Valley of Shields

by Duncan Lay

  ‘Stop them!’ he shouted, gesturing towards the Forlish.

  He gained the wall once more and glanced right, to see Velsh and Forlish alike fall back as Gareth lost control, lashing out at anyone and anything close to him. He closed the gap but did not stop there. Instead Gareth jumped onto the wall and then into the Forlish on the other side, hacking and screaming until he was finally cut down by the mass of Forlish.

  Sendatsu bowed his head for a moment. He had known that would be the result but the breach had to be sealed — and now it was.

  There was no time for regrets as there were no Forlish horns sounding this time, no offer of relief. Every line that was pushed back was replaced by another.

  Behind the Velsh lines, the wounded were dragged before the priests, who healed them as fast as they could, a steady stream of young dragons making their way back into the fight once their wounds had been sealed.

  But nothing could be done for the dead, while the more grievously wounded were in no condition to fight again that day, even though they would not die.

  Where the Velsh line had been two or even three deep at the start of the battle, now it was down in some places to just one. Young and fit though they were, the dragons were also getting tired. Sendatsu and Gaibun had worked them hard and this kept many of them alive now but arms and shoulders were on fire, the weight of swords and the extravagant strokes they had been taught taking their toll. Worse, their swords were blunting on the Forlish shields and armour and there was no time to step back and sharpen them. Blunted blades could not rip open chainmail.

  The Forlish also grew tired but they could slip back, allow fresh men to take their place.

  Sendatsu retreated for a moment, trying to catch his breath. His back ached from using his bow and his right shoulder burned. He had stopped using the cartwheel and dragon-tail strokes a while ago — they had lost their speed and effectiveness. He knew the Velsh could not hold on much longer. They had done everything he could have asked of them, and more, yet there was a limit.

  Worse, the Forlish could sense it. They were probing now, pushing at different places, seeking a weak spot. Soon, they would find one and be through.

  Asami and Rhiannon were stopping many of these attacks, using magic to hurl the Forlish back, but they were growing more tired. If one went down, that would be it.

  Sendatsu glanced across to his right, to where Gaibun and his father fought, wondering if there was any help to come from that quarter.

  34

  He did not find what he wanted — he found much more. Yet his tricks actually dug up the truth, showed us the way forwards.

  Huw’s song

  Gaibun fought on, sweat dripping into his eyes. When he first donned his armour, it had seemed wondrously light and there was no drag to his movements, now it seemed like he was carrying a horse on his back. Where he had been able to string together three or four different strokes, astound and befuddle the Forlish he killed, now he was restricting himself to one strike, for that was all he could muster.

  Then Jaken was there again, driving the Forlish back, giving the elven warriors new heart and fresh strength to tired arms. Jaken carved a bloody path through the humans and Gaibun, puffing and panting, could only admire his skill. It was unstoppable. He did not think he would have stood against such an attack — and the Forlish certainly could not.

  But Jaken stepped back after tearing men to shreds.

  ‘Hold here. We shall need magic if we are to survive much longer. I must see Sumiko,’ he said, his face a mask of Forlish blood.

  Gaibun nodded. ‘Yes, lord,’ he puffed.

  But looking around, his armoured warriors were down by half. Some were making their way back from the priests, ready to fight again, but many more were down on the ground. He realised he was probably going to die here, and Dokuzen would be destroyed. It made his fighting with Asami and Sendatsu seem foolish and petty, and he wished he could see them both one more time.

  A shouting Forlishman made him turn and he blocked instinctively, rolling his wrist and tearing out the man’s throat before he could roar another challenge.

  ‘Come and die, gaijin!’ he bellowed, thoughts of everything else dismissed from his mind.

  ‘Next three ranks — at them!’

  Caelin hefted his shield and jumped into the water ahead of his men, splashing through and keeping his knees high as he hurried to join the fight. Before they were halfway across, they hit the first bodies, wounded and dying men bleeding to death or drowning in the shallows. Caelin kicked an arm out of the way and dully noted it was not attached to its former owner. The water here was stained foully, with both shit and blood, while the far bank was crowded with Forlish trying to keep their ranks and fight the elves.

