by Duncan Lay
Right away, the rabbits stopped exploring and either ran or vanished back into their deep winter burrows.
A last few stones whumped into the soft snow and then they were gone.
“Watch for anything strange. If you see a bird or creature doing anything unusual, kill it,” Fallon shouted.
“Do you think they saw what we’ve done?” Casey asked worriedly.
“Some of it,” Fallon said. “But hopefully not everything.”
“Trust in Aroaril and all will be well,” Gallagher said complacently.
Fallon reloaded his crossbow. “I’ll put my trust in this for now,” he said.
*
Finbar and the other wizards had all collapsed into the snow and Dina waved for help. She had to know what they had discovered.
“Get some food and water into them,” Dina snapped.
Soldiers jumped up to obey her. Finbar was the only wizard able to stand, but he was unable to feed himself. There was little food but the soldiers managed to get some soup into him, then move to the other wizards.
“Some of them are dead, my lady,” a guard called.
“Well, don’t waste time on them. Feed Finbar until he can talk and then bring him over,” she ordered.
She glanced over to where Swane sat stiffly, staring at Fallon’s defiant army. She sighed. Pointing out that she had been right was not going to help. These idiot men had wrecked everything and it was up to her to put it right. There was no choice, for Fallon was not going to show any mercy to them.
“Hurry!” she urged, then cursed as Finbar choked on the soup they were feeding him.
The wizards had begun well enough but as soon as Fallon’s people began fighting back, they started collapsing, most going down without a sound, some uttering a strange shriek as they fell. Finbar had been the last. He struggled to swallow the soup but it seemed to revive him and he was able to walk over to Dina with a little support.
“They have dug pits all around their position, as well as some sort of thin trench. But there is something else. They were struggling for balance. I think they have built a final trench just in front of their position.”
“How big? How deep?” Swane demanded.
“I could not get my creatures close enough to see. But it surely cannot be too bad. The ground is frozen,” Finbar said tiredly.
“You have done well,” Dina said hastily, as she saw Swane’s eyebrows knit together in anger. “Rest now.”
“I think I shall,” Finbar said, then toppled over once more.
“Take him away,” Swane said irritably. “So what do we do now? Attack?”
“I believe the wizard, sire,” Kane said quickly. “If they have dug a trench, then it cannot be wide and deep. If we tell the men to jump into Fallon’s lines, they will get over it. Most will, anyway. Fallon might have destroyed the mercenaries but he doesn’t have many men. They don’t even have two thousand. Once we get inside their lines, one of our cavalrymen is worth ten of theirs anyway. Look at what riders can do to running men.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Swane said bloodthirstily, gazing at the remains of the mercenaries.
Dina sighed. It was time to inject some sense into these men.
“But we forget the slingers that Fallon has found,” she said. “Our men will charge across a field littered with dead bodies and pits, get across one trench and then try to get across a second? By the time they have done all that, with crossbowmen and slingers picking them off, they will be a rabble. It sounds like it could be a disaster. If we lose these men, then we have nothing. We have stripped the east of anything useful and summoned every guard of every noble in this land. Maybe it would be better to slip away, skirt around Fallon and make a run for Berry—”
“And how would we fare without the wizards?” Swane asked, pointing at the pile of exhausted and dead men.
“It is a risk. But less of one than sending our men into Fallon’s trap,” she insisted. “Sire, I beg you—”
“Captain, can your men crack Fallon’s line?” Swane interrupted.
Dina groaned to herself. A question that had but one answer.
“Of course, sire!” Kane replied.
“Good. Then off you go.”
Dina looked away, feeling sick. This was a ridiculous gamble and she could see it ending but one way. Then she caught sight of something out to the west and new hope flared.
“Sire!” she cried. “Victory is on its way for us!”
*
“I wish they would bloody hurry up and attack. I’m cold and hungry. I could do with some of those rabbits right now,” Brendan grumbled.
