Frostel came back, grinning. “The word is given. The glory will be ours. Show me to the men who have pledged themselves to victory. All must have the eyes of cats and the courage of buffalos.” Turning to the Keltens, he said, “Basil and all of you who wish to join, meet me in the front of the camp at midnight. I shall explain my plan then.” He trotted away with the Red Sword messenger following behind.
“Another night fight,” said Kagne. “And outnumbered as well. Someday we will roll the dice and see snake eyes staring back at us.”
“We are not outnumbered,” Ako told him. “The Red Crane Army stands at nearly three thousand, with thousands more coming; this night, five hundred Red Swords will lead the attack, and many from inside the city should lend their aid.” Pointing at the Serice mercenary lines, he said dismissively, “It is those mercenaries who are in the hole. Attacked from both sides, their position is untenable. If Nilin Ulim continues to cower in fear with his Sogand cavalry in his camp to the north, our victory is assured.”
Ako thought to himself, Frostel is said to be the descendant of a famous general. It will be interesting to see what plan he comes up with. Frostel knew how to fight and had confidence enough for twenty men, but so far Ako hadn’t seen much more than skill in personal combat.
Ako had the Keltens test their black-wrapped armor for noise: they were not quiet. Pieces of armor had to be set aside till no piece touched another, leaving knees, elbows, and shoulders unprotected save by the leather. Back in Kelten, they would be wearing sections of mail to cover the groin, the back of the knee, and other places, but they hadn’t brought much chain mail across the Tiralas, and the smiths in Tokolas had no skill in making such armor.
It continued to surprise Ako how few soldiers in Lord Vaina’s army wore metal armor. Yes, steel plate was expensive, but when your life depended on being protected from spears, swords, clubs, and arrows, steel armor was vitally important. True, he had observed that very few officers in the Kunhalvar army had much wealth; only the generals like Erdis, Kun, and Modi seemed minted and, indeed, they wore metal armor. But compared to a Kelten army, the contrast was stark.
In Kelten’s southern army, which he knew best, every Kelten soldier wore a helmet, and most men wore additional pieces of armor: a cuirass, a gorget, a vambrace or two. By contrast, the Serice soldiers didn’t seem to care. They wore what they were given by the government and spent their money on drink or the whores that followed behind the army. Most of the Serice soldiers gambled—and lost—what little remained. Everyone expected that a Serice soldier was always penniless.
Not that Kelten foot soldiers were paragons of virtue. But in his experience, they took pride in being warriors, and they took care of their weapons. Many hung around the smiths, polishing their few bits of armor, beating out the dents with wooden mallets. Most Kelten soldiers aspired to become knights; to be knighted on the battlefield was a noteworthy honor. When Ako met a battlefield knight, he knew he was in the presence of a true warrior, no matter how humble the man’s origins might have been.
The Serice officers were brave, all right. In the battle of Devek, he had seen nearly suicidal deeds by leaders of ten and captains of one hundred. But outside of battle, they took little pride in their rank or in their skills. It was almost as though being an officer was punishment, and the men on the battlefield who had been promoted seemed to accept their upgrade with resignation instead of satisfaction.
His men weren’t like that; they were all knights now. And, as their leader, it was his job to make certain they remembered the rules of night combat.
“Remember the rules for fighting at night. Sight—spend an hour staring at the dark sky, don’t look at fires or, if you must, close one eye. Damar?”
“Smell—don’t stink, bury your waste, and try stay downwind of the enemy,” Damar replied and, so saying, he took off his shirt and plied a wet rag to his lean body. Wiyat and Padan copied his example.
“Farrel?”
The expert archer responded: “Sound—don’t step on twigs, stay low to the ground, move when the wind blows. Don’t talk; use hand gestures.”
“Correct.” Sir Ako then went through the hand gestures, and his men copied them. Jay asked him to make the gestures again, and then he and Ven repeated them back. By midnight, they were ready. The same Red Sword who had delivered the message to Blue Frostel returned with a set of red cords, which he swiftly tied around their heads. Padan frowned, but Ako pointed to the cord and said, “Better to avoid the spears of friends than worry about the color of rope.” The Red Sword then led them to grove of trees near the riverbank.
