by John Gwynne
Then an arrow sprouted from the half-breed’s throat, a rush of blood and he gurgled, dropped from the sky. As Riv looked around, a dozen more Kadoshim fell from the sky, all skewered with arrows.
Faelan swooped in, an arrow nocked, his kin swirling in the sky behind him, fifty of them circling the Kadoshim and loosing their arrows.
‘Well met, sister,’ Faelan said to Riv. She grinned at him and nodded her thanks. Faelan flew on, leading his kin around the edges of the conflict, picking off Kadoshim and half-breeds. The aerial combat was fragmenting now, spreading wide over the field as Ben-Elim and Kadoshim whirled and dived and looped around each other.
Riv used this brief reprieve to look at the battlefield. Jin and her Cheren had decimated the warriors of Ardain on this flank and she was now leading her Clan in sweeping attacks on the shield wall.
Asroth had carved deep into the shield wall’s centre, killing all that appeared before him with his fell axe, Kadoshim guarding his flanks as knots of White-Wings and warriors of the Order hurled themselves at the Kadoshim’s king.
They need to retreat and regroup, attack him properly.
On the plain a host of Revenants stood, still and silent as death. Many of them had fallen, but there were still so many remaining. Too many. A shiver passed through them and, as one, they surged forwards, rushing into the gap Asroth had forged and hurling themselves at White-Wings and warriors of the Order. Riv thought she saw Kill and Ert with a score of warriors about them, shouting, pulling more to them. They held against the Revenants, were slowly retreating.
Further along Fritha sat upon her draig, amidst a pile of the dead, warriors trampled, crushed, torn to pieces. The shield wall here was utterly destroyed, a few hundred pulled back into a new wall. All about the field White-Wings and warriors of the Order were reforming into smaller walls, a hundred warriors here, forty or fifty there.
A wide line of acolytes marched at these smaller defences, their lines tightening.
The drum of hooves, and Byrne, sword drawn, led five hundred riders galloping around the back of the splintered shieldburg.
‘TRUTH AND COURAGE!’ Byrne and her warband yelled, the war-cry rippling over the battlefield.
‘TRUTH AND COURAGE!’ rang out from the western flank of the field, where Cullen was leading the rest of Byrne’s mounted warriors.
Riv was about to drop into a dive and try to help Kill and Ert when her eye was drawn to two figures on the plain. The acolytes had parted for them, swept around them. One Kadoshim, one Revenant. They were standing side by side.
Is that . . .?
Riv sheathed her sword and threaded the black knife into her belt, then reached for her bow.
Gulla . . .
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT
JIN
Jin reined in, Gerel beside her, a permanent presence. The enemy she had been sent to attack were all dead, hundreds of riders strewn across the ground. She had set her warband to picking the shield wall apart, but now that had ruptured into smaller parts and had been enveloped by the acolyte shield wall. Jin was looking for a new foe, peering to the west, searching for Bleda. Rok with his Shekam upon draigs seemed to be causing havoc, and the Sirak were there.
That is where I need to be.
‘TRUTH AND COURAGE!’
Jin looked to the south, saw a mass of riders galloping straight at her warriors.
The Order of the Bright Star.
‘Gerel, form up on me,’ Jin said.
Gerel put his horn to his lips and blew, Cheren riders peeling away and joining Jin. Her horse leaped into a gallop and Jin leaned forwards, her bowstring thrumming at the riders galloping towards her, a swarm of arrows flying from the bows of her warriors straight at the Order of the Bright Star. Jin saw a warrior at their head, red hair streaming from a helm. He seemed to be their leader.
She aimed at him, loosed.
His shield came up, covering his body, warriors behind him doing the same, the hail-hammer of arrows punching into wood. A few riders screamed, swayed in their saddles, fell, but not nearly enough, and not their red-haired leader. And then it was too late for another volley as the two warbands came crashing together, horseflesh colliding, weaving in amongst each other. Jin slashed at the red-haired warrior, but he turned her blade, struck with his own sword. She swayed, the sword raking her side, and then their momentum carried them apart. The Order’s warriors used their shields well, slashed and hacked with their swords and spears, and Jin heard Cheren warriors crying out, falling. Jin swung her sword, a shield coming up to block her blade, a sword stabbing at her. In a few moments she knew her Cheren were outmatched in this close sword-work. A touch of her heels and her mount was dancing away, taking her out of range. A collision of horses and a grunt behind her, Gerel trading blows with a warrior, the two of them looking well-matched.