“Maybe they are too scared to attack,” Devlin suggested.
“Or too cold.” Gallagher pointed to where thick clouds were rolling in. “Look, Aroaril is sending help for us to defeat them.”
Fallon glared at his friend. How could a snowstorm help anyone? At first the snow was light flurries, but then it got worse and Swane’s men were lost from view. The wind was not particularly strong but it had the unnerving effect of making the snow swirl and ghost around, until they could barely see fifty yards in any direction.
“Be sure to thank Aroaril for me. This is really helping us,” he told Gallagher sarcastically, then stamped away before the fisherman could reply. “Padraig! Can you do anything about this snow? We need to see what they are doing and where they are attacking,” he shouted, his words vanishing into the wind.
The old wizard, with snow coating his head, shook it. “Shifting this would take more power than every wizard in this land combined,” he shouted back. “And forget about using a bird—nothing can fly in this.”
Fallon would have spat in disgust but feared it would turn into a ball of ice before it hit the ground. “What about the men? Can you keep them warm?”
Padraig blew on his own hands. “I’ll be doing the best I can, but you’ve got a lot of men and I don’t have many wizards with me.”
Fallon stamped his feet and waved to his friends. “Keep walking. Keep the men moving. If they stand still they will be too cold to fight. Keep swapping companies over and for Aroaril’s sake get some fires going and get some sort of soup cooking for them. If I were Swane I would attack now. All the advantage passes to him. We can’t see him so we just have to hope we can hear him.”
But, even as he said it, he suspected that was impossible. With the snow falling, the air felt deadened and sound was not traveling. If he were Swane, he would have dismounted men lead the cavalry through the pits and then mount up and charge before their presence could be detected. He was tempted to send a few men out into the snow to give them early warning but feared that would be their death sentence. With all the snow on the ground, they could not hope to outrun cavalry.
“Get a score of slingers loosing stones off to see if they can hit anything,” he ordered.
He loaded his crossbow and brushed the snow off the horn tips with frozen fingers. Even gripping a sword was going to be difficult if they stayed out here too much longer.
With Padraig at his shoulder he prowled around the lines. Every ten paces or so a slinger was out the front, periodically releasing a stone into the whiteness, while Gallagher, Devlin and Brendan were exchanging companies up and down the line, making men move to keep warm. Those who were standing in the lines were stamping feet and rubbing hands in a vain attempt to stave off the encroaching cold. Snow accumulated on heads and shoulders and even on spear tips. Wizards were moving among them, heating up armor until snow melted off it and steam rose into the air where new flakes touched it.
“Can you see anything?” Fallon asked, time and again. His lips were feeling numb and he kept his right hand inside a fold of his cloak, working his fingers to try and keep some feeling in them.
He strained to hear something—anything—but the snow stung his eyes and all he could hear was the shuffling and coughing of his men around him.
“What was that?” someone called and he raced down the line to the shout,
slipping and nearly falling twice on the snow and ice. He was glad of the warmth forced into him but it also made the blood pound in his ears and he struggled to hear anything. Whatever it was, it was faint.
“Send a couple of stones out there,” he ordered the nearest slingers.
They began to whirl their cords around, building up speed—and then the first of Swane’s horsemen exploded out of the gloom, swords raised high.
“Loose!” Fallon roared, jerking his crossbow up to his shoulder and triggering the weapon in one motion. He just had time to notice that the horses’ hooves were bound with some sort of cloth, muffling their noise further, then watched his bolt slam into a man’s chest and flip him out of the saddle backwards.
A handful of crossbowmen and the two slingers released but it was a paltry volley and only a pair of horses went over. The other slingers tried to get their weapons up to speed but there was scarcely enough time and Fallon saw instantly there was no stopping this charge.
“Back! Back!” he cried, his voice magically boosted by Padraig and thundering over the lines of men.
Instantly men turned and shuffled backwards but they were slowed by the cold and the uneven ground. A dozen slipped over instantly and brought down others.