Frostel explained the plan, and Ako smiled as he gripped his bow with growing excitement. As he expected, the main attack was being led by the Red Swords. He and his men were in the second line, arrows first, then coming in behind to join the melee.
“Remember,” Frostel said emphatically, “the mercenaries want to run away. We will give them the excuse they need to take to their heels. Concentrate on those who stay and fight. The ones who run will not return this night.”
An hour after midnight, the attack started. The riverside attack force acted the part of bungling soldiers with ill-muffled curses and half-shouted orders to “keep quiet.” The Serice mercenaries behind the wooden walls sounded the alarm and fired arrows. After a brief exchange of arrows, the riverside force pulled back, the officers shouting in mock fury. Meanwhile, the real attack force was on the far side of the field, creeping up silently, slowly, with no talking and no lights.
Again, the riverside attack force “regrouped” and advanced up the enemy, this time firing arrows from extreme range. As before, the enemy mercenaries responded with a hail of arrows. Shouts and cries of “I’m hit” came from the riverside group; it smacked of bad acting to Sir Ako’s ears, but it worked like a charm as many enemy torchbearers moved west, heading in the direction of the false attack.
The front line of the true attack force was nearly at the enemy bulwarks when Frostel made the cry of a stallion summoning its herd; it sounded very believable to Ako’s ears. This was the signal for the archers. Sir Ako and his archers fired at the remaining torchbearers and the men who could be seen in the torchlight. Most of the torchbearers fell. In the resulting confusion, the Red Sword attackers closed the distance to the walls at a dead run, wordless, and the pounding of their feet and the rushing noise as they ran through the dry grass was like an unexpected breeze in the night.
Up and over the bulwarks, the Red Sword attackers seemed to fly, and the melee was joined in earnest. The Red Sword attackers in the front line began shouting, “The Mavana! The Mavana is come!” And then the noise of clashing of steel and shouts and screams drowned out everything else.
The riverside attack force doused their lights and became silent as they also advanced to meet the enemy. Behind them, the army of Kunhalvar began issuing from camp, with horns blaring and drums beating. Sir Ako and the second line also moved up rapidly, not running but not halting to take bowshots either—in the messy melee taking place at the barricade, further archery was almost impossible.
Ako and his men reached the wooden walls, now visible in the starlight. Telling friend from foe was difficult, but the Red Swords all had some cloth or cord dangling from their heads, and the Serice mercenaries did not. The Keltens passed through the first defense line and drew close to the tents and campfires. Everyone the Keltens met now were enemies, and the Keltens formed a tight group with Ako, Lathe, Padan, and Jay in the front rank, while the rest fired arrows at anyone who tried to block their way. By the time they reached the edge of the enemy camp, sounds of fighting could be heard from the far side. Shouts of “Kemeklos” and “the Radiant Prince” came from that direction. It seemed certain that hundreds of Red Swords defending the city had made their way through the south water gate and were attacking the mercenaries with fury.
Ako and his men kept moving, killing all w
ho stayed to fight them, but most of the enemy avoided them, fleeing after a few spear thrusts. Ako knew a rout when he saw one, and this was it. After reaching what seemed like the center of the enemy camp, he led his group west, away from the river, not wishing to run into the Red Swords who had come out of the city and who might not be easily identifiable.
A line of cavalry suddenly appeared out of the darkness. For a moment, Sir Ako thought the Kitran cavalry had come to help the Serice mercenaries, but the cavalry held formation, and from their shouted commands it was obvious that this was the Red Crane cavalry under Kun the Younger. Mercenaries threw themselves onto the dark earth in front of the cavalry, begging for mercy. All around Ako’s group, enemy soldiers flung their spears and bows to the ground and cried out, “Surrender, surrender.”
