Blade Of Fire (Book 2)

by Stuart Hill

  All along the densely wooded sides of the valley hundreds of hidden cannon thundered, firing broken chains, rock and shattered metal of grapeshot that ripped into Thirrin’s army. Hundreds fell in a welter of blood and torn bodies, the war cries drowned out by the screams of the hideously wounded.

  Too late, Thirrin knew her mistake. Ambush! And they couldn’t retreat; they’d come too far and would be wiped out by volley after volley of cannon fire. The only option was to charge onwards and hit Bellorum with all they had left. Her rage burst from her lungs in a wordless shout that rose over her soldiers like a banner, and back crashed the reply in a roar that echoed over the valley.

  On they charged as a meticulously ordered sequence of cannon spewed shot into their passing ranks. But now the Commanders of the Icemark infantry on both flanks turned aside and advanced up the sides of the valley to attack the gun emplacements. Werewolf, housecarle and Hypolitan infantry rolled forward at a swinging trot as their disciplined ranks were ripped apart by the shattering volleys of grapeshot. But nearer and ever nearer they drew to the gun crews, who were working frantically to destroy the raging and howling warriors.

  Bellorum watched and waited for his moment. He knew the guns would eventually be silenced, but they were expendable as long as he killed the barbarian Queen. His sons were in position, waiting for his signal.

  Still the cannon roared, slicing into cavalry and infantry alike and bringing down hundreds of allied soldiers. Thirrin gritted her teeth and looked to right and left. Tharaman-Thar and Krisafitsa-Tharina were still with her, but many leopards had fallen, as had troopers of the human cavalry. Her bodyguard of Ukpik werewolves were also still with her, their white pelts splattered with blood and gore, but they seemed undaunted, howling and raging as they fought on. Beside her, the Icemark’s standard-bearer was slumped in his saddle, bleeding heavily from multiple wounds. But another trooper drew close and seized the standard of the cavalry so that the galloping horse and leopard continued to stream on in the wind of their speed.

  Again, the cannon roared and more fell in bloody explosions of flailing limbs and screaming agony. But at last, the infantry reached the first emplacements and hacked and chopped, ripped and tore at the gun crews. Ranks of musketeers positioned to protect the cannon fired into the advancing infantry, but were quickly overwhelmed by the raging warriors.

  Cerdic led his first command with a terrible raging pride. But deep down, under the frenzy of battle he was puzzled. There was nothing glorious in the horrible deaths all round him. Werewolves and housecarles he’d known since he was a little boy had been torn apart by rusty lumps of metal, the lucky ones dying quickly, the others screeching and yelping with terrible, unimaginable pain as their broken, mutilated bodies sank to the ground. Cerdic had even taken time to chop the head off one old comrade who was mortally wounded and screaming in agony. He’d also waited while a werewolf with a gaping stomach wound positioned the tip of his dagger exactly over her heart so that when he stabbed she’d certainly die.

  He stood briefly on the barrel of a captured cannon waving his soldiers on, before he leaped down into the press and hacked at the Imperial troops who fought on defending the next rank of cannon that were still pouring grapeshot into the charging cavalry. Fighting furiously alongside his troops, he failed to notice an Imperial officer at his feet. The man, in the regalia of high office, levelled his pistol and fired at pointblank range into Cerdic’s guts.

  Cerdic was knocked off his feet.

  Sulla Bellorum rose to stand over him, smiled and saluted. “Scion of the House of Lindenshield, I do believe,” he said. The intelligence gathered by his Polypontian spies had been excellent. “Eodred, or is it Cerdic? But, whichever, you’re most certainly dead.” He stood, savouring the pure joy of inflicting pain and death. Then he smiled, saluted again, and withdrew to his hard-pressed artillery lines, where he mounted his horse and galloped away, leaving his soldiers to their fate.

  Cerdic tried to rise to his feet and give chase, but an icy fire of pain burst in his belly and he doubled up, screaming. Blood spat and coughed from his mouth, and he bowed forward trying to breathe. Suddenly, a werewolf was kneeling beside him, supporting his head and holding a water bottle to his mouth. There must have been some drug in the water, because miraculously the pain began to dull and he managed to speak.

