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The Praetorian
Part 4
“Sir,” ventured Duncan, “I recommend that we close into a tighter formation to protect our flanks and our rear. Each side should be four squads deep with double lines of pikes and swords backed by cover fire from two dozen archers.”
“We’re fine, Captain,” assured Wallace.
“Our perimeter’s too thin! They can break through too easily!”
“At ease, Captain! I’m warning you, I’ve heard enough!” He turned around to face the south perimeter.
All the soldiers had their backs to the officers, but if they heard the conversation, they flatly ignored it.
Duncan half-shouted at his commanding officer. “Sir, we’re boxed in!”
Wallace wheeled on his junior. “You’re relieved of duty! Captain Blaine, strip him of his weapons!”
At that moment, a corporal came running up to them. “Marshal, our scouts are reporting back from Ravelin!”
Presently, one of the scouts approached the marshal and saluted. Wallace returned it and demanded a report.
“We assumed our position in the forest, as per orders,” she began. “It took us three days to reach Ravelin, but we encountered nothing, not even a single person. When we reached the fort, the main gate was barred shut. There were no answers to our hails. We decided to scale the wall and see what was going on inside.” She paused. “Sir, Ravelin is deserted.”
“What…?”
“Not a soul remains. We unlocked the gate and I toured the place myself. There are signs of a struggle everywhere — judging by the amount of blood we saw, it was a hell of a fight — but there are no bodies.”
“Are you saying that the Hansic militia abducted everyone?” asked Blaine incredulously.
“I’m saying that they’re not there. I don’t know what happened to them. The gate was locked from the inside, but no one seems to have remained behind to secure it.”
“A militia garrison of fifteen hundred soldiers doesn’t simply vanish!”
“There’s something deeper happening here,” stated Wallace. “I was sure that two whole battalions could hold out. We’re not dealing with Ghaultian militia here, either — these Federates can fight.”
Wallace and Blaine stood there for a moment contemplating the new situation. The troops around them waited patiently, poised for action. Duncan was standing slightly behind the marshal, staring fixedly at a tree.
“Wait a minute,” continued Wallace, “what about our own two companies? Was there any sign of them?”
The scout exhaled slowly and averted her superior’s intense gaze. “We found no trace of them.”
“They’re dead,” stated Duncan. He hadn’t moved his gaze from the tree.
Wallace turned to glare at him. “Captain Blaine, didn’t I order you to relieve him of duty?”
“Sorry, sir, I got sidetracked with—”
“Hold it.” Wallace moved to stand beside Duncan and follow his line of sight. “What are you staring at?”
“That tree, sir, directly ahead of us, to the left of the tall one.”
“What about it?”
“There’s a grimal crouched on that branch, sir, about two and-a-half meters from the ground. It’s staring right at me. I’ve locked eyes with it.”
“I don’t see it.”
“I do. Remember that feeling I had? It’s even stronger now…” Duncan’s voice grew distant. “I can see what they’re planning. My God… they’ve outmaneuvered us. We have to get out of here, sir. Fast.”
Wallace wasn’t sure what to make of his captain. He had heard stories of Duncan’s uncanny ability to anticipate an enemy’s moves, but as far as the marshal was concerned, this man was a spoiled, insubordinate, rich man’s kid who was obviously sick in the head. To suggest that the Praetorship should retreat? This was an affront to everything Wallace held dear!
Duncan spoke as if he read his superior’s thoughts. His eyes were still trained on the tree. “We’re only an expeditionary force, sir, half the size of the garrison we were ordered to relieve, and we’ve already lost half of our number. We don’t have the supplies or the people to man that fortress properly. We need to come back here with an army and teams of experienced trackers. Grimals did this, sir, not Hansic militia.”
“Ravelin’s less than half-a-day away at a fast march,” suggested Blaine. “We can hole up there and send a carrier bird to the Palladum advising them of our status.”
“The fortress may be deserted, but it’s well-stocked,” added the scout. “All the garrison’s supplies were left behind.”
