by R. S. Ford
‘Wait,’ he cried, setting off after them. ‘Where are you going?’
The children reached the stairs ahead of him. Ctenka saw that more of the Shengen warriors were standing guard. Their armour was also coloured red, and he realised it was with the pitch they used to paint the walls. Whatever had gone on here in his absence was strange indeed. Stranger still was the children heading straight into the chapel, leaving the door wide open behind them.
By the time Ctenka reached them he was out of breath. They were both kneeling now amongst the idols of the Cordral gods. Sol looked down from a makeshift altar. Flanking him were Anural and Lilith. Set all about were clay figures of many sizes depicting Vane and Essena and the Fallen King. All twelve were depicted in one way or another.
As Ctenka came closer he could hear Lena and Castiel mumbling, their eyes shut tight, hands clasped as though their lives depended on prayer.
He knelt down beside them, listening for some time until he could listen no more.
‘These are not your gods, little ones,’ he whispered, as much to himself as to them. ‘These are the Cordral gods, and they cannot hear your prayers.’
Both of them stopped at the same time, and Ctenka was taken aback. He’d never got so much as an acknowledgement from them and now he had their full attention.
Lena looked at him, right in his eyes, before saying, ‘All the gods are the same, Ctenka. No matter the land you pray in. Names make no difference. They can hear us wherever we are.’
They were the first words he had heard her say.
‘How do you know this?’ Ctenka asked eventually.
‘Because they answer us,’ replied Castiel. ‘Pray with us and you might hear them too.’
Ctenka shook his head. ‘No one listens to my prayers. Otherwise I wouldn’t be in this shithole waiting to be slaughtered.’
‘Pray with us, Ctenka Sunatra, and you will see.’
For once, it didn’t seem like such a stupid idea.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Ctenka knelt in a chapel, closed his eyes and prayed.
28
IT was the hottest day Ctenka could remember. Sweat was dripping down from within his helmet, soaking his cheeks, stinging his eyes.
Just a few hundred of them were gathered in the courtyard, and a single gate was all that stood between them and a vast army. They were a thin shield wall holding back an insurmountable tide. Centurion Vallion had told them they could defend that gate with half their number. Ctenka was buoyed by his confidence but now, waiting for the attack, he wasn’t so sure. He’d preferred the other man, Laigon. He’d borne an air of confidence and certainty that any man would follow, but he had apparently surrendered himself to the enemy. Given himself up to save his son and had the shit beaten out of him for his courage. Ctenka couldn’t imagine being that brave. He was standing here amidst stone cold warriors and he was still scared stiff.
Vallion had taken the vanguard. His warriors were at the front, shields locked, a red barrier of discipline. Apparently he hadn’t had to argue very hard to take the honour of being front and centre. For all his imperiousness, Aykan Cem had given up easily, instead forming his two hundred into four ranks behind them.
The rest, the fifty men of the Dunrun militia, were waiting at the back. Looking around, Ctenka noted that they didn’t look quite so disciplined. Their uniforms were threadbare, weapons rusty and ill-assorted. Not that it mattered. If the enemy made it past the men of the Red Standing a full rout would probably be on the cards. What was he talking about ‘probably’? There was no doubt these men would flee at the first sign of real battle, and Ctenka would be running right alongside them.
To his left was Ermund. Now there was a man he could believe would stand tall in the face of any threat. And on his right stood the prisoner, Josten. He too looked like he’d fight anything that walked. Ctenka should have felt like a hero of legend standing between these two titans. As it was he felt like he was going to piss. Someone had already done that in the rank in front and was now standing in wet sand. Ctenka would have laughed if they weren’t all just waiting here to die. Nothing seemed funny anymore.
Something hit the gate, rattling the bars that held it in place. Ctenka jumped, but so did half the men around him. A second blow and the timbers cracked. This time men began to shuffle backwards.
‘Hold,’ growled Ermund. It was enough to steady their nerves. For now.
