by P D Ceanneir
An arrow flew by Linth to take the Eternal on his left in the throat; he rushed the enemy archer that fired the shot and shouldered him to the ground, he then jabbed down with his short sword to gut him through the plates in his armour. Blood gushed bright and red from the wound. As he tugged the sword free, a big man-at-arms appeared out of the smoke to his right wielding a two-headed battle-axe and Linth rolled away. He was not quick enough to avoid the swing of the axe and it cut him through the right shoulder. Linth dropped his sword and screamed as fiery pain shot down his arm. He tried to turn towards his attacker, but the weapon jerked from side to side as he moved, and he howled louder. Suddenly, from somewhere to his left, a larger axe spun through the air and bit through the helmet of his assailant, cutting open his skull.
The axe’s owner was a stout dwarf with three arrows sticking out of his chest, his jupon stained red with blood, but he winked at Linth as he extracted his axe from the dead soldier and ran off to find more enemy to slay.
Linth found his sword and tucked his right arm into his side to help with the pain and found it became worse. Faintness enveloped him as warm blood trickled down his back.
The Rogun Army down on the open ground recovered from their reduction in numbers and moved forward when they saw the dwarves attacking the Vinton Archers on the Tumulus and the second Vallkyte Battle reduced to charred husks. Mad-gellan, an arrow in his left arm and one lodged into the bracer guard over his left knee, urged his men onwards. He could not see his son, but many of the horses on the right flank survived the enemy arrows. Mactan and Hexor were running on his far right with their companies, who held shields saturated with goose-fetched arrows. Little Kith was far in the lead with Furran beside him with his foot soldiers racing to keep up, they were screaming loudly as they ploughed into the enemy ranks at the foot of the Howe. Then he lost sight of the Paladin-knights close to him as his own men locked shields and charged forward.
Lord Rett was right about the enemy cavalry. They were trying to move around the mounds to the north and attack the Rogun Army from behind, but Dolment and his host of three thousand found them before they had time to manoeuvre into an attacking formation. They were Vallkyte Heavy Horse and only half of Dolment’s number. He used his speed to surprise them and with his own lancers in front of a tightly bunched wedge formation, he ploughed through the enemy horse. The Vallkytes died under the hooves, sabres and on lances.
Dolment kept going and found the road to the Dulan Rings was full of retreating peasants, who had joined the Brethac Army only days before. Now they were fleeing from the battle, the Master of Ifor ignored them, hoping that this was the start of the enemy rout, and turned south to go around the Howe’s eastern tip and attack the enemy from the rear.
The soldiers of the Vallkyte Third Battle at the base of the burial Howes now moved into position themselves in preparation of a flanking attack on the Rogun Army. Unfortunately, the incessant volley of arrows sent by archers commanded by Velnour on the eastern tip of the Whaleback Ridge hampered them as they began to move into position, so one of their officers led two thousand men in a final charge to take back the ridge, this time they rushed up the less rocky south east side.
Of the original five thousand that first took the ridge, Velnour had less than three thousand left and the archers were rapidly running out of arrows. The Paladin-knight now peeled off two hundred men to keep the enemy from running up the loose rock slope. He stood with them, sword in hand, as they loosed arrows at will on the climbing enemy as they hid behind their shield and returned fire with their black crossbows.
Velnour’s attention drew away from the fight as he heard the sound of thundering hoof beats, and his heart leapt when he saw the might of the Rogun Cavalry and Carras Knights charging around his end of the Whaleback Ridge down below. The large flapping standard of the Red Duke led the charge. They swept away the enemy at the foot of the slope and continued onward around the ridge until the open ground revealed the Third Battle before them as they moved to engage the Rogun Army. They charged at full gallop on their sweat-lashed horses and ploughed through the enemy formation, dancing and wheeling through the press of bodies until the enemy grouped with spear and shield to block and slow their charge. Lord Rett continued the slaughter, splitting his host to surround the enemy and then hack them down where they stood behind their shields.
