Death's Chosen (First Cohort Book 3)

by M. R. Anthony

  I studied their faces closely. Some of them had recognized the names of the men they opposed. None of them blanched. They’d forged their own path and bowed to no other. I didn’t care – I’d cut them all down until their unit’s future was reduced to nothing. I cracked my knuckles – today I was determined to test myself against them.

  “Let’s get Grids his share,” I said to Beamer. He was with me – a man whose presence I’d started to value over most others.

  “Aye, Captain. And Tyke’s share. Budge and Flips can get their own.” He grinned nastily. He’d not be a pleasant man to cross swords with today.

  Before the enemy engaged, I tapped the shoulder of the two men in front. Beamer and I swapped places with them and did the same for the two in front of those. We were in the second row. Craddock looked at me quizzically. I lifted my hand with the thumb pointing up. He winked back at me.

  Their infantry came at us hard. I imagined the tactic had worked well for them in the past – hit your foe with everything you have and break them fast. Our spears took down a few and they treated them almost with disdain. If we’d had our own metal spears, they’d have found it harder to knock them aside, but we’d left them far behind us. They hit the front lines with force and I pushed with all my might to keep the man before me steady. He was one of Haster’s and he fought with an intense ferocity, matched with a solidity that caused his opponents to unconsciously avoid him. The man in front of Beamer went down to a sword thrust in his chest and Beamer stepped in to take his place. He knocked two of the enemy aside with his shield and cut the hand off a third. Beamer was a strong bastard and had the swordplay to back it up. He shouted with rage and his runed sword wove amongst his foes, cutting and killing.

  They pushed us back again, step by step. Beamer and the man in front of me didn’t fall, though others did. I was desperate to join those on the front, but by now it was my greatest wish that the man before me would live so that I could ask him his name and shake his hand for his indomitable spirit. Callian’s men kept at us far longer than I’d expected them to. It had become a matter of pride that they destroy us completely and their pride took away their fear and their sense of reason. I heard Craddock order us back ten paces – it was an astute move and gave us better footing and took us further from the mounting stack of corpses that we’d produced from the living men they’d been.

  For hour after hour we fought. The enemy had sunk too much of themselves into it to let us go and we were too resolute and too accomplished to allow them to defeat us. Nevertheless, we went back – ten yards and then twenty. The archers above fired into us and I held my shield over the man in front of me to keep him protected. Others did likewise. It was hard work and my shield tipped more than once as a missile or an enemy sword struck it. In spite of my efforts, I still felt impotent and invested all of myself into the man in front, as if fought vicariously through him.

  One side had to fail and it was not us, though it was a close-run thing. The battle shouts had long since faded away, to be replaced with grim faces and distant stares. Men dug deep within themselves to summon up every ounce of spirit they had in order to keep fighting. The enemy broke and ran without warning. The men in front tried to push their way through those behind, in order that their fellows die instead of them. In the crush, it was hard for them to make headway, but we pursued in order to increase their terror and their casualties. All at once, one of those fleeing enemies turned. I saw a dagger in his hand where he’d once held a shield. In this man’s eyes was a determination to kill one of us as surely as he was going to die himself. His arm flashed out and the man in front of me shuddered. I wrapped my arms around him and hauled him away from the front line. The man who’d stabbed him was killed and his face held a look of triumph even as the steel came to take his life. For that brief moment, I hated him more than anything.

  I laid Haster’s man onto the ground, ignoring the push of soldiers as they ran past. I shielded him with my own body and crouched low to examine his wound. I didn’t believe in fate, though I did believe in luck – the most treacherous friend of all. He was dead. His eyes were open and they stared into nothingness high above, the thread of his life forever torn from his body. There was nothing memorable about his face but I was sure I’d remember his deeds. I put out a hand and gently pulled his eyes closed for the last time.

  “Captain?”

  I looked up. Beamer was there with me. “This man was one of the best,” he told me.

  “Aye, he was. And now he’s gone.”

