by D Murray
The gate groaned and slammed shut, and the stillness of the night erupted into cries of battle. Three more of the raiders in the village dropped with bolts in their bellies and chests. Spears flew out from the entrances of huts, arcing down and into the rapidly dissolving ranks of Raven Men.
Jukster and Ferdus sprung from the gate, their weapons biting into the enemy, taking full advantage of the chaos.
The bowmen on the embankment loosed arrow after arrow into the ranks of Raven Men squashed up on the bridge. Cries of pain sounded, and dying, injured and panicked alike fell about the bridge and over into the water. The raiders to the rear of the bridge tried to press forward, but finding the way blocked, shifted backwards and then spread out seeking cover. Guttural voices sounded, shouting orders.
“Front rank!” Kalfinar shouted, turning the aim of the bowmen away from the clogged bridge and turning their fire onto the raiders who, finding the gate closed, scrambled down into the moat and up the foot of the steep embankment.
Harvind stood now, allowing a better angle to aim downward at the scurrying raiders. The other bowmen replicated his action, and shafts began to rain down on the advancing Raven Men. An arrow whistled between Harvind and Kalfinar, causing the Maracost to duck momentarily.
Kalfinar saw the archer as he loosed another arrow, this one dropping the bowman next to Harvind. Kalfinar sprang and grabbed the fallen man’s bow, ignoring the wet, agonised scream as the archer pawed at the shaft in his chest. Kalfinar grabbed the final shaft sticking out of the ground and trained the arrowhead on the enemy archer. The Raven Man had his weapon pointed directly at Kalfinar, and released as Kalfinar freed his own shaft. Hot pain seared even as he saw his own arrow take the Raven Man high up in the gut. The raider fell over onto his back with a squeal. Kalfinar dropped onto one knee and looked down at where the black-feathered shaft of the Raven Man’s arrow hung loosely from his bow. The arrowhead had split the wood of the weapon where Kalfinar’s left hand had gripped it. Blood seeped from the fingers of his gloved hand and dripped onto the grass. He released his grip of the bow, grateful to see it fall away free, and then wiggled his fingers. All still attached. He looked up and saw the bowmen discard their weapons and pull free swords and hatchets, ready for close combat. He grabbed his own sword, pulling it free, and risked a glance back into the village clearing behind the closed gate. The trapped raiders had been cut down almost entirely. The last two were circled now, and Kalfinar hoped his orders to take some alive would not be forgotten in the heat of the fight. He returned his gaze to the embankment and held his sword in a two-handed grip, ignoring the shooting pain from his left hand. They were coming now.
The raiders screamed in fury as they crested the embankment. Kalfinar stepped easily around the tired swing of a Raven Man’s sword and drew a heavy cut under the man’s armpit. A wheeze sounded behind him as the raider dropped. Kalfinar stepped down the embankment to the next raider, kicking him full in the chest and sending him toppling backwards into the path of another, the pair of them tumbling down the embankment in a tangle of steel and limbs. Kalfinar stopped a moment and looked across the bridge. The last third of the Raven Men, seeing the archers had ceased, sprang from their cover and began to fight their way over the bodies of their fallen comrades and across the bridge. “Do what you can, then retreat,” Kalfinar roared. “There’ll be archers amongst them.”
He picked his next foe. The raider held two hatchets in his hands as he covered the last of the distance to engage. As Kalfinar made to step into the attack, he saw from the corner of his eye the raider who was approaching Harvind had turned at the last moment, heading straight for him. “Fuck!” Kalfinar shouted and dropped his shoulder, avoiding the sword swipe of the second raider. He drove his shoulder into the Raven Man’s stomach and they fell to the ground in a tangle. The one with the hatchets came on fast, his first strike down towards Kalfinar’s legs. He twisted his leg away, and the hatchet blade thumped into the grass. The second hatchet glinted in the moonlight as it slammed down towards Kalfinar. He rolled off the struggling form of the second Raven Man and heard the retch as the hatchet sunk into the raider’s gut. Kalfinar scrambled up on one knee and rammed his sword point up into the side of Hatchets. The flame-like eyes widened in shock, then his mouth sagged open and he winced as Kalfinar’s blade withdrew. Kalfinar turned to see Harvind hard pressed against two raiders.
