by Steven Brust
“Bah, think of it. There are no more than forty of them, and there are thirteen of us, with the addition of three lackeys. Why, what will be remembered of this battle? It is very nearly as if we had outnumbered them, especially when considering that we have the advantage of a strong position, where they cannot attack more than five abreast, whereas six of us can defend. You recall when the four of us fought off this many? It, well, it is irksome.”
We should take a moment to explain that the bluff they prepared to defend was, as Pel had observed, well chosen for such games. The mountain was steep behind them, but the ledge upon which they positioned themselves was large enough to permit them some room to maneuver, yet could only be approached by relatively narrow paths on either side of it; it was along these paths that an enemy must attack them (unless the enemy chose to make a laborious climb to a position above them and hurl rocks down upon them; which activity they would be able to see in good season to avoid it).
Khaavren chuckled at Tazendra’s remarks and shook his head, and then drew his sword, as he deemed it to be very nearly time to do so. Tazendra stood next to him, and drew her own weapon. Aerich did likewise, walking across to where Piro and Kytraan stood, presently joined by Pel. The two girls positioned themselves near Khaavren. Mica, of course, positioned himself near Tazendra, holding his trusty bar-stool, and Lar, wielding his cooking pot, stood next to Piro. Clari, though she had no weapon save a fist-sized rock which she thought to pick up, stood near Ibronka. Three of the new recruits—Belly, Iatha, and Thong—were positioned beyond Mica, the others behind them; Zerika stood alone in the middle, her head bowed and her eyes closed, the Orb glowing with a pale blue which occasionally pulsed a deep red, as if of a heartbeat.
And, in this position, they waited.
Chapter the Forty-Fourth
How the Battle of South Mountain
Was Fought
The Battle of South Mountain has been much neglected by our brother historians, who seem to have spent a considerable amount of ink and effort upon Zerika’s time in the Paths, and her discussion with the Gods, and even the battle of the cliffs, as well as later events of considerable moment, but very little about the conflict that took place the very day upon which the Orb emerged into the world once more.
In some measure, we can understand this neglect—the battle was not large, nor was it, one must admit, conclusive. Yet the student of history ought not to forget that, in the first place, it was the first engagement in which Zerika was present with the Orb (we do not include the skirmish with the brigands, as this cannot count even as an engagement) and, in the second place, it was this battle that prepared the soil, as it were, for the larger battles and intrigues that were to be sown shortly thereafter.
This said, we propose to describe the Battle of South Mountain without further delay.
Our friends did not, in the event, have to wait long: The attack began within two or three minutes of the time when they had taken their defensive postures, and it came, as they had predicted, along the two sides of the semicircular bluff—these sides, as we have attempted to make clear, being the only directions from which an attack could be mounted without attempting to scale the heights above and behind, or, worse, climbing the face of the bluff.
Tazendra’s confidence notwithstanding, the results of the conflict were far from certain. These were not brigands, but, as we have said, soldiers, and, moreover, Dragonlords, used to obeying orders, and knowing how to conduct themselves in battle. Their officer, Tsanaali, was, although young, well versed in the tactics of small-scale combat, and was determined to do exactly his duty as he understood it—not to mention that, by this time, he had evolved an emphatic grudge against Pel—which feeling was, to be sure, returned by the hot-tempered Yendi.
The attack began as Tsanaali had intended it, with both of his lines striking at the same instant. On the right side (for convenience, we will refer to direction as if from Zerika, so that the right side is where Khaavren and Tazendra stood, the left side, therefore, by process of elimination, being the other side, or, more precisely, the side occupied by Aerich and Piro), some sixteen or seventeen of them struck, under the command of the lieutenant himself, whereas on the other side were the remainder, perhaps twenty of them, led by an ensign whose name has come down to us as Marra. Khaavren took an overhand guard position as he often did in circumstances of limited lateral dimension—his blade perpendicular to the ground, his left foot forward, a poniard in his left hand, held low against his leg and also pointing forward, his eyes narrow and glinting. Tazendra held her large sword easily in her right hand; her left hand held a tall, thick piece of wood with a dark jewel on the top, and this staff was held out in front of her as if she intended to ward off blows with it; more intimidating to an opponent than the contents of either hand, however, was the fiendish grin on her countenance, as if there were no thought in her mind save for the rapture of a being devoted to battle, and anticipating blood and death as a lover anticipates the press of a sweetheart’s lips upon a delicate hand.
