by Duncan Lay
Jaken looked at the thinner Velsh line and nodded. ‘Father Hiroka, take three other priests and tend to the Velsh wounded,’ he ordered.
‘But they are humans, not elves,’ Hiroka objected.
‘They are our allies — and we shall need every one of them,’ Sendatsu said.
Hiroka glanced towards the archbishop and Jaken looked at him too.
‘The threat is not dire enough yet —’ Fushimi began.
‘Archbishop Fushimi. Remember the talk we had last night? Unless you want me to speak to the rest of your priests, I say it is time.’
Fushimi flushed but reluctantly nodded.
‘Obey the Elder Elf,’ Fushimi said. ‘Choose one who will die anyway, so when it goes wrong and Aroaril refuses to help a human, there is no blame.’
Jaken inclined his head. Not for the first time, the papers he had in his office, the truths those like Fushimi thought buried away, had been useful.
Hiroka bowed before grabbing three other priests and hurrying to the Velsh.
‘Thank you, Father,’ Sendatsu bowed.
‘Magic will not work on humans but at least your men will know we tried.’ Jaken waved him away, putting the debate out of his mind. The Velsh had taken the first stroke — now the Forlish would try again.
‘We shall try a flank attack this time,’ Edmund ordered. ‘I was wrong. The Velsh position is too strong to fall easily.’
‘At the elves, sir?’
‘Test them out — I want to see how they fight. And I want to see if they still have enough arrows to cover the whole battlefield. Split those companies that faced the Velsh and send them out again. Keep everyone else in reserve for our real attack. No sense in tiring any more men than we have to.’
The four priests walked stiffly across with Huw and Sendatsu.
‘Hurry — my men are bleeding to death with every moment that passes,’ Huw urged them.
‘You must realise that this will not work,’ Father Hiroka warned. ‘We have never asked Aroaril for the power to heal humans. He will not allow it. After all, elves are the chosen ones, beloved of the dragons and the only ones possessing the magic —’
‘Just try,’ Sendatsu interrupted.
Hiroka shrugged and kneeled beside a white-faced Velsh dragon with a wicked-looking wound in his chest that would surely kill him soon. Already his breathing grew short.
Hiroka closed his eyes and held the dragon’s shoulder, his lips murmuring a prayer of healing.
All watched anxiously, not least the wounded man — who gasped with surprise and relief as the wound closed up, vanishing before their eyes.
‘How do you feel?’ Hiroka asked. He helped the dragon sit up, pressing his fingers to his chest and wiping away clotted blood to reveal unharmed skin.
‘What happened? It still hurts but I can breathe again,’ the dragon gasped.
Hiroka patted him on the shoulder. ‘You will live, my young friend. But no more fighting for you today. You have lost much blood and need to rest.’
The dragon lay back down and Hiroka looked up at Sendatsu.
‘You were right and I was wrong,’ he said solemnly. ‘Aroaril obviously sees them just as much as his children as we are. It is a humbling experience for my brothers and me. We shall remember this.’
He and the other priests moved swiftly from one wounded man to another, working first on those who could fight again, before moving on to the more severely wounded; men they could save but who would not be ready to fight again that day.
Huw watched, tears in his eyes, as dragons stood and embraced friends and brothers. Men who had been close to death now talked and laughed again. He sighed. ‘If only we could have this all the time — if only we had our own priests.’
‘You will. It is only a matter of time,’ Sendatsu assured him.
Cadel and Bowen went around counting the dead and the wounded who could not fight again.
‘We lost about thirty dragons then — but it would have been far more had the priests not helped us,’ he reported.
‘Not good. But far better than the Forlish,’ Huw said.
‘They were testing us. Next time will be the real attack,’ Sendatsu said.
‘What about this one then?’ Cadel pointed to where the Forlish were reforming into two groups, aimed at either side of the wall.
‘It’s Gaibun’s and Sumiko’s turn,’ Sendatsu said. ‘Cadel, get everyone with a bow or crossbow out onto the right flank to help Gaibun’s warriors.’
