Dekran's horse went down with a shrill scream that cut short. The archers had found the range at last. Now nowhere was safe from their arrows.
The Lance Captain pulled himself upright and paced around the tor top, still trying to direct a battle that had long since slipped from his control. The enemy commanded the situation now.
Bitter experience had taught most other armies that the Eldovans rarely allowed surrender from their enemies. Annihilation was usually their aim.
But despite everything, Dekran had not given up.
Again, the remnants of the lancers formed up and again, they charged. Eldovan cavalry now fought Markan pikemen at the hastily assembled defenses. The archers were still there, but for some reason held their fire.
Belaika looked at Haema.
Crouched beside Dekran's dead horse, she had stopped quaking. Perhaps she had finally come to terms with her inevitable fate.
Would the Eldovans kill her as well, or return her to Nicolfer? What might happen then?
Forgiveness for her escape? Or something a little more entertaining? His face twisted with concern and his earpoints sagged.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. She even managed a small smile.
Belaika looked around again. There could not be much time left now.
He gave Haema a sad smile and glanced away. "They say the pain does not last long," he said. He hoped his earpoints didn't betray the lie. Death was sometimes mercifully quick, but could often take hours.
Haema nodded, acceptance in her eyes. "At least I am with you," she whispered.
***
Captain Jediyah looked around the field of battle. Everything was going as planned. Which meant very well indeed.
He had taken more casualties than expected – the Markans were far too professional to simply roll over and surrender – and he knew that if the enemy had archers, he would have a much bloodier nose.
He glanced at the hill. There his cavalry and archers made increasing headway against the Markans. His eyes narrowed as he looked across to the infantry and reserve archers, where the Markan lancers had carved their bloody mark.
He looked back up at the tor. A pity that whoever commanded up there was not on his side. The courage and... well, the balls to send out an attack when outnumbered and outmaneuvered commanded respect. If the man lived, Jediyah had decided to spare his life – and of all the other survivors – and hang standing orders.
Screams filled the air, they always did. Jediyah could never tell which were worse: human or horse screams. Later, with the battle over, those who could not walk would be abandoned or killed. If dying anyway, the final swordstroke was a mercy. That was the way of it. If steel took you, best to die outright than be badly wounded. Minor wounds did not matter. The rule to abandon the non-walking wounded prevented malingerers from shirking. At the very least, it ensured no repeat performance.
His signalman staggered to him. He staggered not because of a wound, but from fatigue; the man did a lot of running about during a battle.
"What is it, Dajan?" Jediyah knew the man's news would be important.
"Our messenger to the strangers has returned, sir."
"And?" The moment Jediyah became aware of another army approaching the battle, he had sent a messenger to discover this new force's intentions.
"They refused to speak with him, sir."
Jediyah nodded. He had feared as much. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst. The most important thing he had learned in almost twenty years of soldiering. "Assume it to be hostile."
"Very good, sir."
Jediyah had hoped they might be reinforcements from Eldova, but these riders did not wear Eldovan armor, neither did they fly the Eldovan banner. Three hundred riders, together with carts and what might be their families, probably passing through. To where was none of his concern.
Perhaps they followed another claimant.
"Have they made any move towards us?" he asked.
Dajan shook his head. "Nothing. They've halted in the forest, so they must have scouts out. Just sitting there."
"A problem for later."
Jediyah's attention returned to the melee in front of him. The archers closed up on the enemy nicely; it could be only moments before that command post at the tor top was blooded. What would happen then? Did command move down through the ranks, as in the Eldovan Army? Or would they break and try to flee the field?
Impossible to tell. If these were Markans, they might be relatively inexperienced, and the flee option might look attractive. But if these men were from Sandester or Calcan...
They knew that discipline kept men alive in battle. Flight meant more losses; to stand and fight meant more enemy casualties. And there was always the hope of a reversal of fortune when men stood to fight. He wondered if they knew about the riders in the forest. He remembered the sylph scouts and stopped wondering. Of course they knew.
"Sir!" cautioned Dajan.
Jediyah looked and this time he did curse. The strangers had left the forest and now lined up at the edge of the trees. Time to end it. Now.
Jediyah swept his gaze around the battleground again. An unfriendly move in his view and he must assume that the army behind might even take an active role against him. There was only one thing to do in these circumstances: he must secure one of his flanks by eliminating one of his enemies.
"Signalman! Cavalry, infantry and archers to advance on the hill."
Dajan gave an acknowledgement that was probably the required answer, but Jediyah was already thinking of other things.
The presence of this new, probably hostile, army had changed his mind about sometihng else.
"One more thing, signalman."
Dajan turned back. "Yes sir?"
"No prisoners."
***
Dekran knew the endgame fast approached. The few lancers still alive were thrown back and the pikemen were relentlessly pushed uphill. The melee had been brief but bloody. Most of his men had been hacked to death, but they had inflicted a heavy toll on the enemy.
Except the enemy could afford to pay the bill a lot more easily.
Unless he missed his guess, archers were behind that push, even if the sky was still free from their deadly showers.
He glanced up at Banner Sergeant Yochan.
"Sure you don't want the horse, sir?" asked Yochan, cheerfully.
