Up the line several paces, an elephant-like creature, smaller and with dark hair sprouting from its skin, was lashing out with its trunk and front legs, sending men stumbling backward. But this beast was no born killer. Already, Corm saw, the men were moving against it, eager to strike a heroic blow.
Tamwrit broke ranks momentarily to dash forward and slash at its hamstrings with a powerful cut of the sword. He leaped backward to avoid its rearing, stomping fury, but the effect of his attack was immediate. The thing fell on its haunches, screaming but unable to move its bulky body, and the men circled around to stab into it from behind and at the sides. Soon the creature lay in the dust with several spears protruding from its ribs.
For every creature that stopped to fight, Cormoran noticed, ten more were channeled away from the front rank into the gauntlet and onward over the ridge. Those that stopped to fight were swiftly discouraged by a hundred jabbing spears on each side, and the vast majority continued running pell-mell up the trail and out of the pass.
The air was thick with dust and wild cries one moment, and then—almost as suddenly as the attack had begun—it ceased.
The last few beasts ran by and disappeared over the hill, followed by one slow-trundling boar that had taken an arrow in the hind leg, but could still move. The men merely watched, catching their breath as the creature gained the ridgeline and went on, not stopping until it had left the killing ground far behind.
A few birds still flapped noisily overhead, but they had learned their lesson and did not swoop to attack again.
Here and there on the trail, animals writhed and moaned. Men stepped forward to slash these in the neck until they bled out. The very center of the pass was choked with slaughtered beasts, but none remained alive to harass the soldiers. The bulk of the wild horde had continued on and escaped the area.
Cormoran’s sergeant exulted. “Is that all this vaunted place can throw our way? A few rabid dogs and wild pigs? We’ll eat well tonight, boys!”
A cheer went up, echoing through the pass.
The ranks milled about the area, checking the damage they’d done and addressing a few injuries that had been sustained.
Two men were dead, or soon would be—one had been unable to fend off a horn placed in the right spot between shield and breastplate, and the other was victim to an unlucky rake of a claw along a femoral artery. There were also several broken bones and ugly gashes, but overall the casualties were far less than other battles they had come through.
“Will they fall upon the men of Leitra now?” Corm heard Leon asking the captain. “Perhaps we should go back and finish them.”
“I think not,” Damicos replied. “This was no battle-hardened army, and the largest among that wild pack was nothing like what our company has faced and defeated in the past. It seems more of a desperate defense, hastily assembled by whatever force guards this valley.
“Besides, Leisha’s men have trained their whole lives for this kind of combat. They know what to do with beasts such as these, and will be able to drive them away however they see fit. Our main objective still lies ahead.”
He turned to face the ranks. “Get ready to march on the valley itself. We are about to take what we came for!”
Crowing at their success and congratulating each other on their rapid implementation of the captain’s quick thinking, the men again formed into a column and began to move. They left the dead wildlife behind, marking some to come back later and carve up for the evening feast.
They descended easily down the trail into the valley. It was empty now, trampled and dusty with the smell of fur and hide still hanging rank in the air. Feathers lay scattered about over the paw and hoof prints that marred every inch of the canyon floor.
The only other things that drew attention at all, besides the small creek in the center, were a few scrubby trees and bushes, and a series of large boulders that seemed to have calved off the canyon walls in the distant past.
As the men filed down on the level ground and entered the canyon proper, they looked around for signs of the wealth the place was rumored to hold. At any second they expected to see piles of ore, or precious stones there for the taking. Few thought to thank the gods for their near-miraculous delivery, or question the unexpected events of the past half-hour’s fighting.
Suddenly the man right next to Corm gave a loud shout, and the veteran had his spear halfway leveled before he realized the man was pointing at the rock wall next to him and not at any living threat.
The captain swiftly approached and looked at the wall. A slow smile came over his face.
Corm saw a glint of green in the shadowed rock face. The men bunched forward for a better look, standing behind the captain.
Running up and down the fifty-cubit tower of stone was a vein of green thicker than a man’s leg. Several smaller veins ran parallel. And now that his eyes knew what to look for, Cormoran picked out first one and then another and another similar vein farther on, among the rocks ahead.
Murmurs and exclamations of delight broke out among the soldiers.
“We’re rich,” the first man to see it told the others. “All of us! There’s enough here to… boys, we’re rich! A king’s ransom!”
Another man to Corm’s left pointed up at the terminus of the rich vein above. “That’s half a year’s pay for the whole company, right there!”
Damicos wheeled and continued down the path into the canyon. Cormoran followed close behind his sergeant, all of them eager to see what more the captain would lead them to.
By the time the company gathered in formation on the valley floor, they had seen enough mineral wealth to float every man in the company for life, if it could be efficiently mined and transported.
“It doesn’t stop here,” Damicos announced to the assembled company. “The entire valley must be loaded with gemstone. Why, with just what you men can carry out of here on your back today, you’ll be able to buy a farm or a cottage in any town you like.”
That roused a cheer.
“But let’s not lose our heads. We haven’t explored the whole area, and we may run into more trouble at any moment. I want one troop to remain at the rear, and two on either side of the valley, in front. As we advance, keep your shields up. There’ll be time to pocket riches later. All eyes on a swivel. Let’s see what else this place holds.”
