Strength of Swords (First Cohort Book 2)

by M. R. Anthony

  “We need to stay here and fight for a time,” I said to my lieutenants. “Else they will harry us all the way to Blades, assuming the magic will take them that far.”

  “If their brains are reduced to mush, they do not rise again,” said Craddock. I’d dimly realised as much already, but cursed myself for not following the thought to its conclusion. I shouted to the men to aim for the heads of the enemy, though I saw that many of them were doing so anyway.

  I pulled Ploster out of his position in the second row. I wasn’t quite sure what he was doing putting himself there anyway. It wasn’t his sword we needed.

  “Where’s their master?” I asked. “I do not wish to stand here all night doing what we are doing.”

  “It is watching us now,” he said, pointing away to one side. I looked into the darkness and the fog, but couldn’t see anything.

  “Is it close?” I demanded, starting to lose my temper. Then, I noticed that his eyes had a glaze over them and swore at myself for not realising that he was defending himself – or us - from its magics.

  “This way! Maintain formation!” I called out, getting us to move in the direction that Ploster had indicated. As we marched, the bodies we’d already slain tried to grasp at our legs and feet as we stepped over and around them. It became difficult to maintain a perfect order as we jumped out of the way or bent down to stab the creatures in their heads.

  “This is no fun,” said Craddock.

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here quickly,” Sinnar replied.

  Though I couldn’t see far in the darkness and fog, I had a mental image of this area and knew approximately where we were. I was sure we’d reach the walls of a building shortly and then there’d be a fairly narrow street that would take us to another town square – the main one. Before we reached this street, something strange happened. The corpses which came so ineffectually at us suddenly stopped moving. Without warning, those which we could see just collapsed to the ground with nary a sigh. They fell away mid-attack, or crumpled in the far reaches of Ploster’s light. It was as though the magic which drove them had gone.

  I looked at Sinnar and Craddock. They returned my gaze with blank looks of their own.

  “Corporal Ploster, what has happened?” I asked.

  He looked suddenly alert, as though he was no longer having to divert all of his resources to his own defence. “It’s gone, Captain,” he said. “I don’t know how or why.”

  I didn’t like the unknown, even when it seemed to be working in our favour. Now that the attacks had stopped, we picked up the pace and completed our traversal of the modest square. We entered the street, only able to go four abreast. Ploster looked relieved to have escaped from whatever had been at him, and he pushed his light ahead of us so that we could see if anything approached. The men at the back had to march in comparative darkness, and I imagined that to their eyes, the fog would shroud most of the light until it was little more than a faint beacon ahead.

  I kept myself near the front. It was a habit of mine which had been called careless more than once, though I was still alive when those who had criticised were long dead. Those men had been correct of course, but I was too stubborn to admit it.

  “Something here, Captain,” said Limpet.

  I called a halt and stood on my toes, trying to look through the first two ranks. There was a shape on the ground in front of them. It was spread across the street, dark and hulking, with the gleam of metal. I pushed my way through to see what it was, bringing Ploster with me.

  The creature was somewhere between seven or eight feet tall and lying on its back. It had arms and legs like a man, but whatever it was, it looked like it had lain in the grave for a thousand years and somehow been preserved by the cold so that its skin hadn’t rotted away completely. But rotten it was, the flesh shrivelled and sunken against the bones, grey as stone and parchment thin. If it had ever had a nose, there was none now, only two holes with parts of the skull visible. Its eyes were open, but they were tiny, puckered yellow orbs, which looked lifelessly at the sky. If indeed it had ever been alive. The creature’s mouth was the same as that of a long-dead man, pulled back in an unwitting grimace, showing filthy and cracked teeth. It was clad in thick, black, stinking furs, wrapped around its shoulders and waist. It had a faceless metal helmet, half dislodged from its head. I saw the iron of a breastplate, cracked and rusted almost through. A sword lay on the pavement next to it – six feet long with a hilt and cross-guard made of ivory-coloured bone. The blade was dull and looked blunt, with notches running along both edges.