“We are done here,” Sir Ako told the others. “Let the cavalry collect the prisoners.” Warily, the Keltens retreated in the direction of the Kunhalvar camp. As they neared the wooden wall, they came upon a bitter fight. A group of the enemy was not giving up; instead, they were locked in a hand-to-hand struggle with a small group of Red Swords. The Red Sword warriors were getting the worst of the fight, as the enemy soldiers were numerous and well armored.
“Shoot the ones wearing armor,” Ako said to his men. All the Keltens drew and fired as Ako knelt on the ground, holding a spear that he had picked up minutes earlier. Arrows whistled over his head and struck down eight or nine of the enemy warriors. Their commander blocked an arrow with a small shield and pointed at the Keltens. Four of the armored enemy came at them, running, shields held up. As Sir Ako braced for the attack, Lathe ran forward, shouting something that sounded like, “For the Spear!” One enemy fell with an arrow in his face; the others swung at Lathe but missed or struck only his shield. They had to turn to face Lathe and as they did, they could no longer block arrows with their shields. Five or six arrows flew, missing Lathe and hitting the armored men around him.
Ako strode up forthrightly, spear and shield at the ready, confident that none of his men would shoot him in the back. More of the armored foes joined in the fight. Padan ran to his side, sword in hand. Ako’s spear soon broke, so he flung the shaft at his adversaries and drew his own sword.
The Red Swords, realizing that powerful allies had joined the fight, renewed their own attack with vigor. But none of the armored enemy surrendered. Instead, as they were down to a small knot of five, they began chanting a phrase over and over. The last of them died, still mouthing the words as blood bubbled out of his mangled face.
Jay turned one of the armored men over and, after examining the dead body, he commented: “These are Turan. They were chanting the death dirge of their people. I’ve only heard of it from old Rutal-lil. We don’t see many Turans in Shila.”
“Did I win glory?” Lathe said as Sume bandaged his left leg. “Did I cheat death like a true opmi? I killed mighty Turan warriors!” Lathe pointed at two of the Turans around him.
Sir Ako stood, breathing hard, leaning on yet another spear he had seized during the fight. He considered the battle as objectively as he could. Lathe’s rush into the enemy had disrupted their charge and allowed his archers to stay where they were. He hadn’t ordered Lathe to charge, but he hadn’t told him not to either. He looked to see what Sandun thought and then remembered that Sandun had gone into the city and hadn’t come out yet. Given all that Lathe had done with them over the last half year, the answer seemed straightforward.
“Come here, and kneel before me,” Ako said. Lathe came over and knelt, grunting with pain from his injured leg. “As you have accepted the true faith of Sho’Ash, and as you have fought with skill and bravery in this battle and in others before this, I now dub you Sir Lathe Ruppe, knight of Serica. Rise, Sir Knight.”
Wiyat came up and hugged his friend in a bear’s embrace. The other Keltens crowded around Lathe and greeted him by his new title. On their charcoal-painted faces there were grins.
Sir Ako woke to find a young woman with long black hair shaking his arm. It was not quite dawn, but the sky was grayish blue. For a moment, he was bemused, and he thought it was his princess come to see him—he smiled happily at her. Then his vision cleared, and he heard the woman’s voice. This was Lady Miri, Sandun’s new wife.
“Sir Ako, please, wake.”
Ako struggled to a sitting position. He was still wearing his leather armor, and his thick sword belt was around his waist. He was groggy; he didn’t think he had gotten more than three hours of sleep. “What can I do for you, my lady?”
Miri knelt by his side on the blanket that he had thrown across his body before sleep.
“My…my lord Sandun has not returned from Kemeklos. Men are coming out of the hidden tunnel with books and chests, yet Sandun is not with them, and no one will say where he is.” The worry was unmistakable in her accented speech.
“Not back yet?” Ako’s mind began to turn. “And no one knows where he is?”
Miri shook her head. Her long black hair, unpinned, swirled around her face like a curtain.
“All right. Let’s find the war leader.” Ako smiled inwardly as he said Valo Peli’s new title. Who would have guessed that their friend, the stranger they met in Hazeny, would now be commanding the army of Kunhalvar?
