Barbarian Tales 1: Mistress of the Sword - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Betrayal

For the next year Shailaja thought that her life was complete. At the age of just twenty springs she considered Den to be her bondmate, although she expected that such was probably not the case with him, however, he quite willingly took her to his bed or bedroll each night and they looked to no other liaisons. Forgotten was her exile from her people as she bonded more and more with her chosen. But this euphoric state was not to last. She was still a member of a mercenary band and with it went the dangers of such a profession.

Everything changed with Den's decision to take service with the city state of Uvar, a city typical of much of Arkana in that it was bent on expanding its influence at the expense of its neighbours. As usual Den had explored both sides, seeking the one that best suited the Ravens. He chose Uvar for a reason somewhat out of the ordinary; he liked its ruler, Hestia; a most impressive woman he had hired out to on several previous occasions. With a hundred gold Uvars in the Ravens' treasury and a hundred more promised, Den and his company set off to violate the city of Cebar.

Cebar was a city of minor importance in central Arkana. Only three days march from Uvar, the company reached it in good time to find the citizen army of Cebar set up in a strong defensive position. Two hundred men were dug in along the main road in a position that would be costly to force.

Most of Arkana was a vast fertile plain with few natural features of importance. However, the poorly trained militia of the city had managed to find one of the few landmarks of any significance. The road to Cebar climbed a long, heavily forested ridge that ran off to the left as the Ravens approached. It afforded numerous places to hide and since all of the company was horsed, its thickly wooded slopes presented a formidable barrier.

The area to the right of the road was no better. Here the end of the ridge fell away in a steep, rocky slope that would defeat any cavalry charge and to make matters worse, the foot of the escarpment ended in a thickly wooded swamp.

At the top of the hill Cebar's militia had constructed a barrier of pointed stakes, set out in multiple rows that would force any attacker to zigzag through the defences, making them prime targets for the Cebarian crossbowmen.

Due to the fact that Den had fought for both sides at one time or another he had a very good idea of the nature of Cebar's forces and the chances of breaking through the strongpoint that barred the way to their city.

"They have two hundred to three hundred men at best," he said, as he and the other senior members of the Ravens observed the Cebarian strongpoint. "Probably fifty to seventy armed with crossbows, and the rest with whatever weapons they can lay their hands on. Most are lightly armoured and have little experience of war. If we can get among them the fight will be a short one."

"It's the getting-among-them part that will be the most difficult," Gorvag observed. "Getting up that road under crossbow fire will be deadly at best."

"Then we don't go up the road," Den replied. "There is another way, although it won't be pleasant."

"The ridge will be tough," a woman called Siva stated, "but we might be able to do it." Shailaja glanced toward her and nodded. She was one of the few other women warriors in Den's band. In her mid-thirties, she had seen a lot of fighting and frequently made good suggestions, but this time Den shook his head.

"I've fought for Cebar a few years ago. I'm afraid to say it, but the defence that is now being used against us was one I devised to defeat the Ilanians. We forced them to come up that road and cut them to pieces even though they had five-to-one numbers on their side. The wooded slope is a death trap full of snares and pits used to kill any force coming through it. There is only one way that gives us a chance and that is the swamp."

"The swamp?" Gorvag asked. "Have you ever been through it?"

Den shook his head. "It's really the only way left, unless we want to backtrack and spend a week going around the ridge."

"That might be better in the long run," Siva said. "Sometimes slower gets you there faster."

"It has to be sooner than that," Den declared. "Cebar has contracted with mercenaries of its own. It must be defeated before more professional forces show up."

"Then the swamp it is," Gorvag conceded. "But we don't want to commit a large party to that without scouting it first. I suggest you send me. I was raised in the fenlands and know how to get through water."

"Alright," Den agreed, giving Gorvag a direct look. "But just a half day. We want to move by tomorrow morning. Meanwhile we will set up camp here and keep an eye on the Cebarians."

"Agreed," Gorvag said. "I'll be back in the afternoon. I don't want to be caught in the swamp in the evening."

Shailaja watched Gorvag go. "That's a little out of character for our friend don't you think?"

Den shrugged. "Gorvag's a good man in a fight. Not as good as you, but then you're not a man."

Shailaja grinned and moved closer to Den. "That's a double compliment. Women are usually better than men."

"I'll concede that they're much better at some things," Den laughed. "And I'm going to insist you show me exactly what tonight."

