Damicos snapped orders. Men plunged forward, many arms grasping the two hands waving from beneath the mammoth. With their aid, Cormoran heaved his way out from under the beast’s belly.
He was covered from head to toe in red, with streaks of brown hair and bits of white fat and flesh clinging to him. He still held part of a broken spear.
Damicos rushed forward, almost embracing the man bodily, but standing away at the last second. “Trooper! You were trapped underneath it?”
“Had to get at the thing’s belly, Captain,” the veteran wearily replied, wiping the blood and gristle from his face. “That’s the way to bring down one of the large mammals: gut it. Lost most of my spear in the thing when it fell. But luck was with me, and I found myself in the joint behind its foreleg. Else I’d been fully crushed.”
“No wonder it faded so quickly,” Damicos chortled, elated at the victory and the recovery of one of his men. “Telion’s spear! You sundered its bowels from directly underneath!”
“That would explain the stench,” Cormoran muttered, and the men laughed.
But the laughter faded suddenly, and Damicos heard a deep throbbing coming from the corpse of the giant beast. He slowly turned, unsure of what was happening.
Time slowed.
Damicos felt every hair on his body stand suddenly on end. The men around him were frozen with grins still hanging on some of their faces. There was a roaring in the captain’s ears, and his heartbeat throbbed in rhythm with the earth itself, deep as the Caverns of Time. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.
Look at me.
Damicos looked at the carcass—could not look away. His heart was beating nearly out of his chest, the roaring in his ears became a cataract, and the visions of tundra and forest were back in all their intensity. It was hard to breathe.
A single glistening drop of living crimson hung for a long moment on the underside of the tusk, then fell.
It landed with a resounding boom in the oily red pool under the mammoth’s great head, echoing in the captain’s mind. Three slow ripples, perfect circles, expanded outward from that central point into forever. On past the edges of the universe.
My son.
No. This wasn’t happening. Damicos began to scream, but everything was silent and there was no scream and he began to lose track of who he was and why he was screaming.
My son.
You are dead, he shouted. We killed you and this isn’t happening, and I am not your son.
Bathe in my blood.
Damicos was sobbing, with fear or elation or madness, he couldn’t tell.
You must bathe in my blood, my son.
I am not your son.
When you slew me you became my son and you will hearken to me. Bathe in my blood.
You are dead. I dream. I dream!
You slew a body. A vessel. Old am I, old as the rock, the hills. I was here when the first earth-crust thrust up from the sea. I witnessed the first sun rise from the waves like golden fire in the mist. Men have worshipped me from creation’s dawn and will until the Ending—that, you cannot stop. I am a part of the great Whole. Bathe now in my blood and receive my blessing.
Why do you bless us, we who killed you?
You will see, child of war. Forces you have set in motion with my death. Darkness stirs in the roots and rocks, great shadows of which you know naught. A labor now awaits you, and you will be wrung to the last measure. You will need my blessing. Bathe, all, in my blood and remember me…
Damicos shuddered, gasping. His mind reeled as it had upon first entering the canyon. Sweat dripped from his nose, his chin, and he felt weak and sickly. He reached a trembling hand out to grip a boulder, steady himself. He looked around to see if the men had noticed—
—and found them all staring at him with pale faces and haunted eyes.
“We heard, Captain. We heard it too.”
Damicos nodded, looked at the red pool still cooling. Slowly he put one foot forward. Knowing scarcely what he did, almost in a trance, he stepped toward it, and every one of the men followed.
CHAPTER 35: BLOODY SCYTHE
In Ashtown, dawn was shedding its gray light over strained faces and bloodied ramparts. Pelekarr called his sergeants forward to the gate, along with his two bannermen. Most of the rest of the soldiers and skirmishers were within earshot, and a few of the Ashtown settlers as well.
“They are massing in the trees,” he told the men. “Though we have not been able to count them, it appears the Silverpath that assaulted our fort in the night have now been strengthened with the arrival of others. As we all feared. And these may not even be the last to arrive.
