Spears thrust out at Grith from behind the shields as the first warriors closed. He dodged them easily, dancing atop the barrier and trying to find the right moment to strike. It came as the Cutarans closed in, moving to exploit some perceived weakness in their defenses. Grith didn’t know what the opportunity was, and honestly, he didn’t care. Instead of moving into a defensive posture, as the savages would expect, he leaped, covering six ranks of the warriors, and landing behind them. The men in the rear didn’t even have time to turn as Grith cut into them, slashing at exposed backs and flanks. He almost felt sorry for the men he killed, but the Deepening allowed little room for pity.
Screaming forms fell from the top of the bridge. Others pulled back with lacerated arms, or legs cut clear to the bone. Grith gritted his teeth and kept on. He dodged any counter attack that came his way, and returned the favor with deadly force.
Within half-a-minute, a dozen bodies lay around him. The force at the barrier collapsed as Tain drove them back into Grith’s continuing onslaught, squeezing them like a vice. As the last warriors were cut down, Grith turned, ready for a second wave. There were still a dozen warriors piled onto the bridge behind him.
Grith let out a roar as he charged. This time, he would be the one on the offensive. He knocked three men bodily into the chasm, using his shoulder like a ram and creating a gap just large enough for him to swing freely. He cut at the Cutarans as they backed away, spilling blood and guts across the ground with every slash.
The work required surprisingly little skill. The parries and ripostes that Tain had taught him seemed like overkill when he could move so quickly. Why worry about blocking when he could dodge? Why attempt a lunging thrust, when a simple and vicious chop would do the job just as well? What had Tain been preparing him for in all their hours of training? Enemies more competent than this, clearly.
The Cutarans broke within seconds, preferring the safety of hard packed dirt and stone to the killing field the bridge had become. It seemed that even these warriors, brave to a fault, knew when to turn tail and run.
“Look,” said Tain as he came to stand beside Grith. He had given up his ruined two-handed sword in favor of his saber. Its shining jewel-like edge was already sticky with blood. “Up there.” He pointed with his sword towards the rise above. There were men on top, coming their way. Not Cutarans but humans, decked in the myriad colors of the Corrossan army.
“Hadan really did make an expedition,” Grith breathed, exhaustion dampening his excitement. “He must have caught the Cutaran’s trail and chased them here.” Antis and the other soldiers began to cheer as the first ranks of pikemen made their way down the hill, chasing a ragged group of fleeing Cutarans.
“Tirrak be damned!” Tain pitched his voice so that all those on the bridge and in the towers could hear. “We might fucking win this yet!”
* * *
The Cutarans shot wave after wave of arrows into Hadan’s army. The first rank held, barely, but they were being decimated. Grith watched as pike squads began to fall apart even as they pushed forward, blunted as if an invisible hand was held them back. He had been in a formation like that only a few weeks ago. The villagers from Kuul still were. Now he saw just how vulnerable it made them.
The Corrossan crossbowmen returned the favor with clouds of bolts, but it was it like using a cork to plug the hole in a sinking ship. For the first few squads, it was too little too late.
The front line collapsed, scattering to the sides, the panicked soldiers throwing down their weapons and scrambling for safety even as they were torn apart by the continued bombardment. It would have been a disaster, save for the second rank, heavy infantry and better equipped pikes who had moved up behind their routing comrades.
“The first rank was a sacrifice,” Tain pointed out. “Probably low quality grunts. The men behind them, they’re the real fighters.”
He almost sounded intrigued. It was sick to sacrifice men like this, but even Grith had to admit that the gambit had worked. Even as they spoke, the heavy infantry rushed forward, crashing into the Cutarans. Despite the differences in size between the two races, the Corrossans were better trained and armored in steel. They made short work of the first Cutaran line. The pikemen came next, driving into the gaps that the heavy infantry had opened. Cavalry circled to the flanks, heavy and light, ready to tear into the sides of the Cutaran army when the time came.
