A Wizard in Chaos

CHAPTER 10

The two were about the same age and size, Cort a little younger, his enemy a little older. They were so well matched that they stayed where they were, neither advancing or giving ground, their horses dancing around and about one another.

The Blue Company stared at the duel, fascinated.

“You’re all alone, you know,” Dirk called. Startled, the officer spun his horse, still facing Cort and parrying madly, but looking past his foe to see that there wasn’t a single brown-coat left in sight. Suddenly he broke away with a high, shrill cry and spurred his mount toward the trees.

Cort started to chase him, but the man reached the trees first, and Cort pulled up, cursing, knowing the man might have left a rearguard in ambush. He turned back to his own troops.

Sergeant Otto had already bullied the unwounded men back into a battleline, spears outward, while the other sergeants went from wounded man to wounded man, doing what they could for first aid; so did Dirk. The huge stranger was off his horse and down with them, tending to the fallen brown-coats.

Cort rode up to Sergeant Otto. “What’s the tally?”

“Two of ours dead and ten wounded, sir,” Sergeant Otto answered. “Too soon to tell who can walk, but my guess is that six of them won’t fight again for months.”

Cort nodded grimly and glanced at the giant. “Detail men to guard him. I don’t know who he is, but he helped us, and I don’t want some wounded Hawk killing him with a lucky stroke.”

“Yes, sir.” The master sergeant turned to bawl orders, then turned back to Cort. “Why would the Hawk Company attack us when neither of us is hired to fight, sir?”

“Just because the Blue Company hasn’t been hired, doesn’t mean the Hawks haven’t,” Cort told him, “and for all we know, Captain Devers may have already signed on with some boss or squire who has a war coming up. My guess is that the Hawks are fighting for the enemies of whoever has just hired the Blue Company, and the more of us they can kill before the battle, the fewer they’ll have to face on the field.”

“That’s against all the rules in the Free Companies’ Code,” the master sergeant said grimly.

“It certainly is.” Cort’s words rang like those of a judge pronouncing sentence.

“When the captains hear of this, they’ll turn on the Hawk Company in a body,” Otto predicted. “They will indeed,” Cort agreed. “That’s why the Hawks don’t dare let us live to tell of it.”

The master sergeant’s eyes widened. “You’re right, sir, of course! They’ll be back with three times their number!”

“And they won’t be surprised by a giant this time,” Cort said grimly. “Form up the men as soon as you can, sergeant! We have to march.” He turned away. “Sergeant Dulaine!”

“One more stitch, sir.” Incredibly, Dirk was sewing a man’s wound shut. He tied off the thread, broke it, and came over to Cort, tucking his needle away in a little wooden case that he slipped into his tunic. “Who the hell were they?”

“Two platoons from the Hawk Company, ambushing us before the battle begins,” Cort told him. “How long before our wounded are fit to travel?”

“Now, sir, if you carry them in litters,” Dirk said. “Seven of them can walk, but they can’t fight.”

“You and I will have to carry the dead on our horses until we can bury them,” Cort told him. “There’s no time now; the Hawks will be back with three times our number, maybe with their whole company. Set up litters.” Dirk nodded. “Yes, sir.” He turned away and called, “How many of those brown-coats will live until their friends come back, Gar?”

“They all will, if their buddies stay to take care of them,” the giant answered.

Cort stared. “You know each other?”

“Old friends,” Dirk told him. “He was supposed to meet me back in town, but he was late, so I left a note at the inn, telling him which road to take, and that there might be work for him at the end of it.”

“Oh, there surely is,” Cort said softly, “and he doesn’t even have to wait till he reaches headquarters.”

It made sense that they should know each other—the huge man’s accent was even worse than Dirk’s. Cort raised his voice. “You there! Giant!”

The big man’s head snapped up; he scowled. “Yes, little man?”

Cort stiffened, and Dirk said quickly, “He doesn’t like to be called names any more than any of us do.”

“My apologies,” Cort called stiffly.