Velnour and his men cheered on the cavalry while at the same time they defended the ridge. The remaining attackers on the slope were faltering, they were losing men with every arrow the Roguns fired down at them and they soon retreated, which was just as well because the Rogun archers were down to their last few arrows.
Before they ran, they loosed the last bolts from their crossbows to give themselves covering fire. The bolts loosed without aiming. Some found rocks and shields or dug into wet ground.
Velnour saw them run and cheered with his men, and then felt a sharp kick, not unlike a horses hoof, hit his chest. The men around him gasped as he swayed in his boots. The knight’s single wide eye looked down at the arrow bolt that protruded from his chest.
He looked at the pale faces of his soldiers and grinned at their looks of surprise.
‘Bugger it! I would’ve liked to have died on my horse,’ he said before he fell to the ground.
Chapter Thirty Two
The Living and the Dead
A
s the Vallkyte Third Battle was being systematically demolished by the Rogun Cavalry, the Ifor Lancers swept into the left and rear flank of the remaining Brethac Army that swarmed near the base of the burial mound on the outskirts of the wooded groves. This added to compound the rout that that had been trickling away in that area for some time.
In the centre, the Raiders and Nithi held sway, while on the Rogun left, the Princes Legion were squaring up to a strong formation of Dutrisi foot soldiers and were locked in a violent battle to dominate that flank.
Prince Magnus was screaming at his men to hold the line while Sir Colby led strong shield-men into gaps to break the enemy formation with some modicum of success.
Far forward of the Rogun centre, the Blacksword hacked through men as if they were stalks of corn. He had reached the grove of cherry trees that marked the grassed boundary of the burial mound and the Old Grove Road that branched off from the Drove Road at the foot of the Whaleback. The grass around him was slick with blood. Beyond the trees, thick now with spring leaf, he could see the enemy encampment of carts and several white tents. Wooden racks of long ash-pole spears stood in neat rows beside the awning, others were covered in shields of various family crests left there by the young serfs of the rich nobles. Most of these racks sat stretched along the brick wall that marked the bottom step of the nearest burial mound. Flags of nobles hung limp on tent poles or flapped slightly in the breeze. The mass of black flags, depicting the white tiered temple, symbol of the Brethac Ziggurat, drew his attention as they flapped on a thirty foot wide step about fifty feet above him.
He sprinted forward, crashing through the thin and hastily formed line of Desilliers that protected the baggage carts, and then leapt high into the air. His immense leap brought him to the edge of the platform where King Kasan and his entourage were standing.
The king’s three aides, veteran soldiers of the War Wolves, formed a wall in front of him as his bodyguards. The four Vallkyte Knights that remained rushed forward to intercept the Blacksword. Two of the knights found each of the Blacksword’s blades as they were impaled through shield, armour and chest. The volatile Pyromantic emotion that brewed inside the Blacksword sped out of his body and through the blades to disintegrate the dying knight’s flesh into a fine myriad of charred ash; their bones tumbled to the Blacksword’s feet. The remainder of the knights hesitated before him as the evening breeze suddenly gusted to pull away the mist of blood that hung above the dead knight’s smouldering bones to spiral around the encampment below.
‘Leave him be!’ ordered King Kasan as he stepped through his aides. He wor
e his usual white enamelled armour with the red shoulder guards and his black cape clasped at the neck with a golden broach of a dragon. He also wore a thin surcoat that depicted his royal crest.
‘Leave us,’ he said, with no emotion in his voice as he stared at the silent and watchful Blacksword.
‘But sire, he...’ protested one of his knights.
‘I SAID, GO NOW!’ shouted the king and soon the wide steps emptied of personnel to leave the Vallkyte king and the Blacksword alone on the platform.
As Kasan unclasped his cape, folded it up, and placed it on a wooden table with his plumed helmet on top of it to stop it from blowing off, the Blacksword and Havoc were having an argument.
This is my fight, not yours, said Havoc, he wronged my people before you came along!
‘You forget brother that I was always with you. My concern is that you may not be good enough to defeat him.’ whispered the Blacksword.
We shall soon see.