  I never found out his name, nor got to shake his hand. The enemy leader didn’t permit his troops much of a pause. I could see them regrouping, while their officers screamed at them for cowardice. They’d be back soon. I picked the man up and tipped him over the wall, along with the others. He turned lazily through the air and then was lost from sight. All around, the living cleared away the dead, pitching them over the wall. We reclaimed the ground we’d lost and long before the enemy could launch another assault we were right back where we’d started. Grim, angry and unbowed, we looked at our opponents. This time when they came, I could see how their arrogance had been tainted with doubt. They’d been beaten once and they had no choice but to face us again. I smiled as they advanced – it was a smile of assurance that I’d kill any of them who faced me.

  I was in the front row, with Beamer to my right and another of Haster’s to my left. I’d spoken to him the previous evening – Flood – and I’d seen him fight. With the cries of their sergeants driving them on, the enemy threw themselves at us. They wanted to crush the shame of their defeat through this expression of zeal. The first man to reach me was a thug with hooded eyes and thick arms. He thrust at me with his shield and I cut half of his skull off with my sword. Down he went, pushed onto my shield by the man behind him. I braced myself and felt pressure against my back when the man to my rear added his own weight to mine. I saw a hand nearby and I cut off the fingers. A sword clattered to the ground, to be lost beneath the feet of their infantry. A mace struck my shield a glancing blow, sending reverberations into my bones. I ignored the attacker and fended off the blows of another. Beamer and Floods lunged and blocked, and the comforting sounds of battle rushed into my body, filling my being with the familiar desire to win.

  We fell into a rhythm, Beamer, Floods and I. It was as though we were an island in the midst of the chaos – unmoving and unhurried as we smashed armour, sundered shields and broke the flesh beneath. I had the most peculiar sensation – all at once time had slowed to a crawl as my battle lust took my reactions to a speed far past anything my opponents could stand against. At the same time, the fighting appeared to fly by at great speed as the day raced onwards, with me in the middle of it and my men all around.

  We died, as did they. Their numbers pushed us ever backwards and the arrows flew into our ranks. I didn’t tire and the runes of my sword crackled and spat, ever thirsty for the massacre. My eyes followed the curves and arcs they made, always ahead, always in command of my sword’s path. The blade held magic, but it was I who controlled it. Their soldiers tumbled around me and their deaths came as quickly as they could advance.

  The day wore on and I was dispassionately aware that we’d lost almost half of the ground we’d controlled that morning. The arrows never stopped coming and it became harder with each passing minute to defend ourselves from both infantry and archers. I’d lost my helmet somewhere in the fighting and half of my shield had been broken off by a maceman.

  “We’re going to beat them, Captain,” said Beamer. “They don’t have the bottle for it anymore.”

  His words could not have been more poorly timed. Moments after he’d spoken them, I caught the scent of magic, pulled from the air by that part of me which knew of sorcerers and their power. The air ignited around our front lines, turning it into a maelstrom of reds, yellows and oranges. The flames washed to the north, seeking out the fuel they needed to survive. The enemy burned, as did Haster’s men. Our tattoos and o
ur innate resistance to magic kept the men of the Cohort alive. Blue light joined the yellows and through it all, the runes from our blades left their traces - our swords fell again and again into the screaming ranks of Callian’s infantry. Whoever their sorcerer was, he cared nothing for those whose side he fought on.

  In the distance, I was dimly aware of two arrows cracking against the edges of a window in the central tower. I’d told Shooter and Eagle to watch out for their sorcerers. Two more arrows flew overhead, this time they both entered the same window. I hunted, seeking our opponent in the hope that I could snuff out his magic. There was someone else with me on the tapestry – it was Jon Ploster, though he was unaware that I watched him. He searched, using a simple routine to close in on the source of the flames. I raced past him and found the man. Without knowing how, I drew Ploster to me. He was angry and he commanded the enemy to burn. Callian’s man didn’t succumb in the way that most company sorcerers would have done. He rebuffed Ploster’s efforts and sent out another wave of his flame. I was close and I found I was able to block his spell. I simply calmed the threads of warp and weft which surrounded him and his magic dissipated. Ploster took advantage of the man’s surprise and he struck. The part of my sight that was still attuned to the physical realm watched the bloom of the enemy sorcerer’s body as Ploster tore it into fragments.

