A Time of Courage

by John Gwynne

  Fritha had tended his wounds last night. Cleaned them, packed them with healing herbs, said a word of power over them to speed the healing and then bandaged them with fresh linen.

  ‘Can you wield your axe?’ she asked him.

  ‘Aye,’ Asroth rumbled. ‘Though it hurts.’

  ‘Pain is a badge, an emblem and reminder of what we go through,’ Fritha said. ‘Nothing easy is worth having.’

  ‘Human wisdom,’ Asroth muttered.

  ‘The pain will pass,’ Fritha said. ‘This victory will last forever.’

  ‘Ha, now that is more to my liking.’ Asroth smiled. He looked out through the gates of Balara, his expression changing, draining of all warmth and becoming something cold. A dark malice pulsed from him. He lifted his helm from its saddle hook and lowered it onto his head, shook the mail curtain into place across his neck, then buckled the chinstrap. ‘Let’s go and take that victory.’

  Asroth rode out through the gates onto the hill, Fritha behind him. A hundred Kadoshim leaped into the sky and flew lazy circles above them, and five hundred acolytes followed them. They marched through the gates, Asroth riding down the curving road that led to the plain. He reined in about a third of the way down the hill.

  ‘A good spot to see what is happening,’ Asroth said to Fritha. The Kadoshim dropped to the ground, setting a guard around them. ‘We’ll attack where we’re needed.’

  The ground spread before Fritha like a map. The blue-flicker of Ripa’s burning tower glinted in the distance, but Fritha’s eyes were drawn much closer, to the plain before Balara’s hill. To the west was the Sarva Forest. Fritha looked at it suspiciously. Her Ferals and one of Gulla’s captains were supposed to be lurking in those dark shadows, guardians against any flanking attacks. But Fritha had felt the disappearance of her Ferals and heard strange sounds from the forest, and seen the trees shaking. They were silent now.

  She had told Asroth, but he hadn’t seemed particularly concerned.

  On the plain a war-host was crawling across the ground. They were moving slowly, a block of foot-soldiers leading at their centre, somewhere between one and two thousand strong. Fritha could see White-Wings with rectangular shields at the centre, other warriors carrying round shields with the four-pointed star painted upon them. Horses rode on their flanks and spread behind them.

  Aenor had reached the foot of the hill. His warband marched forwards. Fritha felt a vibration in the ground, shivering up through Wrath, and then from the east the Shekam appeared. Rok led them upon his huge draig, over two hundred draigs scuttling across the ground, taking up a position on Aenor’s right flank, between his force and the forest. The drumming of hooves and Jin was leading her Cheren riders onto the field, moving into position on Aenor’s left flank.

  Aenor marched on, the Shekam and Cheren keeping pace with him, all of them inching closer to the Order of the Bright Star. Faint horn blasts echoed up the hill and Aenor’s warriors came to a halt, the Shekam and Cheren settling either side of them, like arched wings.

  Horns sounded from the Order of the Bright Star as well, and their forces came rippling to a stop.

  A stillness lay over the plain. The hissing of the wind, horses whinnying, harnesses creaking. Fritha could feel Wrath’s deep breaths, his ribs expanding and deflating, and beneath all of it she felt the beating of her heart. A wild elation coursed through her.

  ‘GULLA!’ Asroth cried, his voice echoing across the hill and plain.

  Another long, protracted silence, Fritha twisting to look back at the fortress. Black vapour curled up over the walls, a sound rising, like the rushing of the wind, and then the mist was bursting through the open gates like vomit, the fortress disgorging its inhabitants in a dark, talon-filled mass. Fritha had a glimpse of Gulla, wreathed in mist, flying above his creatures as they spilt down the hill, an endless torrent curling to the left and right around Asroth, Fritha and their warriors and reforming lower down the slope, like a river swirling around a boulder. Gulla and his last captain, thousands of Revenants under their control. They swept on, passing across an open space between the Shekam and the acolytes, and then coalesced into a solid block across the front of Asroth’s war-host.

  They did not pause there, but just carried on towards the Order of the Bright Star.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED

  RIV

  Riv stood next to the shield wall on the plain and watched the black wave of Revenants hurtling towards them. Kill stood close to her, the agreed commander of the shield wall foot-troops, with Ert and the White-Wing survivors gathered in the front ranks and heart of the formation.

