The Edict (The She Trilogy Book 1)

by P. J. Keyworth

  “You have made his troops question him, Trevisian. It’s a good start for us,” said Johan.

  “It will be a good start when I’m rid of that man.” The fierceness on the King’s face made Ikara wonder if he too had been thinking of stabbing Garesh in the neck with a dagger. He certainly seemed capable of it.

  As the defender’s party turned back, Johan’s horse fell in step with Ikara’s.

  “And so, we are at war.”

  “They have no idea who they are facing,” she said it with some kind of excitement. By the end of this fight their fate would be decided, no more uncertainty.

  “Garesh is the head of the snake, Commander.”

  “Yes,” she replied, considering how much in this moment Johan seemed like Fidel. His calmness, the way he was thinking. Where was Fidel? She pushed the thought away. He was a civilian, and as such he would be within the city walls helping with the barricades and the missiles. “We must stamp on the head of the snake.”

  “If you will let me, Commander, I have a plan.”

  Kiara had never been in a battle before. Time seemed to suspend itself while she waited for the Reluwyn troops to charge at them. Their ranks were moving forwards, their jogging quickly becoming a run. The defenders held their line while the Commander cantered along its length, sword raised, crying out for their position to be held.

  Then she saw the King and averted her eyes immediately, forgetting that her helmet protected her from recognition. Her heart was beating fast and her hands tingled with nervous energy.

  Zeb stood by her side wearing his traditional elven armour. Its design was beautifully ornate in an unusual emerald hue. Strapped to his waist was a sword, its ivy-carved handle crafted to fit his hand alone.

  He had scavenged a set of armour for Kiara so that she could stand unnoticed amongst the ranks. She could not be left inside to wait for her husband to die for her, or her uncle, or her friends. She had to be here.

  Kiara saw the King pull his mount Dainus around to face the enemy and raise his sword. “Alakvalto advance!” He moved the sword in a fluid arc towards the advancing forces, his voice bellowing over the din. Kiara watched men on the front line leave their fellow soldiers to form their own contingent, none of them with weapons.

  The Reluwyn broke into a run as one of them issued a loud cry and the others replied, their voices sounding far more animal than human. The transformation happened so fast it was hard to know what had happened at all. Skin became fur, ears grew, arms dropped to the floor becoming forelegs with paws. Tails sprouted, and that was now the only part visible from the defender’s line. They bounded as wildcats with such massive strides that they overtook Trevisian who was galloping alongside them. The wildcats met the Reluwyn with so much ferocity that Kiara had to look away. Even from this distance she could see the blood and hear great howling cries filling the air. Before the enemy forces could collect themselves, the creatures had already slashed their way through hundreds.

  “And so the Shifters have returned,” murmured Zeb, but Kiara didn’t hear.

  Trevisian still sat astride Dainus, unchanged, the mighty black stallion sliding to a halt before a mass of pikes which were thrown across his path. With cat-like agility, the horse sprang into a jump from standstill, making it over the majority of the pikes, his hard hooves landing on the poles of those still beneath him, the sound of splitting wood cracking through the air. Kiara watched again, she saw the mighty swings of Trevisian’s sword. It was all happening so quickly, and the first charge was over in a few minutes. Hendra’s horn sounded and the Alakvalto retreated.

  The opposing Reluwyn were left shaking and uncertain, pulling their injured and dead back through the halted ranks.

  “You stay beside me all the way.” Zeb’s hand clapped heavily onto Kiara’s armoured shoulder. All troops were readying themselves, preparing for the next advance. Kiara turned away from the wildcats and looked into Zeb’s face.

  “You hear me?” he asked, his voice filled with urgency.

  Kiara swallowed, her neck rubbing against the coarse green tunic beneath her armour.

  “You look for my armour if you lose me, understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Ready yourself.”

  She drew the silvery blue sword which had belonged to her father from her belt. She felt its weight, recalling her fighting skills, hoping they would now be enough.

