by Alex Janaway
‘Shall we engage them, Major?’ asked Rashad.
Killen thought for a moment. ‘Only if they come in force. If it’s a just a few, let’s see if we can give them a free pass. Make them think the route is clear, that we’ve no one blocking it. I’d rather we surprise them.’
‘Very good. I think we should go no further, then, perhaps pull back a little more, into better cover.’ There was a small gap between the trees and the start of the marsh, perhaps thirty yards of relatively open ground.
‘Agreed.’ And in no way was Killen saying that because he wanted to stay dry a little longer. ‘Eli, you good?’
‘Yes,’ replied the Watcher. ‘I’ll see them coming.’
‘Alright, then. Let’s withdraw for now,’ Killen ordered.
As his troops started to pull back, the sounds of battle had lessened. That meant the elves would be considering their options. Or the Tissans had already lost. He shook his head. Best not to think about that.
CHAPTER 62 – OWEN
Owen circled the battlefield. Down below things had quieted considerably. The slope was littered with the bodies of elves and horses. The Gifted had driven the cavalry off the hillside and had then pulled back into the safety of the trees, leaving the outcome of the rout in their wake. The pike wall had held, had done its job admirably, and it too had retreated to the safety of the wooded crest. Owen was pleased. The plan had worked perfectly, using the same tactics as he had against the wood elf cavalry, the lines of thin diagonal trenches had disrupted the charge, funnelled the horses and caused a log jam in the rear. The cavalry had had nowhere to go. He just cursed himself, not for the first time, that he had not thought to save some pitch barrels from Eagle’s Rest. The carnage he could have caused among the massed elves would have been glorious. But there was no point in dreaming for things he could not change. Perhaps a tactic for the future. He smiled, there he was already looking to the next campaign.
He turned Arno south. The elven cavalry had withdrawn back across the bridge, over the ford and even through the tributary itself, in their panic to disengage. Owen wished he’d had the numbers to have pushed all the way, and he took an indulgent moment to imagine the slaughter, but that was not the plan. And the risk would have been too great.
Below him the elven heavy cavalry had regrouped. There were still so many. As Owen’s eagles circled above, the elves made no attempt to hide what they were doing. A force was already detaching, heading east, and another heading west. Light cavalry. They would start probing the flanks, an obvious, necessary move. They wouldn’t try for the hill again. They wouldn’t have to. On the horizon, the elf infantry was coming. Perhaps only two hours away. The commanders would know what faced them and would already be preparing the troops. He looked for the nearest eagle and flew towards it.
‘Harwen?’
‘Yes, Owen.’
‘I’m heading back in. Arno needs a rest. Send a message when they arrive.’
‘Will do.’
Arno turned north. Two hours. It would be almost dusk by the time they arrived. Would they attack? Yes. They had counted the defenders, knew they faced hundreds, not thousands. They had to.
CHAPTER 63 – ELLEN
Ellen shifted her weight. She was trying to get comfortable, but even though she sat on a blanket, there always seemed to be something sticking into her backside. She looked left as a loud scream penetrated the cover of trees, screening her from the battle.
‘Ow!’
She clutched her arm, gawked at Gantak who held a thin switch of a branch. He tapped his head. Concentrate.
‘Alright. Is it time?’
Gantak nodded, pointed the switch at two more Nidhal who were ambling over to join them. Both shamans, almost as old and crotchety as him. They took spots on the other side of the fire, so that each point of the compass was covered. Ellen had noticed the Nidhal put much store by such things, that they believed lines of power and symmetry crossed the world. She supposed it made a kind of sense, considering their magic was so closely linked to the elements.
Once all were settled, they closed their eyes and began to chant. Ellen took a moment to listen to the rhythm and cadence. Each voice was distinct, the sounds different, yet they complemented each other in the song they wove together. Gantak cracked an eye open and fixed it on her.