However it may have appeared, the staff was the more fearsome weapon, as Tazendra wasted no time in proving. Even before the first clash of steel, she lifted it and sent the jeweled tip through a brief but complex motion, at the end of which action one of the attackers gave a strangled cry and pitched forward onto his face, although there was no mark upon him. Though not yet enhanced by sorcery—that is to say, Tazendra had not yet integrated the capabilities provided by the Orb into what she already knew—her skill in the art was, nevertheless, apparent at once. There can be little doubt that such an occurrence—that is, the collapse of this soldier—would have been sufficient by itself to have dismayed, or at least confused, some or all of the others, had they been brigands. But, as the reader is aware, these were not brigands—these were warriors of the House of the Dragon. While they certainly noticed the fall of their comrade, they continued their attack as if nothing had happened.
Tazendra at once found herself, to her annoyance, facing only one opponent, although it is true that others stood behind, waiting for their opportunity. Khaavren, standing near the edge of the cliff, also faced but one enemy. Indeed, it was entirely a match of one against one along that entire line, with the exception of Tsanaali, who was dueling with two of the recent brigands at once—these being Iatha and Thong. Mica found himself facing a Dragonlord who gave him a contemptuous gesture indicating he should retire if he wished to save himself. Mica, though too frightened to speak, declined this offer with a shake of his head. The soldier shrugged, as if to say that, having relieved his conscience, he had no more to say—and, indeed, he said nothing more, because in the next instant Mica had struck him fully in the head with his trusty bar-stool, knocking the warrior senseless. This having been accomplished, the stalwart Teckla prepared to assist his mistress, except that he was at once confronted by another warrior, and this one, it seemed, had no intention of taking her opponent as lightly as had her predecessor. This Dragonlord, therefore, cut and thrust in a very businesslike way, while Mica, who also took the matter entirely seriously, did his best to keep his bar-stool between his enemy’s weapon and his own epidermis.
Tazendra, according to her custom, not only kept her own extremely large blade moving, but also her legs—that is, she continued to shift her ground, the position of her feet, and even the attitude of her body, so that her enemy was unable to get a clear strike at her. Moreover, this led her opponent to shift his own ground, and, in so doing, this worthy chanced to move a little too far to her left—his own right—where he rubbed shoulders with Khaavren’s opponent, who, in turn, was pushed to the brink of the cliff. Khaavren, ever the opportunist when it came to matters of steel, took a step forward and struck down to his left a blow that was given with such force that, although parried, it promptly sent his enemy skittering over the embankment where this individual fell some thirty feet, with results upon which we can only speculate. Another soldier at once stepped forward to take his place, a
nd Khaavren then dueled with her for two passes before giving her a thrust through the throat that ended her participation in the conflict, and shortly afterwards her life.
At almost this same instant, an apparently wild and uncontrolled swing by Tazendra at her opponent’s head turned into a sudden thrust which penetrated the other’s side deep enough to cause this Dragonlord to lose interest in anything except attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his body before all of it ran onto the ground.
As this was occurring, there were two recent recruits from Wadre’s band, Thong and Iatha, who, while not at all enthused to be facing a Dragonlord—and the enemy lieutenant at that—nevertheless took their recent oath seriously enough that, at any rate, they had not yet broken off fighting, but rather still maintained their positions and a good defensive posture. One had received a scratch on the back of his hand, the other a similar scratch on her right leg above the knee, but neither was seriously discommoded, and they continued defending themselves with all the earnestness the situation required.