The men marched slowly beside the muddy stream, gazing up at the cliffs around them. The rock walls looked much higher from down inside the canyon than when Cormoran first saw them.
It occurred to him that the only way out of the place was the way they had come, which was guarded by Leisha’s people. Or ahead, perhaps.
In the exact center of the valley floor rose a huge boulder, the first outcropping of many that farther on formed the walls of the slot canyons Corm had noticed. It was as big as a house, and Cormoran had an uneasy feeling that it might suddenly rear its head and reveal itself to be something monstrous.
But as they neared it, Damicos pointed upward at its sides. Thick green bands stretched all around the thing, dull where wind and rain had weathered the precious stone, but glowing vivid in the sunlight where something had scraped along its sides recently and exposed the heart.
“The high king can carve himself a palace out of that… if he can pay for it all,” the captain said. The men laughed.
A breeze curled through the valley, grazing Cormoran’s cheek and bringing welcome coolness. The sun beat down overhead and collected in the valley’s warm rocks, reflecting off the brown cliffs and making what felt like a furnace below. But ahead in the slot canyons, dark shadows offered an inviting respite.
With the breeze came a low rumbling sound. At first, the men around Cormoran didn’t even notice it. But the two advance troops, walking along either side of the canyon near the walls, slowed and looked hard ahead.
The captain noticed that something was up, and paused. The marching men began to bunch up behind him.
Then another gust of air brough
t what to Corm’s ears sounded like the war-horns of the Kerathi royal guard, but far off and barely discernible. It was like a deep moaning, or the echo of a bard’s song fading into the rafters of a great hall. But instead of fading, this continued.
It became louder, and now every man could hear it. The ground began to shake, imperceptibly at first and then increasing with each successive footstep until it was clear that something was coming.
Something very, very large. Much larger than the elephant-creatures they’d killed in the pass.
Through Cormoran’s mind flashed the memory of the behemoth his comrades had killed by the river during the early days of the company. He’d only heard about it from awe-stricken cavalrymen, and seen the hide. But a twinge of fear curdled in his gut now.
He gripped his spear as he and every other man in the ranks gazed relentlessly at the far end of the valley.
Suddenly the earth shook harder than before as something huge heaved its way past one of the cliffs that walled off the slot canyons. Out of the shadows moved a creature so large that at first Corm had trouble distinguishing it from the towering brown rock around it.
The Red God was emerging to defend his claim.
CHAPTER 33: BATTLE CRESCENDO
From the trees, Ghormonga watched critically.
The young prince next to him had eyes only for the fighting on the shore, where the attacking warriors had quickly surrounded the phalanx, cutting off its avenues of escape and pinning the pawtoon against the water’s edge. Hefting his axe in hand, he edged forward, close to joining them despite his injured hand. Ghormonga warded him back with his own outstretched weapon.
“If you would lead your men through this debacle, then lead them, Uthek! Caught up in the fighting, how will you react? How will you see what must be done? To guide them means you yourself must remain aloof! Have not enough of our brothers run headlong to their deaths?”
“You would deny me the glory of the kills that should be mine!”
“Glory? Consider this, if glory is your aim, youngblood. If you leave me alone in the command position, then it will be I and I alone that can claim the tactical victory.”
In appealing to the prince’s lust for honor, Ghormonga left unsaid his own directive to keep the boy alive.
“You won’t take that from me, Ghormonga. This is my battle! And I will yet see the head of the Kerathi captain roll on the ground at my feet.”
“We shall see.”
So Uthek stayed in the trees, restlessly pacing, watching and calling out to his men. He rubbed at the pain in his hand, ignoring the blood that still seeped from the ugly wound.
He didn’t need Ghormonga to tell him that the beleaguered phalanx in the shallows was yet within arrow range of the walls; already several of the Silverpath attackers had fallen to shafts coming in from the side. Uthek ordered the remaining archers in his command, along with Ghormonga’s, to approach the walls—cautiously this time—and to engage the archers, giving the warriors in the shallows some cover.
The fire from the ignited pitch piles was dying down, but still giving enough light that targets could be seen. The Silverpath archers began to loose at the defenders on the walls, hiding behind the barricades and using the dead bodies of their brethren as cover.
The massed volleys had ceased and now it was a game of skill as archers hunted each other in the uncertain light, choosing their marks carefully. Bodies on both sides pitched forward, snapping arrow shafts that jutted from chest and abdomen, curled around javelins rammed through gut and ribcage.
Down on the shore the phalanx had drawn in on itself and was now in urchin configuration, spears pointing in all directions. The mass of surging, chopping warriors obscured the mercenary formation, but the prince was sure it was only a matter of time until the nut was cracked. Already several of the Silverpath men were venturing into the water to get around behind the troops and attack from the shallows at their rear.
“More men!” he screamed, waving at the ragged clusters of men around him and those that still straggled toward him from the walls. “Get to the lake! Slay the pawtoon on the shore!”