She raised a hand in apology, shut her eyes and tried to focus. She became aware of how the temperature was dropping, that the cloudless sky was drawing the day’s heat from the earth. She shivered a little. Ellen started to speak the words, forming the sounds that had such power, starting to match the patterns of the others. And she reached out and down, seeking the earth beneath her, letting it touch her soul, feeling its sensations, the warmth, the life that coursed through and within it. And she felt the touch of moisture, the water that bound it all together. Felt how its nature changed when it touched the air. And she started to call it forth.
CHAPTER 64 – MICHAEL
‘They are coming,’ said Fenner.
‘Hmm?’ Michael looked up. He had been daydreaming, thinking about his time to the west. For all the misfortune they had endured, those had still been the happiest days of his life, the journey to find the Nidhal. He liked their easy comradeship. And he’d enjoyed the friendship of his fellow Tissans on the road. The bonds of shared hardship. He would miss that. But at least he’d had a chance to experience it, to know life had more meaning than he had thought or been allowed to think. He was grateful for that.
He squinted. The skies were clear, and the sun’s rays were casting over the trees to the west as it sunk behind them. At the bottom of the slope the picture had changed. On the far side of the tributary, blocks of infantry occupied all the available space. More were crossing the bridge forming a line three deep. Archers. They stood to, waiting.
‘Time to go. You coming?’
Michael shook his head. ‘I’ll stay here.’
‘Alright.’
Fenner punched his arm and started to follow his marines down the wooded slope.
The militia pike line was reappearing, this time keeping to the edge of the trees. And, all along the line, wooden mantlets were being picked up and raised into position.
Michael gathered up his sword and hefted it in one hand. Then he gathered up a shield, belonging to one of the fallen cavalry. He walked up the slope to join the others waiting by the militia, taking a place next to Sasha and Rosen.
‘You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?’ the Reader said. She studied him a moment. ‘Sadness?’ she asked with a raised eyebrow.
‘Yes.’
‘Funny time to get emotional.’
‘Is there a better time?’
Rosen laughed, and Sasha snorted.
‘I like you, your sense of humour at least.’
An order was given and the Gifted raised their shields.
Michael rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck. It was time to roll the dice.
Down below, several horns sounded and the line of archers began to advance. Behind them came the infantry blocks, hundreds of elves bearing shields and spears. At this distance they looked almost like Gifted.
The archers reached the base of the slope and changed their formations, creating gaps for the infantry to move through. More archers were entering the trees to either side, followed up by groups of infantry running to join them. Fenner and his marines would have to deal with that lot for as long as they could.
Another horn. The archers nocked and loosed. And nocked and loosed. Flight after flight went high and arced down on to the slope, impacting in the churned earth, peppering it with arrows. Many more landed within the treeline, and yet more struck the mantlets, while Gifted crouched behind their shields.
Under cover of the arrow storm, the infantry advanced.
An arrow thunked into the tree Michael was using as anchor on his right side. Another thudded into his shield and bounced off.
He looked over at Rosen. The man looked w
orried.
‘We have to make this look good, right?’ he shouted.
They didn’t have to make it look like anything other than what it was. The infantry continued to advance up the slope, they were halfway there, picking their way over the dead and clearing the trenches. And still the arrows came.
In the militia line, Michael saw a woman fall, an arrow sprouting from her eye. It was almost time. He glanced down, saw the beginnings of a mist form about his feet, coalescing, growing thicker.
Someone shouted. The Gifted stood. The mantlets were pushed forward and a cry went out.
‘For Tissan!’
And as that cry was echoed from scores of mouths, they charged.
Michael, shield high, burst from the trees, a score of Gifted with him. The militia followed close with their pikes lowered. Many fell as the arrows struck home, but within a few seconds they were clear of the impact area and closing with the elf infantry, who, shields locked, had halted. Michael bellowed and using his speed leapt high and dropped his shield down, pushing a spear to one side even as he careened into its wielder. The elf staggered back, and Michael sliced down, severing the hand holding the spear. And the two lines met.