“If we allow the enemy to take the initiative and mount another full-scale assault, it may be the one that finally breaks through. They understand our defenses now; we have lost the element of surprise. And they have at least some fresh troops to throw at us.”
The sergeants’ eyes showed their concern at the situation, but not a man breathed out his thoughts aloud.
“There is one last thing we can do that may play to our advantage. Before it comes to hand-to-hand fighting inside the fort, which is what they seek above all else, I mean to show these barbarians the full power of a cavalry charge, and to try to break them completely. We’ll make the surprise charge along the shore seem tame in comparison. They sustained heavy losses through the night, and we may be closer than we know to forcing them to withdraw, reinforcements or no.”
The sergeants were quiet, but nodded their support for the desperate plan without voicing the obvious reverse of the captain’s optimistic words. It was just as likely that the forces arrayed outside would overwhelm and entrap them. Then it would all be over. But shying away and hiding in the fort would only prolong the strain and give the barbarians time to prepare a heavier assault, to gain more men as the captain had worried.
“Let every able horseman mount and stand ready in formation here, facing the gate in pairs. When the enemy comes to the gate, we’ll punch through and then wheel to the right and to the left, coming back at them and pinning them against the walls. If we can break them in twain and scatter them there, the infantry and skirmishers on the wall can inflict heavy casualties.”
He looked over at Makos Vipirion, the young trooper that had speared the behemoth, the nobleman’s son who had shown such great courage and judgment since the Tooth and Blade first formed.
“Trooper Vipirion. You will lead the other half of the wheeling maneuver, so that the sergeants can guide their troops closely.”
Makos squared his shoulders and nodded. He understood the honor bestowed on him at that moment; if this came off well, if he distinguished himself and lived on afterward, a promotion was inevitable. The other bannerman, Keltos Kuron, grinned widely at the choice.
“How can we be sure they’ll come to the gate for another round of punishment, sir?” Sergeant Keresh asked.
“They’ll come.” Pelekarr pointed at Copper, the infantry sergeant. “I must ask your spearmen to stand in the way of the enemy once more, with no turning back. This time you are both bait and executioner. Are you and your men ready, sergeant?”
Copper nodded. “We stand ready to fight and die. Every one of us this time.”
“Then have your men open ranks to let us through when the enemy is right in front of you. Then we will hack and stab until the Silverpath are no more.”
The gates opened.
The Silverpath men watched from the trees as, in perfect lockstep, infantrymen marched out and deployed in a phalanx in front of the gate. Behind and above them on the walls stood every archer and skirmisher with the last of their missiles.
No one spoke. There were no jeers or taunts. In the cool dawn light, the hoplites seemed to be bronze statues.
Behind the infantry, the gates remained wide open. No doubt inside more soldiers awaited, preparing whatever last formation they could. It was a challenge. Come, the gesture said, force your way in if you can. Come and meet us here.
And Uthek accepted it. The prince was beside himself with eagerness—he had indeed received more men during the night. The Northfire clan had arrived, nearly a hundred of them, which explained the delay in their coming. Every young warrior in ten villages had taken up their weapons and made the trek through the forest to be there. It was enough to sweep away Uthek’s selfish desire of the night before; he welcomed the aid now if it meant a swift victory against his hated foes.
The arrow-wound throbbed in his hand, and he desired nothing more in the world than to raze the fort to the ground that day.
Even Ghormonga found it difficult to disregard so open and honest a challenge. The old war chief knew he faced a tactical mind the equal of his own. What the young pawtoon captain lacked in experience he made up for with shrewd analysis of his enemy’s mind and a remarkable creativity.
Ghormonga understood, and accepted, that the losses the Silverpath had sustained during the night had made this challenge possible, that the young captain was now offering to meet them man for man and seek a final resolution. It was winner take all now. But did the pawtoon yet realize how many fresh men he faced that day?
