Forlorn Hope - Chapter 9
The Drums of War
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Tebin sat with Chuli unsure what to talk about. His sister didn’t seem to mind, content to trace the shapes of his lamellar armour. He had only removed it to bathe, as Commander Gagan ordered, and after two weeks was almost comfortable sleeping in the bulk. The Palace of the Lotus had taken on a sombre aura, the babies cried less, the children played less, and the women caring for them all had lost their colour except for the Princess who retained all her elegance and grace as she glided around the ancient hall.
Chuli smiled, her cheeks bunching, held Tebin’s hand, and rested against his arm. Sitting there, staring at the flaking plaster on the wall he wondered what they would do after the battle, if there was an after. He picked at the callouses on his fingers to distract himself from the other possibilities.
Commander Gagan stood in the doorway overlooking the Palace hall, his eyes vacant yet prowling. Other boys and almost men in armour sat or stood with their younger siblings in the same uncomfortable silence that Tebin and Chuli occupied. A strange knowing calm. Jatan had not joined Tebin, preferring to practice his archery until after sunset. Not that Jatan had anyone to see.
A horn blared a long and terrible warble, a sound that sat in the chest and made the guts quiver. Commander Gagan shivered, his face contorting close to fear for a second before he regained control, ‘Formation!’ He barked.
Chuli flinched at the guttural sound shattering the peace of the Palace. Toddlers screamed and those who had had nothing to say for an hour were suddenly filled with words. Tebin went to stand but his sister hung on to his arm with all her strength. ‘I have to go,’ Tebin’s voice cracked.
Chuli gripped his arm harder.
He tried to look her in the eyes but she refused to turn her face to him. ‘Chuli…’ Most of the other boys of his unit had gathered in a wide column by the door. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
Chuli clung on.
Princess Xun-Ma appeared, her light blue silks drifting about her. She crouched, smiled to Chuli, ‘Your brother has a very important role to play tonight.’
‘Someone else can do it,’ Chuli said, her voice barely a whisper.
The Princess shook her head, her cheeks radiant and her eyes large and joyful, ‘He has a role only he can accomplish, just like the other boys over there,’ she pointed to the armoured orphans. ‘All of them have an important role that they must perform so that tomorrow can be joyous.’
Chuli swallowed. Tebin crouched too and Chuli flicked her gaze to him. She began to cry as she loosened her grip. Tebin hugged her, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise.’
Chuli sobbed into his shoulder and gave one last squeeze of his neck before accepting the Princess’s hand.
Tebin rose, swallowing the lump in his throat, and joined his unit. Gagan overlooked his tardiness and led them from the hall to the sound of whimpering babes.
A thousand thousand torches burned along the walls and streets of Silicia, darkness had come quicker than usual and the stars were hidden from view by heavy clouds. There were no people on the streets, most of the houses and bars were dark, and it seemed the only inhabitants of Silicia were soldiers. Commander Gagan led the orphaned boys through the streets towards the training grounds where the other half of their unit should have assembled. Orders were being barked from all corners of the city. The walls bristled with archers, some of the towers with arbalests.
The horn sounded across the city once more and sent shivers down Tebin’s spine. They entered the training grounds and Tebin had a bow shoved in one hand and a straight-edged sword in the other by men he didn’t recognise. He slung the bow over his shoulder and slipped the sword belt on tight. Jatan was shaking and blowing out air in loud, explosive gusts, his hands gripping the hilt of his sword, then checking the arrows in his quiver, then his bow, then back to his sword. The other boys and almost men were much the same all standing in rows and columns waiting for Gagan. Tebin and the others slotted into their positions, the velvet night dulling his vision.
‘We have been positioned on the north-east tower,’ Gagan clasped his hands in the small of his back, hiding them behind his swollen quiver. ‘Let’s go!’ He turned and half-ran out the training grounds. The unit lurched forward but retained shape and pace.
They passed beneath the gated archway glistening with torch light and out onto the street. ‘What do you think we’ll be assigned?’ Jatan asked, he checked his bow was in its pouch for the seventh time.
‘Archery, I presume. Top of the tower,’ Tebin said. ‘Why else would we be practicing our bow for two weeks non-stop.’