The Maracost grimaced as he gave ground. Kalfinar rammed his sword into the back of one raider, allowing Harvind the chance to take off the sword hand of the other before finishing him with a backstroke across the face.
“Fall back!” Kalfinar roared.
The cry was repeated along the embankment, and within moments the clash of steel ceased and the defenders took cover on the inside of the embankment. Arrows sounded above as they soared over the ridge of the embankment, whilst some skimmed the top of the earthwork and spun harmlessly away.
“Ready the spears,” Kalfinar hissed. The order spread about the defenders as they hunkered down and grabbed the long shafts.
Broden heaved up beside Kalfinar. “Got two of them tied up and taken to the Great Hall.”
“How many more?” the Grey Father asked, drawing Kalfinar’s attention from Broden.
“You should be in the Great Hall,” Kalfinar urged the old man, glancing up and at the top of the embankment.
“This is my village!” the old man yelled, his face wide with a smile. “If I am to die, I would have it here, rather than on my back. How many?” he repeated.
“I don’t know.” Kalfinar shook his head, staring up at the top of the embankment and waiting for the surge of Raven Men. “Fifty, maybe sixty.” He looked across the mass of defenders. The surprise attack had worked. Splitting the raiders' ranks had thinned their numbers, but it would still be tight.
The silhouettes of the Raven Men appeared over the crest of the embankment, and they started spilling over the edge. Spear points jabbed up and into the black shapes. Retches and screams echoed along the line as the raiders were taken by surprise again, but the numbers kept coming quicker than spears could be freed from flesh and rammed upwards again.
Broden stepped around Kalfinar as he struggled to free his spear point from the wriggling raider on the end of it. Broden’s sword lashed out at the raider’s throat and his wriggling ceased. The big man ducked the swing the next Raven Man’s sword and with a double-handed blow he cleaved the raider from his groin to his belly. He withdrew his sword and took the leg from another before pulling free his hatchet and engaging a third.
Kalfinar dropped the spear and closed the distance on the Raven Man approaching on Broden’s blindside. He screamed and chopped his sword down in an overhead strike, braining the raider.
“Thanks!” Broden barked as he turned from making another corpse to see how close he'd come himself to being one.
“Subath would tan your hide for leaving your back open like that!” Kalfinar laughed.
“Kal!” Broden shouted, staring over Kalfinar’s shoulder.
Kalfinar ducked low, and Broden’s hatchet spun into the raider, ending the attack.
“Thanks!” Kalfinar grinned.
“We’ll keep this to ourselves.” Broden smiled and returned to the fight.
Kalfinar looked about for a moment. Bodies lay thick on the embankment. They were taking the fight.
The Grey Father was engaged by a raider to Kalfinar’s right. The old man looked pressed, and Kalfinar moved to aid him when another pair of Raven Men appeared over the crest of the embankment. They ran down, a pair of black shadows. The first of them swung down at Kalfinar. Blades clanged as they met. The second slammed his shoulder into Kalfinar’s, sending him tumbling down the embankment. His fall came to a stop as he rolled into the body of one of the villagers. Kalfinar stood at the foot of the embankment and saw the two other raiders had surrounded the Grey Father. The old man stood within a circle of three swords, lashing away each stroke in turn as the raiders toyed with
him. Kalfinar looked about the ground and saw a spear. He switched his sword into his left hand and ducked down to grab the spear. He picked his target, took two steps and hurled. It lanced through the air, a black line in the night, and slammed into the back of the raider closest to him. The man fell over onto his face. Kalfinar didn’t break stride and ran up the embankment, teeth gritted as he watched the Grey Father tear out the throat of one of the Raven Men distracted by the spear strike. Kalfinar’s sword clashed with the last of the three, his sword intercepting a stroke aimed for the back of the Grey Father. The Raven Man bared his filed teeth, and his flaming eyes widened as he grabbed Kalfinar’s leather jerkin and pulled him in close, their noses almost touching. Their sword edges pressed close to their faces as they struggled. The Raven Man was strong, stronger than Kalfinar. The raider was winning the struggle. Kalfinar’s sword crept closer to his own face, its edge biting into the side of his chin. He grunted as the hot pain flared, and then screamed through his teeth as he mustered his strength and pushed with his sword arm, the blade moving away from his face.