‘What about Sumiko, on our left?’ Huw asked.
‘The Magic-weavers won’t need any help. Not this time anyway.’
33
Trapped inside their beautiful city, the Elfarans told themselves they were the best people in the world — they were actually elves, not humans, and better than everyone else. They held up a mirror to themselves and told each other how beautiful they were, every day.
Sendatsu’s song
Gaibun had nervously watched the Velsh turn back the first wave of Forlish. Even though he had trained many of the Velsh dragons he did not know how they would fight against the Forlish. Worse, he worried that the young men he had known and liked would be killed. When the Forlish horns called back the shield wall he joined in the Velsh cheers, feeling as though he had helped win that victory himself.
Now he would have the chance to win one, as the Forlish advanced, a shorter shield wall this time and not quite as deep, thanks to the losses they had suffered in the first attack. He had barely three hundred warriors, elves in full battle armour, most in their prime but reinforced by the best of the young and old warriors Daichi had originally selected for him to lead. Gaibun wore a thick leather jerkin, reinforced with thin ribs of steel, with similar pieces on his lower and upper arms, legs and thighs, while there were more steel strips in his boots. Around his throat was a circlet of steel and his helm was tall and peaked, bearing long horns that swept up and back. Yet, despite the protection, he could move as easily as ever.
To take advantage of their ability to move well despite the armour, they had placed sharpened logs in a random pattern in front of the stream. As the Forlish got out, their careful ranks would be broken — and Gaibun’s warriors would push them back into the stream.
Behind him, the elven archers were ready, although perhaps half of those already looked exhausted from helping out the Velsh. If the Forlish got to them, Gaibun knew they had lost. It was down to him and his three hundred to hold back a Forlish shield wall about six times bigger.
Gaibun slid the first few inches of his sword out of its scabbard and noted the sharp edge with satisfaction. He wished he could fight alongside Sendatsu today. With Sendatsu by his side, he knew no Forlishman could get past. But, sadly, they seemed to be fighting against each other rather than with each other. He wished he could speak to Sendatsu, make things better. If only they were not both in love with Asami, things would be so much simpler.
‘Here they come!’
Gaibun looked at the Forlish but dismissed them.
‘Let the archers do their work,’ he said. ‘Stand firm until they get closer.’
The arrows were hailing down on the Forlish, who again covered up as best they could, forcing most of the arrows to be wasted on shields. Gaibun noted that more arrows were coming from the Velsh and he approved what they were doing, striking at the open side of the Forlish shield wall. Men carried shields on their left arms, which meant the right side of the wall was undefended — and that was the side closest to the Velsh.
It made the Forlish alter their lines, curl the edge around and slow down even further — as well as leaving yet more men lying in puddles of their own blood.
He was amazed at the amount of punishment the shield wall was able to absorb. The lead rank was hunched over, trying to make themselves as small a target as possible behind their shields, while every few moments, another was struck by the never-ending hail of arrows. They marched forwards as if knowing the only way to escape this punishme
nt was to close with the elves. The archers did not slacken off, teenagers, mothers and greybeards driving themselves to exhaustion to protect their city and drive back the hated invaders.
The Forlish jumped into the stream and began wading across, getting so close that Gaibun waved his arm to tell the archers to stop releasing. He would have liked to see them loose right until the end but could not trust their accuracy, even though he did not doubt their heart.
‘Ready!’ Gaibun drew his sword, relishing the noise it made.
The first rank of the Forlish clambered out of the water, running into the wooden stakes arranged to channel the Forlish away from each other and into the blades of Gaibun and his warriors.
Gaibun led the way, pouncing on the first Forlishman to step onto the bank. His shield held two arrows and it seemed to slow him as he raised it high and thrust low with his short sword. Almost contemptuously, Gaibun parried the blow and used the tiger-claw stroke to lop off his sword hand. As the man staggered backwards, howling, spraying blood in all directions, he distracted the man behind him, who never had time to recover. Gaibun finished him with a straight thrust to the throat. Hot blood spurted over his arm as he shook the dead Forlishman off his blade, like a dog shaking a rat. Before the man had splashed back into the stream, Gaibun was on the next one, using the zigzag style this time to befuddle and behead the man.
