Steel And Flame (Book 1) (43 page)

Shouts rose from the depths of the defenders.  They
stopped to regroup, allowing the Kings to flee.  Fraser ordered the retreat to
continue and before long they stood atop that first rise Dornory’s forces had
peered down on them from yesterday.

In the growing light, the two forces watched each
other across the distance.  The Kings caught their breath and took stock of
their situation.  Fielo’s men gathered and prepared for a second assault on the
waiting Kings.

Shouts from the east diverted the attention of both
groups.  They turned as one to see a large force charge into the defenders’
camp under Dornory’s banner.

*        *        *        *        *

Fielo called his men to rally around him and defend
against Dornory’s forces, leaving his flanks open to assault by the separate
Kings units.  The main force’s initial unchallenged strike killed fifty of
Fielo’s men, then the press afterward left three dead for every one of
Dornory’s.

While the morning progressed, it became obvious the
northern baron’s attrition rate would soon leave him holding the field alone. 
Before late morning arrived he ordered his remaining forces to retreat.  Marik
and several other frontline men who had rejoined the battle after resting on
the side started to chase before Fraser called them back.

“Let them go,” he told them.  “We’ll catch them soon
enough.  Look after yourself first.”

Marik had sustained two shallow cuts to his legs and
another along his left arm.  None were more than skin deep.  The minor bleeding
had stopped shortly after their infliction.  His mail had saved him from a
gashed torso twice that he could remember.

He found Dietrik cleaning his rapier.  Most of the
others were wandering around.

“You seem none the worse for it,” Dietrik observed
when Marik approached.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Oh, this?” asked Dietrik, gesturing to a cloth strip
wrapped several times around his forearm.  “A minor scratch in truth, but I
didn’t want to pack the cut full of dust and make it dirty.”

Marik studied his own cuts, including the dust and
blood caking his clothing.  “I think I could stand a solid washing down.”

“Go jump into the water.  There’s enough flowing for
that much at least.”

“That’s a good idea.  Come along?”

“Yes.”

Fraser told them to report back in a candlemark for
orders.  While he climbed down the stone hill to the riverbank, Marik noticed
several other men with apparently the same intent.

The depleted river spanned ten feet with only a foot
of depth in the middle.  He decided full immersion would be the quickest method
so took off his helm and mail to fall flat in the center and let water flow
over him for several moments.  When he left the water, he pulled off his tunic
and breeches, wrung them dry then scraped most of the mud off with his dagger.  Marik
repeated the process several times until they seemed as clean as they would
likely get.  After laying them on the stone to dry in the sun, he dunked
himself into the rivulet like a bird shaking water through its feathers,
feeling refreshed.

He sat on the flat riverbed in his smallclothes
watching Dietrik pick over every inch of his own clothing like a mother.  “It’s
the best it’s going to get without soap,” Marik observed.

“I should have brought a cake from the camp.”

“Do you want to fight with half your possessions
bouncing around in your pockets?”

“I meant from Fielo’s camp.  They had to leave
everything behind when they ran.  Most likely there’s a cache of soap stashed
away in one of their supply tents.”

“You should be a chirurgeon if you’re so adverse to a
little dirt.”

“I see nothing wrong with being clean, unlike others
who spring to mind.”

Once their clothing was damp rather than soaked, they
returned to the camp in time to witness Balfourth’s angry search for Fraser
bear fruit.

“How dare you start the attack before you were ordered
to?” he thundered at Fraser, who was busy with other matters.  “Can’t you obey
your superiors?  Are you deliberately trying to smear my name?”

“First of all,” Fraser responded, keeping a tight
leash on his temper, “
we
were attacked, not the other way.”

“Then you screwed up, didn’t you?  You’re supposed to
be the best, but apparently you can’t follow the simplest orders!  You damned
well better do it right the next time or you can forget about your blood coin!”

Fortunately for both, the latter stamped off in a fit
of righteous rage.  Fortunate for Fraser since he would not be demoted and
fortunate for Balfourth since he would henceforth still be able to regard
himself as handsome…a difficult delusion to maintain once your nose has been
cut off.

“It’s amazing,” Marik told Dietrik, “how that man
lives in his own little world.”

“All of you get ready,” snapped Fraser to everyone
more harshly than usual.  “We’re leaving as soon as the lieutenant gets here!”

*        *        *        *        *

They marched the rest of that day, the Ninth once
again eating the dust kicked up by Dornory’s men.  Luckily, less dust
accumulated atop the stone hills.  The sky faded into evening yet they pushed
on, wanting to reach their objective before stopping.

Marik felt ready to fall over dead once they finally
did halt.  The torchlight from the dam was visible in the distance.  As soon as
he unrolled his bedroll, he fell into a heavy slumber, undisturbed by the camp
din around him.

In the morning he wolfed the congealed dregs left from
the previous night’s meal before heading to Dornory’s supply wagons to claim
his share of breakfast as well.  He chewed on a bread end and a stiff cheese
wedge when he returned to find Dietrik sharpening out the nicks in his rapier
from the previous battle.

“Give me that when you’re done,” he nodded at the
whetstone.

“Almost there, mate.  You look ready for the new day.”

“I’m feeling better at least.”  He looked for the dam
in the distance.  There were two small tower tops rising to the height of the
canyon wall.  “So that’s it, huh?”

“Indeed.  Fielo and the remains of his army holed up
there yesterday.”

“How many left do you suppose?”

“Fraser has it at only a hundred or so.  We cut them
apart nicely before they hightailed it away.”

“What’s our own loss?  I saw most everyone last
night.”

“The Fourth only lost two, amazingly enough.  Starr
and Garret.”

“I didn’t know either of them very well.”

