by RJ Baker
“Girton,” said Rufra, “help me up.” I lifted Rufra into the saddle and gave him his sword, then pulled myself into Xus’s saddle by his side. He stood in his stirrups and I marvelled at his inner strength as he lifted his blade. “I live!” he shouted “Fight hard! I live!” He sat back down, beckoning me. “Girton –” his breath came quickly “– Tomas is readying his cavalry to charge, and if we are to break it will be that which does it. Find Cearis, ride with her. If the army sees my champion it will give them heart.” He passed me his helmet with the flying lizard crest. “Wear this as my mark.”
“I will.” Before I spurred Xus away he grabbed my arm.
“And Girton …”
“Yes.”
“Don’t die.”
“I’ll do my best not to.”
“Not enough.” He grimaced, the pain momentarily overwhelming him, and for a moment I thought he would fall from his saddle. “You can’t die, Girton, by royal decree.”
“There have been enough traitors today,” I said. “I would hate to add to them.” He smiled sadly as Tarris helped him down from Balance and helped him towards the healers’ tents.
I rode to join the cavalry.
Cearis had not needed Rufra’s orders; she had already seen Tomas’s cavalry readying and was busy tightening the girth of her saddle when I found her.
“Girton.”
“Rufra wants his champion to be seen riding with you.”
“Makes sense.” She pointed at the armies. Rufra’s troops were now holding their position. “Tomas will send his cavalry against Danfoth and his followers.”
“They will not break,” I said. “There is a madness upon them.”
“Tomas does not need them to break; a massacre will be demoralising enough after what happened to Rufra. And we need their numbers, so we will have to intercept his cavalry before they hit.”
“And beat them,” I said.
“We don’t have the numbers to beat them.” I could not hide my shock that she would speak as if we were already defeated. She pulled a saddle strap tight and her mount hissed. “We’ll hold them, and when they are too deep in with us to retreat, Boros and the mount archers will hit them from behind.” She bared her teeth at me. “They will beat them.” Then she grabbed Xus’s bridle, and despite the excitement in the air and the growling of the other mounts he let her. “You are no cavalry Rider, Girton.”
“So what do I need to do?”
“Let Xus lead. He is war trained and up for the fight; you simply need to hang on and kill anything that comes close to you.”
“That I can do,” I said.
“I know.” She grinned and pulled the visor down on her helmet. “Cavalry,” she shouted, “for the king! To war!”
We rode.
I knew little of cavalry and had never ridden in battle formation before. As Xus drove himself along by Cearis’s mount I found that the clawbeats of the mounts synchronised, and when I glanced to each side I found the other Riders were moving in time with me, rising and falling with the rhythm of their animals. The formation was so steady it seemed as if we stayed still and the world moved in a blur around us. It was how I imagined it must be to be part of the flocks of flying lizards that wheeled and turned in dizzying patterns in yearsdeath, many becoming one. I watched To’mas’s cavalry rushing to meet us, marvelled at their discipline as they changed formation, first bunching up into an arrowhead to punch through the infantry, then, when their commander realised they could not beat us to Danfoth, opening up, like wings, into a long line. Our smaller formation changed also – I expected us to become an arrowhead to punch through their line, but instead we became two lines, the second far enough back to ensure that when the first contact came it did not simply crash into the first line and impale us on the antlers of their mounts.
The ground between the two forces was eaten up in moments. At the last I heard Cearis shout, “Brace!” and saw a Landsman opposite aim his spear at my heart; at the same time his mount lowered antlers – gilded in razor-sharp silver. The Riders around me crouched behind their shields and levelled their spears.
A single second of quiet, when everything held still. I felt the terror and the madness of what we were doing; riding two tonnes of angry, vicious animal with its own forest of razor-sharp spears straight at another just as big, just as angry.
And then we met, and the jarring impact drove all fear and thought away.
