by Fire
The escort took him through that part of the old quarter the fire had already blazed through. Olio could smell charred wood and thatch, and the sickly sweet smell of the occasional burned corpse—sometimes a dog or cat, but usually human—that littered the streets and the burned out shells of what had once been homes. Near the edge of the quarter, where some of the homes seemed less damaged, they came across an inn. The inn’s front wall had partly collapsed, but the roof was still in place and supported by intact beams, and dozens of people lay on the floor. Olio stopped and looked more closely. The people were all injured, and a few uninjured people worked among them to make them comfortable.
“Your Highness,” one of the guards said, “we had best keep moving.”
“Wait here,” he ordered them, and went into the inn. The guards looked unsure but did as they were ordered.
Olio first came across a woman. She had no burns, but one of her legs was broken in several places and she was suffering intense pain. Olio knelt down next to her.
“How did this happen?” he asked her.
“It was the crowd, sir. They trampled all over me. Lucky to have only one leg broken.”
Olio could feel the Key of the Heart warm suddenly. He needed no prompting. He took it out with his left hand and gripped it tightly, then put his right hand on the woman’s knee. She winced in pain but did not cry out, almost as if she knew instinctively what was about to happen. The power surged through him so quickly he had no time to mentally prepare for it. He reeled back, blacked out for a moment. When his vision cleared, he saw that the woman’s leg was completely healed and that she was falling into a deep sleep. Blue energy seemed to crackle around him.
He stood up and felt immediately dizzy, but still made his way to the next person on the floor, another woman, younger, with blackened skin all along her exposed chest and stomach. He did not even talk with her, but bent over and ever so gently placed his fingertips against the curled rind of skin that marked the edge of her burn.
“Soon now,” Trion told Areava. “You are almost there.”
She was crying, and was in too much pain and was too tired to feel embarrassed or ashamed about it.
“My brother,” she whispered hoarsely. “Where is he?”
Trion shook his head. “I am sorry, your Majesty, I don’t know. The midwife and some of your guards are searching for him.”
“He can’t be far,” she said. “Please find him for me. My baby will die ...”
Trion patted her hand. “We’re doing everything we can.”
Someone coughed discreetly near the door. Trion looked up and saw Orkid standing there, his face furrowed in concern. Trion went to him
“How is she?” Orkid asked.
“She is doing fine, but the baby has turned. The contractions are causing her a great deal of pain. Has Prince Olio been found?”
“No.”
“Then I suggest you send out more guards to find him. She calls for him all the time.” He swallowed. “The baby comes too early to live.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes. I think so.” He looked desperately at Orkid. “Only Olio can help.”
“The palace is stripped bare of guards,” Orkid told him. “There has been a terrible fire in city; most of the old quarter had been burned down.”
“God’s death!” Trion hissed. “So that’s what the bells were about.”
“We have no idea how many have died, but the guards are helping to keep things going down there.”
A horrible thought came to Trion. “You don’t think his Highness is down there, do you?”
Orkid could only shrug. “We will find him and bring him to the queen as soon as we can.” He looked across to Areava and saw her arch her back as another spasm of pain rippled through her. He gasped and looked away; he could not stand to see her suffer so.
“Believe me, Chancellor, Areava is young and strong. Nothing will happen to her.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Wait patiently for nature to take its course. And find Prince Olio. I think more than anyone else, Areava needs her brother.”
Lynan had no real idea how the battle was going. From his position in the center he could not see if his army’s flanking attacks were succeeding or being driven back. As the Chett horse archers closed in on the enemy, loosed their arrows, then retreated out of range again, the grass was slowly trammeled to the ground and then destroyed. Clouds of dust were now spiraling into the air, obscuring the view. As well, the lay of the land was not completely flat—there were dips and rises—leading to strange consequences. Lynan could hear the clash of weapons and the cries of the wounded and dying in a skirmish on the far left flank between a troop of Chetts that had been surprised by a sudden charge by light infantry, but he could hear no sound at all from another skirmish much closer on the right flank between Chetts and a small band of Hume cavalry.
Ager, next to him and Gudon in the line, was able to make more sense of goings-on and could tell when the Chetts had the upper hand or when they were on the receiving end, but in one way this made it harder for Lynan. Having given the order for the attack to start he could do little to influence events until he decided to let the center or the reserve join in, and he was loath to do that until he had some clear idea of what the situation was like on the flanks. He needed to know what kind of troops his horse archers were encountering, and whether or not any had met the knights of the Twenty Houses. He had to know what quality of troops they were fighting, and whether or not they were determined or demoralized. He knew Korigan would arrange for riders to bring him information when she had the opportunity, but it seemed that the attack had already been going on for hours.
“Your center is getting itchy,” Gudon said.
Lynan glanced along his line and saw that the Red Hands and Ocean clan warriors were looking frustrated. They were constantly shifting in their saddles, pulling on their bow strings and drawing and resheathing their swords.
