Black Spice (Book 3)

by James R. Sanford

  Then Lerica saw him, Soth Garo’s minion, moving to come up behind Ferrin, holding something, maybe a knife, in the folds of his leather skirt. She had her pistol out and cocked before he could take two steps, but it was a long shot and she would certainly hit Ferrin or one of the chiefs if she missed. The shadow cat tried to make her do it anyway, but she overruled it.

  “Behind you!” she screamed, but with all the drums and shouted commands, her warning was only another noise. She fired her pistol over their heads, and that got everyone’s attention.

  But too late. Ferrin turned just in time to get it in the front instead of the back. They all swarmed the assassin. His knife remained in Ferrin’s heart.

  Lerica ran to them. The big woman knelt over Ferrin. The chiefs held the assassin to the ground. One of them, a younger man with a fairly short beard, was kicking him.

  “It’s not his fault,” Lerica said.

  The young chief looked at her. “We know. But still he must be beaten.”

  Lerica glanced landward. The enemy had closed to a quarter mile and still came at the double. “Who is your second leader?” she said.

  “Hastilla,” said the young chief, pointing to the woman with the poleaxe.

  Lerica pulled her away and pointed inland. “You have to leave that to others and form up your warriors. The enemy is almost upon us.”

  Prince Caleem watched the Hariji spearmen spill over the embankment on either side of the ford. Perhaps they had been told that only a thin line of Silasese lay concealed there, for they slowed as they splashed into the stream. But it was no more than a moment of hesitation, and they renewed their charge, colliding with the Tialuccan line at the base of the near bank. The impact made a terrible sound. Spears snapped, men were impaled. Some were knocked down and trampled by their comrades. A few threw their shields away so they could grip their spears in both hands for a savage thrust.

  “Give ground,” Caleem called to his men. “Give ground!” He heard the command echoed down the line by his lieutenants.

  This was the only tactic he had been able to devise — let his men fall back to the near embankment, so that the enemy had to fight their way up the slope. But they had to hold there. If the Hariji broke out of the streambed, the entire line would collapse.

  Below him, where the road forded the stream, the steepness of the slope had been worn away. It was so gentle as to give no advantage, and this is where the enemy struck hardest. A densely-packed mass of spearmen had charged straight down the road in good order, another formation right behind them.

  All down the line, the Hariji fought like fanatics, jabbing frantically, determined to get past the Tialuccan shields. They showed no sign of tiring. The Manutu returned to the battle. The few spearmen among them joined the fight in the streambed. The bowmen stood at the top of the slope, shooting over the heads of the Tialuccans.

  A shrill cry ran through the Hariji ranks. They surged forward, thrusting viciously, coming shield to shield with the Tialuccans and pushing them back by sheer weight of men.

  “Hold!” Caleem shouted to his men. They had been pushed to the crest of the slope, and now the Manutu could no longer fire over them. A few scattered trees lay in a line behind the river. Some of the more agile archers shimmied into the treetops to snipe at the Hariji, but there wasn’t enough of them to turn the tide. The men defending the ford had been pushed back the farthest, and now they wavered as the line bulged inward.

  “Stand where you are,” Caleem called, stepping into the line and ramming his spear into a pig hunter’s chest. “Not one more step backward!”

  He heard a shout. A small phalanx of Onakai spearmen had formed across the road behind him, Nakoa waving his war club at the point of the formation. Caleem had forgotten that they retreated with the Manutu. As the second wave of Hariji threw themselves into the fight, the Onakai raised their war cry and counter-charged.

  Nakoa swung with long strokes, batting away spearpoints and cutting a notch into the enemy formation. The wedge of Onakai spears lanced into the opening. The Onakai were indeed warriors. The Hariji were forced back, leaving a trail of dead men in the stream. They became a formless mass as the Onakai drove deeper into them, Nakoa still at the point, still swinging.

  So many died in the last push that their bodies had become obstacles. Along the length of the line, the attack floundered as the Hariji stopped to pull their fallen comrades out of the way.

  Someone grabbed Caleem by the shoulder and pulled him back. It was Witaan. He pointed to the far left, where the battle line stopped against the edge of the woods.

