by Tom Lloyd
A thousand Knights-Charnel were left on duty that night and the sight of their guns were enough to stave off any thoughts of treachery that might have lingered. Before the headsore troops started off the next day, their hosts warned of the tribe who lived to the north. True enough, one party of scouts was massacred before the general’s message could be passed on.
From the back of the column, the Red Scaves saw nothing of what followed. Word around the camp was the general had put five hundred dragoons on horseback and sent them on ahead. A small enough force that they might be engaged, but one armed with burners and earthers to rip through any tribal warriors.
It was half a day before Lynx saw the battleground, or at least where the fight had started. Blood still stained the burned and torn earth, but there were no bodies – just a handful of blank graves that were apparently Knights-Charnel losses. The stink of battle hung over that field along with broad-beaked birds resembling crows but for the strip of red down their wings. The trampled stretch of pasture was penned by rocky outcrops which were scarred by mage-cartridges. He could read the ground easily enough, the local warriors appearing on both sides only to be met with devastating volleys.
As they continued on, Lynx saw the tribes had recovered their dead, or what remained of them anyway. Hundreds of corpses were laid reverentially out in the fields beyond, wrapped in white cloth and arranged in wheels of varying sizes. Dry-cheeked women in black watched over the bodies as the Charnelers passed, their faces and arms painted with white symbols. And then they were gone, the column passing out of sight and on towards the north. Silence lay in their wake and not even the Cards could find the will to talk for much of the remaining day.
Trusting that his message would now precede him, General Eperois continued on. The scouts were guided by two Red Scarves who’d been born among the swarthy tribes of the plains. With the banners of those who’d opposed them kept for proof, offers of payment and mage-cartridges as currency kept the army moving.
Two cities that sheltered behind dark stone walls and encircling bands of necropolises provided supplies and then they reached city-states more familiar with the Militant Orders. Finally, after a month of brutal pace, they reached what the Charnelers recognised as the north.
A small Knights of the Oak way-station was the prominent feature of the first village they came to. Dedicated to Ulfer, the Order was peaceable in nature and disparate in its towns and commanderies. Largely, they occupied the fringes of civilisation, serving as a border between the wilds and humanity. The only cities under their control were a pair that enjoyed considerable natural defences and the Order had been largely absent from the recent turmoil.
The army drank the way-station and attached tavern dry, barely pausing before they continued on their path. In a calculated insult, the army stripped the way-station of provisions and paid for nothing. Lynx saw only resignation in the eyes of the walrus-whiskered old captain as he watched the army pass. Turning his attention to what awaited them in the north, Lynx marched on.
Despite the fatigue of travelling so far, the tension was palpable when the army reached a crossroads. That marked the most direct route to the Lae Valley and its Brethren cities. There the army split, one division sent to chase off a few startled squadrons of Brethren cavalry while the rest pushed on.
The Red Scarves marched doggedly in the wake of their new employers, minds on the reward they had been promised. Only the officers had been briefed on Toil’s plan, Vigilance had not trusted anyone more than that. They were mercenaries after all and until there was a sign the plan was working, the risk was too great. Even the senior officers of the Red Scarves were sceptical, some incredulous. Only the Deshar name had carried enough weight to secure their agreement.
The march into the north continued relentlessly. The weather turned wet and wintry as pine forests and mountains came into view. The great Duegar city-ruin of Stone Hollow was just about visible from the kingsroad on one clear afternoon. That one Toil had visited, but as much as anything because it was a rite of passage for any relic hunter. Long since stripped of artefacts, Stone Hollow was more open than most ruins. It was a city-sized depression of seven great tiers that nature was reluctant to reclaim even after all this time. Huge archways rose from the sloped ground, more than fifty in all, with as many purposes for them suggested by scholars.
Despite the fact there were stone dwellings on the surface and few dangers below ground, no settlement had ever been established. Toil explained that the water was tainted. Anyone living off the land would sicken after a month of being there. She was just starting a description of three huge Duegar towers to the north when the world ahead of them exploded.
