A few of Salvinus’s men came for them, trying to take Leofwin down as much as Edgar. Edgar fought with desperation. For the first time, he felt the battle rage that men talked about around the fire, as adrenaline pumped through his body. He shoved forward with his shield arm, blocking strikes, aiming for the nose of any horse that got too close. He swung his right arm down, raining down blows with his sword, forcing the enemy to keep their distance. Again, and again, he hammered his weapon down, his fury seemingly giving him limitless energy. Beside him, Brictwin was doing the same. As Brictwin moved forwards so too did the soldiers to his right, so that the whole Magnian line shifted around.
Salvinus was now out of sight, the to and fro of battle pulling him one way, and Edgar another.
The Magnian aggression had seen off the Barissian attacks for now. Cavalry were used for speed and manoeuvrability, for chasing down enemies. They could be used for a mass charge. But against an organised shield wall equipped with spears and swords, they were less effective.
Edgar could see some of them circling around, trying to get behind the Magnian line. This was dangerous. If they got into the softer rear of the Magnian forces, the Barissians could break up his division and isolate his men. Edgar looked over to where Frayne’s Middian reserves had been kept for such an eventuality, but there was no sign of them. If they didn’t come and help soon, his division might be lost.
Shouting from behind grabbed his attention. Turning to look, Edgar could see his worst fears being realised. A large group of Barissian cavalry were engaging with the rear of his force.
‘Shit,’ he said out loud.
‘It’s the force that chased off Wilchard’s cavalry,’ commented Leofwin, who had turned to look in the same direction. ‘They’ve double backed on us.’
‘We’ll have to deal with them,’ said Edgar. It was part statement, part question.
Leofwin nodded grimly. ‘I think so.’
Ordering some of his men to hold the front line, Edgar led another group towards the new threat. Again, Leofwin and Brictwin shouted and pushed men out of the way, so that Edgar could march straight towards the enemy. Ragulf followed on, bringing a stream of soldiers who would fight under the Magnian flag. Edgar wasted no time in getting stuck into the enemy, reinforcing the resolve of the more inexperienced and poorly equipped soldiers in his army. Brictwin leapt into the air, crashing his sword against a mounted Barissian with the full force of his bodyweight and armour behind the blow. The Barissian toppled off the back of his horse which turned and bolted, straight into a group of riders, causing their horses to fret and dance away. A cheer rose from the Magnians who ran at the enemy while they were still disoriented, grabbing at reins and pulling more men from their horses.
Any attempt at creating a shield wall now seemed hopeless. Instead Edgar and his band of men began to roam the battlefield, looking for the most dangerous looking Barissians. They intercepted a group of Barissian infantry who had marched into the melee with some degree of discipline, and had begun to pick off stranded Magnians. Edgar attacked, swinging his sword at the tallest of them, who blocked it with a shield, the impact sending a vibration up Edgar’s arm. The man returned the favour, launching a massive axe in his direction. Edgar got his shield in front of it just in time, but was still stunned by the force of the blow, which sent him down to one knee. It also gave him a dead shield arm, making him unable to clench his left hand. Still on one knee, Edgar swung his sword at the axeman, hoping to catch his legs. But the Barissian jumped back to avoid the stroke.
The battle fury of a few minutes before was now dissipating. Edgar was getting tired from his exertions in full armour, and every muscle in his body seemed to ache.
The Barissian infantry came at them, but Leofwin was at his most dangerous when he could counterattack. He avoided a wild spear thrust and lunged forwards, smashing his shield into the face of the spearman with a massive crack that floored the Barissian. With lightning speed, he crashed the hilt of his sword into the face of another soldier, before thrusting it into the side of the axeman who had tangled with Edgar, penetrating his armour. He struggled to pull it free, but by then Edgar and Brictwin were falling on the enemy, forcing them on the defensive until those that could, turned and ran back the way they had come.
Suddenly, Edgar couldn’t move.
