| |
Wedgewood
––––––––
From their position before Timber Hall Gate, Christina watched the black cloud boil ominously into the blue sky. Her double line of mercenaries and warders stirred and chafed at the sight. Fire punctuated the billowing smoke. She knew what the Paleowrights were doing and hated them for it. They’d taken the coward’s route. Turning her thoughts to the approaching line of Drakans and churchmen, she pushed growing fears and images of flaming buildings from her mind.
“Ready, lads!” Perrin called. Shields along the front rank of the wall locked. “Brace for it!” Having retreated across a quarter mile of ground, harassed by archers the entire way, they couldn’t withdraw ten paces further without moving past the gate and surrendering it and direct access to the rear of Timber Hall.
Perrin barred his teeth as he looked in the eye a hoplite whose spear came aiming for an opening. He glanced at the enemy commander behind the center of the opposing line. Though the man wore clothing and armor reminiscent of a free company, he could tell by the man’s stance and the orders he barked he was a Drakan decurion.
A spear dug its point into his shield and Perrin tilted the buckler, letting the spear gouge the surface and then slide up and over the top. Spears versus swords and axes, the Drakans held the length advantage, but they’d have to drop the spears if they wanted to get close.
“Back two!” Christina ordered, running down the line. On her left, the Plains wards anchored their line against the palisade wall, but on her right, the Sixth dangled and had to curl back to keep a company of churchmen from rolling up the line. The churchmen, a hundred or so, rallied from the routed battalion, sensed blood, and wanted revenge from the morning’s drubbing, but they were wary of getting close to the sharp and swift axes. “Back two!”
Up and down the line they clashed. Here and there a defender fell or stumbled in their backpedaling, but soon....
“The gate is almost ours!” yelled a centurion. Uloch eyed the empty ramparts. Waiting for an unseen enemy to pop up and start slinging arrows, the fires behind him attested to the overwhelming demands on the enemy forces. “Once we clear the gate heave the grapples and send the skirmishers over the top to open it. We’ll hold the Lamarans here while we send the churchmen in.” A Paleowright messenger waited behind the decurion. The viscount held a Paleowright battalion in reserve, ready to follow up on either this attack or the Scarlet Saviors assault on the southern wall.
“Back two!” Christina called, and Perrin sensed the moment had come. “Make the signal,” she ordered the mercenary bugler.
Uloch heard the call and paused, a foreboding crept up his spine, “Hold! Hold the line!”
Suddenly the Hall Gate swung open, and a cheer arose from inside. A mass of Timberkeeps sallied forth led by a group of mercenaries.
Uloch wheeled, “Skirmishers and halberdiers to the right! Quick men, move!”
Alex ran with Ogden and the captain of the Timber Hall garrison. Barrigal, limping mightily, followed. “This is no time for finesse,” Alex commanded, “we’ll be straight at them. Hit them hard. When I sound Rally have your troops fall back to the gate and form the shield wall.”
Ogden, a smolder in his eyes pumped his axe in the air, and his remaining twenty warders charged.
Plains, Timber, and merc horns blared from beyond the gate. “That’s our call people!” said the Hall garrison captain. They’d strip the Hall of most of its defenders and were hidden behind the gate waiting.
Ogden settled his dented shield on his arm and raised his axe. The Second Ward crashed into a wave of skirmishers.
“Go right!” called Alex and waved his sword. He ran past the gate crossbars laying on the ground. Barrigal’s mercs came behind and yelled a cheer. Steering for the rear of the Drakan line Alex met a tall halberdier.
Ogden cleaved the shield of a Drakan who came to face him. He followed through with a shoulder and bowled the man into the skirmisher next to him. Another Drakan charged him, but Ogden just kept moving before the Drakan’s spear could complete its arc. The end of the Drakan line dissolved into a melee. Suddenly, a herculean warrior bearing an equally heroic halberd loomed above the squat Dorman and brought the massive blade down. Ogden’s initial reflex was to bring his shield up, but his fighter’s sense kept his guard low, and he dove at the Drakan’s feet lest the halberd crush his shield and forearm with it. The long blade thudded into the dirt behind him, and he jammed his axe up into the Drakan’s groin. The assailant grunted with a loud, “Whoof.”
The Drakan line in front of Perrin began to fall back. For a moment, he had no assailant. “What now?” he called to Christina.
“Keep your line together and drive them. Drive them hard to the ravine. Don’t let up. We need to break them.” She hacked and hacked, using her height, aiming to dent and ring helmets. A rivulet of sweat ran from her helmet and glistening down her cheek. “I see Ogden and the Second. We keep on the Drakans until we lose the advantage.”
“Tell those damn Paleowrights to attack!” The decurion shoved a command sergeant in the direction of the churchmen. “No more dancing around. Attack now!” His right century had initially faltered, but the left was firm, keeping the Zursh mercs at bay as they retreated. He’d had to sacrifice his skirmishers and some of his halberdiers to save the right century, but the line was firming. He fumed. The pagan bitch had lured them into a trap at a closed gate they marched right past.
Alex angled a squad of mercs towards Ogden, but the Drakans were reforming, and scattered enemies were few. “Hold there, weapons master.”
Ogden swung at a shield but struck only air as the hoplite pulled back. The entire length of Drakan line was backpedaling fast. The horn for the Sixth sounded recall. He stopped moving, his arms burning. Looking to the right, he saw Christina gathering the Timbers on the right after smashing a gaggle of churchmen.
The whole Wedgewood force came to a halt at the ravine, but the Drakans kept retreating. Barrigal came to Alex. In the lull, he kneeled heavily on his bad leg and grimaced. He unbuckled his greave exposing the bloodied bandage. “How’s your leg?” asked Alex.
“Throbs like a bloody war drum. Be that as it may, this fight is over.” He nodded at the still retreating Nakish. “That decurion is no fool. He could probably fight us good for the rest of the day, but why bother? Who’s he fighting for? Helprig? And where is that pompous ass?” Barrigal stretched the leg out and sat on the trampled ground while runners passed orders to dress ranks and take a rest. Barrigal watched the Drakan formation with a detached professional eye. “He’s conserving his force.”
