“What are we up against?”
“The old couple say fifty or more raiders, on horseback, attacked the village several hours after dawn. Since the old man was a stranger to the village, they ran up the path to Essebeg.”
“And what’s our plan?”
“We will see when we get there, but for the most part we will rely on speed and surprise.”
“We are just going to charge in? And here I was expecting more thoughtful tactics.”
Sir Ako called back to him from several horses ahead: “You think too much, Sandun! Against a disorganized enemy, attack with surprise. Against an organized enemy, one who knows you are coming? That’s the time for planning. With luck, there will still be fighting in the town.”
“And we can tell friend from foe?”
“I hope you can tell the difference between Sogand raiders on horseback and villagers armed with sticks!”
Frostel said, “I will call out the battle cry of my ancestor. The villagers will rally to our side, and the Kitran will quake in fear!”
“Kitran raiders are often recruited from local criminal gangs,” Jay said. “Ven and I have fought more than a few bands of raiders.”
“After the fighting, we found many were from Shila,” added Ven.
“From northern Shila,” Jay said with distaste.
“We killed them all,” said Ven. “Join with the enemy, die with the enemy.”
“Perhaps you Keltens will think less of us,” said Frostel, “but the truth is, many of the soldiers in the Kitran army are not Kitran or Gokiran or any of the other tribes. Instead, they are Serice.” There was bitterness in Frostel’s voice. “There is no honor is fighting for the Kitran Empire, but they do pay. Some men are so degraded they will fight against their own people for coin.”
“And more than a few Serice scholars have worked for the Kitran in Daka,” said Jay.
Like Valo Peli did, thought Sandun to himself. He noticed that Filpa and Ro said nothing. They knew this, he thought. It was probably common knowledge in Serica that many of the empire’s raiders were Serice men, looting and pillaging as though they were Sogands. He wondered how such men could live with themselves, knowing they were doing evil on behalf of evil, knowingly helping the destroyers of cities, slaughterers of the innocent.
As Sandun considered many forms of betrayal, he remembered the knights of the southern border who fought at times for Kelten and at other times for Fiodroch. It was common knowledge that those knights shifted their allegiance depending on the current peace treaty between the two kingdoms. There was a time when the earl of Krisilofos with all his fiefdoms swore fealty to the king of Fiodroch. Then, under Maklinos the Great, the earl repledged his loyalty to Kelten, and his knights followed suit.
To be sure, serving the king of Kelten was not significantly different from serving the king of Fiodroch. Both kings believed in the temple’s teachings and, by all accounts, the people of Fiodroch were not much worse than the folk of Kelten. Such shifts in loyalty seemed far different from fighting for a Sogand tyrant as opposed to fighting for the king of Serica. But who was the rightful king of Serica? While Lord Vaina wanted to be king, for a Serice warrior to serve the Iron King instead of the governor of Kunhalvar seemed no sin.
Nevertheless, the Sogands served the Black Terror. How could there be any justification sufficient to outweigh the sin of fighting for Naktam?
Sir Ako slowed down on a wider section of the trail and rode beside Sandun.
“What did you and Basil and Kagne find last night? Only Gorgi knew you had gone off to chase that spirit, and he didn’t tell us till an hour after you had gone.”
Sandun felt reluctant to speak openly on what he had learned. As a result, he responded elliptically.
“You remember the Valley of the Giants? And what Basil found? Imagine a lake once filled with fish, but now all have died from a wasting illness.”
Sir Ako looked at Sandun quizzically for several heartbeats and then nodded. “As in Gipu, not every temple was found in the city.”
Now it was Sandun’s turn to wonder what Sir Ako was trying to say. For half a minute Sandun puzzled at Sir Ako’s meaning, and then Sir Ako winked at him and chuckled.
“Right,” Sandun said weakly. Sir Ako kicked at his horse’s flanks and returned to the front of the line.
Close to the town of Olitik, they again smelled smoke in the air, but this time, the scent was different. A middle-aged man came running up the trail, breathing hard. One hand was pressed against his side. In the forest shadows, it was hard to tell if he was bleeding or not. He looked up, saw the warriors, and gave a yelp of surprise and fear. He ran off the trail into a thicket of trees. Although they called out to him, he kept running.
