Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 35–The First Victory

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Nikolas watched as the last felled tree settled into place. It would take at least an hour to get his men across, but no matter. He scribbled a note and handed it to one of Britta’s messengers. As the messenger disappeared into the early morning darkness, Nikolas turned and raised a fist. From out of the trees, black-clad horsemen appeared. Pumping his arm, he reined his horse and crossed the narrow section of the roughhewn bridge that had been finished and was soon followed by a long line of Preytars.

* * *

Britta tried to sleep, but within moments of drifting off, she jerked awake as the familiar sensation of memory walking stole upon her. Or had she imagined it? Dreams were terrible enough without reliving memories–memories of what had been lost. As the night drifted on, her battle had grown such that the dividing line between dreams and reality blurred. Was she dreaming? If so, did it matter? A painful buzzing rang in her ears, she tried to wave it away, but instead claws grappled her arms. With a shout, she jerked awake.

“Your Majesty, wake up,” Katun demanded, his hands gripping her forearms.

“What? What’s happening?” Britta asked, though her dry mouth and scratchy throat made it difficult to form words.

“I came to deliver a message, but you were shouting. When I tried to calm you, you tried to hit me. I had to shake you awake.”

“Oh,” she said, realization finally dawning on her. “You said you had a message?”

“Yes, Nikolas says ‘the door is open.’“

It took a couple of seconds for the meaning to sink in. She fastened Katun with a look. “Have the troops at the bridge and the ford make a crossing but take their time doing so.” Katun nodded and hobbled out of the tent. She quickly grabbed her clothes and began dressing. If she could not find peace in her dreams, let her make war on reality.

* * *

Banoch rubbed his eyes, resisting the urge to sleep from closing them. A noisy parade of voices and movement from across the Bear River had kept his attention for the last hour. On the opposite shoreline, light from torches poked and prodded the darkness. The Bretagne move noisily. Very poor discipline or leadership, it was hard to determine which. He had doubted the Bretagne would risk crossing here. Still, doubt gnawed at him. Forcing the bridge made more sense, putting them directly on the road leading to the only known passage across the Fox River further north.

Logic aside, he could not ignore the evidence. He nodded toward an aide. “Send two more companies to the ford.” The young man rode off, and Banoch quietly calculated how many men he had in reserve. He had only two companies to spare: three at the bridge and five at the ford. If the Bretagnians forced the issue, he’d be hard-pressed to stop them. But a lunge across the bridge or the ford would be costly for the enemy. But even if they lost their hold on the Bear River, it would not matter. That was never the objective. He would happily keep the Bretagnians occupied for another few days if possible.

Within the hour, the sun began peeking over the treetops as Banoch reined his horse to a stop. Horns sounded across the river. As he feared, the Bretagne tried to force their way across the bridge. Their troops marched in close order across the bridge, pikes held high, with shields in front of them. As they disgorged on the north side of the river, Banoch dropped his arm. Arrows whipped upward through the trees into the still-dark morning. With a shout, the Bretagnian troops halted, and the men in the front row kneeled fully behind their shields. Those in the other ranks rotated shields above their heads and knelt, making the group appear like a giant armored box. Arrows fell amongst the men and, for the most part, struck shields and fell harmlessly to the ground. A few missiles found their mark, followed by cries of pain or motionless figures on the earth. Those nearby closed ranks.

His apprehension grew. Unlike at the ford, the enemy here appeared well-trained and disciplined. Nevertheless, Banoch had a job to do. He swung his arm forward, and Dracnorian pikemen advanced from the trees as archers prepared another volley. The Bretagne pikemen kept their box formation but watched as his men steadily approached.

Timing was everything, Banoch mused. He swung his arm downward again, and once more the air filled with the twang of arrows. Then he pulled his sword and shouted, “Charge.” His soldiers doubled their pace, the sharp ends of their weapons gleaming as the first rays of morning light filled the air.

A high-warbling cry rang out from his left. Glancing in that direction revealed men on horseback, bearing a fluttering black banner with a golden serpent. He grabbed an aide by the collar, “Send the reserves to the Fox River bridge and withdraw troops from the ford.” He spurred his horse toward his pikemen, most of whom did not realize their danger. “Form square. Form square,” he screamed.

Lightly armed archers ran in all directions, trying to dodge the Preytars’ long sabers. The Drachnorian pikemen formed a ragged square as the mercenaries swept past them. The Bretagne pikemen rolled out of their box formation and pushed forward, slamming into the Banoch’s pikemen. Shouts and curses rang out, competing with the clang of pike on shield and grunts of exertion. Pummeled by the foot soldiers and harassed by the Preytars, the Drachnorians wavered, then broke, fleeing north along the road that crossed the Fox River.

With their sabers flashing, the Preytars tore into the retreating pikemen, who threw down their weapons as they ran. Banoch smacked some with the flat of his sword, but it was hopeless. Terror had taken control of their hearts. Still, time remained to regroup with his reserves at the Fox River bridge. Resolved, he dug spurs into his mount and rode north. With a shout, the Bretagne foot soldiers charged forward, chasing the retreating mob.

* * *

Britta and Katun heard cheers at the bridge and spurred their horses across. By noon, their victory was complete. The Drachnorians had retreated, losing more than two-thirds of their force. The rest disappeared well north beyond the Fox River. Halting her troops at the Fox River, Britta ordered the Preytars to push onward and see if the road to Keihl was open.

“If the way is clear, we could attempt to relieve Keihl before sundown,” a young captain related to Britta.

Britta frowned. “I wish to know what we’re facing before doing so. Faline has to have more than a few hundred men keeping us from the city.”

Katun said, “I agree, but we should try to get across the Fox River and secure the bridge. It is the only means across. If the Drachnorians keep control, we will be hard-pressed to reach the city within a week.”

Britta turned to Mikail, her liaison with the Preytars. “When should we hear from Nikolas,” Britta asked.

“By nightfall.”

“That will give Faline time to try to cut off Nikolas and seize the bridge,” Katun muttered. “We must secure it.”

Britta nodded. Alric always advised me not to take counsel of my fears, but I have such a bad feeling about this. “We cross but go no further until Nikolas returns.”