Wallace nodded but was disappointed. The last thing he wanted to do was relieve one of his senior officers from duty. “We’ll go to Ravelin. I’ll assume direct command of Captain Milius’ unit. His weapons will be surrendered and his hands bound. I’ll decide what to do with him when we reach the fort. Redeploy the troops. We’ll march in separate companies with the defensive box pattern.”
No sooner had the order been relayed to the lieutenants than Duncan cried out.
“Marshal Wallace!”
“What is it now? Do I have to gag you?”
Duncan motioned wildly at the front lines. “Get them away from there!”
At that moment, a low rumble sounded from the ground. The earth shook and everyone lost his balance. It was over in a few seconds and order was immediately restored.
Wallace grabbed Duncan. “What the hell was that?!”
“Marshal!”
The shout came from a sergeant at the front. Wallace and the captains jogged up and pushed their way through. Their eyes widened in shock, except for Duncan, who backed away. He had seen this sort of thing before.
The entire front line had vanished — in its place was a yawning ditch in the ground. The elongated pit was a half-dozen meters deep and at the bottom lay nearly a hundred Praetorians. Some of them were dazed from the fall and others were clearly wounded. Many of them were impaled on sharp wooden spikes that protruded from the pit’s floor.
Wallace’s jaw tightened and his hands clenched. “Reinforce our position,” he whispered.
Blaine answered, “Sir?”
“You heard me. Do as Captain Milius said: a formation to protect our flanks and our rear. Four squads to a side with double lines of pikes and swords. Each flank will be backed by cover fire from two dozen archers.”
“What about our wounded in the pit?”
“Now, Captain!”
As the marshal’s orders were relayed, Duncan pointed at the trees. “Grimals!”
The Praetorians were just breaking formation when the attack came. The forest came alive with hundreds of brown blurs as grimals detached themselves from the trees they were using as cover. The sergeants on the front lines quickly gained control of their troops, but the left and right flanks, which still had only two defensive lines, were breached almost immediately. The attackers were smaller than most humans and were covered entirely in brown fur, but what they lacked in size they more than made up for in catlike speed and agility. The Praetorians immediately broke out of their large formations and into squads, and the grimals danced between them, avoiding pikes and swords. The archers were having only moderate success — it was difficult to aim and fire without hitting one of their own. Soon the well-ordered defense had completely devolved into a large melee, with only a few squads of infantry forming a tight defensive shield around a dozen archers. The pikemen had dropped their gangling weapons in favor of the swords at their sides. Total bedlam ensued — except for Sergeant Terrel’s group, the archers had been completely taken out in the first minute of battle.
The grimals darted back into the trees and the attack ended as abruptly as it began, allowing the confused Praetorians to regroup. Officers barked orders all over the place, but eventually the defensive pattern that Duncan originally suggested was established. They were now packed tightly together, with at least three meters of open ground between the flanks and the forest wall — enough space to provide some reaction time for the infantry. Most of the archers had been killed and many pikemen lay dead or wounded on the ground.
All was quiet.
“Sir,” ventured Blaine, “we can still make it to the fortress.”
“If we do, we’ll end up like our missing companies and the Ravelin garrison,” replied a panting Duncan. “The ships are our only option.”
“At Ravelin there are supplies and a wall, for God’s sake!”
“Neither of which helped the garrison all that much!”
“Enough of this,” snapped Wallace. “We seem to have fought them off for now. Captain Blaine, have some of your people collect the arrows from any fallen archers and see to our wounded. Redistribute the arrows between two infantry squads — I want that archery unit reformed. Assign a squad to rescue any survivors from the bottom of that pit. Our archers will cover you from here.”
As Blaine turned to fulfill her orders, Duncan whispered, “Marshal, we’re packed too tightly. Our people don’t have enough room to maneuver against grimals.”
Barely concealing his spite, Wallace eyed his subordinate. “We’ll be under way soon enough, Captain.”
A gap opened in the southern defensive line for a rescue team. Medics were out tending to the wounded, and two dozen footmen were being reassigned by their sergeants to the depleted archery unit. While all this happened, the Praetorians remained on high alert. They weren’t going to be caught off-guard again.
Duncan watched everything anxiously. “Sir, we have to get out of here.”
