Redemption (Book 6) (21 page)

Lockhart removed the spanner from his pistol, then grabbed for the hilt of his sword.

“They’re coming again, sir,” Sergeant Dyke whispered. His face was a smeared mess of mud, ash, and blood.

“I know,” Lockhart said. His voice was throttled and hoarse. He wiped a hand across his face, and was surprised to see the dark smear of blood across his palm. “It’s been an honor to serve with you, Sergeant.”

The man raised his carbine. “And you, sir.”

A keening, almost supernatural wail came out of the darkness. Shadows began to move in front of the tree line.

One of the dragoons threw down his carbine and began to scream, covering his face and hands.

To Lockhart’s left, another dragoon began to edge down the turf wall. Two others started to follow.

The rout was beginning. It would devolve into madness and chaos if Lockhart allowed it. He had already failed once today, had let his command fall apart in the face of that monstrosity that came over the Wall in the pre-dawn light.

He wasn’t going to fail again.

Captain Lockhart stood up. He raised his rapier and pistol, then stepped up onto the pile of lumber and dirt in full view of the enemy. “Dragoons!” he shouted. “To arms! On me!

Howls erupted from the fire-lit shadows of the trench before him. A javelin whizzed past his ear, missing him by inches.

Lockhart didn’t flinch. He lowered his pistol, and caught sight of a Jombard as the painted warrior stepped into the firelight at the edge of the trench. He fired. The pistol roared and bucked in his hand. “To arms!”

An arrow glanced off Lockhart’s cuirass. He winced at the hit, but kept his rapier raised and his body rooted to the spot.

A keening cry came from the stretch of broken ground in front of the Wall. Jombards erupted forward, flinging themselves down into the body-filled trench.

“Fire!” Lockhart screamed.

Carbines and pistols flashed and banged almost as one, spitting death into the trench.

It was a good volley, better than Lockhart had any right to expect of men so ragged and worn after several hours of fighting.

But the Jombards kept coming.

Lockhart leapt to the edge of the trench. He swung his rapier down, catching a Jombard who was scrambling up the wall between two of the wooden stakes.

The blade caught the man in the face and nearly cut his head in two. He tumbled back down into the pit.

“Fight!” Lockhart shouted, his voice sore and scratched from smoke and gunpowder. “Drive the devils back!”

Dyke was suddenly beside him, shouting like a maniac and swinging a halberd as if he were chopping wood.

Lockhart felt himself grinning like a maniac. If he was going to die tonight, this was how he would die, fighting to the death with his men.

And then he saw it.

In the open ground between the trench and the woods a towering gray shape appeared, taller than any man had a right to be. A wailing chant came from somewhere in the woods, rising above the carnage and clamor of the battle.

Lockhart felt the hand of fear on his heart. Not again. It couldn’t be—

The gray shape threw back its long, lean head and howled. The sound was bestial, filled with rage and frenzy.

It was another werewolf.

No one even looked up as Kendril pushed across the crowded parade ground.

Dragoons were stumbling and running this way and that, shouting and lugging boxes and crates to the walls of the fort. The parade ground was already filled with sweating horses and fugitives from the Wall. Almost all the men were bleeding from fresh injuries and were streaked with mud and ash. Many were missing weapons, and had the wild eyes of men whose will had been broken.

Kendril scowled at the scene as he raced towards the central blockhouse. But what worried him more was what he
didn’t
see.

There was no sign of any of the militiamen, or even of any of their mounts, weapons, or equipment.

Kendril hurried his pace, and jumped up the steps of the blockhouse. He headed right inside.

The chaos within was no better than that outside on the parade ground. Dragoons hurried this way and that, bellowing orders and hurrying by with dispatches or crates of carbine cartridges.

Kendril dodged around a dragoon sergeant who crashed out the front door of the blockhouse, barely avoiding a collision with the man. He turned down the short hallway, moving around a stack of bottles that someone had left stacked against the wall.

More shouting came from up ahead in what had been Kendril’s office.

He swung around the corner, not even bothering to knock.