Another smash of the ram, another crack of the timbers. Ctenka looked up at the summit of the gate, suddenly wishing they had archers, but Vallion had assured them archers were useless against the shields of the Shengen troops. Better the men were down in the courtyard ready to stand against the tide that would come smashing through those gates.
And smash through they did.
With an almighty crack the gate buckled. Ancient hinges were wrenched from their housing in the solid stone archway and the Tinker’s Gate fell. Vallion shouted something to his men that Ctenka couldn’t hear. Aykan Cem also raised his voice, calling for his men to fight for the honour of the queen.
‘Here they come,’ yelled Ziyadin.
No fucking shit, thought Ctenka, as a wall of shields burst through the opening. He could just see over the heads of the men in front as the enemy clashed with the thin line of the Red Standing. A cacophony resounded throughout the courtyard, the cries of the attacking army bouncing off the mountain walls that soared up to either side.
‘Bring back memories?’ Josten said suddenly.
Ctenka looked to his right and saw a deathly grin on the man’s face. Memories? Ctenka had no memories of ever being in such a hopeless situation.
‘None I’d care to remember,’ Ermund replied.
Ah, Josten wasn’t talking to him.
‘What about when we fought at Baldun Rock?’ Josten said, as though recalling happier times.
‘Ah yes,’ Ermund laughed. ‘We were lucky to survive that one. Two hundred mounted knights charging at us and all we had was a rundown stockade to hide behind.’
‘We got bloody that day,’ said Josten.
‘Not as bloody as those knights.’
‘When you’ve both finished reminiscing…’ Ctenka said over the din.
A sudden volley of arrows fluttered past their position, shot by a unit of Shengen archers. It was like listening to a flock of birds flying low overhead, a whispered breath that brought death with it. Ctenka could hear the screams as men were hit. It sent panic through their ranks, but standing between Josten and Ermund, Ctenka knew he was going nowhere.
The enemy piled through the open gate. Ctenka could hear shouts from the front. The clash of weapons.
‘Advance,’ shouted Marshal Cem.
‘No… What’s he doing?’ said Ermund.
‘He’s going to pen in the shield wall, the fucking idiot,’ Josten replied.
Ctenka craned his neck, but all he could see was the odd spear being thrust or a sword raised.
‘Pull back,’ someone cried. ‘Pull back to the Chapel Gate.’
There was a mass of confusion. Some shouted that they should retreat, that Marshal Ziyadin had given the order.
Ermund desperately shouted for the troops around him to hold their position, but it was useless. The men of the Great Eastern Militia were already flocking back through the gate behind them.
‘What do we do?’ asked Ctenka desperately, but he already knew what the answer would be.
As the militia fled, Josten and Ermund pushed forward through the mess of bodies. For a moment Ctenka had a choice. Flee and live, or walk forward with these two mad bastards and die on the end of a Shengen spear. A month ago it would have been an easy choice. Now though, Ctenka Sunatra would have liked to think he was a different man.
Gripping his sword tighter to stop his hand shaking, he pressed through the fleeing mob, hearing the sound of battle grow louder. Josten and Ermund pressed on harder, only too eager to reach the fighting.
When they had m
oved twenty yards though the mass of bodies, Ctenka could see the Red Standing shield wall was broken. Aykan Cem’s men were in disarray, fighting without any cohesion. Where Marshal Ziyadin had disappeared to was anyone’s guess. Vallion stood shouting at his men to reform, but against the overwhelming weight of the enemy shield wall his calls were in vain.
This was a disaster. The gate would fall, the defenders had been beaten in a single attack. None of that seemed to deter Ermund.
He howled as he charged forward, slashing out with his sword, batting an enemy shield aside and leaving the Shengen warrior exposed. Another slash and Ermund had bent the warrior’s helm, blood spurting from his mouth as he fell.
Josten also ran in like a man possessed, shield battering against the enemy, knocking them back with his bulk.
