'No - '
One word was all the healer managed. The storm of crossbow bolts practically cut the Tarukadul in half. The Riln girl was whipped around by a bolt that took her in the shoulder. She fell against Chalos, dragging him to the ground.
So, Agryce and the Duke had made their play. They meant to ensure Jolm's death in the field, even if it meant butchering their fellow Krune. The Tarukaveri line let loose a howl of venom and the ground began to tremble. They were charging.
Chalos, acting on impulse, tore the bolt free from the girl. A jet of blood splashed his face, making him blink furiously. Jamming his hands to the gush of dark fluid, he found his mirror and focused his energy. The girl clawed at his hands.
'Let me die, invader bastard!' she begged. 'Let me die!'
With a grunt he pushed her hands away and poured more energy into the wound. He could hear her heart beating, and behind it, the growing beat of hooves. Death was approaching as life was restored. He pulled his hands away and looked down, rolling the girl onto her front to inspect the entry wound. Satisfied that she was healed, he clasped her chin in both hands and leaned towards her.
'I know you hate me,' he said, 'but that doesn't matter now. These men that are coming will kill everything – you, me, the other invaders – without prejudice. You're covered in blood. Find a ditch and lie in it until they've passed. With luck, they'll think you're already dead.'
He saw her expression of puzzlement turn to one of understanding and the girl stopped struggling.
'One mercy in all this slaughter?' she said. 'You are pathetic, southerner.'
'That's a fair assessment,' he admitted. 'Please, go now.'
He watched her scramble away, throwing herself out of view in a dip in the earth between two low formations of white rock. Then he glanced to the Tarukadul, seeing their armoured bulk strewn across the ground, their bodies speared through with thick barbed shafts. Dead, all of them, he guessed. Beyond saving. A healer, yes, but not a god... resurrection requires more power than I could ever pull from the world of magic. The dead are outside my jurisdiction.
The front line of Agryce's Black Talon was surging forward, a bustling row of purple muscle shrouded in black Baldaw mesh, blades glinting. The armoured skulls of the shadamar mounts were like the bosses of greatshields. For a moment, time seemed to slow as Chalos realised that there was nowhere he could flee too. He could not outrun the shadamar. He could not survive the blades. He stood there like a slack-jawed idiot.
A moment later he could feel the heat of the animals and hear the hissing breath of the riders. His bowels loosened and warmth spread down his leg. His knees buckled.
Then he was up in the air, twisting away, a burning pain in his left shoulder. A sword swung at his legs, missing his flailing foot by a hair's breadth. All Chalos could do was gape in surprise as he watched the force pass beneath him.
Mysa had him by the shoulder and was dragging him through the air. They passed over a panicked mob of sherdlings that was trapped in the path of the oncoming Tarukaveri, paralysed with indecision as to which way to flee. Then Chalos was soaring over open ground, the earth chewed up with divots and the impressions of heavy boots, before ending his rapid flight at the eastern fringe of the Tarukataru Black Talon line. Chalos barely had time to note that the Riln were in disarray here, their ranks disintegrating beneath the assault of Dolga's Gilt Plates and fierce black-clad Krune under the Corporal's command, before Mysa's strength finally failed her and they plummeted.
Landing roughly, Chalos blacked out for a moment. When he came to, Mysa was staggering about, flexing her wings infront of him. The fighting was close. He could smell the sweat and the blood and the air was crammed with the punishing noise of sword on shield, boot on earth, bones breaking under blows, roars that turned into screams.
'Mysa!' he gasped. 'You saved me!'
The bird cocked her head.
'Goodness, you are heavy,' she groaned.
He inspected his shoulder. His clothing was in tatters and there were deep gouges in the flesh beneath, very dark blood building up in the triangular incisions. The wounds oozed as he prodded the skin.
He began to reach back into the world of magic to repair the damage the crow's claws had done.
'Not here, Chalos!' Mysa said with urgency as if reading his mind. 'Agryce will soon be upon us!'
Turning southward he saw, down a slight decline, the line of mounted Tarukaveri Black Talon heading for them. They crashed through the sherdlings with complete disinterest, trampling them unceremoniously.