Lieutenant Colonel Yearling was hunched over the desk, his monocle clenched firmly in one eye. Several maps were spread out over the surface, labeled with various colored pins and markers. A handful of other officers were in the room. All seemed to be talking at the same time. One was pointing to the map on the wall, shouting something about evacuation. Two others were talking quietly together in the corner, their faces written with worry.

Kendril stood stock-still in the doorway, dumbfounded by the complete anarchy he was witnessing.

Yearling looked up, and almost dropped the monocle out of his eye. “Tuldor’s beard! Lord Ravenbrook? Who let you out of your cell? You’re to be kept under lock and key until—”

“Shut up,” Kendril said.

Yearling snapped his mouth shut, as much from surprise as any attempt at obedience.

Kendril strode forward into the room. “Where are my men?”

Yearling snatched a map off the desk and rolled it up. “Disbanded, of course. I sent them all back to their homes.”

The sheer stupidity of such an action would normally have been enough to strike Kendril speechless for a second or two, but he had already guessed as much after seeing the state of the courtyard. “You sent them home,” he repeated in a grinding tone. “Well, it appears that you and Blackstone make a good match, Colonel.” He glanced down at the maps that covered the desk. “What’s the situation?”

Colonel Yearling straightened. “Now see here,” he said in a quiet yet obviously ruffled voice, “I should remind you, Lord Ravenbrook, that you are a private citizen now, and no longer have any military—”

Kendril looked up. There was fire in his eyes. “
Have the Jombards broken through the Wall
?” he said between his teeth.

No one answered.

Unbidden, Kendril walked directly up to the desk where the maps were spread out.

No one made a move to stop him, though Yearling took a cautious step back. The Colonel still managed to keep his monocle in place.

Kendril ran his eyes over the maps and diagrams, his keen mind catching the significance of every pin and marker. “Eru in Pelos,” he whispered hoarsely. He looked back up at Yearling. “How recent is this information?”

One of the other officers stepped forward and cleared his throat. “We’re continuing to get reports by the minute, my lord. But this is as updated as we can make it.”

Yearling managed to retrieve a bit of his courage and command. He stepped forward again with a severe look on his face. “I assure you, Lord Ravenbrook, that the situation is totally under control.”

Kendril whipped his head up and gave Yearling a look that sent him back a step. “‘Under control’?” He swept a hand over the map on the desk. “You call
this
‘under control’?”

Yearling didn’t respond. Neither did anyone else in the room.

Kendril turned his head back to the map in front of him. “The Wall is under massive attack. It’s already been breached in three separate locations. There are hundreds,” he shook his head and snatched at one of the red flags on the map, “perhaps
thousands
of Jombard warriors whose location is completely unaccounted for, and you call this ‘under control’?”

Yearling’s face flushed the color of wine. “I’ve heard enough.” He turned to one of the dragoon officers standing by the wall map. “Lieutenant, summon the guards and—”

“We had one chance,” Kendril said, “if we had kept my militiamen as a mobile reserve we could have tried to plug the holes as they appeared, keep the Jombards east of the Wall.” He ran a hand over his face. “It’s too late. Ashes, it’s too late.”

The prick to Yearling’s pride overwhelmed his desire to finish his previous order. “I assure you, Lord Ravenbrook, that this is not the first time I’ve tangled with the Jombards. The Northhampton Dragoon Regiment will stabilize the situation. We will drive the enemy back across the Wall, and then—”

Kendril stared at the lieutenant colonel. “Have you totally lost your mind?”

Yearling stopped, flustered into temporary silence. Every eye in the room was on him.

Kendril pointed a finger at the map without even looking at it. “The Jombards have broken through the Wall. They’re pouring over it in numbers so great that we
can’t
force them back anymore. If this information is anywhere close to accurate than we have less than an hour before they get here.”

“A temporary setback,” Yearling protested. “A temporary retreat while we muster a counterattack—”

Kendril’s face curled into a snarl of derision. “
Counterattack
? At this point, Colonel, you’re looking at a total rout of your forces. The Jombards will besiege Stockade, kill the dragoons left outside the palisade barrier, and then move on and burn Redemption to the ground while you and your men are trapped here. The only hope any of us have at this point is to fall back on Redemption and defend the town and the harbor with everything we have until reinforcements can come from Arbela.”

