The captain held out a hand to help Elfled up the plank, and Edgar and his bodyguards followed. Farred and Aescmar stood at the shore while Red Serpent slowly, majestically, manoeuvred into the dark expanse of the ocean. As she left the harbour it felt like Farred was watching a heavenly vessel leaving this world and sailing to paradise.
‘That is some sight,’ murmured Aescmar, seemingly to himself as much as to Farred.
It was, and it prompted in Farred a realisation of sorts. In Magnia his future, as Edgar had laid out, was as landholder, nobleman, husband. But too much of that was a lie.
At that moment Red Serpent, a vessel of light bobbing up and down on a black sea, represented an escape from that future. It was an escape that Farred hadn’t even realised he wanted until now.
9
The Grass Sea
CLARIN LOOKED UP AND DOWN the line of knights, queueing up for their turn. They lounged about, bandying insults back and forth as all soldiers do before a battle. But as they neared the end of the line they quietened, grew serious. When it was their turn, they approached Belwynn solemnly, drawing their blades and kneeling in front of her. She put her hands on theirs, said a few words, and they left, a look of serenity on their faces.
Clarin had never seen anything like it. He couldn’t tear himself away from the spectacle, all the more curious because it was Belwynn who was carrying out the blessing. Belwynn, a regular girl from Magnia a year ago, now the Lady of the Knights.
‘Come on,’ said Diodorus, interrupting his thoughts. ‘You can get your sword blessed later.’
Clarin followed the count into Sebastian’s tent. They had been invited to attend the discussion of tactics before the battle. Theron stood at a table with quill and parchment, as officious as ever. Sebastian and Tycho were also there, along with a knight he had not met yet. Sebastian noticed.
‘Clarin, this is Remi, my closest friend. He has been tracking Straton’s forces for us.’
Clarin and Remi shook hands. Remi gestured to the parchment, where Theron had drawn a diagram of what they believed to be the enemy disposition.
‘Euthymius has largely failed to turn the Knights against us. He leads a small number, probably less than one hundred. The rest of the cavalry are noblemen Straton has recruited. I would expect Count Ampelios to lead this group into battle.’
The knights under Euthymius and the mounted noblemen under Ampelios were positioned on the flanks. Clarin understood that these would be the better fighters, using the power and mobility of their horses to dominate the battlefield.
‘The infantry are largely made up men-at-arms raised by the nobility, or members of the temples who have allied with Straton. They have greater numbers than us, but not greater quality.’
Here, Theron had predicted three divisions of infantry positioned in the centre. Behind them Theron had scrawled more words, which Clarin assumed would be the reserve, where Straton himself would command.
‘Our problem, then, is matching their infantry,’ explained Sebastian. ‘I propose we dismount some of our knights, fifty say, and position them in the centre division to strengthen it. Anyone else who can fight will go there, giving the impression of further strength. That includes squires. The knights will have to do without them.’
‘Sending squires in to fight?’ Clarin said. ‘They’re little more than children.’
‘I’m not happy with it,’ said Sebastian. ‘But we’re desperate. They’ll be at the back. Clarin, your unit will be to the left, and Diodorus you will command the right. Watch out for them trying to get around you. I’ll let you decide how to organise things, you know what you’re doing. I will put myself in the centre with the dismounted knights. I think my presence will reassure them.’
Theron frowned. ‘I understand the thinking, uncle, but I’m not sure it should be you.’
There followed a debate between the knights about who should be placed where. There were four of them and four positions to allocate: two on the wings with the cavalry; one with the reserves; one with the infantry. Theron wrote in and scratched out names until they were settled. Sebastian was persuaded to take the reserves. Tycho would fight with the infantry, leaving Theron and Remi to lead each wedge of knights.
Clarin had no problems with the plan. The truth was you could talk for hours before a fight—when it came to it, it was chaos and desperate hacking every time.