  The noise of the fight, the ringing of sword on sword and shield and, above all, the screams of the wounded and dying, had sounded bad enough from across the stream. The closer they came, the more horrifying they got.

  ‘We can’t get tangled up in that. We need to hold our ranks,’ Ruttyn warned.

  Caelin glanced along the line and saw that the Forlish were simply throwing themselves on the elven swords, letting the elves dictate the battle to them.

  ‘We need to pull out those stakes, give ourselves room to use our numbers.’ He pointed with his shield, feeling certain of something for the first time that day. ‘The men who were supposed to clear those stakes away must be either stupid, or dead. We have to do the job ourselves. The stakes!’ he bellowed.

  Soldiers heard his words and obeyed, hauling the stakes out of the muddy ground and creating more room to get up onto the bank.

  ‘If we can link shields, they won’t stand a chance,’ Caelin said confidently.

  ‘We need everything you have,’ Jaken declared, struggling to control his breathing after running across to Sumiko.

  The Magic-weaver was watching her charges casually destroy the limited Forlish attacks coming her way.

  ‘But what of Retsu and the warriors he is bringing back? My birds tell me he is less than three turns of the hourglass away.’

  ‘We will not last that long. We need everything you have now. We could break at any moment and then it will be all over for Dokuzen,’ Jaken warned.

  Sumiko nodded. ‘And all will know who the true winners of this battle were?’

  ‘As long as we are still around to say so!’

  Sumiko swept away, grabbing her other deputy, Jimai, as well as a dozen of the best remaining Magic-weavers.

  Jaken watched as they pointed towards the mass of Forlish and quietly prayed they would be in time. Then he raced back to the right flank, where barely one hundred warriors were keeping twenty times their number at bay — for a time, at least.

  Caelin and a thick knot of Forlish made it up the bank, shields tight together. An elf raced at them and slashed over the top of the shields, opening the throat of one soldier in an explosion of hot, coppery blood.

  ‘Close up!’ Caelin bellowed and the shields knocked together again, the men crouching down to block the elf’s next attack. He wasted a pair of strikes on shields, then Caelin saw his chance and took half a step and thrust viciously with his blade, feeling it bite into the elf’s side.

  The elf shuddered and spun, sword flashing for Caelin’s head. But Ruttyn was there with his shield and then Harald sliced deep into the elf’s thigh. With blood spurting from two deep wounds, the elf staggered back and fell to his knees, eyes blazing. Caelin led the Forlish on a few steps and they blocked one last, feeble blow before the elf went down under their swords.

  ‘Stay together! We’ll kill them one at a time!’ Caelin shouted, flicking blood off his sword.

  Rhiannon was heating the armour of any Forlishman who tried to get over the wall near her when she felt the surge of magic. Insects poured out of the ground, out of the trees and from the air, while birds joined the attack, swooping and diving at the Forlish. Tired though she was, Rhiannon found Asami.

  ‘It’s Sumik
o, she’s helping us,’ Asami gasped, her face drawn and tired, still spotted with Forlish blood.

  Rhiannon did not say any more, just reached into the magic and released what she had left.

  All along the line, the Forlish stopped fighting and started stamping, swatting and slapping at themselves as hundreds and then thousands and then tens of thousands of insects attacked them. And more and more were racing to the attack every moment, while, from above, hundreds of birds wheeled and swooped and struck at eyes and heads.

  In an instant, the pressure was released on the Velsh and on Gaibun’s warriors. The Forlish could not fight while they were under attack themselves and their inexorable advance was stopped.

  Ruttyn used his shield to deflect a swooping crow’s claws, then Harald cursed as another scraped across the top of his helmet. Caelin, meanwhile, swatted a cloud of wasps with sword and shield.

  ‘Back! Back!’

  Nobody knew who first called it but they all heeded the cry.

  ‘Come on!’ Harald dashed a gull to the ground with his sword, while the soldier next to him howled in agony, clutching at the bloody holes that had been his eyes a few moments before an eagle had torn them out.