“Accepted.” Gar stood and came over to the officer; his head was as high as the horse’s. “I’m Gar Pike at your service, sometime officer and sometime sergeant.”

“I’m only a lieutenant, so I can only hire you as a sergeant,” Cort told him, then turned to call. “Sergeant Otto?”

“Yes, sir?” the noncom called as he came over. “Will you accept yet one more sergeant?”

“Him?” The master sergeant stared. “Be sure I will, sir, and I won’t be surprised if the captain promotes him over me!” He held out a hand. “I’m Master Sergeant Otto. You fought well.”

“Gar Pike.” The giant shook his hand. “It’s easy, when you can scare your opponents just by standing up.”

“No, I watched how you handled your sword,” the master sergeant said. “You’re damn good—but so was that Hawk lieutenant.”

“Yes, he was,” Gar said, frowning. “I hope they sent their best, because if the rest of their officers are that good, we’re in trouble.”

“You know they’ll come back, then?” Cort asked, surprised.

“I would,” Gar explained, “no matter why they attacked us. They weren’t just after loot, or they wouldn’t have picked on professional soldiers. No, we were their assignment, and they’re not going to leave it unfinished.”

“Wise insight,” Cort approved. “We have to march to some kind of stronghold.” He looked around at his makeshift cadre. “Any ideas?”

Gar pointed to the northeast. “I passed a town with a small castle on my way here. The peasants in the fields were well dressed, so I’d guess it’s a free town.”

“A good guess!” Cort’s spirits lifted. “Free towns always want to keep mercenaries on their side—they never know when they’ll need us.” Then he frowned. “Of course, they could be the ones who hired the Hawk Company.”

“I didn’t see anyone in that uniform around there,” Gar told him, “and if the peasants were out hoeing, they weren’t expecting a battle. Besides, if these Hawks had been there and had expected a fight, they would have challenged me or tried to recruit me, not just let me ride through.”

“True.” Cort nodded. “Will you carry a dead man across your horse’s rump, Sergeant Pike?” Gar smiled slowly. “I like an officer who won’t leave his dead if he doesn’t have to. Of course I’ll carry a dead man, sir, and a live one, too, if I have to.”

“It may come to that,” Cort admitted. “How far away is this castle?”

“A dozen miles.” Gar pointed northeast again, off to the side of the road. “I came overland.”

“Then you found a route that doesn’t need a road, and won’t leave trampled crops to show where we’ve gone?”

Gar nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Then lead us!” Cort ordered, and turned back to Sergeant Otto. “Load up! We march!”

They marched for the rest of the day, slowly because of their walking wounded, and when the sun set, Cort had to call a halt. The wounded men sat down heavily right where they stood, but the others set to pitching camp and warming dinner.

“We can’t rest long, sir,” the master sergeant said.

“I know,” Cort said, frowning. “I wish I had some notion how far behind us the Hawks are.”

“A day’s march,” Gar said with certainty. “I followed them in until I had to cut off to find the village.”

“A day?” Cort said with relief. “Then we can rest for a few hours.” It occurred to him to wonder how Gar could have followed so many soldiers and still have seen peasants hoeing without fear, but he had other things to worry about.

“How long do we rest, sir?” Sergeant Otto asked.

“Six hours at the most,” Cort told him. “Then we’ll move out.”

“Marching at midnight?” The sergeant major paled. “But the Fair Folk, sir!”

“We’ll have to chance it. After all, I haven’t seen a Hollow Hill anywhere along the route.”

“There might be one farther ahead, sir,” the master sergeant protested.

“Hollow Hill? Fair Folk?” Gar frowned. “Why should we fear them?”

Cort turned to him in surprise, then remembered. “That’s right, you’re a foreigner.”

“I’ll tell him while we pitch camp,” Dirk said, and led Gar away, talking in low tones, but Cort did catch the phrase, “gas domes.” He wondered what Dirk was saying—and Gar, for that matter. He overheard the big man telling Dirk something about doing as the Romans do. He had heard of Romans, of course, but they were just legends, tales that grandmothers told as the winter nights drew in. What did Romans have to do with Fair Folk?