  The mage’s death had taken only seconds. With him gone, I charged into the fire-ravaged lines of our enemy. The harsh stench of burning saturated the air, their fumes choking the living. I saw a man whose face had been burned away, his eyeballs gone. He must have been in shock, since he made no sound and merely stood there. I finished his life, a mercy I was willing to grant even to my enemy. Then, I was amongst them. They made little effort to reform and it was the easiest thing to slay them in great numbers. Beamer came and Floods with him. A few yards away, Sinnar swung his sword in a glittering arc, whilst his dagger punched into their soldiers. Sensing victory, we swarmed through them. Those we didn’t kill with our swords, we pushed from the bridge as they scrambled to escape. Our voices rose above their clamour and drove them into an abject panic.

  They broke and they tried their best to run. I didn’t enjoy the slaughter, but I took part in it. Every man we killed was one we wouldn’t need to face tomorrow or the day after. Each death meant one fewer to invade our lady’s lands when the inevitable conflict erupted. By the time we’d cleared them from the north half of the bridge, there were nearly two hundred yards of its span that was covered in bloody chunks and red-tainted metal. Amongst the bodies, the injured wept and begged for mercy. At another time and in a different place, I could have spared them. Here, there was no choice. We killed the most badly injured of them, with swift strokes from our swords or daggers. I hated the necessity even though we couldn’t do anything with them. I might have had them dragged to the central tower in order that their own side could handle the morals of it, but we had enough to deal with to handle our own casualties.

  Those of the enemy who could walk or drag themselves away, we left to it, shouting to them so that they wouldn’t delay, even if it increased their agony. I saw Sinnar take pity on one, and he helped the fellow towards the central tower. Their archers were vile cowards and one of them took a shot. Sinnar deflected the arrow with his shield and the missile struck the infantryman in the face. Sinnar dropped the body and returned to us, spitting angrily. I didn’t have the heart to reprimand him for his misplaced compassion.

  “Daylight’s fading, Captain,” said Beamer. “We’ll not see them again today.”

  “No, we won’t, soldier,” I replied. “We’ve beaten them today, though I struggle to call it a victory.”

  I called Haster and Craddock over to join me and asked them to find out the numbers we’d lost. Another ninety-three of our side were missing, their deaths more than presumed. A further eighty of Haster’s had suffered burns. Some of them would fight again soon, many not for days or weeks. Others yet would never fight again. I wondered aloud at how we’d come out of it so well.

  “It was you, Captain,” said Craddock. “Time and again they broke against you and not once did you waver.”

  “I felt as though I was lost in a sea of endless death,” I told him. “They lacked the certainty to see that I was just one man. If they’d focused on that fact alone, they could have swept me aside.”

  “Corporal Grief will be busy,” said Craddock. “I’m glad we got through the day. Haster’s men need time to rest.”

  “They do,” agreed Haster. “In the past, we thought we were unstoppable. I’m relieved we never had to face you and your men in the field, Captain.”

  I heard his words and felt no pride. “When we lived we were no better than your men are now,” I told him. “The Emperor’s magic gave us advantages they can’t match, so the comparison cannot be a fair one.”

  He nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment, though I meant every word of it. “Can we survive another four or five days? Cranmar’s twenty-five thousand will lose an open battle, yet they should be able to hold this place for as long as they need to,” he said. “I don’t wish to see all of my men killed for a poxy bridge.”

  We were silent in thought. Around us, the activity continued unabated while we cleared the dead and tended to our own.

  “Today was a near-run thing,” said Craddock. “Tomorrow might be different. They don’t want to face us, yet their numbers are too great for us to defeat.”

  “At least we can bleed them so much that they’ll not be able to stage any sort of worthwhile incursion to the north,” Sinnar added. I could tell that he didn’t relish the prospect of us all dying here.

  Something came to me, like a torch igniting in the darkness. “What if they aren’t here to invade?” I asked. “What if this bridge is so important to Callian that she’ll do anything to capture it?”

