Wolfweir (14 page)

Then another blast of trumpets.
It's a signal to halt and ready arms.

The Dragoons have now emerged from the woods, long lines of them marching in formation through the river mist. Lucia hears the tat-tat-tat of the drums, then the enemy fifes strike up a piercing military air.

So many of them, she thinks. So few of us!

The fusiliers are drawn up in lines facing the enemy.

And now the
Vampyre
cavalry -- in gleaming beetle-black armor and flowing capes -- dart out of the woods like a
bloodspurt
. They're riding like bats out of hell at the right flank, and they've drawn sabers.

Oh!
a
woman cries.

Lucia wants to shout, too, but instead she covers her mouth with the wool cape.

She's trembling all over.

The Dragoon rifles flash pinpoints of fire. A few seconds later, Lucia hears an angry crackling as if of dry tinder being snapped.

At this distance, she can't see any of the Man-wolf fusiliers or lancers or Knights fall, but she knows down there in the meadow the rifle balls must be as thick as hornets.

The Wolf-fusiliers return fire, now -- a glitter of muzzle flashes, followed by those maddening tinder-crackle reports.

Trumpets blare.
Alarums.
Ready arms.
Attack.

The Wolf-lancers jog forward, four companies moving smoothly in tight formation, headed straight for the Dragoon lines.

Lucia's ears pick up some shouts. The lancers must be howling at the top of their lungs.

Then another dazzle of light-points, and crackling gunshots.
A gunpowder haze, thinner and bluer than the mist, floats across the scene.

The lancers and Dragoons merge.
Cries.
The tatting drums
stop, then the shrill fifes go
silent.

The distant scrape and clink of steel. Hand to hand fighting now. It must be carnage down there.

A little boy next to Lucia suddenly shouts, Huzzah!
and
points.

And Lucia sees that the Knights are flowing around fast to the right flank, streaming red pennants, the black ranks glittering with naked sword steel -- you can hear iron shod hooves dully pounding the turf.

They're going to clash with the
Vampyre
horsemen head on, at the riverbank.

Retreat

And now, high on the dark battlements, Lucia hears the trumpets blare a retreat.

-Oh no. We've taken the worst of it, a hard voice says.

-Too many of them, answers another. Don't you see that?
Six hundred against our barely two hundred.

-They've certainly got more rifles than we, says a Man-Wolf.

Lucia sees that the lancers are falling back now -- not quite in disarray, but their formation is ragged -- harried by Dragoons advancing fast.

The drums and shrill fifes start up again in unison as if confident of victory. Dragoons are still marching in ranks out of the woods.

The Fusiliers are walking backwards in tight order, the front lines kneeling every few moments and firing a rattling volley to cover their withdrawal from the field.

-Look, someone says.
The Knights.

The Knights have broken off the fight with the enemy cavalry. They're galloping back up the dusty road, a few trailing as if wounded.

She can't see the High King among the riders. No Alphonse, either.

-It's desperate, says a Boy-Wolf.

-We're doomed, says a Woman-Wolf’s voice, cracking with strain. Lucia can hear the tears rising in it.

-Hush, replies another growling Wolf voice. Wait and see.

**

The sense of terror is dreamlike. Lucia's eyes are
wide,
and her senses bright. She can't feel a thing but wonder.

She jumps at a light touch on her arm and looks up into the grizzled face of Master
Tavil
, the eighty-year old fencing instructor. He's wearing chain mail and leather gauntlets. A cutlass is buckled at his hip.

Master
Tavil
is smiling, but he has tears in his eyes.

-Come aside, Wolf-child, he says in a whisper.

She goes aside with Master
Tavil
, behind a massive iron brazier still smoking from its extinguished bonfire.

-A messenger just rode up from the field. Our Man-wolves are falling back to regroup inside the walls and mount a last-ditch defense. But these Dragoons are bringing up heavy cannon and even a few siege engines. And some of the
Vampyres
can fly. We won't last long against their numbers, maybe not even the night.

