Fort in the River’s Bend Pt. 1

Imperial year 2603

Stepping out of the barracks into the cold predawn darkness, Trooper Jorus Demius of Company H, 4th Imperial Dragoons, pulled his gray riding cloak tight around his shoulders and made his way to the walls. Climbing the stone steps to the top of the southwest tower, he looked across the sea of brown grass which appeared blue-gray in the waning moonlight. He tapped the night sentry on the shoulder. Exchanging nods, they silently changed places, the night sentry making for the barracks and sleep.

Demius was a long time veteran of the 4th even though he was not yet forty years of age, having been conscripted when just a lad, and was no stranger to early morning watches. He stared out into the gray darkness, his breath silver in the moonlight. Over his shoulder, to the east, the sky was just starting to lighten. On the horizon to the west, the very tips of the distant Dividing Wall Mountains appeared to be solitary flames as the first of the morning like began to illuminate them.

Fort Marmun was a wateringhole along the Great Western Road that crossed the Central Plains and connected the capital city of Longdoria to the cities west of the Dividing Wall Mountains. The Imperium maintained a military presence on the Central Plains (officially called the Interior Frontier), but with cities and settlements few and far between on the plains that was mostly limited to a few large garrisons and outposts. The rest of the vast empty space was left to its own devices. Tribes of nomads migrated across the plains, some friendly to the Imperium, most openly hostile. Bands of robbers and highwaymen took refuge in the open spaces. None of the uncivilized denizens of the plains would hesitate to waylay travelers and unprotected caravans on the road.

Spaced every fifty or so miles along the road, forts such as Marmun protected the trade caravans and settlers that traversed the road. Regiments of light cavalry or dragoons garrisoned the forts, usually alternating a year stationed in the forts and outposts on the plains and a year in one of the frontier cities . (Light cavalry and dragoons were identical in form and function in these days, but those regiments descended from the ancient regiments of dragoons still carried the moniker) The 4th Dragoons was on its third rotation out on the plains since leaving Longdoria. Five of the regiment’s ten companies were stationed at Fort Marmun, running patrols into the vast expanse of the plains and providing escorts to caravans.

Fort Marmun had been founded as a small outpost on the Great Western Road. The square fort protected the bridge that crossed the River Marmun, one of the myriads of rivers that scarred the plains and flowing generally north to south. It sat in a deep bend in the river and was approachable only from the south and east or from across the bridge. At this time of spring, the river ran high, swollen by the melting snow from the distant mountains.

Originally, the walls had been made of timbers hauled in from the forests at the base of the Dividing Wall Mountains. The intervening millennia had seen the fort sacked and torn down by enemies of the Imperium several times. And every time the fort had been rebuilt and enlarged, generations of Imperial soldiers adding to it.

Currently, the walls of Fort Marmun stood thirty feet tall. The first twenty feet of the wall were of carefully laid stones, fifteen feet thick. A ten foot tall palisade of thick logs protected soldiers standing atop the stone wall. Embrasures and firing slits were cut into the palisade. At each corner of the square fort were forty foot tall stone towers, from which troopers could shoot down on anyone at the base of the wall.

The fort sat on the eastern bank of the river and over the years a haphazard town had sprung up on both sides of the bridge. Well built homes and shops rubbed shoulders with shacks and hovels. Mercantiles, blacksmiths, and sutlers sold supplies to travelers and settlers; ranchers and herders bought and sold livestock; and “tame” nomads traded furs and skins for trade goods.

Slinging his flintlock carbine over his shoulder, Demius could hear the sounds of the fort stirring awake behind him. As a Prime regiment, founded in antiquity, the 4th Dragoons was equipped with an unusually large number of firearms for a regiment assigned to the frontier. The knowledge of mass producing firearms had been lost during one of the apocalyptic wars that had shaken the Imperium in previous millenia and the armies were chronically short of firearms. Even the Prime regiments had to give up some of their guns to ensure there were enough to go around.

The light of the rising sun crept towards the walls of the fort as Demius peered out to the south. A small cloud of morning haze seemed to linger in the light. Looking closer at what was a cloud of dust, Demius spied horses galloping towards the fort, following the eastern bank of the river. Turning to the interior of the fort Demius raised the alarm.

“Riders! Riders to the south!”

Dragoons, both men and women, dropped their breakfasts and morning chores and scrambled for weapons. Grabbing carbines and crossbows, they dashed for the walls. The riders were now clearly visible, the gray dragoon cloaks over leather armor obvious in the bright morning light.

“Hold your fire! Dragoons!”

“Hold your fire!”

“Open the gates!”

The thick wooden gates creaked open and the dragoons came to a skittering halt in the central drill yard between the barrack buildings. Dirt and dust thrown up by their arrival billowed up and began to settle in the morning light. The gates slammed shut behind them.

Demius looked back into the fort. The riders were dismounting in the yard, though several horses were riderless or had bodies rolled in gray cloaks draped over their saddles. Major Kryn, commander of the fort, marched up to the lead rider, who saluted. Unable to hear what was being said, Demius turned back to his southern watch.

