by Duncan Lay
He glanced to his left and right, and saw the massed archers were ready. Taking out an arrow, he waved it above his head, signalling to them all. ‘Draw!’ he roared.
Taking the strain, feeling the tension in his arm, shoulder, chest and back, he pulled the string back to touch his ear. From there, you could not aim by eye, but by instinct. He looked at the massed infantry marching in front of him, and felt a moment’s pity for what he was about to unleash. His order had made some turn, and these were frantically trying to warn their fellows and bring shields around.
Too late.
‘For honour!’ Kay bellowed, and released the string.
His arrow leaped away, followed an instant later by hundreds of others.
The first Heath knew of the attack was when his entire left flank collapsed, screaming and crying, to the tune of arrows slamming into shields, helms and armour. In an instant, his careful, ordered advance was thrown into chaos, as scores of men crumpled. For perhaps ten heartbeats, he just stared in horror at the sight of hundreds of archers he thought were on his side, not only attacking his column, but preparing to loose a second volley.
‘Shields!’ he screamed. ‘Take cover!’
Another hail of arrows poured in, and this time many of the men had their shields up, but the sheer volume meant anyone not completely covered was peppered. He guessed he had two hundred men dead or wounded already.
‘Get those shields up, re-form the ranks!’ he snapped, then left it to the junior officers and sergeants to organise.
‘Get a message to the King! I can’t attack the Rallorans with the archers on my flank—does he want me to kill the archers first?’ he ordered one of his mounted officers, then watched the man gallop madly down back towards the camp.
‘What in Aroaril’s name is going on?’ Merren demanded. ‘Why have those archers turned on their own side?’
Nobody seemed to have an answer for her. Most were just staring, open-mouthed, at this extraordinary turn of events.
‘Didn’t we think the rangers were secretly on our side?’ Barrett offered.
‘I think there is a more logical explanation. Martil, show us the Dragon Sword,’ Nott said briskly.
Martil, who had the Sword in his hand, reversed it to display the hilt to Merren.
‘The eyes! The eyes are alight!’ Merren exclaimed.
Martil turned the blade around and saw the ruby eyes glowing at him.
‘The hilt’s warm, as well,’ he said stupidly, realising it for the first time.
‘Well, you know what this means!’ Merren said excitedly. ‘You don’t need to risk your life in a mad attack on Gello—you need to stay here now! The Dragon Sword has worked on those archers and rangers, just as we hoped and prayed it would! Now we just have to wait and Gello’s army will collapse around itself!’
‘He has to stay!’ Karia pushed her way through the crowd to leap up at Martil, who managed to catch her in his free hand.
‘This doesn’t mean we are going to be victorious,’ Martil warned. ‘There are still enough men down there to defeat us. We have to see what Gello tries next. Going for him might still be the best way of winning this battle. We don’t know if any of the others down there will turn to us.’
‘Then we should attack now! Attack while he is not expecting it!’ Barrett declared.
‘Those infantry may be pinned down, but there’s still too many for us to handle,’ Martil argued. ‘We have all the advantages now. To throw them away would be foolish. We have to see what Gello’s next move is…’
‘I think we can already see that,’ Nott said, pointing.
Gello had been watching Heath’s slow advance up the hill with a rising frustration. He wanted them to get to grips with the Rallorans, smash through their lines and set them to flight. He wanted his cousin captured, and her tame Ralloran dead. And he was sick of waiting for it to happen. But his frustration was replaced by horror when his archers turned their bows on Heath’s men and the advance stopped as the infantry cowered under the arrow storm.
‘They can’t advance through that, sire!’ Feld warned.
‘I know that! But those archers will run out of arrows soon—and then we can slaughter them like the dogs they are!’
Feld cleared his throat. ‘If I may, sire? The conscript regiments. Have them move across and attack the archers—even if they fail, the archers will use their arrows up on them, leaving our infantry free to either finish them off or attack the Rallorans.’
‘But what of the cavalry attack?’
‘Sire, if they had cavalry, they would have used them by now. They certainly did so at Mount Shadar. The risk of that is less than the risk of losing our best men for no reason!’
Ezok was tempted to remind them that was not true—but thought having Gello’s best troops take the brunt of a cavalry charge was a better option.
Gello hesitated for a moment, but only a moment. The battle was still his, he had more than enough men. But he did not want to waste his best troops on the archers. Far better to use the conscripts. They were unimportant.
‘Use the conscripts to clear the archers away. And send a few companies of light cavalry around to the left flank, in case the archers break. I want every last one punished!’
Riders were sent galloping up the hill, even as a rider from Captain Heath tore into the camp, asking for orders.
‘Tell Heath to hold; the conscripts will come around beneath him and charge the archers. Once they are occupied, he is to resume his advance on the Rallorans,’ Gello instructed, and the man, his horse sweating heavily, raced away.
‘What would make those men turn on their own side?’ Ezok mused. It was an interesting development. Did it mean Gello did not have quite the grip on the men that he imagined?
‘Who knows how the brains of peasants work? Perhaps my slut of a cousin promised each man a free ride,’ Gello joked.