Clarin put himself in the centre of the front line. To his left, Tamir led the Barbarians. He was still a tall and formidable figure, though he now fought left handed after losing three fingers in the fighting in Samir Durg. To his right were the two Dog-men, then Zared and the Persaleians. Theron had given them whatever armour and weapons they had requested. Clarin already knew they could fight like monsters, so he had no worries about his front line.
He had told Rudy and Jurgen to lead the Madrians, who stood in four rows behind him. They would have to react once the battle started, supporting Clarin’s front line or moving out to prevent any attempts at flanking their position. Clarin could not predict for sure how these men and women would react. For most, it was their first time in combat. They had behaved with discipline to this point, borrowing Elana’s icily cool demeanour. But hand-to-hand fighting was something different altogether. He knew that some of them would be able to do it, and some would not.
He could see the enemy infantry ahead. They too had settled into their units and were waiting for the order to go.
The terrain was uneven, with grass and flowering gorse covering the area between the two armies, some of it waist height. He had told his men to tread carefully. There was a slope too, the high point on the right of their position, where Theron’s cavalry was located. The dip had more or less flattened out by the time it reached Clarin’s position on the left, and gave no particular advantage to either side.
Clarin was relieved to hear the blare of trumpets from behind him. The waiting was over. He picked up his spear and shield.
‘March!’ he shouted.
They walked steadily, keeping to the same pace as Tycho’s central division.
Clarin worried. It wasn’t like him to do so. But he felt differently to previous engagements he had been involved in. In those other occasions he was full of emotions. But today he felt empty. It was hard to summon up hatred for the enemy he was about to fight. He didn’t know them.
The sound of drums and shouts filled the air. Looking up, he saw the ranks of infantry facing them begin to move. The tension and noise on the battlefield ratcheted up as the two sides moved towards each other. The gap between them started to close more quickly. Clarin could see that the enemy was more numerous. The danger of them outflanking his hundred soldiers was all too real. He could now pick out individual fighters coming to meet him. They presented a wall of shields, with spears, maces and other weapons ready to carve into his own forces.
Then it happened. Clarin felt the danger and the fear. The rage came next, and as the two infantry lines closed, he was ready. Rather than waiting for the Kalinthians to come to his line, he sprang forwards, relying on the Dog-men and the Barbarians to support him.
He shoved his spear forwards. It was turned by a shield. He reached forwards and grabbed at a shield, using his strength to pull the soldier out of the line, where he was quickly skewered by a spear. The Dog-man to his right rushed into the gap, teeth snapping and clawed hands swiping. Clarin risked another lurch forward, slamming his spear over the top of a shield and into the shoulder of a Kalinthian. He released his grip and drew the sword he had named Cutter. The pink crystal blade of the Isharite weapon flashed dangerously.
His front line had supported his move and the Kalinthians who opposed them hadn’t coped with it. Defending against his men had left their line of shields ragged, and a gap yawned in front of him. Readying himself, putting his body behind his shield, his face down, his sword arm trailing behind, Clarin grimaced and charged. He buffeted the enemy, using his strength to strike out and barge at those around h
im with his shield. He had to trust that his soldiers came with him, harrying the rest of the Kalinthian line.
Clarin twisted at the waist and used his hips and thighs to impart power into another barge. He felt the man in front give way, and found himself staggering forwards, walking on top of the man who had gone down. Now he swung his sword over his shoulder. It connected with the man in front, and he found he could push further forwards. Suddenly, he had space around him. He had broken through.
He allowed himself a brief backwards glance. His front line had followed him, carving a hole through the enemy. Now he could take advantage, but he had to be quick. Opening up his body, he slashed his sword at the disorganised enemy around him. He launched himself at one soldier, chopping down so viciously he heard the arm bone crack. He located the next nearest soldier, moving quickly towards him. This one defended Clarin’s blow with his shield, and then moved backwards when Clarin slammed his shield at his face. Clarin feinted to strike, and the soldier retreated again. Behind him, Tamir launched a two-handed downward strike, his giant steel blade connecting with the man’s shoulder. The blow knocked him to the ground, and it was then easy for Clarin to deal the death blow.
