He nodded to his attendants and then stepped up onto the platform. He looked out on a mighty army. The massed horsemen of the Kaifeng were spread out before him. And they were all looking to him. Looking to him to give the signal to attack. Looking to him to give them victory. A great thrill passed though him, a mighty strength seemed to fill him. He raised both his fists and looked at the sky.
“Shelena, my wife! Ardan, my son!” he cried in a great voice. “Can you see? Can you see? Look down from the heavens! Look down and see! Your vengeance is at hand!”
* * * * *
Kareen huddled in the tent and listened to the cheers. Thousands and thousands of voices were cheering and chanting in the Kaifeng tongue. She was learning more and more of their language, but the only word she could make out for certain was: death. Death, but for who? She understood that a great battle was at hand. The Berssian Army was a few miles away and a battle would be fought today. She prayed the Berssians would win, but she feared they would not. Atark was here and he would use his magic just as before. But surely even he could not destroy an entire army! Kareen knelt on the carpet and prayed.
She looked up as Thelena entered the tent. The woman had a strange look on her face. “Is…is it starting?” asked Kareen.
“Soon. Very soon.”
“You will not watch?”
“No.” Thelena sat down on some cushions and took up a wine skin. She filled a cup and took a long drink and then grimaced. Kareen looked on in puzzlement. This was her second cup of wine today and she rarely ever drank at all.
“Are you all right, Thelena?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine. How are you feeling?”
“I’m all right. My back is nearly healed. Thank you for giving me these clothes. I…I feel much better about going out of the tent now.”
“Is anyone bothering you?”
Kareen reddened and stared down.
“Speak,” commanded Thelena.
“There are three men who wait for me. Not every day. And some days I can avoid them. But other days…”
Thelena stared at her and took another long drink. “Do these men have yellow and green ribbons in their braids?”
“Yes. Yes, they all do.”
Thelena nodded grimly. “Kuttari bastards. They have a feud with my father. They think that by raping you—his slave—that they dishonor him.” She laughed. “He could not care less about that. But if the Kuttari even think they are winning a victory against him by grazing in his fields, it does dishonor him and will weaken his influence with the tribes. I will speak to my father. He may be able to do something.”
“Thank you! Thank you, Thelena. They…they are very cruel.”
“I’m sure. But my father will not be doing this to save you, Kareen. It is a matter of his honor. You are nothing to him.”
“And to you? Am I anything to you?”
Thelena looked at her for a long time without answering. She opened her mouth to say something, but then she suddenly twitched and knocked the cup of wine on the ground. A sound came out of her mouth then, but it was not speech. It was a terrible moan. The woman slid off the cushions onto the ground. She grabbed her head with her hands.
“Thelena!” cried Kareen in alarm. “What’s wrong?” She scrambled over to Thelena. She was lying on her back and staring straight up. She was clutching herself so tightly that her fingernails were drawing blood on her scalp.
“Thelena!”
* * * * *
“Looks like they are about ready,” said Sergeant Chenik.
“Yes. Any time now, I would think,” answered Matt.
The Kaifeng were massed across the shallow valley about a mile away. Thousands upon thousands of them. They were many, many ranks deep, although they had nothing resembling ranks. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, they were making no effort to move around the Berssian’s flanks. They were all clumped together, opposite the center, although there were Kaifs opposite every part of the Berssian line.
The enemy had made no move forward yet, but the Berssian general was not going to wait for them to do so. Bugles rang out up and down the line. As Matt watched, the infantry battalions went from line of battle into columns and then opened out into hollow squares. Then they expertly pivoted an eighth of a circle so that one corner of each square was pointed right at the enemy.
“Why’re they doing that?” asked a nearby trooper. He was a new recruit. “They’ve opened up gaps all along the line now. The Kaifs could ride right through!”
