ERIK CHARGED.
His company was second through the barricade, following hard on the heels of a unit of the Royal Krondorian Lancers led by Owen Greylock. The heavy cavalry rolled through the defenders effortlessly, driving a wedge through the invaders’ line. Erik’s unit was on Owen’s right, following a hundred yards behind, and struck a deeply dug-in series of trenches supported by bow-fire from a clump of trees a dozen yards behind the last trench.
Erik had chosen this particular spot for himself and his men, for it was the sort of emplacement that was better attacked by mounted infantry rather than cavalry. As his men reached a point just beyond the enemy’s bow-fire, Erik ordered a halt. The men reined in and dismounted, one man in five taking the horses to the rear. The rest formed up on Erik’s command and ran the last hundred yards to attack the enemy lines.
Erik knew the key to taking this side of the line was to strike hard and fast at the upper portion that abutted the hillside. It was a series of shallow trenches and offered little protection for the defenders. Once they were in those trenches it would be easy to get behind the rest of the enemy line, root out the bowmen in the trees, and surround the men in the other trench locations.
As he had anticipated, it took his men less than an hour to completely subdue the defenders on the right flank. Seeing things were in hand, Erik returned to get his mount and ordered the rest of his men forward while a handful remained behind to escort prisoners back to the stockades being erected for holding captives.
Everywhere the first phase of battle was moving along without a hitch. Erik had expected stronger resistance on the left flank, the section of the defensive line between the road and the sea cliffs, but the rapidly advancing Kingdom forces had totally demoralized the advance position of Fadawah’s army.
Realizing that things were in hand, Erik sent word back to bring up the second elements of Greylock’s army, the heavy infantry that had been hiding in Krondor for the last week. They were a half-day down the coast and would be needed tomorrow morning if they had to dig out defenders at the gap or the southern boundary of Sarth.
As he motioned for his mounted infantry to form up to advance, Erik gave thanks that Sarth wasn’t a walled town like some of the others in the Kingdom. He impatiently waited for his command to re-form, as the standing order was to move as fast into Sarth as possible. When they were mounted, he gave the order and they advanced.
Units of archers were hurrying along on either flank, their orders to flush out snipers in the woods. They were supported by squads of swordsmen.
Heavy pikemen, who would be critical to break any counterattacks, were hurrying along the road, and Erik had to order them to halt, so that his horsemen wouldn’t be stuck behind the slower-moving footmen. When everyone was assembled, Erik signaled the advance, and the men moved out. The pikemen fell in behind the horses, and the march was resumed.
The hillsides echoed with the sounds of shouts and screams, the hum of arrows through the air and the sound of steel clashing. But it was obviously a mopping-up action here, and the heavy fighting would be ahead.
Erik motioned for his men to advance at a canter, and they began leaving the infantry behind.
Erik had reached Krondor without incident, he and John Vinci having slipped through the gap to the smuggler’s cove, then by boat to a fast ship heading down to Krondor. They had reached the city in time to give Greylock the detailed layout he had needed.
The next morning advance scouting and infiltration units had been sent out to destroy Nordan’s forward positions. The units Greylock had brought into Krondor under cover of darkness the previous night left two hours after and rode throughout the day, taking up positions a half-day’s ride south of Sarth.
At dawn they had advanced on the city.
Erik glanced to where the sun hung in the sky and considered they were possibly an hour ahead of schedule. Any time gained in the first stage of the assault would be to their benefit. They would need as many men as possible in the town should Lord Arutha’s infiltration of the abbey fail and Nordan launch a counteroffensive from up that road.
Glancing toward the sea, Erik saw sails in the distance, two ships heading south. He wondered if they might be invaders’ ships or Quegans. Either way, they were about to run headlong into a fleet of ships from Port Vykor heading to Sarth to support the land advance.
Erik returned his attention to the matter at hand.
Roo said, “They’re gaining.”
Captain Nardini said, “Morning breeze is freshening, but whoever’s in command of that galley is willing to kill slaves, that’s the truth.”
