by Rachel Lee
But now he wished he had troubled to know just one Anari. Even a slave. For he found himself blinded by his own inability to imagine how they might think.
Except that whoever led them seemed to be a good general. Sighing, he scanned the rocky foothills and eyed the pass ahead. Was he being led into a trap? Had he already fallen into one?
But what did these questions matter? He had been sent on a mission, and he had no choice but to pursue it, though he and every man under his command might die in the process.
Retreat was not an option. Ever.
The mutilated body of his young cousin flashed before his eyes, and he hardened himself against all doubts. For that alone he would march his men into the jaws of death.
* * * *
Tess, who had been distracted all night and unwilling to sleep, climbed to the rim of the canyon to watch the sun rise. The stars still wheeled above, but dawn was approaching. Soon the first gray light would appear in the east, the faint harbinger of a day she dreaded.
For she could sense the nearness of the enemy army. Below her, the Anari were furiously digging pits and lining their bases with sharp stones to further hamper the Bozandari who would soon attack. Archer had ordered them to build a series of defensive lines. The plan was to draw the attackers in, thinning them at each line, luring them deeper into the canyon. Only then would Giri fall upon their rear.
“It will be a battle of annihilation,” Archer had said last night as he explained the plan.
Thinking back on those words, Tess found neither confidence nor peace. Annihilation. Yes, that was what would happen. The evil of men ladled out upon each other, imagination and intelligence and courage stewed together and then left to ferment into a deadly, bitter brew. Her heart already ached for what would happen.
Worse, everyone in the camp was on edge. Whether they concealed or displayed it, every heart felt fear. Fear of death. Fear of failure. It was palpable, like a blanket thrown over them, heavy and oppressive. That affected her concentration. She did not know how to block the miasma of feelings that filled the atmosphere.
I can teach you.
The voice, the one she had so long ago blocked, was back. Cold, oily fingers in her mind told her that he had found his way within her once more.
Come, my love, the voice said. I can teach you many things.
Squeezing her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms, she shoved the presence away, then mentally squeezed it until, with a pop, it disappeared. With a last glance to the east, she descended to the valley floor.
Behind her, the gray light began to limn the mountain peaks, as if the earth itself was marking this day in stark relief.
33
Jenah’s men had borne the brunt of the marching, up into and then down from the rugged Panthos Mountains. In the days since, they had dug, then dug some more, the pace brutal and unending as they prepared their positions for the assault. Two defensive belts, pits twice as deep as a man, their bottoms and sides lined with jagged rocks, now stretched across the valley floor. In each belt, there were two lines of pits, those in one line behind the gaps in the line in front, so there was no direct route to the Anari forces. Jenah’s force lay behind the first belt and Archer’s behind the second.
The plan was brutally simple. Jenah’s men were to delay the Bozandari for as long as they could, showering them with arrows as they negotiated the pits, then meeting them in pockets as they emerged. Jenah had no doubt that his men would falter. Bravery counted for only so much in the face of utter exhaustion. But that, too, was part of the plan.
Once it became apparent that his men were spent, they would withdraw through the second belt, feigning a rout. The Bozandari would surge forward in pursuit and fall upon the second defensive line, both its pit traps and Archer’s men, who would be carefully concealed. Shock and confusion would break down the Bozandaris’ careful battle tactics, and the steep valley walls would prevent any flanking maneuvers.
The hope was to bleed the Bozandari legion white as it battered its way through the narrow valley. Then, at nightfall, Archer, too, would withdraw to re-form beside Jenah in a third line of fortifications at the southern mouth of the valley. In the morning, when the Bozandari pressed on, still hemmed in by the valley and unable to deploy in full, the Anari would meet them with overwhelming force. The trap would be completed when Giri’s column, hiding in the hills, fell upon the enemy’s rear.
It sounded so simple in the conversations at Archer’s command tent. It looked so simple on the carefully drawn maps. Jenah knew it would be anything but. Somehow, amidst the chaos and confusion of close quarters combat, he would have to withdraw his men and feign a rout without it actually becoming the real thing. And he had no doubt as to the fate of those who were caught by the pursuing Bozandari. He would bleed the enemy, yes. But the enemy would also bleed him.
The earth seemed to rumble beneath his feet, its own heartbeat offset by the thudding of thousands of feet. Beyond a curve in the valley, dust rose high into the air. The Bozandari were coming. They were coming soon.
Tuzza watched the first rays of dawn strike fire from the mountain peaks around him. He and his army were moving sluggishly, tired and underfed, and facing the most difficult part of their march: the pass through those mountains.
There were other ways to Anahar, he knew, but from where he was, there were none that would not cost him at least a week’s further marching. His men didn’t have another week in them. Time and supplies commanded that he march through this valley. Below it, it was rumored, there were open fields and richer soil. That meant he could deploy his forces properly and perhaps even find some forage to slake his men’s bellies before the final leg of his march on Anahar.
First, though, they had to survive this valley, with walls that loomed more forbiddingly with every step he took. Tuzza, a man of reason, a man of both letters and numbers, who took pride in dismissing the superstitious beliefs of others, felt as if those mountains were watching him. Brooding over him and his army. Threatening.