Gerel swayed in his saddle, a sword-tip hissing past him, and he lunged forwards, stabbed into his opponent’s throat.
All around her Jin saw Cheren falling.
‘We need to get out of here, find some space for bow work,’ she called to Gerel.
A shrieking from above and Jin looked up to see Kadoshim and half-breeds swooping down on the new riders, spears and swords stabbing. Warriors of the Bright Star fell.
‘Now,’ Jin said, and she was riding through the throng, the Order’s warriors distracted, defending against the foe from above. Gerel followed, blowing his horn, and her warriors began to disengage, riding out from the throng into open ground.
When they were clear Jin looked back, saw the warriors of the Bright Star focused entirely on the Kadoshim who were swooping down at them. Many in the Order were swirling lead-weighted nets over their heads, hurling them into the sky, the nets wrapping around Kadoshim, the weights pulling tight around wings. Kadoshim fell from the sky.
Over a thousand of her warriors were around Jin now, others still trying to disentangle themselves from the melee.
Jin sheathed her sword.
‘It is time,’ Jin said, looking across the open plain to the Sirak on the western flank. ‘Time for our vengeance. The Sirak are there, and there are no more tricks that will save them. DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES!’ she cried, took her bow from its case and began to ride out across the open plain, away from the Order’s riders.
Battle raged on her left. She saw Fritha upon her draig, smashing into a shield wall, her snake-woman and her honour guard about her. Then Jin was past them, riding on, Asroth standing tall like an island in the centre of the field, laughing as he killed with his black axe. Revenants and Kadoshim all around him were battling with more of the fragmented shield walls. Everywhere she looked she saw Asroth’s warriors prevailing, the enemy hard-pressed, failing.
Ahead and to her right Jin saw two figures standing amongst the dead. Gulla and his last Revenant captain. They were both staring at the Revenants swarming all over shield walls, looks of earnest concentration on their faces.
Are they guiding their Revenants?
The hiss of an arrow from above. It punched into Gulla’s foot, a spurt of blue flame. Another arrow close behind, this one piercing the Revenant captain, into the meat between neck and shoulder, angled inwards. A crackle of blue flame and the Revenant dropped to one knee, hands wrapped around the arrow shaft. It was screaming, a hissing shriek.
Another arrow slammed into the ground, and then one more was crunching into the Revenant’s skull, blue flame, and the captain dropped like a stone, dead before it hit the ground.
All across the field to Jin’s left Revenants collapsed, hundreds of them. A cry rang out from the beleaguered shield walls.
Gulla looked at his dead captain, then up at the sky. An arrow hissed out of the blue, slammed into his shoulder. He shrieked. Spread his wings, took to the sky, speeding across the plain, back towards Balara.
Coward, Jin sneered.
She looked up to the sky, searching for Gulla’s assailant.
And then she saw her.
Riv, hov
ering in the sky, wings beating slowly, a bow in her fist.
The half-breed bitch. No wonder it took her five arrows to kill one Revenant.
Without even thinking, Jin had a fistful of arrows and was launching them all skywards. She smiled when her first arrow punched into Riv’s thigh. The second one skittered off her mail, Riv’s wings beating, turning, and the third one slammed into the half-breed’s back. Jin heard the scream and saw Riv faltering in the sky a moment, then she began to fall, a lurching, stuttered spiral that sent her crashing into the battle on Jin’s left.
Jin smiled.
The half-breed whore is down. Just the betrayer to go now. Bleda, I am coming for you.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINE
BLEDA
Bleda swerved around a draig and loosed an arrow into the giant’s face, was already past them before the giant began to topple. He twisted in his saddle and loosed two more arrows into the draig, heard it roar, its tail lashing. Then he was reaching for more arrows, ducking as a Shekam giant swung its long spear at him, air hissing past Bleda’s throat, and he was riding away.
