Waking Olympus (The Singers of the Dark Book 1) (25 page)

Soren spoke soberly. “Mikel, you have discovered new technology, united two nations and you are now a core military adviser to both of them. A successful one at that. Believe me, you are a ‘Master’.”

“I have won a battle against barbarians who were expecting an easy victory. And now the professional, well trained army of Bethor is marching on Tanten. No doubt led by officers who are masters of strategy.”

“Those ‘barbarians’ were no fools, and you trounced them. I say, well done.”

The Captain's confidence in him didn't help.

“I see. Captain Soren, I wanted to ask something of you.”

“What is it?”

“Is it possible for your detachment to aid Tanten?”

The features on Soren’s face visibly dropped.

“Our assault against the Pareth forces depleted our munitions considerably. We could not even hold out against forces from Lindin if they come. I’m afraid we must soon retrace our steps back to Tanfel and then to Iska to resupply. Mikel, we have no supply lines. This could only be a one-off.”

“I see. Plan B it is then.”

“What …”

“Captain. I have a plan for the defense of Sanfran but I would need some of your men, perhaps as many as half to stay for this action. I, well, I will go with a small group of experienced Traders and make my way north towards Olympus following the trail of the Bethor army.” He couldn’t believe he was committing himself to this crazy venture, but he knew this was his only hope.
 

“Slow down and explain yourself.”

“I want to use the men of Sanfran and some of yours to set a trap for the Lindin forces. Meanwhile, I will leave with a few seasoned Traders and go north into the Xanadu Valley. I believe there may be weapons we can use at the Citadel. ”

Soren looked at Mikel, while his left hand stroked his short beard. He stroked as if hoping an inspiration would escape from the tangle of hairs.

“Setting a trap could be viewed as supporting my orders, but I won't aid you in this flight of fancy into the north. All right, on the condition that you take charge of my men and … and
do not leave
until after the battle against the Lindin army. Don’t leave them leaderless. This means you are my second in command. Do you understand? Good. I will take half of my force back to Tanfel. Re-supply, as much as I can from Iska, then I will come back. I’m not leaving my people behind leaderless or unsupported. It is risky splitting our forces but that can’t be helped.”

"Won't your soldiers object to a non-soldier giving them orders?"

"They would, that is why I am making a field promotion. You are now an acting Captain."

He wanted to complain that he had no idea how to lead a detachment, or even how to salute. But it seemed he did know how to win, that might be enough.

All of this meant that Mikel would have to stay longer than he hoped. But the Traders would not be a pushover, they could hold out, he wondered if that was just wishful thinking on his part. Mikel and Jack then spoke for several hours discussing the defense of Sanfran.

To the north-west of the City, the Euphray River emptied into the north-eastern corner of the lake. They had crossed over it and Mikel had almost forgotten about it except for his view to the south as he crossed. As the Euphray flows into the Lake it has created a shallow, marshy area thick with reeds about ten kilometers south of the bridge. Since the local farmers lived and worked near Sanfran and did not use the bridge very much then destroying it would not hinder food shipments to the City. It would disrupt trade, though the war was doing that anyway from what he was told.
 

Without the bridge the marsh was the only shallow area that could be forded. Mikel saw the situation as a possible ambush site, Sanfran officers told him the only area that could be crossed easily was a relatively small stretch of the river. He talked with Captain Soren and the military leaders of Sanfran to see if they thought it would work. They agreed that destroying the bridge would be very wise but they weren’t so certain about an ambush. In any event they would send an escorted team to destroy the bridge, with some bowmen to harry any opposition forces that might try do repairs.

After some discussion the decision was made to set up an ambush, as Mikel suggested, but only one-third would go to the Euphray, the rest would continue building defences around the city. This was not as many as he hoped, but if the plan was sound then one-third of the forces should be enough. He didn’t actually know how many fighters there were in the city. The city had a population of about five to ten thousand, it had once been much more but was now in decline as were all the Cities of the Plains. That was not enough. Lindin and Pareth must think it would be a walkover for either force alone. The most fighters Sanfran could muster, male and female, would probably be about 3,000 and almost all of them would be ill-equipped, untrained peasants. Civilians with sharpened sticks. The enemy would likely have a force similar to the one from Pareth.
 