  Further back Riv saw Fritha and her draig upon a hill, a figure upon a horse that could only be Asroth. She felt the heat of grief and rage swell within her.

  Asroth, you will die this day, she swore. With an act of will stopped herself from soaring into the air and flying at him. Keep to the plan. Byrne is right, we can win, we can slay Asroth, but only if we all work together. She sucked in a long, unsteady breath, held it a few moments before breathing out, trying to take the edge from her rage.

  Byrne rode up along one flank of the warband, over a thousand survivors from Ripa at its core, another five hundred warriors of the Order upon each wing, all on foot.

  Byrne rode out beyond Kill and Riv, a glance at them, then she was facing the wall of black mist as it came speeding towards them. About a score of warriors followed her.

  Byrne lifted her hands into the air.

  ‘Cumhacht an aeir, scrios an dorchadas seo ón talamh,’ Byrne cried out. ‘Cumhacht an aeir, scrios an dorchadas seo ón talamh,’ she repeated, and then Kill and the others were crying out the same words.

  ‘Cumhacht an aeir, scrios an dorchadas seo ón talamh.’

  A wind rose up, sweeping across the plain, tugging at warrior braids and tunics. It swirled around Byrne and her group of riders, and then burst away from Byrne, almost a physical thing, like a horse kept too long in a stable. The wind swept towards the bank of mist and tore into it, shredding it into tendrils and wisps in a dozen heartbeats, exposing the Revenant horde within. They were charging towards them, a mass of sharp teeth and talons. A Kadoshim flew above them.

  ‘Always better to see who you have to kill,’ Byrne said as she looked back to Riv, Ert and Kill.

  The Revenants were less than a thousand paces away, covering the ground at a terrifying speed.

  Byrne drew a knife from her belt and pulled it across her palm.

  ‘LASAIR!’ she cried out, sprinkling blood onto the ground in front of her. Flames crackled into life. The riders about Byrne did the same, a line of fire leaping up. A flick of her reins and Byrne began to canter along the front of the shield wall, continuing to scatter her blood over the ground, repeating her command of ‘LASAIR!’ More fire bloomed. Her riders broke into two groups, half riding with Byrne, the other half heading in the other direction, creating a wall of flame before the shield wall.

  ‘WARRIORS!’ Kill cried out, stepping back into the first line.

  Riv leaped into the air, beat her wings and rose higher, above the flames. Hovered. The Revenant horde came hurtling on, uncaring of the flames.

  ‘SHIELD WALL!’ Kill yelled, echoed by Ert, and rows of shields, both rectangular and round, came up and slammed together, a crack of thunder.

  The first Revenants hit the wall of flame, burst through it shrieking, engulfed. They stumbled forwards, collapsed to the ground, but the screams and death did not deter the horde behind them. Hundreds, thousands crashed through the wall of fire, so many that the flames began to thin. Revenants pounded over the dead, began to avoid the stuttering flames, came on charging at the shield wall.

  ‘WEAPONS!’ Ert bellowed, and Riv heard the hiss of blades leaving scabbards, like the wind through grass.

  The flames were all but trampled out of existence, suffocated by the weight of bodies crashing through them.

  ‘WARRIORS!’ Kill cried out. ‘SHIELDBURG!’

  The warriors in t
he front row of the shield wall dropped to their knees, warriors on the flanks doing the same, shields still interlocked, but resting upon the ground, now. The second row, still standing, lifted their shields to lock above the first rows. From the third-row back shields came up to sit horizontally over their heads, like a roof. They formed an impenetrable fortress, sealed on all sides, with small gaps between the shields left for stabbing their rune-marked blades through.

  The Revenants hit them, an unstoppable wave, a bone-jarring collision. The shield wall buckled, but held. The first ranks of the attackers were hurled onwards, skidding across the roof of shields, scrambling, tearing at the wood and iron, trying to find purchase.

  The only gaps had blades slipped through them. Sharp steel stabbed upwards and outwards, and suddenly Revenants were screeching and hissing, blue flame crackling as they were stabbed, injured and slain.

