Sword in the Storm

by David Gemmell

  Hundreds of archers clad in leather tunics and conical caps moved out to stand in front of the baggage train. Each man had a short, curved bow, and a quiver of black-feathered arrows.

  'Might I ask a question, General?'

  'Of course.'

  'Why do you have your archers positioned below the walls? Surely they could have killed scores of the enemy from the ramparts.'

  'To shoot from there they would have had to rise above the rampart wall, making themselves targets. I only have six hundred archers. They are too valuable to waste. Watch them and learn.'

  The archers waited for Jasaray's signal. When it came they raised their bows high and loosed volley after volley. The shafts rose, arced, then dropped with devastating effect on the massed tribesmen outside the camp. Conn could only imagine the havoc they caused.

  On the ramparts the fighting was ferocious, but the Stone soldiers, heavily armoured in breastplates, helms, and carrying concave rectangular shields, were taking a terrible toll on the lightly armed enemy. And, as Banouin had once said, the Stone short swords were infinitely superior in close-quarter fighting. Some of the Perdii warriors, their faces stained with red ochre, broke through. Jasaray sent three sections of sixty men to intercept them and shore up the defences.

  A dull, booming sound, like distant thunder, came from the western gates, which shivered under the impact. Conn gazed at the faces of the soldiers around him. They were tense and expectant, but there was little sign of fear. Jasaray stood, calm as ever. Removing his helmet he scratched his thinning hair. 'It is good that the rain has stopped,' he said. 'I hate fighting in the wet. Well, let's go to meet them.'

  Officers called out orders and then formed into columns of fours to move through the baggage train into the open ground before the gates. Once there they spread out in a long fighting line, ten deep, the front row standing with shields locked. Conn and Jasaray stood behind the fourth line.

  The booming continued, and one of the trunks split. Then a second. Minutes later the gates parted, a bronze-headed battering ram hammering through them. Hundreds of red-smeared warriors pushed aside the ruined gates and ran screaming into the compound. A drum sounded behind the Stone warriors and they began to march forward. The Perdii hurled themselves on the advancing phalanx, and the cruel, stabbing swords of the front line. Hundreds died and the Stone soldiers advanced over the bodies. Men in the second and third lines blooded their swords on the fallen, thrusting their blades into wounded Perdii as they moved over them.

  The tribesmen lacked nothing in courage and the battle continued for almost an hour before the Stone line reached the ruined gates. At that point a trumpet sounded from the Perdii lines and the warriors faded back into the darkness.

  Workmen repaired the gates swiftly, while soldiers carried dead tribesmen outside the camp, creating a mound of bodies. More than two thousand Perdii had died in the battle, for just over sixty Stone soldiers killed and one hundred and four sporting cuts that needed stitching.

  As dawn was breaking Conn walked to the ramparts and looked down upon the three huge mounds of Perdii dead. Stone soldiers who had not taken part in the battle had dug long pits and carpeted them with oil-soaked wood. The bodies had been hauled out and hurled into them, along with more brushwood.

  As the dawn sun rose higher, soldiers threw torches of oil-soaked straw onto the mounds. Flames flickered up, then caught, and Conn watched as tongues of fire licked at the corpses. Soon the flames were roaring out above the mounds, and the sweet smell of cooking flesh drifted over the camp.

  My first battle, thought Conn, and I did not draw my sword in anger. The fighting had not reached the fourth rank.

  Valanus joined him on the ramparts. The officer had a cut on his cheek, that had been expertly stitched. 'What happened to you?' asked Valanus. 'I thought to see you fighting alongside me on the north wall.'

  'I was with the general. How did he know an attack was coming? Is he a mystic?'

  'He does have a feel for these things. On the other hand it is not the first time he has called the men out to stand in rank during the night. He often does it to keep them sharp. Perhaps he was just lucky. I once put it to him that he had more than his share of good fortune. You know what he said? "The more carefully I plan the luckier I get." That's the nearest I've heard to him making a joke. So, what did he want you for?'

  'I still don't know. He wanted to talk about Banouin. It seems he was once a general.'

