Storms of Destiny

by A. C. Crispin

  Moments later she was up, sitting beside Jezzil, checking to make sure her weapons had not been displaced during her mount. Both pistols, sword, knife, all in place. She pulled her cap down over her forehead, adjusting the strap under her chin. Her hands were shaking, and she was glad that, in the darkness, no one could see.

  Major q’Rindo was more visible now, astride his handsome bay, wearing his broad-brimmed, plumed hat. Talis thought she could almost make out the bright blue of his jacket, with its scarlet facings and gold braid.

  At the sound of a cantering horse she glanced to her left.

  A dark shape approached, a runner. The man drew rein before Major q’Rindo and saluted. “Sir, Colonel His Grace Bilani requests his officers to join him in a personal reconnaissance of the field.”

  The colonel was in command of all the reserve cavalry units, Major q’Rindo returned the salute. “Acknowledged,

  Adjutant.” Then the major turned his head and looked directly at Talis and Jezzil. “You two, come with me.”

  Talis had realized early on that the officer was watching them, probably under orders to do so. Of course the Pelanese didn’t trust either her or Jezzil—she was a known rebel, and Jezzil was Chonao. What does this mean? she wondered. Has he changed his mind about having us in his company? Or does he just want to keep us near him?

  Jezzil was already urging Falar forward, out of ranks, and Talis chirruped to Lady to follow them. The stodgy mare resisted for a second, then as Talis thunked her in the ribs with her heels, grudgingly moved out. “What does this mean?”

  Talis hissed to Jezzil as they followed the major. “Are we in trouble?”

  “Shhh!” he admonished, but under his breath added, “It means you get your wish, and we’ll be able to see what’s happening.”

  They moved forward and to their left, riding behind the infantry units until they were a long stone’s throw downslope from the nearest artillery crew. When they reached the highest point on the slope, they found the colonel and the other officers, and joined them.

  Mounted, on the highest ground, they had an excellent view of the Pelanese infantry, spread out before them in neat ranks. Talis could see the pass, now that it was light enough to make out shapes. She picked out the lighter swath of the road, off to her right. Straining her eyes, looking east, she made out two large, dark blobs perhaps a mile away. They seemed to be moving.

  Glancing at Jezzil, she whispered, “The Chonao army?”

  He nodded. “Advancing.”

  In the east, facing her, the darkness grew lighter …

  lighter. Time suddenly seemed to be rushing by. As she watched, a thin streak of crimson fire touched the eastern horizon, illuminating the bottom of a massive cloud bank.

  Sunrise. Now it begins.

  From her vantage point, she watched as the Sun’s rays illuminated the mountain peaks. The snow on the highest peaks gleamed pink as the Sun rose.

  Talis watched the dark blobs on the field, still in deep shadow, creeping forward. Then, as the newly risen Sun’s light touched the Pelanese forces, throwing long shadows, she heard it—a deep, booming drum, sounding a clear pattern. Boom da da BOOM … Boom da da BOOM …

  Falar reacted immediately, snorting, dancing in place, ready to spring forward. Jezzil kept her still, muttering what sounded like imprecations in his own language. The air was full of voices now, Pelanese officers issuing commands to “Load and stand ready!” and the artillery officers barking orders to their gunnery crews.

  “What’s happening?” Talis said, turning to the Chonao.

  She could see him now, his features shadowed by the helmet, saw the tightness of his jaw.

  “They’ve signaled a cavalry charge!” Jezzil replied, and she heard the strain in his voice. “I can’t believe it! What do they think they’re doing?”

  Below them, the dark blobs were surging forward as the Chonao lines moved faster. Talis could hear the riders urging their mounts on. They were trotting, then cantering, then galloping …

  “Arenar blast them!” Jezzil muttered. “What was Kerezau thinking?”

  Sunlight flashed golden on the tips of lances and raised swords as the Chonao cavalry hurtled toward the enemy front line, now barely half a mile away. Two thousand troops running flat out, heading straight for the Pelanese.

