by Duncan Lay
Martil joined Nerrin in clapping men on the back, and congratulating them. All were nursing sore arms and backs, as to draw back a longbow was the equivalent of lifting a woman into the air. They were frantically replenishing their arrow bags, and drinking water.
‘This time it’ll be the infantry. They’ll have shields high, but they’ll be much slower, and they can’t do anything back to you. Pick your targets and take your time,’ Martil ordered. ‘Every one we merely hurt is one less we have to fight! You can’t walk up a hill with an arrow in the leg!’
‘What about the rest of the archers?’ Nerrin gestured to where they sat or stood, a solid mass, to the Rallorans’ right, on the side of the hill.
‘I don’t know what they are thinking, whether they even have any officers left. But we leave them alone, unless they start to advance again.’ Martil shrugged. ‘I don’t think they’ll play any further part in this battle.’
‘What now, sir?’ Sergeant Ryder asked.
Kay was silent. The truth was, he had no idea. He had decided he was not going to throw away his men’s lives for no good reason but had not thought beyond that. The way Gello had ridden down the archers most loyal to him had shown them all what fate awaited those who tried to run.
‘We shall just wait here, Sergeant,’ he said finally. ‘If the Rallorans break, the cavalry will be more interested in riding after them. I will tell the King that Beq ordered us back, just before his death. If that does not work, then I shall take responsibility. You will not die for me, I promise. Are there any men left who might cause trouble?’
Ryder laughed. ‘All those who were the big supporters of Beq and the King are either dead at the top of the hill, or dead at the bottom of the hill. Don’t worry about them, sir. Likewise the archers. Most of their officers are dead, the others are happy to follow you. They won’t be no trouble.’
‘Bring them over, anyway,’ Kay ordered.
‘Sir! I’ll walk slow, give you a chance to think of what to say to them.’
Kay smiled thinly. He had plenty to think about. Like what had come over him to order such a thing?
The senior infantry captain was a mustachioed swordsman called Heath, who had actually shared a room with a young Lieutenant Gello, when the then ruler-in-waiting arrived to spend a few months learning how the infantry trained and fought. He summoned the other officers to pass on Gello’s orders.
‘We’ll advance slowly until we get within arrow range, then we advance at the quick. Shields high, pass the word for the ranks behind to keep shields over their heads, because the Rallorans will be dropping arrows on them,’ he ordered. ‘We can do this job without the bloody archers. Now move! The King is watching!’
The six thousand infantry stood in a tight column, each regiment in six lines, the whole formation thirty-six ranks deep. Against them was a thin line of Rallorans, just as wide but only six ranks deep. Once the infantry was close enough, the front lines would move into wedge shapes, and aim to pierce the Ralloran line in half-a-dozen places. Once that happened, the Rallorans would break and be killed. Heath was under no illusions that the advance up a hill, under constant arrow attack, would be easy. But he knew it would bring victory.
‘Should we order Rocus to charge?’ Merren asked as soon as Martil returned, and even before Karia had a chance to grab his hand yet again.
Martil hesitated for a moment, then pointed towards a small block of infantry that had swung out to the flank and then stopped, taking position close to where the valley entrance opened onto the hill.
‘It looks as if they are expecting us,’ he said grimly. ‘So we must delay; wait until they do not expect us and move that reserve of men.’
Merren nodded agreement, although she felt sick. So far everything was going well—the archers had managed to defeat a force more than ten times their size, something that should have been impossible. Now the Rallorans only had to defeat a force six times their size. It seemed possible—barely. But she was trying not to hope too much.
‘We’d better send a runner to Rocus, to tell him what is happening,’ Martil suggested, and waved one over.
‘What about the ballistae? Can we use them again?’
Martil sighed. ‘I wish we could. But we have no more missiles for them.’ He looked down the hill, to where Gello’s infantry was making its slow, implacable progress up the hill. Should he go now? But he wanted Gello’s attention to be completely on the battle before he attacked. And at least the infantry would not do any damage until they arrived.