'The Corporal!' Mysa said. 'You have to warn the Corporal!'
For a second, Chalos wondered how anyone could miss a force that big charging into its rear. But then he saw the battle itself from a decent vantage point. Mysa had deposited him on a small hillock littered with small white stones like grave markers, and he could now see the swarm of Riln warriors in their leather armour and flat tin helms as well as the larger shapes of the Krune carving them asunder. He could also see the giant Dauwarks thundering into the enemy line, bludgeoning five at a time with their enormous weapons as blades and arrows bounced off their shining armour. And, to the west, on the opposite end of the line, he saw flashes of crimson and gouts of smoke, followed by the sounds of mass panic, as Samine harried the Riln with conjured flames.
Chalos rose with a groan, pulling a kerchief from a pocket and pressing it to his ravaged shoulder. He pointed westward to the middle of the Tarukataru line.
'Mysa, find Jolm. Make sure he knows Agryce is coming.'
'How? He can't hear me! All are deaf to me but you!'
'Peck at his back, drop some guano on his helmet, anything!' Chalos said. 'Just make him turn around and see!'
As the bird nodded and took flight, Chalos took a deep breath and then sprinted for the battle. Not being a trained soldier, it was counter-intuitive for him to run towards the sound of war but he pushed the voice of warning from his mind. As he closed in on the massed ranks of Krune he began to stumble on the dead. The corpses were mostly Riln, pressed into the mud, their bodies pulverised by blow and boot. There were a few Krune there too, but not many. Clearly Jolm's warriors had hit the Riln line hard, slaughtered scores and then pushed forward, stamping on the dead as they forced the enemy back.
'Corporal!' the healer yelled to little effect, his reedy Rovann voice not suited to booming above the din of war. He reached up and slapped a Black Talon on his armoured shoulder. The Baldaw steel, glistening as it always did with its strange innate oils, was ice-cold under his palm. 'Soldier! I need to speak to the Corporal!'
A purple face, contorted in bloodlust, spun round, the eyes roving downward to find him.
'Rovann! Your healing is not needed! We are fine here!'
'Look behind you!' Chalos howled. The soldier turned and his eyes grew wide. Agryce's Tarukaveri were still too far for the noise of their shadamar hooves to pierce through the sound of the battle but they were nevertheless closing the distance at a furious pace.
'Doggosh be damned!' the Krune warrior barked before sticking his bloody sword in the air and hollering with all his might. 'Betrayal! Betrayal! Look to the south, comrades!'
Chalos staggered back as the whole eastern edge of the line quivered. Like a single organism... all these fighting men have sacrificed their individuality, he noted. They are just arms and legs of the same great warrior. Once again, the healer realised how little he had in common with professional soldiers like the men of the Black Talon. Their dedication to the cause of war and the self-negation it demanded both impressed and appalled him.
Black-helmeted heads were swivelling as the back line turned aghast to face the oncoming Tarukaveri. Shields went up and curses emerged from snarling lips. Chalos backed away nervously, not knowing where to go. A voice boomed above everything, a voice he immediately recognised as belonging to the Corporal. It seemed to hold the Krune in place by sheer volume, grasping their spirits in an vise.
'Rearguard! Switch and hold!'
/> Chalos was grabbed roughly by the shoulder – his wounded one – and yanked into the midst of the Krune. His eyes flicked up to see the Corporal grinning malevolently down at him.
'So little Rovann, you find yourself in the midst of battle at last! Fun, no?'
Chalos doubled over and vomited. A strand of phlegm tumbled off his tongue as he gagged. The Corporal laughed and slapped him on the back, nearly winding him.
'Don't be frightened!' the Krune officer bellowed. 'War is like breathing. One must simply do it, yes?'
'Oh, gods!' Chalos whined, sucking in a breath.
'Hold firm, healer,' the Corporal said, his tone dropping to a severe growl. His large gauntlet cradled the healer as the Krune line wavered and fell back with a sudden crash. Boots thundered and it was all Chalos could do to stop himself from being dragged beneath them to certain death. With a grunt the Corporal lifted Chalos clean off the ground as the line trembled again and fell back another step.