  Talis’s breath caught in her throat as the enemy charged up the gentle slope, bursting into the sunlight as they did so. The light found them, bright colors flashing from the uniforms of the various units. Their horses were magnificent, the pounding of their hooves shaking the earth beneath Lady’s feet.

  The riders were yelling their battle cry now. Lancer units leveled their lances.

  Talis’s breath caught in her chest as she stared, half mesmerized by the power and majesty of that charge. She realized

  that if she’d been in the front lines of the Pelanese infantry, she’d have turned tail and run, and was ashamed to realize it.

  The riders charged, and they were closer, closer … the ground shook with the thunder of galloping hooves.

  Then the air around her erupted with the voices of the Pelanese artillery officers, all shouting more or less at once.

  “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

  To Talis’s right and left cannons belched flame and smoke as they discharged, straight into the oncoming charge. The sharp smell of burned gunpowder filled the air. Gaps appeared in the Chonao ranks as horses and men went down.

  Talis saw scarlet splashes of blood, mixed with hunks that must have been severed limbs and chunks of flesh, all flung high into the air.

  Men and horses screamed in agony.

  Oh Goddess!

  The sight was so horrible that she felt dizzy and faint. She clung to her saddlebow with both hands, closing her eyes, shaking her head to clear it.

  As the cannons fired again and again, she heard the Pelanese officers. “First rank, fire!” A volley of shots, then moments later, “Second rank! Fire!” Then “Third rank!

  Fire!” And then over again, and over again, the volleys of gunfire cracking sharply in the dawn air.

  Even though they were firing into the rising Sun, the sharpshooters took deadly toll, picking off individual riders, felling horses by the dozens, the hundreds. Talis glanced over at Jezzil, saw that he was slumped, staring down at Falar’s neck, and remembered that these were his people. Goddess, oh, Goddess, make it stop! Talis found herself praying.

  But the slaughter went on and on.

  The Chonao lines were ragged now, their ranks diminished to less than half … and still they came on, and still the cannons and the gun volleys cut them down. It was harder to see now, because the air was filled with smoke so acrid it stung Talis’s eyes, making them water. Or was it tears? The roar of the cannons went on, nearly deafening her, making her head throb with each salvo.

  In the end, only perhaps five hundred Chonao riders reached the front lines, driving into them like a lance point into living flesh. The Pelanese infantry lines sagged and folded in places, and all Talis could make out were flashes from the muzzles of pistols and the gleam of swords against swords as they met in fierce hand-to-hand combat. It seemed to take only a minute before the remnants of the Chonao were engulfed, and the ranks of the Pelanese surged forward again in a wave of blue tunics.

  Talis coughed, rackingly, as a heavy cloud of smoke rolled over their position. Leaning to the side, she spat, trying to catch her breath. When she could see again, the only trace of that brave, foolhardy charge was a few riderless horses galloping madly between the two armies, amid the scattered bodies. The screaming, much diminished, continued.

  Now the two armies were firing at each other, volley after volley, as the Chonao infantry advanced and the Pelanese held their ground.

  Major q’Rindo coughed genteelly into a handkerchief, then signaled to Talis and Jezzil. “Well, that’s that,” he said.

  “Time to return to reserve position.”

  Talis was only too glad to turn Lady’s
head and urge her back to rejoin Company Two. The Sun cast her shadow before her, elongated and dark, and she realized that it had been bare minutes since she was complaining about not being able to watch the fighting.

  Well, you wanted to see, she thought miserably, wiping her stinging eyes as another cannon salvo sent more smoke to join the pall already hanging in the air. So much for the glory of war.

  Eregard, too, had been sickened by the carnage, but as the morning wore on, he was too busy to dwell on the past. He rode at his father’s side, behind the front lines, in the middle rank of the central infantry brigade with his father’s Royal Guards. This was his first time in battle, but he’d listened to war stories all his life from veteran soldiers, so he was at least somewhat prepared. They sat their horses on the left

  side of the brigade, only a short musket shot from the ravine he and Jezzil had examined the day before yesterday.