‘How long before we charge, do you think?’ Jaret asked.
The former militiaman from Gerrin was sitting on his horse beside the former guardsman, Wilsen. Since being forced together by Merren, they had become friends.
‘Don’t know. Talk about something else,’ Wilsen grunted.
Jaret nodded. He had already been behind a tree, and felt like he needed to relieve his bladder once more.
‘I wish we could see what was going on. This waiting is driving me mad,’ Jaret groaned.
‘Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s going on. And the longer you stay out of the battle, the happier you’ll be.’
‘What was Sendric like?’
‘Brutal. Now, will you talk about something else? My guts are churning enough as it is!’
‘I didn’t do much the last time we fought. I’m scared of letting everyone down again,’ Jaret said softly.
Wilsen punched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Stick with me, and you’ll be fine. Just talk about something else, for Aroaril’s sake!’
‘What are we doing here, Sarge?’ Turen asked plaintively.
‘Don’t know. But I don’t like it. What does that cutting over there look like to you, lad?’
Turen followed Hutter’s pointing finger. He looked at his sergeant carefully, to see if this was a trick question. ‘A bit like a small valley, Sarge?’ he ventured.
‘Like a good place to hide some of your men. And who’s now protecting Gello’s flank in case of a surprise attack? Us!’ Hutter felt he should do something more than just wait there. He could not explain it—it was just a feeling.
‘Hutter! Hutter!’
He looked across to where the call was coming from, and saw Kettering waving at him from the adjoining ranks of the criminal regiment.
‘What?’ he bawled back, hoping the man did not yell out anything incriminating.
Kettering waved again, but said nothing. Hutter cursed, then ducked down and hurried along the ranks of men, hoping he would not be noticed. When he reached the end of the file, he was only a few yards from where Kettering stood, at the end of the criminal regiment’s corresponding file of men.
‘What do you make of that?’ Kettering gestured to where the archers and rangers had formed up, across the other side of the hill, out of the way of the battle. ‘Do you reckon it was that ranger officer?’
‘Could be,’ Hutter said guardedly. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think the time is coming when we need to do something,’ Kettering admitted. ‘Something crazy.’
‘Hutter! Back to your place!’ a voice roared.
Hutter glanced over his shoulder to see an officer waving at him furiously. He glanced around to ask Kettering exactly what he meant but the man had already vanished back into the ranks of criminals.
Nerrin watched the slow approach of the infantry and wished he was back in the ranks, fighting as a sergeant and responsible for just a dozen men, rather than hundreds. He was trying not to think too much about what would happen once the enemy made it to the top. Instead, he was wondering why he had taken that commission from the fat merchant to protect a caravan heading to Sendric, instead of the smaller offer for a caravan across to Cessor. If he had taken the Cessor trip, he would probably be sitting in an inn around now, eating a hot meal and lining up some drinks, and possibly a woman, for the evening. Yet here he was, standing on a hill. Despite Martil’s words, Nerrin thought he was probably going to di
e—but he had never considered running. After Bellic, there had been nothing to run towards. His life was not so wonderful that he would regret leaving it, so he could watch the advance quite dispassionately.
Gello’s men were showing plenty of discipline, keeping their lines straight, their shields tight. There would be few spaces to hit with an arrow. Between the helm, shield, mail hauberk and their tall boots, no doubt reinforced with metal, they were well protected. But it was not impossible. He saw the first men stumble across the shallow ditch that was their marker and drew a deep breath.
‘Draw! Pick your targets and loose!’
Heath heard the whistle of the arrows before he saw them. ‘Shields up! Protect the ranks in front of you!’
The front rank crouched behind their shields, while the men in the ranks behind held their shields high. Arrows began to thud home—a couple of men screamed as arrows slipped between shields to strike shoulders and heads; others cursed as arrows struck legs and feet. The lines adjusted and kept going, flowing around the wounded.