Sanfran would not survive a siege. It did not even have proper city walls, the local farms would be inaccessible and there was negligible food storage. He also suspected that water was taken from the lake directly not by wells within the city walls. A defender's nightmare. The ambush was their best chance, change the enemy’s mind before they even reached the city.

Mikel went with a group up to the mouth of the Euphray River, a marshy area with many reeds, the ground was flat so there was no vantage point to get an idea of its size or width. Some poles were erected by someone and there were observers on three of them holding on, shielding their eyes, looking for telltale movements in the reeds and beyond. The reeds had been drying out now that the warm easterly winds of summer were in full sway, they made a constant rattling sound as the breeze moved over them. Deceptively peaceful. The dry grassland was too sparse here on the eastern side of the river to compare to the rich country to the west. The result was fewer farms, as he noticed when he saw the outline of the old city. They said that once the land had been as productive as the western Plains, but now the desert was expanding. It was hard to imagine.
 

They set up the ten small trebuchets and the troops 'dug-in' as they say. There were also archers, using bows rather than crossbows, they could use either but here bows would also be needed. He had to scour for archers, it was a dying art since the development of the crossbow. There was a lot of skill in using a bow, not much with a crossbow; just pull on the mechanism, lock, load, fire. He saw skilled archers firing at amazing speed, holding several arrows in one hand while firing, it was incredible to watch them training, but such skill was hard to find these days and harder to learn.

They had been waiting for two days now. It was about 8 am in the morning on a beautifully sunny but rapidly warming day. The wind from the east had come up on cue.

Mikel considered the situation. The team had already dismantled the bridge and lain sharpened stakes under the crossing either side. The marshes were the next best crossing point but only one small part of it was practicable; this place was shallow though the enemy would have to wade through a wide area of reeds. Because of the extent and cover they would make a great place for a large force to cross undetected, he hoped that was what the enemy assumed. They were likely confident, they would not have heard yet about the defeat of Pareth so would be expecting a band of traders and a small force from Sanfran. Dismantling the bridge they might even regard as a childish attempt to stop them rather than part of a bigger plan.

Lookouts on poles could now see movement in the reeds. The enemy foot soldiers were making their way through the marsh. They would likely spot the masts at any moment. Mikel waved the observers down and had the makeshift masts quickly lowered. But now he was blind. The contingent was hushed, waiting, lying low beneath dirt mounds. All commands by hand signals. He talked to the observers about what they saw, the spread of the enemy, their rate of progress. No cavalry apparently. The enemy must be sending their foot soldiers to take this side so the cavalry could advance in safety.

They should have appeared at the edge where the reeds ended. But there was no sign, which suggested that they were likely marshaling just out of sight, readying for a mass attack. The enemy must know they were here, well they were so close they could probably see through the reeds. It was time. Mikel passed the order along. The trebuchets were ready. The archers were ready. The crossbowmen were ready. Only the sound of birds calling and the rustling of the reeds in the wind could be heard. He silently gave the first order: he raised a red cloth, showing it left and right to the teams. Then dropped it. The bowmen ignited their fire arrows from braziers, raised them, and fired into the thickening part of the reed bed. The fire quickly caught, flaming up and spreading with the hot easterly wind, more reeds exploded as a tongue of fire leaped up several times the height of a man over a distance of hundreds of meters; the wind propelling it towards the enemy. He gave the next command; the trebuchets ignited their load of hay soaked with oil, but their targets were not near, they were aimed at a line about two thirds the distance across the marsh. The trebuchets launched, the trail of smoke and flame disappearing over the flaming reeds; they couldn't see the results.
 

Mikel knew the enemy would soon discover they were trapped on either side. The water would slow the enemy too much to flank his people or to get out of the flames, their only chance was to duck down if lucky, or just to risk it all on a headlong attack ignoring the burns. Not everywhere burns at the same intensity, as Mikel well knew from playing and experimenting with fire. Fire is complex, almost capricious, slight breezes or differences in fuel can have huge effects.

