Chapter 10
“Get everybody across the bridge, we’ll hold here,” Wikkid ordered what was left of the Galnath Militia. The same band of raiders had been harassing them for two days now with hit and run tactics testing their defenses and resolve. With nowhere defendable in sight they had elected to keep moving without sleep or rest. Meanwhile the horseback marauders had followed at a distance in shifts. One group would harass them while the other rested. Wikkid was fine, dwarves could go days without sleep but the villagers where about at the end of their rope. It was time to make a stand and the bridge was their best bet.
“Brenda, Dave, Jack, Becca,” Dredrik called out as children, old, and wounded filed past. “You’re with me and Wikkid up front. I want archers to line up behind. Brenda unpack the pikes we need them on the line.”
Wikkid stood his axe on its end handle down and leaned on it catching his breath. “James says this is the only crossing for seven leagues.” They have little choice but to come at us or let us go.”
“Or wait us out,” Dredrik said between labored breaths. He removed his helmet letting the cold breeze dry up is sweat soaked head. “How long can we keep these people standing on this bridge? Most of us are barely standing now.”
“You got another plan in mind?”
“I’ve got nothing. Even if we retrieved our horses from the wounded we’d be riding outnumbered six to one.”
“Better than the odds when this started,” Wikkid smiled grimly running his thumb over one of his axe’s blades.
That was true enough. The marksmanship of the Galnathians had proven remarkable on the run against mounted targets. Anything that managed to get close enough Wikkid and Dredrik had made short work of. By all accounts the raiders had lost fifteen, the Galnathians two. All from wounds suffered in Galnath.
By the end of day one Wikkid had recognized their attackers. A mercenary group employed by Argile who called themselves the Mason Free Company. A despicable bunch who only went out on easy details such as scouting work or escorts for supply caravans operating well behind the front lines so picking on ‘defenseless’ refugees more than fit their ambition level.
“Look we know these guys,” Dredrik said. “We ride out and say hi, they are liable to back off. We’ve got a reputation after all. They decide we might take most of them with us they’ll go off to greener pastures.”
“A bluff, that’s a new tactic for us.”
“We don’t usually have civilians in tow either. You’re always trying to get me to expand my way of thinking, let’s consider this on the job training for royal court if we live to see that day.”
“They can tell by the lack of horses we’re not in our usually company. What makes you think we can bluff em?”
“You,” Dredrik pointed at one of the archers, “get mine and Wikkid’s horses. You,” he said pointing at another. “You’re about the right height go find something that will look like dark red robes from a distance and stand up front. Try not to change where a lookout might see. Thank you,” he said as Brenda handed him a pike. “I need to borrow your scarf if you don’t mind.” Brenda handed it over and Dredrik tied it to the pike as a truce flag.
“So were gonna play the warlock card then. I like it. Not many would want to face one down. Not even mages.”
“Maybe not our best plan ever, but it beats dying here today. Just in case, Eitreen, get some torches lit. Make ready to burn the bridge if we have to. Eertu and company may have to pass through here so we’ll consider it a last resort.”
The archers divided to allow the two warhorses through. The second archer hot on his heals wrapped in what appeared to be blankets. “Best I could do,” the archer explained. At least he had concealed his bow.
Wikkid grunted as he mounted up, “It might do. Mason may be an opportunistic bastard but he’s not stupid.”
“It’ll work,” Dredrik replied as he too mounted up, and raised the pike up high the white scarf flapping in the breeze then two rode off toward the mass of horsemen. About half way there three of the horsemen broke ranks and rode out to meet them, weapons at rest. The two groups came to a halt about twenty feet from each other.
“Well,” the brawny red headed scruffy bearded man known as Mason said, “Dredrik Airasmau and his pet dwarf.”
Dredrik spared a glance at Wikkid, but the dwarf showed no sign of taking offense. Wikkid had always been good at self-control. “As I recall Wikkid has received triple the battle honors in Argile’s service than your entire company combined. You might consider being more respectful when talking to your betters.”
“My betters,” Mason scoffed. “My ancestors helped lead the purge of their kind from these lands in the founding. They were trampled underfoot by human cavalry. There is nothing better about their kind.”
“So a bigot and a fool then.”
“I should cut you down where you stand.”
“And unleash the wrath of my warlock? I know you’re smarter than that. Besides if, and it’s a big if you manage to slay me Wikkid will remove all of your heads before my body hit’s the ground. So my ignorant friend, I suggest you turn around and ride back from where you came because a great many of you will not leave this field alive otherwise.”
“And I’ll make damned sure you are not one of the lucky ones,” Wikkid added, his voice eerily calm.
“Bah, your caravan is not worth my time.” Mason spat on the ground in front of Wikkid’s horse. “There will be another time.”
“Looking forward to it,” Wikkid replied. “Maybe next time you’ll have a backbone.”
Dredrik winced, so close.
“You calling me a coward?” Mason roared. “You’re hiding under the protection of Eertu.”
“One on one if you’re …. Man enough.”
“So be it,” Mason drew his sword. “Eric, Malcolm, back away.”
“You to Dredrik,” Wikkid ordered as he produced the one handed sword he kept strapped onto his horse which he favored for mounted combat.
Before Dredrik could back away Mason spurred his horse forward. Dwarves are not known as horsemen but Wikkid had become better than most men meeting Mason head on. Steel clashed against steel as the two met. If any had been betting on a drawn out fight they would have been wrong. Within three quick moves Mason screamed, Wikkid’s sword stuck to the hilt in Mason’s belly. Then quicker than the eye could follow Wikkid managed to bring his mighty axe into play removing Mason’s head with one strong stroke. Wikkid pulled his sword back from Mason’s gut before the decapitated corpse fell from the horse.
Dredrik readied for Mason’s lieutenants to charge but neither moved. After a few uneasy moments Dredrik spoke. “Eric, you’re leader of these men now yes?”
“Aye.”
“Take some friendly advice. Be somewhere else. If you value your men make it very far away.”
“We have no quarrel with the lost, we’ll leave you be.”
“How about Mason’s horse,” Malcolm asked
“Consider it spoils of war,” Wikkid sneered as he held onto the animals reins.
“Very well,” Eric conceded. “Farewell Dredrik, Wikkid.”
Dredrik and Wikkid watched until Eric’s Free Company broke ranks and rode away, before heading back to the bridge, Wikkid leading Mason‘s horse by the reins.
“We had an out, and I know you better than to think that was out of spite.” Dredrik said.
“I won’t lie lad spite had a bit to do with it, but a man like Mason is the type who would go back to camp, think it over while he downs a few then decide he has the numbers to make a go of it if for no other reason because he’s pissed about being forced to back down.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you either way. Mason had it coming.”
“Maybe, but I’ve seen just as much hatred for men in the Dwarven halls, seems no amount of time will ever heal the rift between our two peoples.”
“Perhaps, but here we are.”
“Two outcasts
hardly account for the will of two peoples.”
“No,” Dredrik agreed. “I guess not.”