“Calm yourself, Captain.”
Duncan grabbed the marshal by his shoulders and spun him around. “Sir, they’re coming back! We need to go now!”
Wallace stared back angrily and freed himself of Duncan’s grasp. The marshal was about to order Blaine to restrain the maverick captain when he realized that the warning was too late. Another low rumble sounded, and the ground beneath the northern line collapsed.
With two of the Praetorians’ four defensive lines compromised, the battle was rejoined. The grimals danced between the humans with impunity, and the Praetorians were packed so tightly together that there was no room for them to move freely. Soon they regrouped again into squads but the tide had already turned against them.
The grimals brandished formidable weapons: retractable claws in their hands and feet. Combined with their feline quickness and movement, these proved deadlier than the sharpest knife as they tore into the leather armor of their opponents. Perhaps the most disturbing element was the stark silence of the attackers. The only sounds to be heard were shouts from officers and dying humans.
Duncan spied the ring of soldiers that protected the remnant of the archery unit. He fought his way over. All around him were flailing bodies of grimals. It was hard to tell who outnumbered whom. One private caught a leaping attacker on her shield and stabbed upward with her sword, impaling the creature. Just as she extracted her weapon, she was jumped from behind and knocked down. Duncan jabbed a dagger into its back and threw it off, but not before it managed to gouge open the Praetorian’s throat. She was still alive while the last of her blood pumped out of her body. There was nothing Duncan could do.
Marshal Wallace had managed to rally a dozen troops around the standard of Valor’s Keep but the grimals fought savagely, using the confusion to a startling advantage. As Wallace felt himself being pressed back, he marveled at the way the attackers managed to keep a battalion of Praetorians completely off-balance. He was unaware of the losses his troops were taking around him. The Praetorship had never lost a battle and it wasn’t about to lose now.
Duncan reached the archery squad and grabbed a lieutenant. “Come on, we’re leaving,” he shouted.
She ordered her troops to follow as Duncan led them to the east side of the road.
“Into the forest,” he shouted. “Move!”
The soldiers followed without question. As he turned to call for more troops to retreat, a grimal leaped from the tree above him. It danced away from his sword but he grabbed his dagger and slashed open its belly. It opened its mouth in a silent scream of pain, revealing frightening incisors. It tried to maul his hand but he twisted away and lopped its head off with his sword.
“Let’s go, Praetorians,” he shouted. “This is Captain Duncan Milius! Fall back to the east perimeter! The east perimeter, into the forest! Fall back!”
Duncan looked back and saw Wallace. Blood spattered the marshal’s armor and helmet. With a hoarse battle cry, Wallace leaped into the midst of a group of advancing grimals with his sword arm flailing. He took two out immediately and lopped off the arm of a third before another raked his back with its claws. Wallace roared, spun around and thrust wildly while the grimal nimbly danced out of the way. As it ducked under his next sword stroke and rolled past him, it thrust out its foot and found the open spot in his armor behind his knee. It slashed open his leg with a protruding claw, and Wallace faltered. Duncan tried to fight his way over to his commanding officer as Wallace fought off his attackers from his knees. A grimal slashed his throat open. The standard of Valor’s Keep, the honor of which they had all sworn to protect, lay trampled on the ground.
Giving up, Duncan joined the soldiers who were fighting for their lives in the forest. “Northeast, people, move it! Stay away from the road!”
He darted past them and they followed obediently. Even in the thick of battle, with their lives in jeopardy, training overrode their instincts. Duncan looked back and saw a score of Praetorians running at a frenzied pace, weaving around the trees. Behind them, grimals could be seen as dark blurs leaping from one pine to the next in pursuit. The captain spied Sergeant Terrel and two archers. He stopped them and had them fire three rounds at the pursuers before rejoining the flight. Soon, the sounds of battle faded into the distance.
The grimal pursuers quickly gave up the chase. Duncan ordered a halt to the retreat and everyone returned to the road. When they reached the edge of the forest, he stopped them.
“Careful, there’s a trap here.”