He broke into open ground, reined in, trying to make sense of what was happening. The field was pandemonium, the battle with the Shekam spreading wide, up to the first trees of the forest. Ruga was close by, loosing a trio of arrows into a draig, planting one of her shafts into its eye. The beast stumbled on a few paces and then collapsed.
Ruga saw him and cantered towards him. She was bloodied, a gash across her cheek and a bloodstain on her breeches, but she was smiling.
‘We are winning,’ she said. ‘These giants might be strong, but they are too slow.’
Bleda smiled back at her.
An arrow punched into Ruga’s throat, the iron head bursting out of her flesh, a spurt of blood. She dropped her bow, hands coming up to her neck, and opened her mouth, tried to speak. Blood bubbled out of her mouth.
Another arrow slammed into her side and she fell from her saddle.
Bleda yelled, shock and horror washing through him. Beyond her Bleda saw riders in blue deels galloping towards him, bows levelled. Jin was leading them. He jerked in his saddle as arrows flew past him. Grabbing his own arrows, he urged Dilis into movement and she leaped away.
‘SIRAK, TO ME!’ Bleda cried out. Yul put a horn to his lips and blew. Ellac and a score of Sirak rallied to him. Bleda pointed to the Cheren and broke into a gallop. He heard Sirak ululations behind him, the drum of hooves.
Ruga’s face hovered in his mind. His friend. She had been smiling. Blood in her mouth.
Bleda felt his rage boiling and he snarled, then breathed deep, trying to control his anger, finding the calm. Anger made your muscles tremble and jitter, and that was no good for a steady aim.
Another arrow hissed by. He guided his horse as his mother and brother had taught him, remembered what they had said about the duel of arrows, where two riders charged one another with bows in their fists. Swerve left and right, no pattern that your enemy can read, smooth movement, stay low in your saddle, almost hugging your horse’s neck, give your enemy the smallest target.
He nocked, drew and loosed, nocked, drew and loosed, saw Jin sway in her saddle, his arrows piercing a rider behind her, who toppled over the back of his saddle. Behind Bleda the thrum of bowstrings as Sirak arrows were loosed. Cheren fell. More arrows coming back at them, Bleda swerving, leaning left and right, loosing more arrows. The pounding of hooves behind him was louder, more Sirak joining his charge. He heard a scream close behind him. One more volley of arrows leaping from his bow and then he was amongst the Cheren, Jin hurtling past him, close enough to touch, her lips pulled back in a rictus snarl. Bleda reached over his shoulder and drew his sword, slashed left and right, felt his blade bite, blood arcing through the air, and then he was through the Cheren warband, galloping out onto the open plain, sheathing his sword and dragging on his reins, turning, reaching for more arrows.
Hundreds of Sirak were emerging from the Cheren warband, Yul first, Ellac close behind. His spear was bloodied to the shaft, the round shield strapped to his arm bristling with arrows.
He charged a Cheren warband without a bow. Bleda felt a swell of pride and love for the old warrior, followed by worry.
Together they turned and faced the Cheren, who were trying to turn for a second pass. They had ridden into the swirl of combat, though – many of them getting caught up in the conflict. Bleda saw Raina hammer a Cheren rider across the chest, hurling him from his saddle. Others were set upon by Sirak warriors still caught up within the Shekam chaos.
Bleda glimpsed Jin ducking a sword-swing from a Sirak warrior, saw another Cheren chop into the Sirak’s neck with a sword.
Gerel. Jin’s oathsworn man.
Some of the Cheren broke free of the melee and began to ride back at Bleda. He spurred his horse on, nocked and loosed, heard a Cheren scream. Yul, Ellac and the other Sirak behind him broke into a gallop.
The two warbands charged at each other, wind whipping the horsehair plume on Bleda’s helmet behind him. A hail of arrows came whistling from the Cheren, one pinging off his helm, rocking him in his saddle. He had the chance to loose two more arrows and then he was amongst them, drawing his sword, striking left and right as they galloped past one another. And then he was bursting past them, a snatched glance showing Yul and Ellac appearing. His horse’s momentum carried him on, back into the seething mass of draigs and bears. He spied the blue of a Cheren deel, veered that way, swung his sword, a scream, blood spraying, and he was riding at another Cheren, this one seeing him, reaching for their own sword. Bleda’s mount came up on the left side, his sword slashing down, parried. Bleda swayed away, the tip of his opponent’s blade scraping sparks on the iron plates of his lamellar coat.
