Reaver's Wail (The Legion of the Wind, Book One)

by Corey Pemberton

  “I don't want anything to do with those. I'm done with the Five Branches.”

  She nodded at Argus and said, “Come in your tent with me for a moment. Please?”

  He followed her in. The canvas was sweltering under the sun. Willow tried to thrust the Five Branches into his arms. “What's inside here will help you more than any blade—even a magical one.”

  Argus scowled. He let the books fall to the ground. “I should burn those.”

  She put her hand on his face, making him wince. “I know what happened last night. With Harun.”

  “Of course you know. I told you and everyone else.”

  “No—what you think happened. Why you think you're responsible.”

  His eyes widened.

  “Don't pull away from me. You are many things, Argus of Leith. But you aren't a man who kills his friends.”

  “I didn't think I was…”

  “I felt what happened. When the sandshade came.”

  “I didn't know what I was doing. I tried a spell I shouldn't have, and then the sandshade—I felt something flow into Harun right before it arrived!”

  Willow laid her hands on his shoulders. “It wasn't you. It was the sandshade. It drew all of the magic nearby into Harun. To mark him. That's what you felt when he touched you.”

  “If that's true—”

  “It is—”

  “—then I wasn't responsible? Truly?”

  Willow nodded. “If it didn't happen out there it could have just as well happened here in camp. Imagine how much worse it could have been.”

  Argus backed away and poked his head through the tent flaps. “I can't breathe in here.”

  “Let's go back outside, then. And take this book with you and don't ever doubt your abilities ever again.”

  This time he let her put the Hearing Branch into his hands.

  She smiled, and thumped the book. “Keep studying. You might be responsible for getting us out of this nightmare.”

  Argus followed her back outside and they read together on the grass. Willow thumbed through one of the treatises she'd taken from the Library of Man. Even the words on the cover were written in a language he didn't understand.

  He pored over the Hearing Branch, re-reading the parts he'd already covered. There was no time to learn anything new. His best hope now was to truly know what he thought he did. To be able to use it on the battlefield.

  When he turned back to the beginning to re-read for the third time, a nasty thought stopped him.

  “Does Eamon have the same power the sandshade has? To turn one's aptitude for magic against oneself?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “What if he uses my knowledge against me?”

  “He won't,” said Willow. “He'll be too preoccupied with me.”

  Argus swallowed hard. He was intimately familiar with the blades and flying arrows of battle. But the prospect of a battle within a battle—one between powerful sorcerers—was something he'd only heard of in children's tales.

  He turned to the Hearing Branch again, and didn't pull his eyes away until the sun splashed directly on the pages. It was late afternoon. Danielle strode into their camp, saw Argus and Willow studying, and said, “You won't find the path to defeat Calladon in those books.”

  Willow closed the book and smiled. “You'd be surprised.”

  Danielle ignored her, turning to Argus instead. “Come along, fugitive. The hour grows late. It's time to devise a plan for battle.”

  He nodded, his mind still spinning with the text he'd devoured. He left the Hearing Branch with Willow and went with Danielle anyway. They met with the other mercenary leaders in Kieron's tent. It was the largest by far—larger than the entire Legion of the Wind camp, and filled with fine carpets and incense from the Comet Tail Isles.

  There, at a long table, they made their plans. Kieron's cartographer sketched the terrain north of Sorbas, where they would make their push. Under the light of a brazier he drew blocks to represent mercenary units. He filled them in with different colors to keep everything straight, and chose black for the Calladonians.

  Most of the mercenary leaders argued the whole while. Some wanted to play a larger role in the fighting; others demanded less risk. Argus didn't say a word. The plan was a simple one, but sound. All the extra talking just overlooked that this battle would be settled like all the others: through steel and blood.

  Finally, long after the sunlight had stopped piercing into the Silent Company tent, it was settled. The mercenary commanders clasped hands, wished each other well, and went out into the night.

