Book Preview - Duchess Rampant

Chapter One

Aurelia “Bree” Makena, Duchess of Danforth, reined in her battle mare, Lioth. The two made quite a sight as the pure-white horse pranced in the waves at the edge of the Cascadian Sea. Bree’s azure-blue surcoat bore the golden image of the Lion of Bendi—an honor passed down through the Danforth familial line for five generations. No other duchy but hers could use the symbol, which proclaims the bearer the Defender of the Crown.

She lifted a hand to shade her eyes as she studied the Orgundian fleet arriving off the shores of Anacafria. The habitual gesture did little to help, as the sun hadn’t yet made an appearance through the dense fog the ships’ masters had used as a shroud to hide their silent approach. The fog painted them as ghost ships to those watching from the shore, their billowing sails barely discernible behind a sheer curtain of near invisibility.

But now their bowsprits broke the leading edge of the heavy mist, the sails on their foremasts, mainmasts, and mizzenmasts gradually emerging one after the other until the entirety of each galleon appeared as a dark silhouette on an even darker backdrop of a foggy dawn.

Bree’s spies had already reported most of the ships sailing her way were hulking, four-masted vessels. As such, their keels ran deep, and they’d be forced to use landing boats to bring their soldiers close to shore.

Bree absently noted Queen Desdamea’s standard flying from the foremast of each ship: a yellow shield with serpents coiling around the blades of two crossed swords. She counted ten ships, each capable of carrying two hundred soldiers—one hundred if they carried cavalry. The ships spaced themselves evenly along approximately one-half mile of shoreline.

Deckhands ran this way and that, furling great, oversized sails as the ships heaved to. Enormous chains snaked over the sides, sending anchors plummeting into the sea. Each of the mainmasts fell, and Bree could faintly hear the captains of each ship shouting orders in the controlled chaos that ruled aboard a sailing ship of war.

King Leopold’s spies had warned him that over the past several months, Desdamea, the Queen of Organdy, had amassed an army of unprecedented proportions. She’d conscripted or captured free merchants' ships and recalled every vessel in her fleet to deliver the largest landing force to ever land on Anacafrian’s shores. She intended to rule Leopold’s kingdom, and if Bree couldn’t completely stop her today on this stretch of the shoreline, then she’d at least cut their numbers down by half.

She swiveled around to view the fifteen hundred soldiers waiting in battle formation on the beach. This group, under the command of Marshal Kilrik Sandresin, made up half of her troops. The other half, under Marshal Andris Toker, hid in homes, shops, and warehouses throughout Port Emnal.

Marshal Toker was the Baron of Lakeland, but both Lakeland and Port Emnal were part of his father’s Duchy of Salth. Bree had taken advantage of the fact that the people in the port city knew and trusted him. Despite his arguments that Salth was his father’s duchy and he should be the first into battle, Bree used his familiarity with the populace to smooth ruffled feathers when she’d commandeered homes, businesses, and warehouses to hide half her troops.

Bree looked to the north, toward Port Suliet. Even though several hard days of riding separated them from the port, she could still picture the layout of the city. King Leopold had accompanied Jathez and his three thousand troops to confront the largest of two invading armadas. She wished the queen’s tactics weren’t quite so sound. Desdamea had effectively divided Leopold’s forces by attacking from two fronts.

Looking back at the ships, she wondered about the rectangular rank flag of the prime fleet admiral flying from the mainmast of the second ship of the convoy. Desdamea only had one prime. Bree would have bet twenty gold rions he’d lead the armada invading Port Suliet due to its strategic location as a jumping-off point to attack the King’s castle in Cafria. Instead, here he sailed with the secondary landing fleet north of the lesser maritime city of Port Emnal.

When the spymasters named Emnal as the queen’s second target, Bree knew precisely where to place her troops. The sheer faces of the towering grey cliffs of Stonetalon bracketed the port city to the north and south. Emnal lay in the opening of a mile-wide chasm that extended from the sea back to King’s Crossing on the Le’ena River. After studying the nautical charts of the area, she’d placed her people to the north in the only plausible location to launch landing boats. Because of Black Bolder Bay’s rocky shoreline to the south, it would be nearly impossible for a ship to get close enough to launch an amphibious assault.