A spear came at me and I swayed in the saddle, feeling the point sweep past my right shoulder. The air filled with a noise like a thousand trees being battered by axes as the mounts’ antlers locked and the creatures met, rearing and screaming and striking. The impact almost threw me from the saddle and all I could do was hang on as I rose into the air with Xus, the mount growling furiously and twisting his locked antlers in a test of strength against the other Rider’s animal. Around me mounts struck out with clawed feet and metal spurs. The Rider by me let out a gurgling scream. I glanced to the side. One of her mount’s antler’s had snapped under the impact and hit her in the throat. She clawed at the horn jutting from her flesh, pulling it loose just as I regained my saddle and a spray of arterial blood coated Xus and I. The Landsman opposite leaned around the locked antlers of our mounts and swung at me with his sword. I was in no position to defend but the dying woman by me grabbed the sword arm of my attacker and let herself fall from her mount, dragging the other Rider down among the animals’ churning feet. I drew my sword and as the two soldiers were trampled underfoot Xus let out an ear-shattering scream and twisted his head, breaking the neck of his opponent.
Behind me another rippling crack of antler against antler and more screams of mounts and Riders as blade and claw went to work. Another Landsman swung at me. I dodged his axe and struck back. He took my thrust on his shield and my sword scored a deep line across the white and green. As he lifted his axe for a return strike Xus drove his antlers into the side of the man’s mount, the tip of one going straight through the Landsman’s leg. He screamed as his mount fell, taking him down with it.
I felt panicky, scared; this wasn’t like any fight I had been in before. Skill seemed to play little part in it – Axe! Dodge. Swing back – and my attacker was gone before I registered his face or struck a useful blow. The fight around me became fiercer and more confused, the mounts made it so much faster. There was no way of knowing where the next blow was coming from. Something hit my armour, pushing me forward into Xus’s neck and only quick reactions on the part of Xus saved me from being impaled on his antlers. He put his head forward and swung his whole body round, bucking and wildly swinging his antlered head from side to side, creating space. He screamed his dominance, challenging the other mounts.
Chaos. A Rider fell. A sword bit. A mount screamed. A shield broke. The enemy’s numbers started to tell. I found myself facing two Riders not one. A sword came at my head. I blocked. The other Rider swung at my exposed midriff. Xus bit through his armour, almost taking off his arm and shook his head from side to side, pulling the screaming man from his saddle. His mount ran rather than face Xus. My eyes watered from the astringent stink of mount piss, bull animals fought, spraying burning urine everywhere to mark territory. Another hammer blow into my side. I felt a rib crack and swung backwards with my sword, not seeing who I hit but feeling the sword bite and hearing a scream. We were losing. Again and again I was forced back. I started to understand the fighting a little better, manoeuvring Xus so that my fellow Riders were always at my back. Xus, having been stabled with them, knew which animals he trusted and which to attack. More and more I relied on my mount – and dead gods he was fearsome, unrivalled in fierceness to the point that opposing mounts were clearly loath to approach us. But even that would not be enough. Two Landsmen whipped their mounts into attacking Xus, trying to time their blows so I could not defend while avoiding Xus’s antlers and snapping jaws. A third Rider spurred towards me and I thought all was lost.
The arrows hit.
Pinpoin
t strikes. Archery like I had never seen before. Arrows cutting through armour like knives through stewed flesh. Shouts and the pounding of mount feet coming nearer and then retreating, near and away, near and away. The hiss of arrows making me flinch. A sword blow, block and return it. Arrows. Then Tomas’s forces were disengaging, galloping at full speed for their lines pursued by Rufra’s mount archers. Boros’s voice, screaming after them, “Where is he? Where is my brother? Is he here? Did he run back to your false king?” Then Cearis was by me, blood-streaked and breathing heavily.
“Come, Girton. Withdraw before they bring up their archers.” As we galloped back, a wave of elation went through me: we had survived.
“Look, Girton!” shouted Cearis. “Tomas’s forces are withdrawing.”
“It is done?” I said. “Is it over?”