When they reached the edge of the forest, Sir Ako halted and borrowed Basil’s farseer glass to gaze at the town below. Sandun could see several houses burning, but no sounds reached them.
“I see four lack-a-day raiders outside the town. They are not paying attention to this path, but they will doubtless blow horns or whistles if they see us. Basil, Farrel—kill the two closest us to us with arrows.”
The two men dismounted and strung their bows and then went down the trail.
“As soon as those watchers are down, I want the rest of you to follow me,” Sir Ako continued. “Stay close. Don’t charge till I do. The raiders are gathering loot and I think captives in the center of town, so we will head there. Damar, Sumetar, I want you to bring up the rear and kill any that try to come up behind us.”
Sandun noticed that the young guide, Ro, seemed afraid.
“How much fighting have you seen, Ro?” Sandun asked.
“I’ve seen some,” he said in a quavering voice. The young man tried to draw his sword, but his arm was shaking. “Almost none, actually. Before, when the empire’s collectors came, we just gave them what they demanded. Since my town swore allegiance to the governor of Kunhalvar, there hasn’t been any fighting till now. Not here.”
“You should stay in the forest,” Sandun told him. “We know what we are doing. The raiders down there won’t know what hit them.”
“No, I grew up near this town. This is my land.” Ro swallowed hard. “I can fight as well as ride.”
“Are you one of the Kunhalvar message riders?”
“Yes. Well, we are just starting up service between Jupelos and Molimonik on the other side of the mountains, following the buffalo trail. I’ve been riding for a month.”
“Just stay in the rear with Damar,” Sandun told him. He rode up next to Sir Ako. “Any sign of Gorgi and his men?”
“No, but the stream bed has cut into the valley. I can only guess where it is based on the trees and rocks.” Sir Ako pointed to a finger of trees that came out of the forest and then pointed at the town. “There is one watcher down! And the other. Follow me!”
They rode out of the forest in a tight group, not too fast, not too noisy. Jay and Ven and Sume had their bows in one hand, their reins in the other. Filpa had drawn his sword and was holding it over his shoulder with a big smile on his face. As they were on horseback, the Keltens did not have their bows strung. Frostel held his glaive in his right hand; Sandun had never seen a weapon like that used from horseback before. Unexpectedly, Sandun’s visor came down due to the jarring from his horse, and he had to use his left hand holding his reins to keep his visor up so he could see.
Armored, riding a horse, holding a spear in his right hand, Sandun felt like a knight: strong, invulnerable, deadly. He searched in his heart for anger, for hatred, as Sir Ako’s words rang in his mind: A knight uses his anger. Never fight cold, but never let rage consume you. At first, Sandun felt no emotion, just cold thought. Then he saw the body of a child beside the path. It was face up, blood all over its face and body, a gaping wound in its chest. The child had been run through with a spear or sword and left dead on th
e trail.
Now he felt the rage; it boiled up inside of him with unlooked-for speed. Just yesterday these people had been harvesting wheat, harming no one. Now, houses were burning, children killed, and for what? Sogands, who lived only to cause suffering and death were the cause, and he was the agent of divine retribution. He felt the urge to put his horse to a gallop, to charge the raiders now, on his own. He kicked at his horse’s ribs and pulled even with Sir Ako.
“Hold there, Sandun,” Sir Ako said sharply. “Follow me. Don’t go ahead.”
“Did you see that child beside the path!”
“I did, and I doubt not that we will see worse in the next few minutes. But you will follow my lead!”
Sandun tried to master his emotions and pulled back. He saw a spear waving at them from the stream bed near the forest. “Gorgi’s men are here,” he said.
“I see that,” Sir Ako replied.
They rode past Basil and Farrel, who rose from the ground and ran along behind them on foot. Now they were halfway to Olitik, and they rode around several more dead or perhaps badly injured townsfolk. The horses neighed and shied away from the bodies. Sir Ako quickened the pace; now they were cantering, and the noise of the horses and the clanking armor was loud in Sandun’s ears. A horn blew a warning call from the other side of the valley.