“That’s what the general’s hoping for,” said Matt. “The damn Kaif bows could make real trouble for us if they just stand off and shoot. If we can lure them in by making them think they can get into our rear, so much the better. See how the squares are arranged? Each face of each square can fire straight ahead without hitting any friend—well, except for the gunners, but they’ll have the sense to get out of the way. If the Kaifs try to ride through, they’ll be shot to pieces.”
Assuming there’s anyone to shoot them.
The trooper looked satisfied and more confident. Matt envied him. The maneuver was completed flawlessly, and now the army waited.
“Well, let’s get on with it!” growled Chenik. “No point waiting here the whole blamed day!”
Matt agreed. Get on with it. But nothing happened for another quarter of an hour, and then there was a great deal of cheering and chanting from the enemy army. Matt squinted and thought he could see small groups clustered around banners moving toward the front. “Must be their leaders. Stand ready everyone. It should not be long now.”
“Sir!” hissed Chenik. Matt looked where the sergeant was pointing and his heart sank. A golden ball of light had appeared behind the enemy center. It looked just like the other one when the squadron had died—except this one was larger. Much larger. The enemy had still not moved. Before, they had already started their charge before the ball had appeared, but not this time. Why? No matter, Matt knew exactly what was going to happen—and he knew what he had to do.
“Get rid of your powder!” he screamed. “Take off your cartridge boxes! Throw away your musketoon and pistols!”
“Do it!” roared Chenik. The men looked around in confusion and then caught sight of the gold ball—just as it exploded into a million sparks.
“Fireflies!” cried a half-dozen men simultaneously.
“Get rid of your powder!” Matt was still screaming, and the twelve survivors were doing so as well. Everyone in the regiment had heard the crazy stories those men had been telling. Now, suddenly, they realized they had not been so crazy after all. Men began tearing off the slings that held their cartridge boxes. Musketoons and pistols went flying to thud down in the thick grass. A few of the other officers sat there in stunned amazement, but then started shouting the same command.
Matt was carrying no powder, so all he had to do was shout. But he was watching the fireflies, too. There were an incredible number of them, and they were flying straight for the center of the army. They began to spread out, but they were clearly going to reach the middle of the line first. As soon as they were past the Kaifeng, the enemy began to trot forward.
The neat lines of Berssian troops began to fall apart as more and more men saw what was coming. Perhaps a few of them had heard the stories, but certainly most had not. The majority had no clue what the glittering fireflies were.
They soon found out.
The fireflies reached the closest troops and the men disappeared in puffs of white smoke. An artillery battery’s guns fired themselves off, and then a moment later the battery was blown to bits in a series of large explosions as their caissons detonated. The cloud of fireflies spread out, as if seeking new victims. More battalions were wrapped in smoke, more batteries were shattered. Matt looked on and felt ill.
Insanely, he thought of when he had been a small child. He had taken a vase off the shelf. It was very valuable and it was his mother’s favorite. She had come into the room suddenly and he had dropped it. It was on
ly a three-foot drop to the floor, but it had seemed to take forever. He watched it drop and drop and thought about how sad his mother was going to be. About how angry his father was going to be. About how much the paddling was going to hurt. There had been plenty of time to think all those thoughts—but somehow not enough time to reach down and grab the vase before it smashed to pieces on the floor.
The sparks were getting closer, and a new series of small explosions tore through the air. They were louder and sharper than the cartridge boxes, and they were followed by the most horrible screams.
“Gods!” hissed Chenik. “The grenadiers!”
A moan escaped Matt’s throat. There were four regiments of grenadiers among the Guards. Big men, trained and disciplined, and good with the bayonet. Matt had had some hopes that these men could do some good even without being able to fire their muskets. He had forgotten that each man carried two or three small hollow iron spheres packed with gunpowder. Dangerous weapons to friend and foe alike, but on this day, it was only the friends who were in danger. Even one of those exploding right next to a person…
“There are no grenadiers, Sergeant,” said Matt.
“Shit, here they come.”