The man must think they still had a chance. Dekran thought briefly of his wife Aralyn and his twin daughters. He would never see the girls grow up. Never have a chance of a son.
Dekran shook his head. "You stay there, Banner Sergeant."
He looked at Belaika.
"Anything new?" he asked.
"Want me to ask? They might hear." Despite his words, Belaika looked doubtful. Even if his brother scouts heard anything, he was unlikely to hear their replies.
Dekran shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said, sadly. He saw the look on the sylph's face and forced a smile. "Belaika, I expect they will leave you and Haema unharmed. Pass on this command to the other scouts. They might hear."
Belaika nodded. He doubted the reassurance about himself and Haema.
Silence fell across the battle as Eldovans prepared for one last push and the Markans for a last, desperate defense.
"You have all done well. Congratulations. Command: when battle is over, scouts are to scatter. Regroup beyond enemy army and return to Marka."
Belaika nodded again. He bent his head back and sent out the last orders from Lance Captain Dekran Aluffa Mantin. Almost immediately, those orders were queried and questioned.
We must return home?
What about shadowing the army?
Our enemies must be guarded until we reach our humans again.
We will carry our commiseration to Eleka, brother.
Belaika screwed his eyes shut and fought sudden tears. Eleka. Sallie, Callie. Salafisa.
Haema.
The brief silence was over.
He heard, rath
er than saw, arrows in the air. He screamed as pain exploded in his side, at the same moment Yochan's horse screamed. As the animal crashed to the ground, Yochan grasped at something projecting from his throat, death rattle already sounding. Dekran spun, pierced by several arrows, a sudden shower of death from the sky.
Pikemen looked up at the hilltop and their courage wavered. Ignoring the pain shooting from one side of his chest, Belaika pushed himself upright, earpoints slanted forward in determination.
Everything slowed.
Lance Captain Dekran and his yeoman were already dead. The banner fell from Yochan's dead grasp and the surviving Markans paused as it settled on the ground.
Belaika's hands grasped the banner-staff and ignored the pain from what must be a wound. Straightening, he pulled it vertical again and sudden pride forced his earpoints up. He turned to face the enemy and make sure everybody knew the banner was still held.
The few Markan survivors cheered.
For the first time in history, a sylph held a battle banner, and his fear was gone.
***
Chapter 21
Shadow Riders Join Battle
Captain Fared, with Samrita and Nynra in tow, made a quick round of the camp. The Shadow Riders were on defense watches, so half were on duty and the rest sleeping beside their weapons. All fires were shielded and doused early. Their hasty meal had been a cold one. Nobody more than ten pacas away from the camp would notice it; at least, not until too late.
The Turivkan soldiers had left them alone the moment they crossed into Dzigain, but Fared insisted the Riders stay on defense watches, just in case. The Riders now headed east and the past couple of days had so far proved uneventful.
The scouts kept their eyes open, but reported nothing out of the ordinary. There were more farmers around, who watched with wary eyes. Fared deliberately avoided towns and cities, where trouble was most likely.
"I do not think they would send men this far to trap us," said Samrita, as she hurried after the captain. "Not without causing trouble."
"I'd rather not find out the hard way what they might do," countered Fared. "For all we know, Dervra rules Dzigain as well and you say there are other means to bring soldiers."
"There are," agreed the gwerin, "but not only must Dervra have returned to Turivkan to find out we even exist, he must also know exactly where we are now to act. The scouts report nobody following."
"Unless the farmers are his allies," said Fared.
Samrita shrugged. "Unlikely."
Fared didn't really want to think along those lines either. He had traded with several farmers, as five hundred people needed regular supplies of food. Unpleasant to think that a man you traded with in the morning might sell you to your enemy that afternoon. He could get paranoid, thinking like that.
"Highly unlikely," repeated Samrita.
The Riders on duty were especially vigilant and revolved their tasks. They took turns at the outer and inner rings of defenses. Further away, scouts watched and waited. Riders not on duty slumbered.
Fared's attention turned from the gwerin. "How are you feeling?" he asked Nynra. "You have been quiet lately."
Nynra blinked, those too-white eyes large in her face. "I am well, Fared-ya," she replied.
Despite the sylph's words, she heeled Samrita everywhere, perhaps in anticipation of instructions, or simply for company. Fared did not know which. The small infertile was unhappy with, or perhaps frightened by, the Riders' situation.
Or she picked up on Samrita's worry. Sylphs were perceptive, and sensitive to the feelings of those they served.
"Glad to hear it," he said.
Perhaps she feared there might be fighting. He did not know what else the sylph expected, traveling with a band of soldiers. They were bound to attract trouble sooner or later; Fared was surprised that they had made it this far without involvement in more.
He stared into the darkness, beyond the hastily constructed defenses. Peytor scouted somewhere out there.
The boy had proved his worth since his failure in Turivkan. With some reservations, Telisa had forgiven him, but only time would tell if she had changed her mind concerning the lad's worth. For now, Fared would leave things lie.
The families were almost as disciplined as the soldiers. Children kept quiet, even when playing. Most were old enough to understand the danger. Death was sometimes the kindest result when enemies won.