Roo said, “Any weapons aboard this ship?”
“Only what you brought with you. The plan always was to just look harmless and slip out of the harbor without anyone suspecting we had all that gold aboard.” The Captain glanced backward and then returned his attention to the sails above. “We certainly have no ballistae or other war engines, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s what I was asking,” said Roo.
Slowly the galley pulled nearer Roo’s ship.
“Sails ahead!” shouted the lookout.
“Where away?” questioned the Captain.
“Two quarters! Dead ahead and five points off the starboard bow!”
Roo hurried forward and squinted against the glare from the mist burning off in the morning light. Directly ahead he saw a dozen tiny dots of white, the sails of the fleet heading north from Port Vykor, while off to the right larger sails showed a fleet closer still.
Roo hurried back to the Captain. “We’ve got trouble.”
“I know,” said Nardini. “We need a much stronger wind, or that galley’s going to catch us in less than an hour.”
“Worse. It looks like we’ve got a Quegan raiding fleet heading this way, and it looks like they’ll get to us before the Kingdom fleet does.”
Nardini looked perplexed. “There shouldn’t be enough ships in Queg to make up a raiding fleet. A few of the richer nobles, like Vasarius, have a single galley, one they didn’t send on that big raid last year, but if there are five other warships left in Queg, I’d be shocked. A dozen or so are under construction in Queg, but they won’t be ready to launch for at least another month.”
“Then who belongs to that second fleet?” asked Roo.
Nardini shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
Roo said, “I wish I had your calm.”
Nardini said, “Well, truth to tell, if you get free, I’m a rich man. If you get caught, I was your prisoner.”
Roo had to admire the Captain’s poise. But his perverse nature demanded he spoil it. “Well, if Vasarius catches us, I hope I live long enough to hear you explain to him how you managed to let us capture your ship.”
The Captain’s face drained of color. “Put on every inch of sail you can!” he shouted aloft.
Roo laughed.
The Captain continued calling out orders to the men aloft as the two fleets bore down on the ship. Roo called to the lookout, “As soon as you can identify that fleet off the starboard, sing out!”
“Yes, sir!” replied the man aloft.
Roo found it impossible not to look continuously astern, to attempt to measure in his mind the progress the galley behind was making. In his mind’s eye he could see the hortator belowdecks slamming his wooden mallets onto the drum used to keep the rowers in unison. Roo knew that when they were close enough, and the Captain called for ramming speed, the beat would pick up and that huge ship would seem to leap forward, its heavy iron-clad ram striking this little ship in the stern. Then armed men would swarm aboard, and if Roo was lucky he’d die during the combat.
The galley drew nearer and Roo saw a man standing at the bow, watching intently. After a few moments, Roo said, “Well, it’s Lord Vasarius himself.”
Nardini said, “Then we had better pray that the wind picks up or more slaves die quickly, for we are unlikely to encounter mercy at his hands.”
“I’ve found the man lacks any sense of humor, myself.”
Nardini said, “I’ve never had the pleasure of any social encounters.”
“With luck, you won’t anytime soon,” said Roo.
From aloft the lookout shouted, “Kingdom ships to the starboard!”
Roo raced to the bow of the ship and looked. After a few minutes, he could see that both squadrons heading toward him were Kingdom ships. He whooped in joy and turned to shout to the Captain, “Which can we reach first?”
From the rear of the ship, the Captain shouted back, “Those to the starboard are closer, but if we change course toward them, we will lose speed.”
Roo didn’t debate. “Just keep as much speed as you can and let Vasarius decide who he wants to fight first.”
Roo heard a crash. He ran to the stern of the ship and saw the Captain cowering over the loose tiller, letting the high sterncastle shelter him. “What was that?” he asked Nardini.
“A ballista bolt! Vasarius seeks to slow us down.”
“Or he’s mad enough to sink his own treasure ship before he lets it get away.”