Jatan let out an explosive sigh, ‘Yeah. Yeah, makes sense. Don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous? Putting us lot up there? Wouldn’t you rather the veterans be first up?’
‘Not enough of them,’ Tebin said with a certainty he didn’t hold.
‘No way you know that. No way,’ Jatan held the hilt of his sword as he jogged.
The north-east tower loomed overhead. Orange flame danced over pale stone casting shadows of the legions of men already atop the wall. Tebin craned his neck back to try and see the peak but a shadow of darkness clung to the upper floors of the tower. Hundreds, if not thousands, of men marched to and fro, some wielding bows and taking their place along the massive walls while others had spears and swords and remained on the ground.
Commander Gagan stopped the unit just outside the door to the tower. Soldiers barked to one another inside wanting arrows, pitch, and stones. ‘You are to make certain all quivers remain stocked with arrows. Over there is an arrow store,’ Gagan gestured to a line of carts against the wall stocked to overflowing with arrows. ‘The first two rows will be unloading, the second two will be moving them inside the tower, the fifth row will resupply the pots on the lower three levels, the sixth row will supply the quivers from the pots on those levels, the seventh row will supply the pots on the upper three levels, and the eighth row will supply the quivers from the pots on those levels.’
‘We aren’t fighting!’ Tebin cursed.
‘Mind your tongue, soldier. You aren’t here to do what you please, you’re here to do what is required,’ Gagan spat. ‘Now move!’
Jatan, Tebin, and three others hurried into the tower and up the stairs to the upper three levels. ‘I can’t believe it. All that training. All those hours, for what? To refill other quivers,’ Tebin said.
‘Be quiet,’ Jatan spat. ‘You’re barely tall enough to see over the merlons let alone the parapets. What use would you be up there? Besides, all those men with more years than you can count risk death for you and you complain? Be quiet, grow up, and do your duty.’
Tebin halted on the last staircase, stunned and annoyed. The men on the floors above and below had heard them, though few had anything to say beyond a grunt and a shake of the head. Tebin hung his head and continued up.
The final enclosed floor of the tower stank of sweat, the air close and humid. Men gathered at the slits in the wall, arrows nocked and ready, in lines of six to take turns loosing into the enemy. A chill wind blew down the ladder leading to the tower roof, there a commander was pacing and grunting insults about the enemy, how the Gör Khāni men failed to satisfy their wives, how their children were ashamed of them, that they had done deals with demons from deep underground, and that the Great Emperor himself was a walking corpse who absorbed the life force of those around him. Tebin shivered.
The horn blared again and Tebin winced, his arms folded. ‘Come on, first arrows are here. Let’s see what’s what up top,’ Jatan tapped him on the arm. The pair took a bundle of arrows each and climbed the ladder.
The commander, a thin man with a serpent’s face peered down a crooked nose at the boys. Tebin swallowed looking up in to the man’s eyes and murmured an apology. ‘Don’t get in my way and you’ll do a good job,’ he said.
‘Yes, commander,’ Tebin bowed and glanced at the quivers of the archers lining the walls. All full. He set his bundle into a wide pot in the middle and caught site of the invading army. Smoke billowed eastward from the torches on the four corners of the tower and coiled over the uncountable men below all in black armour and wielding moon swords. Great towers the height of Silicia’s walls trundled towards them, pushed by hundreds of men. Enemy bowmen could be seen shuffling inside the contraptions covered in animal skins. Burning boulders sat in catapults ready to launch and taller siege engines waited patiently beside them with enormous slings holding rocks larger than a horse. Tebin peered over a merlon between two men but he could not see the ground for Gör Khāni soldiers. Moon and torch light rippled over helm and blade.
The drums of war began to beat.
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‘Be quiet, grow up, and do your duty.’
Excellent point. New soldiers often complain about doing “grunt work” instead of “fighting”, not realizing that if THEY don’t do that job, someone more capable than them has to, removing them from a position where they can affect the battle.
And that two weeks of training in archery wasn’t to make them into instant archers, it was to enable them to be minimally effective as REPLACEMENTS for more skilled soldiers as they inevitably fall to enemy fire.
You seem very well versed in training and battlefield mechanics/logistics. Are you by chance a veteran?