  “What the fuck is that?” I heard Grids ask.

  I looked at Ploster and he shrugged in return. “It wasn’t alone, Tyrus,” he said to me softly. “Whatever came with is still in Nightingale.”

  “One other or many others?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said, before giving me his best guess. “More than one.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to hear,” I said in reply.

  I pulled out my sword, noting at once that it was glowing of its own accord. The glow was faint, but as I completed the last two steps towards the dead creature, the runes flared up – not brightly enough for me to avert my eyes, but sufficient to cast shadows on the ground and walls around me. I didn’t pause and drove the sword’s tip straight into one of the eyes. I leaned on the hilt and I heard a dull snap as it punctured through into whatever was left of the brain beneath. I wrenched the hilt, turning it one complete circle and then repeated what I’d done with the other eye socket. I stepped back, satisfied with what I’d done. Then, anger took hold and I thundered a kick into its temple. The head snapped to one side and I kicked it again.

  “At least I can be sure now,” I said, loud enough for everyone around me to hear. I turned to Ploster. “Any idea what killed it?”

  “I don’t know, Captain. Whatever it was, I would tend to favour the idea that we have two enemies awaiting us, rather than one enemy and one friend.”

  “I agree,” I said.

  I left it and took up my position amongst the men, ignoring the questions I heard those at the far ranks whisper to themselves. They’d soon find out what it was when they stepped over it.

  “Let’s move,” I said, raising an arm and waving it forward. “Corporal Ploster thinks there’re more to come.”

  Further back, Sinnar and Craddock copied the gesture for the benefit of those who might not have seen it in the darkness and we followed the street to where it would lead us.

  25

  There was not far to go until we found what we were looking for. Nightingale’s main square had an ancient clock, so old in appearance that it looked to predate the town itself. A carved wooden bird lived in the clock, appearing for reasons of its own and at times of its choosing. It had sung for us once, long ago, its music sweet and beautiful. I remembered that the clock tower had balls of glass embedded into its sides, which cast out light for the people who would gather here at night to laugh and talk. As we entered the square, I could see the light of the clock tower through the fog, diffuse and weak, but nonetheless more penetrating than that of Ploster’s sorcery.

  The fog was no thicker here, but was possessed of an extra chill. It swirled of its own accord, still without a wind to carry it along. It was heavy with water, but seemed far colder than the temperature at which water would normally freeze. I wondered if I was glad that the blood in my veins had long since gone and that I no longer had to worry about such things. Far better to be alive again, Tyrus, came an answer from deep within.

  It wasn’t the time for introspection. Shapes moved through the fog, the magic of the clock betraying their outlines to us. We moved as one towards them, the men responding to my thoughts almost before I could make them known. Whatever it was that we approached, they were not focused on us, and seemed to cluster around something else. As we drew near, I saw huge swords rising and falling, the blades crashing against another of the figures. The cold was suddenly much greater than it had
been even moments before, and I felt it pulling at my muscles, sinew and cartilage, trying to make the tissue of my body contract and stiffen. I ignored the feeling and walked faster, my sword already drawn and my shield raised.

  The sight that greeted me was so far away from what I might have expected, that it was all I could do to stop my mouth from falling open in surprise. The Hangman was there, his bare skull reattached to his neck. He wore the remnants of the same black cloth that he’d worn when we’d defeated him less than two weeks earlier. It hung off him, limp and tattered, doing hardly anything to cover up the bones beneath. He was surrounded by six of the creatures we’d already seen and they swung their bone-handled swords at him, each powerful blow chipping and splintering his skeletal frame. In the middle, the Hangman stood, unmoved by the weight of their strikes. Three of the creatures hung suspended in the air, their legs thrashing as they struggled to free themselves.