Ctenka’s sword remained limp and useless in his hand. All the fury he’d used to cut down that innkeeper had seeped away like bilge. Now he faced trained killers, who were more likely to hit back, and the prospect of battle didn’t seem so desirable.
‘Withdraw,’ screamed Vallion above the din. ‘Rally to me!’
Out of nowhere the Red Standing seemed to coalesce from the fighting, building a wall of shields around their centurion. Josten and Ermund likewise joined the group, forming a tight defensive unit in the midst of the battlefield.
Ctenka ran to them, slotting his shield into the defensive wall as they withdrew towards the Chapel Gate. The Shengen attackers smelled blood, advancing on them with all their might. Ctenka raised his shield in time to bat off the rain of spears that descended on him. The shield rattled on his arm, the wood cracking, split by the keen spearheads.
‘We’re not going to make it,’ Josten cried above the battle, batting a spear to one side with his shield.
Ermund glanced back. ‘Not if they shut that gate on us we won’t.’
Ctenka looked back. To his horror he could see the militia were already closing the Chapel Gate behind them, more than willing to leave the remnants of their men to be slaughtered.
‘Retreat,’ yelled Vallion, also noticing the danger. ‘Back to the gate.’
With that, all thought of defending themselves was gone. The Red Standing and what remained of Aykan Cem’s militia turned tail and fled. Ctenka ran with them, any moment expecting to feel a spear between his shoulder blades.
His breath came in hot gasps, sweat pouring from him now, but miraculously there was no fatal blow to slay him.
They were almost there. The first of the Red Standing legionaries reached the gate, pushing it back open. Ctenka was going to survive the day.
His foot caught on something and he went down, sword and shield rolling from his grip. He looked down, noticing what he had tripped over. Marshal Ziyadin’s fat sweaty face glared up at the sky, the shaft of an arrow protruding from the side of his head.
Ctenka scrabbled away, turning to see the entire Shengen army bearing down on him. He was never going to make it now. Never going to do anything again.
‘Get up, you fucking idiot.’
It was Josten, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. Ermund was also by his side, and together the three of them stood, facing the oncoming enemy.
‘You ready?’ asked Ermund.
‘Of course I am,’ Josten replied. ‘It was always going to end like this. Just a matter of where and when.’
No. Ctenka hadn’t thought it would always end like this. He’d always wanted to die in bed at the age of a hundred and six, with a nubile young thing riding him like a prize stallion.
One of the Shengen legionaries raised a spear, aimed right at his heart. This was it. This was the story of Ctenka Sunatra.
The advance of the Shengen troops suddenly stalled. They slowed their charge until it halted completely, and they came to stand stock still in front of the trio. Ctenka could see their armour begin to mist over, then whiten with frost. As he watched with amazement, the whole front row seemed to freeze in place, faces turning blue beneath their armour.
With a deafening blast of hot air, the Shengen warriors suddenly burst into flames. Ctenka could hear some of them howling, but he was too busy shielding his face from the conflagration to see what was happening.
When the noise died down, he finally looked up. The front row of the army had crumbled, some of them blackened and still burning. He turned, jaw dropping when he saw Lena and Castiel standing before the Chapel Gate. Their little faces were a mask of innocence, but no one else could have caused this.
‘What in the hell was that?’ said Ermund.
‘Did I not mention?’ Josten said, pulling both men to their feet. ‘The gods may have returned.’
‘The what?’ Ermund replied.
‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
Lena mumbled words beneath her breath, as though she were speaking some forbidden language. At her command, more of the Shengen attackers froze where they stood. As soon as she had cast her magic, Castiel blew into his hands, closed his eyes tight, then flung his arms forward as though throwing a stone into a lake. More Shengen legionaries went up in flames, screaming as they burned.
It was too much for the invaders. Their cries of fear as they fled made Ctenka whoop for joy.
‘We’re fucking saved,’ he said, as the last of the surviving Shengen ran back through the Tinker’s Gate. He clapped Ermund on the arm. ‘This is a gift. I knew it. I knew it.’