Gorvag was back by late afternoon as he had promised. It was evident that he had spent a good deal of his time in mud and water, but he had an air of triumph about him. "There is a way," he said, easing his bulk down beside the fire and taking a bowl of stew. "But it's not one you want to take the entire force through. A handpicked few will make it provided they stick to the trail I've marked."

"How many do you suggest," Den asked.

"Twenty at the most," Gorvag answered, taking a bite a bite of bread. "I'll be one, of course. That just leaves another nineteen."

"Alright," Den agreed. "Here's what we'll do. Tomorrow morning I'll lead twenty men through the swamp. We'll then lie low until night and attack the camp just before midnight. In the meantime the eighty men here move up the road on foot and hit the Cebarians from the other side. I'm guessing that the nineteen of us will create a big enough fuss to divert their attention."

"It's a bit risky," Gorvag said, "but I'm for it."

"It's better than a frontal assault up that road," Siva agreed.

"Alright then," Den said. "I just have to find another eighteen men."

Actually it was seventeen. Den knew full well Shailaja went where he went and in such a small party he needed his best fighters.

It took only a quarter turn of the glass to make the choice. It was decided that Siva would be left in the camp to lead the assault up the hill. Den, Gorvag, and Shailaja, along with seventeen of Den's most experienced men would make their way through the swamp the next day. They would wear only light armour and move as quickly as they could through the swamp and then wait until night to attack. The choices made, they retired early to their bedrolls in preparation for the next day.

That night Shailaja and Den's lovemaking was the most intense since the first time Den had taken her. They had been together for a year now, but this was the most dangerous mission they had taken together and both knew that in battle anything could happen. Before retiring Shailaja lit a sweet beeswax candle and prayed to Marana, the Kaltaran goddess of war, asking that she bless her warrior one more time. The fickleness of the Kaltaran goddess of war was well known and she who had smiled upon a warrior one day might frown upon her the next.

It was perhaps this knowledge that made their lovemaking so passionate. It seemed that Den felt the same way, because when they had lapsed into sweet exhaustion he held Shailaja close in the dark until she fell asleep, saying nothing, but reassuring her with the warmth of his body and the tenderness of his touch.

The next morning they rose before dawn, ate a quick, cold breakfast, strapped on their weapons, and followed Gorvag into the swamp.

It was a trackless landscape consisting of floating grassy islands that sank as soon as they applied any weight to them, and large trees standing in the water like the columns of an ancient temple. The sun was blocked by the trees, and every direction looked the same. Without Gorvag they would soon have been lost and Shailaja was quite glad he had chosen to scout the route.

Every now and then they came upon a small mark Gorvag had made on the trunk of a tree. Some of these signalled that this was the way he had chosen to go. Others were routes he had tried and found wanting.

Even with these marks to help it was not easy going. Several times Shailaja had to wade through water that came up to her breasts, which meant it was up to the necks of most of the others, and at no time was the water less than knee deep. However, Gorvag's route kept them out of the quicksands and clinging mud that would have made moving through the swamp deadly.

"How much farther?" Den asked Gorvag after they had been slogging through the swamp for about two turns of the glass.

They were standing knee deep in the water looking across the first open area they had encountered since entering the swamp. On the far side a screen of trees and thick vegetation gave hope that they might finally have come to dry land.

"Just across there," Gorvag nodded, indicating the screen of trees. "We will be about a half turn of the glass from the Cebarian camp. We can rest in the trees until nightfall and then make our way there by using their campfires to guide us to our attack position."

Everyone found this to be most pleasing news, and after a brief rest they started across the open water.

The ambush caught them halfway across. A sudden flight of quarrels issued from the screen of trees. Shailaja felt a sudden intense pain in her leg and found that one had struck her, passing through the flesh of her inner thigh. The pain was extreme, but she found she was still able to stand. Fearful that she would bleed more heavily if she pulled it out, she broke off the feathered shaft and left the head where it was. Then drawing her swords she plunged across the pool toward the other side.

Den was with her, having waited by her side as she dealt with the quarrel. Slowed, by her painful injury she hobbled through the knee-deep water, stumbling once as she encountered a hole that plunged her up to her waist.

Shailaja and Den headed toward the direction of the hidden crossbowmen, knowing the weakness of the weapon they carried. The crossbow was a deadly weapon at ranges up to three hundred yards or even more for some of the most powerful versions. But it had one severe weakness compared to a bow, and that was its very slow reload time. Between the loosing of one quarrel and the reloading of another could take up to two hundred heartbeats. Den and Shailaja, and the others that were still alive, forged toward the crossbowmen before they fired again.

