Woes and Hose Page 29

  “Your Royal Highness, we must take you to safety!”

  As the news of the breach spread through friendly and enemy lines, all attempts at restraint and order vanished. Dick watched the tide of heedless tribesmen abandon their earlier battles and rush toward the gap in the wall, oblivious to the cannon and arquebus fire. They had waited a long time for this opportunity, and nothing was going to stop them. They were like ants: an endless stream.

  Damn. Thus ends my wardenship.

  Dick realized someone was pulling him away. It was Crispin. Dick remembered his flight plan. He shook his head at his manservant. Crispin nodded and dashed off.

  “Your Royal Highness!” a Drechknight shouted.

  Dick tried to remember the soldier’s name. Lenz. An expert klinger. Carefully, Dick handed the weapon to Gunsmith Robrecht. “Have it polished. Klinger Lenz, lead the way.”

  The air smelled like fine stone, and Dick’s eyes were stinging from the flittering, wind-blown dust of the toppled masonry.

  A band of knights huddled close around him, and they stepped into the dark, cool hallways of the castle. They all had their swords drawn. Dick toted a pair of pistols, walking hurriedly but never running. That would not do.

  “We will keep you and Princess Amadea safe,” Lenz was saying, his eyes scanning the corridors. An odd guard posted at a hallway corner stepped hurriedly out of his way. “We will take you to the city garrison armory. The underground vault will admit only a single person through the doorway, and we can keep the enemy at bay for days if needed. There’s sufficient food and ale, and the walls are all stone, so they will not be able to run us out with smoke.”

  “You mean I should hide?” Dick said, trying to infuse his tone with indignation.

  “You should stay alive and safe, Your Royal Highness.”

  The cannonade outside sounded like a thunderstorm. Dick stopped walking. “No. You will take care of the princess. That’s your order.”

  “We have our orders, Your Royal Highness.”

  “I am not a coward!” Dick yelled.

  Lenz hesitated. “We don’t have time for this, Your Royal Highness.”

  Dick waved his pistols. “Get the princess, right now!”

  “What will you do, Your Royal Highness?”

  “I am heading back to the walls. I am needed. My skill with the gun will help defend the city.”

  They were surprised by his selfless admission. Then, Lenz nodded. “The Saint be with you, Your Royal Highness. Ortwin, protect the prince.”

  One of the knights remained. Dick’s mind raced.

  As soon as the other men rounded the corner, heading toward the customs house, Dick slammed the butt of his pistol in Ortwin’s face. Even an experienced soldier like him wasn’t prepared for the blow. Quietly, he crashed down, armor and sword clattering. Dick pushed him against the wall.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Then he began running.

  Not back to the walls.

  Toward the small inn named The Gravy.

  Ostfort’s streets were almost empty, save for units of troops rushing toward the north gate to try to stave off the assault. The soldiers paid him no attention. He was a forgotten speck of human flesh and misery in a city quickly sinking into despair and panic.

  Crispin and Eva were waiting in the stables. Crispin had his own pistols leveled at the entrance, panting from running there, but as always, his aim was steady. “Master.”

  Eva was dressed like a Sister of Temperance, and she had a hood pulled up. Still, Dick could see the fear on her face. “Dick,” she whispered.

  “Everything ready?” Dick panted.

  “Yes, Master. We have silver, food, and pistols.”

  “And what is our plan?”

  “We will hide in the abandoned chapel at the old Saint’s graveyard. At nightfall, we will leave the city through the slop tunnel under the east bulwark. I have filed the grate off and placed a ladder inside the tunnel so we can descend safely. Then, we will head into the village of Altmuhle, protected from enemy view by the dip in the terrain all the way to Fuchs Forest. The village is empty, Master, because it’s within cannon range from the wall, and it offers no strategic advantage in the siege line. We should slip away undetected without too much trouble.”

  Dick frowned. “Where is Mutt?”

  Crispin’s brows shot up. “We can’t take him with us, Master; it will be too risky.”

  Dick groaned. “Ah well, the little mongrel will get by, won’t he Crispin?”

  “I’m sure the Barvans don’t eat dogs, master.”