  “I didn’t see him, Moon-howler. He came from nowhere. How bad is it?”

  The werewolf gently searched the wound. “Very bad, my friend. Gut wound, the worst.”

  “Any chance I’ll live to see the morning?”

  The creature’s eyes turned away. “None, My Lord.”

  Cerdic started to cry as he realised he’d never again see any of those he loved. “Tell them I ended well. All the wounds in front, none in my back . . . didn’t run away.”

  Moon-howler nodded, and then, kissing him, broke his neck.

  Down in the valley Thirrin and her cavalry charged on. Their numbers had been reduced by almost half and still the cannon fired, though she was aware that they were beginning to fall silent in some areas. All around her were screams and death. She’d last seen the Hypolitan Basilea when her horse literally broke apart beneath her, and she could only pray that she was safe. The ranks had continued to close up as their numbers were reduced and she signalled that they should move apart, so presenting the cannon with a more scattered target.

  Ahead she could see Bellorum’s army quietly waiting, then she saw his arm chop down. She hoped and prayed that the cannon would fall silent, but nothing happened. How many would be left to hit the General and his army? Through the frenzy and the horror of the charge, she finally realised this was her last battle and the war was all but over. So be it, she thought. None could say the Alliance didn’t know how to die!

  Then with the suddenness of a door closing on a howling wind, the guns stopped firing. Faintly, she could hear ragged cheers from the wooded slopes, and realised that her infantry had finally captured the artillery batteries. She stood in her stirrups and looked about her. They were still a force, but only just. How could they fight on?

  Tharaman-Thar raised his huge head and roared, and immediately his warriors answered. “Now we have them, my people! Now they will feel our claw and steel!” And he roared again. Thirrin raised her sword and gave the note for the battle paean, and all took it up, leopard and human and werewolf guard. Closing ranks, they thundered down on Bellorum’s position. The General himself, seeing that his enemy had survived the cannon, gave the order to charge, and his army leaped forward while he quietly watched from the side with his staff officers.

  With a shuddering clash the two forces met, the Icemark cavalry driving deep into the opposing ranks. Human, Snow Leopard and werewolf slashed and bit, clawed and stabbed at the soldiers before and around them, but they were heavily outnumbered and their charge slowly lost momentum. Now the Imperial army surrounded them, and the allies were in danger of being overwhelmed by the hugely superior numbers, but Thirrin rallied her cavalry and, turning about, they desperately fought their way clear until, at last, the enemy ranks began to thin and with a final heave the Icemark army was free, and they galloped back towards the head of the valley. But Bellorum didn’t give chase. Thirrin couldn’t believe it; perhaps they could escape after all. But then she looked ahead.

  Rolling down the valley like a dark flood was a massive new force, and at its head rode Sulla Bellorum. The General’s son had arrived in answer to his father’s signal. The door of the cage was closed.

  Thirrin reined to a halt and sat quietly watching as the Imperial trap was finally sprung. She slumped in her saddle. “Oh my brave, brave warriors, I have failed you. A madness was in my eyes and I led you into doom. Today we die, and with us dies the Icemark.”

  Krisafitsa-Tharina nuzzled her. “My dear Thirrin, you’ve ruled with skill and dignity, and you’ve never deserted your people. What more can a nation ask? The Great Creator has made its choice and we must play our part. So come,
let’s meet with our allotted end and feel no sorrow for what might have been; the die is cast and our time is here.”

  “But even now, don’t presume to know what the Great Creator has planned,” said Tharaman-Thar. “The day is not yet over, and neither is the battle.”

  Thirrin smiled at the unquenchable optimism of the Snow Leopard, and despite the desperate circumstances she hugged him, drawing new strength from the deep rumbling purr she felt inside his massive chest.

  She then stood away and resumed her role as Queen. “The cavalry will dismount. Bugler, recall the infantry, all who can reach us. Here, we will stand in a shield wall and prepare for whatever end awaits us. Close ranks then, my people, and prepare to receive unwanted guests!”