  “Try to get some rest,” Danielle said as they wandered back to the edge of the tent city. “If you can.”

  “You ask the impossible.” Argus smiled, then told her they'd meet again in a few hours. He left her surrounded by her generals and went on back to camp.

  The others were waiting for him by the fire. They stopped talking, and their eyes settled on him all at once.

  “How did it go?” Nasira asked.

  He shrugged. “Well enough. Remarkably well, actually, given that four mercenary commanders were in the same tent for a whole hour without anyone getting maimed or killed.”

  “Bugger that,” Brenn said. “Just tell me when I can lop off some heads.” He caressed his ax handle.

  “Soon. The empire has already stopped marching and made camp. We'll attack in the witching hour, before dawn while the Calladonian camp rests.”

  When Nasira pressed him for details on the battle plan, he told her their company would be riding with the Night Wolves. “We'll attack the western flank. Once the Reapers and the Silent Company engage the center, we advance on our flank while the Maidens take the east.”

  The plan was to form a pincer and cut off the middle of the Calladonian forces from the others. If the mercenaries could surround the catapults and battering rams, the generals and supply carts, they could cripple the army before reinforcements gathered.

  “Sounds good enough to me,” Brenn said with a toothy grin. “Sounds bloody.”

  “I wouldn't wager against that. Now try to get some rest. We set out in a few hours.”

  He went over to the edge of camp, sat cross-legged and waited. There was no more time for study, no more time for preparations. All he could do was visualize the familiar sword dance that was to come.

  Argus closed his eyes. He watched himself thrust and parry, sidestep and slash. Sometimes the sandshade appeared with its burning eyes. He breathed deeply and tried to clear the image away.

  When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't sure whether he had slept. The moon was tucked away behind a wall of clouds. A good omen. The first one they'd had in a while.

  He went into the middle of camp and nodded at Willow and Nasira, who reclined quietly by the fire. Then it was time to wake Siggi and Brenn. The men stirred from their deep slumber—some of the rare bastards who'd seen enough battles they could actually sleep before the next.

  “Come on,” Argus said. “It's time.”

  * * *

  The second meeting in Kieron's tent was a brief one.

  The mercenary leaders, armored and ready, wished each other well. They left with bold words and promises to celebrate soon. Argus knew they were prayers in the face of an uncertain future. Nothing more.

  The Legion of the Wind fell in with the Night Wolves and headed west. They marched quickly, without a word between them. The night was silent save for the breeze and their boots trampling through the grass.

  “We must maintain our pace,” said Danielle, who marched next to Argus in the middle of the column. “The ambush won't work unless everyone gets there at the same time.”

  Argus nodded. He forced his legs to move faster. They'd left the horses behind for secrecy. They'd have to hurry to arrive when they should.

  They kept on, a tight column of two hundred if Argus was being generous, into the wind until Sorbas disappeared behind them. “We'd best turn north.”

  “Aye.”
/>
  Danielle sent the command rippling through the column, hardly raising her voice, until the entire force had turned. Argus clutched Reaver. The way she swung on his hip offered comfort. Their new path put them directly en route to the edge of the Calladonian siege line. Another hour's hard march would thrust their forces together, and then… things were anything but certain.

  They marched on, sweating in their armor. The grassland gave way to rocky fields. They tripped and stumbled, but they kept on. There were no torches to guide them, and for the time being, the clouds held.

  Commander Danielle kept the formation tight. She urged them on whenever they faltered. She turned to Argus and whispered, “I hope the girls keep up.”

  “They will.”

  Argus looked east, where somewhere beyond the horizon the Deathmaidens were marching north just as they were. They were known for their secrecy, and preferred throwing knives and poisoned daggers to an outright brawl. He hoped they lived up to their reputation that night.

  “Look,” said Nasira, pointing up ahead.

  A tremor ran through the column when they saw it. Light. Just pinpricks now, like a drunken god had accidentally laid a few stars on the ground.