  “The Hariji line was longer,” he told Caleem. “They’ve wrapped around our flank. They will roll up our entire line if we don’t stop them.”

  Caleem stepped back and looked. Witaan was right. “Assemble your Manutu spearmen and go stop them.”

  Witaan shook his head. “They are already fighting alongside your men.”

  Caleem seized him by his tunic and pulled him close, so that they stood face to face. “I need two hundred men who can fight hand to hand, and I need them right now. Find them!”

  Witaan trotted along the line, tapping blowgun men who were searching for gaps to shoot through. They all carried some kind of hatchet or hand axe.

  “With me,” he said to them. “Come with me.”

  Caleem went with him, building a ragtag force as they advanced toward the melee on the left flank. The Tialuccans had pulled back to avoid attack from the rear, but as the Hariji pressed their advantage the battle lines disintegrated into a formless brawl. The Tialuccans were on the verge of being overwhelmed. The Manutu drew their axes.

  “Have at them!” Caleem shouted. He threw himself into the churning mass of spearpoints, stabbing with his short spear like it was a sword. He thrust and turned and blocked and stabbed, enveloped in the chaos.

  Kyric stood with Aiyan and Naran at the edge of town, where they could see King Tonah’s flags and most of the battlefield.

  “Is it time?” Naran asked.

  “He’s committed his reserve to stopping our seaborne maneuver,” Aiyan said, “and the enemy troops on their right are pushing into the woods, looking for the elusive warriors there.”

  “Who is there?” Kyric said.

  “Actually,” Aiyan said, kicking at a loose stone, “it’s Birjen and all of their dogs. He promised he could use them to create the illusion of a thousand spearmen.”

  Naran bounced a little on his toes. “Yes. He has the power to remake shadows.”

  “How will that help?” Kyric said.

  “He can beckon the shadows to stand upright.”

  Aiyan turned to Naran. “Does your group of master herdsmen know what to do? In the end, it will be up to them.”

  “I have explained it. Their hearts are strong.”

  Aiyan took a long look at the battlefield. “Soth Garo has taken all of our bait. Except for his bodyguard, no one stands within a quarter mile of him. Yes, it is time.”

  Naran called for someone to join them at the front. A man soon appeared leading a handful of dogs. Aiyan looked at them but said nothing.

  “We had to bring some dogs,” Naran said, “or else there would be no point.”

  He gave an ear-splitting whistle and the Bantuan warriors started forward at a quick trot. He took his place at the front of the column along with the master of dogs. Aiyan and Kyric joined him there.

  “Our plan,” Aiyan said to Kyric, “and every move in this battle, has been designed to leave Soth Garo isolated on the field and to get me next to him. The final maneuver will be a little tricky, but if it works we will have him.” He smiled in a deadly way. “No man is an army.”

  Naran kept the pace steady, and when the road swung inland toward the river crossing, he led them straight south, aiming at the far right of the battle line. When the Hariji advanced to the river, Tiahnu Rock had curved sharply back to the shore, no longer pressing against their left flank. And now Kyric saw that it left a gap of
about a hundred paces between the Hariji and the rock. Naran whistled again and the formation began to change.

  The Bantuan shifted from a column to the square formation they had practiced the day before, only the square was tilted. It wasn’t a square; it was a diamond, and Naran was at the point. Then the formation adjusted, the end lengthening, and Kyric saw it. It had become an arrowhead. Naran raised his spear and they all started running.

  The Hariji spearmen on the flank quickly moved left to close the opening. Their captain tried to stretch the line, but there was some confusion, and a gap opened between his company and the next one down. It wasn’t a big hole, no more than fifty paces wide.

  Aiyan pointed it out to Naran. “That’s it. That’s where we hit them.”

  Naran gave a sharp trilling whistle and the arrowhead veered toward the gap. Just when Kyric thought he couldn’t run any faster, Naran kicked into a sprint. The Tialuccan spearmen made way as the formation approached the river. It was more of a teardrop shape now, but that proved good enough. Kyric, and those around him at the point, splashed through the stream and through the gap untouched, the Bantuans in the center of the formation following close on their heels.

