Chapter Thirty-Five

That night the enemy came in force upon the encamped remnants of the army. It was good that pickets had been set far from the centre of the camp. It was also good that trenches and earthworks had been dug, led by the only two engineers who had survived. Musket fire lit the night. No soldier slept. Again and again, cavalry attacked, trying to find a weakness in the meagre defences. Again and again, they failed. It was not a battle so much as it was the enemy scouting and harassing them. Dryden watched from the walls with Hood. Gorst was down with his men in the thick of it. In the darkness, they could not see much except the muzzle flashes from the guns below and the fires from the enemy camps just over the surrounding hills. In the Vastrum camp and fort, they lit no fires, lest they give away their positions.

With the dawn came a grim sight. Dead men strewn around the rubble of the temporary defences they had built. Enemy horses impaled on sharpened stakes the Vastrum infantry had set. There was no way for the officers watching from the wall to count the dead from here, but it seemed the number was perhaps well into the hundreds, more of them the enemy, but still far too many of their own.

Off to the east, where the carrion birds feasted on the remains of their column, the sky was also filled with huge white puffy clouds laden with snow. Winter was truly coming to the mountains. Down in the valley, the winter was harsh but mercifully short. Up here it would last months. They were lucky that the Golconda and Settru Pass had not already been snowed in. That piece of luck appeared to be ending soon. The enemy came again in the mid-morning, but instead of attacking straight away, they arrayed themselves impressively on the ridge line behind which they were encamped. The handful of cannons that Golconda held had been repositioned on the wall to cover the camp.

“Shall I fire upon them?” One of the artillerymen asked Dryden.

“I think not yet. Hold until they begin their advance. With the second volley, they will be close, and you can let them have the grape.” He replied.

But they did not advance. Instead, a handful of enemy cavalry moved forward. Behind them came three men riding what appeared to be donkeys. Again they came with white flags. The outer pickets let them through. They slowly made their way down the shallow slope. When they were close Dryden realized what was happening. It was their captured commanders riding the donkeys. Blackwater, Belfair, and Havor. They stopped just outside the earthworks.

“Blood and hounds,” Hood exclaimed as he realized what was happening.

Dryden was already rushing down the steps. He slipped out the gate which was opened a crack. He ran to the front to where Gorst was standing at the front of the makeshift barricade.

“What the devil is this?” The commander demanded of Jaqu, the Fyrin officer who had been acting as an observer. Jaqu was sitting on a horse next to the three captured senior officers. He was now dressed in the dark blue robes of the eastern Vuruni warriors who lived beyond the Shan mountains.

“Your commanders have a message for you.” He said loudly, so all could hear.

Blackwater looked exhausted and haggard. His face was pale. He had been old and his mind had been slipping, but now he truly looked like the elderly man that he was. He looked out across his surviving soldiers. The men stood defiant. He looked down at Colonel Gorst. His voice was weak and tired, “Where am I, Marcus? What is this place?” Then he looked at Dryden, “Lord Starlington? What are you doing here, I thought you had retired?”

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“Lord Starlington is my father, sir,” Dryden replied.

“Good heavens!” Blackwater replied. The old man swooned.

“General, sir, do you need aid?” Gorst asked, “Someone help him!” He shouted. Both Havor and Belfair were trussed up, their hands behind their backs. None of the Vuruni went to help the general.

“Marcus. I believe I am unwell.” Blackwater said, a quaver in his voice. Then he fell from his donkey and died. A Vuruni hopped from his horse and went to the body, felt for breath. Then stood and shrugged.

Jaqu cursed under his breath, “Tie him to his donkey. We’ll keep the body. You, Belfair! Stop this bloodshed, tell them your message.”

The fat general looked ridiculous to Dryden sitting on his donkey. The man was red in the face. He looked from Blackwater’s body to the men arrayed in their earthen defences. He shook his head.

“Tell the men!” Jaqu shouted at him in his thick Fyrin accent, “You were ready to tell them not an hour ago. Tell them!” He drew his sword and threatened Belfair with it.

“No.” Belfair insisted, “You’ll have to kill me.”

“Damn you, Belfair. I’ll say it!” Havor said. The lieutenant colonel looked gaunt and drawn. He was a shadow of himself. His wounds were bandaged, but the man looked like he might not live long.

Jaqu struck Belfair straight in the face with the butt of his sword. Belfair fell to the ground where he rolled and groaned. Then he went back to Havor, “Say it!” He was growing frustrated.

“Surrender!” Havor shouted, his voice weak, “They will kill all of you if you do not! You cannot survive what is coming! Perhaps you can hold out against this enemy army. Maybe. You are battle-hardened, tough men, every one of you! Perhaps you can even survive the necromancy that Vurun employs, I will not deny that it is possible! But even the most stubborn of you must admit that you cannot hold against that!” He pointed to the coming storms, “Not without food! Without shelter! Without wood to burn!” He gestured around them, “You have only room in that fort for a few of you! You will die when the snows come! You will eat your horses and then be forced to eat one another! Even if a handful of you live, surviving on the flesh of your brothers, when spring comes, and the pass clears, you will be in the same place, facing the same foe! Golconda is not a place for men to live! You must go from here, and the only way is surrender! So give up your arms! Please!” His voice became more pleading as he spoke. Every man heard his words.

Then from among the throng of hushed soldiers who stood on the barricades someone shouted, “Not bloody likely!”

A cheer went up from the men who were standing there and from those in the fort. Others echoed the words of defiance. Fear and hopelessness were gone, the men now had grim determination in their eyes.

“What is your answer? Will you not surrender?” Jaqu demanded of Gorst.

The colonel shook his head, “You heard the men.”

Jaqu turned to the major, “Dryden, you are a sensible man. A soldier if ever there was one. Surely you can see that this is not reasonable!”

Dryden gave him a wry smile, “I find that men are often unreasonable. It is our natural state. Perhaps you will find our women more reasonable company, now that they are your prisoners.”

“What have you to fight for now, without your women to protect?”

“I thought you knew us well enough by now. Duty and honour, sir. It’s all we ever had to fight for.”

“Damn you and your false honour. You will all die here. Let it not be said that I did not try to save you!” The Fyrin officer shouted.

Then Jaqu spurred his horse and tugged the reins and the whole group of Vuruni along with the prisoners made its way back to the Vuruni lines. It was not long before they were safely back behind their lines. With a cry, the whole line of the enemy army and all its cavalry surged forward towards the fortified Vastrum army. Dryden drew his sabre from its scabbard, raised the sword in the air, looked back at the top of the wall at the artilleryman, and shouted “Fire!” as he brought his sword down. The cannon atop the wall of the fort roared, belching iron and smoke at the enemy cavalry. Dryden turned to face the enemy. Men loaded muskets and fixed bayonets. Whether they would survive remained to be seen, but Havor had been right about at least one thing: these were battle-hardened soldiers, all. There had only ever been one choice for these men. Fight.