“Move!” Fallon’s voice was magically huge and he hustled men backwards. “Back!”
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Swane’s cavalry racing ever closer. They were spurring their horses to greater effort, seeing Fallon’s lines seemingly disintegrate and run in front of them. He had no doubt the memory of how they had slaughtered the mercenaries was in their mind and their tight line became ragged as men raced to be the first to strike Fallon’s lines.
“Hedgehog! Form the line!” Fallon roared.
They had practiced this so many times in the streets of Berry but now they were on snow and most of them were half-frozen and this was ragged. The spears reached out but there were gaps all over the place. A handful of fallen men, covered in snow, were also trying to push their way into the lines past the spears. It was a recipe for disaster and Swane’s horsemen roared in triumph. They jumped their horses, soaring over where they guessed the ankle-breaker trench was. A handful misjudged it and went over, horses screaming as their legs snapped in an instant, but the rest made it and drew back their swords for the first stroke.
Fallon smiled.
In the next moment the horses went in all directions as they slipped on ice, their hooves not helped by the bulky cloth coverings the riders had lashed to them.
Fallon’s men had carefully spread snow and vegetation over the edge of the lake, to make it seem as though the bank was in a different place. The ankle-breaker trench had been dug on the very edge of the actual bank. Their position had been on the lake itself, which had made it hard to stand but that was a small price to pay for the protection it provided now.
Horses skidded out of control and crashed into each other as the ice beneath gave them no purchase. Some of the ones on the edge of the charge, thinking they were riding along the river bank, were actually on even thinner ice and a couple went through, into the freezing water. All along the lines, riders were hurled to the ground, while those behind tried to stop their charge but slid helplessly into the fallen. Men and horses screamed as bones snapped and were crushed by the impact.
“Get them!” Fallon roared, his voice magically reaching every ear.
His men raced forwards, driving spears into the few horses still standing and stabbing down at riders struggling to recover from a heavy fall.
Brendan led the way, his hammer swinging down to snap the leg of a horse with a gruesome crack, then reversing it to crush the skull of the rider as the horse toppled over.
Now Fallon’s men slithered as well, but they dug spears in to help themselves up and slammed the heavy iron heads into flesh.
Blood steamed in the air and the snow was turned pink in an instant.
“Kill them all!” Brendan howled. A helpless rider held up his hands, his leg trapped beneath his terrified mount, but the hammer came down to turn his ribs into matchsticks.
Fallon blocked a sword blow from a staggering man, slid his foot behind the cavalryman’s leg and punched him in the chest with his pommel. The man went back over and Fallon stabbed down once, feeling the tip of his sword grate into the ice beneath the man’s neck. He jerked the blade free and swept it in a wide arc, shaking hot blood off.
“Get the next line! Finish them!” he shouted.
The first two lines had been turned into chaos but the third line arrived now, able to see what had been done to their comrades and using their lances to stab and thrust at Fallon’s soldiers.
“Take it to them! Get inside the lances!” Fallon roared as he saw a dozen of his men pierced.
He clambered over a twitching horse and ducked a lance thrust. He smashed his sword into the horse’s mouth and, when it reared in pain, blood dripping from its teeth, thrust the sword deep into the rider’s thigh, ripping open the big vein there.
“Bring them down!”
The cold was making more men than usual reluctant to fight. It was easy enough to stay on the lakeside, within the wreckage of Swane’s charge and stab at helpless men there but that was not going to destroy the last third of Swane’s cavalry. Fallon waved to his men, beckoning them forwards. They had to finish off Swane’s men now, not give them a chance to withdraw and salvage something from this.
“Close! Get close!” Fallon roared. He ducked under a lance thrust, grabbed the cavalryman’s leg and tipped him out of the saddle. The man hit the ground hard and Fallon slipped past the wild-eyed horse to stab his blade into the man’s groin, raising an unearthly scream. “Don’t let one get away!”
