Shards of a Broken Crown (43 page)

“Hey!”
he said, before he could be challenged. He kept his voice deep,
hopefully disguising his accent as he spoke the invaders’
dialect.

“What?”
asked the man in charge of the gate, a sergeant or Captain by the
look of him.

“We’re
just down from the North, and I’ve got to find whoever’s
in charge.”

“Captain
Rastav is over there,” said the man, pointing at a large tent
barely visible in the predawn gloom. “What news?”

Erik growled,
“Your name Rastav?”

“No,”
said the man in return, bristling a bit.

“Then my
message isn’t for you, is it?”

Erik turned and
walked away before the man could respond. He made his way slowly but
purposefully toward the command tent, then, just before approaching
too closely, he veered away and walked between camps. Most of the men
were sleeping; a few were rousing and stirring cooking fires, heading
to nearby slit-trenches to relieve themselves, or already eating. He
absently nodded or gave a slight wave of greeting to a few he passed,
furthering the illusion he was a familiar figure known to someone in
the camp; if not the person looking at him, perhaps the man across
the way to whom he was waving.

Erik reached a
particularly quiet camp where only one man stirred, one who was
brewing up coffee by the smell of it. Crossing over, he said, “Have
an extra cup to spare?”

The man looked
up and nodded, motioning Erik over. Erik came over and knelt beside
the warrior. “I’ve got a few minutes before I report to
the gate, and can’t find a hot cup anywhere.”

“I know
what you mean,” said the soldier, handing an earthen mug filled
with the black hot liquid to Erik. “You with Gaja?”

Erik recognized
the name, a captain he had heard of before, but he knew nothing about
the man. “No,” said Erik, “we just got here. My
captain is over there”—he indicated the command
tent—”talking with Rastav, and I thought I’d sneak
off and grab this.” He stood. “Thanks, I’ll bring
back the mug when my duty’s over.”

The soldier
waved off the remark. “Keep it. We’ve looted enough
crockery I’m thinking of opening a store.”

Erik strolled
along, drinking his coffee, which wasn’t too bad for camp fare,
and inspected the area. There were no more than a thousand men behind
the wall, and from the look of what he could see along the barricade,
no more than twelve hundred total at this position. Another mystery.
From the other side, it looked like half of Fadawah’s army
waited, yet from this side Erik knew that if he could get the gate
open, this battle would be won in minutes, not hours.

When he was
halfway back to the gate area, Erik heard a shout raised up at the
eastern end of the barricade. Then more shouts as an alarm was
raised. Erik paused, and counted slowly to ten, until he heard a horn
sounded, a call to arms. Men sprang up from where they slept, and
Erik tossed aside his cup and hurried along. In his most commanding
voice he started shouting, “They’re hitting the east
flank! Get to the east!”

Men who were
half asleep started hurrying off toward the far end of the line. As
he neared the gate, a man hurried over and said, “What is
this?”

Erik knew at
once this was a sergeant or captain of some company, one not used to
obeying mindlessly. “Rastav’s orders! Are you Captain
Gaja?”

The man blinked
and said, “No, I’m Tulme. Gaja is due to relieve me in an
hour.”

“Then get
two men in three off the gate and rush them to the eastern end of the
line! The enemy is breaking through over there!”

Erik hurried
along, and kept shouting, “Get to the east! Hurry up!”

Men saw other
soldiers rushing off to where they were ordered, and hastened to
obey. Erik ran back to where he could be seen by Akee and signaled.
Instantly the Hadati hillmen were running from the trees.

Erik ran to the
gate and shouted, “Orders! Open the gate. Get ready to sally!”

“What?”
said a man. “Who are you?”

Erik had his
sword out and killed the man before he could react. “My luck
couldn’t run forever,” he said to Akee as the Hadati
reached his side.

The Hadati
killed every man standing before the gate before anyone more than
twenty-five yards away noticed. The supporting poles were kicked
aside, and before they hit the ground Erik and Akee, along with two
other men, were lifting the heavy oaken bar out of the brackets that
held it in place.

As they carried
the bar aside, others opened the gate.

“Two
minutes!” Erik cried. “We have to keep it open for two
minutes.”

