N 02 crowsea, p.1
N-02. Crowsea, page 1
part #2 of Nasvencia Series
Nasvencia
Book II: Crowsea
M. E. Robinson
Copyright
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Lighthouse Publishing
Copyright © 2020 M.E. Robinson
Edited by Alicia Sit, Cover art by Alicia Sit
For permissions, please contact:
thegameslighthouse@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To my fans, who supported me and pushed me to make this story as good as possible.
Prologue
The wind was dry and cold, chasing away the warmth of the summer sun as it washed over the battlements of the old outpost, freezing man and beast alike. The outpost, little more than a set of stone walls surrounding a small keep at the top of the mountain, offered little protection against the cold, and its inhabitants felt the chill clearly, especially those standing guard on the exposed walls.
Shivering slightly, the guard rubbed his forearms in a vain attempt to keep warm. While men back in Seacove wore vests or stripped down to their skivvies to work in the midsummer heat, here in the north, Colson found himself still wearing furs well into the hottest part of the year. Hottest, my ass. The gods of fire must have been collectively drunk when this place was made. Stifling a yawn, he glanced over at the valley below the watchtower; the forest was still except for the movements of the birds and the beasts. No enemies, all clear, just like always.
“Best not let Sergeant Osman catch you doing that,” a voice from behind warned him. “He’ll have you on latrine duty again.”
“Doing what, yawning?” Colson protested. “It’s not my fault this place is more boring than cleaning duty. Washing the latrines would almost be better than this. At least then I could sneak into the kitchens for a shot of firewine.”
“It’s still your job,” the other guard informed him. “We’re the kingdom’s first line of defense against the dangers of the north. Slacking off won’t be tolerated, nor will drinking on the job.”
“First line of defense,” Colson groused. “You make it sound so important, Tanner. We both know this post is basically a demotion for guys like us. They’re not sending the elites here—they’re sending us.”
“Us?” Tanner raised an eyebrow. “Don’t lump me in with you. I still consider myself an elite, no matter your personal thoughts on the matter.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m sure you were the model soldier back with your original company,” Colson shot back. “Never messed up, just got assigned here randomly one day and now here you are.”
“Well, no,” Tanner admitted. “I may have been a little overzealous in my duties at some point. But Commander Skirn assured me that this position is a great opportunity for me.”
“A great opportunity…” Colson echoed slowly.
“Right,” Tanner nodded. “We’re the first line of defense against all sorts of enemies that would range south to strike at Novanalba. If I can raise merits here, I can secure a promotion to sergeant, maybe even make warrant officer before my year is up.”
“Raise merits?” It was Colson’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Doing what? Watching this frozen wasteland?” Gesturing broadly, he indicated the land below, the branches on the trees were still laden with frost, and snow was still visible in the shadows where the sun could not reach. Deeper in the valley below, the snow gave way to greener pastures, but winter still reigned up here on the mountaintop, refusing to relinquish its grasp over the land in the face of summer’s heat. “I’ve been here near ten months now, and not once have I had to raise my spear outside of the training ground. Raise merits? The only merits we raise up here are the merits of deserting and going home.”
“Desertion is a capital offense,” Tanner responded frostily.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Colson regarded the man. Tanner Greenfield was the clearest example that recruitment into the Novanalban army did not take a sense of humour into consideration. The man was completely and utterly devoid of humour, something that made standing watch with him a perpetual battle against the desire to toss a man over the side of the wall and see how long it took for them to reach the base of the mountain. Whether that man was himself or Tanner changed upon the day, but the urge was always there.
“Obviously,” Colson said after a moment. “It was a joke, Tanner.”
“Oh.”
Silence followed this statement, as both men searched awkwardly for something to say. Deciding it was better to stay quiet, Colson opted instead to do his job, staring over the wall at the valley as he set off on a slow tour of the wall. Nothing there, no enemies in sight, just like always. Behind him, Tanner hefted his spear and set off in the opposite direction for another tour of his own.
The newbies were always like that, eagerly performing their duties with wild thoughts about all sorts of creatures and monsters that could attack the watchtower. Colson had held the same delusions when he himself had first arrived here nearly a year ago. Fortunately for their safety, and unfortunately for their sanity, it quickly became evident that the only dangers that came anywhere near the watchpost were frostwings and the idle thought that maybe flapping hard enough would allow a man to fly away from this wretched place—something that Colson had been sorely tempted to try on more than one occasion. Especially on days when I’m on duty with Tanner.
Idly debating the pros and cons of his flight idea, Colson finished his tour of the wall, leaning against the wall and dreaming of being back in Seacove, where he could enjoy a hot pie and a soft bed.
“What did you do to get sent here?”
Tanner’s words shocked Colson out of his reverie, pies and beds both disappearing from his mind as the chill of the walls came rushing back alongside his fellow guard, evidently having just returned from his tour. Shooting an annoyed glance at Tanner, Colson exhaled. “What?”
“You implied that everyone here is here because of something they did. What did you do?”
