water.

Two young enemy soldiers waded out as
if to grab the bow or something, but stopped abruptly on taking a
closer look…their mouths opened and they stood there.

The sight of angry, shouting men
jumping out in large numbers, brandishing swords and spears was a
bit too much for them to take in all at once.

The boat was still forty feet out, and
while there were tents and shacks and quite a few people about, it
seemed there wasn’t much to oppose them. Men on the ships behind
and beside them now engaged with their ballistas. The hum and whap
of heavy darts came to their ears as various voices barked orders,
trying to keep the boats from grounding. They needed to be able to
withdraw on a moment’s notice. Lowren and his party ducked in
reflex as their own men took the first shot, sending enemy soldiers
flying back up the beach if nothing else. There was a quick tangle
all about them as the small reserve party of oarsmen switched
seats, facing in the opposite direction now.

They would have the best seats in the
house, as someone had said. Sooner or later, they would have to
leave, as all such raids went. Time, and surprise, were of the
essence.

Putting a hand on the gunwale, Lowren
leapt out, with the splashes of other men all around him and then
he was striding onto the beach, shouting his battle-cry and
rallying the men.

For surely where the king was, the
action would be hottest.

***

At the head of a long column of ships
as they were, Lowren and his troops were at the left or
southeastern end of the beachhead. It was a wonderful place for a
landing. The Hordesmen had chosen it well.

There were two empty boats their left,
their men streaming ashore, and the others were either all aground
or grounding was imminent in a long wave to the right. More would
come along in a second wave. Their prows were just rounding the end
of the ship nearest to his right. A dull thud from the water came
then, and it seemed as if the first of the Heloi had rammed her
bronze nose, a vicious spike protruding just below the waterline,
into a fat victim. It was too much all going on at once, to see
everything happening at that moment. The crash of timbers and a
mast scrawling madly at the sky as a boom fell drew the eye in a
heartbeat. Burning javelins and smoke trails trailed across the sky
as the bulk of the Heloi fleet entered the engagement with the full
force of sail and oar.

“
Yay!” Men all around were
shouting, most of them not even sure why, only that their brothers
were shouting and that so far things were going well.

The noise, more heavy crashes and
thumping and the sheer clangor from the fleet side of things was
gratifying indeed. It was a simple disruption, and half their
mission would be accomplished.

The landing party had a job to do as
well.

They were behind the enemy in their
fortress, although it was but a half mile or so. The enemy’s
fortifications, surrounding Kthmarra in what must be a pretty thin
line in places, was mostly inward-looking. While a few generals in
history had continued a siege while under attack from without,
those that had done so successfully had built fortifications with
certain common elements. There were inner and outer walls along
their line.

According to spies, the Horde’s
circumvallation was competent enough.

This strip of beach was where the Horde
unloaded their ships, and stores and stockpiles, animal pens and
store-houses were all around them. Two white cows and a small herd
of sheep milled around them for a moment, terror in their eyes, and
then, turning, made off to the southeast again.

Men ran by him with burning brands and
this glazed look on their faces that said they were slightly out of
control.

“
To me! To me!” Lowren,
King of the Barbarian Lemni, had to find his way through the
fearful jumble of the rather disorganized dockside unloading area,
and get some troops out in front where they could meet the expected
counterattack.

Spies had assured them that there was
an open space between the port and the gates. Otherwise, things
were going to get very sticky.

To fight in the built-up dockside area
would be all small units, hand-to-hand, every man for himself kind
of battle where the king would lose all control.

“
To me! To me! It is I,
Lowren, King of the Lemni!”

Several enemy soldiers, hearing the
commotion but ignorant of the language, came sliding around the
corner of a building and were promptly engaged by the sons of
Vaeomon, who stood proudly at Lowren’s side as if daring anyone
else to interfere. They rushed forwards to confront their panicked
foes, spears not ready and yet useless before such
behemoths.

“
Good boy.’

Vaeomon remained at Lowren’s side, not
needing trophies or validation, but just observing and probably
being observed in his turn.

One Hordesman was quickly dispatched,
the other was messily cut but yielded his sword on command.
Vaeomon’s second son took proud charge of this prisoner. Leading
him away with surprising tenderness, he immediately began dressing
the wound. Other enemy troops turned and bolted at the sight of the
beach parties, organized by their serjeants now. They came storming
up through the scattered buildings in clearly superior
numbers.

A wave of heat and smoke washed over
them as the first shacks went up.

A man went running by and Lowren
bellowed at him.