Lynan kicked his mare into a canter. He first rode in front of the Ocean clan, making sure they noticed him, then back to the Red Hands. When he had the line’s attention, he stopped before them.
“Our time is soon, but you must be patient. After this battle, no one in Theare will ever be able to stand against the Chetts without feeling fear!” The Chetts started to cheer. “You are my warriors, and I will lead you to battle today.”
The cheering became louder, and he rejoined Ager and Gudon.
Gudon slapped him on the back. “Truth, little master, that was not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” Ager conceded. “No Elynd Chisal, but not bad.”
“And what would my father have said?”
Ager grinned at him. “Charge.”
Lynan was surprised. “Just charge?”
Ager shrugged. “More like ‘Charge you fucking sons-of-whores,’ but you get the idea.”
Word had spread about the miracle worker. More and more of the injured were being brought to the inn.
Olio was no longer completely aware of what he was doing. The healing surge that coursed through his body was like a river of blue fire in his mind. His vision had narrowed to the point where he could barely see the victims being brought before him. His hand would go out, touch a hand or an eye, a burn or a puncture, and then another would be placed before him.
After a while he could hear a voice in the back of his head, and it sounded familiar but he could not put a name or a face to it.
He needed to stop, but did not know how. He tried to say “enough,” but no sound at all came from his lips.
And all the time there was this voice trying to tell him something, something he was sure was important.
More victims. He felt himself fall, but hands picked him up and supported him. The river of fire grew wider and wider, his vision dimmed more and more, and there came a time when at last all he could see was the river. He wanted to step into it, to leave this place, and even as he wished it, it happe
ned. He was adrift in the river, and slowly it covered him over until at last he was drowning in light. At that moment he heard the voice in the back of his head for the last time, saying a single word over and over, and he recognized the voice as his own.
And then it was gone.
“The infantry cannot take much more of this,” Charion said, shouting to be heard over the din of battle. “Both our flanks are starting to cave in. Most of our infantry and light cavalry have been destroyed. We have to commit our heavy cavalry!”
“No!” Galen shouted back. “It’s not time yet. The Chett center is still uncommitted. If we move the knights into action now, we will have nothing more to throw into the battle. The infantry have to hold or all is lost.”
Both commanders fell silent and turned their gaze on Sendarus. He had visited each flank himself and seen the casualties they were suffering. A Chett troop would gallop in, let loose a volley of arrows, then retreat to be replaced by another troop. None of the volleys by themselves did much damage, but cumulatively they were starting to inflict significant casualties and damage morale. All their attempts so far at counterattacking had only resulted in the destruction of the pursuing units. But Galen was right. Until Sendarus knew what Lynan intended to do with his center, he had no choice but to hold back the knights. Still, there was one thing he could do to help the flanks.
“Move the archers from the rise,” he ordered Charion. “Shift them all to the left flank. They have a greater range than the horse archers. When the enemy attack starts to flag, transfer them to the right flank.”
It was not what Charion wanted to hear, but she was smart enough to know it was the most she would get from Sendarus at this point in the battle. She hurried forward to give the orders to the archers.
“That will leave our own center vulnerable,” Galen pointed out.
“And offer a tempting target for Lynan,” Sendarus countered. “Once he moves, we will know where to commit your knights. I hope he commits sooner rather than later.”
Galen silently agreed.
It all seemed so unreal for Jenrosa. Beside her, sitting on one of the big stallions taken from the victory at the Ox Tongue, Kumul stared straight ahead, occasionally turning his head slightly one way and then the other. His face was almost blank; the smallest of frowns creased his forehead. Before her, she could see the thin front line of the Red Hands and Ager’s clan warriors. Beyond that there was a muffled, metal noise, like the sounds from a busy kitchen heard from the street. A cloud of white dust slowly drifted over the whole plain.
She tried to see inside her own mind, but there was nothing there except her own confusion. She wondered what Lasthear and the other magickers who had come with the army were thinking right now. The previous night she had asked Lasthear if there was some incantation they could use to help ensure victory, and Lasthear had laughed at her. “We might make it rain,” Lasthear said, “but I can’t see how that could help. Or we could start a fire and hope it spreads the right way on the grass, but I can’t see how that would help either. No, best to strap on a sword and join someone you are prepared to die with.”
Well, novice with a sword though she was, she was by Kumul, and there she would stay.
A rider galloped up to them. “His Majesty asks that you come to him.”
Kumul nodded, and he and Jenrosa followed the rider back to Lynan. Ager, Gudon, and Korigan were already there.
“Any sign of heavy cavalry?” Kumul asked.
Korigan shook her head.
“What of Areava?”
Again Korigan shook her head.
“But they have brought up archers to their left flank. I am starting to lose riders. If I pull my forces back from that wing, the enemy commander will just switch the archers to the opposite. If something isn’t done, our whole attack will stall, and I’m certain their infantry is close to collapsing.”
Kumul and Lynan looked at each other. “Your lancers have their target,” Lynan said.
