Hewspear interjected before the captain had a chance to respond. “It is a sound plan. But—and I do hate to pull seniority—but it should be me who commands the men.”
Azmorgon leaned forward in his saddle, his lamellar clattering. “Jealous of anyone stealing your glory, you old wrinkled twat? That it?”
“Mind your tongue, Ogre,” Mulldoos said.
The stout lieutenant’s normal intimidation tactics were lost on the giant, who laughed. “Or what, Mushrooms?”
Braylar clapped his hands together. “Enough. I am heading down to start leading troops over. Azmorgon, Soffjian, accompany me—the men need protection on the other side.”
Soffjian said, “Brother, I can do more at the rearguard here to protect your men. You—”
“We have no idea what truly awaits us on the other side of that cursed Veil. You will go in the initial group.” He turned to his other lieutenants. “Mulldoos, Hewspear, hold the line here at the base. When it’s clear the majority are safe on the other side, light the wagons and ride hard to join us.” Then he turned to me. “Your supplies are likely still in the wagon. Get your gear and then meet me at the base, yes?”
I nodded. “And the manuscripts?”
“The men spread out the remaining scrolls and parchments among the horses already. The pages you translated will be burnt.”
“Burnt?”
He threw his hands in the air. “Why is it no one understands how fire seems to work? Yes, Arki. We ensure it doesn’t fall into the Emperor’s hands, in case his researchers see something in them you missed.”
“I missed nothing.”
“Very good. Then you won’t cry when they are burnt.” Then he turned and started riding down the hill.
He might have been wrong about the crying. It seemed a tragic waste—all the ancient knowledge and records, turned to ash and lost to the wind. But it couldn’t be helped. Still, it ran counter to everything I had spent my life doing—compiling, recording, and now translating accounts intended to be read and read again.
Shaking my head, I earned a curse from a passing Syldoon as I rode too close, and his horse snapped at mine as well. I moved away, leaned over my horse’s neck and apologized for being a poor rider, and then we headed towards the wagons. They were positioned front to end across the pass to block as much of it as they could. The Syldoon had stripped the wagons of most of the necessary supplies and tools they could carry, with only a few soldiers checking the remains to be sure nothing vital was left behind before dousing most of them in oil.
Vendurro was heading back with the handful of soldiers he had taken to spread the caltrops across the trail further up. He said, “Got to say, Arki, maddest plaguing thing in the world, crossing the Godveil. Like thumbing your noses at the gods, ain’t it?” He shook his head, a melancholy smile on his face. “Wish Gless could have seen this. He would have shit himself.”
Then he laughed and kept riding.
Rudgi was rolling a barrel of oil past and looked up at me. “Best get done whatever it is you’re doing here, scribe. We’ve got orders to get these alight right quick. Unless you want to stand around and scribble something down for posterity. Then by all means, hang back, watch the wagons burn, maybe take a plaguing nap.”
“Posterity can wait,” I said, as I dismounted and then climbed up onto the captain’s abandoned wagon. The interior looked well and truly looted, the bed littered with nails, a half-empty sack and a trail of grain from the hole torn in the canvas. The crate that had contained the scrolls I hadn’t gotten to was thrown open and completely empty.
It was truly sad that this wagon felt like more of a home than any city I’d visited or even lived in. But there was no denying the pang of loss I suddenly felt. It was nothing but wood and canvas, cramped and uncomfortable, filled with stenches known and mysterious, and generally sweltering, but I was loath to leave it. I sighed, and grabbed my brass writing case from the corner of the wagon, slipped the strap over my helm and shoulder, and started towards the front again.
I stepped onto the bench when I heard hooves. A galloping horse. A Syldoon sped past, riding hard, and headed down the hill towards the Godveil.
Rudgi ran up to the wagon and ordered me out. “Get down there with the others, Arki. Burning time.”
The Imperials were upon us.
I rode down the hill as quickly as I could, but not so fast I risked breaking my horse’s legs or flying off to break mine.
