The next ten minutes turned into a frantic, confusing, running house-to-house battle, and we were victorious each encounter – as a group, we were starting to out-number the little bands of three or five who were raiding and pillaging. Better yet, along the way we picked up another four men, and all of a sudden we were a military unit and I found myself elected Captain. I was admittedly the most qualified, but I wished someone else would come along and take over.
But while we were winning the individual engagements, my men were taking wounds that real soldiers would have avoided – like Gusdal hacking into his own leg accidentally with his hatchet and Bru's hand getting opened up by a goblin's rusty iron dagger. We slowed as we approached the commons, and by the light of our burning homes we saw a horrible sight.
The belltower was the scene of the real siege, though it was more riot than battle. There were about a hundred gurvani tribesmen in the square, throwing stones and javelins at the few people who'd managed to make it inside the rough stone building.
As a fortification, it was a poor choice. It was only a three stories tall, of undressed local stone, and there wasn't room inside for more than a dozen folk. But it was also the only reasonable choice, as it had stout walls and a thick oaken door bound in iron. And at least one of the besieged was hanging on that bell for dear life to summon help. Mothers screamed for their children, children screamed for their parents, and some screamed for their lives as goblin maces smashed at the knees and feet of those brave or desperate enough to try to escape.
Occasionally, the men would throw the rocks and javelins back down at the invaders, and someone with a bow in the tower was making good use of it . . . but mostly the villagers just hid and screamed in terror.
My little band halted by the edge of the village square and I motioned for them to take cover behind a barn while I took stock of the tactical situation. I had never expected to use that term again, but my time in the service of the Duchies had made me automatically think of such things at a time like this. It was amazing – I hadn't been in battle in years, yet it all came flooding back to me as if I'd just mustered-out. The constant looking around, the attention to arcane detail, the purposeful extension of awareness . . . all of the warmagi's tools came to me so easily. Too easily.
Well, at least I was in command this time.
I had maybe six or seven men, mostly with improvised weapons and no combat experience. Oh, each had trained in the village militia, of course, but in this remote province that was as much ceremony as it was training for war. These men were shopkeepers and artisans, not warriors. They were also running on fear, anger and adrenaline, which are not the best ways to approach combat. Several of them wanted to go ahead and attack the band of goblins right then, but I urged them to be calm . . . and Ishi's tits, they actually listened.
While attacking the foe in the rear sounds glorious in theory, they outnumbered us significantly enough that our glorious gesture would be futile. Even warmagic wouldn't turn the tide against such odds, not by myself. I could drain my wands and staff at them and there would still be more than enough of them to defeat us. The best we could do was pick off stragglers and wait for help.
The local lord of the valley, Sire Koucey, had built his castle only three or four miles away, and the bell – which continued to ring desperately – could be heard from there. True, he and all of his gentlemen men-at-arms would only add a dozen and a half defenders to the fray, but they were a dozen and a half well-trained, well-armed and mounted troops. Compared to the few shopkeepers and craftsmen, that was as good as an army. Wisdom dictated we sit tight and wait for reinforcements. Only nobody wanted to be wise that night.
"That's Lida!" Gusdal shouted, spotting a girl he fancied in the bell tower. He started toward her automatically, but his father restrained him before I could.
"Enough, lad!" the elder whispered harshly. "We'll get them all back proper if we keep our heads. Rushing in there will just get you and her killed. Let's see what the Spellmonger has up his sleeve!"
He wasn't the only one who was eager for that. I was kind of curious myself.
"What should we do?" Arstol asked in a whisper. Confused faces looked around for an answer and then looked to me – the relative stranger with the sword – for leadership. Hell, I didn't know what to do.
While we were trying to figure it out we were joined by another small group of three – farmers with pitchforks and axes – and again a moment later by four more with mauls and picks and other improvised weapons. They were making all manner of unlikely suggestions for taking the attack to the enemy, and I foresaw a lot of stupidity. If left to their own devices, people would get themselves killed. It was time to be a leader.
"Pick them off," I said confidently, smiling and trying to look bloodthirsty. "Arstol, you take three axe-men and go to the other side of the barn. Kill any of them that try to get around our flank that way. In fact, I'm going to try to lure a few your way. When they get to that side, come out screaming like Korbal himself was chasing you. The rest of you wait until they turn – and they will – and then hit them from behind." It sounded like a good plan to them only because they knew nothing about warfare. Still, any plan was better than this chaos.