The fireflies swept toward them, mangling the army as they came. Matt just sat and stared. There was nothing he could do. The vase had hit the floor. All around him, men were screaming. Some tried to run, others threw themselves on the ground. It made no difference. The gunpowder blew up all the same.
The sparks were here. They zipped past him and around him, and there were hundreds of pops as guns discharged and cartridges exploded, but most were yards away instead of close by. Almost all of his company had tossed away their lethal burdens. One or two had not and a few horses went down. Matt had a glimpse of the other companies and saw that fewer men had heeded his frantic shouts. Some had, but not enough. Men and horses screamed and tumbled. Then the smoke blotted everything out and he could see nothing.
“Stand fast! Hold your ground!” he shouted. “Wait!”
A series of huge explosions rocked the ground. They came from the rear, and Matt guessed they were the reserve ammunition wagons. “14th Dragoons! Stand fast! Rally on me!” he cried. He had no clue if the colonel or the other officers were still in action, but he shouted anyway.
It was doubtful that anyone more than a few yards away could hear him. Even with the explosions fading, they were being replaced with the moans and screams of the wounded, the shouts of officers, sergeants, and terrified men…
…and the steadily growing war cries of the Kaifeng warriors.
Matt could hear them getting closer, but the smoke was still too thick to see them. He could not just sit here and let them overrun his company!
“14th Dragoons! Forward! Forward at the trot!”
As he shouted, the smoke thinned a bit and he could see for a dozen yards. He shouted the order again and waved his sword and kneed his horse into motion. He gasped in relief as his men went forward with him. The order was repeated by NCOs farther down the line, and more and more men obeyed.
Matt broke out of the smoke and nearly quailed. There was an endless line of Kaifeng horsemen stretching out of his sight in both directions. They were galloping toward him and only two hundred yards away. He glanced back and saw perhaps a hundred and fifty dragoons following him: his own company and whatever other troopers who had managed to throw away their powder and hear the command to advance.
“Close up! Close up! Forward at the canter!”
The pace picked up and the men closed in on him as they had been trained to do. In a moment, they were in a solid rank, literally knee to knee with the men on either side. Sergeant Chenik was right next to him. The Kaifs were sixty yards away.
“Charge!” he cried with all the force his lungs could produce. The dragoons broke into a gallop. The Kaifs were thirty yards away and Matt could see that those immediately in front of him were not happy about it. They had charged forward without discipline, expecting an easy fight, and were now unexpectedly faced with an ordered counter-charge by men with murder in their eyes. A few of them tried to halt or turn aside, but there was no place to go with the crush of their fellows.
Matt had his saber poised and was suddenly only a yard away from a Kaif who had unwisely tried to get out his bow. Matt drove the point of his blade into the man’s throat. Matt had never killed anyone before, or even seriously hurt a man. Right now, he didn’t give a damn. He wrenched his sword loose from the man he had slain and struck at the next one who appeared. The Kaif partially blocked his blow, but he still slashed away part of the man’s face, and an instant later Chenik finished him.
The dragoons had heavier horses and they were moving downhill. The Kaifeng were not in a close formation, and the 14th Dragoons sliced right through them, leaving two score of dead or wounded in their wake. They broke through the first mass of Kaifs but did not pause. They realigned their ranks, filled in the gaps left by their own dead, and pressed forward. The second line of enemy had a bit more warning, but it did them little good. The dragoons crashed into them. Matt killed another man and then another. His horse knocked one of the smaller plains ponies right over and he trampled the rider.
Matt was screaming at the top of his lungs. His only desire was to kill Kaifs until he was killed himself. What else was there to do? They broke through the second wave, and Matt rallied his men for the next charge. He only had about a hundred men left, but they had killed more Kaifs than that. There were no more enemies directly to his front—they had punched right through the enemy army—so he wheeled his troopers around to the left.
Then he saw the Berssians.