Seconds slipped
by slowly, as shouts up and down the line demanded answers and
suddenly it was clear to Erik that those to the north of him on the
defenders’ side of the barricade knew something was amiss.

Suddenly men
were charging at the Hadati, who were to a man armed with long swords
and short swords, held in right and left hands respectively. They
moved out to keep enough room between each that they could do a
maximum of damage. Erik hesitated only a moment, then ran and leaped
atop a pile of grain sacks, and pulled himself up on the ramparts
behind the breastwork. He could not afford for bowmen to get above
the Hadati. If he did, the fight would be over.

Erik glanced to
the south and saw the Kingdom cavalry was already on its way. One
more minute and the day would be won.

Erik charged
along the ramparts, and the first man he encountered looked confused,
still trying to see what was occurring to the east. Erik grabbed him
and threw him off the rampart. He landed on top of a pair of men
running along, and those behind stopped. A crossbow bolt sped past
Erik’s head and he ducked.

He retreated,
weapons ready, and when he saw soldiers heading toward him, he
halted. The first man to face him slowed, uncertain of what was
before him. Erik was happy to wait, and let the Kingdom cavalry reach
the gate.

Abruptly a sense
of alarm passed through those near the gate, as if they finally
realized what had happened. They charged the waiting Hadati, and the
man opposite Erik let out a howl of rage and charged him.

Erik took a step
back when the man swung, letting him overbalance himself, and with a
swift kick, Erik sent the man tumbling over the side of the rampart.
The second man approached a little more cautiously, if just as
intently, and struck out. Erik took the blow on his sword and
parried, then unexpectedly, he stepped into the man, slamming him in
the face with his sword hilt. The man stumbled backward into another
man behind him and both fell back.

Erik glanced
over the wall and saw the first pair of Kingdom horsemen was near,
lowering their lances as they started up the last part of the incline
toward the gate. Erik had a sudden impulse, and shouted at the top of
his lungs: “Throw down your swords! It’s over!”

The man opposite
him on the barricade hesitated, and Erik shouted, “This is your
last chance! Throw down your sword!”

The man looked
at the huge blond man before him, as lancers raced through the gate
behind the Hadati hillmen whose whirling blades were inflicting
terrible injury on any who closed on them. With a look of disgust, he
threw down his blade.

A band of
horsemen rode up from behind the line and were charged by Krondorian
lancers as the second unit of cavalry swept in. A scaling ladder
slammed against the wall near Erik and he realized that Greylock had
hedged his bet by getting men close under cover of darkness. He
glanced to his right and saw footmen racing across the open ground
ahead.

Erik leaned out
over the edge of the wall and almost got his head split open as
thanks. “Hey!” he shouted down to a Kingdom soldier
halfway up the ladder who had just swung his sword at Erik. “Slow
down! You might fall off and hurt yourself!”

It was not what
the soldier expected. He stopped, and the man behind him on the
ladder shouted, “Keep moving.”

Erik said, “You
can climb back down and walk through the gate.”

The man on the
top of the ladder shouted, “Sorry, Captain von Darkmoor.”

Erik looked to
the left and saw mercenaries throwing down their swords and backing
away as a line of lancers slowly advanced on them, the points of
their heavy weapons pointed at chest height.

Erik saw the
light cavalry entering behind the lancers and recognized Jadow and
Duga. He signaled to get their attention. Jadow rode closer and Erik
shouted, “Get things organized, and send word back to Greylock
to move up. Quickly.”

Jadow signaled
that he understood and turned to carry word to Owen himself. Duga
jumped down from his horse and boldly walked past the line of
lancers, and started separating mercenaries from their weapons. Erik
glanced at the rear of the enemy camp where a running fight had
erupted between the lancers and the invaders’ cavalry units,
and realized the enemy didn’t know they’d lost yet. Given
what he knew of enemy horsemen, he knew a few heads would be broken
before word reached them if he didn’t intervene. He shouted for
messengers to carry the word to the fight, before men died
needlessly.