Looking over his shoulder, where men worked frantically or watched in fear, he shouted, “Do we have a bow on this ship?”
Silence greeted his question. “Damn,” Roo swore. “We can’t even shoot back!”
Captain Nardini said, “A little more to the left and he’d have disabled our tiller.”
As if listening, the officer in charge of the ballista fired more accurately, and Captain Nardini was almost cut in half by the tiller as it slammed hard into him. Blood flowed from his mouth and nose and his eyes were glassy before he collapsed to the deck.
Roo saw the tiller swinging loosely and knew the shaft connecting it to the rudder had been shattered. Roo knew it was possible to control the ship a little by trimming sails, but he had no idea of how one did that and was certain a high rate of speed was now out of the question. The ship began to drift to starboard and the sailors above frantically tried to trim sails. They looked down, awaiting orders, and a few of them could see the Captain lying dead on the deck.
Roo sighed in resignation. He pulled his sword and shouted, “Ready to repel boarders!”
Instantly those in the rigging above began sliding down sheets to reach the deck. Those who had no weapons grabbed belaying pins or large wooden tackles on rope which could be wheeled like a momingstar.
The Quegan galley bore down on them and another ballista bolt sped toward the ship’s stem. A loud crack was accompanied by the entire ship shuddering with the impact.
From below a voice called out, “We’re taking water.”
“Wonderful,” Roo said.
His ship began to turn sideways to the galley as the wind shifted quarter, and suddenly the huge galley’s ram was angled at the starboard stern.
An arrow sped by and Roo realized he was standing exposed to any archers in the rigging of the other ship. He ducked low, behind the slight shelter offered by a hatch cover, knowing his chances for survival were very thin. If they could stay alive until the approaching Kingdom fleet reached them, Vasarius would be forced to withdraw. But the chances of this handful of sailors and smugglers holding off the Quegan crew were slim.
Obviously a couple of the sailors agreed, as they dove from the rigging into the water, attempting to swim to shore rather than face the wrath of a Quegan warship’s crew. “Stand!” shouted Roo, hoping whatever note of authority he could muster might stiffen the spines of the remaining crew.
Suddenly the ship shuddered and shook like a rat caught by a terrier. The stern lifted as the huge iron-shod ram ripped into the starboard rear quarter of the ship. Roo held on for his life as more arrows sped past.
He kept as low as possible, waiting for the first boarder.
It seemed as soon as he thought of boarders, they were there. Quegan sailors swung down on ropes overhanging the bow of the galley. Similarly dressed in white trousers and shirts, with red headcovers, they were each armed with cutlass and knife. Roo gave a silent prayer that Vasarius wasn’t accompanied by a squad of Quegan Legionaries. The men who swarmed his ship were little better than pirates, and might be held at bay.
Roo leaped at the first man near him, running him through before the boarder had a chance to defend himself. Roo ducked back, using the rear mast as cover from the archers above. Another pirate managed to step in the way of an arrow aimed at Roo, and fell to the deck screaming as the arrow protruded from his thigh.
Roo heard members of his own crew climbing the ladder from the main deck to the quarter, and saw the boarders hesitate. He launched a furious attack at the next man, who stepped back. This caused those behind to retreat, and suddenly there was a bunching of boarders on the rear of the quarterdeck. Arrows rained down from above indiscriminately, striking Quegans as well as Roo’s men.
Another shout from above caused Roo to dive away as a second volley of arrows cut down men around him. Roo struck a dying man, who groaned as Roo rolled over him and came to his feet. One enterprising boarder was trying to hoist the dead body of a companion to use as a shield against the arrows, but Roo skewered him before he could get the dead man adjusted on his shoulder.
A shaft sped by Roo’s face, close enough for him to feel the wind, and he moved backward, again trying to use the rear mast and the sails above as shelter from the bow-fire.
He glanced around and realized that only two of his own men were standing and there were a half-dozen boarders advancing on him. He also knew that if he leaped to the main deck, he’d be exposed to even more fire from above.