The dust of the dragoons was just settling, when Demius spied another, larger cloud of dust now illuminated in the morning sun. He called out to Sergeant Clarus his squad commander.

“Sergeant! Sergeant! More dust to the south!”

“Where?”

The sergeant loped over, his gait bowlegged from years in the saddle, grizzled and weathered features clenched in perpetual dourness. Pulling out a spyglass, he looked out to the south. Without a word to Demius, he snapped the spyglass shut and ran off swearing and yelling.

“Stand to! Prepare for defense! Warparty approaching! South!”

Troopers, mostly veterans of the plains, were already on the walls. But now the fort’s artillery crews scrambled for the ballistae mounted on the towers and walls and manned the large fort guns, essentially oversized muskets, on pintles mounted into the wall. Ammunition from the brickwork magazine building was run up to the walls and stacks of crossbow were placed at intervals.

Major Kryn sent riders galloping down the road to the next fort, Fort Tamar, where the rest of the 4th Dragoons was stationed to put them on alert. More riders rode through the town, raising the alarm among the residents. Barricades of wagons, barrels, and various debris were thrown up across intersections and the residents who owned arms were enlisted in an impromptu militia. Two companies of Dragoons were sent into the town, one on each side of the bridge, to bolster the defenses. The fort’s only cannon, a light, short-barreled iron howitzer mounted on a light field carriage, was positioned at one of the street barricades facing south.

The well drilled Dragoons completed their preparations at the fort in ten minutes flat. Everything ready, a tense quiet settled over the fort, broken only by the shouting of civilians in the town. Demius watched as the dust cloud approached at the speed of a walking horse until nomadic horsemen were clearly visible below it.

At the front of the ranks of nomads was a warrior carrying a standard. The vertically hung banner was emblazoned with a crude rendering of a bear and an eagle, a mockery of the Imperial eagle embroidered on the Dragoons’ own colors. The nomads stopped just out of bowshot of the fort.

Silently the two sides stared at each other. The dragoons on the walls tried to count the nomads opposite of them, but their numbers were obscured by the wall of dust the nomads had created. The standard bearer dipped the banner forward with a wild flourish and undulating, high pitched yell. A deep rumble arose from the ranks of the nomads.

Tribal warriors on foot streamed out from between the ranks of horsemen and formed blocks of shields and spears, rallying around tribal banners and totems. The tribesmen and women were clothed in coarse woolen tunics, over which were draped furs and skins to keep warm. Some even had pieces of hide and leather armor covering parts of their torsos and arms. Parts of pilfered or looted Imperial uniforms could be seen among the bands of tribal infantry, marking those warriors as experienced foes.

The tribal infantry started forward, chanting and yelling war cries. Between the blocks of infantry dashed bands of archers with arrows knocked on short, deeply recurved bows. As soon as the blocks of tribal infantry cleared the nomad horsemen, they turned their steeds and began to gallop towards the town east of the fort.

Commands rippled down the wall of the fort.

“Steady!”

“Wait until they are in range!

“Hold!”

“Watch the range!”

The cannon in the town, with a clear view of the advancing horsemen, fired first. Its shell burst among the galloping mass, throwing horses and riders with a flash and puff of dirty smoke. Next the ballista and fort guns fired, their bolts and bullets passing clean through the shields and bodies of the tribal infantry. In return, the tribal archers began lofting their arrows towards the walls, but they didn’t quite have the range yet and their arrows fell at the bottom of the stone wall.

Breaking into a run, the tribal infantry careened towards the fort wall. The dragoons opened up in a ragged volley. Crossbow bolts and bullets impacted the formations of tribal infantry, throwing them back in ones and twos. Still, the tribal infantry kept coming. The nomad archers found the range and a steady stream of arrows poured into the fort.

Demius was now firing his carbine as fast as he could load and shoot. To load, he first took a paper cartridge from the leather cartridge box at his waist. Using his teeth, he tore off the base of the cartridge and dumped the black gun powder contained within down the barrel. Then he pushed the ball, still wrapped in the paper of the cartridge into the muzzle with his thumb. Withdrawing the steel ramrod from its ferrules under the barrel, he used it to ram the ball down the barrel before returning it to its place. He next used a small flask of fine powder from his chest pocket to fill the flash pan in the lock of his gun. Drawing back the cocking piece with its flint striker until it gave a click, he sighted the carbine and fired.

Still at his watch post in the southwest tower, Demius could see the onrushing mass of tribal infantry. More and more of them fell as they approached the wall, but the troopers could not fire fast enough to slow their enemy down. As he was loading his sixth shot of the battle, the tribal infantry reached the wall.

The tribal infantry tried to take cover at the base of the wall, but Demius and the others in the towers swept them with musket fire and crossbow bolts. Still they kept pushing in towards the wall. Some of the warriors started to raise ladders, other threw lines with grappling hooks attached to them over the wall.

Demius kept firing. From the town, the sounds of gunfire and shouting reached his ears, occasionally punctuated by the blast of the howitzer. As the first ladder reached the top, the defenders of the wall dropped their carbines and crossbows and drew their sabers.