Erik jumped off
the wall as the first Kingdom foot soldiers entered the gate. He
pushed through the press of prisoners, and sought out the senior
lieutenant of the light cavalry. “Go give the lancers a hand
with that lot at the rear, then I want a sweep of the woods on both
sides of the road for the next five miles. If anyone’s cut and
running north to tell Fadawah this position is fallen, I want them
overtaken.”

The rider
saluted, gave orders, and rode off, then Erik sought out Akee. “How
are your men?”

“I have
some injuries, but no one dead,” said the leader of the
hillmen. “Had they a few more minutes to get organized, I think
we would have seen otherwise.”

“I think
you are correct,” said Erik.

He left the
hillmen and turned as Jadow and Owen rode through the gate, and as he
approached, he turned to a passing soldier and said, “Find a
Captain among the prisoners, a man named Rastav, and bring him here.”

Owen looked
around and said, “Another illusion?”

Erik said,
“Almost. If we hadn’t gotten the gate open, we would have
bled, but not as badly as we thought.”

Owen glanced
northward, as if to see over the horizon. “What is he doing?”

Erik said, “I
wish I knew.”

Erik looked to
the south. “And I wish I knew what was going on down there,
too.”

Owen said,
“That’s Duko and Patrick’s problem, not ours. Now,
let’s get things here under control, then start moving north
again.”

Erik saluted,
then turned and began organizing the chaos behind the barricade.

Dash could
barely contain his rage. A dozen of his constables were standing
around the room, looking from one to another, a few openly
frightened.

Two of his men
lay dead before him. Sometime during the night they had been waylaid
and killed, their throats cut and their bodies deposited before the
door of the New Market Jail.

Whispering, Dash
said, “Someone’s going to bleed for this.”

The men were two
recent recruits, Nolan and Riggs, and they had just finished their
training. The last month had been difficult for Dash, but as order
returned to Krondor, he found that larger portions of the city were
slowly getting back to a rhythm not unlike that known before the war.

The Prince had
authorized the purchase of a building just off the Market Square, and
the cells had just been installed by an iron monger. A near riot down
near the docks the night before had taken the jail to its limit and
Dash had been busy dragging malefactors off to the city court,
established by the Prince the week before; two eastern nobles were
serving as judges, and a lot of drunks were finding themselves
sentenced to the labor gangs in a hurry. Most got a year, but a few
were pulling five-and ten-year sentences, and the citizens of the
more unruly areas of the city were loudly protesting. So far the
protest had been vocal, with insults hurled at watchmen as they made
their rounds. Until last night.

“Where
were they scheduled to patrol?” asked Dash.

Gustaf, the
former prisoner, had turned up looking for work a few days before and
Dash had made him a corporal. Gustaf had the duty roster. ‘
“They were working down near the old Poor Quarter.”

“Damn,”
said Dash. The old Poor Quarter of the city was now a shanty town of
huts and tents, and people living in the lees of partial walls. Every
vice imaginable was available there and, predictably, the Thieves
Guild was establishing its power there faster than the crown. “Now
all bets are off.”

Since taking the
office of Sheriff of Krondor, Dash had managed to keep hanging to a
minimum. Two murderers had been publicly hanged five days before, but
the majority of crimes had been relatively petty.

“What were
these two doing down there anyway?” asked Dash. “They
were both new to the job.”

Gustaf said,
“The draw just came up that way.” Lowering his voice, he
said, “There’s no one here with what you might call a
great deal of experience, Dash.”

Dash nodded. The
two dead men weren’t downy-cheeked youths by any stretch of
imagination. “Four to a squad down there, starting tomorrow.”

“What
about tonight?” asked Gustaf.

“I’ll
take care of tonight,” said Dash, leaving the small squad room.

He hurried down
the street and made his way through the open market, heading toward
what had been the Poor Quarter. He kept his wits about him and his
eyes open. Even in the daylight he could count on nothing but trouble
in this part of the city.

Reaching a
burned-out two-story building, he ducked inside. Quickly he removed
his red armband and ducked out the back of the building. He hurried
down a narrow alley and climbed a wooden fence that was still somehow
standing between two stone walls while everything nearby had been
reduced to ash. Ducking under a low-hanging arch of stone he reached
his goal.