It was difficult to get a head count, but the captain had led about half the company across, maybe less. He must have been ready to guide another group across when the scout reined up and reported, as now he seemed to be trying to settle a dispute between Hewspear and Mulldoos.
I dismounted and ran up as Mulldoos finished a thought as only he could, “—and there’s an end to it, you plaguing walnut. No way you stay behind. Wagons are on fire, so make a stand here until Cap gets the boys through, and that’s it.”
Hewspear shook his head. “Even if the Urglovians and Imperials failed to realize that we were transporting troops through, they outnumber us two or even three to one. And they’ll have the added range up on that hill. They’ll shoot us to pieces. You know they will. And once they do see what we’re up to, they’ll likely come storming down that hill and destroy us to a man.”
“Let them try,” Mulldoos said.
Hewspear said, “Captain, you can only take, what, ten men at a time, correct?”
Braylar nodded. “We tried eleven and nearly lost a man. The number is ten.”
“And you have to lead them far enough in that they don’t run right back into the Godveil. Meaning, we wouldn’t have the numbers to withstand them at full strength, which is why we tried this gambit in the first place, but with most of the men through, the remainder will be slaughtered. You know this, Mull. Our best chance is to hold the pass on the high ground with a small group. Twenty ought to do. That will ensure the rest of the men get through.”
Mulldoos shook his head. “You ain’t staying behind.”
Hewspear countered, “It has to be an officer. Azmorgon is through already. And it obviously can’t be the captain.”
“Me then.”
“Or me,” Vendurro said as he approached.
Hewspear replied, “Ven, you are able enough, and this is no aspersion, but you are only a sergeant.” He turned to Mulldoos. “And it pains me to say it, but in your current condition, you aren’t the best choice either. It will be me.”
“Bite my hairy jewels, you old bastard. With your ribs stove in and your skull rattled by Memoridon bitches, you’re in no better shape.”
“I am. And what’s more, I am your elder.”
Mulldoos pulled his helmet off his saddle and worked the aventail out before slipping it on his head. “There’s dirt plaguing younger than you. But I’m leading the men.”
Hewspear appealed to Braylar, “We are running out of time, Captain. Quickly. Reason with the stubborn fool. Or I’ll hit him in the head with my mace and you can drag him through the Godveil.”
The captain was staring up the hill. Black smoke was coiling up slowly, hardly bothered by a draft. “That won’t deter anyone for long. Hew is correct—time is short. And you can’t both go.”
Mulldoos stalked up to him. “I’ve got it covered, Cap.”
Braylar looked at both his lieutenants for several moments, but it was impossible to gauge his expression behind the mail. Then he said, “Hew, take twenty men. Hold the pass for as long as you can. Once I get the last of the lads through, break for the Veil. I will come back and guide you through.”
Hewspear nodded slowly. He shifted his slashing spear in front of him. “Aye, Cap. We will hold.”
Braylar clapped him on the shoulder. “Very good. Now go.”
Mulldoos started to object again, slurring his words more than usual with rage, and Braylar grabbed his arm and leaned in close to say something I couldn’t hear. Mulldoos continued shaking his head, but less vehemently
.
Hewspear propped his slashing spear on his shoulder and then walked forward to address the remaining Syldoon. “The Imperials are nearly upon us. I’m going back up that hill to keep them at bay long enough for our brothers to make it through. I need twenty lads to accompany me. Who will it be?”
It took only a moment, and then dozens and dozens of hands sprang up closest to the lieutenant, and those gave rise to others, rippling back away from Hewspear until the entire assembly had volunteered.
Hewspear said, “I see you bastards are going to make this difficult then.” He smiled. “I expected nothing less. Very well—you five,” he pointed at a group and then another, “and you five there, and you, and you brave lads there.” He looked up the hill and into the sky. “Follow me. The rain’s held off—it’s still a fine day for crossbows. Let’s go fill some Leopards with bolts, shall we?”
The men cheered as Hewspear walked back to his horse. Braylar saluted him from atop Scorn and then rode to the group of the soldiers waiting to cross next. I watched men clasp his wrists on either side as he held Bloodsounder aloft, and then men clasping wrists down the line until ten were in a row and moving into the Godveil.