The soldiers shot questioning glances at each other but obeyed nonetheless. They watched their captain step carefully onto the wide path. He surveyed the scene before sprinting to the middle. The others followed. Duncan led them to a large pit that had been cleverly dug in the middle of the road. A taut, thin line of bark extended from the trap to the trees on the west side. The line was coated with an unfamiliar resin that made it tougher than the thickest rope. Inside the pit were the bodies of a dozen Praetorians. They had been slashed and mangled. The fetid stench emanating from the pit indicated that they had been dead for several days.
“They bear the insignia from Captain Alren’s company,” commented Terrel. “They must have been his scouts sent to warn us.”
“We were marching on top of these pits the whole time,” remarked a lieutenant. “How could they possibly have known we were coming?”
“They were watching us,” replied Duncan, “just like they’re watching us right now.” The captain made a quick count of the survivors: fifty, maybe sixty soldiers. A dozen seriously wounded, perhaps more. Eight archers but their quivers were nearly empty. He had one lieutenant, three sergeants and Captain Blaine, though she was ready to collapse from a vicious gash in her side.
“We’ll bind our wounded and make for the ships. We have to move quickly. It isn’t safe here.”
Blaine sat down heavily. “We have to go back and finish—”
“There’s nothing to finish,” interrupted Duncan. “The grimms won’t follow us north. We should be okay as long as we keep moving toward the river. Then we’ll return to Valandov. For now, rest for a moment.”
The Praetorians sat down and tried to catch their breath. No one spoke. The Praetorship had just lost its first battle, and they hadn’t even been able to make an honorable fight out of it. Of an entire battalion, little more than a single platoon had survived. The traditional Praetorian stoicism crumbled as the soldiers’ faces conveyed their humiliation and dishonor. Everyone wanted to rush back to the fray, but their oath of loyalty demanded total adherence to their superior officers, and since Marshal Wallace was dead and Captain Blaine was barely conscious, that position fell to Duncan.
Duncan himself had no time for misgivings. The realization that he was in command came quickly. He rose and stood over the pit of fallen Praetorians. Quietly, and with due solemnity, he began to chant a morose tune. The soldiers around him perked up and got to their feet. They stood at attention and saluted as Duncan assumed his first role as commander by reciting the funeral dirge.
At journey’s end we meet eternal night—
With Honor, Valor and Might.
We defend the Keep against Chaos’ shadow
With Honor, Valor and Might.
Whosoever welcomes Eve’s cold embrace
With Honor, Valor and Might
Shall prevail in legends of yore retold
With Honor, Valor and Might.
We pass from this age to bequeath to the next
Our Honor, Valor and Might.
May these souls live in death as they did in life—
With Honor, Valor and Might.
They stood there observing a moment of silence. As if snapping out of a trance, Duncan turned to look at his ragtag troop. They looked filthy and utterly downtrodden, as if someone had picked a group of beggars from the street and outfitted them with discarded armor and weapons. They awaited his orders, not caring whether they lived or died.
Duncan spoke hoarsely. “We need to bury these soldiers, but we don’t have the time.” As if to highlight his point, the breeze carried to them a distant, high-pitched call. The Praetorians looked about nervously, unsure of what to do. They knew the battle was lost, but to leave comrades unburied on the battlefield…
Knowing their thoughts, Duncan continued. “We can’t go back and lay hundreds of people to rest. Our primary responsibility is to the living!”
If there was any agreement, it was grudging. More than one fighter interpreted his words as cowardice, including Blaine, but she could think of no alternative course of action.
“From the sound of those calls, we have about three minutes before they catch up,” continued Duncan. He turned to his subordinate. “Lieutenant, organize our medical supplies and redistribute the remaining arrows among four archers. Reassign any extra archers and medics to the infantry.”
Thankful to be taking some positive action, the junior officer replied, “Yes, sir.” She went about her tasks, and the rest of the troops slumped dejectedly to the ground to take advantage of the short respite.
Duncan surveyed what remained of Wallace’s battalion. They don’t trust me, he realized. Will they mutiny?
It was then when he noticed that Sergeant Terrel was missing.
Stay tuned for the next chapter…
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