Now they were coming thick and fast, striking at him but he moved easily, confidently. One veteran slashed at his lower leg but the steel strips in his boot held and he ignored him for a moment, instead using the dragon-tail strike to kill another before turning on his attacker and repaying the favour with the cartwheel stroke. Unlike Gaibun, the Forlishman had no steel in his boot and fell to the ground, his leg hanging by a thread, his lifeblood painting the wooden stakes red.
To either side of Gaibun, elves cut and thrust, using superior skill and speed to destroy the first line of Forlish who made it onto the bank. In their fearsome helms they looked half a head taller than the Forlish, while the attacking army’s short swords struggled to make an impact on their armour. Gaibun grunted as a blade struck his ribs but he was able to turn and kill the man, giving himself a few moments to catch his breath. It felt like he had a cracked rib or two but the iron had done its job, protecting his vitals.
The other ranks of Forlish were arriving now, trying to use spears — and these were able to smash through the elven armour and into flesh beyond. An elf was hoisted into the air, screaming, a long spearhead protruding bloodily from his back. The sight infuriated Gaibun and he waded forwards, dealing blows left and right. He was close enough to see the fear in Forlish eyes as his sword bit home, close enough to smell their breath, the tang of spoiled meat they all carried with them; close enough to see the black teeth and filthy faces of the men he killed.
His ribs burned every time he swung the blade but he had no time to worry about that. There seemed no end of Forlish pressing forwards, and he had to be conscious at all times of where the rest of the warriors were. They needed to keep an unbroken chain along the bank or the Forlish would split them apart, surround them and drag them down.
But the stakes, as well as the Forlish formation, meant his warriors could fight the Forlish one-on-one — and they were holding them back, although it was getting harder. Better still, bodies and blood made the footing treacherous, turning the edge of the stream muddy and slowing the Forlish down further.
He wished he could speak to them, tell them to use fewer thrusts and more extravagant strokes, like the windmill or cartwheel. The Forlish armour resisted thrusts but could not stop those horizontal cuts.
And the Forlish were still pushing onwards hard. Hearing a scream, Gaibun glanced to his left to see one Forlishman drop shield and sword and dive at the legs of an elf, bringing him down. Other Forlish pressed forwards and ripped the elf apart. Furious, Gaibun slipped between a pair of stakes and attacked three of them. Chainmail parted before his sword as he drove it deep into an armpit and the chest beyond. Twisting the blade and ripping it free, sending blood spraying high, he brought it back in time to parry a low thrust and use the windmill stroke to come over the top and into the side of the man’s head. This time he had to haul his sword clear, scattering teeth and brains in a wide arc. The last Forlishman rammed his large shield at Gaibun’s face, the broken arrows on its surface nearly as deadly as the metal boss that was the size of a clenched fist. Gaibun swayed backwards, feeling the wind of the shield, grunting as a broken arrow splintered on his chest and made his ribs scream with pain.
But he ignored all that to straighten and thrust in the one movement, his sword vanishing into the Forlishman’s mouth and exploding out the back of his skull, knocking the helm high into the air. He tore his sword free, cursed at the protest from his ribs and looked around. His warriors were easy to spot, bright colours against the uniform grey of the Forlish armour. Almost all were fighting, for there were many on the ground, and he realised a few more deaths would allow the Forlish to spill out to attack the young and elderly archers.
But Jaken had also planned for this. The best of the archers had advanced and now stood with bows drawn. At less than twenty paces it was easy to spot targets and the Forlish armour was almost useless against the power of the longbow. Arrows sank through chainmail as if it was the thinnest paper.