“The baby is starting to come,” the midwife said. “I can feel her crown.”
“Keep on pushing, your Majesty,” Trion said, grimacing. Areava was gripping one of his hands so tightly if felt as if his fingers might break.
Areava kept on pushing.
“Olio?” she panted.
“I’m sorry. He isn’t here yet.”
Charion was starting to breathe a little easier. Her foot archers had forced back the Chetts, giving her infantry time to remove their dead and then reform their lines; the infantry crouched low and in straight lines, their shields covering their heads and sides, their spears held vertically to give some interference against flights of enemy arrows. The queen was about to send the archers across to the other flank when there was a new sound. It was not the rolling galloping of the horse archers darting in, but something heavier, slower. There was a glimmer of something as yet indistinct behind all the dust.
Sendarus joined her. “What is that sound?” he asked.
Charion shook her head. “I’m not... God, it can’t be.”
The dust cloud had parted for a moment, and she had seen what looked like massed cavalry, and they were carrying lances. She looked at Sendarus. “Tell me I didn’t just see Chett cavalry starting a charge.”
“Can you hold them?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” There was a note of desperation in her voice. “We’ll try.”
“It is time for Galen and his knights to play their part,” Sendarus said. “Hold for ten minutes more, that’s all I ask.”
Charion ordered her infantry to stand and move to alternate ranks, filling the gaps between the lines, then told the front rank to go to one knee. The first two lines dug the buts of the spears into the ground, holding the points out at forty-five degrees, each succeeding line holding their spears a little more vertically than the one before. The maneuver was just completed when the horse archers appeared again, the sound of their coming hidden by the deeper thunder now swelling over them. A hail of arrows fell among the more closely packed infantry, and then another. The foot archers hastily moved out of marching order into some kind of line and started shooting back, but only sporadically.
Charion swore as her infantry, almost involuntarily, started to edge back.
“Hold your ground!” she shouted at them. “Whatever you do, hold your ground!”
But the infantry were starting to waver. One or two soldiers dropped their spears and ran, others looked over their shoulder to see them flee and were on the verge of doing the same. And then, as quickly and silently as they had come, the horse archers disappeared.
Before any of them could breathe a sigh of relief, a wall of solid horse appeared before them with glittering spear points; leading them was a giant man on a giant stallion, and each infantryman felt that the giant’s sword was pointed directly at his head. The sound of the enemy’s coming filled their ears The line crumbled like a sand bank before a flood. The infantry threw away their spears and fled, running as fast as their tired legs could carry them, but it was too late. The first wedge of Chett lancers ignored them and carried on to the now defenseless archers, ploughing into them with savage ferocity, but the second wedge chased after them, their momentum carrying them through any resistance.
Charion galloped away from the onslaught, looking for any troops she could use to form a second line or just to throw in the way of the Chett attack so Galen’s knights had time to get into action, but all around her were fleeing for their lives.
Kumul tried to recall his lancers, but they were carried away with bloodlust. Lynan kept them on the leash for too long, he cursed. They’ve gone crazy. The first banner was still together and under his command, but the other had broken into smaller groups intent on hunting down and killing every enemy soldier they could find. Around him were the remains of what had been a Hume regiment of archers. At least they would no longer be a threat. Now, if only he could get his own banners to reform, he might even be able to carry the battle to the enemy’s
center, or maybe even the opposite flank.
He gave command of the first wedge to Jenrosa and personally corralled a handful from the second, and from that small core started to reorganize it. When the battle was over he would make damn sure they knew how much they had failed him, failed Lynan, and failed as trained cavalry.
The wedge was almost completely reformed when he looked up and saw single riders galloping back. About bloody time, he thought, but as they drew closer, he saw the fear on the faces of the riders and realized they were fleeing from something. And there was only one thing he believed his lancers would be afraid of. He peered north, toward the enemy’s center. A silvery line shimmered in the middle distance. He saw pennants and horsetail plumes. He knew what it meant.
Now what? he asked himself. His first wedge was still pretty fresh, but the second was sitting on a lot of blown horses. He rode to Jenrosa.
“Take back the second banner. They cannot move quickly, but get them out of the way. Tell Korigan we need horse archers up here, quickly.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Give you the time you need to get away.”
“No,” Jenrosa said firmly. “You tried to do that once before, remember, for Lynan, and he came back. I’m not going to leave you now.”
“This isn’t for me,” Kumul told her levelly. “It’s for the four hundred Chetts who make up the second banner. Get them back to safety for me. You are one of Lynan’s companions. They will obey you.”
“I can’t leave you to die.”
“We will all die if someone doesn’t tell Korigan to hurry up. Can you use your magic right now?”
Jenrosa shook her head. “I need time to prepare—”
“There is no more time. Get these troops away and come back with Korigan. That way there’s a chance we’ll both be alive after all this is over.”
Kumul did not wait for her to reply, but turned to give orders to his first banner. It moved forward at a quick walk, flowing around Jenrosa and then leaving her behind.