  “Why would she want to do that?” asked Haster.

  Jon Ploster arrived. He looked fresh – he’d not done much hand-to-hand fighting and we hadn’t had to call extensively on his magic. “She fears the Northmen,” he said.

  “If Callian takes this bridge, she’s secured almost a thousand miles of her northern border,” I said.

  “And it traps Cranmar’s men on the other side,” said Craddock, catching on. “It’s no wonder she’s sent so many here – with the bridge gone, she’ll force one of the Emperor’s key allies to spend himself on the Northmen.”

  “Every bastard seems to know more about these Northmen than we do,” said Sinnar. “It’s starting to piss me off.”

  “It’s still all assumption,” said Ploster. “Even though we have nothing better to work with.”

  “I’m tempted to leave in the night,” I said. “The Saviour didn’t send us here to be destroyed fighting for a bridge. She’ll need us with her.”

  “Their cavalry will catch us tomorrow, once they realise we’ve gone,” said Haster. “We won’t abandon our wounded.”

  “It’s a shame this bridge is as solid as it is,” I said. “Else I think I’d happily have it tumble into the chasm below. Malleus need never find out about it.”

  “What about Cranmar’s men?” asked Haster.

  “They’ll be stuck to the north until they can find a way around. Assuming they even try. We don’t know if the Northmen will come. None of us can read the minds of Callian – it may be that she plans to invade in spite of the reasons not to. If so, we’ll be doing Cranmar a favour.”

  “There might be a way,” said Haster.

  “To do what?” asked Craddock.

  “To destroy the bridge. The trouble is, we need to access the central tower to do it.”

  “What about Cranmar?” I asked him.

  Haster spat. “He’s not as bad as some of the Emperor’s nobles I reckon, but he’s put us out here to die. The lads know we’re never going back. In truth, we know that the day we’re invited along to Angax is the day we’ll get ambushed and murdered somewhere on the way. Cranmar doesn’t w
ant us. I’ve spoken to the others and most of us are of a mind to see what’s so special about this Saviour you’ve mentioned. If she’ll have us.”

  “She’ll have you,” I said quietly. “If there is a way to destroy this bridge, will you join with us?”

  “We cannot go to Angax.”

  “If you are part of the First Cohort, you will have the Emperor’s protection,” I told him. There was no shock from Ploster or the others who heard. Without numbers, we’d soon be no more and Haster’s men were just what we needed.

  “He’ll kill us regardless, I don’t trust any of those bastards.”

  “The Emperor’s given his word on this,” I said. “He’ll not like it, but he’s asked for the First Cohort and will not break his promise by allowing us to be murdered.”

  Haster looked at me and I held his gaze. I could imagine what was going through his mind – he only wanted what was best for his men and felt like he was trapped between alternatives, each of which were certain death for them all.

  “Very well,” he said. “We’ll join with you and we’ll come to Angax.”

  I reached out and took his hand, as did Sinnar, Craddock and Ploster.

  “New blood,” said Sinnar. “We’ve been closed for too long.”

  “Not always our choosing,” I told him. Even as I said the words I realised that they might not be entirely true. It wasn’t the time to untangle the possibilities and Sinnar didn’t question what I’d said.

  The light of day was fading fast. We reformed and recovered the ground we’d lost that day, stationing our depleted ranks on the north side of the central tower, just beyond the gateway. The futility of war – fighting time and again over the same piece of ground. Giving some and losing some, until one side finally lost so many men that they could no longer resist the other. Haster had told us about the keystones to the bridge – they were accessed by a hidden tunnel from the central tower. The keystones supported the arches of the bridge and were held in place by a series of stone pins. If we could knock them out, the bridge would collapse and Callian’s army would have no choice but to leave. I agonised over whether it was the right thing to try. There were so many possible outcomes from destroying the bridge and the pieces on the game board might end up in positions that could result in losses for the Saviour. In the end, second-guessing what could happen seemed pointless and I decided we’d act, rather than wait passively until we were all killed.