It was the strangest feeling. His feet couldn’t lift from the floor, his fingers were stuck in place, holding his sword and shield. He couldn’t turn his head to look around. Then, he heard and felt horsemen approaching.
Something clattered into him, dragging him to the floor. He felt, rather than saw, riders whistle past him. He found that he could move freely once more.
Brictwin quickly helped him to his feet. Edgar looked around to get his bearings.
The disintegration of the Magnian shield wall was allowing the Barissian cavalry to manoeuvre around the battlefield at will, and this group had come at Edgar from behind, while he had been pinned in place by some force. Brictwin had pushed him out of the way just in time. Others hadn’t been so fortunate. Ragulf, his standard bearer, lay dead on the floor, the Magnian banner of the Sun in Glory trampled into the ground.
‘Get them!’ shouted Leofwin off to the side, keen to engage the Barissians before they could wheel away and do it again. They had ridden into a second group of Magnians, and were trying to extricate themselves.
Edgar, suspecting magic, looked about the battlefield, but couldn’t see any signs of a wizard. He had to assume that Ealdnoth was protecting him.
Edgar wasn’t sure if he had the energy to move anymore, but when Leofwin ran after the Barissians he made himself follow. His lungs burned with the effort, and his legs felt like jelly. How could he swing his sword when he was this exhausted? At that moment, he wished that he had fought on horseback instead of on foot. But when he got to the enemy he somehow found the strength to raise his sword and fight once more.
One of the horsemen had dismounted and came for Edgar, perhaps keen to win the glory of taking down the Magnian Prince. Edgar had lost his shield, probably when Brictwin had bundled him over. When the Barissian swung his sword at him, Edgar blocked it in a two-handed stroke. The clash of steel rang out and Edgar’s arms shuddered with the impact.
He was tiring, he knew. He could no longer raise his arms up high enough anymore, his shoulders aching with each effort. He blocked another swing. Self-preservation was the only reason he could keep doing it. If his life wasn’t in immediate danger, he would have collapsed onto the floor by now. The Barissian came at him again. This time, Edgar used footwork to avoid the swinging sword. There was an opening in his opponent’s defence, but Edgar was too tired to take it, preferring to circle around. Just gripping the hilt of his sword and moving was hard enough now. His opponent smiled at him, sensing his weakness. Then, Brictwin approached from behind, striking down on the top of his head like he was cracking a nut. The skull caved in and the body collapsed to the floor.
Edgar put the tip of his sword into the ground to keep himself standing. His head was spinning. He vomited, too tired to lean over, instead letting the fluid dribble down his chest. He looked around the battlefield but struggled to make much sense of it. For the moment, there weren’t any Barissians in the immediate vicinity.
Another group of horsemen approached them. But they were wearing Magnian colours. The lead rider removed his helmet. It was Wilchard.
‘We’ve done it!’ he crowed, a big beaming smile on his face.
Could it be true? Edgar took a second look over the battlefield, trying to focus. The Barissian cavalry had mostly departed. A few skirmishes continued, but the fighting had almost stopped. He looked down towards the road. Barissian infantry could be seen heading north the way they had come. His Magnians stood or slumped all over the battlefield. Any sense of organisation had all but gone. But they had won.
He looked at Brictwin and Leofwin, both wearing grins of their own. For some reason, Edgar couldn’t bring himself to sm
ile back.
‘What happened?’ he asked Wilchard, his voice coming out as an unrecognisable croak. His throat was parched dry.
‘Emeric threw his reserves at you,’ said Wilchard.
This, Edgar already knew.
‘When Frayne saw that you were withstanding them, he took the Middians around and attacked the Barissian left. He fought off their cavalry and then got into their infantry. The Barissian left collapsed, and then their central division was hit.
‘Meanwhile, the reserves who chased us off the battlefield came back and hit you hard. But we came back to hit them from behind. When they realised what was happening on the rest of the battlefield, they knew they had lost.’
‘So,’ said Edgar, ‘the Magnians took the brunt of the damage when Salvinus brought his reserves against us.’