All become a battle of pushing, shoving, sweating and swearing as fighters locked shields. Michael’s focus shrank to the enemy before him. Searching for a way in, keeping his defence tight. There was no one behind him to offer support, yet the elves had a wall of spears to back them up. He ducked low, as one passed overhead, then brought his sword round to beat it away. He raised his shield a little, felt the iron boss ride over his opponent’s and then he forced his shield arm down hard, the elf’s shield coming down with it, revealing his chest and head. Michael thrust his blade forwards into the exposed throat. As the elf staggered back Michael took the opportunity and swung his blade to the right, slamming it into the helmet of the elf fighting Rosen. He brought it back left, hacking at the shoulder of the elf on the opposite side. It gave his nearest comrades a moment, a chance to press on. But there were more elves ahead. Many more.
CHAPTER 65 – KILLEN
Eli tapped Killen’s shoulder. He pointed toward his eyes then outwards, running a finger left to right, west to east. The elves were coming.
‘Spread?’ Killen whispered.
Five fingers raised. Five yards, a column. Perfect.
‘How many?’
Eli cocked his head. His eyes grew distant. ‘Fifty, no. A hundred.’
Shit.
‘Light cavalry and archers.’
Better.
Killen clapped him on the back. ‘Stay here, keep your head down.’
He stood, pointed at Sadad and then towards the grass sea a little to the west. The scout nodded and took off at a run, leading nine others. He looked right, pointed at Rashad who took nine more to the east. That left him with half of his force. He was buggered if the elves charged. The two groups disappeared into the grass.
Killen reached for his bow, nocked an arrow, and settled back behind one of the smaller trees edging on to the marsh.
He looked up at the darkening sky. The stars were visible among the reds and purples of the sun setting. There would not be much light left to fight soon. They needed to make the time count. A gentle breeze blew across the marsh. It was cool, a little chilly. A cold night to come. He looked down at his feet. A mist was forming, almost a fog. He could not see his boots. It was all around them, swirling and thickening. About time.
A tap on his leg. Eli again. He was counting down. With his fingers, five, four, three. Killen applied pressure to the bow string. Two, one.
Killen whistled. He stood, leaned away from the tree. Sighted towards a line of elves that were emerging from the marsh. They were close. One of them shouted, started to move. He loosed. A dozen arrows followed. Three elves fell. Killen dropped to one knee, reaching for another arrow. The column started to split apart and spread out. More elves fell as they were met by arrows coming from the grass to left and right. Chaos reigned. He loosed again. The elves were returning fire, others were running at the two flanking groups, more at his skirmish line. Something whizzed over his head, scraping his helmet. He saw an elf plucked from his feet, disappearing into the ever-growing mist. Killen grabbed another arrow, nocked, found an elf on top of him. The shot went wild, and the elf bowled into him. Killen fell backwards, pushing his bow forwards to defend himself. A sword fell and chopped the bow in two. Killen’s arms fell backwards, his chest exposed. A shape darted forwards thrusting a blade into the side of the elf. It cried out and collapsed, its sword dropping on Killen’s breastplate with a dull clang. Eli reached down and pulled Killen up.
Killen drew his sabre. The elves were pulling back, disappearing into the grass. There was the sound of fighting, the two wings of his ambush closing in on the retreating elves. He stepped out from cover and on to the killing field. His troops followed, bows at the ready. He could not see how many they had taken. The mist was up to his waist.
Eli joined him.
‘Thank you.’
‘I may be an old bugger, but I still know how to use a sword,’ the Watcher replied.
Of course. He was a Gifted.
Eli went quiet. ‘They are still running. We scared the crap out of them.’
Killen nodded. Just what he’d wanted. He whistled loudly. Twice more.
‘Anyone injured?’ he called.
Replies of ‘no’s’ and ‘not badly’ returned. Good.