Clarin now led his men against the exposed end of the enemy line. Men who moments before had been ready to come around Clarin’s soldiers and envelope them now found themselves fighting for their lives.
Clarin looked up when he heard the thud of cavalry.
Sebastian, quick to understand what was happening, had led his reserves to join in. The remaining enemy infantry, separated from the rest of their forces, ran or died, as Sebastian’s cavalry tore into them, lances thrusting down, huge warhorses kicking and buffeting. The Knights knew what they were doing. As Clarin turned his men to face the rest of the enemy infantry, Sebastian was free to take his cavalry in behind them. Straton’s infantry was now in a vice, under attack from three directions as Tycho’s dismounted knights, Clarin’s force and Sebastian’s reserves all targeted them.
Victory seemed inevitable, so long as the enemy units were kept isolated. Clarin looked across the rest of the battlefield. He could see Remi’s cavalry engaged with the Kalinthian Knights led by Euthymius. Theron’s cavalry wasn’t in sight. With any luck, that meant they had the upper hand.
Another stretch of fighting ensued, but it must have been clear to Straton’s infantry that they were on their own. They began throwing down their weapons, and instead of slaughter, Clarin’s force turned to capturing and disarming the enemy infantry. Sebastian left him to it, taking his knights off to join with Remi.
Clarin bumped into Tycho.
‘I will put guards on them,’ the knight said, gesturing at their prisoners, who had been made to sit on the floor in small groups. ‘Can you organise the wounded?’
Clarin nodded. ‘You think we’ve won?’
‘Almost certainly. Theron drove Ampelios off the field. I think they will be chasing down those that fled. If I know Theron, he will be trying to capture Straton.’
Clarin ordered his unit to separate from Tycho’s, in an effort to bring some order to things. He assessed the damage. One of Zared’s Persaleians was dead, bringing the number who had escaped from Samir Durg down to eighteen. They had suffered another half a dozen fatalities from amongst the Madrians, as well as various wounded. As he began trying to work out who needed help, Elana and Belwynn appeared. Belwynn seemed used to such a job and began to organise those that needed to see Elana urgently. Other Madrians began to help, and Clarin decided to leave them to it.
He walked away, keen to know how the Knights had fared. Two knights were riding over in his direction. He walked over to meet them, as did Tycho and Diodorus. It was Sebastian and Remi.
‘Well?’ asked Tycho.
‘Euthymius is dead,’ said Remi. ‘It was tough fighting—I lost a few, as did they. We have captured the rest.’
‘Any news from Theron?’
‘Not yet,’ said Sebastian. ‘We will have to wait a while longer. Well done, everyone. Whatever news Theron returns with, we’ve scored a major victory and kept the loss of life to a minimum.’
Clarin sat and waited, relief and exhaustion kicking in. The knights saw to their horses first and eventually squires were sent round with food and drink for the soldiers. Elana worked her healing magic on those who needed it. Sebastian gave the order to strip the corpses. Unclaimed bodies would be burned together, he said, since they were all Kalinthians.
Eventually Theron’s force returned. They led a large number of prisoners, who walked along in a group, surrounded on all sides by mounted knights. Theron steered his horse over. He was pale with exhaustion but looked satisfied enough.
‘Straton tried to escape,’ he croaked, climbing off his horse stiffly.
Tycho handed him a cup and he drank deeply before continuing. ‘It took a long time to track him down, but we got him. We also captured Ampelios in the first fighting. What news of Euthymius?’
‘Dead,’ said Remi.
Theron looked about, trying to take in what he saw, but his eyes glazed over. Clarin could see the strain he had been under, not just today but during the campaign as a whole. Defeat would have seen the end of the regime he and Sebastian had established, and a return to the policies of King Jonas. Kalinth would have become subservient to Ishari once again.