Lioth danced in place, eager for battle. Bree put her hand on her neck to quiet her, and as she did, her banner, fluttering behind and to her left, drew her attention.

She glanced back at Baron Humphries, from the Barony of Tessarod, whom she’d chosen as her standard bearer. He looked impossibly young. Who am I kidding? She thought. He is impossibly young.

He had somehow wrestled his mass of curly black hair under his helm, but a few inches still brushed the bevor, protecting his shoulders and neck. He sat tall and straight on his piebald gelding, the butt of the standard held solidly in his boot cup with the pennant snapping in the ocean breeze. He was a well-built but not powerful man, suited more for finesse in battle than for any type of fighting that might involve brute force.

He noticed her scrutiny and studied her face to see if she needed something. When he realized she didn’t, he respectfully dipped his chin.

Smiling to herself, she remembered Jathez approving of her appointment of Humphries and how he’d nearly lost his teeth when she’d told him she’d assigned Liris and her followers as her personal protection detail. She’d been lucky the Estians had earned the respect of the rest of the troops. Very few Anacafrian soldiers had complained. In fact, two of Bree’s best soldiers—a swordsman and a woman renowned for her archery skills—had asked for and received permission to serve in Liris’ squad.

 Lookouts shouted warnings from the top of towers built near the water’s edge. “Landing ships! They’re launching the troop ships!”

Bree turned back to the ships and muttered under her breath, “Finally.” She’d given orders for all of her units to be in formation before sunrise. She worried their discipline would weaken each hour the Orgundians made them wait.

She wasn’t concerned about the standing armies of the various duchies the King had placed under her command. They were comprised of seasoned soldiers who would stand through a blizzard until they dropped as solid blocks of ice if so ordered. But mixed in among them were members of individual town militias. The King only required these civilian units to train quarterly, so they’d have plenty of time to farm or work their shops and smithies. Unfortunately, those weeklong sessions didn’t engender the same level of discipline as the standing army.

She rode out of the surf and cantered back to where Humphries sat facing her troops on his gelding. Turning Lioth so she had a good view of the enemy, Bree felt the battle calmness settle over her. Her shoulders relaxed, and her focus sharpened. The world narrowed to nothing more than this battle and the tactics she’d need to defeat her enemy.

Humphreys backed his horse until its head came even with Bree’s knee. This way, with him facing the army and his back to the sea, he could hear her slightest command and relay it to the officers in charge.

Bree quietly ordered, “Archers.”

Humphries bellowed, “Archers.”

Three hundred archers ran to the water’s edge and assembled according to bow type. Those with longbows formed three rows, leaving a space between rows. They spread out far enough that Bree could just make out the last person in line in either direction.

Inserting themselves behind each row of longbows, crossbowmen knelt in three rows of their own.

Behind the formations of archers, a row of shield bearers took their places and settled in to wait.

Humphries wheeled his horse around so he faced the Masters of the Bow.

Bree watched as boat after boat descended the sides of the sailing vessels. Each of the ten ships launched four boats at a time, loaded them with soldiers, and lowered four more when the first four pushed away from the hulls. She marveled at how quickly the sea resembled bees swarming the surface of a honeycomb.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Bree scanned the horizon, looking for the sails of the ships the King had assigned to patrol this part of the shoreline. To her growing discomfort, the Orgundian fleet had sailed into the shallows completely unmolested.

Not a sound could be heard on the beach except the occasional cough or creaking of leather or armor.

Liris rode forward on her mule, which she’d named Fancy, and she and her squad formed a semicircle between the Duchess and the oncoming hoard. She unsheathed her falchion and quietly commanded, “Draw.”

In unison, all eight riders drew their swords.

Bree only heard the shick of what sounded like one sword leaving its sheath. She smiled slightly at the sight of Liris on the back of a huge gray mule that the Master of the Stables had counseled against using in battle. Liris had countered that the mare had a fighting spirit and ‘attitude,’ which the Estian said she valued highly when during a fight.