To the north, the Riln had sensed something was amiss, and were pressing their advantage.
Chalos could feel the hooves of the Tarukaveri shadamars now, a great tattoo that beat through the earth and up the bones of his legs, making his femurs buzz. He now became aware of mounted Tarukataru leaving the front line to nudge their way through to meet Agryce's men and he could feel the heat rising off the sweating hides of the animals. It was a relief to see the mounted warriors but he also knew that whatever strength was brought to the rear of the line to defend against the Tarukaveri charge was strength depleted from the front, where the Riln were pressing.
We're all going to die, crushed between foes, he thought. What can Jolm do?
Even if Mysa had failed to alert the lieutenant of the threat coming from behind them, he would certainly know now. With a detached objectivity born of complete hopelessness, Chalos imagined the Tarukataru and their Dauwark allies pressed between the Riln horde and the Tarukaveri. Against the Riln alone, they might have eventually won, albeit with noticeable casualties. Against the Tarukaveri alone it would have been a much closer thing. As superior as Jolm's tribe considered itself to that of Agryce and the Duke, the Tarukaveri were still Black Talon. They were expert killers finely drilled in military tactics and Agryce had managed to not only become recognised as a capable warrior, but had risen to the rank of lieutenant, in spite of being a woman – something the Krune seemed to think of as a curse and a mark of inferiority. She must have proven herself as something special in the field to overcome what the Krune saw as a natural handicap.
So, like Jolm, she has overcome obstacles to attain the respect of her comrades. It would be madness to underestimate her.
The Tarukaveri line was slowly forming into a spearpoint and at the very tip emerged a Krune with a long halberd held high in the air. The Krune's armour was daubed in white and green. Beneath its skull-shaped white helm flowed a mass of black locks. When Chalos saw the subtly contoured shape of the warrior's breastplate he knew it to be Agryce.
He then saw that every second Krune on the front line of the Tarukaveri had a crossbow ready.
'Crossbows!' he tried to shout, but no sound emerged from his gaping mouth. Then a call went up amongst the Tarukataru and the rank of men before him closed. He heard shields slam into the earth moments before the dreadful whine and thud of crossbow bolts being released.
The Krune infront of him grunted and staggered, the tip of a bolt emerging through his side. Chalos did not panic, which surprised him as much as anyone. He pressed a hand to the larger man's back and with his other took hold of the tip and snapped it. Then, without thinking, he reached around, tore the bolt free and cast it to the ground. Pushing his hands against the wound and feeling thick, warm blood gush between his fingers, he found his mirror and healed the injury. When he came out of his mystical trance, large pale-green eyes were gazing down at him. The soldier chuckled.
'Gods and bones! You're a useful fellow to have around!'
The Krune lay a hand on the healer's shoulder.
'I am Ranuk, the Boar's Maul,' he said. 'I'm in your debt!'
Chalos saw the back of the Krune's greatshield. No less than seven bolts were embedded in it.
Any one of those could have killed me, had his shield not caught them all...
'I think you've paid it already,' he said shakily.
'True,' the Krune grunted, turning back to the oncoming foe.
For a moment the rank between Chalos and Agryce's oncoming force had loosened with a violent flinch under the volley of crossbow fire, but now the ranks were closing tight. Before the line had reformed, the healer saw the front row of Tarukaveri discard their crossbows and draw their swords, leaning forward, snarling.
Here it comes. Death.
Then a word he didn't understand ripped through the air on a shrill, ragged howl. The entire mass of men around him adjusted their footing on instinct at that single command, surging sideways to the east a few strides and then stopping sharply. On the west end of the line, the opposite happened. The men in the centre divided themselves between the two emerging formations, leaving the centre of the Tarukataru force non-existent. Bewildered, Chalos looked up at the faces around him. Far from impassive, they now had a sparkle in their eyes and smirks of smug arrogance on their faces.