Ezok joined in the laughter, but noticed the likes of Feld really had to force themselves to laugh.
‘Move!’ Captain Grissum bawled. ‘We’re going around the back of the infantry, then we’re going to charge the archers. They’re a bunch of traitors, so the King wants them dead! They’ve only got swords, like you, so they’ll be easy meat! Quickly now!’
It was simple enough to run across the hill, rather than down, although there was some confusion in the ranks as these men, new to soldiering, struggled to turn around and re-form in neat lines. Hutter took advantage of this to slip out of his line, to where he could see Kettering jogging along.
‘What should we do?’ Hutter cried.
Kettering grinned. ‘Simple. We stand with Kay.’
‘What?’
Kettering shook his head. ‘We have to take sides, and take sides now. It must be Kay! He has made a choice, and so must we. My men are going to fight Gello. You do what you must.’
Hutter stared at him. Everything he had learned on the streets told him this was not a fight he wanted to get involved in. He had spent his whole life looking for the comfortable life, the path of least resistance. But, in that moment, he realised it had led him away from everything he had once believed in. He could either be a fat, foolish militia sergeant in a backwater village or something more. He felt an unstoppable surge of certainty—this was the time to act.
‘We will stand with you! Let’s do this!’ he bellowed.
Kettering saluted him, a fierce look on his face. He could not explain why he had to do this either; it just felt right.
‘Sword! Sword!’ he roared at the top of his voice, a cry he could hear being taken up by his men, as well as Hutter’s men.
Kay sighted on a gap between two shields and released—only to see it close in that instant and his arrow sink deep into a shield, not the flesh behind it.
‘Sir! ’Ware right!’ Sergeant Ryder screamed.
Kay turned to see a ragged attack forming downhill, to his right. The two conscript regiments were running across the hill, and seemed to be massing for a
n attack on his right flank. He almost laughed. So this was Gello’s response? His men would slaughter them.
He was wondering if he should try and make a run for the top of the hill, where he could at least stand with the Queen. But it would mean forcing his men to run the gauntlet of Gello’s infantry. Few would survive that. In the short term, they were far safer where they were.
‘Follow me, Sergeant,’ he ordered, striding down to take command personally. He would need several companies to keep the pressure on Heath’s infantry, so they would not be tempted to attack him. He glanced over his shoulder to where the Rallorans waited at the top of the hill. What were they thinking about all this, he wondered idly. Would the Queen ever find out he had returned to her service?
‘I think we should go and help them,’ Merren declared.
‘But, my Queen, if we go down there, we will have to take on more than five times our number of infantry,’ Martil pointed out. He was trying to work out what this turn of events might mean. He had never seen anything like this before. Part of him was suggesting he should immediately attack, attack with everything he had—but another part was afraid for the men he was going to send into the attack. ‘And by us going down there, we will force the archers to stop aiming at Gello’s men, for fear of hitting us. What they need to do is come up here. Only they can’t get past Gello’s men without being cut to pieces. We are stuck.’
‘And what about them?’ Merren pointed to where the conscripts were running across the hill.
‘It looks like Gello wants them to attack the archers, to allow his infantry to move on us,’ Martil guessed.
‘But that means we can use our cavalry to attack now!’ Merren exclaimed.
Martil reflected that she had perhaps proved too quick a learner when it came to strategy. ‘We still need to wait,’ he insisted, the memory of how few men he had left after Mount Shadar strong in his mind.
‘Let them get close, then we’ll make every arrow count,’ Kay instructed his men. ‘We’ll pile them up, and the survivors won’t want to go past the wall of bodies we’ll make.’
He had no doubt his men could create slaughter. These were not heavily armoured infantry; the conscripts did not carry shields and were wearing leather jerkins. His arrows would pierce those as if they were paper.
‘Sir! Look!’ Ryder cried.
The conscript regiments were slowing down now, while two men broke away at the front and raced towards the archers, waving.
‘What in Aroaril’s name is going on, sir?’ Ryder asked.
Kay peered at them. Why would just two men attack ahead of the others? And they seemed vaguely familiar; one was a big man, carrying some extra fat around his waist, while the other was lean.
‘Kay! Kay! We’re here to help!’ the big one was bellowing.
‘Sir! Your orders?’ Ryder snapped.
‘Wait here, Sergeant. If they kill me, make sure you turn them into pincushions,’ Kay said, and jogged out to meet the two running figures. As he drew closer, he recognised them—Hutter and Kettering, the pair from last night.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded, as they slowed to a walk, puffing a little.
‘We’re here to help you,’ Kettering growled. ‘The King is a liar and a traitor and a friend of Berellians. We will fight with you.’
Kay gaped at them.
‘We’ll keep running across, but instead of attacking you, we’ll form up in front of you. Then, when Gello’s men attack the Rallorans, we can hit them from behind and drive them off,’ Hutter panted.
Kay was momentarily too stunned to say anything.
‘Well, speak up, man! We don’t have all day before Gello wakes up to what we are doing!’ Hutter puffed.
‘But your officers—what do they say?’ Kay gasped.