Of course it would be safer to ignore the challenge, to wait and attack on the Silverpath’s terms, to employ their newfound strength where it would provide the best leverage. But old and shrewd as the war chief was, a part of him would always be the wild-eyed berserker, unable to stand down while such a challenge went unanswered.
And he was confident of victory now. The pawtoon were overly confident in their armor, their formations. It had been too long since a Kerathi legion had fallen to the savagery of the clans, been butchered to the last man. They were beginning to forget. They needed reminding.
More of his men would die, yes, and some of the Northfire youngbloods. But this was the kind of fight they all lusted after, the kind they would willingly throw themselves into without a care for their own lives. Those that lived would boast of the victory for the rest of their lives.
It was worth the cost.
“He has honor, this one,” Ghormonga said. He cast aside his bearskin cloak and stretched his limbs. “The time has come to lay that honor to rest in its grave.”
“By the Tusk! Does this mean you’ll finally risk that wrinkled old head in battle?” Uthek asked, not entirely sneering. He was relieved to finally have Ghormonga’s full support.
“You won’t understand now, Uthek,” Ghormonga said. “There is a time for cunning. Then there is a time for the battle howl. Some day, if you live through this fight, you may come to recognize the difference.”
Seeing both their leaders preparing to lead them into a pitched battle, the warriors gave a surging roar. It echoed across the open ground and hit the walls with enough force to make the children inside the fort cry and the men on the walls to shake.
The pearl-gray light in the east made shadows and wraiths of the barbarians as they surged towards the walls. Hundreds of throats bayed a challenge. A light mist had risen over the lake and was drifting now across the shore, not enough to completely hide the attacking force. There were far more of them now than the force that had been scattered and brought to a halt the night before. The sound of their running feet and full-throated roars echoed across the battleground.
Ahead, the infantrymen in their shining bronze armor clashed their spears against their shields, a gesture of defiance to the oncoming horde. Even as Ghormonga’s blood began pumping and the battle-light came into his eyes, he registered a measure of respect for the bravery of these men. They were all about to die, pitifully outnumbered, against a frontal assault of the bloodiest wolves alive. Brave.
Doomed.
Ghormonga hefted his own spear high and waved it, letting out a series of bellows. Uthek sprinted forward with the fleetest of his men and smashed into the phalanx with savagery enough to please the darkest gods of the forest.
Two of them immediately took spears that punched out through their backs and hung their still-howling corpses on the shafts, dragging them down and opening a rift in the wall of bronze. Other men battered the defending soldiers backward, forcing them into the rear row, and a shoving match began that was punctuated with hacked limbs and cries of despair as eyes were gouged out and throats ripped open.
Ghormonga was almost to the melee himself when two horses surged out of the gate behind the infantrymen at full speed. By the crested helmet of the one on the right, he could see that it was a Kerathi captain, the strategist against whom he had matched wits all night long. Next to him was a young lancer with dark hair, a noble countenance, and a grim expression on his tight lips. Behind that came another young trooper bearing the banner of the Kerathi legion.
That was all Ghormonga had time to see before the infantry suddenly broke ranks and threw themselves sideways to let the horses pass through. The two lead cavalrymen spitted one of Uthek’s blood brothers and a young Northfire warrior on their lances, and then they were past. On came more horses, and then more still. An entire column of cavalry poured out of the gate, thundering past the Silverpath fighters and carrying several of them away on the ends of their long lances.
Ghormonga sidestepped and avoided the out-rush of horsemen, watching for a chance to get in a thrust with his razor-tipped obsidian spear if one came too near. He fought the adrenaline and tried to understand what the Kerathi hoped to accomplish with their charge.
Were they trying to break out and escape? That would leave the infantrymen behind, and the fort to be pillaged along with its defenseless inhabitants.
Then he saw the Kerathi captain’s horse begin to turn in a wide wheeling action to the right. The other young soldier went left, mirroring the turn, and every horse in each of the lines followed. The wheeling maneuver took several seconds to complete, but then Ghormonga saw its aim.