“No.” Cearis shook her head and she had no grin for me now. “This is just a lull, but we have held them. For now at least.”
Chapter 32
The pause in the battle brought with it a strange and unnatural calm, though we were all glad of it. I sat with what remained of Rufra’s Triangle Council outside the healers’ wagon while they worked on the king. Dark clouds were our roof and cold winds were our walls.
“What happens if he dies?” said Aydor.
From somewhere distant came the grunting of pigs, hundreds of them.
“Why? Do you see your opportunity?” I spat on the floor but Aydor ignored me.
“He will not die,” said Cearis softly. “I am sure of it and –” she glanced at me “– bickering will not help him. Tomas has withdrawn for now but he still has more troops than us. We must decide, if Rufra is sorely hurt, whether we stand here or withdraw to Castle Maniyadoc.”
“He’ll cut us to pieces if we retreat,” said Gabran.
“My mount archers will protect you, don’t worry,” said Boros.
“It makes most sense,” said Cearis, “to withdraw. Maniyadoc can stand a siege and—”
“No.” We turned. Rufra was walking down the stairs from the wagon. He held his side and was clearly in pain, but his face was set. “If we withdraw, Tomas will have time to call the full might of the Landsmen to him, and what support we have among the blessed will slowly ebb away. It is not enough to hold Castle Maniyadoc; we must not let him leave here as victor. Too many will turn to him as king if we do.”
“How do we win then?” said Cearis. “We are still outnumbered and have lost half our cavalry.”
“As did Tomas,” said Boros. “He may be wary about sending his cavalry back out again.”
“Gabran,” said Rufra, “how stands the infantry?”
“Well,” he said, “and they will stand better for seeing you walk among them, but I worry about Danfoth’s side of things.”
The big Meredari stood. He radiated authority in a way he never had before. “My people will fight to the death. They have fought hard already for your king.”
“He’s your king too,” said Boros, standing, angry.
“I do not doubt they will fight and die, Danfoth,” said Gabran, “it is that they die too willingly. They won’t even take scavenged armour – they say it is an affront to Xus.”
“Death is a blessing,” said the Meredari.
Before we could descend further into squabbling an infantryman ran up, falling to his knees before his king.
“King Rufra, Tomas stands before our army and requests to speak to you.”
I felt something cold then, some inner sense of foreboding, a feeling something had been missed that should be obvious, but Rufra smiled.
“Then I shall speak to him,” he said. “And maybe we can end this.”
I stood.
“Rufra, do not trust him. Tomas tried to have you murdered, despite your agreement.”
“He was desperate,” said Rufra, and for a moment I could not believe he was so naive. And then I understood: no matter what it cost him he would save the lives of his people if he could.
I wanted to tell him not to be foolish, explain how Crast and Neliu had murdered his child on Tomas and Neander’s orders, but I remembered the look on his face when he had spoken of Arnlath and what he had said he would do to Tomas if that was the case. I remembered a cage door shutting on a terrified woman I told myself I did not love. I saw a thousand flashes of my blade and wrong decisions. I remembered a cruel Landsman with a warhammer and my sword opening his throat, and I knew revenge had brought me no solace; it had been a bitter and empty thing. So I said nothing because he was my friend and he was a good man in a way I was not sure I could ever be. I nodded and made a secret vow that if Rufra died today I would exact vengeance for him and his child. And though I knew I would get no solace from it, I would make that vengeance long and slow.
“Very well,” I said, moving aside and letting him pass.
“You do know it is me that is king, Girton?” He tried a smile through his pain, but it was a wan thing.
We walked down to find Tomas, looking magnificent atop his mount, waiting for us. He had always looked magnificent, had always looked like a king; so unlike Rufra who had to work to appear at all regal. Tomas had not come alone; Neander waited by him half a bowshot from our lines. I wondered what Tomas could have to say that he wanted all to hear. As we approached, Rufra did his best to walk tall and not to show the pain he felt from the wound to his side, but he could not hide it entirely. Tomas smiled when he noticed. I wished I could simply pick up a bow and put an arrow in his face then one in Neander’s heart and end all this now, but it was not Rufra’s way. He would win as he thought a king should or not at all.