He's talking mildly, as if in an aside to the icy night air. Lucia shudders in her thin cloak.

-Do you hear what I am saying, child? By dawn,
Wolfweir
Castle will fall. Therefore you will take all those not in the actual fighting, laden with as much coin from the treasury as you can carry, down through the Hidden Passage to the Marshes, where our boats are hidden -- yes, and get away clean. Don't look back, for you'll just see the red glare of the Castle burning. We're going to set fire to the gunpowder stores just as soon as the enemy breaks through.

Lucia gulps cold air, trying not to be sick. She lets out a hiccup. Master
Tavil
clasps her by the thin shoulders, shakes her a little. That feels better. Yes. This is how it is.

-Your uncle
Malvic
, who has been lightly wounded, will accompany you as Master at Arms, along with ten strong Knights to cover the escape. Needless to mention, the High King will stay to defend the Castle.
To the bitter end.
All the able-bodied of your party, children or women or no, will be armed with short swords, daggers, bows and arrows and such, whatever we can spare. If you get trapped by the enemy you must cut the throats of the little ones then fight to the last Man- and Woman-wolf. This word comes directly from your father, uttered in haste in the storm of battle. Hear?

-Yes, Master
Tavil
, I hear, says Lucia, standing straight. I will take charge and do my best to save our people. Thank you.

-Get a breastplate and helmet on, then, good Queen, and find yourself a sword. You go at once.

Escape

Go at once, she thinks, her mind a fever-blur. Go. The Castle will burn. Yes, go.

Master
Tavil
is shouting orders in his harsh grating voice.

-To the Inner Keep, everyone.
Off the ramparts.
We are going to prime the cannons. You're just in the way here. Follow the golden haired child your Wolf Queen.

**

Wrapped in their dark blue hooded storm cloaks the cluster of women and children and a few crippled or aged Man-wolves follow Lucia down the stairs, to the Inner Courtyard lit by torches.

And now two servants push wheelbarrows into the courtyard. The wheelbarrows clank and rattle with swords, daggers, crossbows, and other small weapons.

-Arm
yourselves
, everybody, Lucia cries, her voice high and thin.

She takes a sheathed dagger and a cutlass and buckles them onto her tunic. Then she picks up a crossbow, and a small leather quiver of darts.

-Come along, she cries. Take arms.

Then there is a rush at the wheelbarrows, and the Wolf-women are all arming themselves like Lucia, with swords and bows and crossbows. The Wolf-children crowd in to pluck out short swords and daggers.

The same two servants now carry a stone sharpening wheel into the courtyard and one begins to pedal it furiously so the stone spins, and they beckon for Lucia to approach.

-To make sure they're sharp enough, your majesty.

She hands over her cutlass and watches as it sprays sparks from contact with the whirling stone.

Every few moments the man-wolf pedaling the wheel takes a hefty swig from a goatskin canteen and blows water onto the slithering, sparking steel.

-Got to keep it wet, he says.

The servant passes it back to her much sharper and she sticks it into the scabbard.

-Your dagger, also, if you please, my Queen.

And so it goes for each of the others. The wheel fills the night air with its rasping screech.

Up on the battlements, cannon crews are busy priming the big-mouthed brass cannons.

Every few minutes there is a groan and a heavy clank as the Outer Courtyard gate opens, and smashing
hoofbeats
on the flagstones -- messengers arriving from the scene of battle.

-Acting Master at Arms!
a
voice cries. Message!

That's Master
Tavil
. Aged as he is, he's running up and down between the courtyard and the battlements to hear the messengers and give replies while overseeing the cannon crews.

-My Queen!

Lucia looks up. Master
Tavil
is leaning out over the battlements with his hands cupped to his mouth.

-The Knights are regrouping. The Dragoons and
Vampyres
have fallen back to the river.
Malvic
is on his way back to the Castle.

-And the High King?
she
shouts. What news?

Pause. Then the shout comes:

-No news yet, child.

Lucia begins to sob.

A tall Wolf-woman embraces her. It's
Jivali
,
Malvic's
wife.