Liris’ Spirit Guide, Legan, appeared and stood by her side. As a Fisher Cat, he resembled a weasel or marten. However, where an adult male weasel might weigh eight to thirteen pounds, Legan weighed in at close to forty. His sleek, seal-brown fur bristled with anticipation of the coming battle. Denabi asks you to inform the Imperial Commander that as many Spirit Guides as she can spare from the battles in the other Realms stand ready should the Teivaiedin side with your enemy. He glanced back at Bree, then once again spoke to Liris. The fighting is brutal, Apprentice. We’re having a difficult time returning to this Realm because inevitably when we do, the Teivaiedin seem to get the upper hand. We’ll come if we can, but…

Liris acknowledged his warning with a slight nod. She hadn’t considered the threat the Teivaiedin posed in the upcoming battle. Turning toward Bree, she brought her fist to her chest and, quite inappropriately for the occasion, felt the familiar longing that had been growing for the past several months. She’d watched Bree riding Lioth through the waves earlier in the day and marveled at how badly she’d fallen for a woman completely and utterly unattainable in every sense of the word.

Bree acknowledged her with a lift of her chin.

Liris conveyed the message and then again turned to face the oncoming hoard.

In a calm, confident voice, Bree said, “Ready bows.”

Humphries bellowed, “Ready bows!”

The archery masters repeated the order, with the voice of each successive commander sounding like an echo down both sides of the formations leading away from the center.

Bree watched the boats as they neared the shore and did a quick tally of the numbers she was facing. Six rowers in each boat faced away from shore, their muscular backs straining with each pull of the oars. The oarsmen sat two abreast: two in the bow, two amidships, and two in the stern. In between the bow and midship rowers, she counted three rows of three soldiers each, and between midship and stern, another three rows of three.

Each soldier wore a red leather helmet consistent with the yellow and red of Desdamea’s standard. The leather on the back of the helmets extended down to the shoulders, providing a modicum of protection for the warrior’s neck. Each helmet had a single silver spike no longer than the length of Bree’s little finger jutting up from its crest.

The soldiers sitting next to the gunnels held compact, perfectly round shields that hung over the sides as a protective barrier against her archers. Bree thought it telling that Desdamea’s forces were so well-organized that the shields alternated red and yellow down the length of each gunnel. She glanced down the line of boats and couldn’t find a single instance where a color had been placed in the wrong position.

Shaking off her musings, she quietly continued with her calculations. “So, nine twice is eighteen plus six rowers.”

Humphries nodded.

“Twenty-four to a boat, four boats launched from ten ships in the first wave, that’s—” She stopped to think.

Humphries, who excelled in math, supplied the answer. “Nine hundred and sixty.”

Bree blinked at the number and then nodded. “So…. twice that number with the second wave they’re launching is more than we’d hoped for, but our archers will cut the numbers to our advantage.”

While she waited for the boats to approach, she stroked the leather of her reins with her thumb, the only outward manifestation of her growing unease. She’d counted on the King’s navy to either sink or engage some of Desdamea’s ships, but obviously, something had happened to keep them away.

After years of serving in the Queen’s Brigades during the Estian Wars, she knew the longbow’s range intimately and intended to wait until the last possible moment to give the order to fire.

Humphries, who had no battle experience and, therefore, no understanding of patience and timing, kept nervously glancing at Bree, who flicked an irritated glance in his direction.

She addressed him while continuing to mark the distance of the landing craft. “When I made you my standard bearer, what did I say would be the most important thing for you to remember?”

 Humphries blushed furiously when he realized his mistake. “Never, ever, show fear, nervousness, or a lack of faith in you or your orders.” He noticed the banner he held was leaning forward slightly and quickly pulled it erect. He riveted his gaze onto the advancing army and made sure not to glance her way again.

Bree watched the oarsmen pull toward shore. Well-trained, the boatswains made sure their crafts advanced steadily in rows of eight, with none pulling ahead or lagging behind the others.

Bree quietly ordered, “Nock and mark.”

Relieved she’d finally given the order, Humphries shouted with slightly more conviction than necessary, “Nock and mark!”

Masters repeated the command up and down their lines and archers fitted arrows to their strings.

“Draw.”

“Draw!”

A line of bows lifted toward the sky.

Bree waited a few moments to make sure her calculations were correct. “Loose.”

Humphries repeated the order.

At that, the masters took over and began issuing their own commands. The first wave of arrows soared into the sky, reached their apex, and descended on the landing craft. Well-trained, the invading troops locked their shields above their heads to block the rain of arrows.