  They joined the rush for the supposed safety of the forest.

  Now the remaining Velsh and elves surged forwards to cut the Forlish down in scores. Tired though they were, blunt though their swords might be, they attacked furiously.

  It was the last straw for the Forlish and they broke, fleeing to the safety of the trees, still under attack the whole way from birds and insects that stung and bit.

  This time the Velsh and elves were too tired to cheer.

  Asami and Rhiannon clung to each other, barely able to stand, while on the left side, Sumiko inspected the fallen bodies of her Magic-weavers. Most had used magic until they dropped. She could feel the tiredness deep in her bones and wondered if she had enough to bring through Retsu and his warriors. And could they arrive before the Forlish were able to reform and try again.

  Edmund raced around furiously, officers by his side, trying to bring the men under control. Some got past and kept running, terrified beyond control, but most responded to the familiar calls and trumpeted orders.

  ‘When can we attack again?’ he demanded of his captains. ‘We were almost through and we can all see for ourselves what we’ve done to them. Half their magicians are flat on their back. One more attack and Dokuzen is ours.’

  ‘We have been hit hard. There are many wounded,’ one reported. ‘And we shall have to walk across the bodies of our dead and wounded men this time. It is a hard thing to see your friend eaten alive by ants, or burned to death by their own armour.’

  ‘The men are all mixed up. Regiments are jumbled together and it will take turns of the hourglass to sort them out,’ another warned.

  ‘These magical attacks have the men worried. They will face any man or elf with a sword or bow but when the birds and insects are fighting against you —’

  ‘Enough!’ Edmund barked. ‘I don’t want to hear what we cannot do. I want to know when we can attack next. Dokuzen is within our grasp. Are we to give up now, when only a handful of elves and a pack of Velsh are in our way?’

  ‘Let the men rest and reorganise for two turns of the hourglass. And then we can send them again,’ one captain said and the others rumbled their agreement.

  ‘Agreed. But make it one turn of the hourglass,’ Edmund said coldly.

  The Velsh wounded were dragged back to where the bloodied priests waited, while the dead were laid out together. The living did not have time to mourn the dead. The Velsh were passing around the sharpening stones and even those pale and freshly brought back from death, saved from a killing wound by the work of the priests, were moving up to the line, clutching elven crossbows so they could at least help their mates. Sendatsu walked along the line of dead dragons, mourning familiar faces, stopping for a long moment to see the body of Tadd, one of his favourites. Sendatsu was tired in body and spirit, every muscle ached and blood had dried on his face and hands. Not all of it was Forlish either. He had taken several small wounds, two of which still leaked blood slowly, down his ribs and on his left forearm. The stench of blood and shit was thick in his throat and burned his nose. If he’d had anything in his stomach, he would have vomited by now.

  ‘If they come again, we cannot hold,’ Huw told him.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We have done everything we could.’

  ‘And more.’

  They watched the Velsh for a few moments, in silence.

  ‘Do you think they will be back?’

  Sendatsu shrugged, although even that movement hurt.

  ‘I shall spend whatever time I have left with Rhiannon,’ Huw said. ‘I was never good with the sword. I always wanted to be but, after seeing that, I am a little glad I never learned. I don’t like seeing the expression on their faces as they die, as they realise you are killing them. I think it will forever haunt me.’

  ‘I never wanted any of this,’ Sendatsu said, ‘although I dreamed of it as a child and played with Gaibun, pretending to be great heroes defeating the gaijin. Now I have done it, I never want to fight again.’

  ‘I wish we could say the same of the Forlish.’ Huw tried to smile.

  ‘Go and see Rhiannon,’ Sendatsu advised.

  Huw half turned, then pointed.

  ‘Maybe not just yet. Here comes your father and Gaibun.’