  “The Calladonian camp,” said Danielle. She tapped the soldier in front of her and told him to spread the command to halt. Within seconds they were still, though Argus couldn't escape the sensation of rocking to and fro. The very ground vibrated beneath him, set off by two hundred beating hearts.

  “What now?” Siggi asked.

  “Now we wait,” said Argus. “Once the Reapers and Silent Company attack the center, we'll charge the flank.”

  Brenn groaned. He had his battle ax slung over his shoulder. He shifted side to side, antsy to find a few heads to chop off. The others clutched their weapons and swore. Only Willow looked just as calm as before.

  “Argus!”

  Someone thumped him on the shoulder.

  He turned and found Danielle pointing east, toward the mass of lights in the middle of the Calladonian line. “Here they come.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  He heard them before they saw him.

  Horse hooves galloping across the open field. They vibrated the earth even up here. But that was all he heard, and that was the strangest part. Gone were the battle cries and clamoring voices.

  We will stay silent until the last possible moment, Reza had said while they laid battle plans. Catch them with their trousers down.

  Argus watched them charge up the valley. A giant wedge of six hundred horses, careening straight for the heart of the Calladonian line. The Reapers and the Silent Company charging together, though they all looked the same from this distance.

  They watched the riders sweep across the valley, a shadow.

  Then came voices. The breeze carried them all the way from the Calladonian camp. Men screamed and raised the alarm, and Argus saw rows of torches being lit.

  They were too late.

  The center of that wedge punched into the top of the valley just as the clouds scattered. Argus's breath caught in his throat. He saw them, then, under the moonlight. Saw the riders leaning forward, thrusting right for the empire with swords and spears held high.

  Silence.

  For only a moment, just as the sandshade had gone silent before taking Harun into its clutches…

  Then there was madness. The night filled with screams and ringing steel. The mercenaries swept into the camp and disappeared amid the chaos.

  “Come on!” said Brenn, menacing his ax. “Let's go!”

  Argus laid a hand on his massive arm. “Just a second.”

  And so began the most agonizing one hundred seconds of his life. This is the plan, he told himself while he counted. But why does it feel so wrong?

  They watched the Reapers and Silent Ones engage the Calladonian soldiers. Steel rang. Trumpets blew. Men and horses both screamed—and died—as the camp awoke.

  Finally, when he could bear it no longer, Argus watched the torches at the western edge of the empire line begin to shuffle. Soldiers shouted commands, collapsing the line to reinforce the center.

  Ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three…

  Danielle clapped him on the shoulder. “Close enough. Let's go.”

  The column set off in a run, weapons drawn. They made straight for the end of the Calladonian line, which was shifting rapidly toward the east. They held their tongues, though in Argus's head echoed a battle cry that reverberated with every step.

  Fear fled.

  There was only that battle cry, ancient, without language, bleeding from one ancestor down to the next all the way through his family line. He saw the faces of the Night Wolves beside him—and knew they were screaming too.

  Momentum carried them over the crest of the hill. Onward that column charged, unstoppable, with the weight of the soldiers in the rear pressing them on.

  Danielle lowered her visor and lifted her sword. “For the Wolves! We own the night!”

  Her soldiers started to howl. Haunting, mournful sounds that made one's hairs stand on end. Argus and the others joined them, swept up in the frenzy.

  For Harun, he added silently to himself. We'll meet again, my friend.

  They reached the end of the empire line, whose soldiers turned and scrambled to fall into formation against the newest threat.

  “Rows!” Danielle called.

  Her soldiers rearranged their formation until they were twenty wide and ten deep. They did it while they were still running, without slowing down. Seamless.

  “To me!” Argus called. The Legion of the Wind fell in beside him, swallowed up in the pack of Wolves.

  He glanced ahead, then held his breath.

  Crash.

  The impact carried them past shields and unfinished palisades, over men dying on the ground. The Night Wolves met the Calladonians in a tremendous collision of metal and bone.

  Reaver felt it, and shivered hungrily in Argus's hand.