Roo had not gotten to where he was by hesitating. Without looking back, he shouted, “Abandon ship!” and with a single step he dove over the side. Roo struck the water as he felt a hot sting in his shoulder, and he gasped involuntarily. Suddenly he had a mouth and nose full of seawater and he began choking.
Roo forced himself to the surface, choking and spitting water, and by sheer force of will he kept himself from panic. He managed a deep breath as arrows sped by him, and with a single gulp of air, he dove under the water again and started swimming toward the shore. After he had held his breath as long as possible, he broke the surface and turned, treading water.
Panic had erupted on both ships, as the sailors on the deck of his ship were frantically scrambling to gain the ropes they had just used to board it. The reason was that the galley was backing water, attempting to free the ram from the foundering ship. And the reason for that was the two Kingdom warships that were now bearing down on the galley.
The two ships were fast cutters. Neither alone could stand up to a Quegan war galley, but with the galley’s ability to maneuver hindered by the sinking freighter, the two cutters were like hounds on a wounded bear with its muzzle stuck in a trap.
Men ran around on deck like ants after a stick had been jammed in their hill. The first cutter fired a ballista bolt that sheared rigging and fouled lines. The second fired a bolt that shattered several oars on the port side of the galley, probably killing a dozen slaves as the oars suddenly slammed around inside the hull.
Then the Kingdom ship closest to Roo blocked his view of the galley for several minutes. He heard ballistae fire several times before the ship passed and he could again see the galley. The galley was afire. The ship on the far side loosed another flaming bolt and the crew of the galley began to abandon ship.
Roo turned and swam toward the shore, memorizing landmarks in the distance. After a few minutes another Kingdom ship appeared, bearing down on him, and Roo raised his hand, waving his arm back and forth. The ship lowered sail and armed men on deck stood ready to retrieve those in the water. Roo looked again at the two Quegan ships locked in a death embrace. The sinking treasure ship turned, and Roo could see the stern. There painted in red were the words, Shala Rose. Roo realized he hadn’t even known the name of the ship until that moment. Now she was down by the stern and forcing the burning galley down by the bow.
Both ships were taking on water and men still swarmed off the decks of the galley. For a moment he wondered if anyone had unchained the slaves belowdecks, and said a silent prayer for those who wouldn’t get abovedecks.
Then the Kingdom ship was upon him and a rope was lowered. He grabbed it and climbed aboard. Rough hands pulled him over the railing, and as he stood dripping sea-water upon the deck, one of the officers said, “And who might you be?”
“Rupert Avery of Krondor,” he answered.
The name caused a visible shift in manners. “Mr. Avery,” said the officer. “I’m Lieutenant Aker, second officer of the ship.”
“Glad to meet you,” said Roo. “A few of those swimming around may be my men, but most of them are Quegans.”
“Quegans?” said the young officer. “Are they taking a hand?”
“Let’s say it’s a personal matter. Still, they were not kindly disposed to our cause.”
“If you’d like, sir, I’ll escort you to our Captain.”
“Thank you.”
Roo followed the officer to the quarterdeck, where they halted just before the ladder to the sterncastle. Roo knew that Kingdom navy tradition forbade anyone to climb the stairs to the Captain’s domain without invitation.
The Lieutenant called up, “Captain Styles, sir!”
A grey-haired head peered over the railing and called down, “What is it, Mr. Aker?”
“This is Mr. Rupert Avery of Krondor, sir.”
“Heard of you,” said the Captain to Roo. “Forgive my lack of hospitality, but we have to rescue some drowning men.”
“Understood, Captain,” replied Rupert.
“Perhaps you’ll dine with me this evening, after we reach Sarth,” suggested the Captain. He turned away before Roo could answer.
Roo looked at the young officer. “Lieutenant, what ship?”
“You’re aboard the Royal Bulldog, sir. If you’ll come with me, we’ll get you into some dry clothing.”