Grith smiled. The battle would be over soon and they would be rescued. Anyone with eyes could see that the Cutarans were losing, and badly. The terrain, their position, their equipment were all ill-suited for this style of combat. On open ground they might have had the advantage, but here, squeezed between the rise and the Divide at their backs, they were totally outmatched. It was a strange feeling, Grith realized, to know that he would live. The very thought of his own death had started to take on a certain regularity in the last few hours, familiar—an almost reassuring conclusion.
“What’s that?” Tain demanded, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun. He pointed towards a figure at the front of the Cutaran force. She dashed up the hill ahead of the others, swinging her bronze sword to shear through the heads of pikes and into the men behind. She was strong and fast, even when compared to the warriors that followed at her back.
“She’s a Delver…” Grith muttered. “She has to be. I never thought-”
“The Cutarans would have them too? I guess it makes sense.” Tain turned and headed back towards the barrier, seemingly unworried. “We should get back. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the idea of one of those archers skewering me with an arrow while I’m gawking at the battle up there.” He motioned to the Cutaran women who flanked both sides of the Divide. Grith shrugged. Their attention seemed firmly focused on the battle taking place on the rise above, but he didn’t argue. He would feel safer behind stone anyway. Especially when somewhere out there, fighting and killing as he and Tain had done, was a Cutaran Enforcer.
Thirty-Two:
Xisa
Xisa struck in the space between breaths, laying low the Demon Hadan’s soldiers. The foolish ones tried to stand their ground, lowering their pikes and hoping that the pitiful lengths of wood and steel would hold her back. It might even have worked, if not for her Gift. Against her power, however, they might as well have been carrying sticks. The smart ones ran.
Her army had met heavy resistance on all sides. The Corrossan infantry tore through their lines and it was only a matter of time before their horsemen joined the fray. And to the rear, the bridge still held. She couldn’t even spare enough warriors now to mount another assault on its defenders. For now, she had to win the battle ahead, before allowing herself to focus on the one behind.
That meant leading from the front, one of the few things about command that the chieftain could say brought her any enjoyment. She had already torn through an entire pike squad on her own, and she hoped that through her example, she could inspire her warriors to greatness. Even then, the odds were not in their favor.
And there were still those strange creatures, the ones who had worn the coverings over their heads. They had bested her once before. This time, if they decided to make an appearance, she would be ready.
“FIGHT ME!” she roared as the pikemen broke and ran. In response, the archers flanking the disintegrated formation shot a flurry of bolts her way. She breathed deeply as time slowed, weaving between the weaving between the iron-tipped shafts, avoiding the closest by a hair’s breadth. She took a single long step and was in amongst the crossbowmen, slashing out with her sword to take the heads off of two men and swinging around to grab another by the throat. She could feel the satisfying pop of his windpipe collapsing beneath her grip.
Her warriors ran in behind to fill the bridgehead she had opened. She watched as Matta rammed his spear through the neck of a fleeing Corrossan. She smiled. He was always so reserved until he got on the battlefield. It w
as only then that he bore his burning soul for all the world to see. Death always followed. If only Jixxus could have been here to see this… he would have been proud of what they had done, even if when night fell, they were all left to feed the carrion birds.
She watched her warriors do their bloody work as time returned to normal. A shudder ran through her body like the chill from a plunge into mountain water, working its way through her skin and deep into the tissues of her arms and legs. She felt suddenly weak. With a shaking hand, Xisa reached for her belt. She found a bottle there.
She pulled the stopper out with her teeth and gulped down the liquid. It was all she could do to stop from throwing up. The northern Delvers would often make such awful concoctions, and she had found several recipes while studying in Akiv. She had used them as the basis for her own formula, a mix of the rendered fats of various great beasts. She had never found a more effective blend.