It checked the attackers again but there were still so many of them — and now they were using spears to keep the elves back. They were adapting to the elven tactics and using their own, ripping out the stakes and trying to stay together, making elven attacks ineffective. Gaibun backed away for a moment, fighting for breath and wondering how he was going to do anything other than die with honour.
Sendatsu had his bow out again, picking off as many Forlish officers and sergeants as he could see. The arrows and bolts from the Velsh were making the Forlish keep their distance from this side, pushing them across to the right. But while Gaibun and his warriors were fighting magnificently, they were massively outnumbered. When the Forlish began pulling out the stakes, allowing them to stay together as they advanced, he could wait no longer.
‘Follow me!’ He dropped his bow and drew his sword and led a charge into the Forlish flank. These men were cowering behind shields and, by the time they looked up to see why the missiles had stopped, the Velsh were upon them. Dozens went down and the Forlish advance faltered as men turned to their side rather than pressed forwards.
Sendatsu braced himself for the expected Forlish response — then the Forlish horns sounded again, making their shield wall pull back for the second time.
Again the Velsh cheered but Sendatsu could not understand why the Forlish had retreated. Then he heard another sound. He spun, looking across to their left flank, where the Magic-weavers and a few hundred elven archers waited. And he shuddered at the screams.
Sumiko was receiving regular reports from the south, birds flying to her hand every half-turn of the hourglass. Lord Retsu and two thousand elven warriors were nearing the forest. They were still six turns of the hourglass away from being returned — and it would take at least another turn to get them through an oaken gateway and back to Dokuzen. That meant she was free to show some of her power to the Forlish and would still be able to recover in time to bring home the warriors.
‘Scatter them. Show them, show everyone the true power of the elves,’ she ordered Oroku.
They let the Forlish shield wall march close, within fifty paces, then let loose. With loud cracking noises, branches from the trees snapped away and raced through the air, slamming into the mass of Forlish, impaling men, not stopping until they had torn a bloody path right through the tight lines.
Plants reared into life from beneath the Forlish feet, encasing men whole, or bringing them crashing to the ground, or ripping them limb from limb.
Birds flew down from above, relentless in their attacks as beaks and claws tore at eyes. Insects of all types came out of the trees and the grass, too numerous to count, biting
and stinging.
Forlish soldiers dropped their shields and swords to beat and slash furiously at the air to fend off winged attackers.
And then the arrows came in, picking off the disorganised mass, sending more to the ground.
The screams were endless.
Sumiko watched in satisfaction as the Forlish horns called the retreat. A glance over to her right showed her that Gaibun and his warriors, the vaunted strong right arm of the elves — which Jaken had thought would slaughter the Forlish — had been thinned out and only survived thanks to help from the Velsh. And, of course, all could see the Forlish had only retreated because of the Magic-weavers.
‘Sensei, many of our people are exhausted. We cannot do that again unless we have more help from yourself and Asami,’ Oroku interrupted her gloating. ‘Can we at least ask the priests to help our people recover?’
‘We need no help to win,’ Sumiko insisted. ‘If they come at us again, then I shall teach them to truly fear us.’
‘What now, sir?’
Edmund inspected the battlefield carefully before answering.
‘The elven magic is strong — but is there a limit to how much they can use? Will they not exhaust themselves somehow?’ he mused.
‘Sir?’
‘The Velsh and the elven warriors on our left can only stop us by helping each other. That is the weakness. I want one regiment to keep those magical elves on our right busy. Send out one company at a time, in open order, see how they go. If one is being destroyed, send out another. We’ll see how long their magic lasts. The rest of the men will strike at the centre and elven warriors on the enemy right, to our left. This time we do not stop, we do not sound the horns.’
‘Sir!’
Caelin, Harald and Ruttyn had waited with the other scouts, the ones who had stood awake all night, while the first shield wall went forwards.
‘I thought we had the short straw of the deal when we stood awake last night but now I think we got the better part,’ Ruttyn said sombrely as they watched the ferocious fighting, then the flight of the shield wall as it was dispersed by magic.