Yet they were just mountains, immobile, unchanging. Dead rock. So why did he feel these mountains were somehow different?
With no room to deploy, his legion was marching in a column, with only a single company frontage. He could, at most, put two companies forward in line. Thus the legion was spread out, a slender serpent crawling through a long pipe, vulnerable and unable to bring most of its force to bear. The horses, such as were left, hauled the remaining baggage trains.
It was a terrible formation in which to meet the enemy, and as the first reports rippled back from the advance scouts, he knew the enemy had planned for exactly this outcome. The Anari might be peaceful by nature, but they had all too quickly learned the wiles of war. And he had no choice but to press home the attack.
“Deploy your brigade with two regiments abreast in assault columns,” he said to Overmark Gansar. “Break their lines, and make haste with it. I do not wish to be picked apart in this damned valley.”
“At once, sir,” Gansar said, snapping a salute. “It will be done.”
It was mid-morning as Jenah watched the Bozandari approaching in two columns, each with three ranks of sixty men abreast. Forming from a single column into attack order had taken time, given the tight confines of the valley floor. Now they were ready, and their leaders sounded the advance. Within minutes, however, their smooth, orderly advance faltered as they came upon the first lines of pit traps. While only a few fell victim, the rest were forced to reorder and shift their lines of march toward the gaps. It was the moment Jenah had been waiting for.
“Archers, loose your arrows!” he cried.
With a rippling whistle, the arrows flew forth, arching over the heads of Jenah’s front lines before plunging down onto the already discomfited Bozandari. Within seconds, all sense of order in the Bozandari ranks gave way as men staggered to avoid pits, scrambled to heft shields overhead, and pushed and shoved to find some measure of safety from the rain of death.
The few that surged forward did so in scattered groups, which became easy pickings for the whirling blades of Jenah’s men. Confusion reigned, and for brief moments it appeared as if Jenah’s men might halt the Bozandari attack in its tracks.
But then the Bozandari commander asserted his will on the battle, screaming and kicking at men, creating order from chaos. The enemy’s archers, their skills honed by years of practice, rained down arrows on Jenah’s men with an accuracy that was truly amazing to watch. The deadly storm became a shield behind which the Bozandari infantry could form, then burst into Jenah’s lines as the clatter of plunging arrows finally gave way to the clang and bite and scream of close combat.
This commander knew his business, Jenah realized. Gone were the days of confused and terrified Bozandari falling to the flensing blades of the Anari. The step-and-thrust, step-and-thrust, of the Bozandari infantry was slowly pushing his men back upon themselves, and Jenah knew his forces had done as much as they could. Now it was time to trust Archer’s battle plan.
“Sound retreat!” Jenah cried, praying that his men would retain their self-control.
“On them!” Gansar bellowed, as the Anari lines began to waver and then melt away. “On them now! Give them no quarter!”
It was the moment Gansar had waited for, the moment in which he could catch the Anari without their practiced threshing lines. Let them taste Bozandari steel now, when they were helpless to resist it.
He surged forward with his men, sword held high, driving them onward as they hacked and chopped into the faces of those who tried to stand, and the backs of those who turned and fled too late. Tuzza had ordered him to break their lines and make haste. Gansar had followed his orders to the letter. Now, truly, it would be done.
And then the earth opened beneath his feet.
Tuzza watched as the next line of Anari threw off the dustcovered tents beneath which they’d been lying and rose from the ground as if they were the spawn of the mountains themselves.
Already Gansar’s brigade was falling victim to the damnable pit traps the Anari had dug. Those in the second and third regiments, unaware of what had befallen those in front, fueled by blood lust and the ephemeral scent of victory, were pushing hard against those ahead of them, sending even more tumbling into the concealed holes that seemed to open like angry mouths. A rain of arrows from the second line’s archers added to the tumult, and now men began to push and shove with only one thought: personal survival. The screams of the wounded and dying rendered meaningless any commands their leaders might give.
His officers, those that survived, would sort it out, of course. But the attack was broken, and the sorting out process would take time. Worse, Tuzza could not send his second brigade forward until the remnants of Gansar’s force had managed to make their way to the rear. It would be midafternoon, at the earliest, before Tuzza could organize another attack to breach this new line.
“This is madness,” he said, turning to Overmark Thul. “They may have another line behind this one, and another behind that. Battering our way through this valley will leave us too weak to march on Anahar.”
Thul simply nodded.
Tuzza turned and looked at him. “We must find a way around them, Thul. Take your brigade and do it. Crawl through these hills like goats, if you must, but find a way around to their rear. I will send the second brigade up to breach their line this afternoon and hold the Guard Brigade in reserve. If the Anari know their business, and apparently they do, their main defense line will be at the mouth of this valley. I will attack them there at dawn. I expect you to fall on their rear at the same time.”
Thul looked up at the forbidding mountains, as if taking their measure and weighing it against that of his exhausted men. They would be marching all night, climbing, scrambling, making their way through terrain that would give a panther pause. But Topmark Tuzza was right. To simply attempt to bash their way through this valley, one line at a time, was suicide.