But Swane’s horsemen had recognized Fallon, by his actions and his bellowed orders, and now they rushed to kill him. All of a sudden he found three men lunging lances at him and he had to defend himself frantically, dodging thrusts and parrying with his sword. But the footing was treacherous and he went down, his left foot slipping away. He rolled desperately as a lancehead plunged into the snow where he had been a moment before, but he hit a body, unable to roll further, and then realized he was trapped. He glared up at the guard who drew back his lance for a killing thrust—only for Casey to get there first, ramming his spear into the rider’s guts and driving him howling to the snow. Another guard lunged for Casey, and Fallon reached out and grabbed the young officer’s leg, jerking him off his feet so the point missed his head. Now they were both on the ground and more of Swane’s guardsmen were looming.
Fallon groped for his sword but then a howling mass of his men surged past and tore into the guardsmen, long spears battling lances. The horsemen could not evade because their horses were struggling for footing, while the men could still duck and weave and they hauled the guardsmen down.
“Here you go, sir.” Someone held out a hand and Fallon took it gratefully and got back up, helping Casey in turn.
“Just in time,” he said, recognizing the helping hand as belonging to Brasso, the man who had saved them all by raising the alarm when Kemal attacked.
Brasso grinned. “Some of the men were hanging back but when they saw you go down, there was no stopping them,” he said. “We can’t lose our captain.”
Fallon dredged up a smile for him and patted Casey on the shoulder. “And thanks to you, I am still here,” he said.
“I still owe you a greater debt, sir,” Casey said breathlessly.
“Today you won’t need to repay it. Today we end it,” Fallon said and plunged into the fighting.
This was the chance to release all the fear and worry and anger that had tormented him for so long now. Swane had done his worst but it wasn’t good enough and Aidan’s prophecy was undone. All he had to do was destroy this confused rabble and Gaelland was safe. He let the fear of his narrow escape and his fury propel him into the chaos. Shapes loomed up and then disappeared into the snow and there was no way to really see what was going on, only a ne
ed to kill what was in front of him. A cavalryman jumped up from where he had fallen off his horse and Fallon drove his sword into the man’s mouth, mangling teeth and lips before it punched out the back of the head. He had to put his foot on the dying man’s shoulder to rip the steel free, sending a bloody tongue flying lazily up through the air. Another man turned to run but skidded on the ice and Fallon hacked into the back of the man’s neck, almost but not quite severing the head.
Brendan waded in, his hammer taking down horse legs with one brutal blow, while recruits then shoved spears into screaming men and horses alike.
The air steamed, rising from fighting men, pouring from open mouths and open wounds, snow melting as it settled on the fighting and dying.
Devlin was there at Fallon’s shoulder, and together they hunted men on horseback. As Fallon knocked away a lance with his sword, Devlin ducked under a horse’s belly to come up behind the cavalryman and cut his throat.
The recruits were flooding forwards, mobbing the fallen cavalry and engulfing those trying to get clear. It was a frenzy of men, slipping and sliding as they hacked and punched and stabbed and bit at each other.
Some of Swane’s men were trying to get clear and Fallon looked around desperately, before seeing Padraig waving through the shifting snow.
Instantly the horses began to rear, throwing their riders, tossing and kicking out until they were free of even the best riders, while Gallagher had some of the men get out their slings again to pick off any cavalry trying to escape. At less than twenty paces away, the stones were even more deadly and the more confident slingers even sent theirs whistling in between fighters to strike cavalrymen.
One rider levelled his lance at Fallon and tried to spur his stumbling horse into some semblance of a gallop, only for a slingstone to strike him in the cheek. His face distorted as bones shattered and he collapsed into the snow, lance falling from his hand. Fallon took two paces forwards and grabbed it, sinking the butt into the ground and levelling it at another rider. The heavy head punched into the horse’s chest and the horse screamed and collapsed, crushing its rider as it rolled away.