  The dog warriors on the lower sides of the arrowhead crashed headlong into the Hariji, wrapping around to form perpendicular lines — a pair of dams that would hold the gap open while the rest of the formation passed through.

  They were behind the lines now, running free. Several hundred Bantuan spearmen had made it through, and they quickly caught up with Kyric and those at the point. Nothing lay between them and Soth Garo.

  Except for the cannon.

  It fired, and dozens of men went down. Other men tripped over them, or ran into each other, and the entire company staggered to a halt.

  “No!” Aiyan said. “We have to keep moving.”

  Soth Garo had led his death guards down to the cannon’s position, and now they formed a firing line to either side of the gun.

  Aiyan whirled on Naran. “If we do not charge them now, we will all die here.”

  Hastilla formed the Silasese into a battle line, spears in front and archers in the second rank. Lerica slipped her pistol back into her sash, slapping herself on the head for leaving her powder horn behind, but the enemy stopped outside of bowshot and just stood there. They had blocked Hastilla’s force from joining the battle, and apparently that was their only order.

  Hastilla’s troops all looked at one another. “They’re Silasese,” she said. “They’re our cousins from Whale Home.”

  Some of Hastilla’s company were survivors of Solstice Day. A younger man lowered his spear. He was one who had refused Soth Garo’s blood and had been put back with the hostages. “My father is over there,” he said. “I can see him.”

  “That must be why they do not attack,” Hastilla said. “Their hearts are stronger than his blood.”

  “Do not fool yourself,” Lerica said viciously. “They are only following his orders. They would happily kill us all if he commanded it.”

  Across the inlet, a thousand Bantuans came down the road from Tiah, charging at the Hariji left. Then the giant rock blocked her view, and Lerica couldn’t see what was happening there, but it wasn’t long before a smaller mob of Bantuans came into view. They headed straight for Soth Garo and his guard of only three dozen men. She held her breath. This could be over in a few minutes. Then the cannon fired, breaking up the charge.

  The troops facing Hastilla’s company stirred, shifting restlessly in their ranks. A few of them broke away, then the whole unit turned and began marching. They had seen the threat to Soth Garo, and now they returned to reinforce his position. That would ruin the plan.

  Lerica turned to Hastilla, the shadow cat leaping to its feet. “We can’t let them get into the fight. We have to charge them before they get away.”

  Hastilla looked up and down the line of warriors. They all looked back at her.

  “They’re our own people. Some of them are members of my family,” she said.

  Lerica drew her sabre. “No. They are of his family. If you want to see them restored to you, we must win this battle. Or else we’ll all end up as slaves. You must stop them now or all is lost.”

  Hastilla took a deep breath. She spoke to them in their own tongue. Lerica didn’t know what she said, but their faces went from fallen to hard once again. Then she let loose a shrill cry. The drummers took up a fast, surging beat, and they all charged.

  Lerica growled and charged with them. She still had control of her intellect, but the shadow cat had taken her beyond the use of words. She tried to call out, faster, faster, but she only made the sound of someone caught in blood lust.

  They were gaining. A handful of arrows landed among the enemy, and some of them turned to see Hastilla’s troops coming at them. That was a good idea, Lerica thought. Most of the formation ground to a stop and turned, reforming to face the assault. Lerica bit the blade of her sabre, snarling as she ran. She was only a few dozen strides from them. Enemy bowmen nocked their arrows and drew back. She quickly glanced over her shoulder.

  Lerica had forgotten how fast she could run. Hastilla and the others had fallen a hundred paces behind her. She was alone.

  Naran signaled the handler to turn the dogs loose. He raised his head and shouted a single word in his native tongue, running toward the enemy with the dogs at his side and Aiyan close behind. The dog warriors of the Bantuan howled and followed him.

  Soth Garo’s guard raised their muskets, firing a volley, and another dozen men fell, but this time the Bantuans didn’t hesitate. They ran straight at them.

  “They’re saving the last shot until we get close,” Aiyan said. “A double load of cans in the gun, no doubt. That will take out half of us at once.”