The column shuddered to a halt as fire and fury raged. Great gouts of flame erupted amid the bone-shaking roars of earth-bombs. A volley of grenades ripped through the packed ranks, staccato bursts running down the line. Prepared as they were, the Red Scarves faltered. For a few moments they could do nothing. Even the officers were stunned by the sudden detonations. Explosion after explosion hurled blood and limbs through the air ahead. Screams followed – the terror of horse and the ruin of men.
‘To arms!’ bellowed Commander Deshar. ‘Spread ranks!’
Lynx saw the rear Knights-Charnel turn their way briefly, fearing all directions equally. Gunfire began to crackle out from the trees on either flank. Too far for grenades or burners, but enough to get their attention. Sergeants yelled, soldiers threw off their packs and fumbled for their guns. In the chaos it looked like the Red Scarves were milling around, a shifting mass of confusion rather than the practised drills of soldiers.
Toil and Anatin added their voices to the mix. While the first few Red Scarves began to take aim to either side, the Cards were ready to act. Behind the milling screen of Red Scarves they lurked, waiting for the order. Lynx could see nothing of the attackers, just streaks of light that flashed in from either side. There was a rise to the east, studded with rock and gorse. Finally, he realised black dots of grenades were flying above that from somewhere out of sight.
Two squadrons of Charneler cavalry peeled away from the body of the column, heading for the gunfire coming from the western trees. They covered almost a hundred yards before, without warning, the lead horse stumbled and threw its rider.
There wasn’t time to see them land. As the horse shrieked and floundered the ground erupted under its feet. Many of those following staggered. As they caught up with it more boomers burst upwards. In seconds there was a screen of blood and dust hiding that whole stretch of the ground while the whipcrack of icers rang out.
‘Red Scarves, ready for close assault!’ bellowed Commander Deshar, the call taken up by his officers.
By now all sense of order up ahead had collapsed. The Knights-Charnel troops fragmented into dozens of knots. Hundreds of men in each, they fired wildly in response to the assault. It was a minor miracle they hadn’t started shooting their own allies yet, but the worst of the destruction was at the head of the column. Already they were fleeing, those men and women at the fore who still lived.
Close on five thousand troops and their baggage couldn’t fit in a single stretch of ground. Lynx could only imagine the destruction at the far end, troops wiped out by the hundred in each volley. He tried to put it out of his mind as he pulled a boomer from his pocket and inserted the trigger pin. One twist and it was primed. The pin wouldn’t fall out as he threw it, but when it made contact with something it would drive down into the grenade’s glass core.
The baggage was at the heart of the column. Whether that included the God Fragments or not, he wasn’t sure. He could just about see the high-sided carts up ahead. One was already on fire, the others desperately trying to turn away. Troops were already swarming around the baggage, yells and curses bursting like bubbles on the great tide of panic.
Finally, the Charnelers at the rear of the column started to move back. Some split to the sides to form defensive ranks, more simply were pushed by the tide of retre
ating soldiers. They drove towards the Red Scarves who held their ground for the moment, but it would be mere moments before they were overwhelmed.
‘Cards ready!’ Anatin shouted.
At the signal, half of the Cards reached back, careful to stand clear of those around them.
‘Throw!’
Almost one score of grenades arced up through the sky. They weren’t heavy and it was the strongest of the mercenaries involved. The weapons sailed over the nearer Charnelers to land well behind them. A few of the soldiers saw the grenades in flight, Lynx saw one stare up at the shapes in confusion. It took until they landed for realisation to set in. Fire and lightning lashed through the press of troops. The heaving detonations of earth-grenades smashed hundreds to their knees.
‘Cards advance!’ Anatin, face taut with worry. They were committed now. If their hidden allies hadn’t done enough of a job, the Red Scarves would be woefully outnumbered. This surprise betrayal wouldn’t last long. The Cards stepped forward, some Red Scarves yelping as they saw the levelled guns. Only the other officers bawling at them from the fringes kept them from collapsing into chaos.