Turning back to the officers, I saw Hewspear pat Vendurro on the shoulder twice. The younger man nodded and then headed to his horse.
Mulldoos was slumping more than usual in the saddle as he looked at Hewspear. “Never met a man more stubborn than you.”
“That’s only due to the shortage of mirrors. Which in your case is a good thing.”
“Plaguing old goat.”
“Plaguing boarson.”
The pair laughed, and Mulldoos said, “Don’t dawdle on the hill any longer than you have to, you wizened bastard.”
Hewspear shook his spear. “You must have mistaken this for a walking stick.” Then he called out to the twenty he selected. “Let’s ride, Jackals.”
The Syldoon started up the hill, and halfway they passed Rudgi and the few soldiers who’d stayed to light the wagons ablaze, riding down the hill. A few words were exchanged, Rudgi saluted Hewspear, and then both groups continued on.
I stood there watching Hewspear and his twenty go, once again amazed at the depth of that brotherhood. They were all riding up to face a much larger force, and they did so not only willingly, but with jokes on their lips and defiance in their hearts.
Hewspear’s group crested the hill and rode out of view, no doubt taking up position behind the burning blockade.
I turned to see if Mulldoos was there, but he had disappeared into the throng of soldiers in front of the Godveil, though I still heard him bellowing orders and curses.
Braylar returned again, rode up to the line of soldiers, and repeated the steps in lining up a new group of ten. A few times a horse balked and tried to turn from the course, but the Syldoon, being expert riders, managed to maintain control. Each passage to the other side seemed to take an eternity. There were about fifty soldiers left when I heard a distant scream up the hill.
I looked over my shoulder, but there was nothing to see. The top of the hill was empty. The Imperials likely thought us trapped, so I hoped they were content to sit back and exchange bolts and arrows in the pass, rather than risking a charge against burning wagons and who knew how many men holding the position. As Braylar led another group of ten through, I thought the strategy might just work, and Hewspear and his men would have a chance to rejoin us after all.
But then I saw them on top of the dusty rise, on horseback, slowly retreating as they loosed bolts and then moved aside to span their crossbows as more Syldoon took aim, sort of a reverse of the “rolling gears” they’d employed against the Hornmen after we had captured Henlester.
Only the Imperials had far more composite bows, and even in the crowded pass, they could still shoot them in ranks, arcing them high into the sky, and as they’d proved in Crossthatch, much more rapidly.
A barrage rained down, and while the Jackal armor protected a good number of them, deflecting arrows, saving lives, some horses were struck and took their riders down, and some riders fell from the saddle, having sustained grievous wounds from arrows that found unarmored spots. One Syldoon with an arrow in his neck rolled down the hill, snapping the shaft and kicking up a cloud of dust before coming to a stop.
The Jackals retreated further, loosing what bolts they could, but another barrage of arrows came down, black shafts pinning men and beast, depleting their numbers, with those that missed the mark landing halfway down the hill.
I looked over my shoulder quickly, seeing Braylar lead another group through and silently urged them to hurry.
The tall lieutenant waved his hands and his men fell back, shooting once more before coming down the hill ten or twenty paces, safe from direct assault for a moment. Arrows filled the sky again, but they overshot the Syldoon and landed harmlessly in the scrub on the hill. The Jackals worked their devil’s claws and spanned crossbows again, just as the first infantry appeared over the lip of the hill, their scale armor and helms shining in what remained of the sun, the dark clouds having wiped most of the blue away now.
Hewspear and his men loosed their bolts, and the infantry loosed their arrows, and men fell on both sides. The infantry were drawing more arrows from the quivers at their hips when the remaining Syldoon at the bottom of the hill loosed their own crossbows.
Many in the first wave of infantry were struck by bolts and wounded, several falling to the ground, but those that remained pulled their shields off their backs and stepped forward, allowing more infantry to file onto the hill. Those in front had the long shields up, covering most targets, and those behind began shooting arrows with impunity, at both the Jackals midway down the hill and us at the bottom.