“For Kelten!” shouted Sir Ako. “Charge!”
They went faster, but not at a full gallop. Sandun’s visor came down again; he could see little, but he followed Sir Ako. He heard the twang of three bows firing, one after the other, from the Rutal-lil and Sume. As they reached the village, the horses slowed. Now he could hear shouting and screams from ahead. Sandun put up his visor again. You can’t fight if you can’t see, he thought to himself.
One man came out of a house; he was burly, bearded, with an axe in his hand, a metal helm off kilter on his head, and crude leather armor covering his chest. Sandun knew he was not a farmer; therefore, he was one of the raiders. Sandun stabbed at him with his spear, and the man shouted and knocked his thrust aside with his axe. Another spear, from Wiyat, found him right in his chest and he fell, blood foaming from his mouth.
A woman started shrieking inside a different house and then was suddenly silenced. Two men ran out of the door, one after the other, both with bloody shortswords in their hands. The bag over the second one’s shoulder was doubtless filled with stolen goods. Sandun stabbed again with his spear, missing as the first raider jumped aside. This time two bows twanged, and both of the bloody thieves fell dead; one had an arrow in the eye, the other an arrow in his throat. Sandun looked back to see Jay and Ven pulling new arrows from their quivers.
Sandun was furious with himself. Using a spear from horseback with one hand was nothing like using a spear with two hands on the ground. He kicked off his horse, falling to one knee, hard. Throwing aside the spear, he hooked his shield from behind his saddle and then drew Skathris. With rage boiling in his veins, he ran down the street, following a trail of dead men.
At the town square, a full-fledged melee was taking place. Only Sir Ako was still fighting on horseback, thrusting to his right and to his left with his spear while he expertly guided his horse with his knees, turning it round and round, then charging forward, knocking raiders to the ground, now rearing up as he stabbed down from high in the air. Frostel bellowed, “General Frostel has returned! People of Serica, to me!” while he slashed and thrust with his glaive. Jay and Ven had put their bows away and were methodically killing every fighter in front of them. Sometimes they used two hands on their long-hilted swords, other times just one. Arrows came down from above, striking raiders who made the blunder of standing still; Basil and Farrel had gained the rooftops.
Sandun slashed and hewed down raiders with hate burning in his heart. This was what he had been training for under Sir Ako’s tutelage: hand-to-hand combat with Skathris in one hand and a shield in the other. The only thing that could stop his metal-cutting sword was a wooden shield, and few of the raiders used them. Swords, daggers, maces, armor—he cut through them all as though they were made of paper. Skathris glowed in his hand, and it sang a bitter tune as it sliced through his enemies. Pieces of metal weapons littered the ground around him.
The packs and loot that the raiders had been reaving from the villagers were kicked about the town square: coins, statues of Eston, Serica-glass plates and cups, bolts of colored silk. All were trampled underfoot. Raiders bellowed and died. Frostel hacked off arms and legs with staggering swings of his glaive; his armor was spattered with blood, as was the ground. More raiders came in to fight, summoned by shouts and cries of alarm from their companions.
“There are only ten of them!” screamed one. “Kill them! Kill them all!” Another blew on his small horn, over and over, till Sume shot him in the chest with an arrow.
Gorgi and his men now arrived from the north end of town; spears in hand, they forced the raiders back to the killing ground of the town center.
A group of five raiders rode up, yelling war cries. Judging from their size and skill, these were actual Sogands. Sir Ako’s horse went down with a heart-rending squeal of pain, but Sir Ako was up in an instant, sword in hand, and he killed two of the Sogand horses with expert thrusts right between their forelegs into their hearts. Two Sogands died from arrows as they fought with the warriors on the ground around them. Soon there was only one Sogand left fighting. Like Frostel, he wielded an ornate glaive from horseback, swinging it skillfully in terrific cutting arcs, first on one side of his horse and then the other.