‘Fire!’
The whole company unleashed their guns now – sparkers and burners screaming into the Charneler ranks. A wall of fire rose, terrified faces vanishing through the haze and dust. As the Cards reloaded, Commander Deshar roared at the top of his voice. He ordered his company to form up beside the rest and the officers repeated it until they were hoarse. Some were already doing so. In the chaos of battle they saw only their comrades attacking. The veterans among them might have guessed what was going on, they might only be following the herd. Right now Lynx didn’t care. He reloaded and fired, reloaded and fired. There was time for nothing else.
The barrel of his mage-gun grew hot as the burners spat out so he switched to sparkers to avoid stressing the metal. The result was the same. Screaming and blood, ruined bodies and terrified last moments. The sharp taste of bile filled his throat, disgust at what they were doing, but he didn’t waver. The decision had been made. He couldn’t hide from it. This wasn’t just following orders, but here he was still.
Finally, the Red Scarves were bullied into line. They weren’t carrying the ordnance that the Cards were, but the nearer ranks of Charnelers had been smashed. Those left alive were grievously wounded. Piteous cries received only volleys of icers streaking over their heads into the tight-packed troops behind. Several wagons were burning now, the soldiers from front and rear crushing around them despite the flames – desperate to be away from the destruction at either end of the column.
At Commander Deshar’s order the ragged ranks of mercenaries advanced. They crept forward until they were at the rear end of the Charneler column. There they halted and troops started to peel around the churned and burning ground. What was going on up ahead was anyone’s guess. Smoke and dust concealed everything, but the sound of screams and the tremble of explosions told enough of a story.
There was movement on the rise away to the east. Lynx couldn’t see what exactly but grey shapes slipped forward like ghosts, Sons of the Wind sharpshooters who sought out the Charneler officers, he guessed. Others hurled grenades with long wooden throwers. The Knights-Charnel were dying by the hundred, assailed on three sides but either they wouldn’t break or couldn’t see anywhere to run.
The remaining Charneler cavalry had escaped out onto the open ground to the west, but sustained icer-fire from the treeline was winnowing their numbers. Their commander led them towards the front of the column, looking to meet the main attack head-on. Or perhaps unaware of what was going on at the rear. In moments they were out of view, but the rolling thunder of gunfire and explosions only increased.
Finally, the Charnelers began to fire back at the Red Scarves. It was a thin peppering of icers but enough to halt their progress. More grey-clad soldiers appeared over the eastern rise, several hundred firing repeated volleys down at the brutalised column. The response was fiercer, hundreds of icers slamming into the hillside. Sheer weight of numbers might have driven them off had it been the only attack.
As it was, the Sons of the Wind held their ground, trusting to the devastation they had wrought. The Red Scarves edged further in, picking their way past charred bodies and around steaming craters. Whatever horrors were taking place at the fore of the column where the bulk of the Sons troops were, Lynx knew it was worse than the carnage he could see.
Somehow the Charnelers continued to return fire. Some crazed mix of faith, discipline and terror kept them in the fight despite hideous losses. The Sons on the rise were unwilling to press forward from their higher ground and soon their grenades started to fall short. Whatever heavy ordnance was up at the front, the rate lessened too and now it was down to icer exchanges.
There was simply no way to tell what numbers were in this fight. Soon casualties were beginning to appear among the Red Scarves, but the company’s officers were unwavering. Every man could see the destruction they had wrought. Even the best troops could only take so much punishment. In the end it wasn’t gunfire that decided the battle, nor grenades. The final straw was the baggage train, on fire and abandoned by their drivers.
Lynx felt it like a slap in the face. All thoughts of shooting were forgotten as a spreading column of fire and darkness burst from the distant wagons with the force of a siege weapon. From two hundred yards the roar made his legs shudder. The burning wreckage sprayed out, seventy feet high. The Charnelers nearby were thrown to the ground. Lynx could see them flattened like wheat and knew many would not get up again.