The instant the shields lifted to the sky, the first row of crossbowmen rose, stepped into the gaps left between the longbowmen, and loosed their arrows directly into the unprotected bodies of the soldiers holding their shields aloft. Despite the shields mounted on the bows of the boats to protect the front pair of rowers, most of the arrows found their mark.

Cries rang out from the injured and dying.

A volley of arrows from the second row of archers immediately streaked skyward, not giving the boatswains time to make the tactical adjustments necessary to avoid the crossbowmen’s arrows.

Once more, as soldiers raised their shields toward the heavens, a second line of crossbowmen stepped forward and loosed their arrows. The first line stepped back, knelt, and reloaded.

It took another volley before the boatswains organized half the soldiers to hold their shields forward while the other half protected them from the arrows raining down from the sky.

So, Bree thought, not so well trained after all. Granted, not many armies utilized crossbowmen quite like she did, but they should have been prepared nonetheless.

As with many landing forces, Bree knew most of the people in the first boats would never make it to shore. Her gut twisted as she watched the normally pea-green sea turn red with Orgundian blood. Such a waste of good men and women, most of whom had probably been conscripted for just such a position.

With grim determination, she ordered, “Shift right.”

Humphries gave the order.

In unison, three hundred archers turned forty-five degrees to the right. This move allowed the crossbowmen easier access to their targets through the gaps between the enemy’s shields, which were more accessible from an angle than from a straight-on shot.

Once more, the masters gave the order, and hundreds of arrows streaked through the sky. Next came the crossbows.

Bree nodded as most of the arrows found their mark.

As the oarsmen continued to row the boats closer, Bree prepared her next offensive move. Her archers shot with deadly accuracy, but none held a candle to the small contingent of Royal Archers she’d appropriated from the King’s elite troops. She’d requested all sixty, but King Leopold held back half for his defense of Port Suliet.

Several days earlier, Bree had ordered Ruthok, the Master of the Bow for the King’s contingent, to calculate the points where the waters ran shallow in the early morning hours—an educated guess as to where the attacking soldiers would probably disembark. Now, at each of those points, triangular pennants waved from the top of the nine and ten-foot saplings Ruthok’s people had embedded deep into the ocean floor.

Bree had given specific instructions to the Royal Archers; hold their fire and watch the soldiers in the boats. To the best of their ability, they were to pick out the men and women they guessed were the leaders among the twenty-four people in each boat.

As the oarsmen pulled the last few lengths and drew near the blue and gold pennants, she glanced to her left, where Ruthok waited. He held three arrows knocked and ready to fire, each with three long, orange streamers attached just behind the arrowheads. The first pointed left, the second straight, and the third to the right.

She calmly said, “Ruthok.”

The master immediately lifted his bow, angling it high and turning it sideways so the shaft ran parallel to the sandy beach. He loosed the arrows, each soaring over the incoming boats in three predetermined directions. Once the arrows were away—the signal for his people to fire at will—he ran forward and added himself to their number.

As the sea became shallow enough for the invaders to leap from their boats, Ruthok and his archers systematically picked off every person they believed held some kind of leadership role among the invaders. Almost in unison, in every boat, at least one, if not two, of their targets fell.

The muscles in her jaw rippled as she watched the unending stream of soldiers leaping over the gunnels into the chest-deep water, holding their swords high to keep from losing them in the pull of the breaking waves. They slogged through whitecaps and oncoming arrows with fierce determination.

Even though her archers had managed to cut down hundreds of men and women, Bree knew the sheer numbers would make this a long and tedious battle. Desdamea must have emptied her towns and villages of anyone who could walk or carry a sword to be able to field this many people in what was only one of two invading forces. Arrows still cut down people left and right, but she could see the damage her archers were inflicting wasn’t going to be nearly enough.

Even as the rowers of the first contingent turned their now empty boats and rowed away from the killing fields, the second wave of boats neared the markers. Unfortunately, these brought experienced soldiers carrying bows fitted with compact but deadly arrows. In practiced moves, they loosed their arrows even as they pushed themselves off the gunnels, leaping high enough to allow them to fire midair, gaining valuable time to fight their way toward the beach as Anacafrian archers fell to the Orgundian attack.

Bree turned to Humphries. “Shields.”

“Shields!”