As they crossed the deck, Roo saw other Kingdom ships racing northward, carrying soldiers to reinforce Sarth. “How many ships?” asked Roo.
“A dozen. Five carrying troops and the rest of us running screens. So far no enemy ships, until this one.”
Roo said, “I’m confused a bit. Two squadrons of Kingdom ships?”
Aker said, “We’re from the Far Coast, Mr. Avery. This is what’s left of the command in Carse, with a couple of ships from Tulan and Crydee tossed into the bargain.” He pointed to the rear. “The other squadron are the lads from Port Vykor.”
Roo said, “Well, wherever you’re from, I’m very glad you got here.”
Roo went down belowdecks, to a small cabin he assumed belonged to the Lieutenant. The officer produced trousers and a white shirt, dry stockings, and small clothes. Roo quickly changed, and said, “When we get situated, I’ll make sure these are returned.”
“No rush, sir. I’ve another set.”
Roo made his way back up to the main deck to find Quegan sailors being hauled up over the railing, then tied and forced to sit under the watchful gaze of armed Kingdom sailors. Sitting at the front of them, looking as much like a half-drowned rat as anything else, sat a dejected-looking figure familiar to Roo.
Roo came and knelt just beyond the guards, so that he was at eye-level with the man. “My Lord Vasarius, how pleasant to see you here.”
“Avery,” the man nearly spat. “Have the Gods selected you to personally plague me for some affront?”
Roo shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. You just happened to be the unlucky conduit whereby I could achieve some gains for my King. Nothing personal.”
“It’s very personal,” said Vasarius.
“Then you better rethink things, for you are in no position to make threats.” Roo looked up to where Lieutenant Akers stood, and said, “This is a very important Quegan noble; he’s a member of their Imperial Senate.”
The Lieutenant motioned to two guards to haul Vasarius up to his feet. They cut loose his bonds, and Lieutenant Akers said, “I’ll show you to private quarters, m’lord. You understand there will be a guard outside the door.”
With a curt nod, Vasarius acknowledged the courtesy and walked off behind the Lieutenant.
Roo took the moment to regard the captured Quegan sailors. The last time he had seen a lot that miserable had been in the death cell in the palace at Krondor. Turning to a guard, he said, “What will happen to them?”
The guard shrugged. “A work camp, I expect. If we ever get a treaty with Queg, maybe a prisoner exchange. Though the Quegans never release prisoners, so I guess we’re stuck with these.”
Roo walked to the railing and again studied landmarks: the way the road turned, the odd clump of trees near a large boulder overlooking the beach. He glanced over his shoulder, across the deck where the Quegan galley slipped under the water with a burst of bubbles. Yes, he was certain he could find this spot again. Hire a magician from the Wreckers Guild in Krondor to raise the ship and offload the treasure, and he’d be the Western Realm’s wealthiest man again. Roo grinned to himself.
Arutha ducked behind a door. An arrow sped through it, striking the hardwood floor of the main entrance to the abbey. Subai’s men had control of the abbey and Nordan’s invaders held the outer walls and the cookhouse. Subai had men on the roof of the abbey and they were exchanging bow-shots with those on the wall. So far both sides were being isolated.
Arutha said to Subai, “If we can keep them from getting out the gate, it’s as good as a victory.”
“If all is going according to plan, we need to hold them until dark.”
Arutha glanced at the sun in the sky and judged it nearly noon. “Six, seven more hours.”
Subai said, “I’m concerned, m’lord. I think I’ve seen some signals between those on the wall and those in the stable. If they risked lowering a man on the outside of the gate, he may already be down the hill asking for aid.”
Arutha knew that if reinforcements arrived at the gate, they were done for. The abbey was originally an ancient warlord’s fortress. The tower rose high above, seemingly touching the clouds. Kingdom soldiers were storming the tower from within, and once on the roof above, the abbey would be theirs. Around the tower a large citadel had been erected, with an outer wall and two outbuildings. Arutha had studied the plans alongside Captain Subai and Brother Dominic until he knew it like his own sons’ faces. He knew that from the outside, it was a nearly impregnable fortification. Only by taking it from within would they gain control. Otherwise a long siege would ensue, requiring that a substantial number of men be diverted from the coming campaign.