That side of the battle being, for the moment, stable, let us discover what has happened on the other side. Aerich, who held the edge near the cliff, fought with his accustomed coolness and discipline, deflecting his enemy’s thrusts with the tiniest motions of his blade or his vambraces while waiting for an opening that would permit a single attack that would end the affair. It chanced that his enemy was a sergeant named Lazzo who had seen military service for nearly two thousand years, and who had no intention of making the sort of mistake Aerich was looking for; it may also be the case that the Lyorn was distracted by his promise to look after Piro, who stood immediately to his right. But the result, in any case, was that Aerich and Lazzo continued dueling with each other for some time, both of them as cool as if engaged in training exercises.
In the event, Piro did not require any help. He had been trained in the science of defense by his father, of whom it can be said that there were few better instructors anywhere in the world. If Piro was lacking in experience, he nevertheless had not only a solid understanding, but also the physical training of his muscles which permits one to parry an attack and to then make a return thrust before one is even quite aware that the attack has been made. Under the circumstances, he knew that he should be fighting defensively, and so he took a peculiar stance, presenting mostly his side to his opponent and, as he had been taught to do under such circumstances, created with his blade a veritable shield of steel which could not be penetrated. His other hand held a long poniard, which he held ready to use should the opportunity present itself. He recited to himself various lessons that he had learned, and reminded himself of certain important sayings, such as, “maintain correct posture,” and, “there must be some bend in the knees at all times,” and, “the wrist must be strong, but must never lock,” and so on, while, at the same time, keeping his eye focused on a spot in the middle of his enemy’s chest, and attempting to keep the point of his blade always lined up with his opponent’s eyes. In this way, the two of them made several passes at each other with no blood, as of yet, being drawn.
Next to him, Kytraan was, we must say, rapturous as only a Dragonlord can be when involved in a battle and facing another Dragonlord. His heart pounded, his eyes glowed, and his lips were drawn up in a delighted snarl as he thrust, cut, and parried as if no entertainment could be grander. His opponent, we should say, was older, and had a more businesslike attitude, yet, for all of that, neither could gain an advantage over the other.
Because of the size and shape of the bluff upon which this battle took place and the paths leading to it, it happened that there was room for five attackers, but six defenders; for this reason, the reader ought to understand that, by necessity, one of Tsanaali’s soldiers would find himself in position against two opponents. In the event, it was a certain Dragonlord named Stonecutter, a veteran of more than a few battles, who found himself confronting Ibronka and Röaana. Experienced though Stonecutter was, and as inexperienced as were the two girls he faced, this circumstance could have presented certain difficulties for the Dragonlord, save for the fact that Ibronka, disdaining to be part of an attack of two against one, lowered her weapon with a shrug, thus giving the Tiassa the honor of sustaining the attack, which Röaana endeavored to do to the best of her ability. This ability, we must say, was not up to the task—while Röaana had trained as a swordsman, and had, indeed, a certain aptitude, she was no match for a warrior of Stonecutter’s experience, ability, and temperament. The result, then, was predictable: in two passes, Stonecutter gave her a thrust through the thigh which caused her to give a small cry and to fall to her knees. Upon seeing this, Ibronka, in turn, gave a cry, but this was one of surprise and anger, and she raised her sword at once and, before Stonecutter had time to withdraw his weapon and resume a guard position, Ibronka had passed her sword entirely through his body, at which time Stonecutter said, “Do you know, I believe you have killed me, madam.”
“Well,” said Ibronka, shrugging, at which time the Dragonlord fell upon his face and didn’t move. Ibronka began to kneel next to her friend, but before she could do so, another Dragonlord had stepped forward, standing over the prostrate Stonecutter, and the Dzurlord was thus required to defend herself to avoid having her head cloven in twain by a vicious overhand cut. She parried this in good style, and then set in to defend herself in all earnestness.
Pel looked for Tsanaali, whom he had promised to have words with, and was so incensed to be unable to find him, that he made up his mind to fight his way through all of the enemy troops until he could meet him. This decision made, he attacked with a ferocity that none of the Dragons, war-hardened as they were, had ever encountered before. His first thrust went into the eye of his amazed enemy, who at once dropped his sword and fell backward, holding his hands to his face. Pel did not even slow down, but, rather, took a step forward, into the thick of the opposing forces, and, with two quick cuts—low to the right, then high to the left—had wounded two of them, one seriously enough to cause him to retire from the contest with the side of his neck bleeding profusely.