For a few shocked moments the battle faltered. As the echoes of the boom rumbled away, all sound seemed to flee before it. The mercenaries simply watched the eruption. A flower-burst of fire and spitting lightning appeared in the air as cartridges were thrown clear before they could even detonate. It created a deadly rain of lesser explosions and, in the face of all that, the Knights-Charnel finally fled.
Many threw down their weapons and ran west, heedless of the mage-guns and booby traps that awaited them. Others tried to surrender only to discover the Sons of the Wind had no interest in prisoners, only stationary targets. A few brave companies tried to buy time for the rest. Lynx watched them charge the rise and the Red Scarves both, only to be decimated by ordnance. Of those that remained, a thousand at best, they began a stuttering drive to the trees beyond the plain, exchanging fire with the soldiers within.
How many made it, Lynx couldn’t say. He didn’t want to know. Some of the Red Scarves shot at the fleeing troops, but most had had their fill of battle and merely watched the enemy flee. There was movement from the northern flank, Sons of the Wind cavalry, Lynx had to assume, but they could only harry the fleeing rabble. Before long they had scrambled into the forest and disappeared from view. It was ten long minutes before the sound of desperate skirmishes faded. A hush returned and then the living were faced with the inescapable result of what they’d done. Not even Deern spoke.
Chapter 25
Lynx watched the pyres burn. Anatin’s Mercenary Deck sat in silence. No drink flowed. No cards were dealt. Despite the terrible loss of life they’d witnessed, the Cards themselves were almost entirely unscathed. Three wounded, that was all. Two by icers, another burned by a sparker. Now came the grisly aftermath and they all found they didn’t have the stomach or energy for it. For that evening at least, the God Fragments could lie wherever they had fallen.
The stink of burned flesh hung over the plain, as palpable a presence as the crows and vultures that circled above. In his weary state, it produced a strange, shameful hunger in Lynx’s belly. Not so dissimilar to roasted pork, the smoky smell was in their clothes and hair too. Greasy on their skin. He could smell it on Toil, no hints of vanilla about her now. No occasional waft of night jasmine on the breeze. Now she smelled like all the rest of them. Like death.
‘Kas,’ Anatin croaked at last. ‘Go find us somewhere to camp upwind o’ this.’
‘Brel,’ she said to her
fellow scout without looking up. ‘You heard the boss.’
The Jarraziran looked round for someone to delegate to then gave up. ‘Fine.’
He heaved himself up and stamped away. As Brel left, a deputation of Sons soldiers arrived with Vigilance and his lieutenant, Ulith. The Sons all wore the strange patchwork uniforms he’d seen before, none quite the same as the others, in black, grey and white.
It was uncomfortably similar to his own attire and the three colours of the Vagrim diamond he wore on his finger. Three of them also wore tattoos on their faces. The intricate designs bore no relation to Lynx’s own, but it was another parallel he didn’t want to think much about.
‘Toil,’ Vigilance called. ‘Come on. Our latest ally wants to speak to us.’
‘Us?’ Toil said, using Lynx’s shoulder to help push herself to her feet. ‘Your part in this is ended, brother dearest.’
‘Is that what you think?’
She nodded. ‘Go home, Vigilance. Your fight’s done.’
Lynx saw his face tighten. ‘In this place, with red scarves around all your necks, you call me commander – sister or no.’
Toil sighed and undid the strip of red cloth around her throat. ‘Commander,’ she said in respectful tone, offering the scarf up. ‘You don’t need to be a part of what comes next. You shouldn’t be a part of it.’
‘This folly’s yours alone?’ he said with a frown. ‘Since when do you give the orders here anyway?’
‘You have a family,’ Toil replied. ‘Look at my skin, I’m marked by all this and there’s no getting away from that. I’ve got to see it through. All the Marked Cards do. I’m holding none of the rest to this.’
‘You think we’ll just fuck off now?’ demanded someone.