And then the pressure was gone.
The Raven Man gasped, then belched blood. The raider shuddered, and then dropped from the struggle. The Grey Father stood behind, his sword point red from the strike through the raider’s back.
“This has been a good fight,” the old Maracost said with a smile.
“Thanks,” Kalfinar offered, the back of his gloved hand touching the wound on his chin and coming away slick with blood.
“None are necessary for me,” the Grey Father said, driving his sword point into the grassy earth of the embankment. “It’s Woakie we thank tonight, for she has walked the land this night, and driven off the unclean enemy.”
Kalfinar barely heard the old man’s words. He looked about him to see Broden finish a fallen raider with a chest strike.
Harvind cut down a retreating raider, and Ferdus stood, chest heaving and sword held dripping blood over a dead body.
There were no more raiders to be seen alive.
Kalfinar ran up the embankment and peered into the night. A thin line of Raven Men could be seen retreating in the distance, the dark blue smudge of movement betraying their location as they hurried off in the direction they came from. The bridge, the outer limit of the village and the embankment were littered with dead.
“This has been a good fight,” Kalfinar muttered the words of the Grey Father, and then felt the sting of the wound on his left hand. He sheathed his sword and pulled free the bloody glove with a grimace. A finger fell from the blood-soaked leather and onto the grass.
“What’s that?” Broden asked, stepping up beside him.
“Look,” Kalfinar said, nodding to the empty space where his little finger used to be. “My finger’s off.”
Broden looked down at the stump, and then back to Kalfinar. “Lendal and Werlan are dead.”
Twenty-Five
Skulls And Drills
“Get those barrels of arrows up here now!” Thaskil roared to the milling troops from the top of the battlements. “Not in five minutes, not when you can be arsed, now!”
Subath watched and smiled to himself. He hooked a finger up inside the bottom of his breast plate and scratched at the itch on his belly.
“He reminds me of a young Subath.” Merkham strolled up from behind and looked up at where Thaskil was commanding the restoration of defences of the High Command walls.
“Nah,” Subath grunted, his finger still working at the bastard of an itch. “Too pretty.” Subath cocked his head to one side, observing the young officer. “If we scarred him up a bit, maybe knocked out a few of his teeth, he may just get there.”
“Looks like he’s getting things in order, though.”
“Aye. Just hope he has the stomach for what’s to come.” Snow started to drift down in fat flakes from the heavy grey clouds that sat low in the sky. “Fucking winter. That’s why I never really minded the Solansians. Pricks and goat-fuckers they may be, but they had the good grace to start fighting in the spring and wrap it up come the end of summer. None of this pissing around in the muck and snow. I don’t know, maybe war is changing.” Subath sighed.
“A young man’s game.” Merkham looked back up to Thaskil. “Maybe you’re too long in the tooth” Merkham quipped, nudging Subath in the shoulder.
“Too long in the cock more like.” Subath rasped a laugh and started walking back towards the keep.
Merkham followed. “Any word on Lucius?”
“Aye,” Subath replied, stomping his muddy boots up the worn steps and into the entrance of the keep. The pine-resin smell of the oil lamps hit his nose as he walked down the hallway. Once again he felt the pang of sadness as he thought of the Hardalen Peaks. “Dajda, I miss those hills. When this is all done, provided I don’t get stuck, I think I’ll retire to Hardalen.”
“Word on Lucius,” Merkham pressed.
“Aye, sorry.” Subath walked through the wide, stone-flagged hallway and turned up the first stairwell he came to, heading to his own study at the top of the keep. “Lucius has construction underway on the damaged sections of the wall. The last report he sent me suggested that the construction force was split, with the repairs almost complete. He’s got the rest of the crew tearing down the buildings gutted by the fires.”