‘True,’ said Leofwin, ‘it sounds like we suffered the most. But we won, Edgar! And you led us to victory. I know that your father would have been very proud to see you today. Today you became a different kind of leader to the one you were yesterday. The men who fought here won’t forget it.’
Edgar had rarely seen Leofwin get so emotional. It brought a lump to his own throat, and he reached out to grab the older man’s shoulder, who hugged him back.
‘Thank you both,’ he said to Leofwin and Brictwin. ‘Brictwin? Would you mind recovering our standard?’
‘Of course, Your Highness.’
Brictwin carefully picked up the standard, still cradled by Ragulf’s broken body. He took it to Edgar who passed it up to Wilchard. When his steward held it aloft, it elicited a cheer from those men gathered about. It was dirty and damaged in places. But it had survived.
18
The Second Disciple
BELWYNN WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING OUT of Heractus Castle. The atmosphere remained awkward, with a King and a Grand Master occupying the same building, and nobody quite sure who was in charge of what.
Yesterday’s news made her even more eager to leave. A Krykker army was marching to Heractus to ally with the Knights. Belwynn could only assume that Rabigar had worked some miracle there, and persuaded those who had exiled him to join in the fight against Ishari. But the result was that the castle had become a hive of manic activity, as Theron and Sebastian worked day and night to prepare for another military expedition—this time into Haskany. Food and other supplies had to be found. Maps of enemy territory needed to be carefully studied. Belwynn was delighted that things were suddenly moving so fast, but she knew that she wasn’t needed.
Prince Dorian had offered to take her down into the city. Unlike the rest of his family, he seemed to bear her no ill will. As they left the castle gatehouse, Belwynn wondered whether it was all an elaborate sham, and she was about to be killed and dumped somewhere. But she doubted it.
As Dorian began to point out the sights in Heractus, Belwynn warmed to the city a little. The morning sunshine helped to dispel the poor first impression she had received. There was still a lot of grey, it was true. But she realised that Heractus wasn’t trying to impress her, as was the case with the greater cities of Dalriya. The Kalinthian people seemed reserved, yet dignified; and Belwynn didn’t mind that.
‘The building where your friends are staying is just up here,’ said Dorian, taking them along one of the central city streets.
‘I have to ask,’ said Belwynn. ‘You’ve been very welcoming, Dorian, under the circumstances. Is there a reason why you don’t hate me, like the rest of your family?’
‘Hate you?’ Dorian responded. ‘I’m not sure that anyone in my family hates you. Count Theron is another story, maybe,’ he said, with a grin. ‘The way I see things is, Grand Master Sebastian wants the best for the country. So does my father.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m hopeful that they can work things out. Here we are.’
It was a large town house, built from grey stone and wood. It suggested that some of Elana’s supporters had been willing to spend a considerable amount of money.
The door was open and she knocked before entering. Several people were sitting or standing in the front room, mostly women and children. Elana was there, talking with a middle-aged woman. She looked around to see Belwynn come in and smiled at her. Belwynn and Dorian waited near the door. With a few words Elana extricated herself and came over to greet them.
‘Belwynn, it’s good to see you. How are things?’
‘Good. It’s busy up at the castle. We’ve got word that a Krykker army has been raised and is heading here. I’m hoping that Rabigar will be with them. This is Prince Dorian, the son of King Jonas.’
Dorian took Elana’s hand and pressed his lips to it.
‘You are a healer?’ asked the Prince.
‘Yes. Word’s got around a bit,’ Elana said wryly, indicating the group of people congregating in the room.
‘Thank you for ministering to our citizens. Please let me know how I can help. Any provisions you need, or anything else—’
Elana smiled. ‘Well, there are a few things.’
‘Write me a list before we leave. I will see to it.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness. Was there anything in particular you wanted, Belwynn?’
‘Yes, I wanted to speak to you and Dirk. Is he in?’
‘Yes, he’s upstairs resting. Come up.’
