Brave Men Die: Part 1 Page 10

  The last scout continued to race to the wall pursued by the Kyzantine archers. Those on the wall started cheering, egging him on. Thol screamed encouragement as he nocked a shaft to his bow. The Kyzantines had overrun a safe distance in pursuit. He took aim and fired, the arrow flying through the air and hitting a soldier square in the chest.

  ‘Cover him,’ Thol ordered the two soldiers beside him, drawing back another shaft and letting loose.

  The scout hit the wall, leapt up and grabbed hold of the rope. One hand over the other he pulled himself up as arrows thudded into the wall around him. Thol discarded his bow and reached out over the wall, offering the man his hand as the arrow hit. It struck the scout in the back and he slipped. Thol’s arm snapped out and barely grasped the man’s arm before he lost his grip.

  ‘Hold on,’ Thol yelled as he strained under the soldier’s weight. Thol caught the man’s eyes and registered the plea not to be dropped. Veins bulged in his arms as the man’s dead weight increased with each hurried intake of breath.

  ‘It’s an invasion force. There are too many of them to hold off with our numbers …’

  ‘Don’t waste your breath. Tell me when I pull you over,’ ordered Thol. The scout’s grip loosened around Thol’s arm.

  ‘No,’ Thol panicked, straining against the weight. The man was dying and Thol could do nothing until he pulled him over. He braced himself and heaved, slowly dragging the man inch by inch up and over the wall. He fell backwards and collapsed with the dead man lying over his chest.

  As the two soldiers around him lifted the fallen warrior off, Thol managed two words between gasps for air. ‘They’re coming.’

  The Kyzantine forces filled the pass in front of the barricade. There was no doubt this was an invasion force. The captain looked over the sea of black and red and gripped the rail at the wall tighter. Standards fluttered in the air. All the cities and towns of the Empire in the southern quarter had assembled before him, waiting for the order to attack. How long had they been planning this? He scratched his chin. They stood out of range of the onagers and waited for more and more troops to pull in behind them.

  The conscripts stood in the front line, trained but not professionals. Those that had chosen the life were in columns behind them, yelling commands and chanting loud enough to echo through the pass.

  ‘Tell the men not to fire or give away locations until I give the order. We will need to surprise them or we will be taken too soon,’ Aspring ordered.

  Brak raced off and told the first soldier stationed at the base of the tower, and the message soon spread along the walls. He returned to the roof of the tower, standing beside his captain and overlooking the oncoming destruction.

  Three figures under a white flag rode out into the killing zone. They were calm and focused on looking ahead, not once searching for any sign of danger. Aspring wondered if they were foolish or just arrogant.

  ‘I am Exarch Quandrus. The Emperor has declared war on your pathetic Kingdom to avenge the murder of his son. The Church of the One God has sanctified our cause. Stand down and become our slaves or die defending your little barricade. It matters not to me.’

  Aspring looked down on him. The exarch sat there defiant on top of his mount, waiting for them to come out of the gates begging forgiveness. Like that was bloody likely. But the tosspot had given him some news. The Emperor’s son dead, the Empire declaring war. Things couldn’t be much worse.

  ‘Sir?’

  Aspring looked over at Brak.

  ‘Are you going to reply? Perhaps a retort about his funny hat. I have a good one if you will permit me?’

  Aspring smiled. The lad was so much like his father in his younger days. ‘Perhaps later.’ He turned his attention on his adversaries and his voice boomed across the pass. ‘Get fucked!’

  He could feel all eyes turn toward him. Brak stared open mouthed.

  ‘If this handful of weeds is the only thing you have got than we will have no trouble repelling your pitiful attacks. My men are bred to be warriors. It will be your blood spilled against my walls and I’ll have your head if you are foolish enough to try to take me on.’

  Thol looked to the towers and was impressed. He never expected Captain Aspring to be so blatant. Guess he wasn’t planning on stalling them, but flat out insulting them. Death would come quick.

  The three Kyzantines sat there, looking at each other before the exarch replied, furious. ‘How dare you!’ he screamed, spittle flying out of his mouth. ‘You will feel the squeeze of the Kyzantine fist and I swear you will not leave this field alive.’

  Aspring reared up and forced the words to come out slow and loudly. ‘Fuck … off!’

  The Kyzantines had made them wait. There was little else for them to do except sharpen their blades while the enemy chanted and clanged their swords against their shields.

  ‘Are we to wait all day captain?’ asked Brak.

  ‘If it means we buy the earl more time to get here. I’m not going to reveal my hand too early by launching one of the onagers.’

  ‘I was thinking the old ballista we have sitting in storage. It should be good for one shot, maybe at the exarch’s hat?’

  ‘Find Barcus and see if it will still work. If so bring it up here. It will give us something to do while we wait.’

  Aspring turned back to look out at the enemy. The sun had reached the middle of the sky a few hours earlier and was beginning to descend. It would happen soon. He felt it in his bones. He heard the clamour coming from inside the tower. Guess Barcus thought it would fire at least one shot to make it worth lugging up the stairs.

