Braylar, too, didn’t seem to be faring well, though his physical injuries seemed to be the least of it. Lloi rode as close as she could and whispered, “Captain Noose?”
Braylar nodded, eyes closed, and if our brief history together told me anything, he was battling things unseen to the rest of us. I still found this difficult to believe, never having encountered anything like it before, but I’d seen enough to convince me he was no madman. Well, not wholly.
He licked his lips. “I’m well, Lloi.” His voice was still like tangled underbrush. “Well enough.” He straightened his back and rolled his posture back up to the rigid position it was so commonly in, though this seemed to take a great effort. Then he looked at me. “You shot the crossbow, yes?”
The question surprised me. “Yes. It was me.”
He asked, “And were you trying to hit me or him?”
When we’d first met, I might have been reluctant to answer, turning his words over carefully, like overturning stones with the knowledge that a snake was coiled under one of them. But I was too tired. “I was trying to distract the guard.”
“Well then, it was a fine shot. A fine shot, truly.”
Unaccustomed to his praise, I was silent, waiting briefly for a barb or nasty qualifier. None came, and so I mumbled my thanks.
That was the extent of our exchange on the subject, as he turned to Lloi and said, “When we return, I’ll have need of you.”
“You got need of me now. Might be there is no later.”
“There’s a later if I will it so, and I do.” He rubbed his bruised throat and closed his eyes.
Mulldoos chuckled and said, “Cap here is a master of will, he is. More willful than the gods with half as much regret. Doubt that at your peril.”
I expected Braylar to send me back to the rear again but he didn’t. And he didn’t speak to anyone else again. There are some men who are silent in a way that indicates they’re wrestling with their thoughts or drawn into a waking dreamworld, in both cases, withdrawing from those around them. Braylar was the opposite—his silence seemed to radiate outwards with an almost physical force. It was heavy and oppressive, either driving those around him away or deep into their own reveries, or demanding something be said to break the uncomfortable quiet. There were times his scorn was preferable to his silence. I was tempted to speak, either to him or one of his two remaining retinue, but held my tongue. And so we rode along, silent from the front of the column to rear. Heat lightning stole closer, but still no thunder.
A few miles later, Vendurro came back down the road to meet us. When he reined up, Braylar asked, “What of the road?”
Vendurro’s voice was flat. “Road’s clear, Cap. Least, it was last I looked. Not looking now.”
“Very good. Rejoin the column.”
Vendurro saluted and started to turn his horse, but Braylar reached over and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing once. Vendurro licked his lips but didn’t look at Braylar, and the captain released him. Vendurro rode back beside Glesswik’s horse and body.
The hours dragged by, each more unnerving than the last. The procession was full of funeral quality, in mood if not in finery. We rode along, mute as the miles came and went, stopping once to briefly water the horses. We passed small hills harboring fugitive clumps of trees among the small pastures and homesteads, accessed by smaller paths leading off the road. We saw several fields of sheep, and now and then a man mending a hedge. Even then, with the wild abandoned temple many miles behind us and Alespell and the baron’s protection drawing closer, the silence didn’t lift.
Then we saw a figure galloping down the road towards us. Xen was alone, but we all knew there was only one reason for him to be galloping. He reined up, horse spewing foam out of the corners of its mouth, sweat pouring down his face. He looked over his shoulder briefly, but one shout from Mulldoos and he spun back around and gathered himself. “More of the priest’s men. Riding hard. Coming down the road.”
Braylar asked, “How many?”
“Hard to say, Cap. Didn’t stop to introduce myself. More than ten. Less than twenty. Riding in a column.”
“How far back?”
Xen started to glance over his shoulder again but stopped himself. “A mile? Two? No, less than two. But more than a mile, I say.”
Braylar looked at Gurdinn, who’d ridden up to hear the report. Gurdinn assessed our small company with a scowl. “We don’t have the numbers to engage them. Not directly. We should find a defensible position.” He pointed behind us. “That copse of trees looks to be on a small hill. I say, we ride there, take cover in the trees. Hope they ride by. It’s the closest cover. I see no other choice.” If he believed this plan might actually work, it didn’t carry through to his voice, which was less than inspiring.