The Army of Berssia was on the ridge, and it was dying where it stood. Despite his gallant little charge, he had done nothing to halt the Kaifeng attack. They had swept up the hill into the demoralized and disordered ranks of the army, and they were butchering anyone they could reach. A huge mass of horsemen was milling around on the ridge, swords flashing red in the morning sun. As he watched, a Kaif horseman came galloping down the hill holding a Berssian flag. The sight froze him for a moment.
Then something zipped by his head. Another. They were arrows, and he realized that the enemy they had smashed through had now turned and strung their bows. Arrows started to rain down on them. A trooper fell with a shriek. Then a horse went down.
“We can’t stay here!” shouted Chenik.
“Forward! Forward, men! Forward at the canter!” The horses were getting tired, but Chenik was right: they could not stay here. They had to move. He led his men back the way they had come—back against the enemy. There was open ground off to their left now. Maybe even the possibility of escape, but not a man faltered. The enemy was in front of them and that was the direction to go!
“With me! Follow me! Forward! For…!” An arrow struck his horse in the throat and it stumbled with a gurgling scream. Matt knew he was going down and kicked his feet free of the stirrups. Then the horse toppled over on its side. Matt nearly got clear, but the beast landed on his left foot and pinned it. There was some pain, but he did not think anything was broken. He tried to drag himself free, but his foot caught on something. Maybe his spur was tangled in some bit of harness. Damn! He had to get loose!
“You all right?” shouted a voice from close by. He looked up and saw Chenik on his horse towering over him. He glanced up the hill and saw the dragoons still charging forward. Their ranks were being thinned by the Kaif arrows, but they were still going on!
“Yes! I just need to get free. You should have stayed with the men, Sergeant!”
“Gotta look after you, sir. You need help?”
“No, I think I can…”
Another equine scream cut him off. He jerked his head up to see Chenik’s horse rearing with an arrow in its chest. It was going to fall…
…right on him. Matt twisted and covered his head with his arms. An instant later, a crushing weight slammed down on him and everything went black.
Chapter Eleven
“Good luck and have a safe voyage home, Jarren,” said Master Dauros. “A lot of our hopes are riding with you, my friend.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jarren. “I’ll try not to let you down.”
“Do more than try, Master Jarren,” said Stephanz. “We have placed our very lives in your hands. If you stumble, we shall be the ones to fall.” Jarren nodded; Stephanz had been making gloomy statements like that for four weeks, and he was getting a bit tired of them.
“I have given my word that I will not reveal the location of this island, nor reveal anything other than what was agreed upon, sir. I can promise no more.”
“Nor do we have a right to ask any more,” said Dauros, cocking an eyebrow at Stephanz. “We take the risk with open eyes and you have my trust, young Jarren.”
“And mine, too,” said Idira. “I’ll be following your progress closely, Jarren. And I’ll be making my plans for the school for healers when the time is right.”
“Surely that is years away, Idira, if, indeed, it ever becomes practical!” said Stephanz.
“We cannot know for sure,” said Dauros. “We can hope that it will not be too long, but Stephanz is correct that it might be many years. We shall not rush into things.”
“I shall be careful, sir,” said Jarren. “But how will we contact each other? I know I’ve asked this before, but surely we shall need to communicate.”
“For now you must be content, Jarren,” said Dauros. “We have means of following your progress, and if it becomes necessary, we can get a message to you. For now, that will have to do.”
“Very well, sir. If that’s what you want.”
“Yes. And you do have enough material to keep you occupied for quite a while, I would think,” said Dauros, pointing to Jarren’s bulging portfolio. He smiled and nodded. He had been filling paper with notes for almost four weeks without a pause. He had used up all his own paper and had been forced to beg for more from his hosts. He had spent hour after hour with Idira, listening to her talk about the type of magic she practiced. She had demonstrated her skills as much as could be done without any actual injuries to treat or serious diseases to cure. He’d spent some time with the others, too, but his agreement with Dauros precluded him making extensive studies. He especially regretted not being able to work with the artificers. They had an incredible collection of magical devices—old Porfino would have thought he was in heaven—and they actually knew how many of them worked!
Fires of Memory Page 24