A growing chorus of screams rose from the marshland.

He whispered to himself, “Respect for Life.”

Suddenly, from out of the reeds came a scream and a mass of warriors, all in brown smoldering armor, wearing the blackened remains of a blue sash and insignia, rushing, some still burning. They were met with volley after volley of crossbow bolts. Michael looked left and right and saw a mass of fallen men. Here and there it came to swords but mostly the advance faltered. The attackers stopped, dropped their weapons and knelt, hands in the air.

Mikel cried, "halt!"

It was over. Suddenly he heard a woosh, a sharp slice of pain, on his left neck, the assailant was hit with a dozen bolts.
 

"I said halt."

He didn't want this to trigger a slaughter. Someone was at his side tending to his wound. Applying pressure, he looked down and saw blood everywhere.
 

"No. Not now." He let them lay him flat and tend to him while he wondered if this had upset everything. He didn't even consider that it might be a mortal wound.

He woke up. Already night. He started to get up — the left side of his neck sent a massive stab of blinding pain through him. He inadvertently screamed. A young Trader woman appeared, slim, brown hair in the candle light. He had trouble focusing on her words. "Master, do you need anything? Your injury will take time to heal. You must stay in bed. I have put a poultice on it that will ease the inflammation and prevent infection."

"Where is everyone?" He moved only slightly but the action was rewarded by more sudden pain, it took him by surprise, the scream was out of his mouth before he could even think of being stoic.

"I also have a tonic that will kill the pain. But you must lie down first."

"I haven't got time for this. I need to be traveling north."

She gently pushed him back onto the bed, laying him down in such a way that there were no more lightning bolts of pain in his head.

"You won't be doing anything if you die. Besides it is night time, you would not be going anywhere now."

He once hated irrefutable logic that was not his, but the world is full of irrefutable logic that challenges our wishes. He'd learned to live with it.

"Of course. See how things are in the morning."

Next morning he woke, rigid, afraid to move. After a few minutes of an unconvincing internal pep talk he got the courage to get up, waiting for the inevitable stabs of pain. Eventually, he found himself standing, he congratulated himself, even as he panted from the effort. He saw some other injured soldiers getting about, which made him feel like a weakling, they weren't complaining, he tried to push the pain away, ignore it, he did that as a child but he no longer knew that trick. He must get going and against his medic’s insistent and logical argument he planned to return to Sanfran to pick up his team; instead he found they had come to meet him. So, if he was going anywhere it would be north. No smooth, well worn roads in that direction, only unsteady ground full of random jerks up, down, sideways.

He was not feeling up to this. He ached; the horse ride was an ordeal. The injury was really almost a graze but had obviously damaged some muscles. Before he left he attended a briefing from the scouts who had been following the Lindin forces. Most of the attackers had panicked and there had been a rout. They were on their way back to Lindin to regroup. Mikel wondered how well the regrouping would go when they found out about Pareth. They might bide their time until the fall of Tanten was completed. The Bethor army plus Lindin would make the taking of Sanfran a non-event.

He was insistent about starting as soon as possible. He had that false sense of good health that comes when medicine starts to work but the body is not yet healed.

Before he left he put the Center forces under the command of Center Lieutenant, Ahmet Lusteek, a very capable officer, he also dashed off a letter and sealed it, to be delivered to Captain Soren confirming his decision and commending the man. Now he could go.

Even before she reached the city Tei knew that Tanten was indeed mobilizing. The journey to the turn-point was eerily devoid of other caravans. In recent years the traffic to and from the Eastern Caravanserai was so great that there were fears the path would be obvious to any attacker. Often one would see another caravan in the distance while coming from Tanten, but not now. They had made the turn as usual, traveling at night. They should normally be able to see a slight flicker in the distance of the beacon fires on Castle. The fires were nestled within the walls so were only visible in a narrow arc. There should have been that familiar flicker but there was nothing. The city of Tanten was trying to hide. It wouldn’t work this time, however. The enemy knew exactly where Tanten was, they also knew an alternative way that didn’t require them to cross the desert, and finally the last straw was that the enemy had the largest army the Traders had ever recorded and it was professionally trained.