He dismissed the thought—he had worse worries at the moment. He wondered just how far away the Hawk Company camp was, and hoped Gar was right.

The very beautiful girl started to unlace her bodice, then reached down to shake Cort’s shoulder. “Wake up, lieutenant!” she insisted.

Cort wanted to do anything but wake up. Actually, he had something very definite he wanted to do, but the girl said “Wake up!” again, and this time she had a deep basso voice. Cort shoved himself up on one elbow as the girl faded to nothing, and forced his eyes open to see the banked and glowing campfire. Alarm jolted through him; he sat up, staring around, and saw Gar.

“Good, you’re awake,” the big man said. “I made a mistake about the Hawks, lieutenant.” Cort scrambled to his feet. “Are they here?”

“No, and their camp is where I thought it was, but they sent cavalry. I can hear hooves, way out there.” Gar pointed off toward the west.

Cort froze, listening, but all he could hear was the breeze. “You’ve good ears, sergeant.”

“It was just a minute’s sound blown on a breeze,” Gar told him, “a freak echo from the far side of the valley, and of course I can’t be sure it’s the Hawk Company…”

“But farmers don’t usually drive that many horses on their wagons,” Cort said with sarcasm. “Wake Sergeant Otto and get the company on the march.”

The men weren’t happy about marching at night—they muttered constantly, and fearfully, about the Fair Folk and other night-spirits.

“Stop worrying about something you might run into,” Dirk told them, “and pay attention to the danger you can be sure will jump you, if you don’t keep moving—the Hawk Company!”

The muttering didn’t stop, but the men did march faster.

Even without the wounded men and the corpses, they would have gone far more slowly than the horsemen who were chasing them. With them, progress seemed to be a crawl. Gar kept listening, though, and claimed to be able to hear the Hawks. They were approaching, but were having trouble finding the Blue Company’s trail—they had expected them to stay on the roads. So they weren’t following directly—they were going at an angle, cutting across the Blue Company’s line of march, then turning to search and cutting across the line again. “They’ll find us sooner or later, lieutenant, but it’ll be dawn before they can see our signs well enough to catch up fast.”

“With any luck, we’ll have found a stronghold by then, or been able to talk the free town into sheltering us,” Cort said, but his stomach was hollow with dread.

The world paled with predawn light, and finally, on the crisp breeze that blew through the clear air of early morning, Cort heard it, too: the distant thudding of hooves, almost felt rather than heard, horses at the trot.

The soldiers heard it as well. They glanced over their shoulders and muttered with dread, but the hooves faded again.

“Still cutting our trail,” Gar reported, “but it won’t be long before they see our footprints, and follow directly.”

“Faster!” Cort barked. “I know you’re dog tired, but march faster, blast it! Or you’ll have a worse lash than mine on your backs!”

“There!” Dirk pointed uphill, at a towering mass of stone pierced here and there by holes. “Better than nothing, lieutenant!”

“I’ll take it! There, men—march for that wall, quickstep!”

The soldiers needed no urging. Exhausted but on the verge of panic, they picked up the pace to a double march.

As they came up to the wall, they heard the sound of hooves come back, faint with distance, but it didn’t fade this time.

“They’ve found our trail!” Gar snapped. “Quickly, lieutenant! Fort up!”

They rode around behind the wall—and stared. “Thank all our lucky stars,” Cort breathed. “Shelter!”

There was no roof and maybe never had been, but the wall extended around them in a circle, only fifty feet across, and was pierced here and there with tall, narrow holes. “It is a stronghold,” Cort cried, “or the ruins of one! Thanks be to whatever ancestors built it!”

One of the soldiers let out a cry, pointing upward. Cort whirled to look, and saw a man in green clothing slide down a slope of the wall and leap to the ground.