Like insects or rats, the tribal infantry swarmed up the ladders and ropes, trying to push their way through the embrasures or climbing all the way over the top of the log palisades. For the moment, the dragoons on the walls seemed to hold their own, cutting down attackers that managed to reach the top. Every new wave of attackers was thrown back from the walls.

After several failed attempts to climb the walls, a harsh tribal horn sounded from within the dust cloud kicked up from the fight. The tribal infantry hesitated, then warily retreated from the walls and the horsemen galloped away from the town. Their pace quickened as several parting shots from the walls felled a few more and one last cannon shell burst among the horsemen. Now with breathing room, the officers of the garrison called for reports and casualty lists.

Demius looked back out to the south at the retreating enemy. It was hard to tell if their numbers had been diminished, but it was obvious they were still in good order. He sat down with his back against the tower parapet and began cleaning his musket. It was going to be a long fight.

-

Fort Marmun was in trouble. Major Kryn stood in the southeast tower, a spyglass in hand, but he did not need it to see the doom gathered outside Fort Marmun. Several thousand angry plains nomads and tribesmen paraded outside the fort, chanting taunts and insults. Inside the fort and in parts of the adjacent town that had been hastily fortified were just four hundred troopers of the 4th Imperial Dragoons and more than five hundred civilians that needed protecting.

Despite having successfully thrown back one assault, the defenders could see more bands of nomads and tribal warriors streaming in from the south and east as the sun began to set. It was an unusual experience for Major Kryn. A feeling of helplessness crept into his gullet.

Some of the civilians wanted to flee the fort and the town, but Major Kryn knew the nomads outside the walls were waiting for that. Once the soldiers and townsfolk were away from the protection of the fort’s thick stone walls, the nomadic cavalry and tribal infantry would just pick them off a few at a time. With the decision to stay and wait out the siege made for him, Major Kryn issued his orders.

Orders went into the town to abandon the western part of the town across the river, which the fort could not defend. All supplies in the town were brought into the fort and civilians unable to fight were sheltered in one of the barracks. Key buildings in town were fortified, while some of the less well built buildings were torn down to clear fields of fire. The barricades in the town closest to the fort and guarding the bridge were strengthened and made taller.

Riders were sent out to report to the neighboring forts along the road. A scouting party was sent west across the river to see whether nomads and tribesmen were trying to encircle the fort from the west. All of his orders given, Major Kryn went back to staring at the army now camped south of his fort. With one last desperate card to play, he called for three volunteers.

-

Trooper Demius of the 4th Dragoons was not by nature a hero. He was a good and diligent soldier and in battle had proven himself courageous and reliable. But he never volunteered for dangerous missions and was never the one to lead the charge. So it was quite out of character for him when he volunteered to lead the mission to gather reinforcements from the city of High Plains.

Preparing their gear in one of the barracks, Demius sized up his compatriots. Demius didn’t know Trooper Vigus personally, he was after all from Company G, but he had a reputation of being a capable soldier. In his gray cloak and leather armor, there was nothing to distinguish him from any of the other troopers in the regiment. He carried a standard issue cavalry saber, pistol, and crossbow.

The third volunteer, a civilian trapper named Warne, could not have been more unique. The epitome of a mountain hermit, he had been in town trading fur pelts for alcohol and flour when the attack came. His clothing was of fringed canvas and buckskin and seemed to be more patches than garment. On his head was a pile of fur that looked more like the ground hog it was made out of than the hat it was meant to be. Over his shoulder was slung a short horn bow and arrows and a hand ax hung off his belt.

In addition to his standard issue cavalry saber and dagger, Demius switched out his carbine for a much quieter crossbow and tucked an extra knife in the top of his riding boots. Over his shoulder went a haversack of rations and extra water. A quiver of crossbow bolts went on to his belt in place of his usual ammunition pouch.

Sergeant Clarus stomped up to Demius, rubbing his hands in the cold. “For a man who hates the city, you’re awfully eager to get back to High Plains. Don’t tell me this has to do with your mystery lass.”

Demius shrugged.

Clarus went on, “Anyways, all set? Quiet is more important than fast. Do not be seen. You know what they do to Imperial soldiers they capture.”

Demius nodded, “”Don’t worry about us sergeant. We’ll be miles away when that lot overrun the walls and put your pretty silver head on a pike.”

Clarus chuckled and lightly punched Demius on the shoulder. “Fucker. Keep your head down boy. And remember, you’re going to High Plains for reinforcements, not the ladies.”

The plan was simple: the three of them would slip over the west wall of the fort and cross to the west bank of the river over the bridge through town. They would then make their way south following the west bank of the river for thirty or forty miles. Then the group would swim the river and cut southeast across the plains to High Plains. Simple, if not for the thousands of angry nomads between them and High Plains.

Eager to be going, Demius slung the crossbow over his shoulder and headed out into the night.

If you would like to find out why Demius is so eager to return to High Plains, become a Patreon and gain access to more stories about Demius and his adventures.