  At Hendra’s horn, they set off as one at a dead run. All that was ahead of her were the moving shoulders of hundreds of Laowyn and Reluwyn soldiers. Zeb had brought her in at the back; even so she didn’t think there’d be enough time to steady herself. Her lungs were beginning to burn with the weight of the armour, her hands and arms shaking.

  When she heard the first clash of metal up ahead, the sounds of the other fighters running beside her faded. All she could hear was her own breathing, the beat of her heart, the rapid stamping of her feet in the mud that fifty other men had already run through. And before her, as she looked ahead, in the space left open on the Laowyn’s right shoulders, hundreds of Enspers stared back at her. She saw them glowing, each Ensper brightening like moving lights.

  “The Spirit is on our side!” cried Zeb, raising his sword and letting out a battle cry.

  It was as Zephenesh had said: the men ahead were darting left and right, their swords and axes swinging. Between their shoulders, the enemy that managed to avoid the blades crashed through. They were coming at her, and she wasn’t ready for this.

  She felt a hand pushing her through. It was Zeb, he was with her, shoulder-to-shoulder, ready to fight.

  The first weapon she connected her sword with sent a hard shock through her arm, but the pain did something to awaken her. She threw herself forward, ducking under another blow, swinging around, slicing through the air, connecting with something.

  A Reluwyn came at her from the side, easily a foot taller than her, bringing a savage scimitar slice down upon her head. She deflected it with her shield, allowing the scimitar to slide off it as she stepped in the opposite direction. She brought her sword up and round but the man blocked the blow and leapt back, reassessing her. He wouldn’t recognise her, as Zeb had smeared mud across her cheekbones and nose.

  He tried to strike a blow as she jumped nimbly out the way; she jabbed left, right, left again, but he came at her with force, sending her back on one knee. He wrested the sword from her grip, lying the scimitar across the padding protecting her throat. He leant forward to whisper in her ear.

  “Laowyn scum.”

  The pressure increased. The sound of the fighting was all around them. She could smell the sweat and blood on him. Other people’s blood. She slipped the dagger from the holder on her arm beneath her vambrace, plunging it with all her strength into the side of his neck. Flesh parted. Veins opened. Warm blood welled over her hand, running down her arm.

  Before she could throw him off, two hands grabbed her roughly up. The dead soldier fell forward and her knife fell from his neck.

  “Your sword!” bellowed Zeb, thrusting the hilt into her hand and turning to fend off another attack.

  “Keep on your feet,” Zeb commanded, jabbing unrelentingly at the men who now surrounded them.

  She picked up the dagger and they carried on, fighting until her arms burned in their sockets, her muscles were spent and her feet felt heavy. But she wouldn’t stop, none of them would; every time she began to tire, a sword blow too close sent adrenaline rushing through her body.

  They had broken the line of the Reluwyn but the enemy kept coming. Wildcats could occasionally be seen bounding at the enemy. Zeb and Kiara came across one lying on the field, a pike thrust through its ribcage, the human eyes dulled in death, the carcass covered in blood. They didn’t look at it for long, another was running towards its fallen comrade, ready to seek vengeance. It cast a sanguine circle of death around the fallen Shifter, taking down several soldiers. A dagger came whistling through the air, burying itself in the creature’s hind leg
.

  “Zeb!” Kiara called, but the elf was already moving over to the animal. They took up their positions at the creature’s back, fighting off the advancing soldiers. The Shifters were attracting more than their share of enemy soldiers, eager to take down the wildcats that were causing so much carnage among the ranks.

  “Too many.” Zeb called, his breath coming in gasps as his body tried to catch up with his rapid movements. He was tiring - they all were.

  That was when they heard Hendra’s horn sound three short blasts. The retreat they had been waiting for. It sounded long and loud. Now they had to fight their way back. They joined together as more and more of them turned back to Ishtalia and suddenly they were more effective again.

  She saw a dark horse moving through the ranks, it was Trevisian riding across, rounding up the last troops.