The warrior who now stood directly in front of Pel was none other than Tsanaali’s lieutenant, Marra, who had enough time to aim and execute a good cut at the Yendi’s head, which cut Pel barely deflected with his thin rapier. While he did so, however, the soldier on Pel’s right recovered from the wound he had inflected on the calf of her leg sufficiently to aim a furious thrust at the exposed middle of Pel’s body. There can be no doubt that, at this moment, matters would have gone ill for the Duke of Galstan had not Röaana, observing the contest from her knees and her position on the Yendi’s right, suddenly lunged forward with her poniard and thrust it into the stomach of the Dragonlord just as she was about to complete her attack on Pel. This was too much for the Dragonlord, who, wounded twice, the second time quite seriously, moaned and fell to the ground. Röaana, at the same time, was overcome by exertion as well as loss of blood, and fell forward onto her face next to the woman to whom she had just given such a hideous wound.
This created a certain confusion in the ranks of both sides. During this confusion, Pel was able to retreat a step, having come to the conclusion that he could not, by himself, penetrate through all the enemy forces to reach the one he wanted (and who was, had he known it, in fact on the other side of the clearing). At the same instant, there being a gap in the line where Röaana had fallen, it was, quite unexpectedly, filled by Lar, who stepped up holding his cast-iron cook-pot as if doing so were the most natural thing in the world. It was at just this moment that, at the other end of the line, Aerich found the opening he was looking for and passed his sword almost entirely through his opponent’s heart, killing the man at once.
On the other side, after several passes, Tsanaali managed to inflict a good cut on the one called Thong, slicing past his defense and putting a terrible wound on the left side of his cheek. Upon receiving the wound, he dropped his sword and took two steps backward; however, his place was at once
filled by one of his comrades, Ritt, who came in and attacked Tsanaali furiously, as if to extract revenge for the painful wound his friend had suffered. The Dragonlord parried strongly, and refused to give ground, even when the attack was joined by Iatha, the other recent recruit to the service of Her Majesty. Now Iatha wielded her oversized blade with sufficient abandon to cause some concern in Mica, who was next to her on the line, yet with sufficient skill that Tsanaali had never had a chance to wound her, yet she, on her end, had given the Dragonlord three or four shallow but annoying scratches—the more remarkable because it was not such a weapon as one would expect to be able to deliver an injury of that sort—one would think that it would either miss or strike deep. Nevertheless, that is what happened, and this duel continued for some time with none of them able to gain a clear advantage.
The same could be said for Mica, who required all of the skill he could muster to keep at bay the weapon that constantly snapped and struck at him from a hand that knew its business, and if Mica had had no chance to attempt to counterstrike, well, it is the author’s opinion that he can be forgiven—it being an accomplishment of no small order merely to have remained so long with a whole skin.
Tazendra was no longer considering such matters of who was outnumbering whom, or whether this engagement would involve more or less of glory, but was rather, quite simply, fighting. That is, she was continuing to thrust, cut, parry, move in, move out, move sideways, duck, spin, and lean as if she had been made for nothing else in the world. In the course of this activity, she had placed another of her enemies out of action, by the expedient of striking him in the face with the hilt of her weapon, thus stunning him; and she was now well engaged with the warrior who had stepped up to replace him.
Khaavren continued fighting with his accustomed energy and coolness, protecting himself with efficient and precise parries that moved across his body much more quickly than they appeared to, and set up counterattacks that came without warning and on unexpected lines; while, at the same time, he moved to take advantage of the edge of the bluff on his left, which he knew his opponents could not be unaware of after seeing one of their number tumble from it. In this way, he managed to slip his weapon beneath his enemy’s with a good thrust through the body that forced the Dragonlord to retire in pain and confusion.