Xisa threw the bottle to the side and clenched her muscles as energy flowed through her. Time shuddered as her perception deepened. She turned at the sound of boots on stone to find something glowing flash through her field of view. There were a pair of men running towards her, having emerged from a pike squad some hundred paces up the incline. One wore a suit of heavy armor, but rather than being made of large plates, like that normally worn by most Corrossans, this armor was separated into small scales.
The other was more lightly equipped and carried a thick spear in his hands. His hair was long and dark, his face thick and beefy, like his body. Xisa tightened her grip on her sword. Something wasn’t right about them.
It was then that the dark haired man chose to jump, clearing twenty paces and thrusting at her chest with his spear. It was all Xisa could do to parry the attack, turning the thick steel spike that topped the weapon with the flat of her sword.
An expression of shock registered on the man’s face as he flew by. Like so many of the soldiers before him, he had expected her sword to be soft. It was made of bronze after all. They didn’t know its strength…
She spun, swinging her sword in a one-handed grip. The blow hit the dark haired man in the back as he passed, slicing through clothing and flesh with ease. He fell to the ground and rolled away. With effort, he managed to get to his feet, but stumbled. These northern Delvers, though numerous, were weak.
A spray of glowing projectiles alerted Xisa to the other Delver’s presence. She whipped around, deflecting one with the flat of her sword. Another struck her arm. Xisa gritted her teeth and fell deeper into her trance. The sharp pain subsided enough for her to think, enough for her to devise some kind of plan for the battle ahead.
The man was launching pieces of his armor, she could see. Those scales, when used by one of these fire wielding Delvers, could easily become deadly projectiles. She spared a quick glance for the state of her left arm. The scale had stuck there, still red hot, the flesh around it smoking worryingly. She grabbed the shard of glowing metal between two fingers and pulled it free, grunting as it took several strands of flesh with it.
The wound would heal quickly, in half-an-hour at most. She was strong, and her ability to come back from such injuries had always been impressive. Her main concern now wasn’t the wound, it was the man who had given it to her.
She rushed forward, slowing time as she went, dodging between his flights of scales. As she closed, a hundred paces, fifty paces, twenty, the man’s attacks grew desperate, frantic in their intensity. He threw out more and more scales, until his armor had nearly vanished, leaving only a webbing of leather and cloth atop bare skin in its place. He let out a frustrated cry just before Xisa’s sword found his neck, slicing downward through his sternum to rest in the center of his chest. She yanked the blade free with a cry of her own and turned. The other Delver had taken the intervening moments to scurry back to his own lines, disappearing behind a forest of long spears.
Xisa glanced about. She may have bested a few Delvers, but the Corrossans still advanced to either side. Her people fought for every inch of ground, but not well enough. Even her small breach was already filling. Matta had yet to pull back his Coldwaters veterans, but it would only be a matter of time.
Xisa padded towards her mate on bare feet. The corpses were thick underfoot, and it was all she could do to stop from stepping on the bodies of her dead. The Demon Hadan’s men, she couldn’t care less for. They would go to their heaven the sky. Only her people would return to dust, becoming one with the earth and wind. She only wished that they would see the kiss of the funeral pyre when this day was done, speeding along their passage, breaking them down into their base parts without the need of rot or vultures.
Three figures burst from the Corrossan lines ahead, even as she jogged, nocking men aside in their haste. They only appeared as dark blurs at such a distance, but became larger at a frightening pace. She could just make out the coverings they wore over their faces. Hadan had finally seen fit to send his best against her.
Xisa loosened the vice she kept clamped around her wilder emotions, relieving the pressure, letting a manic, almost blood-crazed grin cross her face. Three of them!
Two carried great bronze swords in their hands, nearly as large as Xisa’s own. The last bore a long spear, also bronze and matched by a belt laden with knives and daggers of various makes and styles.
Xisa let out a shaking breath and forced time to slow yet again. She brought up her sword just as the first Delver came into range, still moving at an alarming speed. He slid to a halt a dozen paces from her, and twisted, swinging his sword to hit her sidelong. She blocked the attack, her arms straining against the strength of the blow. He was so strong, perhaps even her equal.