  “Retreat! Retreat!” he bellowed, taking down a brave enemy troop who hounded the escaping soldiers.

  Kiara could see the Commander further up the line doing the same, fending off the enemy who was intent on routing them, and seeing her troops safely back. All they had to do now was get close enough to the city walls. Kiara and Zeb moved together, the wildcat they had saved limping beside them, its large head constantly moving to assess new threats.

  “The markers!” cried Zeb, thrusting his sword in the direction of a pile of stones to their right just visible beyond the crowd of fleeing soldiers. It was twenty paces forward. Just a little more. Kiara almost gave up, the burning in her lungs was acute and lights flashed in the corners of her vision. She slowed but Zeb’s hand was on her immediately, dragging her forward so forcefully she almost fell.

  “Ten paces!” he cried.

  Ten, nine, eight.

  They were almost there. The flashes became brighter.

  Seven, six, five. She couldn’t catch another breath, there wasn’t enough air.

  Four, three, two. She stumbled left into the wildcat the creature hefting towards her, setting her back on her feet.

  One.

  “Fire! Fire!” called voices from the parapets.

  Zeb’s hand released her. “Breathe, Kiara, breathe.” He came round to face her.

  “It’s all your body needs. Just air.”

  She barely nodded, dragging in breath, the air raking at her lungs, forcing them to open again. She slowed to a walk, each deep breath burning. The flashing became less bright, less frequent.

  She became aware of the volleys from above. Missiles whistled and screamed from the city’s walls. Masonry and makeshift arrows flew in grey streaks above, falling beyond the stone markers and striking enemy soldiers.

  Kiara saw a stone take out a horseman, the creature screaming as the rock broke its forelegs sending it sprawling to the floor, the rider thrown headlong into the stone. She looked down at her hands, red with blood. Whose was it?

  “Move,” commanded Zeb.

  She did as she was told, as did every other troop. They ran again, knowing it was the last leg, the last part of this section of the battle plan. They passed through the gates of Ishtalia. When the heavy doors boomed shut and wooden beams were slid across them, the first half of the battle was over. Now it was time to defend their city.

  Chapter 28

  “My lord, we’ve lost the right flank to the missiles. We must regather the troops.” Captain Aktabad’s guttural voice carried above the distant sound of the dying.

  Garesh had been watching from his vantage point while the rebel force fractured his army. The Shifters had been a surprise he had not accounted for - their charge had sent fear throughout the Reluwyn ranks, the untrained rebels breaking their line without effort. When he had finally thought the tide was turning, he had watched his right flank run straight into a trap, the enemy missiles smashing men and horse alike to death.

  “Regather them,” Garesh rode towards the tent which had been set up after their arrival. Dismounting and casting the horse’s reins to a servant, he entered the dwelling and called for his captains to follow.

  Discussion was loud and inconclusive. Aktabad argued for immediate action, and Lira for the necessity of gathering weapons first.

  Garesh’s mood was deteriorating rapidly. Today was supposed to have been easy, the Laowyn blood finally running back into the soil, eliminating the disunity of the Kingdom and solidifying his position as the ruling Regent.

  Sameedos and Mishka were there too. Their contribution to the fight had been as minimal as Garesh’s and now they argued siege tactic semantics with the Captains whose bloodied and mud-spattered faces spoke volumes.

  “Am I the only one capable of intelligent thought?” snarled Garesh, his voice full of venom. He rose from the chair he had been sat in for only a few moments. Nisa had been offering him wine which now spilled across the desert furs on the floor - furs that were from the same creatures as those that had just decimated the ranks.

  “You speak of a siege upon a city that was slighted. Have you not noticed the damage to the southern parapet? They only have a flimsy patchwork of makeshift rubble blocking the slighted walls.

  “It could be breached,” agreed Aktabad.

  “Then why are you still here?” hissed Garesh, sending Captains and advisors scurrying like rats from his tent.

