Hope II

By Len Morgan

A distant metallic glint & sporadic flashes of light forewarned of the approaching supply train, heading for the Thaal stronghold at Gasponar.

“Remember your training, and remember to aim for the “T” of their helm that’s your target.  Your bow’s are not powerful enough to pierce armour.  So, leave the body shots to the crossbowmen.  When the Pikes engage, pick only clear targets.  We do not want to injure our own people do we?”

“No Jazz!” the resounding response.

.-…-. 

“Curse that damned sun,” the Haltocapt, raising his hand to economically shade his eyes from the midday sun, and bring the wagon train to a halt.  The wagons ground to a halt amid protests from the teams.  He scanned the slopes to either side of the narrowing track.  A buzzard took to the thermals circling in the sky searching for prey; it’s mournful cry a momentary distraction that raised a grin, he watched it turn this way and that in its search.  Smiling he kicked his mount into motion, waving the train on.  He was leading 30 armoured and battle-hardened Thaal warriors, what had they to fear from this godforsaken waste.  In the past two years, they’d vanquished armies that outnumbered them 5 to 1.  Their last half worthy opposition had fed the larva of most of the flies worrying them today; maggot food months past.  More’s the pity he thought…  

His mount took six more paces before his corpse fell from the saddle. At that time half his force was facing the sky with glazed unseeing eyes.  The remainder turned to face the perceived enemy; six more fell, as 30 pikemen left scant cover to plant their halberds in opposition.  The armoured warriors charged; three were hoisted from their mounts their weight skewered them on the pikes.  The remainder engaged the pikemen as they retreated according to plan.  Two were cut down before they reached their trench.  The others ducked into safety as arrows flew like angry hornets.  The surviving pikemen grabbed the reins of the riderless horses.  In minutes, it was all over.  Thirty-odd Thaal slaughtered, the wagoners driven off, afoot.

The band of attackers now had wagons, weapons, provisions and food that would last them six months, all for the loss of two men.

“We beat them Jazz!  We destroyed them,” his young sergeant whooped, slapping his on back.

“Aye, we did that lad!  But, now they know were here, it won’t be so easy next time…”

Copyright Len Morgan