Risen Queen

by Duncan Lay

  Nerrin had held back Dunner and a score of men to help seal the open flank, but was relieved to see Kesbury, his squad and Barrett arrive to help.

  ‘We’ll form up at a right angle to the end of the line, so there’s no open side. But we’ll be glad of any help you can give us, sir,’ Nerrin explained.

  ‘I think I can show you—and Gello’s dogs—just how a wizard can fight,’ Barrett promised. The thought that Martil had now unlocked the true power of the Dragon Sword was a disquieting one. It looked like Martil was going to be the hero of this battle. Well, Barrett was determined to show them—especially Tiera—just how valuable he was.

  He was surprised to see the men on the far end of the line stagger as the two shield walls came together with a massive crash. But the Rallorans kept going forwards, while Gello’s men shuddered as their line was pierced.

  However, that only helped the men at the open end of the line. As the Rallorans pushed forwards, Gello’s men, who outflanked them, naturally wrapped around the end, and in an instant Nerrin and his men were fighting hard, and even more of Gello’s infantry were threatening to get around the open end.

  Then Barrett struck.

  His staff, enlarged and propelled by arms magically strengthened, swept through the air. With each stroke, two or three men were sent flying, screaming through the air, to land among their fellows and cause even more disruption and damage. Behind each blow was Barrett’s anger and frustration, and he wielded that staff with speed and precision. Not one of the infantry got close enough to even try to land a blow on him. With a final swing, he sent two men soaring ten feet into the air, where they thumped into a squad of others, sending them all rolling back down the hill.

  That was enough for Gello’s men. The pressure on the open flank was gone, as Barrett only had to poke his staff in their direction and men scrambled over each other to get away.

  ‘We needed a few wizards like you in the Ralloran Wars,’ Nerrin said admiringly. Blood had splashed his mail, while a pair of his men were lying behind the line, being helped by their friends.

  Barrett let his staff reduce in size with a final flourish and wiped sweat off his brow.

  ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘Here they come again!’ someone shouted.

  Kay sent another arrow arcing through the sky, and cursed. It was no good. He could not direct his arrows where the fighting was, for fear of hitting one of Kettering’s or Hutter’s men. And, everywhere else, Gello’s men knew to keep their shields up. Worse, he could see the criminals and militiamen being pushed back everywhere, leaving dead and wounded behind. The archers were not helping them. Worse, they were almost all out of arrows.

  ‘Sir, what are your orders?’ Ryder asked, seeing Kay’s bow hanging loosely from his hand.

  Kay dropped his bow.

  ‘Draw swords! Attack!’ he roared, charging forwards.

  Heath was desperately trying to gauge where his men were best needed. The Rallorans were proving formidable opponents, as he had feared. They had cut their way through the best part of a regiment and were starting on another. On the other fronts, things were much better—his men had repelled the criminals, while the militia were not going anywhere. No, the Rallorans were the only concern. He had half a regiment in reserve, held back just in case of cavalry attack from the right. He had heard the Berellian, Ezok, explain how the Rallorans had used that tactic with such success and he was scared of what even a small cavalry force could do to him. But he was also worried about what the Rallorans could do. He had hoped to be able to outflank them, and take the pressure off that way. But, apparently, the Rallorans had the Queen’s Magician working for them. There was no easy way around them.

  ‘Sir! We have to stop the Rallorans! They’re cutting the men to pieces!’ one of his senior lieutenants screamed.

  Heath nodded. The decision had been made for him. He could not delay any longer.

  ‘Lieutenant Pointer, take our reserve companies and attack the Rallorans’s open flank. I don’t care if we have to choke the magician with the bodies of an entire company, I want those bastards forced back!’

  Heath watched the reserves swing out to the right and march swiftly into position. Surely even a wizard like Barrett could not stop that many men.