“Abandon Stockade?” Yearling snorted. “I think not. This fort is a much more defendable position than—”

“Who cares?” Kendril growled. “All the Jombards have to do is to put a token force here to pin you and your men inside, then send the main force against Redemption itself. You don’t have the men to push the Jombards back over the Wall, much less break out of Stockade in any counterattack.” He glared down at the maps. “What does it matter how long you can hold up in here? You’re still sentencing every man, woman and child in Redemption to death.”

“Lieutenant!” Yearling said, turning his head to the man against the wall again. “Fetch the guards immediately. I want Lord Ravenbrook—”

“I don’t think so,” Kendril said icily. He put a hand on the rapier that hung once again from his belt. “I’m not playing this game anymore. The next man who tries to put a hand on me dies. Now where are my men?”

Yearling put his hands on the desk. “I told you, I sent them home, as per my orders.”

“Then that’s where I’m going,” Kendril said. He straightened and turned for the door. “Eru willing it’s not too late to muster them to defend the walls.”

One of the officers gave a surprised look. “You’re bringing reinforcements to Stockade, Lord Ravenbrook?”

Kendril paused. “Hardly. You gentlemen are on your own. I’m going to hold the walls of Redemption for as long as humanly possible. If you’re smart you’ll abandon the fort and come with me right now.”

Colonel Yearling stepped around the desk. “I should remind you, Lord Ravenbrook, that my regiment is charged with guarding the Wall itself—”

“Then you are a complete idiot,” Kendril snarled. “The Wall is
nothing
. It never has been. It’s only a method to protect Redemption and keep the Jombards from killing everyone there. If you can’t see that than you really are hopeless.” He turned, then stopped by the chest near the door.

“You’re still under arrest, Lord Ravenbrook,” Yearling sputtered. “I won’t let you leave Stockade!”

“I think you have bigger problems,” Kendril said. He turned to the chest and flipped it open, then snatched up his black cloak and short swords. “I believe these are mine, and I don’t particularly want them burning with the rest of this place.” He turned to the speechless men in the room. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

Kendril walked out the door.

The town was burning.

Flames danced and leapt into the air like living creatures, cackling and singing as they consumed one building after another. Smoke choked the mud streets. Ashes fluttered down from the blackened sky above, intermingled with burning embers that drifted down like floating fireflies.

Screams sounded through the town, mixed with inhuman howls. A baby was crying somewhere. Gunshots blasted off amid the flames and choking smoke of the town. The clanging of steel on steel echoed down the muddy streets.

Kara stumbled through the mud, her eyes burning and watering from the smoke. She brushed the gray ash off her arms and face, looking wildly about her.

She could only see the fire that blazed away on the wooden buildings to either side of her. Even though there were sounds of fighting, screaming and dying everywhere, she couldn’t see anyone at all.

A small child began crying somewhere behind her.

Kara turned, desperate to find the source of the weeping.

The towering inferno blocked her each way she turned. There was only flames and smoke.

“Watch out,” someone said. It was a young boy’s voice.

Kara turned, startled.

The boy, no more than eight or nine years old, stood next to her. He was dressed in a black hooded cloak like Kendril, and in each hand he held a toy pistol. “Watch out,” he said again. He pointed at the fire directly ahead. “There’s a wolf. I’ll kill it.”

Kara thought she saw something moving through the smoke ahead. It was a massive shape, some kind of beast bigger than a horse. A reverberating growl came from it.

Sudden, unreasoning fear struck Kara’s heart.

The young boy started forward, his toy pistols raised. “I’ve got it,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll kill it.”

“No, wait,” Kara said. She grabbed the boy’s cloak, trying to pull him back. “No,
don’t
. It’s too dangerous.”

The boy turned around, only he wasn’t a boy anymore. The face was that of Torin, her brother.

Kara fell back with a gasp. She was quite literally seeing a ghost.

“Don’t worry, sis,” Torin said with a lopsided grin. “I know what I’m doing.” There was blood on his shirt, running down from a bullet hold in the middle of his chest.