“Yes, sir,” Thul said. “My men will run all night, if need be. But we will be formed up and ready for battle at dawn. You have my word.”
“I had no need of your word,” Tuzza said. “You are a Bozandari officer, and a fine one. Your obedience and loyalty are beyond question.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tuzza looked at him. “You are not sure we can beat these Anari, are you?”
“They are skilled warriors, sir,” Thul replied. “Far beyond anything we expected. We are on their terrain, and I fear their raiding force has drawn us into precisely this trap at this time. Something binds them, unites the minds of their commanders, as if they have formed their own hive. That leaves me to fear for your safety, and the safety of my men. Their raiding force is still out there, somewhere in these hills, waiting for the moment to strike.”
“You doubt my plan,” Tuzza said. It was neither a question nor an accusation but merely a statement.
“I do not, sir,” Thul said. “We cannot win the battle but by doing as you say. I ask only that you be wary of committing the Guard, sir. For once we do, the Anari hiding in these hills will descend on us. On you, sir. And I have no wish to carry your body back to Bozandar.”
“Nor I yours, my friend,” Tuzza said, reaching out to place a hand on Thul’s shoulder. “Your words are well spoken and well received. I will withhold the Guard until your attack is well under way, until we are certain of breaking out of this valley. Then, if their raiders fall upon our rear, we can withdraw forward, into the fertile ground beyond.”
“Withdraw forward, sir?” Thul asked, a smile forming on his face.
“You will not find that in the manuals, my friend,” Tuzza replied. “But these Anari are not in the manuals, either. Before this is over, I expect we will all have much to learn.”
“I must be off, sir,” Thul said.
“Yes, yes,” Tuzza replied. “Make haste, my friend, and I will see you at the dawn.”
“At the dawn,” Thul replied.
As Tuzza watched Thul make his preparations, he knew that Thul was right. The raiders who had dogged his steps at every league had been luring him along, leading him to this valley, to this battle, a battle they could fight and win. They were making the best possible use of an inferior force. They were outwitting him.
It was time to gather his own wits and turn the tables. He could not win their battle, but neither could they win his. Initiative was the key, and he meant to seize it.
“Tensanar!” he bellowed, calling for the commander of the Guard Brigade. “At once!”
Overmark Tensanar snapped to attention and marched over, stopping at the regulation two paces to salute.
“I want company strength patrols of the Guard in these hills tonight. Find that Anari raiding force. Do not give them battle, for I will need your men on the morrow. But find them. At the very least, I must know whence my enemy will come.”
“Yes, sir,” Tensanar said, his face betraying surprise, for Guardsmen were usually far too valuable to waste on patrol duty.
“I know, Overmark,” Thul said. “But I have no one else to send.”
“I will see to it, sir,” Tensanar said.
Tuzza looked out at the valley, watching as the remnants of Gansar’s brigade finally organized their withdrawal, carrying the shattered bodies of their fallen comrades. Tuzza would break through this valley. And he would ensure that his men did not die in vain.
But then he would return to Bozandar, and his report would not please the court. Let them be displeased. Let them know the scope of that which they had undertaken. Let them see the bodies of the fallen and weigh their worth.
Squeezing his fists in disgust, he set off to organize the next attack.
34
Tess knelt down by a wounded Anari, looking into his eyes. They seemed slow to focus and find her, which was not surprising, given the horrific gash that had laid open four ribs in his back, breaking three. She tried to focus her vision within him, to assess the internal damage,
but her overtaxed mind rebelled at the attempt. She had given away a lot of herself on this day, and she knew she had few reserves left. The man tried to cough, and foamy blood appeared at his lips. The wound had cut a lung. There was little she could do for him, not if she were to have anything left for the dozens of others yet to be seen.
Tess looked up at the two Anari women beside her, with the faintest shake of her head. “Over there, please.”
She would have expected tears in their eyes, or hers, at those words. She was pointing to the growing body of men who were beyond hope. But the women took it with stoic calm, shifting the man onto a makeshift litter and moving him as instructed. Tess shifted her attention to the next man as they moved away.
“So many,” Sara said, placing a hand on Tess’s shoulder. “You’ve saved so many. But you’re tired, sister. You need rest.”
Tess nodded. “I am tired, Sara. But no more so than these men who lie here. The Anari in the lines are not sleeping. They are digging, preparing. I will not rest until they rest.”
“You’re acting as if the war will end tomorrow, Tess, as if it’s written in the stars that the Bozandari will press on with their hopeless attacks until we crush them. But Bozandar did not become a great empire by behaving in stupid ways. They will have a surprise for us on the morrow. And what if they force us to retreat to Anahar? This war may drag on for months, sister. Will you go without rest for months?”
Tess looked up into Sara’s eyes. Gone were the almost passive, domestic eyes Tess had met in Whitewater. Sara had seen too much in their journey to remain that quiet innkeeper’s daughter. Her eyes were not yet hardened, but her gaze was firm and unyielding.
She’s right, Cilla thought, adding her voice to the conversation. I feel your exhaustion, too, Tess. You must care for yourself, also, lest there be nothing in you left to care for others.