‘Not much. We killed them,’ Kettering said laconically. ‘Now, tell your men to leave their arrows off their strings while we form up.’
For a heartbeat, Kay wondered if this was all some elaborate trap, but dismissed that. What would be the point?
‘Welcome!’ he said simply, holding out his hand.
The three of them shook hands, suddenly grinning like idiots, then Kettering and Hutter waved to their men and Kay sprinted back to where Ryder and his rangers waited.
‘They’re going to help us. They’ll form up in front of us,’ Kay panted, as soon as he got back. ‘No one is to loose an arrow at them.’
‘This may be my first battle, but I’m sure they’re not supposed to go like this,’ Ryder muttered, then began shouting orders.
19
‘What!’ Gello leaped out of his seat, where he had been enjoying a shoulder massage from Lahra.
Nobody spoke. They just stared up the hill, to where the conscript regiments had run around, as they were supposed to, but instead of attacking the archers, they had formed up in front of them, facing Gello’s infantry. Far from being locked in a death struggle, they seemed to be shaking hands and slapping the backs of the archers.
Gello watched wordlessly, almost apoplectic with rage. How could these fools do this to him? He had given them simple instructions and they had bungled it again! Instead of facing one thousand Rallorans, he now had thirty-five hundred hostile Norstalines on his left flank, while the Rallorans were just standing there, laughing at his incompetence!
‘All is not lost, sire,’ a voice said.
Gello turned, fingers working convulsively, ready to rip the throat out of the officer who had spoken, only to see Ezok had stepped forwards.
‘You have been given bad advice by little men,’ Ezok continued. ‘Your officers told you those men were loyal, that they were ready. That was a lie.’
Gello agreed. If he was not sure that Beq and Grissum were dead, he would have had them skinned alive.
‘But you still have more than enough men on the field to win this battle. This is a time for courage, for boldness. Send your infantry in to wipe out the traitors first. They are lightly armed, and hardly trained. Your best men will make short work of them, and you will still have more than enough men left to shred the Ralloran scum.’
The words began to penetrate the red mist inside Gello’s head. It made sense. He still had the best part of six regiments on that hill, facing one good regiment and four bad ones. Those were still very good odds.
‘That is what we shall do. Order Captain Heath to wipe out the traitors, but keep two regiments back, in case the Rallorans or cavalry decide to attack at the same time,’ Gello decided.
Ezok bowed, his heart singing. By the end of this battle, Gello would be in no position to betray his ally; he would be dependent on Berellia if they were to conquer the rest of the continent.
‘Feld!’ Gello roared. ‘Take those orders to Heath, and tell him not to bother coming back down unless he has my cousin in chains!’
‘This day will truly show the world your greatness,’ Ezok added, signalling to Lahra.
Under her coaxing, Gello was persuaded to sit back down; wine was poured for him and, as she began to rub his shoulders, he even smiled again.
‘What counts is the final victory, not how it was achieved, eh, Ambassador?’
‘As always, your majesty is right,’ Ezok agreed.
‘What is happening?’ Merren demanded.
‘Merren, if I knew, I would tell you,’ Martil admitted.
They were all staring at the strange battlefield below. Now there were four of Gello’s erstwhile regiments facing his infantry, although the losses the archers and rangers had suffered made them somewhat smaller than the usual size.
‘Why?’ Merren asked.
‘It has to be the Dragon Sword,’ Kesbury declared, then flushed, as he remembered he was only supposed to be guarding the Queen, not speaking to her, a flogging offence under Rallora’s King Tolbert. ‘Sorry, your majesty.’
‘No need to apologise. I am happy to take advice from anyone. Especially if that person has any idea what is going on!’ Merren said exasperatedly.
/> ‘It is the Dragon Sword, in part, but more than that. Aroaril has brought this together, so that everyone can do their part,’ Nott declared. ‘He has done all He can; now it is up to you. Up to swords, courage and a little magic to win the day.’
Merren looked at the old priest suspiciously. Was it Aroaril’s doing, or Nott’s doing? He certainly seemed to have been pulling the strings of many people. What else had he been up to?
Nott turned to her and smiled, as if reading her thoughts.
‘All is ready, now you must seize the opportunity you have been given,’ he announced.
Martil looked down at the Ralloran battle line, then at the thickly packed Norstaline infantry.
‘They will be able to outflank us, and there’s still so many of them,’ he stated.
‘Look! They’re moving!’ Barrett pointed.
The thick column was adjusting, re-forming before their eyes.
‘They’re going to attack the archers and conscripts first, wipe them out and then come for us,’ Martil realised. ‘They must fear an attack from the rear if they leave the archers alone.’
‘We have to help them!’ Merren declared.
Martil nodded. He had a duty to the men on this hilltop, the men he had led into the horror of Bellic. But he also had a duty to those men down there, men he had put in this position because of the Dragon Sword. Sacrificing himself was not an option now. If he died, the Dragon Sword would be useless, and where would that leave all those men? He knelt down beside Karia.
‘I am going to fight now, but I will be back,’ he told her. ‘I promise.’