  Riv took her bow from her case and reached for a fistful of grey-feathered arrows, began to nock, draw and loose. It was perfect, like having rats in a barrel, the Revenants a swarming, seething, increasingly frenzied mass. Blue sparks of flame burst with every arrow she loosed.

  There were so many of them, though. Many were held in the press against the front row of the shieldburg, but their numbers were so great that Revenants began to seep around the flanks of the shieldburg, surrounding it. Shield rims were grabbed, torn at, warriors dragged out of formation and torn apart.

  Horns blared behind Riv and the riders on each flank of the shield wall moved forwards. Queen Nara led the left flank, five hundred warriors of Ardain, her battlechief Elgin leading the right flank with another five hundred warriors. All of them were armed with runed weapons, spears in their fists.

  They broke from a trot into a canter, riding in at an angle on the Revenants’ flanks.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND ONE

  FRITHA

  Fritha watched the battle unfold with a growing seed of dread in her belly. The wall of flames she had expected, but she had never seen this shield wall manoeuvre performed and it had worked annoyingly well, holding the Revenants in place with what looked like very few casualties. And now mounted warriors were moving on the flanks of the besieged White-Wings, breaking into a canter and charging at the Revenants. Even from her high vantage point Fritha could see the crackle of blue flame as the riders hit the Revenants, could hear the hissing screams. Fritha huffed her annoyance. Revenants were falling in huge numbers, piling around the tight-packed shields.

  Does every warrior down there carry a rune-marked blade?

  Asroth made a growling sound in the back of his throat.

  ‘Send them all in,’ he said to the acolyte beside him. ‘There will be no waiting. Send them all in.’

  The acolyte lifted a horn to her lips and blew.

  On the plain the Cheren and Shekam began to move, Jin and Rok leading their Clans. The solid block of acolytes in the centre lurched into motion, and behind Fritha she heard the beating of over a thousand pairs of wings.

  Asroth looked at Fritha.

  ‘Fly with me, my bride,’ he said. ‘No more waiting, no more strategy,’ he snarled, clenching his fist. ‘We will crush our enemy, drive them before us, grind their blood and bones into the ground. Right now.’

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWO

  RIV

  Riv had almost emptied her quiver of runed arrows, only four or five left. She paused, wanting to hold onto those, in case she saw a Revenant captain, or Gulla himself. The riders of Ardain had held the Revenants back from spilling around the shieldburg’s flanks and the creatures were turning upon Nara and Elgin’s units now, leaping and tearing at horses, dragging riders from their saddles. But blue flame continued to spark, and Revenants continued to die. The numbers were rapidly becoming more even.

  Riv gave a fierce smile. For once a plan was working well. And then she heard the horns. She looked up, saw Fritha upon her draig and Asroth beside her. Warriors and Kadoshim were arrayed about them, around five hundred acolytes on foot, Kadoshim in the air.

  The Cheren, who had been deployed upon the plain directly ahead of Riv, moved forwards. Two thousand horse, at least, heading for Elgin’s riders. And on the far flank the Shekam lurched into motion on their draigs, lumbering towards Nara’s warriors.

  More movement drew her eye, up on the hill, behind Asroth and Fritha.

  Winged warriors rose into the air from within Balara’s walls, Kadoshim and their half-breed offspring. The sky was thick with them, more than a thousand, far more than there were Ben-Elim left in a condition able to fly. They swept over Balara’s walls and sped down the hill, low to the ground, over the battlefield.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THREE

  JIN

  Jin lifted her bow from her case, reaching for arrows.

  Her head hurt, a throbbing pain with each pulse of her heart, waves of nausea rippling through her belly. Her leg ached, too, had been so stiff and swollen when she awoke before dawn that for a moment she had thought she would not be able to walk. She did not care. Nothing except death would stop her fighting. Yesterday’s defeat in the hills had rocked and enraged her. Today she would kill her enemies and prove to her warband that she deserved the king’s band.

  Gerel and Tark were either side of her, her captains and warriors spreading behind her like the wings of the hawk that snapped on their banners.

  The enemy were close, five or six hundred paces away. She saw a banner of a black snarling wolf upon a grey field.