Sandun charged at the man. The Sogand slashed a killing blow at him, but with two hands Sandun blocked the swing by cutting the enemy’s steel blade in two. The remaining part of the blade caught Sandun in the chest and knocked him to the ground. As Sandun struggled to regain his feet, Lathe acrobatically jumped onto the Sogand’s horse behind the warrior and drove his two shortswords into the man’s neck. Lathe pushed the dead Sogand off his horse and onto the bloody ground while he swept up the horse’s reins with his left arm. He held his right sword high in the air as he gave a victorious shout.
Sir Ako looked around for more enemies. They all did, listening for sounds of fighting. With no immediate threats, he pointed to Gorgi and told him and his men to search the rest of the town for any more raiders. “We will come to the sound of fighting, but it would be best if you talked to the people here instead of us.” Gorgi saluted and ordered the men of Essebeg to search the town.
Not all of the raiders had been killed: three threw their weapons to the ground and came out of houses with their hands raised. Villagers appeared and found ropes to bind the prisoners up.
Two of the Keltens’ horses were dead: Sir Ako’s and Padan’s. Returning the way they’d come, Damar found Ro’s body. Sandun ran over to see what provoked Damar’s cry of dismay. Ro had lost a fight with one of the raiders; his skull had been split by a blow from an axe. Sandun’s anger evaporated, and he shook his head in sorrow. His own cuirass was dented and his ribs were bruised, but that was a small price to pay.
Sir Ako came up and glanced at their dead guide and then rounded on Sandun with heated words.
“I trained you better than that!” Sir Ako shouted. “The last Sogand had no chance. If Basil or Farrel hadn’t shot him with an arrow, the spearmen would have killed his horse, and we would have made short work of him on the ground. But you rushed up like a berserker! What were you thinking?”
In truth, Sandun didn’t know what he’d been thinking. It was like he didn’t care. Something that in the past would have held him back was now missing.
Sandun strode back to the village square and picked up the piece of the Sogand’s blade that he had cut off. He held it to Sir Ako’s face, blood dripping onto his gauntlet. “Did you see this? Did you see what I did?”
“I saw it. It was unnecessary. Fight smarter next time. I don’t know what’s got into you, Sandun. Chasing af
ter spirits in the middle of the night and now this.” Sir Ako paused. “You’re not…we can’t afford to lose you.”
The young women who hadn’t been raped or murdered came out of hiding to tend to the injured warriors. A young girl helped Sandun take off his cuirass and then wrapped Sandun’s chest with a long piece of cloth dipped in some pungent herb. Everyone had some injury except Basil and Farrel; they searched the dead for unbroken arrows. Some men of the town appeared, and those who were strong enough dragged the bodies of the slain away. Others guarded the raider prisoners. Children were sent out to look for survivors while women wailed over the bodies of their dead husbands, sons, and daughters.
One raider prisoner was beaten to death with clubs when the villagers discovered that the woman in the house where he had hidden had been killed. Snarling curses until he could no longer talk, he struggled to avoid the blows. The villagers beat him to a pulpy mass of blood and flesh and bone. Sandun picked up his cuirass and walked back down the street, where he tied it to his horse’s saddle.
Sir Ako, Padan, and Lathe claimed the three surviving Sogand horses; they were brave animals and well trained.
“Pity I had to kill the other two,” Sir Ako said. “These Sogand horses are better than any in Lord Vaina’s cavalry.”
Gorgi came back with two more prisoners; he reported that at least four men had ridden away to the east.
“This one is talkative,” Gorgi said pointing to one of the prisoners. “Says he is from Hevravi and that he was forced to join the raiders.”
“That’s right.” The prisoner spoke with an unfamiliar accent. He was young, perhaps not even eighteen years old. “I didn’t want to join, but they came at night and held knives to my parents’ necks, said they would kill my mother and father if I didn’t join them. What could I do?”
“He says this is one of several raiding parties sent south from Nilin Ulim’s army to loot and terrorize the countryside,” Gorgi continued. “He said the other groups are farther north, closer to Kemeklos.”
The Fire Sword Page 28