‘You are to be congratulated, Blacksword,’ said King Kasan, breaking the argument and extracting his thick broadsword from it’s scabbard. ‘I did not think you would get this far. Your skill is extraordinary. However, a fight with you would not be fair, and it is my nephew I have the real issue with.’
The Blacksword stared in silence for a while, his head tilted, listening. Then he nodded as he made a decision.
‘Very well, but I shall be watching,’ the warning was not lost on Kasan as he walked into a clear space, never taking his eyes from the Blacksword as he walked towards him. As he did so, he watched the subtle conversion of myth to man and felt unsure of when the armour changed from matt black to silver, or when Havoc appeared from behind the skull-like face. The transformation was surprisingly quick, there he was, his nephew Havoc standing before, him stretching his jaw as his face became flusher with life and blinking away the blackness from his eyes. He seemed older than he remembered from the last time he saw him, matured, experienced and harder.
The two Cromme Kings circled each other on the thirty-foot wide step, keeping a sword and arm distance from one another. At the step’s edge was a fair drop to the ground. On the opposite side of the platform loomed the brick facade of the next mound that rose seventeen feet to the next tiered level.
‘You have destroyed my citadel, killed my sons, defeated my armies, and wrecked the plans of the Brethac Ziggurat,’ said Kasan harshly while swapping his sword to his left hand and pulling his trusty battle-axe from its belt loop.
‘And you have killed my father and uncle, executed my sisters and cousins, slaughtered innocent Roguns, and turned your stillborn son into an abomination.’ Havoc smiled when his uncle flinched at the last remark.
‘I would say we are about even,’ Havoc said grinning.
‘Not even close,’ said Kasan as he rushed towards him.
Saltyn Ri saw red as the pain in his demolished nose speared into his head, he flailed about on the floor as a shadow crossed his body and he could just see Ness Ri through his bleary eyes. His onetime colleague was holding his sword point down ready for the kill.
‘This is one I owe you Saltyn, no hard feelings,’ said Lord Ness, but before he could deliver the sword into Saltyn Ri’s heart he felt something sharp punch through his back and wedge into a lung.
Ness Ri stumbled against a tall monolith. He heard a familiar spurting noise, and then another arrow bolt hit his back lodging into his lower spine. He groaned as he turned, his legs buckled under him as he slid to the floor. Cinnibar was laughing as she walked towards him. She was holding a Spit Gun in her hand.
‘What an amazing weapon,’ she said in an excited voice, ‘one of my spies found it on a dead Raider years ago. I’m afraid there were only three bolts left in it and now I have the opportunity to use them.’
She pulled the trigger and released the third arrow. It thumped into Ness Ri’s chest, lodging deep into the already pierced lung.
‘Heal that, my friend,’ she goaded him smugly.
King Kasan’s strength was amazing. The separated swords of Sin and Dex both stopped the clanging blows of the broadsword and the axe together, but the resulting force jarred Havoc’s arms to the point of numbness. He moved away instead, backing off and defending as he tried to stay to either side of his uncle, even though the Vallkyte king was fast, Havoc was faster.
Kasan was forcing him to the edge while he held the central ground, a good tactic, and one that was dominating the fight. Havoc used both his blades to trap the broadsword and shoulder barge his uncle. It worked to push him away but it did not force him off balance as he had hoped. Instead, the axe looped around in an arc and bit into his right shoulder guard. Havoc yelled as he felt the wound sting, he then stumbled backwards against the wall of the next tier and quickly ducked as the broadsword just missed his head and sent sparks flying as it struck the bluestone brickwork.
‘I see the fight through my men has weakened you,’ said Kasan.
Havoc realised that his uncle did not know about the Twin Aspect of he and the Blacksword and that what his brother felt physically and emotionally was not the same for him.
‘I will rest after you are dead.’
Kasan laughed, a sound not unlike the booming laughter of his father. The similarity made Havoc hate him more.
Powyss looked around him and saw that the battle had evolved into confusion and complex anarchy. Groups fought for the centre ground but in patches with large gaps, so large with fields of dead and dying men, that one would have trouble traversing the undulating rows of corpses to get to another fight. The Rogun army was diminishing and still outnumbered.