  Valanus gave a soft whistle. 'So, he was that Banouin. I didn't realize. Banouin is not an uncommon name in Stone. But your man was the Ghost General. He led a cavalry force, and would always appear where least expected by the enemy. When the first civil war ended he retired. It surprised a lot of people. He was expected to enter politics.'

  'Jasaray said that Banouin was both his teacher and his student,' said Conn. 'Do you know what that means?'

  'Aye, I do. When the Scholar was first commissioned he knew nothing of military matters, but had a great understanding of mathematics and the logistics of supply. Banouin was sent to teach him basic military etiquette, if you like, chains of command and so on. As you can see, Jasaray was a fast learner.'

  The wind changed, the morning breeze blowing over the blazing mounds and sending dark smoke into the compound. 'Two thousand dead, and they achieved nothing,' said Conn. 'What a waste of life.'

  'They never learn, these tribesmen,' said Valanus. 'They attack in vast numbers, expecting to overwhelm us. It is the only way they know how to fight. There is no real organization, no officers, no clearly defined command structure. Their battle plans are always the same: there is the enemy, go charge them and see what happens. As you say, a waste of life.'

  'What would you do in Carac's place?'

  Valanus grinned. 'I'd surrender and pledge allegiance to Stone. He cannot win. We are invincible. After last night's attack his men will know that is the truth. They will go back and talk amongst themselves about how tough we are, how deadly. Their fear will grow. By the end of summer we will be building towns of stone on Perdii land, and bringing in thousands of Stone immigrants. I myself have been promised ten parcels of prime land, which I can keep or sell.'

  'I expect you'd swap it all for a good tent,' said Conn.

  'Damn right,' agreed Valanus.

  Ostaran was about to die. No doubt about it. Which, for two reasons, was irritating in the extreme. Firstly, this was yet another skirmish and not a glorious fully fledged battle. And secondly, Demonblade had warned him against reckless attacks. Slashing his sabre across the face of a charging tribesman Ostaran leapt across the body of his dead horse, trying to create space for himself to fight. A hurled spear tore through his riding shirt, grazing his shoulder. A swordsman ran at him. Ostaran blocked the savage cut, stepped in close and head-butted the warrior, who stumbled back half blinded.

  The sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky, and a fresh breeze was blowing, carrying the scent of grass and pine. Ostaran drew in a deep breath. Ah but life is good, he thought! The Perdii at least understood the concepts of martial honour, and were attacking him one at a time, testing his courage and their own. Another man ran at him. Ostaran leapt high, kicking the warrior in the chest, driving him back. A second swordsman charged from the left. Ostaran took the blow on his round, wooden buckler and aimed a slashing riposte. The Perdii threw himself backwards, catching his foot on the leg of Ostaran's dead mount and falling heavily.

  Ostaran undipped the oak leaf brooch and let his black cloak fall to the ground. He was wearing a round helm of bronze and a thigh-length sleeveless mailshirt, and had taken to sporting bronze greaves, in the style of Stone officers. The shirt was heavy, but it protected him from what he feared most: a disembowelling thrust to the belly. His older brother had died from just such a wound and Ostaran was determined never to go through such agony himself.

  He took a deep breath. The air tasted very fine. A Perdii with a spear rushed at him. Ostaran waited until the last moment, then si
de-stepped. He rammed the bronze fist guard of his sword hilt into the warrior's chin as he passed. The Perdii fell unconscious to the grass.

  Ostaran's irritation was lifting. The charge had not felt reckless. He had led his thirty Gath riders in an attack on a small group of Perdii foot soldiers - only to find that they were part of a far larger band who had been hiding in the nearby woods. At least a hundred Perdii had rushed out, screaming their battle cries and unnerving the horses. Ostaran had blown his horn, signalling a retreat. His men had swung their mounts to break away, but then bad luck had intervened, and an arrow had pierced the chest of Ostaran's horse. The Gath leader had leapt clear of the dying beast and drawn his sabre as a dozen Perdii warriors rushed out towards him.

  'Come in and die, you miserable whoresons!' he yelled. The Perdii, their faces smeared with red ochre, surrounded him. Now they were wearing him down.

  Ostaran heard the sound of hoof beats. Parrying a thrust he slammed his fist into a knifeman's chin, sending him spinning from his feet, then risked a glance to his left.