  Dick looked at Eva. “It is imperative you follow us closely and make no sound.”

  She nodded weakly.

  Crispin pushed the stable-yard door open and glanced outside. “It is safe.”

  I’m fleeing the city, Dick thought. Old Fart has entrusted me with this wardenship, and I’ve failed him. How will I justify my flight? He will surely not be pleased. But he will understand. I am his heir, and it is more important that I survive than stay in the city and fight, whatever the outcome, right?

  Right?

  I will rendezvous with the Salabians, and then we will attack the tribesmen. Together with General Eusebio, Fanzon Alfonso, and all those other paid swords, we will destroy the enemy. There’s no shame in that. This is just a tactical retreat, for the sake of a bigger strategic victory, right.

  Right?

  It’s a big responsibility, Son, something in his mind whispered, and it sounded uncannily like Old Fart.

  Just several eightdays ago, this had been an excellent, excellent plan. He had put Crispin to sorting out the finer details, and as always, his manservant had done an impeccable job. Dick just knew that come the dawn, he would be safe outside the city, and marching slowly east, toward Salabia.

  Old Fart will not be pleased.

  Damn, damn, damn!

  “Let’s go, Master,” Crispin said, urgency creeping into his voice.

  “Crispin,” Dick whispered, ignoring the chatter of guns in the distance.

  “Master?”

  “Why do I feel compelled to go back and fight?”

  Crispin didn’t move for a few long moments. Then he smiled. “Because you’re a great prince.”

  Eva looked confused. “Dick?”

  “Crispin, take care of Eva.” And he was running again, cursing himself.

  He knew he was going to regret his decision, but he just could not abandon Ostfort. Not after he had spent so many hours on the walls, sharing the stories and frustrations and jokes with the soldiers, not after seeing the respect and admiration in their eyes.

  The cobbled alleys and piss puddles were a blur. Dick found himself standing near the staircase leading into the drum tower adjacent to the royal tower, blood throbbing in his throat.

  “Prince Dietrich?” a stunned watchman stammered, holding his arquebus lowered.

  “Turn that barrel away, soldier. What is happening?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

  Dick dashed inside, climbing. He slipped and almost shattered his knee on a jagged step edge, but he managed to keep himself upright. Then he was on the balcony facing the training yard, and he saw Master Udo and his banners—the Badgers, they called themselves—strapping on their armor. They were preparing for a battle. Dick saw Kief at the master’s side, trying to squeeze a helmet onto his brazen cheeks.

  A castle servant stepped onto the balcony from the other side.

  The man’s stance told Dick everything he needed to know.

  He fired his pistol and the assassin folded neatly, a knife falling softly from his fingers.

  “Prince Dietrich!” Master Udo shouted. Everyone in the yard was looking up now. “What are you doing?”

  “Disposing of killers. Master Udo, what are your orders?”

  “We are holding the enemy at the breach point. Barely. I am going to lead an attack through the gate to relieve the pressure. You should get to safety, Your Royal Highness.”
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br />   “Prince Dietrich does not hide. To the walls!” Dick said, and the Badgers cheered. Dick gushed with elation and resumed running. He stepped into the royal tower. The corridors stank of wet plaster and damp tapestry. Dick had never imagined water could climb the walls, but apparently it did, like creepers, all the way from the burst underground pipes to the upper floors.

  Servants and clerks were crowding the offices on both sides, looking at him like frightened ducks. A few of them were holding spears and pistols, but Dick wasn’t sure they would be able to fire them if they needed.

  He slowed down. He couldn’t run anymore. Putting away the discharged pistol, he reached for a fresh weapon.

  Dick walked past Lady Enduria’s office. The door was open, like all the other rooms, as per the reeve’s instructions. He had—

  Like a whip, powerful arms coiled around him, and dragged him inside.

  Lady Enduria, a frightening visage.

  She kissed him.

  She smelled of wine.

  “Take your hands off me!”

  “Ravish me, Dick. We don’t have much time.”

  “Let me go!”

  “We may die today. We must not waste this chance, Your Royal Highness.”

  He had no choice. Using a proven trick, Dick slammed the butt of his pistol into her face. She blinked hard, and then sagged, dragging him to the ground. Huffing, he extricated himself.