  So far things were going according to plan for the Pelanese, and, despite the fact that they were outnumbered, their front line was holding fairly steady. They had been pushed a little farther up the slope by yet another Chonao cavalry incursion into their front lines, this one far better orchestrated than the disastrous one at sunrise. The Chonao infantry had moved in from the side, at an angle, and before they could be stopped, got close enough so the artillery could not fire directly at them because Pelanese troops were in the way. Once in place, they’d fought fiercely, doing considerable damage to several front-line infantry ranks before Pelanese sharpshooters cut them down.

  Now King Agivir sat his great white warhorse, ca-parisoned with the royal blue and crimson, orchestrating the battle and consulting with Prince Adranan, Prince Salesin, and his other commanders by means of runners mounted on Pela’s swiftest steeds. Eregard gazed at his father with pride, thinking that years seemed to have fallen away from his sire.

  Agivir sat his charger straight-backed, effortlessly controlling the spirited gelding with one hand, gesticulating with the other as he gave orders and received information. He wore a flowing cloak over his old-fashioned armor, brightly burnished, except that he wore no battle helm or hat. “Our troops take heart when they see this old white head and beard of mine,” he’d told his son early that morning, when Eregard had begged him to run the battle from the rear.

  “They must be able to see my face, know that I am with them.”

  Eregard wondered how Adranan, commanding the left brigade, and Salesin, commanding the right, were faring.

  The reports coming in, and his own eyes, confirmed that the fighting was heavy, with many casualties on both sides.

  From what he could tell, the Pelanese forces were better drilled and more organized, but the Chonao warriors fought with a fierce skill that eclipsed that of his country’s infantry.

  Now that the fighting was at closer quarters, the Pelanese rifled muskets afforded them less advantage, though it was still evident. If not for those muskets, Eregard thought, the Chonao cavalry would surely have flanked them by now, which would have meant disaster.

  Thinking about flank attacks made him recall Jezzil’s warning to Salesin the day before. Salesin is overconfident to think that he has those southern trails under control, he thought. I could make sure they will not prove our undoing.

  Eregard could hear his father shouting orders to the runner he was sending to General Osmando-Volon. “Tell him to bring up reserves to bolster our left and central brigades! We must push them back!”

  “Understood, sire!” the runner said, saluting, before wheeling his horse and speeding off, weaving his way between the ranks, back to the central command tent near the supply wagons.

  Eregard edged his gelding over until his black’s flank was nearly touching the white charger’s. “Father!” he shouted.

  “Let me lead a reserve unit into the foothills to guard against a contingent of Chonao coming through the southern hills to flank us.”

  The King turned his head. “Salesin reported that all significant trails had been blocked,” he said.

  “Anything that man can block, other men can unblock!”

  Eregard argued. “The more I think about what Jezzil warned might happen, the more I fear it will come to pass. Give me a few companies of reserves and I shall see that it does not happen!”

  The King considered for a moment. “Stay with me but a while longer,” he said. “If things go as I hope, we will regain the ground we lost, as the battle tide turns our way. Then you shall guard the foothill paths for us.”

  Eregard saluted. “As you command, sire!”

  Thia stood at the eastern window, gazing out at the mountains, their tops gleaming white in the morning Sun. The battle had started, and she knew her friends were up at Ombal Pass, fighting. She wished she had someone to pray to, but Boq’urak had left her nothing.

  She thought of Jezzil, of Eregard, and of Talis, and wondered if they were still alive.

  Surely they are. If one of my friends died, wouldn’t I know?

  But she knew, with a terrible certainty, that she would not.

  Master Khith might—the Hthras had magical powers that constantly surprised and amazed her. But she had nothing of the sort, only the small ability to tell truth from lies.

  What if Jezzil dies? What if I never see him again?

  The thought brought a wave of fear so powerful that she cried out softly, pressing her hands to her breast. No! No!