“That’ll yield us a lot of stone,” Merkham said as he followed Subath up the winding staircase. “What are you planning for it?”
“Walls,” Subath grunted, feeling the burn in his legs as he ascended the narrow steps.
“Walls?”
“Aye, you know, tall things made of stone. Hard to get over. Wall-like.”
“And what makes you think we have the time to build more walls? If the Cannans are coming, surely they come now?”
Subath stopped and turned to face Merkham. “If they’re coming, yes, they probably come now. In fact, I would expect they were already coming when Major Ferah graced us with her little visit. And my intent with the stone from the ruined buildings is not to build new walls, as you may envisage them. I intend to use the stone to create bulwarks, channels to direct the enemy, dead ends and kill zones. I liked the sound of what Thaskil managed in Apula, so I’ve been working on a design with Thaskil and Lucius. I can show you now, if you wish.”
Merkham nodded, then turned towards the sound of running steps on the stairs behind them.
“Chief Marshal, Governor.” The runner appeared behind them on the stairs, a corporal of middle years, his retreating hair cropped tight about his head. “My lords,” he carried on, gulping a breath, “the Enulin Division has arrived.”
Subath clapped his hands, the noise echoing loud around the stairwell. “Yes! I could kiss you, Corporal.”
“My lord?”
“Never mind.” Subath smiled. “The governor and I will be right along.”
The corporal saluted, and made to leave.
“Who leads them?” Subath followed up.
“Think his name was Major Skeldon, sir.”
“Skeldon?” Subath mouthed the name, his nose wrinkling in thought. He absently returned the salute to the corporal, dismissing him. “Skeldon.” Subath mouthed the name once more. “Oh, for fuck's sake! I remember him. He’s a total bastard of a man.”
“Can’t say I remember him,” Merkham said, his eyes narrowing.
“You know, he’s from Terna, trained along with Kalfinar and Broden.” Subath saw no hint of recognition in Merkham’s face. “You know, dark haired, tall, thin fella.” Subath waved his hand about his face. “Has these eyes that stick out of his head. Looks a bit like the skin is stretched too tight over his skull. You know, Skeldon, face like a skeleton?”
Merkham’s face split in a wide smile, “Yes! I remember! The Ghoul!”
“That’s it! The Ghoul.” Subath grinned, then frowned. “Damn it.”
A heavy frown chased the smile from Merkham’s face also. “Oh, no. He’s a total bastard.”
Subath nodded, eyes wide a
nd lips pursed, flexing the moustache on his top lip.
“I don’t recall him making major. When did that happen?” Merkham mused.
“Ach, he was always a major,” Subath grumbled as he stepped past Merkham and headed back down the staircase to greet the newly arrived reinforcements. “A major cunt.”
Merkham chuckled behind him and followed on.
In a few minutes, Subath exited the keep side by side with Merkham. They stood at the top of the steps and looked down at the neat rank of mounted troops before them. Pennants of the Free Provinces flapped green, blue and yellow from lances. Dark grey helms shone dully in the cold afternoon light, and the soldiers faced forwards, keeping their mounts under tight control. A tall man swung his leg over his horse and landed on the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard with a jangle of metal. The man walked towards them, removing his helmet to reveal a stark face. His dark hair was receding and was kept short on his head. He had bright blue eyes that seemed to bulge from his head. The skin of the man’s face was pale and seemed to stretch painfully tight over prominent cheekbones, jutting brows and a narrow chin.
“Fuck me, but he is a ghoulish looking bastard,” Subath whispered to Merkham from the side of his mouth as the major advanced.
Skeldon stopped at the foot of the steps and offered a crisp salute. “Lord Chief Marshal, Lord Governor, the Enulin Division answers your call.”
“Well met, Major,” Merkham said, responding with a salute in time with Subath.
“Major, you’re very welcome,” Subath growled from atop the steps. He waved his hand in the direction of the hundred or so mounted soldiers in the courtyard. “I presume what we have before us is but an honour guard, and the rest of your forces are beyond the city walls?”
“Yes, my lord,” Skeldon responded, his face remaining stony. “I have some eight thousand troops by the South Gate, awaiting orders.”