Outside Valo Peli’s tent, Ako waited for a few seconds before Valo Peli appeared, wearing a light robe of green silk and rubbing his eyes. “Tell me what is the matter, Sir Ako.” Valo Peli used the Kelten word instead of opmi.
Ako explained what he knew. Valo Peli looked at Miri, and she nodded in agreement.
“Send one—no, two hundred soldiers to the hidden tunnel entrance immediately,” he commanded a runner. “Captain Gram’s men are the best rested. Wait! Here is my order to him.” Valo Peli wrote swiftly and handed the paper to the runner. To another runner, he said, “Tell the governor we are coming to see him. It’s important.” Turning to Ako and Miri, he said, “I need half a minute. This one thinks you should assemble your men, Sir Ako. Matters are coming to a head. There may be trouble.”
Ako returned to their campsite and roused Padan. “Wake the others and meet us beside Lord Vaina’s tent.”
“Armor?” Padan glanced at the plate armor in piles around the men.
“Valo Peli said there could be trouble.”
“He is a worrier, but better safe than sorry, eh?”
“Hurry,” Ako commanded. “Bring my armor with you.”
On the way to Lord Vaina’s tent, Ako asked Miri what she knew of Sandun’s disappearance.
“He said he was going with Minister Renieth to deliver a message to the Radiant Prince in Kemeklos. He expected to be back in a few hours.”
“When did men from inside Kemeklos start leaving the tunnel? Where is Renieth?”
“I have been…concerned since midnight,” Miri replied. “So I waited beside the tunnel. Men carrying chests and books have been leaving the tunnel in a stream, starting fifteen minutes ago. They would not answer my questions about my lord Sandun nor about the minister. How could they not know? They must be hiding something.”
Outside Lord Vaina’s tent, Valo Peli stood waiting beside the governor’s bodyguards. The sun was just peeking over the horizon; the few clouds in the east were changing color from pink to white. Lord Vaina came out as Lady Eun was still trying to wrap his elaborate belt around his waist. Ako noticed that when she finished, she shot a glance at Miri, straightened her dress, and then hastily put up her hair, using a golden hairpin to keep it in place. He also noticed that Lord Vaina looked worried; his usual good cheer was absent this morning.
“What’s going on? I need knowledge!”
Valo Peli spoke swiftly, concisely, about the sudden flow of men exiting the hidden passage. “Since the mercenaries blocking the way to the south water gate were routed in the battle just hours ago, I am also told there has been a steady exodus of people and Red Sword warrior
s through the gate in the hours before dawn.”
“How many have left the city?”
“Hard to say. The report from Kun the Younger’s cavalry says several thousand, at least.”
“Ohhh…” Lord Vaina walked out and stood looking at Kemeklos. Ako followed and saw that a high wind had begun in the night and was blowing from the southeast. A monstrous column of smoke rose from the city. It reached up thousands of feet before streaming away north. Lady Eun placed Lord Vaina’s farseer glass in his hand. With it, he scanned the gate.
“Tens, if not hundreds of people are making their way through the rubble,” Lord Vaina said while he looked through the tube. “One or two pathways have been opened during the night. Kemeklos is being abandoned!”
Lord Vaina faced them and drew his sword. “This is a dangerous moment. Arouse the army! Every person coming out of the hidden tunnel is to be relieved of their burden and then escorted to the south of the camp by the river. I want five hundred men surrounding that area. No more Red Swords are to be allowed to enter the camp until I give the order. No exceptions. Any Red Swords that are inside the camp now must be taken to the northwest corner and held there. How far away is General Modi? And where is General Erdis?”
As runners went off to deliver the orders, Lord Vaina and his advisors hastened to the riverbank. A pageboy brought word that General Modi and his men had marched most of the night and were only an hour away. A few small boats loaded with unwounded soldiers from Erdis had arrived already, but the river was obstructed in many places, and none of the battleships could make it upstream until the logs and stakes in the water were removed.
“Tell Kun the Younger to return to the camp with his cavalry, but he must leave a screen of scouts. And tell him to find out where the people fleeing from Kemeklos are going and how many are left inside the city. I need to know!”
The Fire Sword Page 43