Of course, the crossbowmen would not be alone. No competent war leader would send soldiers armed only with missiles into battle without other infantry support. Den's squad would have to fight its way to them, provided any of his men still stood when they reached the edge of the water.

In battle the flow of time changes depending on the circumstances. It seemed to Shailaja that it took a complete turning of the glass to wade across the last few yards of open water. The pain in her thigh was agonizing, but she put it out of her mind, concentrating on just one goal, reaching the trees and the enemy that hid among them.

There was no thought of running. It would have done them little good in any case. The ambush had been staged when they were halfway across the open water. To attempt to retreat would have forced them to turn their backs to the enemy and expose them to following fire or even a sudden sally by the troops supporting the crossbowmen. Attack was their only option and it agreed well with Shailaja's philosophy of battle.

And then they were among the trees. In spite of their exposed position half of the twenty men that had started out with Den were still standing, and they were the best of Den's band. They badly outmatched the unseasoned militia that opposed them. However, they were now just ten against over a hundred, and they had not the advantage of the surprise they had counted upon to offset their inferior numbers.

The Cebarians fought bravely if not well, screening the crossbowmen who looked to get a second shot. Shailaja and Den stood side by side cutting their way methodically through the enemy ranks. Robbed of a good deal of her mobility, Shailaja was not at her best, but her swords sang their usual song, thrusting, cutting, parrying, and drawing blood at almost every stroke as she slowly pushed forward.

It was Den who led the way with his deadly two-handed attack. He seemed to be everywhere, darting here and dashing there to take down man after man. Shailaja, slowed by her injury, struggled to stay by his side, her dual blades weaving death in front of her. The enemy began to waver in spite of its superior numbers. And then the gods stepped in.

Den stepped forward, catching on his sword a blow that was meant for Shailaja, and from out of the thick foliage whirred a crossbow bolt. It struck Den in the eye, and death must have been instantaneous. Without a word he dropped his swords and then followed them to the ground.

Shailaja stood stunned. For perhaps five heartbeats the world seemed to stop. She felt a wrench inside her chest as if someone had torn her heart away and she watched Den topple forward, his weapons dropping from his dead fingers. She was aware of the noise of battle around her; the shouting of men; the screams of the injured; the clash of metal on metal; but they seemed distant and unreal.

She wanted to scream his name, to rush to his side, to pick him up, but she knew none of that would help. She had seen too many deaths on the battlefield, many of them caused by her own hand, not to know that there was no saving him; that he was already far beyond saving. And then a red haze seemed to descend before her eyes. And with a scream of rage she hurled herself at the enemy.

Among the Kaltara her furious response was known as blood rage. It was a berserk reaction that took a warrior in battle and transformed her into a mindless, frenzied killing machine. Such a warrior knows nothing but the urge to kill and kill again, caring not if she is killed in turn.

Shailaja became that sort of warrior; hurling herself toward the enemy, ignoring the danger to her person, and possessed of an overwhelming desire to kill. Neither fatigue, nor injury, nor fear deterred her as she sought the enemy, her blades rising and falling like scythes reaping grain.

She swept the enemy before her, breaking through the enemy line and then charging back again as she sought to destroy all who stood before her. Around her the enemy routed, fleeing into the forest and back up the hill toward their camp. Shailaja followed, the pain of the crossbow bolt in her thigh forgotten, buried beneath the all-encompassing desire to kill.

What might have happened had she reached the enemy camp Shailaja never learned. Few of her companions were with her now. Of the twenty who had set out on a mission that had proven far more perilous than they had feared, only two others remained; Gorvag and one other. They could not possibly have hoped to defeat the two hundred or so men remaining in the Cebarian camp. As it turned out, that problem never mattered.

Shailaja was struck from behind with a blow so powerful that it snapped the strings on her helmet and sent it spinning into the brush. It should have been a killing blow, but for some reason the warrior who struck it had used the flat of his sword. As it was she was driven to her knees and almost lost her grip on her swords. Dazed she turned her head toward her attacker and saw Gorvag's snarling face just before he struck the second blow.

Betrayed. And then that thought perished as Gorvag's sword descended and darkness rushed up to claim her.

Continued in Chapter 13

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