William King - The Serpent Tower

Weasel gave him a wink. “Spearing carp in a barrel,” he said. He raised his long gun to his shoulder and waited.

A moment later, with a rumble like summer thunder, the Foragers opened fire. The densely packed band of men round the torture tree shrieked as musket balls ripped through them. Some fell, some turned, some threw themselves flat and were trampled. Drunk and surprised they had absolutely no idea what was going on. A very few, with some remaining presence of mind, reached for their muskets. The others milled and bleated like sheep in the pen of an abattoir.

There was a loud bang and a puff of smoke from nearby. The sulphurous smell of powder smoke assaulted Rik’s nostrils. A man on the battlements fell. He handed his own loaded musket to Weasel, and held the Barbarian’s ready. There was another bang, and another man fell. He passed the third musket to Weasel and began to reload the first. There was another bang and the last sentry on the battlements fell.

While this was going on, Corporal Toby and his assault group stormed round the enemy flank and headed for the river. The Foragers in the wood kept up a steady stream of fire. One man in the centre of the swirl of bodies began to bellow orders, and get the troops into some semblance of order. Weasel took the musket from Rik’s hands, twisted and fired. The would-be leader dropped.

For the men under attack it was the last straw. Some dived for the undergrowth, some fled towards the river, some stuck their hands in the air and howled about surrender. The relentless barrage of fire from the woods continued, unabated, swift and professional. The Foragers were good shots and the enemy had no idea how many men attacked them. Right now, it would not have mattered. The enemy were in a panic, and had lost all discipline. Under the circumstances if they had outnumbered the Foragers ten to one they would not have stood their ground.

Looking back at the building, Rik could see Corporal Toby and his men disappear through its gates. From inside came the sound of firing and the howls of the Barbarian’s battle cry. Weasel had transferred his gaze back to the structure’s walls.

“Those men were idiots, Halfbreed,” he said. “They could have interrogated Kalmek in the building, and had walls around them. Instead they made a barbecue out of it. If the rest of the Kharadreans are like this, just the company of us could take this whole bloody country.”

“I doubt the rest of the country will be,” said Rik.

“I can dream, can’t I?”

“I’d much rather know what’s going on here. This province was supposed to be friendly. Now we find it up in arms against us, even if it is in the most half-assed way possible.”

“There was nothing half-assed about the ambushes we’ve waded through…” The rest of Weasel’s sentence was drowned out by the rolling thunder of musketry and the screams of the dying. A moment later the Barbarian appeared on the battlements and waved. Weasel flinched.

“Almost blew the big, stupid bastard's brains out.”

“They’re so small I'd be surprised you could hit them.”

“I can shoot the bollocks off a blue-arsed fly, Halfbreed, so I just might be able to hit them. Might.”

Other Foragers appeared on the battlements. They levelled their rifles at the mass of men in the water and opened fire. Weasel accepted another rifle from Rik and joined in. Soon it was all over. Corpses sprawled flat out on the grass. The river was dyed red with blood. Sergeant Hef emerged from the woods and cut down Kalmek. Rik watched as the Foragers checked the survivors, bayoneting any who were too wounded to walk.

After watching a comrade being tortured, they were in no mood to be merciful.

Rik stood on the battlements on the far side of the captured manor house, looking down on the lands beyond. A short distance north the forest opened out onto rolling hillocks, small copses and open fields. Some of the hills were covered in long furrowed strips. They had a neglected overgrown look that told him war had once again overtaken agriculture in this part of the world. In the distance, if he strained, he thought he could make out the very tip of the Tower of Serpents, although he told himself that might just have been his imagination.

Behind and beneath him he could hear the sound of drunken revelry. It was obvious now why they had beaten their enemies so easily. The men had found a secret store of wine bricked up in the cellar. There was still plenty of it to go around. Despite the efforts of Sardec, and the Sergeant and Corporal, many of the Foragers were getting just as drunk as the men they had beaten, taking secret swigs when there was no one around to watch them. Rik had taken sentry duty up on the wall because he knew somebody had to, if they were not going to be taken in the same way as their late foes.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Sergeant Hef’s head rise into view. The little monkey faced man grinned at him. “Nice to see someone has kept their head,” he said.

“I’m not in the mood,” Rik said.

“You’ve not been on the tear since the mountain,” said the Sergeant. He had the wary tone in his voice that all of them got when they discussed Achenar. None of them would ever forget the horrors they had faced there.

“Saving my pennies,” Rik said. He thought he saw movement on the nearest ridge. He pointed it out to the Sergeant. Hef raised a spyglass to his eyes.

“By the Light,” he said, passing the glass to Rik. Rik looked through the eyepiece and made a few adjustments and saw what had upset the Sergeant. There were men there, a lot of them. Moments later he heard the beat of a distant drum and an enemy force came into view. There were hundreds of them, cavalry and infantrymen. Forget hundreds, he thought, there were maybe thousands of them. It was a whole army, complete with blue-coated Terrarch officers. Banners fluttered in the breeze.

“Shit,” said Rik. “Better tell the lads to leg it.”

The army was heading this way. He wondered if they would make it before the outriders reached them.

From the speed at which the cavalry were moving, he guessed the answer was no.

Down in the courtyard the Foragers swiftly took up their weapons and headed to the walls. Sardec joined them, shouting instructions to close the gates and block them with anything that could be found. Toadface and the Barbarian rolled an old cart into place. It was obvious that they could not escape. Destrier-mounted dragoons were already within striking distance. Packs of scaly, razor-toothed ripjack wyrms fanned out ahead of them. Anyone who tried to break for the wood would be ridden down or torn to pieces by the ripjacks. The bi-pedal wyrm's massive jaws would strip a man’s flesh to the bone in seconds.

“What now, sir?” Sergeant Hef asked the Lieutenant.

Sardec considered for a moment. Rik knew that every man in the unit was listening closely and would take his cue from the Terrarch. If Sardec panicked, they all would. If Sardec stood firm so would they, even though it looked like a Blue army was out there. At least a thousand men lined the ridge-tops. Rik gave thanks for small mercies. At least there were no bridgebacks. Those huge wyrms could have smashed through the gate easily. And as far as he could see there were no cannons. The only question was whether there was a mage present. If there was, things would go very badly for the Foragers.

“We can hold out here for as long as we have powder,” said Sardec. “They don’t have artillery and they don’t have any great wyrms. If they had dragons, we would know all about it by now.”

Corporal Toby and Sergeant Hef nodded encouragingly but Rik could tell what they were thinking. Under normal circumstances, a force as outnumbered as theirs would surrender. Having seen what had happened to Kalmek and his companions none of them really trusted the parole of the enemy. At least for now, they would try to stand and fight.