The Brethac left was disintegrating under the Lancers charge and the left flank of the Vallkyte Third Battle was losing its fight with the Rogun Cavalry, though they were some distance away to be sure of that fact. It was on the Brethac right that the battle had any cohesion. The Princes Legion and the Dutrisi Infantry were engaged in an epic struggle of tactical textbook proportions.
Magnus had formed a shield wall that now, because of Sir Colby’s brave attempts at weakening the infantry flanks, encircled the Dutrisi. The Legion was vastly outnumbered and the Dutrisi were battling hard to stay alive due to the panic they felt as the Legion continued to box them in. Half an hour went by with no give, because the enemy strongly defended behind tall shields.
In the centre, Mad-gellan and Sir Jericho were controlling the movement of their soldiers, sending support where needed. The Nithi were taking a pounding from the half-armoured Vallkyte men-at-arms, but the appearance of Gunach and his dwarves, who were flitting from one end of the battlefield to the other, were more than welcome as they helped to tip the balance.
Powyss extracted himself from the fight and called for Whyteman and his Eternals. They came running towards him, fresh from seeing off the routing left flank.
‘Lob arrows into the Dutrisi,’ ordered Powyss, ‘help Prince Magnus win that fight.’
He left them to it and ran to the right flank were he found Mactan and Little Kith forming up men to take the heavily defended baggage train.
‘Have you seen the king?’ he asked the swarthy Mactan.
Mactan, busy throwing men into the new formation, merely jerked his head towards the burial mounds. Powyss saw the two Cromme kings fighting on the wide step.
‘Bugger! Let’s get to him quickly,’ he said.
Kasan sidestepped a lunge from Havoc and raked his axe down the Rogun king’s back, ripping the cape, and scoring the armour. Havoc gritted his teeth in pain as he arched his back. He stepped away from a second scything cut from the broadsword that narrowly missed his throat by inches, but Kasan slammed his right boot into his chest sending him onto the makeshift map table, which collapsed under him.
Kasan laughed. ‘Come on nephew, everyone said you are the best warrior in the land. Or do you take that reputation from your Blacksword alter ego?’
Havoc frowned, got to his feet and pounced, pushing his uncle back. Kasan easily deflected the blade
s and tried to sidestep again to attack Havoc from behind, but the younger king was ready. He jerked his elbow up and caught his uncle on the chin, then kicked him in the chest so he sprawled on the ground.
‘I am the best, and I’m just warming up,’ said Havoc.
Then he felt it, a familiar thrum of energy that spread all around him and shocked him in its vibrancy. Kasan felt it also. Havoc smiled, realising now what the Blacksword and the Nicbetha were up to.
‘The dead are waking,’ he said to no one in particular.
Everyone down below on the battlefield felt the strange pulse of energy flow around them. There seemed to be a weird iridescent blue tinge in the air. Most of the combatants shrugged it off, blaming fatigue or battle shock, but those survivors of the Nicbetha’s Ice Palace knew what was happening.
Whyteman moved his archers onto a raised slope of the burial mound, just before the energy appeared. Prince Magnus saw him and ordered his men to force the Dutrisi Infantry closer to the Tumulus so the Eternals could fire their arrows down into the bunched enemy. The enemy raised shields above their heads for protection against the arrows, but it was no good, the closeness of the Eternals and their armour piercing wolfram bodkins caused a slaughter that they could not escape from and yet they persevered as they crouched together. It gave Prince Magnus the edge to finish the job.
The Raiders had broken away from the main battle in the centre to join the fight at the baggage encampment. The cherry tree grove beyond the Drove Road was teeming with thousands of Vallkytes, most were men-at-arms while others were crossbowmen who had returned to the camp for more ammunition. They hid behind hastily constructed fences of carts, angled stakes and spare shields, forming a defensive line behind it. They were frantically firing arrow bolts at the oncoming Raiders who were charging at a sprint behind tightly bonded shields.
