The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (71 page)

‘Oleff, how far to the Deep Cross from here?’ she asked, assessing her options.

‘Maybe three weeks… if we really moved. South Warden is closer, but if we don’t get north of the passes soon, winter will arrive and we’ll be stuck,’ he responded.

‘And the safest place for Wraith Company is South Warden, yes?’ Halla knew that the combined might of the Free Companies would be enough to engage the army of knights, but they were spread thinly all over the southern Freelands and rarely massed as a single force.

‘I’d say so, yes. It’s a fortress – high walls, catapults, everything a defending force could need. Not enough men to face that lot directly, but they’d have more men and a better chance than defending Ro Hail.’ Oleff was originally from Ranen Gar, the great southern stronghold of Greywood Company, and he knew the Freelands better than most Fjorlanders.

‘Okay, so we demand the king lifts the siege and allows the people of Wraith to get to South Warden as quickly as possible. Once they’re out of sight, we go north with the hostage.’

It was a bold plan and relied heavily on the knights not being willing to risk the life of their king, but these men were Ro to whom propriety and status meant everything. Halla was prepared to gamble on the king’s life being more important than the need to kill Ranen.

‘They’ll follow us, you know?’ he cautioned.

‘Good. It’ll give the Free Companies time to muster.’ She tried to sound as confident as possible.

‘And what do we do with the king once we reach the Deep Cross?’ he asked, echoing Halla’s own thoughts.

She wasn’t sure how to answer and had to admit to herself that this part of the plan was, as yet, unformed. She tried to look confident as she replied, ‘Maybe we’ll release him in troll country and let the knights bang their heads against the mountains for a few weeks.’

Oleff laughed quietly and, after a moment’s thought, said, ‘I’m glad you’re in charge, Lady Summer Wolf. You’re going to save a lot of Ranen lives.’

It was a compliment that made Halla glow with pride, though she suppressed the urge to grin broadly and merely nodded formally at the chain-master of Fredericksand.

* * *

It took less than half an hour to assemble the men of Fjorlan at the base of the rocky outcrop and Halla had watched every man arrive to ensure that none were wearing heavy metal armour. Wulfrick had made her orders clear and most of the axe-men wore only toughened leather breastplates or no armour at all – even the axe-master himself had discarded his heavy troll-hide armour. They all looked lean and hungry for combat – hefting axes, gritting their teeth, flexing their muscles. The people of Fjorlan were warriors from their first steps and Halla thought her company looked as intimidating as any army.

‘Silence from this point on,’ she said under her breath. ‘We have a few hundred paces of open ground to cover before we get to the camp. Oleff, take your men to the rear and secure the artillery. Falling Cloud, you’re on the north side to guard against the knights returning – signal if they get wind of what we’re doing. Everyone else, you’re with me. We kill everyone as quickly and quietly as possible and secure the king.’

A wave of excited anticipation flowed over the waiting warriors; several of them were fighting the urge to roar out a challenge. With a wave of her hand, she and Wulfrick moved to the front and began to move along the base of the rocks. Halla was impressed at how quietly the warriors proceeded and she had to turn back and call for silence only once before they reached open ground.

Crouching at the edge of the rocks, she could just make out the camp through the misty darkness. The siege of Ro Hail was proceeding to the north and could mostly be observed as a series of campfires and the occasional boulder launched through the air. At ground level, she was now even more certain that they’d remain unseen as they assaulted the camp and, waving to her men to follow, she broke into a dead run.

They fanned out across the dew-covered grass and, with a bright moon overhead and weapons at the ready, the Fjorlanders sped towards the unsuspecting camp. Wulfrick held his two-handed axe braced across his shoulders. Halla felt better for having him at her side; the shudder of anticipation was visible in his huge body as he ran.

Halla felt no blood lust as she approached the camp, but rather a solemn sense of responsibility towards her men and an impatience to see their bloody work begin. The king’s guardsmen would be tough opponents, but if they were caught unawares she knew the men of Fjorlan would be more than a match for them.

