Another barrage of oil was thrown over the edge of the Scar and fire arrows had another half dozen shield houses alight by the time the first of the Deutzani soldiers reached the very top of the Scar. The brave enemy soldiers were almost immediately killed by a host of archers, but their success diverted the attention of many of the defenders and it allowed many of the men below to climb higher relatively unimpeded. In the next few minutes, more and more Deutzani scrambled to the top, a number of the enemy were also archers, who began firing arrows back at the defenders while more Deutzani moved up to engage the closest Massi soldiers. The Massi hold on the edge of the Plateau was quickly slipping away. There were perhaps fifty enemy soldiers on the top of the Scar when Marcum signaled to Sergeant Birdsong.
“Advance!” he yelled and then turned to the fifty or so heavy foot soldiers that surrounded him. “Let’s move,” he said rather softly and as one they rushed to attack the enemy that now threatened to occupy their Plateau.
Fighting as he was, Captain Marcum was completely unaware of the battle for the Scar trail. The majority of the Massi men and women on the edge of the Plateau continued to drop boulders large and small on the advancing shield houses. When the enemy was close enough they would dump more casts of oil down onto them and then set them alight with fire arrows. But as more and more Deutzani gained the summit of the Scar and engaged the defenders above, the attack on the Deutzani still climbing began to falter.
Marcum fought and killed as well as he was able. Over the years he’d lost a bit of his speed with age but retained much of his strength, which was substantial. And all the while he tried to keep track of the battle around him, trying to judge the strength of the defense. After nearly an hour the Deutzani attack seemed to slacken, until finally it fell off all together. By the time Marcum reached the edge of the Scar he could see the remainder of the Deutzani army was in quick retreat. Sporadic arrow fire rained down on them, and an occasional rock, but for the most part the defenders on the edge of the Plateau just rested and breathed thanks that they had survived.
Sergeant Birdsong took a superficial arrow wound to the right cheek, but otherwise he was unharmed when he finally reached Captain Marcum.
He was smiling as he approached his commander.
“Full retreat,” he said happily. “And they only have a dozen or so shield houses.”
“They’ll be back,” Marcum said somberly. “Tomorrow…or if we’re very unlucky…tonight. How many did we lose?”
After a bit of checking it was discovered that they lost just over a hundred men, most of them halberdiers and foot soldiers. The Deutzani dead numbered nearly three hundred and fifty on the Plateau and it was estimated another fifty or so had lost their lives during their climb. It was a victory, but a costly one. Their supply of oil was nearly depleted and they had fewer than a dozen boulders of any size remaining.
“Get the town folk to work finding more rocks,” Marcum ordered as he gazed out and down at the Deutzani camp far below. “And find Lyle…see if he knows of any other oil…or anything flammable we might use against the bastards.”
‘If they come tonight…they’ll have us. Let’s hope they wait for more shield houses,’ Marcum thought, but he knew that if the Deutzani persisted they would eventually overwhelm the defenders. He’d lost a hundred of his toughest fighting men and he was running low on heavy soldiers. The archers, though vital, would not be able to hold the Plateau by themselves. He considered contacting General Bock, but dismissed the idea…thinking instead of Gaston…now Captain Gaston. Marcum knew the young cavalry man was ordered to harass the Temple Knights and support Manse, but Marcum needed him. If Gaston could somehow hit the Deutzani from below as they were engaged in attacking the Plateau…Marcum shook away the thought, but it returned and nagged at his brain.
‘Perhaps we’ll just see if Gaston happens to be nearby,’ he thought then turned to Birdsong.
“Find Speaker Torres,” was all he said.
VII
As it happened, Captain Gaston and the Massi cavalry were just over fifty miles to the east of Manse trying to regroup after the recent attack on the Temple Knights which quickly turned into a fiasco. Most of the Massi horsemen, Gaston included, counted themselves lucky that the entire force was not completely wiped out. The Knights were good, there was no doubt about that and they’d proved it by killing or capturing nearly ten percent of Gaston’s force…and that was during a supposedly surprise attack.
In all they lost nearly two hundred men during the engagement, with another seventy-five suffering wounds serious enough to keep them out of the fighting for a while, but more importantly they lost over two hundred and fifty horses. Neither men nor horses could be replaced easily, and Gaston was gathering his courage before contacting Gwaynn to inform him of the defeat.
In the immediate aftermath of battle, after rejoining with the main contingent of Massi cavalry, Gaston decided to keep moving east. His greatest fear was that the Temple Knights would follow and capitalize on their obvious advantage, but after nearly a day and a half of hard riding they’d encountered no more of the enemy, a fact that left Gaston feeling very thankful.
“We’ve done damage to the Knights as well,” Captain Kerr said as they sat in the command tent. Kerr, who sat near the back of the tent, remained silent for so long that Gaston forgot he was present.
Gaston blinked and looked to his second in command. “Does the worry show?”
Kerr smiled, liking the younger man. “Yes, and you are wise not to let the men see you so,” he answered. “You must contact Gwaynn and General Bock…inform them of the situation.”
Gaston nodded but did not answer. They both looked up as Speaker Sarbeth entered the tent as if on cue. Gaston’s heart began to pound in his chest the moment he saw her, expecting to be told of contact by the King, but Sarbeth remained quiet, standing stiffly just inside the tent flap. The female Speaker was young, athletic and had such a strong, square jaw that it was the envy of many of the men who rode with her. Her dirty blonde hair was cut shoulder length and pulled back away from her face and as she waited Gaston thought wildly that she would have made a fine looking man. Politeness however, kept him from revealing his opinion to her, though surprisingly she would have been happy to hear it.
Gaston’s heart began to slow when the woman didn’t speak up immediately, but then Sarbeth surprised him.
“Speaker Torres has called to us, Captain Marcum wishes to speak with you,” she said in a soft, feminine voice which did not match her appearance.
Gaston frowned and glanced at Captain Kerr, who shrugged, also puzzled.
“Proceed,” Gaston told the Speaker and at once Sarbeth closed her eyes and began to weave her hands about in front of her. Gaston couldn’t help but notice that her hands were large and rough looking.
‘She would make a fine warrior,’ he thought, but then quickly amended it. ‘She was a fine warrior.’
It took several long minutes before a small distortion coalesced in the air directly before her. When, at last, her hands dropped, she opened her eyes and spoke clearly. “Speaker Torres…Captain Gaston is present.”
“Captain,” Gaston heard the voice of Captain Marcum, his old friend and mentor, “we need immediate assistance or Lynndon will fall. Where are you located?”