“I’m not worried about that,” said Arutha. “They’d have to risk getting shot to open the gate and let reinforcements in. Besides, if they can afford to strip men away from the defense of Sarth to rescue the men up here, we’ve lost this battle anyway.”
Suddenly a shout heralded a charge from the stable. Arutha stood shocked a moment, as armed men raced toward the main door of the abbey, a flight of arrows over their heads forcing him to retreat from the door. Many of the attackers went down from answering shots from the abbey roof, but most made it to where Arutha, Subai, and a dozen men crowded the entrance. Arutha met the first man at the door and cut him down before he could step inside. As the man fell, Arutha looked past him to see men risking broken bones by jumping from the parapet, so they could unbar the massive wooden gates.
“’Ware the gates!” Arutha shouted as he struck out at the next man to face him.
Then the sound of horses could be heard as a company of riders charged out from the barn, attempting to reach the gates as they opened. Without hesitation, Arutha shouted, “Follow me!” and charged out into the open. He knew that if he could keep the riders from fleeing the yard, he could prevent word reaching Nordan that the abbey was under attack. By denying them the gate, it would break the back of the last resistance in the abbey and force a surrender. Half the garrison was under guard in the basements below, and a full hundred lay dead or wounded throughout the compound. The hundred men trapped in the kitchen, the barn, and upon the walls were the only ones left.
Arutha felt a surge of energy, something akin to joy, mixed with nothing short of terror, as he dodged through the melee, striking up at a horseman who was attempting to engage another Kingdom soldier. Arutha’s blade struck a glancing blow, not injuring the rider, but distracting him enough so the other soldier could unseat him.
Riders were milling around and horses were rearing and bucking, panic rising in the herd as the fighting swirled around them. Arutha glanced to his left and saw Subai signaling his men to fan out and, by pointing, to mount an unguarded set of steps leading to the upper wall.
Arutha looked toward the gate and saw two men, one wounded, were freeing the bar. He shouted, “The gate!” and charged.
Halfway between the main building of the abbey and the gate, an arrow struck Arutha in the neck, between breastplate and helm.
For a moment he thought someone had punched him with a fist, for he felt the impact of the blow and his legs go out from under him, but he didn’t feel much pain. Then his vision seemed to contract, as if he were falling backward down a long tunnel, with darkness sweeping in from all sides. Still uncertain of what was happening, Arutha, Duke of Krondor, slipped into a void.
Subai was halfway to the steps to the top of the wall when he saw Arutha go down and shouted to two of his men, “Get the Duke back here!”
The two soldiers raced out in the middle of the fight, managed to grab the Duke, and haul him back to Subai’s position. Subai knelt beside the Duke, but he had seen enough dead men before that he didn’t have to take a second look at Arutha. He considered how ironic it was that this brave man had died in his first conflict, and then put aside all thoughts of the Duke; Subai had a battle to fight.
Erik signaled to Greylock and the two elements of the Kingdom army charged. Horsemen raced down the main street of Sarth, heading to the Trades Masters’ Hall, the headquarters and final defense of the invaders. So far the retaking of Sarth had gone without a hitch. The entire city defense had been ordered south to deal with Greylock’s center thrust. As had been the plan, Greylock stood and engaged, while Erik’s right flank element pushed through light resistance on the treacherous hillside east of the road, and while ships were unloading soldiers at the dock.
Owen held a stable front, while Erik feigned a flanking attack from the right. The enemy shifted to face Erik, who withdrew just as soldiers under the command of the Duke of Ran struck them from the rear. Within minutes, it was a total rout.
Many men fled north along the King’s Highway, but a few hundred had barricaded themselves in the large building that dominated the town’s square. Erik’s charging column wheeled to the right and flanked the building from the northeast, while Greylock’s men stood on the southwest. Quickly the building was encircled.