  The horses were tethered in the centre while the bugler sounded recall and the infantry began to stream down from the heights to join the last stand. The banner of the cavalry was raised alongside that of the Icemark and the Hypolitan, and a strange silence settled as the General himself advanced. With him rode Octavius, scanning the beleaguered enemy before him, a small smile playing around his lips.

  The barbarian Queen’s army was still of a formidable size, but even so, she was heavily outnumbered and her end was inevitable. Octavius gave the order for the cannon to be brought down from the valley sides and turned on the Icemark’s pathetic shield wall. Now that Thirrin’s infantry had rejoined their Queen the huge guns were once again under the Empire’s control.

  “Another small mistake, my dear,” Scipio said quietly, as though his enemy could hear him. “If your soldiers had been trained in modern warfare, they could have turned the cannon against me, and I would have been the one standing at bay, preparing for a less than glorious death.”

  “Let me lead the next charge against her, Father,” said Octavius, desperate to test his cavalry against her combined force of horse and Snow Leopard.

  “I think not,” Bellorum answered calmly. “The barbarian shield wall will be a difficult nut to crack. I expect it’ll take a barrage from the artillery to finally bring them down.”

  “Do you doubt my ability as a cavalry, Commander?” Octavius demanded angrily.

  “Not in the least; but as a general I do not doubt my enemy’s ability either,” his father said, and held his son’s eye in an icy gaze. “I will not risk your life in a vainglorious gesture. You will obey my order and rejoin your men to watch the Icemark’s final destruction at the behest of cannon and fire.”

  Scipio Bellorum had decided to stop the unnecessary waste of his soldiers’ lives on the rabble freak show that was the Icemark army. The artillery would make an end of the abominations that were preparing to make their last stand. This would be the end of all resistance to the Imperial will.

  Thirrin realised too late that Bellorum had sent troops to recover the cannon, and almost screamed aloud with frustration. Would nothing go right during this expedition? Truly it seemed bewitched! Thirrin could have wept with frustrated rage. There was nothing she or anyone could do to prevent the inevitable massacre.

  Once again the strange waiting silence settled over the battlefield as Bellorum and his sons sat and gloated over their trapped foe and relished the coming bloodbath. But then a distant voice slowly unfolded itself on the still air, as clear as a chiming bell, and as fierce as a hunting hawk:

  “The enemy is upon us! They kill our children, they burn our houses! Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”

  The soldiers and warriors behind the shield wall held their breath, hardly daring to hope. But Thirrin grasped at Tharaman and strained to listen. “Cressida? It is! It’s Cressida! Tharaman, it’s Cressida!” But before anyone could react, a huge booming reply to the lonely voice crashed into the air.

  “Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”

  And an army swarmed over the brow of the hill. At its head rode Cressida, and beside her strode King Grishmak and Taradan.

  “Our Queen is in danger and our army besieged. Drive forth the hated enemy! Rip their flesh and drink their blood! Long live the Icemark! Long live the Alliance!” And with a roar the army poured down the hill like an avalanche.

  Bellorum raged as he saw his victory about to slip away, but he quickly regained his self-control and spat out orders that sent regiments of pikemen to the rear to dig their long spears into the ground. But it was too late. The force of the charge was unstoppable, and the pike regiments’ barrier of steel broke under the momentum and was swept aside.

  The rage and roar of battle filled Cressida’s senses. All chance of her feeling fear had been ripped away in the first moment of the charge, and now, as she hacked and thrust at the enemy, the blood of her warrior heritage raged and sang through her veins.

  Cressida’s army of allies formed into a gigantic wedge, a fearsome spearhead with the Crown Princess and Grishmak as its glittering point, driving deep into the Imperial ranks, killing and smashing all before it.

  Thirrin screamed aloud for joy, and as the Thar lowered his mighty form, she leaped on to his back, an example followed by all the human cavalry troopers as they scrambled astride their leopard comrades.

  “Forward now, my people!” she shouted. “Forward the Alliance and destroy the hated invader!”