Loud rustling and splashing announced the return of the flankers. They emerged from the grass. ‘Everyone all right?’ He tried to count.
‘Major?’
‘Yes?’
One of his scouts, Meeresha took a position before him. ‘Sadad, Sir.’
He felt a punch to his gut. ‘Where is he?’
‘He went down. An elf got behind him. Cut him down.’
Killen stood still. He couldn’t move. That old bastard should have lived forever. ‘His body?’
‘Lost in the mist, Sir. Shall I go find him?’
‘No,’ said Rashad, joining them, his sword held low. ‘Let his body sink into the marsh. As good a burial as any of us can wish for.’
Killen felt a deep abiding sense of sorrow. He felt … tired. He didn’t know what to do. ‘Captain. I–’
‘Major. There is no time,’ Rashad said, in a loud formal voice. ‘What are your orders?’
Killen was lost for words. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Come on you idiot. Get a grip. He looked Rashad in the eye and nodded. There was no time.
‘We’ve done all we can. If they come back this way, it’ll be in force and we can’t win a shooting match. We pull back to the hillside, link in with the militia holding the flank.’
Rashad saluted. ‘Very good, Sir.’
He turned, shouting orders. The scouts gathered in and set off northwards.
‘I can keep an eye on this place. As least we’ll know if they come this way again,’ said Eli gently.
‘Thanks. Next time I think they’ll be coming from every direction at once.’ Killen looked out along the marsh. He could barely see it. Yet the grass still rustled softly in the breeze and somewhere close by something made a croaking noise. He heard a splash. ‘Let’s go.’ He turned and followed his scouts into the woods.
CHAPTER 66 – MICHAEL
Michael grunted, took a step back, almost lost his footing.
A spear darted forwards and he barely had time to turn it away.
He pushed with his shield, getting his shoulder into it. Someone pushed back.
He would pit his strength against anyone, but he was growing tired. There was no shouting, no rallying cries from the Tissan lines now. It was a simple struggle to hold the line.
Everyone was committed, the Gifted, the militia and all the remaining Imperial soldiers. And they were slowly giving ground. He pushed again, raised his blade high and stabbed down. He struck metal, the pressure lessened, but not by much. He heard a grunt and looked right. Rosen cru
mpled. A gap emerged. He shouted. Pushed again. Chopped wide with his sword, trying to block the elf moving into Rosen’s space. Further down the line he heard a shout. The pike line was collapsing. They were out of time.
A horn sounded. A long, deep note from somewhere behind him.
It was answered by howling. Not wolves. Not vargr. He knew the difference. This howling issued from the throats of warriors.
The struggle stalled as both sides reacted to the echoing cacophony coming from the woods on both sides of the slope. There was more movement behind him. He risked a glance over his shoulder. The Emperor was running down the slope, his sword raised.
His lower half was almost invisible within the mist that seemed to flow down from the top of the hill. The Sun banner followed behind him. And on either side, his Nidhal bodyguard charged ahead. They crashed into the front rank of the elves, and the infantry reeled back, absorbing the impact but unsure as to what they faced. The Nidhal were something new.
Then, from the flanks, came the rest of them. A howling horde of Nidhal warriors, closing like a vice into the side of the advancing infantry. The elven line collapsed. Michael roared his defiance and pressed forwards against an enemy that was already broken.
CHAPTER 67 – OWEN
Owen whooped. Hardly dignified considering his rank, but it was the most glorious sight, seeing the Nidhal charge the elves. The whole advance just crumbled, it was a sea rolling over the shore. The only avenue of retreat was back down the slope and there was no space, nowhere to go to. They had suckered the elves in completely, played the same tactic on them twice. And now the elves were routing. At least here. It wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Arno turned east over the forested hill to join other the Eagle Riders, his family. They were circling in the dying light, four that he could count. His squadron. He dropped into the holding pattern tucking behind Jussi; Anneli in front and the two brothers chasing Owen’s tail. He raised his arm in greeting.