  Martil saw the new force swinging out to attack his open flank and nodded acknowledgement to himself. The pressure his Rallorans were applying to Gello’s infantry had to force his opponent into a different approach—and this was the obvious solution. By attacking Martil’s open flank, he would force the Rallorans to pull back. But Martil had the perfect counter to this—Rocus and his cavalry companies. In truth they were not real cavalry, but they were men with swords mounted on cavalry horses, and several hundred of them smashing into the back of the infantry phalanx would end this battle. Or so he hoped.

  He signalled to his standard-bearer, who began to wave his flag furiously. Up on the hill, Merren’s standard bearer dipped her flag to show they had received the message.

  Still, he had to hold off those infantry until Rocus could come and save him. He grabbed a lieutenant, who was catching his breath in the rear rank after coming out of the front rank.

  ‘Lieutenant Baker, isn’t it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir!’ The officer, whose shield was dented and his mail spattered with blood, straightened.

  ‘Baker, get every second man in your company and follow me,’ Martil ordered.

  Merren saw Martil lead half a company of men across the field to reinforce where Barrett, helped by Dunner and Kesbury, held off Gello’s infantry—and were about to be swamped by hundreds more.

  She grabbed Romon, who was still waiting his chance to go and help the wounded.

  ‘Find Lieutenant Rocus and Count Sendric. Tell them the Queen orders them to charge,’ she told him.

  ‘Yes, my Queen.’ Romon nodded, then dashed away.

  Merren turned back to the battle, and tried to control her nerves. Once the cavalry was attacking, she would feel better. Or perhaps worse. It was hard not to think of the men she knew down there, as well as the ones who had changed to her side, and what was happening to them.

  Kettering bellowed with rage, daring the infantry to come closer. Leigh, who had taken a sword thrust to the leg, lay on the ground screaming, while Hawke was bleeding from several cuts, although his sword was bloodied to the hilt. Kettering knew too many of his men were either dead or wounded, that courage and hatred had kept them in the fight long after they should have run. But their swords had become blunted by smashing into mail and shields—and a dull sword just bounced off a mail coat. Now he, Hawke and Leigh were surrounded and surely moments from death. Even as he thought that, he saw the spears reaching to claim Hawke and he felt a moment’s regret that he would not gain revenge on the Berellians.

  Then an unearthly scream made everyone turn their heads.

  A small figure, wearing a ridiculously puffed orange shirt under his leather jerkin, burst through the infantry ranks. It was Menner. A massive swing of his sword killed one man; the backswing chopped down another. Two others tried to stop him but, in a blur of movement, he drove them backwards, hacking and slashing like a madman.

  Before Kettering and Hawke could reach him, an infantryman rammed a spear through his chest. Part horrified, part astonished, Kettering watched as Menner merely reached out to grab the haft and trap it inside his body. Time seemed to slow, and everyone, including the infantry in red, watched as the little dressmaker hauled himself along the shaft, spending his lifeblood as he did so, until he was close enough to ram his sword into his attacker’s neck.

  In that moment Kettering heard a roar from behind but dared not turn his head. He saw the surrounding infantry back away and brace themselves, as a flood of men in leather jerkins, waving swords, rushed past him to crash into the shield wall.

  ‘It’s Kay!’ Hawke cried.

  Kettering saw the ranger captain snatch up a fallen shield, slam into an infantryman, then hack
down at the man’s leg, bringing him down.

  ‘Get Leigh away from the fight and strap up his leg so he doesn’t bleed to death,’ he told Hawke.

  ‘What about Menner?’ Hawke looked up from where the dressmaker, his trousers still stained by fear, his bright orange shirt now red, lay entwined in death with the three huge infantrymen he had killed. ‘He saved my life!’ The bearded criminal sounded as though he could not believe such a thing was possible. ‘He was pissing himself with fright, but he saved us!’

  Kettering sighed. He was covered in blood, of which only a small amount was his. Months ago, in another life, he might have debated what this meant, how a man could be driven to do mad, impossible things in war. But he did not have the words, just a roaring anger. He bent down and picked up a fresh sword, a sharp sword.

  ‘We can’t do anything for him now. But neither will we forget him,’ he merely said.