  I felt the Hangman’s magic again, in the same way that I had before. This time, I did not interfere with it, though I could sense that his opponents were trying to unravel the sorcery. My sword glowed as I swung it – not at the Hangman, but at the shoulder of one of his assailants. There was a clang, as if the bone underneath the dead flesh was so old that it had become petrified. I had not held back and my strike brought the creature’s attention quickly onto me. Up till that moment, they had ignored our arrival and I didn’t know if it was because they thought us unworthy of their attention, or if they were so involved with the Hangman that they simply didn’t see us.

  The creature I’d struck whipped round with unexpected speed and my instincts were needed to get my shield up in time. I was braced but the impact knocked me back on my heel and I saw that the shield had buckled from that single blow. The huge sword came down at me and I raised my own to block, holding the blade at an angle to deflect the attack. Our two weapons met with a heavy clank and I succeeded in parrying my opponent’s swing.

  By now, the other men of the First Cohort had joined the fray and the night became alight with whirling trails of sparkling runes as we sought to bring an end to the confrontation we witnessed.

  “Not the Hangman!” I bellowed, to forestall any attack on him. I think one of two of the men hit him before I managed to speak the words, but he was unflinching as he held aloft the three creatures. I’d had the feeling that they might have freed themselves before they had succumbed to whatever the Hangman intended, but the blows we rained upon their helpless forms interfered with their ability to combat the Death Sorcerer.

  Our opponents were tough and strong, but we were many in comparison. I don’t know if they were confounded by our ability to injure them, but it was my feeling that normal steel would have bounced away from them. As it was, we had to whittle them down, sliver by sliver. Our stalwart shields were battered by each blocked attack and many would have to be replaced before they became reliable barriers again. But we did it. The first of them toppled over, face first and with a dense thump. A minute later, the other two fell to a multitude of blows, one of them losing its sword arm as it crashed down.

  The three which the Hangman had kept suspended had been destroyed quickly. Unable to avoid our swords, or to strike back, they’d been mercilessly hacked until they’d stopped moving. As the battle ended, I turned my attention to the Hangman. With the smallest of gestures, he let the three creatures drop to the ground, where they crumpled in heaps of fur and sundered armour.

  There was silence for a time as we considered each other. The empty sockets of the Hangman’s skull focused directly on my eyes. He’d taken a beating – his left arm was badly smashed and several ribs had been bent or broken.

  “What now?” I asked out loud. I had never been one to believe that the enemy of my enemy was my friend. Still, there was something in me that thought it would be the wrong move to finish off the Hangman. We were not friends, but there was no requirement for us to fight now.

  “Go,” I said to him.

  He turned and walked away without hesitation. He limped and had a peculiar gait, but he wasn’t slow. I was sure he was badly injured and I didn’t know if he could recover - the most powerful sorcerers always seemed to have their ways. It was only moments before he was lost from our sight.

  I gathered my men once more, pulling them into formation as I marshalled my thoughts on what to do next. A voice came into my mind, whispering and cold, though without malevolence.

  The Northmen are coming, Captain Charing. They gather in the streets of Nightingale, in the fog, in the darkness. Run.

  I am not afraid, Hangman, I said in my mind, picturing the words before me.

  Then you are a fool, came the response. Whatever link there had been was severed and I did not bother to re-forge it.

  Ploster had caught my look. “What is it, Captain?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer him directly. We were ready to go and I pointed south.

  “March!” I called.

  We set off in a column, with me close to the lead. I directed us along a street I knew would lead quickly out of the town, but before we’d left the town’s square completely the sound of the magical bird came to us, singing its heart-wrenching song of unfettered happiness. There was another sound to go with it, heard over our heavy footsteps. It sounded like a giant’s laboured breathing and it brought with it an even greater chill. Whereas before it had been icy, now it was colder than I could ever remember. The fog clutched at our arms and legs, demanding that we give in to its insistence that we lay down and welcome its embrace.

  We were not men to give away our lives easily and we picked up the pace, until we were almost at a run. The buildings to each side seemed to crowd in and the darkness pressed at us from all sides. I did not think the feeling of oppression to be natural, but I could not in all honesty say that it was not. Our visit to Nightingale had been a trying one for us and though we were all hardened against the emotions that relate to death, we were not immune.