They circled one another, horses colliding, jostling, swords a blur, fighting their way across the battleground, in amongst the first trees of the forest.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TEN
JIN
Jin ducked, moved, a sword slicing through air where her throat had just been. She slipped her bow back into its case and drew her sword, met her opponent with a flurry of blows. Their swords met, held in a bind, and Jin was looking into her enemy’s eyes. He was an old warrior, deep lines in his weathered face. He stared back at her.
‘The Fool Queen,’ he grunted.
A spear-point burst through his throat, was ripped back out, a gush of blood, and he fell from his saddle, Tark appearing behind him.
She dipped her head in thanks, looked around.
It was mayhem: giants, bears, draigs, her Cheren embroiled in a sweeping melee with Sirak, who appeared to be everywhere. And the Order’s warriors were there, too, with their swords and shields. Ben-Elim and Kadoshim swirled over their heads, feathers and blood falling from the sky.
Then she glimpsed him.
Bleda, fighting beneath the forest’s boughs against one of her Cheren. More of her Clan were riding at him, and Sirak were gathering about Bleda.
The Fool Queen, is that what the Sirak call me? Bleda did make a fool of me, consorting with that half-breed behind my back while betrothed to me.
But I will be the fool that kills Bleda the Cunning.
She pointed with her sword and kicked her horse into movement, Tark and Gerel following her, a handful of others. They rode through the melee, a hurricane of noise surrounding them, swerving around draigs and bears. Jin avoided any combat, her eyes fixed on Bleda. He was flitting between trees, locked in battle with the same Cheren warrior, others fighting around him. A Shekam giant crashed his draig through the trees, Kurgan giants on foot about him.
And then she was breaking out into open space and spurring her horse on. She slipped her sword into the scabbard across her back and pulled her bow from its case, reached for arrows. Nocked.
Bleda slipped behind a tree, part of his horse visible. Jin cursed, rode on, swerving right, saw him again, his sword clashing with his Cheren opponent. She drew and loosed, her arrow leaping from the
string, heading straight for Bleda’s throat. His opponent’s horse crashed into his, and Jin’s arrow slammed into the Cheren’s neck, slicing through a curtain of mail. The rider cried out, arched his back and toppled from his saddle.
Bleda looked straight at her.
She loosed again, riding directly at him, but he backed his horse up, disappearing behind the tree, her arrow flickering into the forest. She swerved, trying to keep him in sight, and he reappeared the other side of the wide trunk, his sword sheathed, bow in his fist. She threw herself to the side and an arrow hissed past her, iron-tip scraping the cheek-plate of her helm, at the same time as she loosed another arrow. It slammed quivering into the trunk of the tree, a handspan from Bleda’s head. Then she was upon him, too close to reach for her sword. She lashed out with her bow, hit him in the face, saw blood spurt as she rode past him, dragging on her reins, turning.
Something slammed into her back, high, just below her left shoulder, felt like a punch. Then the pain came, pulsing out. She twisted, saw one of Bleda’s arrows protruding from her. Bleda was riding around her, reaching for more arrows. She ducked, loosed at him, saw her arrow punch into his arm, below the sleeve of his mail coat. He cried out, dropped his bow and ripped the arrow from his forearm, then reached over his back for his sword and spurred his mount at her. She loosed again, a spike of pain in her back, her arrow flying at Bleda’s chest.
He chopped it from the air with his sword.
Jin snarled, frustration and respect mixed, then reached for her own sword, rode at him.
Their weapons clashed in a flurry, a spray of sparks, their horses swirling around each other, neighing, trying to bite one another, rearing, hooves lashing out, the two of them moving deeper into the forest.
Jin swayed and ducked, struck and parried, the world around her shrinking down to Bleda, to his eyes, his posture, the ripples of movement that helped her read his attacks. Pain pulsed from the arrow wound in her back, but she ignored it, her hate driving her, filling her with new strength. Dimly she was aware that they had entered a glade, a draig lying dead in its centre, a long spear buried in the beast’s chest.