  The coughing bark of the Snow Leopard challenge, the howl of the werewolves and the battle paean of the human soldiers rose in a raucous cacophony as they too drove into the ranks of the Imperial army. Bellorum and his sons fought with frenzy. The General’s steel war-hand ran red with blood, as did the sword he wielded in his left hand, but he knew the tide was flowing strongly against him. Once again, the barbarian Queen of the Icemark looked like denying him the sweetness of her death! How many more times would she survive his carefully laid plans? “Not for much longer!” he screamed aloud in frustration. “I’ll crush you, and your army of ragged mongrels! I’ll rip the skin from your flesh and raise it as a banner before my regiments!”

  But, after a few more despairing minutes, Bellorum was forced to admit defeat. He turned his horse and fled from the field, knowing his sons, too, would judge this the right moment to make their escape.

  The Polypontian forces fought on with superb discipline, but as the rumour that the Commanders had left them spread through the army, they despaired and fled, their ranks breaking apart like dead leaves before a sweeping wind.

  Now began the deadly pursuit, and the Alliance army cut thousands down as they ran, leaving the dead heaped in mounds over a distance of more than ten miles. But at last, the victorious soldiers were exhausted and turned wearily back to the valley.

  There, the Queen and Crown Princess finally met. Thirrin climbed down from Tharaman-Thar’s back and waited while Cressida dismounted. The two women looked at each other, then Thirrin stepped forward and hugged her daughter fiercely.

  “I won’t forget this, Cressida. Your action has saved the Icemark, the army, and my life!” She stepped back, tears of pride running down her face, and turned to the army of allies.

  “Behold Cressida Striking Eagle, Crown Princess of the Icemark!”

  All the soldiers cheered her fighting epithet, earned by this, her first action. At first, relief and elation filled Cressida to the brim, but slowly the horror of the fighting returned, and her memory’s eye recalled the first Polypontian she’d killed, his throat spitted by her sword. A shivering, shocked reaction set in, and she stood gasping before the army until her mother, recognising the symptoms, folded her in a protective hug and guided her away from the prying eyes.

  CHAPTER 17

  After only a few days back in the desert, the oasis already seemed part of the dim and distant past. Sharley tried to conjure up images of Al-Khatib’s beautiful home, and the natural pools of water lined with date palms and lush with exotic foliage and brilliant flowers, but all seemed a dream as the hot desert wind blew sand into his eyes and his camel broke wind like a storm in the mountains.

  Maggie had shown signs of recovery from his terrible heatstroke w
ithin an hour of being installed in the coolest, most tranquil room of the house, deep in the basement where jars of sherbet stood chilling in vats of water, and musicians played gently in concealed alcoves. Sharley and the caravan had rested for two days in the oasis before resuming their journey to the capital of the Desert Kingdom, leaving Maggie to build up his strength ready for the trip back to the coast when they returned.

  They were following the ancient caravan route from the coastal port to the capital city of Haifolex, and when they were within two days’ ride of the city, the towering importance of Sharley’s mission began to weigh heavily on him. Without Maggie to guide and advise him he was in a complete state of panic. It was all well and good having Al-Khatib as a sponsor, but Sharley knew Maggie. He was almost part of his family, like an old and slightly dotty uncle. And right now, Sharley would have given almost anything to hold the old scholar’s hand again, as he had when he was a little boy. But Maggie was resting in the oasis house and Sharley would just have to manage without him.

  He sank into a moody silence, mulling over his fears. But eventually, the rhythmic rocking of his camel lulled his mind and he looked out over the strange and beautiful land of the desert, seeking peace in the slow undulations of the dunes. The light was dramatically intense, searing his eyes to watery blinking as he looked at the white sky and the textured shimmering of the heat haze. But gradually, he became aware of an odd blue tinge to the air around him. He blinked, and rubbed his eyes in case they’d been affected by the heat, but when he opened them again the blue light was still there.

  Quickly he glanced about to see if anyone else had noticed the change in the atmosphere, but no one seemed aware of any difference. Sharley could only assume that it was some fairly common phenomenon of the desert – like the dust-devils and sandstorms he’d heard about.

  He’d almost convinced himself of this when he began to hear the faint sound of singing. It was strangely beautiful and wistful like a sad love song, but at the same time joyous and mischievous, like a children’s playtime song.