On that count, Clarin grudgingly conceded, maybe it had been worth it.
The mountains took their toll on Soren’s body. Day by day the recovery he had made under Elana disappeared; day by day he found himself reverting to the state he had been found in at Samir Durg. He lacked the stamina he once had, and too much climbing and walking put such a strain on his back that he had to stop and rest before the day was done. Gyrmund, uncomplaining, would have to find food and make camp without his help. He became too exhausted to do the exercises Elana had insisted on, crawling under his blankets as soon as he had eaten supper.
The nights were cold at such a height. Gyrmund and Moneva slept on either side of him. There was a tension between them, and they were avoiding lying next to one another. At first it made him feel awkward to be stuck between them. But after a while he was simply grateful for the warmth.
When he woke on a morning his back had always seized up and he was virtually blind. He would reach out for the staff, panicking if it didn’t come to hand immediately, until his fingers grasped the smooth wood. The feel of it as he gripped it in both hands would calm him and his back would loosen. The staff allowed his mind to feed information to his eyes, rebuilding a version of the world around him that he could see and understand.
Then one morning the staff didn’t work so well. He could see, but his back and limbs remained stiff. A chill had entered his body, and neither breakfast nor the morning walk removed it. He didn’t mention it at first, concentrating all his energy on moving without falling, using the staff to support himself.
The irony was that they were leaving the mountains, descending to the grassy plain of the Jalakh Steppe. They would get the occasional glimpse of it now and then, when they ascended to the top of a peak. The grasslands stretched out seemingly forever, flat like a green ocean. At those moments it seemed deceptively close, and Soren would redouble his efforts, the end in sight. Then hours would pass without a sight of it, just bare rock and stunted trees all around them, and he would come close to despair.
As the sun started to fall on another day Soren got warmer and warmer, trickles of sweat running down his body. He put his hand to his forehead. It was hot and clammy. A fever. He had to tell them. Gyrmund walked them on a bit farther until he found a suitable place to stop. He built a fire and made Soren a hot soup with the herbs and medicines he had to hand. Soren forced himself to drink it before giving in to sleep.
The next morning, he had to be woken up and lifted to his feet. His head pounded so much he felt sick. He leaned on his staff, drawing as much strength from it as he could. He knew they had to get down off the mountains.
That d
ay and the next were lost days of delirium, half-remembered fragments, of Moneva helping him to walk, following a path that led them out of the high ground, of collapsing into the grass of the Jalakh Steppe. Gyrmund and Moneva talking to each other in hushed voices. They needed to find help, Moneva said. But there was no-one around, not a settlement, not a field or a wall or a single cow or sheep to show that anyone lived here. His fever needs to take its course, Gyrmund said. Soren let himself lean back into the grass. It supported his weight, just like he was floating on water. He let the grass carry him away, his broken body floating along to wherever the wind blew him.
The next memory he had was waking with a canvas roof above him instead of the sky. It felt like he was still floating, but how could he be with a roof above him? Then he realised that the movement was different. It was the slow, bumpy movement of a wheeled wagon. And Belwynn was there. How had she got there so fast?
Soren, can you hear me? She was saying. Soren, where are you?
He tried to reply, but all that came out was a croak. It was too difficult to talk, far easier to just close his eyes and let the wagon wheel him along.
He woke up, the memories playing in his head. He tried to clutch at them, tried to make sense of them, but they refused to be caught.
He scrabbled from one side to the next, desperately searching for his staff. There. He gripped it and his sight returned. He pushed himself up to a sitting position. He was alone in a circular felt tent. A round hole in the roof let in sunlight. It was a yurt. A Jalakh yurt. He looked down. His part of the yurt was covered in rugs and blankets and cushions.
He felt weak, but it felt like his fever had broken. Gyrmund and Moneva had somehow found help. That was the second time they had saved his life.
Belwynn? He called, remembering hearing her voice, though whether he had dreamt it or not he didn’t know.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 81