  Hawke reached down to help Leigh, and Kettering was surprised to see tears running down the face of the brutal killer.

  ‘I wish I could tell him…’ he grunted, but could say no more.

  ‘He already knows,’ Kettering told him, then returned to the fight.

  The addition of the archers held the infantry’s advance, and even pushed them back slightly, but the shield wall was holding firm against an increasingly weary attack. Kettering was too angry to feel tired, but not so angry that he could not hope the Rallorans and the Queen had some better plan than this.

  Hutter was not sure at what point he had given up trying to win this battle and instead decided just to stay alive. He thanked the nameless sergeant who had made it a personal mission to get him fit again. Without his cruelty, there was no way Hutter would still be on his feet. As it was, the breath was sawing harshly in his throat, his right arm and shoulder were on fire and his shield arm was bruised and battered. But he had managed to keep Turen alive as well, so he counted that as a victory.

  The militia had formed a rudimentary shield wall, but too few of the front rank had shields, and the second rank had none. So the men in the front row faced an ugly choice: keep their shield high and risk the thrust underneath, the one that ripped into the groin or disembowelled, or keep the shield lower and expose their heads to an overhead cut. The best Hutter could say was that they were pretty much holding their ground—although it was costing them many good men.

  Thoughts of seeing his family again, or victory, were long gone. Hutter was just concentrating on surviving the next blow aimed at him.

  Romon found the cavalry waiting, out of sight, although formed up ready for the charge. Out the front waited Count Sendric, Lieutenant Rocus and Conal.

  ‘The Queen orders you to charge!’ he puffed, as soon as he ran up to them.

  He saw Conal and Rocus exchange a look, but thought nothing of it.

  ‘Thank you. You may leave it with us and return to the Queen now,’ Conal told him.

  Romon nodded and ran away, eager to get back.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Rocus asked, as soon as he had gone.

  ‘Do? We attack!’ Sendric snorted.

  ‘It’s not that easy. Martil swore both Rocus and myself to ignore the Queen’s orders to charge. He told us to wait for an order from Barrett. Barrett would know when Martil had completed his mission, and when—and if—we should charge,’ Conal explained.

  ‘If this is one of your jests…’ Sendric threatened. ‘It is not the time!’

  ‘It is no jest. Martil told me he planned to sacrifice himself to save the lives of these men. If we go out there, we will betray what he died for,’ Conal said sadly.

  Sendric just stared at him. ‘So his plan to kill Gello—he doesn’t intend to return? The Queen would never have agreed to that!’

  ‘Exactly. So we must give him the time he needs. We cannot let his sacrifice be in vain. We have to trust Barrett,’ Conal told him. ‘He will let us know. Martil made me swear on my life not to lead these men out to their deaths. I cannot break that oath.’

  Sendric sighed. ‘I hope you are right,’ he said finally.

  ‘Just trust in Barrett. We have to do that,’ Rocus repeated.

  Barrett sent a pair of men flying. They crashed into others following them, knocking more down. He wiped sweat away from his brow in between blows, while Martil darted forwards on his left, the Dragon Sword slicing away swords and shields—and sometimes the flesh beyond it. The pair of them were on the far end of the Ralloran line; on their inside, Nerrin, Dunner and Kesbury were rallying the shield wall against the fierce attack of Gello’s infantry. Lieutenant Baker was lying behind the line, dying from a sword blow to the head.

  Martil had been furious to see Kesbury at first, demanding to know why he was not guarding the Queen. But when Kesbury had explained why he was there, he had grudgingly agreed to let him stay. Now he was glad of it. Kesbury had always been a good man with a spear, and he had found one from somewhere. Not only was the spearhead red, but half the shaft was soaked in blood. Standing at the end of the line next to Barrett, Kesbury had built up a small mound of bodies in front of him to further block the advance of the infantry. But the enemy was threatening to go further up the hill, right around the line.