  Twenty horsemen were thundering towards him, scattering the enemy. On the lead mount Demonblade threw out his left arm. Ostaran sprinted towards him, gripped the young man's wrist and vaulted onto the horse's back. The Rigante swung the beast and, his flanks protected by the other riders, galloped the horse away from the chasing Perdii.

  One of Ostaran's men came riding up, leading a spare mount. Ostaran transferred to it then let out a wild whoop, raising his sabre in the air and swinging it around his head. Demonblade laughed at him. Some forty other riders joined them. With almost seventy men now, Ostaran led them in a second charge.

  The Perdii broke and fled towards the woods. Ostaran rode two down, then swung his mount and cantered back to where Connavar sat his horse, a chestnut gelding close to sixteen hands.

  'I thank you, Rigante,' said Ostaran. 'I had resigned myself to drinking at the table of Taranis. Aiya! But it is good to be alive!'

  'As I recall,' said Conn, guiding his mount alongside his leader, 'the Scholar said to avoid open conflict.'

  'Ah so he did. I had forgotten.' Ostaran rode away, then dismounted and walked among the dead and the dying. Three badly wounded Perdii warriors were despatched swiftly. Others who were more lightly wounded were allowed to gather their weapons and walk off to the woods. The man Ostaran had struck with his fist guard was merely stunned, and was coming round as Ostaran reached him.

  'I think the Scholar will appreciate a live prisoner,' said Connavar.

  Ostaran was kneeling by the warrior, his knife at the man's throat. This man is Keltoi,' he said. 'He may not be my tribe, but I'll be damned if I'll hand him over to Jasaray's torturers. Anyway, he wouldn't tell them anything.' He glanced down at the wounded man. 'You wouldn't, would you?'

  The man shook his head. 'See?' said Ostaran. Taking the warrior by the arm, Ostaran helped him to stand. 'You'd better find your friends,' the Gath leader told him. The Perdii cast around for his fallen sword, found it, then walked slowly towards the woods.

  Connavar shook his head, his eyes glinting with anger. 'A strange way to fight a war,' he said. 'Why have you let them live?'

  'This is how wars should be fought,' said Ostaran. 'Men against men, equally matched. Valiant hearts, ferocious fighting, and victory tempered with mercy. These Stone men take all the glory from battle. They are like an avalanche. No heroics, just a vile and deadly mass that rolls over everything in its path. I dislike them. I truly do.'

  'Then why do you fight alongside them?'

  Ostaran grinned. 'Happily I dislike the Perdii more. Arrogant bastards.'

  'You have blood on your face,' Connavar told him.

  'It is not mine, thank Daan,' said Ostaran, wiping his hand across his face. Lifting his mailshirt he fished a small bone comb from the pocket of his under-tunic and carefully combed his drooping blond moustache. 'How do I look?' he asked.

  'Very handsome. Now shall we search for sign of the enemy army?'

  Ostaran stepped in, laying his hand on the Rigante's shoulder. 'You know you are altogether too serious, young Connavar. It will not make a dust speck of difference whether we locate them or not.

  This is their land. They will find us. They will fight and they will die. The Stone army cannot be beaten.'

  Connavar said nothing. Vaulting onto his horse he rode along the line of the woods, keeping out of range of any hidden archers. Ostaran watched him go. Recovering his cloak the Gath leader mounted and rode back to where his men were waiting. His black-bearded brother, Arix, was looking nervous, as well he might.

  'How is it that the Rigante led the rescue?' he asked the big man.

  Arix shrugged. He would not meet Ostaran's gaze. 'Don't know, brother. He just took control.' He grinned suddenly. 'Good, though, wasn't it?' Some of the men laughed. Ostaran ignored them.

  'I'm alive, of course it was good. But with me apparently lost, you should have been in command. You should have led.'

  'I don't like leading,' said Arix. 'Anyway, Demonblade does it better.'

  'He does it better?' mimicked Ostaran. 'He's not one of us. He's a foreigner.' Swinging round in the saddle he pointed at another black-cloaked rider. 'Why did you follow him down, Daran?'

  'He told us to,' answered the slim, redheaded Daran. 'Didn't you want us to rescue you, Osta?'