He came promptly back.

“
Stave in these barrels.”
There were hundreds of them stacked up in flat-topped pyramidal
heaps, with rows in between to walk through—or possibly to act as a
break in case of fire. “Find out what’s in them!”

“
Sire!”

“
And grab a couple of men
to help you. Open all the animal pens.”

“
Yes, sire.”

There was a mob of Lemni and a lot of
shouting at the end of the small street they were in.

Vaeomon plucked at his
sleeve.

“
Come, Lowren. I believe we
are needed.”

Chapter Twenty

With a strong voice and his own pennant
proudly carried along behind him, Lowren quickly established order.
Several short blasts on the horn caught some of his men on the fly,
but they broke off their pursuit and returned to the line he was
forming.

There was a road leading a few hundred
yards to the gate of the primary eastern bastion of the fortress.
Choked with screaming men, wagons and teams, with drivers lashing
their maddened animals furiously, it appeared the gate was still
open over there.

Hundreds of heads lined the ramparts,
which stood eight or ten feet above the ground, and the whole thing
was on a rise which sat perhaps thirty feet above the level of the
sea.

Barely visible through the open gates
was a veritable sea of shining helmets and spear points sparkling
in the morning sunshine.

Lowren turned to those
closest.

“
Right. The Sicurri shall
have the place of honor.” Every one of the men there today had been
fully briefed on what they were to do and what they were to expect
in this morning’s little skirmish.

Of the oarsmen not on escape detail, or
approximately half of his two thousand oarsmen, those not in the
boats were lined up in three ranks on the right flank. Deployed
from the northernmost ships, or the last ones to land, going up two
hundred yards from the shore, that was one small division. They had
their bows and two dozen arrows each. Lowren had backed them up
with a hundred more experienced men-at-arms, which left him only
fourteen hundred more. A good half of them were also guarding the
boats and stopping them from broaching in the light
surf.

This left him about seven hundred
men.

In the center of the line
were the Sicurri, just to his right with a hundred and fifty
honored and heavily-armed guests, and that left Lowren on the left
wing. He’d reinforced the tip of the line with a couple of hundred
men, or two
companies
as he called them. Between him and the end of the line, it was
three ranks, with four or five feet between their shoulders. This
allowed archery as well as swordplay, and if a man fell, the next
one simply stepped into his place. Where possible, someone in the
reserve ranks would pull killed and wounded out of the way. He had
serjeants for every twenty or thirty men, and a captain for each
division.

As things stood presently, the sun was
well up and enemy ships were burning merrily out in the harbor.
That battle was just beginning and it might go on for half the day.
Enemy ships were hurriedly lifting sails and trying to escape. It
looked, by the hazy reports just coming in, that the Heloi had cut
the line of anchored ships in half and were busily destroying all
those that hadn’t been fortunate enough to escape.

Lowren marveled.

“
I have this crazy feeling
we’ve been here too long already.”

Stacks and warehouses full of vital
military supplies were blazing a hundred yards behind Lowren’s
deliberately curved line. He had his left flank thrown well forward
where the enemy would either have to deal with it or go round, for
which he had an immediate response anyways. The tip of this left
wing was heavy with archers. These men had certain very specific
instructions. Hand-picked for reliability and experience, hopefully
all would be well.

“
Are they coming? When are
they coming?”

Vaeomon and Lowren conferred, before
things got too busy.

“
Well, they’d better come
soon, or they’re going to miss their chance—” The plan called for
them to be on land for a half an hour at best—forever laying their
bones there only in a worst case scenario.

While time passed quickly in battle, it
was like the sun was higher every time he looked at it.

The black, milling cluster at the gate,
a seething mass of what looked like busy ants from this distance
suddenly split and heaved aside. There were pale faces visible now,
where before all backs were turned.

Like something foul growing, the mass
got wider, spreading out, and then there was a new color appearing
in the middle of the mess, all grey and white and glistening with
tiny brass buttons.

Pikemen, and crossbows by the look of
it. Someone over there had taken charge…

“
I think they’re coming
now, sire.”

Vaeomon laughed, and gave
the kid, whom Lowren had recently dubbed Ube, which was short
for
ubiquitous,
a
stout blow on the back.

“
Well. How do you like
that?” Vaeomon grinned in delight. “The nerve of some people’s
kids.”

“
I’m an orphan,
sir.”

Lowren just bit his lip.

“
You’re going to love this
part, Vaeomon.”

“
Trooper, be ready on that
horn.”