  Two soldiers began to assemble it before him under the supervision of Barcus. The older man pointed out things that the soldiers had missed and reminded them to make sure they tightened the nuts and bolts. Perspiration dripped from the men’s brows as they worked quickly under the pressure and tempo that the engineer set. Within moments the pieces that they had lugged up the stairs resembled a weapon.

  ‘Hurry boys, you need to get that set up and back to positions before they start marching very slowly toward us,’ Aspring prompted with a smile on his face.

  ‘Done sir,’ one of the soldiers responded as the other loaded a metre long bolt into place. They stooped to pick up the tools and headed down the stairs from the tower to their stations below on the walls.

  Barcus knelt by the weapon and checked it over, ensuring all the parts were secure before nodding to Aspring. The engineer stood up and looked at the lines of Kyzantine in the pass before him.

  A lone trumpet sounded in the distance. A ripple went through the Kyzantine force. Officers shouted orders and the first line set forth.

  ‘So it starts,’ he murmured softly as the front line of conscripts moved forward under further signals from standards and drums.

  ‘Indeed Barcus. It was good serving with you, and if we manage to live through this little mess I’ll buy you a drink,’ Aspring gripped the older man’s forearm.

  ‘That’s right, it’s your shout Zeke,’ Barcus replied. He nodded to Brak and left the two men alone on the tower top.

  The conscripts kept coming forward, the Kyzantine regulars behind them. The captain held his breath and waited for them to come closer. He needed the onager stones to hit the regulars and rush the conscripts forward into the trajectory of the arrows. That onslaught would buy some time.

  ‘You actually think you can hit the exarch with this thing Brak?’

  ‘Yes sir, as soon as I get one of these bolts sighted. There, all ready to go sir.’

  ‘Fire at will.’

  Brak took aim, swivelling the ballista on its mounted platform, finding the exarch in its sights and following him as he moved. He squeezed the trigger and the elastic snapped, hurtling the bolt through the air. It whistled above the heads of those marching closer, flying low and straight. It collected the man holding the standard beside the exarch, taking him through the stomach and then barrelling into the five behind him as well.

>   ‘Brak?’

  ‘I was aiming for his hat sir, I swear, the wind must have taken it … slightly …’

  The captain smiled. The enemy were close enough now.

  ‘Fire the onagers!’ he screamed. One after another snapped around and released its payload, hurling rocks into the sky. The missiles arced up and flew above the conscripts’ heads, who halted briefly and watched, before sailing downward at the regulars. Men and women raised their shields above their heads but it did little to protect them. The larger stones crushed those that they landed on and bounced into those behind. The smaller stones pelted down, tearing through exposed flesh and armour.

  The cavalry and those stationed behind the front infantry blocks remained in their positions like the captain had hoped. They obviously feared that he had more to unleash.

  ‘Load them again.’

  Men frantically rolled stones into position as the conscripts got within firing range.

  ‘Back on the walls. Fire at will.’

  Thol pulled back his arm and waited until he got a clear shot, taking the first Kyzantine through the eye. The second went through a woman’s neck, the third a man’s groin.

  ‘Ready captain?’ asked Brak, looming over the ballista.

  Aspring fired his shot and looked over at his second. ‘Well hurry up about it,’ he snapped, before sending another shaft into a Kyzantine.

  The exarch had realised that only a handful of arrows were being fired and looked furious at himself for falling for Aspring’s bluff. The eighty archers continued to whittle down the advancing conscripts. He dropped his hand ordering the full advance and rode forward amongst his cavalry.

  The ballista twanged and sent its second missile away, searing through the sky. Brak held his breath. He could see the funny hat through his scope and waited. The missile took his head from the shoulders and hurled the hat into the sky.

  ‘Good shot lad, now grab your bow and start firing, we’ve got blood to spill.’

  Brak raced to the corner of the tower platform, grabbed his bow, and took aim.

  As the rest of the Kyzantine army advanced, Barcus had personally seen to the reloading of the last two onagers. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Ready, captain.’

  The words were music to Aspring’s ears. ‘Fire Barcus,’ he screamed.

  The engineer ran to the closest and released the trigger, sending the onager in motion and the rocks away. He took a deep breath and raced to the next.

  Thol watched as the conscripts massed around the bottom of the wall. He took aim and fired at those trying to lift siege ladders against the stonework. Others had a battering ram and were smashing it against the gates. Thol looked up and saw the archers arrive, who took their positions and fired at the Murukans along the top of the wall.

  ‘Incoming,’ he screamed, as he pulled down the closest soldier to him and hugged the rampart as tightly as possible.

  The arrows fell as the Murukans huddled for cover. Those not fast enough were pinned down, shafts protruding from their dead bodies. The walls were blanketed with arrows and another wave was coming. Thol looked back and saw Barcus struggling to move closer to the fourth onager. It needed to be fired. The second wave came and most of the soldiers had remained under cover from before, all except the engineer, who dragged his wounded body along with purpose.

  Thol grabbed his shield and jumped down off the wall to the stairs below. He raised it above his head as he moved past Barcus to the last onager station. Arrows thudded down as he kicked at the trigger. It wouldn’t budge. He kicked again and suddenly it snapped to life sending the final payload into the heart of the enemy.