  Barrett gestured with his free hand, and the grass at the weak end of the line, the open end, sprang into the air, growing twice the height of a man, forming an impenetrable barrier. Some of the infantry hacked at it then, frustrated, backed away. The only way forwards was through the Rallorans.

  ‘Where in Aroaril’s name is that cavalry! Surely Rocus got the order from the Queen by now! What is he playing at?’ Barrett gasped, leaning on his massive staff as he sucked in air.

  Martil sliced off the sword hand of an infantryman with the Dragon Sword and then opened the throat of the man next to him with his ordinary blade. Momentarily free of attackers, he stepped back a pace—and turned as the import of Barrett’s words registered.

  ‘He won’t attack! I ordered both Rocus and Conal not to charge, on their lives, until you told them to!’ he cried in horror.

  Barrett gaped at him. ‘I forgot!’ he gasped.

  ‘Go!’ Martil cried, furious at himself for not remembering either. He had spoken to Kesbury but hadn’t given Barrett a second thought! The joy, the certainty that had filled him until now just leaked away.

  But the attackers flooded forwards, refusing to stop, perhaps sensing the wizard was tiring.

  Desperate now, Martil changed hands, and instead of disarming and wounding men, the Dragon Sword began tearing the life from them. He did not want to do it, but men’s lives were at stake.

  ‘Get back! Tell Rocus to charge!’ Martil commanded Barrett, then turned back to the fight.

  The mage turned away and began to stumble uphill, but the exertion of fighting non-stop had drained him, and the hill seemed to get both higher and steeper. He sank to his knees and toppled over.

  Gello surveyed the battle with satisfaction. He had been concerned at the progress of the Rallorans, but their advance now seemed to have stopped, while their open flank was under extreme pressure. Soon they would break, and Heath’s men could begin rolling up the Ralloran line. As to the other side of the battle, the conscripts were no more than a nuisance. Once the Rallorans were destroyed, they could be outflanked and snapped up. It was only a matter of time now.

  ‘May I congratulate your majesty?’ Ezok said smoothly. ‘It seems you will shortly have a famous victory!’

  Ezok was pleased to see it had not been an easily won fight. Gello’s infantry, ever the backbone of an army, was being gutted up there. Exactly what he had hoped.

  ‘You may congratulate me,’ Gello agreed. ‘I only wish I could see my dirty little cousin’s terror as her foul trick has failed!’

  Merren listened to Romon’s report with a smile, then sent him down to help the priests, who were administering to the wounded. She was all alone on the hill now, sitting on her horse, Martil’s Tomon, with just her standard bearer for company. Karia had be
en sent back, where she could not see the bloody battle. Any moment now, she told herself. Rocus will lead the cavalry out and then my cousin will watch his foul plans crushed!

  But no cavalry was appearing from her left. Surely by now they should be riding out! How long did it take to organise a cavalry charge?

  She waited and waited, expecting that at any moment, the first riders would appear. But with every passing heartbeat, her fear and concern grew. What was going on?

  She glanced down to where Gello’s infantry seemed to be pushing her forces back in every direction. As she watched, Barrett staggered away from the battleline, fell to his knees, then hauled himself up, trying—and mostly failing—to walk up the hill.

  Merren felt an icy fist close around her heart. Something was terribly wrong here. She turned her horse’s head and galloped across the hill, her standard-bearer following.

  Heath could not restrain a smile as he watched his men’s progress. True, he had suffered heavy casualties, but he could feel the mood of the battle now. The men he was facing, even the Rallorans, were worried, and perhaps a little desperate. His superior numbers, armour and weapons were beginning to tell. He could almost taste the rewards Gello would shower upon him.

  ‘We have them!’ he told his sergeants. ‘When they break, there is to be no mercy! Kill every man, and especially every wounded traitor we find!’

  Kay wished he had spent more time training with the sword. Working with the bow had always been his priority—and a natural one, at that. An archer needed to practise for ten years to become skilled and even then you had to use your bow every day if you were to survive a battle. But all that left little time for swordplay. Kay had mastered the basics, of course, but hacking straw dummies was a far cry from this.