  'Of course I wanted you to rescue me, idiot. I'm just trying to understand how a Rigante can take command of a troop of Gath riders.'

  'It's like Arix said,' continued Daran, 'he's good at it. Like last week when he called out to stop us fording that stream. That was a Perdii ambush. We would have ridden straight into it.' Several of the men murmured agreement.

  'Perhaps you'd like it if I gave him Arix's role?' sneered Ostaran.

  'That would be good,' said Arix.

  'Shut up, brother. I was joking.'

  'No, it's a good idea,' said Daran. 'I mean, I like Arix, but he's not a leader, is he?'

  'Thanks, Dar,' said Arix.

  'It's not a compliment, you moron,' stormed Ostaran.

  The debate died down as Connavar rode up. 'There is no sign at all of the enemy army,' he said. 'And the Flag Party has arrived to map out the camp.'

  'Time to ride in and get some food then,' said Arix.

  Connavar manoeuvred his horse alongside Ostaran's mount. 'I don't think the Perdii army has come this far north. I think they've swung back.'

  Ostaran shook his head. 'No, they'll be heading for the high hills. Stony ground there, no way for the Scholar to build his night fortresses.'

  'If that were true then we would have come across sign. Fifty thousand men cannot march without leaving sign. The trail we've been following was left by the group we just fought. They wanted it to look as if the army was in retreat. I think the main force has doubled back.'

  'For what purpose?'

  To hit Jasaray on the march. The column will be spread over nine miles. If Carac strikes hard enough he could split the army, or, at the very least, destroy the baggage train and the food supplies.'

  Ostaran thought about it. The idea made sense. 'What do you suggest?' he asked, aware that his men had crowded round and were listening intently.

  'Gather all our riders and head back towards the south. If a battle does start then Jasaray will need our cavalry.'

  'A proper battle,' said Ostaran. 'I like the sound of that.'

  'Head south,' said Connavar, 'but not too fast. The horses are tired enough. I will catch up with you.' Pulling away from the group the Rigante cantered his mount away to the west.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  at FIFTY-ONE, APPIUS WAS THE MOST EXPERIENCED OF JASARAY'S generals. A man of limited imagination, his skill was that he could be relied upon to carry out his orders to the last letter, without deviation or complaint. He had served with the Scholar now for nineteen years, through five campaigns and two civil wars. In those nineteen years he had returned to Stone only eight times. This situation entirely suited his new youn
g wife, Palia, whose hedonistic lifestyle was the talk of the city. No-one mentioned her infidelities directly to the grey-haired Appius, but he knew of them just the same, which was why he always sent her advance warning of his infrequent visits, in order to allow her to decamp her lovers, and prepare the house for his arrival.

  Most of his junior officers believed Appius cared nothing for Palia, and had married her only to cement an alliance between two powerful houses. This was not true, though he never spoke of it.

  He stood now, with the seven hundred and fifty men of Talon Three, observing the Flag Party marking out the night camp. The three other talons of Panther One had taken up their required defensive positions to the north, west and east of the site, and were awaiting the arrival of Panther Two, who would begin working on the perimeter ditch. His junior officer, the dark-haired Barus, stood silently beside him.

  'You chose a good site, Barus,' said Appius. 'Plenty of forage and wood, and an open water source close by.'

  'Thank you, sir.'

  'I understand you will be returning home at the end of the month.'

  'Yes, sir. I must finish my studies at the university.'

  'Would you be kind enough to carry letters for me?'

  'It would be my privilege, sir.'

  Appius removed his bronze helm and brushed his fingers over the white horsehair crest. 'Have you met my wife?'

  'Yes, sir. Last year at the Equinox Games. I believe one of your horses won the Empire Run that day. It was a grey, I think.'

  'Callias,' said the general, relaxing. 'A fine, fine creature. Heart like a lion. According to the last letters I received he has sired quite a few excellent young colts.' His smile faded. 'I want you to see Palia, explain to her that I will not be home this year.'

  'Yes, sir.' Appius glanced up at the taller man. Barus was not looking at him and seemed uncomfortable. Appius sighed. He knew the truth, of course. Everyone did.