The line of deserted tents appeared just in front of them and Halla scanned her field of vision, looking for sentries. She could see none and hoped the arrogance of royalty meant the king had left his perimeter unguarded. Slowing down, she signalled behind her to Falling Cloud, who broke off with twenty men to circle towards the north to cover them. Another signal and Oleff headed towards the unmanned catapults and ballistae. The men of Fjorlan moved with purpose and Halla could see conviction on their faces as they followed her commands, without question.

‘There,’ said Wulfrick, pointing to a guard just visible at the edge of the empty tents. ‘Silence,’ he signalled to the men behind him.

They stopped and Wulfrick passed his axe to Halla before drawing a heavy dagger from his belt. Moving as low to the ground as he could, Wulfrick broke off from the others and sneaked up behind the nearest tent.

Wulfrick moved stealthily between the dark tents and emerged behind the single sentry. With a huge hand placed over his mouth, he eased the dagger into the guardsman’s neck and cut his windpipe, holding the body tightly as the life ebbed from the man of Ro’s eyes. Wulfrick was immensely strong and the man looked like a child in comparison as the huge axe-master killed him.

Halla motioned the others to follow and quickly crossed the remaining ground to the tents. Throwing the axe back to Wulfrick, she moved between dark canvas and smoking campfires. The men behind fanned out again and swept through the camp, staying in shadows and keeping as quiet as they could. Halla could see the banner of the king, a white eagle, flying overhead as they made their way towards the large pavilions at the centre of the camp. Another flag, showing a purple sceptre, was flying below the royal banner, signifying that a senior Purple churchman was also present.

She could see light from between the tents as they approached the king’s pavilion. As she hoped, the king’s men were totally oblivious and had not been expecting an attack. Signalling to Wulfrick to move round the side with half the men, she took a deep breath and advanced on the pavilion.

Her estimate of three hundred guardsmen looked about right, but they were not prepared for action and most were not even armed or armoured. The men of Ro were sitting round their campfires or within their white fabric tents and something about the way they were casually relaxing while Ro Hail was under siege annoyed the axe-maiden greatly. She moved with her men to the last line of deserted tents and paused until she was sure that Wulfrick and the others were in position.

‘First blood is mine,’ she said to the men behind her and stood, hefted her axe, and ran towards the first group of guardsmen.

As soon as Halla emerged through the line of tents and into the light, close to two hundred men of Fjorlan followed her and quickly flooded the area from all directions. A man of Ro, reclining next to a campfire and holding a bottle of wine, looked up to stare at her. She grunted at him before severing his head with a powerful swing of her axe, signalling the start of their assault.

Shouts of alarm only slowly went up from the king’s men. By the time they realized what was happening, the rampaging axe-men had killed anyone in their path. Only a few of the men of Ro had weapons at the ready and most of them met their deaths swiftly, without even standing up.

Halla didn’t stop moving and drove her men forward towards the centre of the camp, despatching anyone who clumsily attempted to stand in their way. She killed a man as he tried to pull on his gold breastplate and another as he wrestled with a stubborn scabbard. She could see Wulfrick nearby, as the huge axe-master cleared a wide path from the north towards the king’s pavilion.

Then, all of a sudden, Halla, Wulfrick and their men were standing on the central ground in front of two large white pavilions, directly beneath the banners of Tor Funweir. Confused Purple clerics, armed and armoured, stood in their path and a detachment of spearmen closed ranks round the main pavilion.

‘Kill them all,’ roared Wulfrick, not missing a step as he swung his axe skilfully and advanced on the nearest cleric.

The silence evaporated as oaths were shouted and battle was joined. They’d killed numerous guardsmen and Halla was gratified to see that now the clerics and spearmen were heavily outnumbered by rampaging Fjorlanders.

The Purple clerics were skilled swordsmen and the the sound of steel on steel sounded through the camp. As she engaged a cleric, Halla hoped they were too far away from Ro Hail to alert the main army.

She was shaken back to matters more pressing when the cleric she was fighting deflected her axe and opened up her shoulder with a skilful thrust. Crying in pain, the axe-maiden fell to the ground, but was relieved to see another man cleave the cleric to the ground before moving on. Halla quickly got to her feet and tried to block out the pain as she rejoined her men.

Their advance had slowed and it was now a grim push through the last line of defenders to get to the king’s pavilion. Halla tried to favour her uninjured shoulder as she parried a spear thrust and then severed the wielder’s arm before kicking the guardsman out of her way.