Dorian waited downstairs while Elana led Belwynn up to the next storey.
‘Are there many people staying here?’
‘Oh, yes. Theron has filled the house with his knights. I think the whole city is full to bursting. The Prince seems nice.’
‘Yes. The rest of his family are a bit of a nightmare, but he seems different.’
‘How are Sebastian and Theron?’
‘Fine. Just busy with army stuff.’
Elana stopped and knocked on the door of one of the upstairs rooms. After a pause Belwynn heard Dirk’s voice.
‘Come in.’
Belwynn followed in behind Elana, to the sound of Dirk coughing. He was sat up in bed, looking no better than the last time Belwynn had seen him.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
Dirk pulled a face. ‘The honest version is, not great. I think the last week has taken a lot out of me.’
‘I wanted to talk to you both,’ Belwynn began nervously. Now that she was here and ready to talk, she felt a bit foolish.
‘Go on,’ said Elana encouragingly.
‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. About all kinds of things. Not just Soren, but what we’ve all been through—what we still must do. I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things.’
Belwynn was still struggling to get her words out.
‘Elana. I would like to become a disciple of Madria. If you think it’s not a good idea, I totally understand—’
‘Oh, Belwynn!’ Elana interrupted her, smiling. ‘Of course! It feels perfect!’
The two women embraced. Dirk struggled out of his bed and gave Belwynn a hug.
‘It just feels like the right thing to do,’ said Belwynn, wiping her eyes which had become wet with tears. ‘Thank you for saying yes.’
‘I know that you’ve made the right decision,’ said Dirk, settling back onto his bed. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking myself. For some reason this feels like the right place for Elana to settle and work. I’m so grateful that you’ve made this decision now. Because it helps me with my own. I’ve decided to ask Elana to stop healing me. She’s kept me alive for this long, but she can’t do any more.’
‘No, Dirk!’ said Belwynn.
Dirk raised a hand, asking her to let him finish.
‘I’m in a lot of pain, and...I feel like my work is done, now.’
‘You can’t mean that.’
Belwynn looked to Elana, but the priestess had a resigned look on her face, as if Dirk had already discussed this with her.
‘I am at peace with the decision, Belwynn,’ Dirk explained. ‘I protected Elana from Nexodore. I travelled with her to safety here. My responsibility as first disci
ple is complete. I now pass it on to you. But first, let me witness the moment.’
At first Belwynn didn’t understand what Dirk meant by ‘the moment’. Then she recalled how he had become Elana’s first disciple back in Vitugia. The image of it was somehow burned onto Belwynn’s memory. She went down onto her knees.
‘Elana, I submit my soul to Madria's keeping, and ask that I become your disciple.’
‘This is what Madria wishes,’ replied Elana. ‘Belwynn of Beckford, you shall be my second disciple.’
Elana reached over to touch Belwynn’s forehead. Belwynn stood. She felt like something very important had just happened—maybe the most important moment of her life. At the same time, she had the feeling that a great weight had been lifted from her.
‘We’ll need your support,’ Gyrmund said to Zared, the young man who seemed to be the leader of the Persaleian prisoners.
‘It’s tonight?’ Zared asked.
The poor light inside the pit flickered on his features, emphasising the look of manic excitement that briefly flitted across his face.
‘Phase one,’ replied Gyrmund, before moving on to his usual position with Herin and Clarin towards the far end of the pit.
They looked as calm as ever, but their insides had to be churning as much as Gyrmund’s. They were taking their first step towards escape.
Vamak and the other four Dog-men began their nightly tour of the pit.
‘Mind where you tread,’ demanded Clarin as they walked past. The Dog-men turned their heads to look at him, disbelief showing on all their faces. Clarin’s challenge had come from nothing, and Gyrmund could see that, for a moment, it had put them on the back foot.
Vamak slowly approached, his muzzle widening into an unpleasant grin.
‘So, it’s time for us to play, is it?’ he asked, his eyes lighting up in anticipation.
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