Braylar was still facing up the road, eyes closed. “They won’t.”
Gurdinn looked confused. “Won’t what?”
Braylar let out a deep breath and opened his eyes. “They won’t ride by.”
“Might not. They might not. We don’t know.”
Braylar had a flail head in one hand as he replied, almost sadly, “I know.”
Gurdinn puffed his cheeks out and swore. “You don’t. But even if you’re somehow right, we should still take the high ground. Force the bastards to come to us. They’ll be lancers. We should dismount in the trees, make them engage us on foot. So, to the copse then? We don’t have much time.”
All of us were looking at the two commanders, our futures fixed in the center of their debate. Gurdinn said, “We hide, then fight if need be. We have no other choice. And no time.”
Braylar acknowledged Gurdinn slowly, almost as if seeing him for the first time. “Yes. The copse. Get your men moving now.”
Gurdinn grunted, indignant that Braylar had taken too long to arrive at such an obvious decision. But as he took up the reins of his horse he stopped and looked at Braylar. “Wait. My men? What of yours?”
Braylar ignored him and turned to Mulldoos and Vendurro. Glancing up at the clouds, not yet letting loose their rain, he said, “A good day for crossbows, yet. Do you whoresons still remember how to ride?”
Mulldoos whooped and punched the air, suddenly fifteen years younger. “About damn time.”
He and Vendurro pulled their crossbows from the leather cases at their sides and spanned them, working the levers with expert ease.
Gurdinn looked at the three Syldoon as if they had sprouted blue feathers from their heads. “Ride where? You just agreed we head to the copse.”
Braylar loaded his own crossbow. “I agreed you needed to head to the copse. Take your men and the injured. Lloi, Xen, and Arki will accompany you. Hewspear has no doubt noted that we stopped, and will likely join you as well. Ride to the copse at once. Leave the dead.”
Gurdinn shook his head, face turning crimson. “We stand no chance at all if we split our forces. None.”
Braylar ignored him. “Lloi, fetch Glesswik’s crossbow, Tomner’s as well. Be quick about it. Go.”
Gurdinn eyed the crossbows and the Syldoon holding them as Lloi ran back to the horses bearing the dead. “The three of you will be slaughtered. And us to follow. Our one chance is to stay together, engage them on ground of our choosing.”
Braylar lifted the crossbow and looked down its length to the road beyond, as if willing a target to appear. “We ride. With the dead. You should go.”
“The dead? What—”
A column of underpriest’s lancers rode into view just then, perhaps a mile ahead of us. Braylar lowered the crossbow and faced Gurdinn. “Your plan has merit. We’ll take out as many as we can. Then we’ll lead them to the copse. You’ll be waiting, with several crossbows still. Shoot as many as you can. If the survivors still approach, kill the underpriest and engage them on foot. It might not come to that, though.”
Lloi handed Braylar Glesswik’s crossbow and gave Tomner’s to Mulldoos before climbing back in the saddle and pulling her own out of its case. Xen drew and spanne
d his as well.
Gurdinn laughed, a loud, raucous thing heavy with mockery. “Might not come to that? You might kill one or two, and then you’ll be run down. Are you such a feast that their bloodlust will be slated after the consumption? Do you think they’ll simply trample your corpses and ride off? You’re an even bigger fool than I imagined. If you’re determined to charge, then we all charge. Our forces are small enough, we aren’t splitting them.”
Braylar spun his horse around. “And you’re exactly the size fool I took you for.” He looked at Lloi and Xen. “If the good Brunesman chooses to ignore his own sound advice and doesn’t ride to that copse, shoot him for disobeying a direct order.”
I imagined this was some horrible joke, but Lloi already had her crossbow up and trained on Gurdinn.
Braylar looked at me. “You should have a crossbow in hand now as well. Priestmen, Brunesmen, you’ll need to shoot someone.”
Then he addressed Gurdinn again, “I don’t have time to debate military tactics with you. Stay out of my way and go to the copse. Don’t force my companions to shoot you. They’re overwrought with conscience, and it would grieve them sorely.”