To her left, Wulfrick was difficult to miss – towering over the other men, the axe-master of Fredericksand was a nightmare of whirling steel and rage as he annihilated any man foolish enough to stand in his way. Halla could see several clerics who looked older and more skilled than the rest and one of them, a dark-haired man wearing ornate armour, was moving intentionally towards Wulfrick. The Purple cleric killed several of Halla’s men with lightning speed as he focused on the huge axe-man.

‘Barbarian,’ he roared, by way of a challenge, ‘I am Cardinal Mobius of the Purple and your Ice Giant holds sway here no longer.’

Wulfrick roared skywards and Halla saw the foam of frenzy appear at the corners of his mouth as he beheaded two clerics and moved to engage the Purple cardinal. There were still men between them, but their intention was to fight each other. She tried to focus on the men in front of her, but secretly she worried for her friend. It was strange that, in the midst of brutal combat, it had occurred to her that Wulfrick had indeed become her friend.

She wrested a spear from a guardsman in front of her and threw it at a cleric standing over a fallen axe-man. The Ranen was wounded but alive, and weakly nodded his thanks to Halla before dragging himself away from the main combat. She spun round and saw no other men to fight in her immediate vicinity. The entrance to the main pavilion was still guarded by clerics, though Wulfrick and his men had pushed them back before Cardinal Mobius had appeared and stopped their advance. All around her lay dead men, mostly Ro, and the king’s pavilion was now dangerously isolated.

‘Help them,’ she ordered all the men nearby, pointing to the Ranen at the pavilion entrance.

An axe-man, noticing her wound, offered her an arm and Halla Summer Wolf leant heavily against him before turning to see Wulfrick approach Cardinal Mobius.

The other warriors parted as the two men clashed. The sound of axe striking sword rang out loudly and Halla realized the cardinal was every bit as dangerous as Wulfrick. The two men fought in wildly different styles. Wulfrick relied on superior strength and unnatural speed, whereas Mobius was a duellist, giving and taking ground in a complex dance of steel. Their weapons differed too – a two-handed axe versus a longsword and shield – and Halla thought the clash more than a simple fight between men.

The remaining spearmen were boxed in and were killed without mercy, leaving only a handful of clerics in front of the pavilion, where they were swiftly overwhelmed by Halla’s men. To the north, the axe-maiden saw the signal from Falling Cloud indicating that they had cleared the few sentries and guardsmen in that direction, and she knew Oleff would be loading the catapults and making ready to fire.

Mobius dodged to the side of a powerful axe blow and nimbly thrust his blade into Wulfrick’s side. It was a glancing blow, but one that made the axe-master wince and gave the surrounding Fjorlanders cause for concern.

‘You’re quick, purple man,’ spat Wulfrick, as the two men circled each other.

Both men could see the fight was over, with the Ranen defiantly victorious. The Fjorlanders surrounded the pavilion and stood back from where Wulfrick and Mobius were sizing each other up.

‘Wulfrick, we’re done,’ Halla shouted across the camp. ‘You,’ she nodded towards Mobius, ‘stand down, you’ve lost.’

‘I am a cleric of the One God, bitch,’ he roared. ‘I will never surrender to a barbarian.’

The Ranen shot him angry looks and moved in to isolate the Ro. Halla held up a hand, indicating they shouldn’t kill him.

‘Take his sword and tie him up,’ she ordered the closest group of men.

A few of the men smiled as they got their first sight of a Purple cleric – men of Ro closely associated with the age-old oppression of the Ranen people. Ropes were retrieved from nearby tents and the Ranen began to circle the cleric with quickly fashioned lassoes. Halla moved past them and motioned for Wulfrick to join her. The wounded axe-master tore himself away from the cornered man of Ro and stepped into the pavilion entrance with four other axe-men.

‘My king, we are defeated,’ Cardinal Mobius shouted into the tent.

A tangle of legs and rope made him buckle awkwardly to the ground and drop his longsword.

‘You cannot win, barbarians,’ he growled angrily as his face hit the muddy ground and the men of Fjorlan quickly swarmed over him.

Kicking and punching, they rendered him unconscious in a matter of moments and secured ropes round his arms and legs.