  Unable to stand still any longer, she whirled away from the window and began pacing, her clasped hands twisting restlessly. The silk of her gown swished softly, and her new slippers, creamy kid, finer than any she’d ever touched, much less worn, glided across the elegant carpet. She was not used to such finery. She’d been embarrassed by the roughness of her hands when she smoothed them against the fabric. One of the Princess’s waiting women had donated the gown, barely worn, from last season, and the Princess had her seamstress cut it down to fit Thia. The soft, sea-green silk was flattering to her pale features and hair, and the plain, unruffled style suited her.

  In the past few days, Thia had spent time with the Princess, and the two of them talked, cautiously at first, then more freely, sharing information about Eregard, the court, and Ulandra’s life with Salesin. Ulandra had actually said little, but Thia could tell that the Princess was desperately unhappy and terrified of her husband, with good reason.

  As she paced, Thia tried to make her mind blank, remembering how she had been able to do that for hours back in Amaran when bad things happened. It was simply a matter of letting all conscious thought go, of putting a blank screen between her mind and all that troubled her.

  Thia tried, but strive as she might, she could not stop her mind from imagining Jezzil splashed with blood, moaning in pain, perhaps calling out for water. When he was hurt before, I was there to comfort him, she thought. But not today … If he dies … if he dies …

  A soft footfall sounded behind her, and Thia turned to find Princess Ulandra standing in the corridor, her features drawn and anxious. “Is there any news?” Thia cried.

  Ulandra shook her head. “I know not how the battle progresses, but wounded are beginning to be brought in to the infirmary tents. I have spoken to my ladies-in-waiting and told them I am going up to tend the wounded, and that they may, if they wish, join me.”

  Thia regarded her, surprised. “A princess, tending wounded?” she said. “That is …” She searched for a word.

  “… the custom among your people?”

  Ulandra laughed, though there was little humor in the sound. “Hardly,” she said. “My ladies were shocked, I believe. My husband sent me a message that I must stay here, in the palace.” Her chin rose. “I am therefore going, with all dispatch.”

  Thia had seen Prince Salesin. He was not a man she would willingly have crossed. “You are brave, Your Highness,” she said admiringly.

  “I am learning, Thia,” the Princess said. “Besides,” she added, trying for a light tone, and not quite succeeding, “one cannot call
it courage when one merely does one’s duty, can one?”

  Thia looked at her levelly. “I would. Your Highness, I’d like to go, too. I have had some experience at treating wounded.”

  “Good. Your friend, the Hthras physician, will also be accompanying us.” The Princess smiled at her, and the sight of her lovely face, still marred with fading bruises, wrenched Thia’s heart. She managed an answering smile, though her eyes were misty. Ulandra came toward her, put out her hands, and took Thia’s roughened ones in her soft clasp.

  “Thia, be strong. Have faith.”

  Thia gave a bitter, choked laugh. “Faith in what? I am

  sorry, Your Highness, but all my faith was reft from me last winter, most cruelly. I have nothing to believe in anymore.

  And I fear for my friends, and for Jezzil.”

  “He is a warrior, Eregard tells me. A remarkable warrior.”

  “He is,” Thia agreed. “But—”

  “I know,” Ulandra said. “I fear for all my friends today, and for the soldiers I do not know. I have been praying since dawn to the Goddess.” Ulandra turned to head back toward her rooms, arm and arm with Thia. Her touch was a comfort.

  “But let us dress now, so we may go up with the supply wagon. We cannot tend the wounded in silk gowns.”

  Thia nodded, brushing her free hand across her eyes. “Yes, just doing something will help. It is the waiting that is hardest.”

  When they reached Ulandra’s rooms, Thia discovered that the Princess had plain black gowns waiting for them, with sleeves that could be rolled up. There were also gray aprons and scarves to bind up their hair, such as Pelanese nurses wore.

  The two women changed quickly, helping each other with the buttons instead of summoning servants. When they were ready, Ulandra left the chamber for a moment, while Thia gathered up food, water, bandages, needles and thread, and blankets, packing them into baskets.

  When Ulandra returned, her step was brisk. “I sent my ladies-in-waiting, and my maids, on ahead. Your Master Khith is with them. I have summoned my carriage to take us up to the pass. It will be waiting by the side door.”