“Me?” Colson asked, toying with the idea of creating some fantastic story to tell Tanner. Shaking his head slightly, he discarded the idea. Knowing Tanner, he would take it seriously, and then he would have to explain himself to Captain Gage later. No, best to tell him the truth. “It’s not very exciting. You sure you want to hear it?”
“Yes,” Tanner replied frankly. “Knowing about our fellow soldiers helps increase unit cohesiveness.”
“Unit cohesiveness?” Colson asked incredulously before catching himself.
“It means how we work togeth—”
“I know what it means,” Colson snapped. With a sigh, he regarded Tanner. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”
“It was.”
Stifling the retort that rose up in his throat, Colson forced himself to nod. Might as well just tell him the story so he shuts up again. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he regarded Tanner. “A recruit messed up in a battle against some bandits out near Stonekeep. He broke ranks to pursue a fleeing bandit, which disrupted our formation and gave the bandits an opportunity to strike back. We all survived thankfully, but I chewed the kid out good. Gave him what for, ya know?”
“A green recruit made a mistake and you corrected him. I fail to see the problem,” Tanner responded.
“That was my thought at the time,” Colson replied sourly. “Well, turns out that kid was actually the bastard child of some local noble, sent to the army to make a career for himself. Kid may have been a bastard, but daddy didn’t take too kindly to me remonstrating his issue. He couldn’t get me demoted, as I hadn’t actually done anything wrong. But the captain dressed me down in front of the regiment for acting above my position, and a month later I was transferred here,” Colson explained.
Shrugging, he turned back toward the battlement, peering over it to gaze at the forest once more. “Pretty much stalled my career, but my mother was happy. She never did like seeing me get in trouble. Said she didn’t need the money I’d make as a higher rank so long as I always returned home safe.”
“Sounds like a good mother,” Tanner said.
“That she is,” Colson replied. The words hung in the air between the two men for a moment, before silence descended upon the wall once more, the wind blessedly absent for the moment. It was Tanner who broke the silence.
“My mother,” he began awkwardly, fumbling for the words, “she didn’t want me to join the army. Wanted me to follow in my brother’s footsteps and join the family business as a carpenter.”
“But that’s not what you wanted for yourself,” Colson deduced.
“No!” Tanner said emphatically. “Growing up, she always told me stories about heroes, men such as Lord Crowsea, General Saril, and the Hooded Noble, who did what was required in order to preserve the kingdom and save the lives of those they cared for. I always dreamed of being one such man. So when I turned sixteen, I joined the army.” Letting out a rare chuckle, Tanner smiled at this, the first smile Colson had ever seen on the man. “She was furious.”
“I’ll bet,” Colson offered noncommittally.
“Things went well for the first three years. I did well on my deployment to the border with Rohadil and was slated for a promotion to sergeant. But then I messed up and got transferred here,” Tann er continued. “It might be a demotion, as you say, but I won’t give up. Even if it is, I plan to give it my all. My mother’s stories always emphasized that you don’t need to be a general or a lord to be a hero. So it would be remiss of me to not give it my all even in this lowly position.”
“I might have underestimated you, Tanner,” Colson responded after a moment.
“Hm?”
“Forget it,” Colson replied. Maybe he was right. Knowing more about each other does increase unit cohesiveness.
“No, not that,” said Tanner, peering hard at something just beyond the battlements. “I thought I saw movement.”
“Where?” Colson asked, joining his fellow soldier in looking over the battlements.
“Right ther—”
Whatever else Tanner had been going to say was cut off as he suddenly tackled Colson, throwing him off his feet and causing him to fall heavily against the worn stone surface of the wall.
“What the hell, Tanner?” Colson asked angrily, getting his feet under him as he prepared to rise. Before he could, however, his eyes met Tanner’s, and he went still.
Coughing up blood, Tanner was barely supporting himself against the wall, a long, white-feathered arrow jutting from his chest where it had pierced his furs and the armour beneath. Scrambling to his feet, Colson moved to his side, staying low to prevent any further shots as he assisted his fellow guard. Colson gritted his teeth as he cradled Tanner in his arms. The arrow had lodged itself perfectly between his ribs, where it must have pierced at least one lung given the pink bubbles in the blood Tanner was coughing up. The arrow hit his vitals, Colson realized. He’s not going to make it.
“Colson…” Tanner managed, pausing for a moment to hack up more blood. The strength had faded from his limbs, and he was only staying upright with Colson’s support. “Snow elves, humans, attacking… at least twenty...”
“Snow elves and humans,” Colson nodded seriously. “Was there anything else?”
“No,” Tanner choked through the blood. “Go… warn them… be… a hero…”
With that, Tanner went still, his breathing ceasing as his eyes stared glassily into oblivion. Feeling the bile rising in his throat, Colson lay Tanner down gently, before taking off toward the stairs at a sprint, keeping low to avoid becoming the target of any further arrows.