The other one, a woman she thought, lashed out with her own sword, swinging the immense weapon one-handed and using the other for balance. Xisa broke off from the first Delver and brought up her sword to knock the blow aside. She twisted her blade, directing the majority of the force down and away and moved as if to deliver a counterattack. Instead, at the last moment, she feinted and spun, directing her attacks towards the male Delver coming up from behind. Her blade struck him in the side of the head, caving in his skull and sheering through the crimson covering.
She gasped as her cut revealed what lay beneath. A twisted and withered face stared back at her. She imagined it would have been disturbing even without the cracked bone and torn papery flesh. Xisa couldn’t say that many things scared her anymore, not after the hundred all too real horrors she had witnessed, but for the first time in many years, she was afraid.
I am Xisa of the Coldwaters Tribe! she told herself, the old maxim calming and familiar, bolstering her resolve. I have led my warriors in many a great battle!
A flaming knife flashed past her head, dragging her back to reality. In response, Xisa leaped, covering the distance between her and the fire wielder. She landed directly in front of the Delver and delivered a momentum assisted kick. The thing’s chest rang out with the snap of bones. Ribs cracked and rattled inside the desiccated body cavity as the creature tried an awkward escape. It didn’t move with the same speed it had before. These strange Delvers, dead or alive, still had need of their bones.
Even as it ran, Xisa cut down into its spine and then its head. The thing was tough, she could see that, but still no match for her sword or the strength in her arms. It fell under the withering blows, writhing on the ground for several moments. And then, as if by an unspoken command, stilled.
Xisa turned, prepared for the other two, but they had already vanished into the oncoming Corrossan formation. Not even Hadan’s monsters have the stomach to fight, she thought. Reluctantly, she turned back to the creature that lay before her, all thoughts of battle gone for the moment. She reached down to touch the exposed flesh under the torn robe. It had turned a strange shade of redish brown, like that of well-worn leather, and stuck to the back of the ribcage and spine in a series of uncomfortable ripples, as if the bones beneath
might tear through the skin at the slightest movement.
Sheathing her sword, she picked up the body in one hand—surprisingly light—and pulled off the hood with the other. She was immediately hit by the smell of herbs, like those her mother had hung to dry in their tent when Xisa had been a child. Thyme, cloves, and lavender all intermingled. Not just dead then, Xisa thought, intrigued. A mummy.
The Fanalkiri had done similar things to their dead in ancient times. Such a strange tradition. Why try to preserve the body if the end result was this? So impractical. But humans did many impractical things. This was just one of the thousands on which they had built their nations, their empires, their very civilization.
The desiccated face was that of a woman. She still had hair, although it had turned a weathered gray. But where her appearance had decayed with time, the same couldn’t be said for her jewelry—bangles, earrings, hairclips, and chokers, all made of gold. It was a fortune. At any other time, Xisa would have carried the body away and kept the wealth for herself, but not today.
She lay the corpse down and turned back to her army. She had already spent too long in her personal struggle with these Delvers. In that time, her warriors had fallen back on all fronts, closer and closer to the Divide and oblivion. Hadan didn’t just want to defeat them, he wanted a slaughter, a show of force that would guarantee her people would never rise up to challenge him again.
There was only one path for her army, for her people now, and that was across the Divide. And the only thing standing between her and the opposite side of that bridge were a pair of Delvers. I have killed their kind and worse today. Two more won’t stand between me and victory.
Xisa broke into a run, heading down the slope towards the Sikara Bridge.
Thirty-Three:
Grith
The Cutarans were retreating. Grith would have been proud, even happy, in the knowledge that he had some part in making it happen. He would have been all those things, if Hadan and his army hadn’t sent the Cutarans barreling right towards them.
The Argument of Empires Page 39