Occasional arrows flew from windows in the upper floor, but otherwise the building was sealed. Windows and doors on the lower floor had been barricaded.
Erik turned to Duga, the mercenary Captain who had been among the first to switch sides during the war. “Keep the men back!” he ordered, then he set heels to his horse and rode around to Greylock’s position. “Orders, sir?”
Greylock was sweating furiously under the midday heat, his hair hanging limply across his brow. “I’m lacking patience, Erik.” He rode a little closer to the building and shouted, “You, in the guild hall!”
An arrow sped from an upper window, missing by a few feet.
“Damn it! I’m talking to you,” shouted Greylock.
Erik said, “Let me,” and switching to the language of Novindus, he shouted, “Our leader wishes parlay!”
After a moment, a voice from within shouted, “What terms?”
Erik translated.
Owen said, “Tell him, the terms are throw down weapons and walk out, or we’ll burn the building down with them inside of it. They must decide now!”
Erik translated, and there was the sound of a sudden argument breaking out inside. Then the sound of fighting erupted, and Erik glanced at Owen, who nodded.
Erik shouted, “Charge!” and from all sides the Kingdom forces rushed the building.
Erik and Owen were closest, and reached the main door of the building. Erik turned and shouted, “Bring a ram!”
As men rushed to obey, other men were kicking at smaller doors or attempting to pry window shutters off their hinges. Suddenly the main door opened and a sword flew out, to clatter on the stone street at Erik’s feet.
“We’re coming out!” shouted a voice from within.
Erik and Owen stepped away from the door and a group of men came out, holding their swords by the blade. As they came into view of the Kingdom soldiers, they threw the swords to the ground, the Novindus mercenaries’ sign of surrender. Duga came to stand beside Erik. “I know these lads. Most of them are pretty decent fellows if you give them a chance.” Then he saw a few hanging back at the rear and added, “Though a few of them should probably be hung just to improve the air around here.”
Erik said, “They’re all going to be locked up for a while until we can get them sent back home.”
Duga said, “Well, even after wintering with you, Captain, I can’t say as I understand how you Kingdom folk think, but then nothing that’s been happening for the last few years makes any sense to me. When this war is done, maybe you can explain things to me.”
Erik said, “As soon as someone explains things to me.”
Soldiers entered the building and took out the rest of the invaders. A few were carried out bloodied and unconscious. One of the first to surrender said to Erik and Duga, “That lot didn’t see any point to surrender. The rest of us didn’t see any point in being roasted for Fadawah.”
Duga grinned. “Nordan will fart flames when he hears this.”
The soldier said, “He already did.” He pointed to a man being carried out. “That’s General Nordan.”
Erik motioned for the two soldiers to take the unconscious general to one side. Owen nodded, a smile of satisfaction on his face. Reports started coming in that the town of Sarth was secure. Owen said, “Erik, take a company up the road and see if the abbey is secured. If you encounter any of the enemy, get back down that road as fast as you can.” He turned to Duga. “You form up a barricade company at the bottom of the road, in case Erik returns in a hurry.”
Erik saluted, and as he turned to find his horse, Owen said, “Captain.”
Erik looked back at his old friend. “Yes, Marshal?”
“Your boys did very well on the right flank. Tell them I said so.”
Erik smiled. “I’ll tell them.” He hurried to where his horse was being held and turned to find Jadow Shati. To his old companion, he said, “Bring second squad and follow me.”
Jadow, who looked as if he had just finished a relaxing morning ride, nodded and signaled. “Second squad, follow me. The rest of you, help secure the area!”
Erik led his small company through the town of Sarth. There was occasional fighting in scattered locations, as a few hardcore members of Nordan’s army refused to surrender, but mostly bands of disarmed prisoners being taken to the rear where a compound was being erected to confine them. A few townspeople, who had fled during the fighting, could be seen up in the hills surrounding the city, a few of the more courageous among them coming down into the town.