‘Keep together!’ Heath bellowed.
The arrows were falling regularly now, striking in unexpected places. Some archers were obviously aiming at the rear ranks, dropping arrows from high; others were snapping the arrows in on a flat trajectory, aiming at the front rank. The men shuffled forwards, slowed by their natural fear of closing with their foes, as well as the many bodies of archers on the ground, and their own wounded. The wounded archers screamed or begged for help as the heavily armoured infantry marched over the top of them.
‘Leave them! On! On!’ Heath was frustrated by the slowness of the advance but at least they were making progress. He risked a glimpse out from under his shield, to see the Ralloran archers had fallen back almost to their shield wall. Not long now, and Gello’s men would have their revenge.
Nerrin was calling out targets to the nearest archers to make himself feel useful. In truth, by the time he had drawn something to the attention of an archer, the shields were back in place and an arrow was pointless. Many of the arrows were being wasted on shields, although some were still finding the gaps whenever any showed themselves. A man just had to stumble and drop his shield for a moment, and two or three arrows would flash into the gap; that man would fall, creating more of a gap, and more arrows would pour in. But the line would quickly close, then slowly begin to advance again.
What they needed was something heavier, to punch a hole in the line. At Mount Shadar, the Berellians had used smaller round shields, which offered far less protection. And the Rallorans had used cavalry to rip their ordered lines apart. He glanced over his shoulder, to where Martil stood under the giant dragon banner. Nerrin had done about all he could, but he had only stung Gello’s infantry. The only other thing he could do was draw his sword and stand in the line.
‘Archers to the rear! Front rank! Brace!’ he shouted, stepping between two men in the front row, his sword sliding into his hand.
‘Let’s show these pretty boys how real men can fight!’
‘Do we send in the cavalry now?’ Merren asked, as the phalanx inched ever closer, leaving a trail of dead and wounded men behind.
Martil sighed. The time had come.
‘I’m afraid they have foreseen the use of cavalry, my Queen.’ He pointed down the hill. ‘What I need to do now is go with Barrett, and kill Gello. I shall give you the victory you deserve.’
Their eyes locked for a long moment, but he had no time to say any more.
‘Aroaril be with you,’ she told him softly.
He drew the Dragon Sword, saluted her with it, then bent down to Karia.
She had been holding tightly to his hand, but looking away from the fighting. Now she clutched tightly to his leg.
‘Karia, I have to go now.’ He tried to gently disentangle himself, speaking softly so Merren would not hear what he planned to do.
‘I won’t let you go!’ she turned a slightly tear-stained face around to him, which was set in the stubborn expression he had come to know so well.
‘Karia, people’s lives depend on me. I have to do this, for everyone.’
‘But what about me?’
He hugged her then, feeling his resolve waver. But she deserved a happy life and the only way she could get it was for him to sacrifice himself.
‘I am sorry but it has to be this way.’ He looked into her eyes and tried to find the words to explain to her. ‘It is a parent’s job to look after their child. Your mother gave her life so that you would live. I have to do the same. This is the only way I can be sure you will be safe. I can’t let other people die, just so that I can be happy. I can save everyone. And my life is a small price to pay. I cannot use the Dragon Sword to win this battle, so I must do this, instead.’
She could hear what he was saying, but it made no sense. All she was getting was the message that he was going, and was not going to come back. ‘But I just found you! I don’t want to lose you! Who will take care of me?’
‘Father Nott, Conal, Barrett, Merren—they will all look after you. And I will be there, although you cannot see me. I will always love you.’
He hugged her again, for the last time, although she did not want to let go. He did not want to let her go either. He knew as soon as he went through that tree he was a dead man.
‘Martil!’ Barrett said urgently.
With great difficulty, and with tears in his own eyes, Martil managed to step away from Karia, who then flung herself onto the ground, sobbing.
‘Martil!’ Merren exclaimed.