  The arrows paused when the ladders hit the tops of the walls. Men climbed over the top to be met with a strong Murukan defence. The remaining defenders now armed with sword and shield kept them from making their way freely along the walls. The first collision of flesh and steel ignited the bloodbath.

  ‘Sir, the gate is giving,’ Brak said, hearing the gates groan over the roar of the fight.

  ‘Well we better get down there then and make sure it doesn’t.’

  Both men moved down the tower, taking the stairs as quickly as possible in their armour without breaking their necks. They stood at the rear end of the tunnel, the gates booming and shaking under the repetitive pressure from the battering ram.

  ‘How long before the walls are taken?’

  ‘Not long by the glimpses I got. But maybe it will be enough for the earl.’

  Aspring looked over to Brak who was staring intently at the gates.

  ‘Son, I’m proud of you, you have done everything a father could expect.’

  Brak turned at those words. ‘You pick this time to tell me?’

  ‘Seems like a good enough time as any.’

  Brak stepped forward into his father’s embrace.

  ‘Enough of this nonsense,’ yelled Thol, coming from behind them. ‘We still have to kill any of them that make it through that gate.’

  Thol removed his helmet revealing his sweat-matted, sandy-blond hair was stuck to his forehead. His eyes hinted at the tiredness they were all feeling and he was straining to lift the sword covered in blood and gore in his hand. Lines of blood also drenched his armour and face.

  Aspring looked over him. At only seventeen he was the youngest that remained there for the fight, ordered to the station for four years by his father until he was twenty. He knew he wouldn’t make it.

  ‘You’re a good soldier Thol, and you would have made a great earl. The men loved you and respected you. Your father would have been proud.’

  ‘It was an honour sir.’

  ‘So this is it. We are resigned to our deaths?’ asked Brak.

  The three men looked at each other. They all knew this was it. They each slowly nodded.

  Brak walked over to the wall and hit a brick with the butt of his sword. The portcullis slammed shut at their backs.

  ‘Nice trick, are there any others?’ asked Thol.

  ‘Wait and see,’ suggested the captain taking the position in the centre of the tunnel.

  There was to be no escape. Once the gates collapsed and the Kyzantines came through there was nothing between them and the enemy. The portcullis would only delay them from entering through to the other side of the Musea Pass. They could only buy the forces of Gravid’s Drift time now. But time was precious.

  Thol moved to the left, Brak to the right. All had swords drawn, shields raised, and waited. The tunnel was the right size for three men fighting abreast. The Murukans stood there in the half darkness as the sun fell behind the mountains.

  The gates smashed open and the first of the conscripts came charging down the tunnel. Blades flashed out as those that came had no order and blows cut through exposed Kyzantine flesh.

  Aspring took an overhead strike on his shield then drove his own weapon into the flank of the Kyzantine. He pulled the blade out bringing it against the thigh of a woman, before stepping on her neck once she had fallen.

  Brak ducked low, kicked his leg out and tripped his first, bringing his shield up into the face of another. His blade flashed out slicing across the fallen man’s neck.

  More conscripts flooded into the tunnel and pressed against the front line. Regulars had joined in at the back and were issuing orders to fall into ranks.

  ‘Now Brak!’ Aspring screamed.

  Brak darted to the left, sliced open the face of one woman, and hit the wall with the tip of his sword. The brick moved in and a mechanism roared to life. The enemy halted and looked around.

  Aspring smiled and stepped back. Thol did the same, not knowing what was going on.

  Bolts flew out of the ceiling, drilling into the flesh of the Kyzantines trapped in the tunnel. There was no defence readied and Kyzantine conscripts were slaughtered as three waves of bolts bit deep and punctured armour.

  ‘Forward now,’ the captain screamed launching himself at the fallen enemy and s
layed anyone who remained on their feet. Brak and Thol followed blindly, charging down the tunnel over the dead to the new threat — more Kyzantines pushing their way through the gates.

  ‘Come to your deaths!’ yelled Brak as he swung round, cleaving a man in two.

  Thol charged in battering his shield into the face of one, slashing out with his sword. Blood sprayed across his face. He brought his sword up to protect his right side and as the blade slipped across his, he countered and drove it down through the woman’s skull. He cursed as he braced for impact as the man charged forward hitting his shield with his body. Thol drove him into the wall bringing his blade up and under his armour.

  It was dark in the tunnel. The last of the light filtered in through both sides but in the middle it was hard to see. Anything could happen in the dark.

  Brak stepped forward into an attack and while he was distracted, a blade shot out around the other side of the soldier and took him in the thigh. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but his father and Thol continued to fight on. He whipped his sword across the face of the first and brought his shield in front of his body. He tried to put his weight on his injured leg but it wasn’t going to happen. He stood his ground but they kept coming and he couldn’t effectively hold it. He cut back and forth above his shield until one Kyzantine got around him on the right and as he stepped to counter his leg buckled and he fell forward onto three blades. Brak looked over at the others, gargling on the blood rising from the back of his throat as he tried to warn them. Blood dribbled down his chin as he died.