“The Second took the most damage during the sortie
yesterday morning.  Six dead.  On top of the losses Earnell’s group took, the
entire Ninth is down to about seventy-five men.”

“Isn’t that what it was when we joined it?”

“That was after an entire campaign season.”

“Oh.”  Marik paused a moment.  “And we still have this
blasted dam here.”

“Exactly.”

“Is this a bad assignment or can we blame all this
loss on Balfourth and his father?”

“I think it’s a combination of both.  On the other
hand, the Ninth might have had an excellent summer before we joined.”

“We should ask Hayden.”

“I believe I can already guess what his answer will
be.”

“Me too.”  He looked at the portions of construction
visible from where he stood.  “How are we supposed to take that thing down?  We
have to get rid of Fielo first I’ll bet.”

“Of course.  Those chaps wouldn’t take kindly to us
hacking apart their water wall with them still on it.”

“And I can also bet who’s going to be the ones stuck
clearing them out.”

Dietrik did not bother replying.

After he sharpened his own sword to its former razor’s
edge, Marik wandered closer to the canyon.  He gazed down its length at the
dam.

If he remembered correctly, Fielo had built his dam at
the narrowest canyon point.  The canyon was forty feet deep while only twenty
yards wide.  Further back, the canyon split into the network Fielo hoped to
fill with water.

The dam had been simply built.  Two parallel walls
stretched between the canyon’s sides, made from logs sealed with tar and ship
oakum.  Packed between the walls were rock and dirt to prevent the water’s
weight from toppling the first log barrier.  A missing center section held a
sluice gate that could be raised or lowered.  It had also been constructed of
sealed logs with heavy stones across the top for added weight.  Rising above
the sluice gate were twin tracks with stops at the top to prevent the gate from
being raised out of its niche in the double walls.  Water burbled from beneath
the sluice to form the meager stream.  Even at its closed position it was
unable to completely stop the flow.

Protruding mostly on the dry side rose two square
wooden towers on stone bases, reaching the top edges of the canyon walls. 
Thick ropes exited these towers through holes.  The ropes ran through a pulley
system atop thick, log poles on each side of the dam, then connected to the
sluice gate.  In his mind’s eye, Marik could see winches inside the towers that
wound the ropes tighter, raising the sluice to let water through.  Once the
winches were unlocked, the stones atop the gate would push it back down to
block the water.

The dam wall stood nearly twenty-five feet tall with
the towers on each side rising forty.  Lining the wall and the tower tops, men
with bows watched every move made by the southerners.

Marik returned to tell Dietrik, “You can add at least
fifty men that Fielo had left here to the hundred he took with him from the
field.”

“Earnell came by while you were gone.  We’re going to
lead the charge in this afternoon.”

“Into what?  There’s no interior, they’re all standing
on the dam.”

“That’s what he said.  We’re leading the charge. 
Since the Fourth took the least damage, we will take the point.”

“Through a hail of arrows.  Fielo left all the bows
here that the rovers weren’t using.”

“Let’s see if we can requisition a shield.  There’s
bound to be extras with all the losses.”

“I should have picked one up from the field.  There
were lots lying around back there.”

“A lesson for the future then.  Let’s go see what we
can find.”

*        *        *        *        *

Marik held the wooden circle the supply officer had
given him, shifting to protect his face while he ran across the open area
between the standing forces of Dornory’s guardsmen and the dam’s east tower. 
Arrows streaked past, but since the shooters were on the same level as the
attackers, the defenders could not fire effectively until the Kings were
uncomfortably close.

He pounded across the short wooden walkway connecting
the tower top to the level ground.  Marik tossed aside his shield, which had
never been struck by any arrows, drew his sword and attacked the nearest
defender.  A clean strike felled him easily while the man dropped his bow to
reach for his sword.  Thunderous feet beat across the planks until the Fourth
Unit swarmed the tower’s roof.  Battle cries filled the air.

Bowmen shifted to hand-to-hand combat, allowing the
other Dornory squadrons to start their long advance across the intervening
ground.

An arrow shot past Marik’s head.  A fast glance around
showed him the men on the wall below firing upward at the attackers.  With the
tower-top archers engaged and outnumbered by attacking swordsmen, he sheathed
his blade and retrieved his enemy’s fallen bow.  The quiver required a hard tug
to free it from the dead man.  Marik sighted along the arrow.  He silently
thanked Landon for the few times they had been on the archery range in
Kingshome.

Marik released the arrow.  Unsurprisingly it
completely missed his target.  It did make the target jump back, so he did not
count it as a total loss.  If he could keep the bowmen below busy, it would
give his unit’s real archers a chance to ready their own bows.  At least he could
shoot in a straight line.

He fired twice again before he saw Edwin dispatching a
man with his sword.

“Edwin!”

The archer noticed Marik gesturing frantically.  Edwin
joined him to look down.  “Good idea.  How many have you got so far?”

“None.”  At the look this garnered, he replied, “I’m
not an archer!  That’s why I called you!”

“A good thing, too,” Edwin muttered while he strung
his bow.

“They’re making for a door below us!  I bet it leads
over….there!  That’s how we go down, through that trap door.”

“Right.  Tell Landon and the other archers, then see
about guarding that thing.  I don’t need a hundred pissers jumping on me from
behind!”  He drew and fired, taking a man with his first shot.

Most of the skirmishing had ended.  The Fourth Unit
mercenaries searched for opponents while the other Ninth Squad units arrived. 
Marik shouted for the archers to line the edge and fire below.  Men started
moving an instant before Fraser yelled the same orders.  He had learned that
men will obey anybody’s shouts in the midst of battle as long as they sound
like they know what they’re talking about.