  Soon their formation broke apart.

  Mercenaries paired off with empire men, dance partners in battle. Argus scrambled around one of the wooden palisades the empire had built and lost sight of Danielle amid the chaos.

  He looked left, then right, and tried to keep his company close.

  “Duck!” Nasira screamed.

  Argus hit the ground as her arrow whistled overhead, skewering a Calladonian swordsman mid-thrust. He crumpled to the earth beside him. Dying. Gurgling blood.

  Siggi yanked him up and swung his mace at the same time. His blow landed on a silver helmet, splintering it down the middle. The man who wore it slumped aside, eyes frozen in death.

  Argus glanced toward the center of the Calladonian forces. What had once been a line was now a swirling vortex. Gray and blue clashed with empire black as blood splashed and horses ran astray. Beyond them, the Deathmaidens rushed into battle under a flurry of arrows and flying knives.

  “Come on! To the center!”

  If the others in his company heard his words, they didn't acknowledge them. They were too wrapped up in their own battles. Brenn and Siggi fought back to back. The Rivannan's white and black robe fluttered as he spun through the Calladonians. Brenn was laughing maniacally, holding his ax with one hand and a half-naked soldier in the other before tossing him into the crowd.

  Argus looked back and found Nasira clashing steel with a lad who looked even younger than she was. Clean-shaven, he dodged her thrusts and made halfhearted ones of his own. It wasn't long before the Comet Tailer ended his life with a well-timed slash across the belly. She pulled the sword from his body, trembling, and her eyes went wide.

  Argus felt what she was looking at before he saw it himself. Thrashing bodies crashed into his legs. He leaped away and pointed Reaver at the tangle. An empire soldier with arms that must have been honed in a smithy sat astride a red-haired woman, pinning her. He lay his grubby fingers on her neck and smiled.

  Willow!

  Argus sprang forward without thinking. A
boot to the man's chest sent him sprawling to the ground, and before he recovered, Reaver plunged into his torso. He twisted the blade a few times to make it extra painful. Then he found Willow on the ground, gasping, and pulled her up.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. Coughing when her breath returned, she pointed frantically into the center of the bloodshed. “My cousin's in there. I… feel him.”

  Argus grabbed her by the hand and ran over to the rest of the company. Their faces were bloody, and a few slashes marred their clothes. But they were much better off than the bodies piled around them, which grew by the second.

  “Let's go!” Argus told them. “We have to get in there and kill the bastard while we still can!”

  “Follow me,” said Brenn. He trampled over a tent until a trio of Calladonians scurried out and tried to stop him. Armed with bows, they aimed and prepared to fire. Brenn kicked hot embers from a nearby campfire right into their faces and began to laugh. The men moaned, firing blind, and sent their arrows hurtling into the night.

  Finally they wised up and tried to run. Siggi smashed one man's skull with his mace. Brenn made his own. He put his ax down just long enough to wrangle their collars and smash both men's heads together until they crumpled, lifeless.

  Nasira groaned and held a hand over her chest. Argus looked away. He'd never enjoyed making another man suffer. That was Reaver's penchant. Argus of Leith loved nothing more than the artistry of battle—the dance and movement. Most other mercenaries, Siggi and Brenn included, developed a taste for the killing.

  Where the blazes is Danielle?

  He scanned the battlefield. Her soldiers fought the Calladonians among the shadows. There was no sign of the blonde woman with braids in her hair. She could be anywhere—maybe even already dead.

  “Forget it!” Willow yelled. “We'll have to do it without them!”

  Argus swore as he followed her east, into a battlefield thickened with swords and dark armor. She was right. Danielle was supposed to lead the Wolves east to spring the pincer. Either she'd fallen or gotten distracted once the fighting started.

  Every second they tarried gave the Calladonians more opportunity to recover and rally their defenses. As they pressed east, Argus saw this was already happening. Naked men hurried out of tents with swords in hand. Others had thrown on mismatched armor.