  Gaibun looked at the faces of the dead, of the warriors he had led. Some he had known only a couple of days, others almost all his life. They lay together now, rent and torn by Forlish spears and swords. They had done all they could, all that could be expected of them. They were being honoured but who would honour the rest of them, after the next attack? There was no hope from the archers. Many of them simply could not draw a bow once more. They had given it their all and it was not enough. There were still arrows but he doubted if more than a few hundred could be loosed before the mixture of elderly and young archers were finished for good.

  ‘Gaibun!’ Jaken called and he turned, reaching for his sword. ‘We need to talk to Sumiko, Sendatsu and the Velsh leader.’

  ‘We cannot hold any more,’ Gaibun said dully.

  ‘I know. But I have an idea.’

  Jaken and Gaibun walked over to where Huw and Sendatsu waited for them behind the gore-stained wall, drinking water. Jaken took a waterskin and drank deeply while they waited for Sumiko to join them. Nobody had the energy for small talk and even Sumiko looked drawn and tired. Jaken rinsed out his mouth and spat, then looked around at the others defiantly.

  ‘If we have a little time, we can still win this,’ Jaken said.

  ‘There is nothing left. The Forlish could send a squad of grandmothers and they would win,’ Gaibun said.

  Huw nodded. ‘My men have given all they can.’

  ‘My birds tell me Lord Retsu is still two turns of the hourglass away, at least. And then it will take us another turn to bring through enough warriors to make some sort of difference. Another one hundred warriors or so will do nothing to stop the Forlish advance.’ Sumiko sighed. ‘And while we saved you all before, the Magic-weavers lack the strength to do more.’

  ‘I don’t want us to die. But there is a way to create a new army,’ Jaken said. ‘We shall pull back to the ridge, so the Forlish have further to advance —’

  ‘But then we don’t have the wall to protect the Velsh,’ Gaibun objected.

  ‘Listen to me!’ Jaken roared. ‘Strip the dead of their amour, while every surviving warrior takes off his. We go through the city as well, so we can dress those archers who can no longer draw a bow in the armour we find. Now, when the Forlish next come forwards, they will not be able to tell what is behind us, so will assume we have our archers there, a deceit they will believe to be true when all those who can begin loosing arrows at them from behind the ridge. And then we shall bring the archers in armour up on our right flank. To the Forlish —’
/>   ‘It will look as though our warriors have returned,’ Sendatsu breathed.

  Although he had been interrupted, Jaken did not erupt. He nodded. ‘Exactly. And then Sumiko needs to make it seem as though we have thousands of warriors approaching from either flank. But if it is to work, we have to act fast.’

  Nobody else had anything to say.

  Edmund chafed at the delays. He knew it took time to organise a shield wall, especially when you were trying to do it in trees, and even more so when the men were injured and demoralised.

  But, after all the losses they had suffered, there were still more than five thousand healthy men ready to advance. More than enough to crush the last, lingering resistance.

  ‘Sir, they have pulled back to the ridge, leaving the defensive positions,’ a scout reported.

  Edmund went forwards himself, knowing this was more time wasted but he had to see what was happening.

  ‘Are they giving up?’ someone whispered. The field was deserted but for the carpet of dead and dying men, their constant moaning and the occasional scream the only noise echoing across the eerie space.

  Edmund licked dry lips. There were only two possibilities to this withdrawal. Either they were defeated and feared being caught and slaughtered out in the open — or they had some sort of trap prepared. Given what his men had faced so far, the magic that had attacked and defeated them, he was afraid to think of what the trap might be. For all he knew, the trees themselves might come to life and attack, as they had done across the border before he had worked out how to burn through that.

  ‘What do you think, sir?’

  Edmund cleared his throat and spat. There was no choice here. His king needed the magic the elves protected. His country depended on him.

  ‘Send a company to test them, then a full advance,’ he said decisively. He was not sure of this, he had been sure of little since arriving here but to show hesitation or weakness was fatal.

  ‘Here they come,’ Huw said grimly.

  The Velsh were grouped tightly around the dragon flag, a handful of Magic-weavers on one side and more than a hundred elderly elves dressed awkwardly in armour on the right. From a distance they looked impressive, but up close it was a different story.