“Bring him down!” Sergeant Otto called, and two soldiers ran for the gateway, hefting their spears.

“No!” Cort bellowed. “We’re guests, and we want their hospitality! Let them bring all the troopers they have! Maybe they’ll fight the Hawks for us!”

“And maybe they’ll spit us like pheasants for roasting,” Otto grumbled. “But you’re right, lieutenant, they’re probably more interested in making friends with a Free Company, as long as it doesn’t have enough men to threaten them.”

The sentry appeared again through the gateway, running flat out across the fields toward a walled town with a small castle that appeared through the morning mist as a sunbeam struck it, turning it golden. The soldiers lowered their spears reluctantly; the man was running in a straight line, and was a tempting target. Even as they watched, though, he veered, then veered again.

“Smart,” Otto approved. “Ran straight just long enough to draw our fire, then swerved in time to avoid it.”

“It might be that we’re not dealing with amateurs,” Cort said.

Then he realized that the drum of hooves had become louder. “Into the arrow slits, quickly! A ruin is better protection than none! One man to each aperture, hurry!”

Sergeants bawled orders, and the soldiers set down their wounded comrades behind the walls. Dirk, Gar, and Cort tied their horses to large rocks, then scrambled upward. Even the walking wounded climbed up to the embrasures. Loose rock slipped under foot, and men went sliding, but their comrades caught them and pulled them up.

“Stay out of sight unless they charge us!” Cort called.

All the men flattened themselves against the wall beside the arrow slits, watching the grassy courtyard below, waiting for the sound of the Hawks’ horses on the outside of the wall.

Finally it came, drumming closer and closer; then slowing to a walk, and a disgusted voice cried, “A fortress! And they’ve gone in!”

“Then we’ll have to go in after them,” a heavier voice growled. “Follow their track around! Ready your crossbows!”

Several of the Blue Company blanched—they only had one spear each, and two javelins across their backs. But Cort grinned with delight and hefted a rock half the size of his head, nodding to his men. The sergeants nodded and turned to the men, pantomiming javelin throwing. The soldiers took their short spears from their backs and lifted them.

The horses suddenly leaped into a gallop and burst into the courtyard below. Eighteen arms swung, filling the air with javelins. Even as they did, bowstrings twanged. The Blue Company threw themselves to the ground. One or two shouted oaths as crossbow bolts caught them in buttock or leg, whichever was too slow in falling. Then Cort leaped up, and the men who could, imitated him, their second javelins in their hands. They saw half a dozen Hawk horses with empty saddles, their riders writhing on the ground.

The crossbows would take too long to crank. The Hawk commander shouted “Charge!” and spurred his horse. His men pounded after him.

“The idiots!” Cort called, to hearten his men. “Charging stone walls! Wait for sure targets!” But as they came close, the horses suddenly swerved, galloping in zigzags, almost colliding but never quite, and always coming closer and closer to the walls.

“Choose your target and stay with him!” Cort bawled. The soldiers did as he told them, then threw their spears. Some struck home, and a few more Hawks fell from their saddles. Most missed their targets by scant inches. The Hawks shouted triumph and pulled up by the walls, climbing onto their saddles, then leaping for handholds and footholds to take them up to their quarry.

The Blue Company braced their spears and waited, thin-lipped. They were still outnumbered two to one.

Then more hooves thundered, and sixty horsemen rode into the ruined courtyard with a slender officer at their fore who cried, “Loose high!” in a clear tenor, and bowstrings thrummed. A storm of arrows rattled on the walls. A few ricocheted and struck Hawk men; others struck flakes that fell into their eyes. The Hawks let go with an oath and leaped down to the ground, turning with naked swords—to face sixty drawn bows, the archers crowding their horses forward around their officer.

“Leave this place at once!” the tenor cried. “Mount and ride back beyond the river, for everything between it and this ruin is part of the territory of Quilichen!”