Erik and his men rode eastward, and rather than veering back along the King’s Highway where it turned south, they moved along a smaller road heading upward, into the mountains. Atop the first of these, overlooking the coast, was the Abbey of Sarth, once home to the largest library on the world of Midkemia.
The horses were tired from the charge through the town, but Erik pushed them, anxious to find out if Arutha and Subai had been successful, or if a force of armed men was poised to strike down at Sarth. They had been so successful in retaking the southern end of Fadawah’s holdings, Erik was certain something terrible must happen.
As they neared the summit, they heard the sounds of fighting from within. The road was narrow most of the way up the mountain, the men riding in pairs. At a point thirty yards before the gate, the road widened, allowing the men to spread out. Horse archers were ready and started firing upon the few men they could see on the wall. Erik signaled and a dozen riders dismounted and raced to the gate. They threw grapples up and secured them. Men climbed while the bowmen kept those on the wall busy. As soon as the first wave was across, other men followed, and fighting erupted along the parapet. Erik knew that had there been no Kingdom forces within, his own men would have died, never reaching the walls. A warning shout alerted Erik, and he formed up his men to charge. He gave the signal as soon as the gates began to open.
Erik and his men rode into the midst of a furious, surging battle, with horsemen and men on foot locked in a death struggle. Erik struck at the first horseman he faced, knocking him completely out of his saddle. The abrupt appearance of Kingdom soldiers riding in through the now open gate demoralized the remaining invaders. Quickly they started to back away and throw down weapons in surrender.
Erik caught his breath and took in the scene around him. Men lay all across the courtyard, as well as a few wounded or dead horses.
Erik motioned for Jadow Shati to move the prisoners over to the stable. Erik dismounted and led his horse to the entrance of the abbey building. He glanced up at the old keep tower and realized that with proper supplies, this fortress could withstand a year of siege. He counted himself lucky the Prince had agreed to launch the attack as soon as possible, rather than led Nordan get entrenched.
“Erik!” called a voice. Erik turned to see Captain Subai motioning for him to come over. Erik hurried to the abbey’s main entrance. Just inside the door lay Duke Arutha. Erik glanced at Subai, who shook his head slightly. Softly the Captain of the Pathfinders said, “He tried to keep the raiders from opening the gates. If you had arrived a half hour earlier …”
Erik looked at the fallen Duke. He appeared to be asleep. “He fought well?” Erik asked.
Subai said, “Very well. He may not have been a warrior in life, but he died like one.”
Erik said, “As soon as we’ve secured the abbey, I’ll send word to Greylock. The Prince must be informed as soon as possible.”
“Patrick will want to enter Krondor with his new Princess as soon as possible.”
“Rillanon?” asked Erik, referring to the rumors circulated to mislead enemies about the Kingdom’s intentions.
“No need,” suggested Subai. “With Arutha dead, Patrick needs to be in Krondor, with or without a bride.” Looking southward, as if seeing Krondor in the distance, Subai said, “There’s our weakness, Captain. If Kesh learns we are committing all our soldiers to retake Ylith, and have only Duko’s mercenaries along the border, without support troops within the city, they can wreak havoc.”
Erik said, “Let us hope we can keep Kesh from discovering this before the war in the North is over.”
Subai looked down at Arutha. “It was his task to see that they didn’t.” Looking at Erik, he added, “Now it is someone else’s task. But it is the Prince’s responsibility.” With a gesture, he indicated the Duke’s body was to be carried inside. To Erik he said, “As soon as Greylock has soldiers sent up here to secure this location, my Pathfinders will return to Krondor. We will return the Duke home.”
Erik nodded. “And I will go north with Greylock.” Erik turned and walked out into the courtyard, to bring order out of chaos and get the situation under control as quickly as possible. They had won a stunning victory, at far less cost than anticipated, and far quicker than they had imagined. Yet there was so very much to do still before them.