  “Apologies,” he said, knowing there would be terrible retribution for what he’d just done. But he was willing to risk it, as long as he lived to see Ostfort survive this siege and him with it.

  And then there was Zbigniew, watching the whole thing.

  The boy was keen on murder. Dick didn’t need to see the blade in the princeling’s hand to know his intentions.

  Dick sighed. It was becoming exhausting. Will I ever reach the bloody gatehouse?

  “My honor has been sullied,” Bolek’s son lamented, on the verge of tears.

  Dick sniffed. “Just like your breeches. Step away, boy. I do not wish to lose a valuable royal hostage, but if I must, I’ll line your guts with lead.”

  Zbigniew shivered. “You are a vile man, Prince Dietrich. You will fight me.”

  Dick slapped the boy, fast, hard. “I will pretend this never happened. Pick up that knife and stay here. Protect Lady Enduria.” Not that she needs any protection, or that any tribesmen would dare assault her.

  Crying, the boy moved away from the doorway.

  Dick didn’t glance behind him. He walked on.

  Daylight made him squint. The sounds of battle intensified. Curses, screaming, the hail of gunshots. The air was thick with smoke. And then there was a tide of Barvans and Nurflanders, fighting to get into the city, their own mass stopping them from moving effectively. The city defenders were pouring death over their heads. It was a most satisfying sight.

  “Prince Dietrich!” several mouths shouted all at once.

  Lieutenant Nils was there too, his face grimed with soot, and when he saw Dick, his eyes lit with anger and relief at the same time. “Your Royal Highness!”

  “Not now! Get me an arquebus!” Dick roared.

  A rank-and-file soldier, kneeling at the inner edge of the parapet, quickly handed over his weapon. Dick grabbed it, took a moment to steady his breath, and fired. A wild-haired Barvan toppled back into the seething mass of tribesmen trying to push through the gap.

  “Another! Quick!”

  He killed another tribesman. But individual deaths almost felt meaningless. There were just too many of them. Cannon barked, jostling in their carriages. Troops would rush to the crenels, lean over, and fire at the attackers close to the gate. Weapons discharged, soldiers would retreat and reload while other men would move in to take their place.

  “No. It’s too slow!” Dick yelled. “Stay where you are! Just pass the guns over.”

  The crackle of arquebuses intensified. Dick nodded in satisfaction, his sweat dripping on the gun pressed to his cheeks. Once the gun was spent, he tossed it away. They put a new one in his hands. He watched a Nurflander spin around and disappear in the rubble and gore.

  “Good shot, ‘ness!”

  I need to be killing their chieftains.

  In the fields around Ostfort, the Hyevan forward artillery unleashed its torrent of death against the city. Men ducked and tripped and fell as cannonballs slammed into the top of the curtain wall, tearing merlons off like twigs. Chunks of sharp, jagged stone flew everywhere.

  Dick looked at the battlefield. The mercenaries were suffering heavy losses, but they still had enough guns to keep the defenders busy. A burst of smoke announced the second volley. Dick lowered himself to the ground and let the shrieks of flying death subside. Dust and blood rained on his face.

  He rose and moved closer to the gatehouse. The Drechknights were forming up in the shadow of the massive structure, including men that had been on the south side not that long ago. Reeve Gotelieb had also joined the fray and was readying his men for a counterstrike. Dick ducked back. He didn’t want the reeve to see him. He was in no mood to argue. He wasn’t sure he could knock out another knight as easily as he’d done before. Luck was in short supply, it seemed.

  Coming down the main thoroughfare of the outer wall ring and following its broken, twisted path, designed to slow down enemy charges, were Master Udo and his Badgers.

  Dick stepped off the main parapet onto the ledge way used by squires and helpers to ferry ammunition without hindering the troops. A band of fascinated soldiers followed him, carrying a healthy stock of spare guns. From here he had a wider angle of aim into the wall gap. The Barvans were gaining. They were pushing against the spears and arquebuses of the city garrison, oblivious to their losses.

  Reeve Gotelieb did see him. He looked shocked. Damn. Then, to Dick’s utter surprise, the knight waved him over.