  “How will they be able to fight after that?” Kyric said between breaths. “What can we do?”

  Aiyan didn’t look at him. “There’s nothing for it now.”

  Lerica scrambled to a stop only twenty steps from the enemy line. They simply looked at her, amazed by the lone woman charging them with a sabre. She needed to buy half a minute. Suddenly she found her voice.

  “I challenge your mightiest warrior to single combat,” she announced loudly. “If you have any honor at all.”

  A few murmurs passed among the enemy along with some movement. The ranks parted and a large man with a spear came forward. He had a bull neck and arms bulging with muscles. She waited for him.

  He attacked swiftly, in a straightforward manner, using his shield to cover his torso. She jumped back and barely avoided being skewered.

  One of the archers called out, “Fight him or we will shoot you with arrows.”

  He tried the same move and she parried easily, feinting low with her riposte, drawing his shield down, and attacking high with a quick cut. She took a slice out of his scalp. It didn’t crack his skull, but still it stunned him hard, and he stood there wavering, using his spear as a crutch.

  Lerica felt the ground tremble behind her. Arrows began to fly in both directions. She hid behind the big warrior, holding him up as he leaned towards her, eyes open but no light in them, his weight pushing her slowly to the ground. Hastilla’s charge rushed past her, knocking her over, and she was like an island in a flooded river.

  The dog warriors covered the ground quickly. At a range of a hundred yards the death guards still withheld their fire. Kyric didn’t have enough wind to speak. He wondered if he wasn’t too tired to fight.

  A huge shadow moved across the battlefield. A short shriek, and a giant bird — the same Gavdi that had saved King Tonah — swooped among Soth Garo’s guard, knocking them down with its massive wings. It slowed and circled back, landing on the cannon and ripping it from its carriage with dragon-like talons. Soth Garo swung at it with his greatsword, cutting it on one wing. It thrust at him with its beak, but he leapt away with a slash at its eye that barely missed. One of the guardsmen fired his musket into the creature at point blank range, but i
t didn’t seem to notice.

  The Gavdi bird shook its head, then picked up the cannon with its claws and flew away. Soth Garo’s guard, the ones still on their feet, tried to re-form their line, but the dog warriors were already upon them.

  A few of them managed to fire as the first wave crashed into them, the Bantuans leaning into their shields, knocking the death guards back or bashing them to the ground. A few veteran Baskillians were able to sidestep the charge, drawing swords and pistols, downing several Bantuans in a flurry of gunshots and slashes.

  Kyric had fallen a few steps behind when he drew his sword, and now when he saw the death guards with pistols in their hands he drew his wheel-lock as well. He lost sight of Aiyan. As he approached the line, one of the Baskillians slipped through, backstabbing a couple of men as he went. He and Kyric saw each other at the same time. They both raised their pistols and fired as one. The Baskillian spun and went down. Kyric cried out as a bullet tore into his upper thigh. He didn’t fall, but he suddenly couldn’t put much weight on his leg. His whole body shook.

  The ragged second line of Bantuans didn’t follow the first. They split into two groups and circled, closing the ring on Soth Garo and his men.

  There were four or five dog warriors for every death guard now. The Hariji musketeers died quickly as they were swarmed from all sides. The remaining handful of Baskillians tried to break out of the circle, led by Soth Garo, who killed any man within the reach of his sword. The Bantuans retreated before him, but maintained the circle and rushed the death guards from behind, forcing them to turn and make a stand. They were overwhelmed but not easily, and they died hard, taking several dog warriors with them.

  Then Aiyan was there, right behind Soth Garo. Instead of slashing at him, he simply held the flaming blade against his demon skin. Soth Garo stiffened, feeling the power of the flame, and whirled on Aiyan with all his fury.

  He attacked in blur of steel, wielding his greatsword one-handed as if it weighed nothing, using it with the finesse of a fencing sabre. Aiyan was ready for this. He slid to the side, parried and leapt away, making no attempt at a counter-blow. He kept up his defense, playing for time, waiting. But Soth Garo attacked relentlessly, pressing him back with a series of lightning fast cuts and slashes.