  He could hear the cries of his Captains as they rounded up the army outside. In that first attack the rebels may have levelled the playing field somewhat, but now they mistakenly thought they were safe within their walls. He could almost taste the power that would all be his if he could crush this rebellion - and their King along with it.

  The Reluwyn were a warrior race. What spoke to them most was victory in battle, and if Garesh let those Shifters live they would become a symbol of power the Reluwyn people could not ignore. They had to die. The King had to die.

  “Whore!” He moved away from the opening of the tent, through which he could see hundreds of soldiers reforming lines and ranks.

  “Yes, master.” Nisa had become his personal concubine publically since the King’s departure, and had since witnessed the true character of Garesh.

  He grabbed hold of her by the neck.

  “You realise that this is all your fault? You promised me power and the sole ability to wield it, and you could not take care of one rebellious King? Barely a man, and you could not deal with him. You owe me a dead King, woman.”

  He threw her to the floor, her back hitting a chair and drawing from her a small cry.

  He leant forwards, a cruel smile licking up his lips at her pain. “When they breach the wall,” he said, his breath acrid upon her face, “you will go in as my assassin, find the King and his wife, and kill them with this.” He took a dagger from the table and placed the blade across her open palm. “You boast to me of Spirit Conjuring – conjure all the darkness you can and put it in this blade. I want them to suffer.”

  Nisa had told Garesh what cursed weapons could do, the pain they could inflict, the torment of the dark spirits.

  “I want them to suffer, and if you fail…”

  Taking her hand in his, he folded her fingers around the blade and held them tightly there, forcing the sharp edge into her skin, and causing a trickle of blood to fall from the edge of her hand across her legs and onto the floor.

  “I will draw more than a few drops of blood from you.”

  He bent closer, forcing his lips on hers, biting at her bottom lip to make it bleed. “Get dressed.” He gestured to the soldier’s clothing on the chair behind her.

  “Aktabad!” he almost screamed the name. The Captain came in a few moments later.

  “Nisa will be accompanying the contingent who breaches the wall first. Keep her well within the ranks, but when she is in the heart of the city, set her loose.”

  “My lord High Councillor, I have plenty of trained scouts if that is what you need.”

  Garesh couldn’t explain his actions to the Captain. Even if the King was seen as a renegade, no assassination of him would be tolerated. “Did I ask for your opinio
n?” again he screeched, like a bird who’s prey was about to be feasted on by another.

  The Captain maintained control of his face and voice. “My lord High Councillor, I shall see it done.”

  He left the tent and Garesh sat down to watch Nisa dress. Maybe she would die on this mission. The thought left Garesh with a small thrill. Payment for her failures. Still, if she succeeded he would have to kill her anyway.

  The enemy forces took all night to breach the walls after they had regathered. Everyone had taken it in turns to sleep and launch whatever missiles they had left. By dawn, short of dismantling the walls themselves to create missiles, the rebels could do nothing but wait.

  Ikara had ordered them to do nothing. Let the Reluwyn waste their energy taking apart the south wall - her troops would be well rested when they breached it. They had other tasks within the walls, building small barricades from the courtyard back towards the meeting hall at the heart of the city. Old doors, dock debris and loose masonry had been thrown in piles to make the enemy advance all the more difficult. More than that, this generation of soldiers had not been inside Ishtalia, and the King and Commander had agreed to take advantage of that fact: the barricades had been placed to encourage the enemy into the narrow, tightly winding streets and alleys that were etched into the hillside.

  Ikara split her army into small contingents of five to ten men and spread them throughout the city. It would be attack and hide warfare, allowing the army to gain ground in the small streets before picking them off.

  They had lost a few hundred men and twelve of the Alakvalto contingent in the plain battle, but nothing compared to the near thousand lost by the Reluwyn under Garesh. The element of surprise had paid off well.

  Fidel could hear the Reluwyn gathering outside the broken section of the wall. Ikara had refused his re-commissioning in her army but inside these walls every man could fight, even the untrained women sat in upstairs rooms, ready to hurl whatever they had collected from upper windows.