  The cold was certainly not a figment of my imagination. Ice crystals formed on our skin, falling away in a fine shower when we moved. I saw a whiteness crust over my knuckles and saw frost on the eyebrows of the men to either side of me. The inside of my shield became covered in ice, which gleamed as it reflected Ploster’s magical light.

  Whatever the sorcery was that sought to kill us, it was not sufficient. We did not slow, nor did we falter in our withdrawal along the south roads of the town. Even before we’d broken free into the surrounding fields, the coldness had started to fade, becoming little more than the normal chill of the fog that we were now familiar with.

  Much against my better judgement, we marched into the night. I would not normally risk such folly, but the risks of being caught within range of whatever remained in Nightingale seemed far more threatening. I knew the fields nearby to be flat and well-tended, but we soon left those behind us, and marched through the rolling hills of rough scrub. One man did twist his ankle, but Sinnar threw him over one shoulder and we continued with our pace more or less unabated.

  When a couple of hours had passed, I decided that we’d come far enough. I wasn’t prepared to keep going until daylight and if we were pursued, then we’d deal with that as it happened. We set camp and I permitted the men to make fires, since we were concealed in a low hollow. I set a treble watch, staging the men in concentric rings around the camp to minimise the chance that we’d be surprised. Ploster was included in the watch and I asked him to use his magic to see if he could detect anything hostile that might be hiding from our sight.

  “That wasn’t much fun, Captain,” said Tinker. He was crouched over a campfire, stretching his hands out hungrily towards the flame. I didn’t think he was cold, but we all took cheer from the warmth.

  I hunkered down next to him. “Have you thawed out, yet?” I asked. I was aware that no one had suffered any lasting effects from the freezing fog, but sometimes people like to be asked how they are getting on.

  “Yes, Captain. Everything’s fine wit
h me,” he said. “Funny thing going on there in Nightingale.”

  “It’s not good news, that’s for certain,” I said.

  “Do you reckon there were more of them about to attack us?” asked Cricks. “Is that what all that cold was about?”

  “I don’t know, Cricks. The Hangman spoke to me before we let him go. He told me that we should run.”

  No one bothered to mention that they hadn’t heard the Hangman talk and I didn’t elaborate.

  “They’re tough fuckers those Death Sorcerers,” said Lieutenant Sinnar, who’d been drawn in by the conversation. “I wonder how much it would have taken to stop the Hangman picking up his head and coming north.”

  “He was hurt,” I said. “I’m not sure how badly, but I don’t think his wounds were light.”

  “A good thing we met him at Gold, if you think about it,” said Beamer.

  “Why’s that, then?” asked Tinker.

  “Well if he’d brought the Duke’s men up here, I can’t imagine them being dressed to fight in this fog. And it’s a long time since we’ve felt the cold, but I can remember the days when my fingers would go so numb that the pain would bring tears to my eyes. I’ve never before felt a cold like what I felt in Nightingale.”

  We fell silent at that and I wondered how many men would have perished if the Hangman had been able to bring his soldiers with him. I doubted very much that he’d have thrown so many men away for nothing, so could only assume that he hadn’t know what to expect either. It was a lesson I was glad to have learned without having to suffer any deaths for it.

  I rose from the fire and went to see how the other men were faring. Corporal Grief was still at work alongside Slicer, in the light cast by another of the camp fires. We hadn’t lost anyone, but a few men had cuts and bruises, along with bites from the dead townsfolk. Harts and Pinky both had broken arms from where they’d blocked the attacks of what the Hangman had referred to as the Northmen. Neither of them would be much use in battle for a week or two, but I was confident they’d be holding a shield soon. Our healing powers still shocked me sometimes and I found it too easy to forget that other men were not so blessed. I didn’t want to fall into the trap of thinking that everyone who fought for our lady was the same as we were. I had my pride, but I had never congratulated myself for the things that I was not responsible for, such as my stamina and unnaturally fast healing.