Before he could ruminate further on why the Tarukataru warriors seemed so pleased with themselves despite facing certain annihilation, Chalos was hoisted up by powerful arms that gripped him with bruising force. 'Get him to safety!' the Corporal barked and with that the healer was passed eastward along the line, rapidly and with little care for his comfort, before being practically ejected from the massed ranks of Black Talon into a depression in the earth surrounded by rough-hewn grey boulders. Within the shallow pit a half dozen Krune were lying, nursing sword wounds. Another four, also bloodied, kept watch with crossbows in their gauntleted fists.
These men had been on the front line when they had first charged into the Riln. Now they were pallid and drawn, sweat prickling their brows and fatigue making their limbs tremble. Chalos caught his breath and then threw himself against one of the boulders on the south-west edge of the pit, peeping over to see the Tarukaveri clash with the Tarukataru.
My fate's about to be decided, he thought, staring out from cover. And I'm nothing but a bystander!
Eight
Honour Duel
Chalos watched in mute horror as Aryce and her battalion slammed into the Tarukataru line. He could see that the force of Krune to his immediate right was now nine ranks deep instead of six, having accommodated men from the centre of the line. Three ranks faced north, pressed tight against the Riln. The other six ranks took the Tarukavari charge, the southernmost line rippling with the impact of the charging enemy shadamars, the men behind holding them upright and those behind pushing with their shoulders. Somehow the block of soldiers held its ground and the mounted Tarukataru spent their advantage. However, when the riders bounced away and began swinging with their halberds Chalos could see several Tarukataru lying in the mud in the space between the two opposing Krune forces.
Hooves thundered behind him and he whipped round to see twenty or so mounted Tarukataru circle the pit and meet the other tribe of Krune, driving their spears into the enemies' shadamar. It was a smart move executed with surprising alacrity and grace. For as soon as the barbed spear tips found their marks, the Tarukataru released the weapons and wheeled away. The Tarukaveri line wobbled as mounts collapsed, the beasts pulling their riders down with them and disrupting the stance and poise of their surrounding comrades, providing a window of opportunity which the Corporal, in command of the eastern block of the divided Tarukataru force, used to unleash a sudden and brutal counterattack.
A dazzling violet flare of magery made Chalos turn his head to the west, but he could not see Samine. However, thanks to the gradient of the plains he could see saw how the Tarukataru force had split evenly into two square-shaped detachments, one commanded by the Corporal and the other by J
olm. The closer group, driven by the Corporal's booming voice, was stretched. The north-facing ranks were holding the Riln as the south-facing ranks ploughed into the Tarukaveri. Jolm's force had yet to engage with the Tarukaveri but were deeply entangled with the Riln. As Chalos watched, the fighting ebbed and flowed and a sizeable gap developed between the two tribes of Krune, as if Agryce was hesitating to commit her warriors.
It was not hard to see why she would think twice. Jolm had revealed himself to be a wily and adventurous tactician. When Agryce had sounded the charge he had pulled his force in two, each end of the line expanding to accommodate warriors from the centre. This had not only created two huge masses of fighting men that would prove hard to wear down but had also opened a gateway for the Riln to pour through.
Erroneously thinking that Jolm's force had snapped beneath their onslaught the northerners had charged through the gap in the middle of the Tarukataru line without thought or planning, spilling out into the space between the two tribes of Krune. As they did so, Jolm was already shuffling his block of troops eastward, widening the space for the Riln, cleverly goading them into engaging Agryce. Mistaking the Tarukaveri as reinforcements for the Tarukataru, the Riln charged into them, buoyed by the false conviction that they had broken the Tarukataru and could now do the same to their latecomer allies. This was sheer folly, of course, for even though they outnumbered the Krune on the field – even taking Agryce and her men into account – they had lost all shape and discipline.
And in the gap that this chaos had created between Jolm's detachment and Agryce's line emerged a single rider.
Samine was leaning forward in the saddle, driving her shadamar hard towards the Tarukaveri. Her right arm was extended, fingers contorted into a claw from which came a violet light that splashed and spilled into the air with an unnatural crackle until it focused into a tight beam. Then, with a graceful movement that reminded Chalos of a violinist sawing a bow – slowly, even languorously, but with meticulous control – she guided the beam into the enemy.
Healer's Ruin Page 13
