Chapter Two

On the plain before the walls of Andaban, Vuruni warriors advanced as one mass. Together they went, bravely and boldly towards the walls. Many carried ladders. Others hauled ropes with grappling hooks. Still, others hauled a great battering ram forward. All carried weapons. Some had long curved talwars or kilij, the swords of horsemen. Others came with bows. Many came with jezails, the long rifles of the tribesmen that lived all across Vurun and the lands to the north and east beyond the Korum and Shan Mountains. They came with hate in their hearts and a desire for revenge. Vastrum had long oppressed the land in their lust for aethium and the other magical drugs that powered their war wizards. Ten thousand warriors came to scale the walls of Andaban, kill the garrison there, and then come sweeping down towards the rich fat colonies of the south that were ripe with plunder.

Dryden understood why they came, why they were here to fight. He knew that if the roles were reversed, he would have fought too. Any man would. But the roles were not reversed, and it was he and his countrymen that the Vuruni were here to kill. Thoughts of brotherly understanding were irrelevant in the face of such rage. All they could do was fight against the tide of slaughter that the Vuruni were preparing to unleash.

The walls of the city were lined thickly with men and muskets. There were cannon too. Dryden watched from his tower as the enemy came. Though the enemy army was made of cavalry, they came on foot. Horses would not help them breach the walls of the city. The first to fire were the cannon. They rained down a steady barrage of shot as the enemy approached. Each cannonball hit the ground with a spray of sand and dirt, before bouncing on, a bloody ball of death, carving gashes in the mass of enemy soldiers. Still, they came on, their rage greater than their fear. Cannon fired and men died. When they were close, the soldiers on the walls fired freely with their muskets. When the enemy was just beneath the wall, the artillerymen switched from cannon balls to grapeshot, a form of ammunition which fired canisters of musket balls rather than the large cannon balls, which thundered down and ripped the enemy to shreds. The army here had several wizards too, and they cast spells down into the enemy that seemed to warp the air as waves of force cut into the army. Dryden had seen something like it before when the 13th’s wizard, Mar, had used it against the undead. The wizard had given his life at Settru Pass for Dryden to escape. Now, the enemy died to the threshing spell at the walls of Andaban. Dryden did not watch the battle unfold for long. He knew the outcome as he watched the enemy advance. They stood no chance. It was not an army built for besieging cities. It was an army for open ground.

He walked down to the avenue near the main gate. The men of the 13th Dragoons were assembled near the gate. Major William Havelock was the regiment’s new commander, at least under the true commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Jack Havor, could be recovered from captivity, assuming he still lived. Dryden might have been the new commander, but Havelock had several years of seniority over him. So Dryden was his number two, as he had been for Havor all those years.

Captains Benton, Khathan, and Adams were all there too. These were the commanders of the three main squadrons that made up the 13th now that the rest of the regiment was dead. Captain Amar Khathan was one of the only other men to survive the massacre. He was a sepoy, a native soldier of the colonies, from Gulud, who had fought valiantly and escaped in the chaos. They had made him a cavalry officer on account of his valour. The man was densely muscled, with dark skin, and a thick black moustache. Unlike the rest of the cavalrymen, who wore shakos, the Guludan officer still wore a bright red turban, which had marked his rank as a sepoy officer.

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The third captain was Adams. He was tall, lean, and handsome. He had a slightly effeminate face. His hair was blonde, almost to the point of being white, and his eyes were bright pale blue. He had an easy smile and a friendly laugh. The men loved the man, almost too much, being more friendly and at ease with him than they ought to have been with an officer. He was new to the 13th, having arrived in the colonies only months before the siege began, so Dryden had not seen him fight, but he had a reputation for fearlessness.

Colonel Dansby came up while they were assembling and mounting. Above them, on the walls, the guns still fired steadily. The colonel grinned up at Havelock who was seated in the saddle, “Are you ready to spring our surprise upon the enemy, Major?” The colonel was an older officer, that was vigorous despite his age. He had white bushy eyebrows and a bald head that was browned from the desert sun.

“We are. How goes the fighting on the walls?” Havelock replied.

“Well enough. They’ve scaled the wall in a few spots, but my Sommerhall lads are beating them back. When the enemy falls back, we’ll open the gates and you ride at them hard,” Dansby said, grinning, “I want those bastards to think twice about making another run at us. Don’t get caught out though, just give them what for, and come back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dansby went striding off back to the walls to command the fighting above the gate. It was not long before the fighting waned. Dryden could hear the shooting decreasing. A cheer went up from the men on the walls. Then the great gates of Andaban began to creak open.

Before they were all the way open, Commander Havelock raised his sword, “With me, men! Sally forth!” He gave his horse the spurs, and out they went through the gate with a cry.

The sudden appearance of half a cavalry regiment pouring out the gates of Andaban was a shock to the Vuruni soldiers who were exhausted and falling back from the walls. Yells of fear went up. Some men turned and tried to fight but were cut down. Other men ran for their camp, though Dryden did not know what safety that offered. The 13th rode hard. It felt good to be back in the saddle of his horse Rosie. She was a sturdy horse, the best possible horse for this kind of a country. She went fast over the rocky and sandy ground. This was not an elegant charge of men lined up in the hundreds, this was a charge for hunters chasing a quarry. Then suddenly they were in amongst the enemy, cutting them down as they ran. It was not glorious work they did, but bloody.

They rode across the whole of the open field between the city and the camp, killing as they went. They had been told to be careful, but these were not any cavalrymen, they were the Bloody 13th. They were all bastards and blackguards. They reached the enemy camp and rode through it. Dryden looked around for Kurush. The king was not to be found. Dryden stood atop the rocky hill where the enemy king had made his camp and looked around. The 13th were hounds chasing foxes. He could see to the north that the enemy was assembling further off. The survivors were mounting up. Many had been killed, but many more enemies still lived. Dryden rallied men around him and eventually, they sounded the bugle and fell back to the enemy before Kurush and his rebels could reform and strike back. The men of the 11th Sommerhall Infantry regiment gave them three cheers as they rode back into the city.

The enemy army reorganized itself but did not come again. They left two days later, bloodied and depleted, unable to take Andaban. Another day after the enemy left the armies of Vastrum arrived. Andaban had been saved.