The three Syldoon rode ahead, ignoring the Brunesmen who gaped at them. Braylar spoke to Mulldoos and Vendurro briefly and they untethered the horses bearing the dead from the line and began trotting down the road with them as they approached the column of lancers. I grabbed a crossbow, holding it in unsteady hands.
Gurdinn glared at Lloi and Xen; they each had a crossbow aimed at his chest. “He dooms us all.”
Lloi shrugged. “Hadn’t done it yet.”
Gurdinn began to ride toward the copse with Lloi and Xen alongside, keeping pace. I allowed the other Brunesmen to ride past, crossbow angled toward the ground but clearly visible as a threat, though I was sure if any of them attacked, I would be less than useless. Each of them seemed to give me a darker glare than the last, and once they all passed, including the underpriest and his guard, I flicked the reins and started after them.
We reached the copse quickly enough, the ground rising underneath our horses’ hooves as we climbed the small hill. We stopped short of entering the trees. I rode up near Lloi and Gurdinn. They dismounted, but I stayed in the saddle as I turned my stubborn horse around and watched the three Syldoon below who seemed so determined to throw their lives away. Gurdinn seemed right about that—splitting our numbers was the height of foolishness. Even someone untrained in tactics and strategies of warfare could see that. However, just as I couldn’t turn away when I thought the underpriest’s guard was going to crush Braylar’s throat, I found myself wanting to see this event unfold as clearly as possible. If this was truly the day Braylar was to die, I wouldn’t shrink from witnessing it. I knew there was no chance of me doing anything to intervene this time.
The approaching column saw the Syldoon riding to intercept them and fanned out, breaking into a single line. If they slowed down to perform this maneuver, it was imperceptible to me, and it was clear that whether or not the riders were experts on the battlefield, they were certainly expert horsemen. The lancers, true to the name, were bearing lances and long shields, and they kept the lances perfectly upright as they galloped to meet their foes.
The Syldoon were still riding, though at a slower pace, two on one side of the horses bearing the dead, who were tethered together in a small line themselves, and one on the other, to keep the essentially riderless horses grouped together.
The Syldoon and lancers were roughly three hundred paces apart when the Syldoon lifted their crossbows. A moment later three bolts flew through the air. Only one of them struck anything, one of the lancer’s shields.
I heard Gurdinn say, “Coward’s weapons.”
“Be glad the cowards thought to bring a few,” Xen replied. “Probably save your life this day.”
Gurdinn laughed, which, upon further reflection, seemed an odd reaction—he should have welcomed that possibility, but it seemed he truly believed we’d cast our lives away.
I watched the field below and silently conceded if that was Braylar’s notion of evening the odds, it was a very poor strategy indeed. But then all three Syldoon reached forward as they continued riding, spanning the crossbows just as Braylar had done after the wagon attack in the Green Sea, more deftly and quickly than I would have believed possible while on large, moving animals. But sure enough, the crossbows were loaded and they were taking aim once again at the lancers, who had closed the distance almost in half.
At this range, all three of the bolts struck true. Two of the lancers fell from their saddles, badly wounded or dead, and a third held on bravely, despite having a bolt sticking out of his shoulder, though he slowed and fell behind the others.
The remaining riders lowered their lances, while the Syldoon reloaded their crossbows again. However, this time, all three dropped back and moved behind the horses bearing the dead. Though they were hardly harnessed together, the horses didn’t try to flee in separate directions as I anticipated, and kept the same spacing and grouping.