“Rufra ap Vythr,” said Neander quietly.
“Tomas ap Glyndier,” said Rufra, as if it were the man on the mount who spoke and not the priest.
“A time back,” shouted Neander, “Rufra offered single combat to end this foul war that strikes at Maniyadoc’s heart and takes our children from us.” Now I saw what they intended. We were lost. “Though King Tomas longed to take this honourable path, I advised him not to fight Rufra. But I made an error, because I lack honour, being only a humble priest.” He looked up and down the silent lines of our army. Somewhere a mount growled, somewhere someone sobbed in pain. A flag cracked in the wind and the swelling Birthstorm let out a low grumble of thunder. “I regret that now,” he said, and he managed to sound sad while still looking like the dog that got the liver. “Too many have died.” Neander raised his voice. “King Tomas wants the killing to stop! He wants the war to stop!”
Tomas urged his mount a step forward.
“Under the laws of the high king,” he said, “I say that only one king may stand in the lands of Maniyadoc and the Long Tides, and I call on the right of kings, combat until only one king stands.”
Silence.
Tomas glanced at Rufra, then spoke again:
“You made the challenge, Rufra, and I have accepted.” He gave him a nod. “I will wait in the centre of the field for an hour. Of course you do not have to come. If you are afraid of death you may simply forfeit your crown and no one else will have to die for you today.” He turned his mount and trotted away, stopping midway between the two gathered armies. Neander followed, then passed his king and vanished into the army gathered opposite.
We returned to our lines, the eyes of Rufra’s commanders on us.
“Dark Ungar take them both,” I said as we walked. “They know you are hurt – that is the only reason they offer this. Let me fight him, let me finish him for you.”
“You are not a king,” said Rufra simply as we rejoined his army.
“You cannot fight him, Rufra,” said Cearis. “He is a yellower of a man but he is still a great bladesman, and you are too hurt to take him on.”
“As Girton says, he would not offer otherwise,” said Rufra. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“You do not have to fight him,” said Gabran. “No one seriously expects you to fight him sorely wounded.”
“It is good of you
to say that, Gabran –” Rufra tightened his sword belt “– though we both know it is not true. That is why Tomas made sure everyone heard his challenge.”
“Let me fight him,” I said again. “Let me put on your armour and put the visor down to hide my face. I will—”
“Fall over?” said Rufra with a smile. “You are a skilled fighter but more than a little smaller than I am, Girton. No. This is my battle. I must—”
“I take up the challenge of kings!” The roar came from our side of the battlefield, and if I had felt a cold worry before, now I became frozen to the spot.
Aydor strode out on to the field, warhammer in one hand, shield in the other. He was weaving and barely able to stand, so drunk he could hardly walk in a straight line.
I slid my blade from my scabbard.
“I knew he could not be trusted. I said he would betray you.”
“He is a king,” said Rufra. He sounded sad but put his hand on my arm. “It is his right.”
“I can finish him before he gets near Tomas,” I said. “Give me a bow, or I can catch him. He is slow and—”
“Stay your hand, Girton,” said Cearis. “Aydor will never beat Tomas, but he may wound him, and that could help us.”
“And what if he wins, Cearis?” I spat on the floor. “Dead gods damn him to the land, this has been his plan all along. That is why he has worked to make himself popular with the troops. If he wins here, everything will be lost and everyone will be in a worse position than if Rufra had simply walked away.”
“Quiet,” said Rufra. And though his voice was not loud it was the command of a king. “You are too quick to judge, Girton. People can change.”
“I wish that were true,” I said. “But he is a monster, Rufra. He has never been anything else and never will be.”
Tomas sat still on his mount as a swaying Aydor staggered to a halt in front of him.