One arrow flew close enough to my head that it sounded like an angry wasp buzzing by. I instinctively ducked, though the only meager cover I had was my horse’s neck.
Braylar was leading another group through, and one soldier’s horse was struck in the flank by an arrow. The animal reared and the Syldoon lost his grip on the men on either side. He fell to the ground, clutching his head, rolling as if he were on fire, and then falling still, and the man to his right at the end of the line thrashed twice with no tether to Braylar before falling dead from the saddle as well.
The captain and the others parted the Godveil and disappeared from sight. There were still more than ten men left on this side. I’d never wished there were another Bloodsounder around, but I did now.
I looked back up the hill as I spanned my crossbow, expecting to see Hewspear and his remaining men galloping down to join us now that they lost the hill, but instead, they dropped their crossbows and pulled their swords and maces and axes, and one slashing spear, and charged up into the three lines of infantry who’d taken up position protecting the archers.
The Imperials had their shields, but weren’t expecting the small number of men to charge, and didn’t have their longspears at the ready. If they had, they would have pierced every Jackal galloping up the hill at them, or broken the charge completely.
As it was, some of them were drawing their own sidearms when the Jackals burst into their line, blades flashing and falling, cutting, slashing, crushing. The front lines were in complete disarray, several injured not only by steel but by the hooves and mouths of the horses suddenly among them. But more infantry poured over the crest of the hill.
Hewspear bought us time, as Braylar led the second to last group through. But the infantry kept coming in waves. The lieutenant slashed and stabbed, cutting down men on all sides, spinning his mount as they flanked him, his slashing spear thrusting and arcing around him. His horse kicked out, likely crushing the skull of a man who didn’t even scream before falling to the earth. But even with his horse and the bloodied head of his blade whirling everywhere, one of the soldiers rushed in and grabbed Hewspear.
The lieutenant struck the soldier in the face with the haft, slashed him across the neck as he fell back, but that Urglovian was repla
ced by five more, and they pulled Hewspear from the saddle. I sighted down my stock and squeezed the trigger, hitting a nearby Urglovian spearman, hoping against hope that they might only capture Hewspear, but weapons rose and fell, rose and fell, bloodier and bloodier, and then stopped as the infantry formed up to attack the other remaining Jackals.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and nearly swung out with the crossbow.
Vendurro’s eyes were locked on the final Jackals on the hill who were cut down to a man. Not one of them tried to run, to escape. They stayed, they fought, they died.
Vendurro said, “Come on, Arki. Out of time.” I blinked several times. The captain was about to lead the last of us through.
I nudged my horse forward, furious, helpless, and joined him at the end of the last line Braylar was leading through, grabbing the sergeant’s wrist.
Several arrows fell around us as we rode forward.
I was waiting to feel an arrow pierce my back, or for my horse to buck and throw me as we approached the Godveil, resisting the urge to look back up the hill. And then we were through. I saw that the remaining company had ridden several hundred yards away, which was smart, as the Urglovians continued to shoot at us, even after we disappeared.
Mulldoos was the only one who was waiting for us right on the other side. “Hew? The rest?”
Vendurro shook his head once as he released my wrist. We all started forward to get out of bowshot. All save Mulldoos.
As I passed him I heard him say to himself, a slurry growl, “Every last Leopard. Killing every last plaguing one.”
Just then, I believed him wholly and silently pledged to help him in whatever way I could.
Mulldoos jerked on his reins and spun his horse around and raced towards the company as another hail of arrows fell all around him.
We rode away from the Godveil in utter silence, out of range of even the closest archer on the other side as shafts fell in our wake until they stopped falling altogether. It wasn’t unlike the mood that pervaded after we fled Sunwrack. Crypt silence filled with futile thoughts of murder hanging heavy in the air. The thrum of the Godveil disappeared behind, and then there was only the clop of hooves, the creak of leather, and the occasional jingle of harnesses or cuirasses nearby. A number of Jackals had lost their lives as we escaped, and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to avenge them just now.
Chains of the Heretic Page 10