The remaining lancers were almost upon them when the Syldoon loosed their third volley. Another lancer fell from his saddle, raising huge chunks of grass and sod as he hit the ground and rolled to a stop. Another had been struck in the thigh not protected by a shield, though how much his armor did to negate the injury I couldn’t tell, as he rode on. The Syldoon had slowed just enough to let the riderless horses pass them, then fell in behind. Most of the lancers saw that the horses in the middle were bearing only dead men and were roped together and veered away at the last instant to avoid them. One of the lancers either failed to see the ropes or thought perhaps he could charge through them unaccosted. He was wrong. As he rode between two of the horses to spear the Syldoon, his horse attempted to jump the rope. But it caught its front legs and both horse and rider were pulled down as if by an unseen giant’s hand. The two horses bearing the dead were nearly pulled down as well, and the other horses around them tried in vain to race off in a different directions, pulling the ropes tight and slowing the entire group down. One of them reared up and the dead body slung across its saddle toppled backwards, landing in the grass. Then the horses started forward, and it took me a moment to understand why. It had one of the lancer’s spears stuck in its chest and was tossing its head side to side in panic and pain before trying to gallop off, drawing the other uninjured horses behind it.
The Syldoon slowed their mounts just enough to avoid being pulled into the tangle as the remaining lancers swept past on either side, then rode out from behind the chaotic jumble of horses and dead men.
Even from this distance, we could hear the lancer’s horse scream as it attempted to rise, having broken one if not both of its front legs. It fell back to the ground. I’d never heard a horse in so much agony before, and it was truly an awful sound, almost human.
The Syldoon spanned their crossbows again as they rode on. The lancer who’d been shot in the shoulder and fallen behind the charge tried to spear Braylar’s horse, but Braylar got clear and the lancer flew past.
Most of the lancers were turning their mounts and preparing to give chase, but one of them raised his long spear above his head and shouted something. Having gotten the attention of the other riders, he pointed once toward the three Syldoon, and then swept the spear in our direction. Three of the lancers wheeled around and galloped back to join their wounded companion. The other six kept riding for our copse. Everyone around me was leading their horses into the fragile shelter of the trees, but I stayed where I was, transfixed. The Syldoon reloaded their crossbows on the run and were turning to face their pursuers.
The wounded lancer was closest and I saw Mulldoos shoot a bolt into his horse’s neck. The animal collapsed, crashing to the earth. The lancer didn’t roll free and was crushed in the fall as the horse toppled forward in a tangle of limbs.
The other three lancers closed in, and Mulldoos galloped off while Braylar and Vendurro raised their crossbows and loosed again. One
of their bolts struck another lancer in the helm. The bolt didn’t penetrate, but it struck solidly before ricocheting into the grass. Vendurro and Braylar split off. The two remaining lancers began to pursue Vendurro, but they realized that in doing so they were exposing their backs to two Syldoon who were quickly reloading their crossbows and they turned and began riding towards us as well.
I jumped and nearly loosed my own crossbow as Hewspear grabbed my arm and told me to get off my horse and retreat into the trees. I hadn’t even heard him ride up. The copse wasn’t nearly as wooded as it had appeared from the lower ground—the trees were only loosely crowded together. The lancers coming for us wouldn’t be able to mount a charge so long as we stayed behind the thin trunks, but they also wouldn’t need to dismount in order to attack. Still, it was the only ground that offered anything in the way of a defensive position, so it was as good a place to mount a stand as any, even if it appeared to be a last stand.
I watched the riders coming up the hill and glanced around quickly. One of the Brunesmen was tying the horses bearing the underpriest and his guard to each other, and then the end of the rope around the closest tree trunk. Lloi and Hewspear were holding their crossbows, though not aiming them yet, and Hewspear had his long slashing spear and another loaded crossbow leaning against a tree alongside him. His face was pale, and he seemed to be in great pain.
Gurdinn was at the front and turned to face us. “Turn your horses sideways at the edge. Keep them there as long as you can. Those bastards ran from rope, they sure as sun will turn from a wall of horse. Make them ride around to get to us. Without speed and flat ground, they’re just bigger targets.” His men laughed, albeit nervously, but I noted Lloi, Xen, and Hewspear didn’t. “Use your shields, use the trees, and stay together.”
He turned and his men maneuvered their horses forward as I heard the lancers pounding towards us. It seemed impossible only six horses could make such a drumming, and I thanked Truth they weren’t riding us down on level, unimpeded ground. If this was the kind of fear a handful of horses could instill in a man on the ground, I didn’t see how even the most stalwart infantry managed to stand firm against a full cavalry charge.
Scourge of the Betrayer Page 26