The Hawks stood, truculent and reluctant. Then one man mounted, and the others, grumbling, followed suit, but the first rider snatched his crossbow from his saddle, slapped a bolt in it, and started winding.

“I forbid!” the tenor cried, and an arrow struck the man’s shoulder. He dropped the crossbow with a howl of pain.

“Let no man else try to load,” the Quilichen officer ordered. “All our bows are bent, and be sure we can loose three rounds for every one of yours!”

The shaft in the soldier’s shoulder had pierced boiled-leather armor, with bit enough left to lodge itself in the muscle. The Hawks slowly lifted their hands from their weapons.

“None may come to this domain without our leave!” the Quilichen officer cried. “Be off with you!”

“What of our enemies?” the Hawk officer retorted. “Will you let them stay?”

“I shall deal with them when you are gone,” the Quilichen officer replied.

The Hawk officer said, in a threatening tone, “Your town may need us someday. Do you dare court our ill will?”

“Do I dare court the ill will of the Blue Company?” the tenor returned.

“So, then,” the Hawk officer said, with a smile of cold malice, “it comes down to a question of which company you trust.”

“I trust that neither of you will let sentiment get in the way of business.”

The Hawk officer lost his smile.

“We shall have to take that chance, though,” the Quilichen officer said. “In the meantime, you must leave, or be turned into pincushions. Besides the archers you see, there are many more behind and to each side of you, who have crept up into the ruins while we’ve been talking.”

“You could be lying,” the Hawk officer said through stiff lips.

“I could also be telling the truth. Do you dare take the chance?” The Quilichen officer went right on without giving him the chance to embarrass himself by having to reply. “There are even more of my archers hidden flanking the path through the woods to the river. Again, I request that you leave, and don’t come back into Quilichen’s territory unless we hire you.”

“Or your enemies do!”

“That’s as may be, and the future shall show it,” the Quilichen officer replied. “Now go, and don’t stop till you’ve crossed the river, for you may be sure that archers of mine will watch you every step of the way. You won’t see them, but they’ll be there!”

Slow and surly, the Hawk officer moved his horse forward. His men fell into line behind him, grumbling, and the Quilichen riders stepped aside, opening a lane for them to exit.

When the last of them had ridden out of the courtyard, the officer spurred forward. “You on the walls! I see you are Blue Company by your livery! Why have you come to Quilichen?”

“To ask sanctuary of you,” Cort replied. “These Hawks ambushed my platoon on our way back to headquarters, when we were not yet at war. They have killed or wounded a quarter of my force, and would have slain all the rest. Quilichen was the nearest stronghold that might take pity on poor fugitives who were so vastly outnumbered.”

The officer turned aside for a quick conference with a sergeant, then turned back and cried, “You have chosen well and wisely! We have no great wish to make enemies of the Hawk Company, but we don’t have it in us to send you to certain doom! Lay down your weapons and come with us to our town, to heal your wounded and recover yourselves! We shall give you back your weapons when you leave!”

Without hesitation, Cort slid his sword back into the scabbard, unbuckled his sword belt, and laid it down on the rock. Slowly, Gar, Dirk, and Otto imitated him. Then, with great reluctance (for a spearman’s spear is his life), so did the rest of the men.

“Come down and be our guests!” the officer called.

Cort led the way, as was his right—led the way into possible death, but also into possible life. His only security was the hope that no free town would willingly bring down the wrath of the Blue Company upon itself by slaying soldiers to whom they’d promised sanctuary.

But the Quilichen archers cheered as Cort strode among them, and the officer dismounted to clasp his hand. “You fought valiantly even outnumbered and facing sure death! Any of us will honor you highly for that!”

“I thank you,” Cart said, feeling dazed.

“We, too.” Gar, Dirk, and Otto came up behind Cort. “We thank you for our very lives.”

“Have I the honor of addressing the Squire of Quilichen?” Cort asked.

“No, you have met the castellan, his sister.” The officer removed her helmet, and a wealth of chestnut hair tumbled down around her shoulders.