From behind the archers, the row of men and women carrying massive shields rushed to the front and planted them in the ground, forming a tightly constructed wall of protection.

At the next command to fire, the longbowmen fired into the air. When the arrows reached their apex, the crossbowmen stepped up and rested their fists in the “v” between shields. They sent a wave of death straight into the oncoming hoard.

Soldiers up to their waist in churning water died before taking more than a few steps from their boats. Bodies littered the waves like so much cordwood. Still, more boats pushed their way through the carnage. Despite the best efforts of her archers, hundreds were climbing out of the surf onto the shore.

When her archers began to fall from enemy arrows, she ordered Sandresin to bring his forces forward. “Companies advance.”

Humphries turned his horse around, stood up in his stirrups, and waived the pennant so that even the commanders furthest down the beach would see the signal. He yelled at the top of his lungs, “Companies advance.”

Commanders echoed the order, and for a quarter-mile in each direction, twelve hundred soldiers jogged forward and formed up in orderly lines behind the archers. Each wore an azure and gold leather helmet and tabards bearing the standards of their lords, front and back.

Where Desdamea’s troops wore spiked helmets, everyone fighting in Bree’s formations had short plumes of stiff horsehair dyed a midnight blue, running from the front of the helm, up and over the headpiece, and down to the base. They also carried a shield emblazoned with one of three types of crests: King Leopold’s Teyvardian Mountain Goat if they belonged to the Anacafrian regulars, the Golden Lion of Bendi if they fought under Bree’s colors or the coat-of-arms of whatever duke they served.

Bree ordered the archers to withdraw. The masters began an orderly and well-practiced retreat. The first line of longbowmen ran behind the assembled troops and took up a position on the edge of the beach. They immediately knocked their arrows and fired to give the second, and then the third lines cover as each row followed the first.

Since their weapons were useless once they engaged with the enemy, the crossbowmen ran to the swords and shields they’d stacked at the back of the formation. The swords were stabbed point-first into the sand with the shields resting upright against them. Each crossbowman quickly cut the strings on their weapons, preventing the enemy from using the weapon against them. They then grabbed their swords and shields, formed their squads, and joined the ranks of soldiers waiting for the order to attack.

With the withdrawal of the archers from the front lines, hundreds upon hundreds of enemy soldiers redoubled their efforts, pushing through the waves and floating corpses as they made their way toward the beach. White foamy waves propelled them forward one moment, only to pull them back the next as the breakwater streamed back from the shore.

Bree was counting on the rough, cold waters to tire them before they reached her lines. To augment their fatigue, in the days leading up to the invasion, she’d had mounted soldiers dragging sharp, two-bladed plows up and down the beach, softening the sand to make it difficult to traverse.

Marshal Sandresin rode up next to her on his muscular bay. He waited patiently by her side, watching the enemy slogging their way through the ridges and dips of the sandy furrows as they advanced. Their fatigue became more and more pronounced as they struggled to cross the mere fifty paces of sand that swallowed their feet with each new step.

The shield line steadily pulled back until they stood as a barrier between her forces and the enemy arrows.

Ruthok’s archers must have guessed well because chaos reigned among the first soldiers to gain the beach. Officers should have been organizing the troops into cohesive units by now, but thanks to precisely placed arrows, most of their carcasses floated as shark bait on the blood-red waters.

Not wanting to lose that slight advantage, Bree drew her sword. When she judged the time right, she raised the blade high and spurred Lioth forward. The big mare reared once before leaping forward into the oncoming hoard. “For Anacafria and the King!”

Behind her, Humphries bellowed, “Forward…Attack!” He drew his sword and followed her into the midst of the enemy. He, or more precisely, Bree’s standard, needed to keep near her at all costs. Above all else, her colors could not fall. To that end, two soldiers flanked him, ready to defend the standard should Humphries come under attack.

In a prearranged tactic, Sandresin nodded to his standard bearer, and the two of them galloped off to lead the far-left side of the charge.

Already positioned on the right, Commander Shirin, the daughter of a prominent guild master from Thadon, heard Humphries’ command, turned her battle mare in a circle, lifted her sword high, and yelled her family’s battle cry. “Our blades hunger! None shall remember our enemy!”

A great roar echoed her words as men and women bellowed in unison and rushed forward to meet their enemies.