"All seems well," said Fared eventually.
Samrita nodded. "I feared we would be hounded between Turivkan and Marka," she replied. "We still have some way to go and attrition of the Riders would leave us defenseless very quickly."
"You are cheerful," chuckled Fared.
The gwerin shrugged. "I know what the power at Dervra's disposal can do and I hope never to see it again."
"What can we expect in Marka?" Fared changed the subject.
"No idea, yet. Most cities change over two centuries. At least the place has not collapsed." Samrita smiled.
"I'm thinking more of the sylph-Emperor."
"Him. Yes." Samrita grimaced and shook her head. "No idea what the story is there. Sylphs don't rule humans; even gwerins only advise."
Nynra looked at her employer.
Samrita smiled back at her. "Sylphs in Marka serve. They do not rule. I do not mean to cause offence, but humans are difficult to rule in the best of times. To fully understand them one must be human. Not even gwerins are human enough for that."
"Oh, I don't know," protested Fared.
"Spare me your flattery," laughed the gwerin. "I still wonder if the tales are just rumor after all."
"They're outrageous enough to be true," said Fared. "And we've heard them in several places."
"Only that village Woodend, where we heard it first, knows his name though."
"Everywhere we go, we hear the same thing," continued Fared.
Samrita nodded. "Zenepha. If nothing else, it will be interesting to meet him. How did he manage to outwit all the other claimants? And the Supreme Council? And the Senate?"
"He may have had help," pointed out Fared.
"In turn, that throws up even more worrying conclusions. Dissension between Council and Senate, or even within Council and Senate. That possibility worries me."
"It's certainly different."
"Without proper counsel," said Samrita, "the sylph will soon slip and outrage his human subjects." She laughed and shook her head again. "How can a human ever be subject to a sylph?"
Nynra gave a sylph's slow blink, but her earpoints slanted forward in confusion.
"If – when – he does slip," continued Samrita, "his head will decorate a spike in a prominent place. If this Zenepha does not realize how unforgiving humans are, he will not hold the Throne for long. And then Marka returns to chaos. Again."
"Whoever thought of putting him forward knows how to stir things up," said Fared. "Assuming the rumor is true, it's the talk of the continent."
"Dissension is the most likely reason. There would always be debate – perhaps even bloodshed – over which claimant should take the Throne, but if they have chosen a sylph... The world is a strange place and throws up surprises, even for gwerins."
Fared laughed. "If there is an attack, it will come the hour before dawn."
The gwerin nodded. "Better for us to get some sleep now."
Fared realized the sense of this and made for his tent. He gave instructions to the guard: "Wake me one hour before dawn." He looked around. "I hope we have a quiet night."
The guard touched his left shoulder with his fist in acknowledgment. "I hope so too, sir," he replied.
***
Fared watched the Riders break camp at daybreak and reflected on the wasted hour he could instead have spent in his blankets. The scouts made a quick round of the camp the moment they had enough light to see and Qatan signaled that they were alone.
Fared did not know whether to be disappointed or pleased.
He gave orders for the scouts to rem
ain further from the Riders than usual, to give maximum warning of any attack.
"You still expect one?" asked Samrita.
"Just a feeling." Fared grimaced. "At a certain level of experience you begin to trust feelings."
The gwerin gave him a concerned look. "Not the jitters, I hope?"
"If Dervra is half as determined as you say, then he has let us off too easily."
"He might not be back in Turivkan yet," Samrita pointed out, "or perhaps he wants to avoid battle as much as you do."
"I hope so," grinned Fared. "Perhaps his men exaggerated our numbers."
"I doubt that. Dervra was never stupid and neither does he employ stupid people."
"As you say, he might not be home yet. Or content we're gone. But something feels wrong." Fared looked closely into her face. "You think I've lost my senses?"
Samrita smiled. "I have rather more experience of Dervra than I would like. I do not know exactly how he will react to this situation."
Charel approached. "Captain, the Riders are ready. Still nothing from the scouts. The way ahead is clear, so far as we can tell."
"Thank you." Fared turned back to Samrita. "The road leads further south and east. Will we leave Dzigain today?"
Samrita nodded. "I expect we are already on the effective border, but Dzigain's lands traditionally extend to those mountains."
After a last check, to ensure all fires were extinguished and nothing had been left behind, the Shadow Riders remounted and rode out. As before, families stayed with their wagons and children were kept close, just in case. Most were happy to trust Captain Fared's senses.
The sun climbed rapidly, as it did this time of year. The days had drawn out and the land baked for hours at a time. There would be rains soon, then the long, hot continental summer.
Nynra handed a pink parasol to Samrita. The gwerin's skin burned easily. Once she hid in its shade, spotting her in the column became easy. Samrita was not the only one to suffer in sunlight, though Nynra had a white parasol.
"Those animals do not look domesticated," said Fared.
Goats and sheep nibbled at the plants growing in the fertile soil. They watched the humans with curiosity and wariness, so were at least used to seeing people.
"This used to be farmland," said Samrita, "but those sheep have never seen shears."
One of the men scooped up a wild plant that certainly looked like a descendant from familiar agricultural plants.
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