Martil stroked her hair with his free hand, then wiped his eyes before turning to face them, drawing a deep breath to bring himself back under control.
‘I am sorry. But I am ready now, wizard,’ he said thickly.
He became aware that everyone was ignoring him, instead staring down the hill. He had only been listening to Karia, the sum total of his awareness had shrunk to the pair of them. But now the sounds of the battle began to intrude again—and they were all wrong.
‘Look!’ Merren cried.
Martil stared.
Kay had greeted the remaining ranger and archer officers, none of whom had the slightest idea what they should do now.
The one archer who suggested explaining things to King Gello was greeted with silence, before Ryder said, ‘You want to end up like the men the King ordered killed?’
‘Well, we are going to have to decide soon, because Heath’s men are not going to be stopped by little more than a company of archers,’ someone muttered up the back.
‘Perhaps we should join Heath again; the Rallorans must be short of arrows, and we could thin out their line just before Heath hits home,’ the first archer suggested again, half-heartedly. ‘We would be back in the King’s favour again.’
‘No!’ Kay suddenly spun around. ‘I will not fight for Gello! He has tricked and lied to us, he has been happy to waste our lives, and he has allied himself with Berellians! I was the captain of the Royal Guard! I should have stopped him before this, and it is to my eternal shame that I did not. But I can make up for that now—we can all make up for that now!’
Kay started pacing, getting the words out as they came to him. He had been so confused, for so long, but now it was all becoming clear, as if by magic.
‘It was not the Queen who led us to this—it was Gello. Already he is sacrificing our nobles and dumping their bodies at night. How long before he moves on to our families?’
‘What? Sacrificing the nobles?’ a ranger officer called. ‘Why did you not tell us before?’
‘Gello has sold himself to Berellia, and they have sold themselves to Zorva. But we can stop them,’ Kay insisted.
‘How?’
Kay pointed at the slow-moving phalanx of infantry, just fifty paces away.
‘We turn our bows on them.’
The men stared at him.
Sergeant Ryder stepped forwards.
‘He is right, lads. If we are going to stop Gello, then this is the tim
e.’
‘But we’ll all be killed!’
‘We’ll all be killed anyway! And even if we survive Gello’s wrath, how long do you think it will be before he sends us out to be killed by the Tetrans, the Avish and the Rallorans?’ Kay challenged them. ‘How will we live our lives? In fear and regret, wishing we had seized this chance? Will we go screaming to our deaths, having seen our wives and families sacrificed to Gello’s black ambition? Or do we die like men?’
For a long moment he thought they were going to turn on him. But then he felt a sudden certainty, almost a wave of confidence. He was doing the right thing. He had wanted to regain his honour, and this was the only way.
‘You are right,’ someone said.
Kay looked over to see the archer officer, the one who had suggested rejoining the attack, step forwards.
‘I don’t know why, but I feel this is the right thing to do. And even though my head tells me we will all die, that this is the act of a fool, I cannot ignore what my heart is telling me,’ he said.
‘Your name?’
‘Lieutenant Cropper, sir.’
‘Welcome, Cropper.’
They shook hands, then turned to the others.
‘Who else will stand with me? For, if not, you should start running now,’ Kay challenged.
‘We will all be there!’ Ryder roared, his words echoed by the other men. ‘Damned if I know why—it’s as if someone’s cast a spell on us,’ he continued.
‘Or broken one we’ve been under,’ Cropper agreed.
‘Form line! Get your men ready!’ Kay cried.
The archers and rangers moved swiftly into position. With every passing moment, Kay became more and more sure that this was the right decision. And none of his rangers or the archers showed even the slightest hesitation as he ordered them to turn their bows on their erstwhile comrades. Kay stepped out the front, where all could see him. He knew this meant the infantry would probably turn on them, and that light armour and swords were no match for a shield wall. But he did not care. He now knew, if he had the chance again, he would have fought Gello when he came to arrest the Queen. But this was the next best thing.