  Jin nocked her first arrow, saw a grey-bearded warrior, straight-backed, a fine coat of mail and a sword in his fist.

  He is leading them.

  A word to her mount and she moved into a fast canter. Two hundred paces away. Close enough to loose, if her target was leather and flesh, but not if she wanted her arrows to pierce mail.

  Some amongst her enemy were looking now, had seen this new threat. The old grey-beard was shouting orders, a horn blowing, warriors peeling away, lining up to face the Cheren charge, thirty, forty, fifty warriors, a hundred, more joining them. They spurred their horses on, spears levelling. The grey-beard led them.

  Jin grinned. A foe with courage. She liked that.

  She bent low over her saddle, drew and loosed, once, twice, three times, saw her first arrow land, the old man sway in his saddle, the second and third arrows punching into his chest. His spear dropped from his hand and he toppled over the back of his saddle.

  A storm of arrows flew from behind Jin, slamming into the riders charging at them, the Cheren yipping and shouting as they charged.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR

  BLEDA

  Bleda felt the tremor in the ground as the Shekam’s draigs powered across the plain towards Queen Nara and her warriors. He looked at his warband behind him, saw Yul and Ruga, Ellac, Saran, Oktai, so many more who had followed him. He felt proud of what they had accomplished. He knew the Cheren were on the field, had seen them on the opposite flank before the Revenants had flooded the field between them. But he also knew that they no longer numbered the four or five thousand warriors who had originally given chase to him, right back at the Sirak Heartland.

  He was itching to kill more of them, memories of the Cheren’s betrayal that day on Forn’s eastern road flooding his mind.

  The Cheren will have to wait for later. First we must protect our friends, and stay alive.

  ‘Their armour is thick,’ he cried out, ‘and the draig’s skin is like mail. You must be close for our arrows to pierce them. But they are slow, where we are fast, and our arrows are accurate. Aim for their eyes.’

  A flick of his reins. ‘Carry me once more, my faithful friend,’ Bleda whispered, patting Dilis’ neck. She whinnied at him and broke into a canter. He reached for his bow, then for a fistful of arrows. The Sirak cantered behind him, spreading wide like wings, their hooves a rumbling thunder, heading at an angle to hit the Shekam before they could plough into Nara’s warband. That would mean destruction for his allies.

&nbs
p; Movement in the sky drew Bleda’s eye and he saw a cloud of Kadoshim and their half-breed offspring winging across the battlefield, moving fast and low. Hundreds of them, more, over a thousand. He saw them pass over the acolyte foot-soldiers on the plain, who were marching forwards in loose order. The Kadoshim split apart, breaking into two groups, veering left and right of the shieldburg and Revenants, swooping low to stab and slash at Ardain’s riders.

  Bleda raised a hand, pointed at the Kadoshim flying over Queen Nara’s warriors and changed his course. He rode towards them, sweeping in close to Nara, saw her stabbing a Revenant with her spear, Kadoshim above her hovering, jabbing, looping and slashing with swords and spears. Queen Nara’s riders were screaming and falling.

  Bleda raised his bow and loosed, saw his arrow slam into a Kadoshim’s side, punching through mail and leather into flesh. It fell screeching from the sky. Behind him his Sirak followed him in a looping curve towards Nara’s warband, sending volley after volley into the sky. Kadoshim and half-breeds were falling, crashing to the ground, studded with arrows.

  Many of the Kadoshim saw their kin falling about them and wheeled higher, screeching, moving out of range, giving Queen Nara and her warriors a reprieve. She saw Bleda and dipped her head in thanks. He pointed to the Shekam, who were thundering across the plain towards them. Nara’s eyes widened as she stared at the giants and draigs, a ripple of fear, then she was shouting orders, a horn blowing, and her riders were peeling away from the Revenants, forming a loose line a few columns deep and riding at the Shekam. Bleda respected that.

  Bleda was ahead of them, riding hard. He swerved away then veered back in, his warband following him like a flock of birds wheeling in the sky. He charged at the Shekam, was close enough to see scales on the draigs’ flat muzzles, tattoos of thorn and vine curling up arms and disappearing beneath leather and fish-scale armour.