Ghormonga’s gaze swiveled between the shore and the walls, noting the disproportionate casualty rate; too many Silverpath tribesmen sprawled motionless in their own gore. They still held the greater numbers, but would not for much longer if they lost fighters at the present rate.
Ghormonga knew the twenty heavily armored pawtoon on the shore would eventually be overwhelmed—he’d faced Kerathi infantry before—but unlike the prince he knew the fearsome toll they would take on their attackers before they succumbed.
That wasn’t all that bothered him, however.
Ghormonga couldn’t fathom the opposing commander’s strategy. It was foolish to send those twenty men to their deaths on the shore. True, the armored spearmen served better on the open field than hiding behind a wall—they were no archers, and could do little until the wall was breached. But it was a waste; their commander had to know they’d soon be cut down.
Ghormonga would have assumed this decision to be the work of a young, inexperienced commander, or an ossified, over-confident Kerathi career officer with more courage than brains. Ghormonga had encountered and defeated many such. Or perhaps the hoplites themselves had demanded a chance to prove their bravery.
But Uthek reported that the mercenary commander was neither too young nor too old, and Ghormonga had evidence before his very eyes of the man’s cunning, his unwillingness to expose his forces more than necessary.
Then why waste twenty of his heaviest troops in a valorous but futile flank attack? They weren’t even moving against the Silverpath warriors, just standing on the lakeshore trying not to be driven into the water.
Ghormonga was still puzzling over it when he heard the thunder of horse hooves.
From his position in the shield wall, Sergeant Copper didn’t hear the hoofbeats—he could hardly hear anything over the clashing weapons and screams. But he saw, through the shifting gaps in the shields, the cavalry approaching at a dead run along the shore.
“About time,” he grunted, thrusting his spear suddenly outward at a painted face, seeing the face contort and snap back as his spear punched through the mouth and out the back of the skull. “Phalanx, slow walk, lake-ward!” he bellowed. “Knee-deep, just like we practiced!”
With a lurch, the sea urchin got under way, a steady shuffle that pivoted towards the lake. Under the tramping feet the sand grew damp, then dark water was sloshing over their sandals. They kept moving, slowly but surely, careful to keep the shields overlapping. The integrity of the shield wall meant life: a single opening could break the formation, and then their lives would be measured in mere seconds. Already they’d lost two men to enemy blades which found their way through temporary gaps, but so far they’d managed to close ranks over the lost ones.
Frenzied Silverpath warriors screamed and struck, hewing and chopping with reckless abandon, shattering their crude stone weapons on the bronze shields. In moments, their numbers would begin to break through, sheer weight pushing inwards, many pairs of legs pushing against few.
But the sea urchin made it into the water just in time. Their feet, instead of sinking into the lakebed mud under the weight of man and armor, stood firm on a bed of rocks and lumber placed there during the previous days’ labors.
Pelekarr had chosen the exact spot where the phalanx was to make its stand, partly because of proximity to the palisade wall, and partly because here the shallows abruptly gave way to deep water. It had been marked clearly with sticks which the Silverpath were entirely ignorant of in the darkness of the night.
The barbarians now discovered the difficulty of this particular piece of lakeshore. Those warriors who had waded out and around to attack the urchin from the direction of the lake had found, instead of shallows, surprisingly deep water. Now they were pushed ahead of the lakeward-advancing shields to flounder in deep water over their heads.
Some could swim, so
me could not, but even the swimmers were hard pressed to keep above water while still wielding weapons in their hands. Splashing desperately, they were easy prey for the phalanx’s spears, which aimed rearward as well as forward. None of them made the shore.
Before the last warrior had sunk in his own bloody froth, the troopers guarding the lake side turned and reinforced their comrades facing the land side. New spears thrust from the shield wall, stabbing into the frantic waves of attackers.
The entire maneuver had taken mere seconds, yet now the troopers had managed to reduce their exposed front to a narrow channel directly before them, with deep water protecting all else. And they were out of the path of the horses.
The troopers planted themselves like rocks and waited, feet on firm ground. The water came to their thighs. It was harder to maneuver, but maneuvering was no longer part of the plan.
From the trees, Uthek and Ghormonga saw the sea urchin formation pivot and retreat into the lake.
“The pawtoon have broken!” Uthek cried, with a surge of savage joy. “The dogs! Now force them backward into the water to drown!”
Ghormonga grabbed his shoulder. “Call the retreat!”
Uthek turned in disbelief. “Are you mad?”
Ghormonga pointed.
The fort’s gate had burst open again suddenly, and thirty horse troopers were emerging at a full gallop. They thundered down the lakeshore toward the fight, intent on the speed of their task.
The sand flung up in sprays from their hooves looked like smoke in the moonlight. Long lances gleamed, lowering for the impact. It was perfect ground for a cavalry charge, clear and firm. And nothing but enemy warriors lay in their path.
They leaned into their stirrups.
Ghormonga was grudgingly impressed. The brave little phalanx had drawn Uthek’s fighters irresistibly from the safety of the trees and now held them on the lakeshore, an open killing ground where the horsemen could rush in over a clear path. The pivot into the lake wasn’t a buckling of defenses or the beginning of a rout: they were just getting out of the way to give the horsemen clear targets.
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