The cavalry were coming back toward the men at the gate, and their lances were leveled. Hoofs pounded the open turf, and the huge war-bred animals came on at full speed.
“Turn about!” Ghormonga shouted to the men at the rear of his assaulting force. “Turn and face the rear!”
In the noise and rush of battle, almost no one heard him. They were all concentrating on the foot soldiers in front of them, and the Northfire youngbloods were especially eager to get into the fort. He leapt forward and began grabbing men by the shoulders, forcing them around to face the new threat whirling toward them from the field. Where Uthek was or whether the young prince was even still alive, he did not know.
“Turn and face the horse!”
He got several of the attacking warriors turned around, and the awareness of the rear threat began to spread. The men set themselves fearlessly to receive the horse charge, as eager to taste blood on this side of the gate fight as at the front.
The galloping horsemen crashed into Ghormonga’s army with deadly swiftness and momentum. One soldier, a sergeant by the look of his gear, was pulled from his horse and quickly killed, but many of the other lancers found targets among the Silverpath men, driving bronze points home in the chests, loins, and faces of the unarmored warriors. More of the horses came on, smashing their way into the back of the assault force, puncturing bodies with lances and flailing right and left with saber strokes.
Ghormonga rushed forward and cleaved a gaping gash in the hindquarters of a horse as it went past, then turned and narrowly avoided a slashing blow from a young officer who hurtled by. For a moment he was caught up in the close fighting, and aided in dragging another nearby horseman to the ground so he could be hacked to pieces.
When he looked up a minute later he saw that his men had soaked up the brunt of the charge. Many lay dead and dying in the rear while the battle at the gate continued against the armored phalanx. But now the impetus of the horsemen was ended, and they were rearing their mounts and laying about them with swords. This was the Silverpaths’ chance, and they took it without hesitation.
Pelekarr cocked his arm back and then thrust forward with his lance, stabbing a muscle-bound barbarian
in the shoulder blade. His horse stood up on hind legs and kicked out at another man who threatened it with a long obsidian dagger. An image of the battlefield froze in the captain’s mind and time seemed to slow.
The charge was over. They had killed many, but not nearly enough. There were far more of the savage barbarians than he had hoped to face, and many of them fought with an eagerness his own men could not muster, not after a night like they had had.
The infantry were fighting fiercely, but many of the Silverpath men had turned and were hacking the cavalry from their mounts. The next few minutes would be a slaughter. He had to admit that his brave words in the fort might have gone too far.
To pull back and regroup for another charge would take too long and would give the barbarians the chance to get turned around and formed up properly to meet the second charge. To remain in this close-fighting melee would gradually deplete his forces until the advantage lay entirely with the enemy.
Wincing at a blow from a nearby savage that connected with his lance and jarred his arm to the shoulder, he realized that they would all die fighting outside the walls if he did not call off the attack. It was time to withdraw into the fort and try to salvage what he could of this battle.
Perhaps with the combined strength of Ashtown’s settlers, his skirmishers, and the remaining force under him, there would be a chance to again use the strength of the palisade to prolong the conflict.
“Into the fort!” Pelekarr called, nearly bursting his lungs with the effort. “Horsemen, back into the fort!”
Surging forward through the throng, knocking warriors aside with his steed and slashing at men with his sword hand, he pushed toward the gate. Sergeant Keresh and others came with him, right at his side, and gradually the horsemen gathered at his back and forced their way through.
Ahead, the infantrymen saw them coming and opened up a channel. A few barbarians succeeded in rushing through the gap, past stabbing spears and thrusting bronze blades, to pass beyond the gate itself. But the skirmishers, who had struggled to find clear targets in the swirling melee, now quickly cut these attackers down with javelins and arrows. The last of them turned back and was run down by the lead lancer, Makos Vipirion, as he entered the fort himself.
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