He wanted to grab both children and hug them, but he paused when he saw they were both now staring ahead at the Tinker’s Gate fearfully, as though they had seen something terrifying.
Ctenka knelt beside them. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Lena, what’s wrong?’
She carried on staring at the gate. ‘He is coming,’ she said, taking a step back.
As the little girl clasped hands with her brother, an inhuman roar echoed from down the Skull Road.
‘What the fuck was that?’ asked Josten.
‘What does it matter?’ said Ctenka. ‘We’ve got these two.’ He turned to point at Lena and Castiel, but they had already fled back through the gate.
Ermund backed away. ‘Whatever it is, I for one would like to greet it from behind this wall.’
There would be no arguments from Ctenka.
Together the three men retreated beyond the safety of the gate.
It wasn’t until it was closed and barred that Ctenka realised how much he was shaking.
29
THERE was weeping. But then there was always weeping afterwards. Josten remembered when he’d first seen battle. When he sat there in the long aftermath, thinking about what he’d witnessed. About what he’d done. He didn’t remember crying though.
As he’d expected, this ramshackle mob hadn’t put up much of a fight. He could tell they were runners as soon as he laid eyes on them. Old men put out to pasture and young boys just finished sucking on their mother’s tit. They weren’t going to do anything but flee in the face of a trained and disciplined army. The Shengen Empire wasn’t renowned the world over for nothing.
Over a score of militia had already fled this place. Josten had half a mind to join them, but he’d had enough of stumbling through the desert. At least here he’d get to go down with a sword in his hand, not dying of thirst under the relentless sun.
So rather than flee he sat in the coolest corner he could find and watched proceedings.
It didn’t take long for the reprisals to start. The shouting and the arguments. Whose fault was it they lost and what were they going to do now? Josten could have answered both those questions for them – because they were a useless bunch of fuckwits and they should do themselves a favour and surrender. As it was, no one wanted to say the obvious.
‘We need to retreat immediately,’ said Aykan Cem. That wasn’t surprising though. The man was clearly a weakling. He’d managed to get from the front of the battle to the rear without anyone noticing. In fact he was most likely the one that ordered the gate shut when there were still men out fighting.
Josten quite liked the stoic Shengen, not least because he clearly took no shit.
‘You are not in command here,’ Cem snapped back. ‘I hold seniority.’
‘You are a coward who flees at the first sign of danger. You should be flogged to death, not left in charge of fighting men.’
‘And who will do the flogging? You?’
Both men were on their feet now, nose to nose. The legionaries of the Red Standing and the men of the royal militia were gathered behind their respective leaders as the tension brewed. If they’d all been as keen to fight the Shengens as they were to fight each other then maybe they wouldn’t be licking their wounds right now.
‘Enough. This is the last thing we need,’ said Ermund, stepping forward.
What a surprise, great Duke Harlaw of Ravensbrooke. Everyone relax, Ermund was here to save the day.
To his credit, his appearance did calm the men down, but then Harlaw had always had a talent for conciliation. Perhaps he should have tried it with his wife once in a while, then maybe she wouldn’t have betrayed him and he wouldn’t be stuck in this dump.
‘We cannot just abandon Dunrun. We must hold it,’ he continued.
‘We need reinforcements,’ said Cem. ‘This place is doomed.’
Ermund nodded in agreement. ‘It is,’ he said. ‘So you must inform the queen. When I visited Kantor to tell her of the threat there was no way of knowing what kind of force we would face and I didn’t have the authority to demand more troops. Now you’ve seen first hand, Marshal. You must go to her. Tell her what we are up against. But we will need your men to hold this fortress until you can return with the army we need.’
Vallion made to protest, but Ermund silenced him with nothing more than a hand on his shoulder.
‘Very well,’ said Cem, feigning reluctance. ‘I will ride to Kantor immediately and take word of your plight.’
Josten couldn’t help but admire Harlaw. He’d got rid of the incompetent Aykan Cem but managed to keep his men. Quite the diplomat.