  Somewhat reluctantly, Dick descended the stairs half way down, his legs weak from exertion.

  “You are a fool!”

  “I am the warden!”

  “So be it. The Saint be with you. Kill them, Your Royal Highness.”

  Dick sat down on a step covered with half-congealed blood and aimed. Another nameless enemy vanished from sight. Soldiers yanked the smoking weapon from his hands and gave him a fresh, loaded piece. Dick wiped his palms against his breeches, then lifted the barrel and placed the sights onto a Barvan warrior. The bullet zipped through a small round shield and into the man’s chest.

  The defense ring buckled.

  The wave of enemy troops flooded into the castle like mud bubbling over a riverbank. The wall of spearmen collapsed. The arquebusiers were scrambling out of the way, their weapons silent. No more powder, Dick thought. They had run their supply thin. A horn blasted and the Drechknights moved forward.

  Debris rained from above as the Hyevan culverins and falcons pocked the face of the city wall. Dick looked behind him at a gaggle of frightened, awed faces. He nodded. “Follow me, brave soldiers!”

  They lopped down the Road of Lights and around the North Star Inn, past a rank of barricades and nervous men aiming behind overturned carts and stacked crates. The narrow, smelly lane behind the tanner and leather workshops faced the gap squarely. Dick pressed his shoulder against a building wall and looked around the corner.

  Defeated city watchmen were falling back. An odd arqubusier was sheltering in a doorway, aiming toward the enemy. The Nurflanders were slowly gaining entry into the city’s heart, an unstoppable tide of fierce, fearless warriors. The Drechknights were wedged against the wall rubble and a panicked lot of defenders trying to flee the chaos and death.

  If the enemy pushes through, they will cut Ostfort in two, Dick realized. And he was the only thing standing in their way. He swallowed.

  “You!” Dick grabbed a man by his sleeve. “Run back and get Ritter Heimo to wheel as many sakers as he can to the end of the alley there. And we need a banner of sword and pike. Right now. Do you understand?”

  The soldier saluted
and dashed away.

  Dick exhaled deeply and began aiming. The world was a blur except for the whole section of the wall torn apart by the Voice of Gramik, and the river of enemy soldiers pouring over it and into the city. Almost to the one, the tribesmen slowed down when stepping into Ostfort, probably dazed by the closeness of its buildings and dark walls. Silhouetted against the sky, they made for a perfect target.

  But Dick waited.

  Chieftains were almost ridiculously easy to spot. Their banners and colorful shields gave them away. Dick didn’t know the name of the tribe he faced, but it had just lost its leader.

  Encouraged by his bravery, the arqubusiers spread about and started firing. Their aim was mediocre at best, but they didn’t need precision firing into a solid formation of meat. Some of the watchmen stopped their flight and turned around. Ragged cheers mixed with curses rippled through the ranks of his followers.

  Dick waited for a new arquebus. He couldn’t see any chieftains. But there was a huge fighter with a double-bladed ax marching boldly down the middle of the street, acting ferocious beyond wisdom. Dick shot him in the knee. The sweetest howl of pain made the entire horde behind him hesitate and dash for cover. But the Nurflanders following in their wake were too incensed to notice, and the tide rolled on.

  Dick knew he could not stop them. They were just too many. An entire banner of arquebusiers had failed to stave their advance. But he needed to buy time so the Drechknights could finally push through and destroy them.

  “Hold your fire. Wait for my signal. Now!”

  There were enemy soldiers on the rooftops now, padding gingerly across slate and stone. Dick aimed up. A Nurflander landed on the cobbles with a wet splat of his brains. Three more dropped dead as his followers imitated his actions.

  “We are running out of spare guns, sir!” one of his squires shouted.

  “Find more then!” Dick fired. Another bolder-than-usual warrior dropped. At the far end of the alley, a cannon crew was setting up. “We need to pull back.”

  Dick crab-walked to the road crossing and hunkered behind a cart. The gunners were loading nails and horseshoes into the cannon. Less than a hundred steps away, the Nurflanders were forming up, dragging their dead from the cobbles. The last arquebusier cleared the street.