Behind him, grappling hooks embedded themselves into the battlements with steely clinks, skittering across the smooth stone until they found purchase. Counting the number of hooks he could see as he ran, Colson’s face paled, his dread mounting as the number quickly soared past twenty. The entire guard complement of the outpost was only twenty-six men, twenty-five now that Tanner was gone. And likely even less if the two guards on the other side of the outpost had been similarly taken care of.
Reaching the stairs, Colson practically threw himself down them, very nearly testing his thoughts of flight as he soared down three steps at a time. Stumbling slightly as he reached the courtyard, he caught himself before sprinting pell-mell toward the keep.
“ATTACK! ENEMY ATTACK!” Colson roared, straining his lungs in an effort to make himself heard. Spying a flash of movement in one of the windows of the keep, he repeated himself, his voice already going hoarse in the cold air.
Gasping for breath, Colson continued to run, making for the large wooden door at the front of the keep. As he approached, an arrow skittered off the flagstones beside him, alerting him that the enemies had arrived on the walls. Seeing the door open slightly, Colson threw himself the last few feet forward, the door opening to receive him and strong hands pulling him inside. As the door closed, several more arrows thudded into it, embedding themselves in the thick wood.
Catching his breath, Colson found himself staring at the well-maintained boots of Sergeant Osman, the man’s usual dour expression replaced with one of grim concern.
“Report, soldier. What’s happening outside?”
“Enemy attack, Sergeant,” Colson gasped. “Private Greenfield was slain by their arrows but managed to shield me so that I might escape. The attackers are a mix of snow elves and humans, at least twenty of them, if not more.”
Behind Osman, the keep had burst into activity, men running to and fro as they donned weapons and armour, preparing themselves to fight off the invaders.
“Get yourself some water and a new spear,” Osman ordered. “If what you say is true, then we are being attacked by a professional force of at least thirty fighters. And given the lack of alarm being sounded, I suspect that a similar number might have attacked from the other side as well putting the enemy at at least fifty in number.”
“Can we hold, Sergeant?” a man behind Osman asked.
“Not can,” Osman replied grimly. “Must. We are the shield that defends Novanalba. We cannot fail here—Novanalba must be warned.”
“They’re coming!” a soldier sounded the warning, peeking through a window at the courtyard.
“Fall back to the stairs!” Osman ordered. “We make our stand there. Captain Gage is currently using the warning crystal at the top of the tower to alert Seacove to this attack. We must buy him time!”
A chorus of affirmatives met this statement, the pounding of boots ringing through the hall of the keep as the men got into position at the foot of the large, spiral stone stairs that led up into the keep. Forming three ranks, the soldiers faced the door, a nervous energy permeating the formation. Grabbing a new spear, Colson joined them, slipping into one of the rear ranks.
“Shields in front, bows in the back!” Osman shouted. “They have archers, so keep your heads down!”
As if on cue, the door to the keep burst open, a hail of arrows soaring through the breach to catch the soldiers by surprise. Caught unawares, two soldiers fell, the arrows finding gaps in the shields to take them down. Behind the rain of arrows, the attackers charged, shields held in front of them as they approached.
“Return fire!” Osman ordered, the archers in the rear of the formation shooting back at the attackers.
One attacker fell, victim to a particularly well-placed arrow, but the rest caught the arrows on their shields, expertly deflecting the counterattack as they charged the soldiers formation. Bristling with spears, the soldiers stood ready to receive them, their shields linked to repel any attacks their foes might launch.
As the attackers neared, Colson finally got a good look at them. Clad in white furs, the attackers were a mix of humans and the distinctive white-haired snow-elves that Tanner had noticed. Favouring axes and swords, several attackers also carried quivers of arrows, slung over their backs in the northern style. Moving as one, the attackers did not break formation, but approached quickly in an arrowhead formation of their own, cold eyes overlooking their shields as they deflected another volley of arrows from the defenders.
That’s more than fifty, Colson realized with a cold jolt, the hands holding his spear cold with sweat. Although he had fought large groups of enemies on several occasions in the past, the army had always been the larger and better equipped force. Now facing a force twice the size of their own, with equipment that outshone the old spears and oaken shields they carried, Colson found himself empathizing with the bandit groups he had crushed in the past.
The attackers rapidly neared the formation. As Osman gave the order, the archers rose, loosing another volley of arrows at their foes. Catching the arrows with their shields, the attackers suddenly split, the front rank breaking apart to reveal the men behind, who had swapped their swords and axes for bows.
“Take cover!” Osman roared, but it was too late. With the twang of bowstrings, arrows flew, decimating the archers who were too slow to take cover behind the shieldwall. Screams rang out as the arrows found their marks, the archers turning into pincushions as their bodies rolled down the stairs into the rear ranks.
Ah, that was what the quivers were for. Colson realized numbly, keeping his eyes forward in an attempt to ignore the carnage on the stairs behind him. Below, the stairs were quickly becoming slick with blood, small rivers of scarlet flowing hot and sticky beneath the feet of the defenders.
Forming up again, the attackers closed ranks in front of their archers, their shields brought to bear once more. This time, rather than continue the charge, they simply stared at the soldiers, their archers nocking new arrows to their bows as they readied their next volley.
