by Duncan Lay
‘If you know them to be soldiers’ families, let them through! But slowly! We can’t have a panic! Any man who does not hold his ground, by Aroaril I’ll make him wish he had been stretched out over a Fearpriest’s altar!’ he bellowed at them.
It seemed to be working. The lines were not so bowed now, although the crying and begging had redoubled.
‘Kettering! Kettering! Help us!’
He spun, to see Mabel holding up her crying children. He turned away instantly. He knew she was not married to a soldier. Then he stopped. He had lain awake last night, listening to the celebrations, thinking about her words and about his reply. He hesitated, then tapped the nearest men on the shoulder.
‘Let those three through!’
The two men closest to them adjusted their shields for a moment, letting a shaken Mabel and her children through.
‘Thank you! Thank you!’ She hugged him and, after a delay, he awkwardly held her back.
‘I’ll never forget this,’ she promised. ‘How can I ever repay you?’
He did not know why he had let her through. There were scores of others who were pleading just as hard. But it was something the old Kettering would have done. He hoped it did not mean he was going to be too weak for the bloody work that the day would bring.
‘Repay me? Live well. Teach your children not to live in fear,’ he told her. ‘Now go! Go with Aroaril.’
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him quickly on the lips. Stunned, he watched as she ran towards the trees, and the lines to safety. It was a long moment before he could turn back to his duty.
But there were so many others trying to get through; it was almost impossible to know who were really families of soldiers and who were lying to save themselves and their children.
And more were flooding down the streets every moment.
‘We can’t do this, sir!’ Kettering warned Martil.
Martil agreed with Kettering’s judgement, and raced Tomon over to where Merren, Barrett, Karia and Havell waited. The dragon Argurium sat nearby, watching sadly. Orderly lines of weeping women and children were waiting their turn to go through an oak tree, while a ring of soldiers was trying to keep back two score others who had got into the park through back ways.
‘This is going to turn into a disaster! We need to use some magic or something!’ Martil cried.
‘How can we? If we use magic, it is power that we cannot use to rescue people!’ Barrett protested.
‘We have to do something—otherwise there won’t be anyone getting away,’ Merren told him.
Watching the crying, wailing mob was tearing at her heart. To say who was going to go, who was going to stay and die…she had thought deciding who should be evacuated and who was not worth sending in soldiers to rescue was almost impossible but this was beyond belief. The thought she could have done this last night, had half of these people away safely, when instead she had wasted time with Martil, was ripping her apart. Yes, she had been tired, her mind unable to think clearly—but if she had not been focused on her own selfish pleasure then maybe she would have thought of this earlier.
‘We shall have to form them into a queue and then send as many as we can. It is the only way,’ Merren decided. ‘Karia, you know how to make someone’s voice really loud?’
Karia grinned, bouncing up and down. ‘Of course!’
‘Martil, I need your horse.’
Merren rode Tomon back to where the crowd of people was slowly, slowly pushing the soldiers back, and where she could see a furious Sendric arguing with a defiant Kettering.
Karia clung on to her, while Martil ran beside her. Her mind was racing. What could she say to cut through the panic? The noise was indescribable—soldiers shouting, men and women screaming, children crying.
‘Silence! People, listen to me!’
Her magically enhanced voice cut through the noise but, while many people looked at her, others, especially those pressed up against the shields, just ignored her.
‘My people, I beg you, please listen!’
She tried again, without much success. The sight of Sendric ignoring her, as he tried to haul aside a shield to push through the lines, was the last straw.
‘Sendric? What are you doing?’ she cried. ‘We are trying to save the women and children!’
‘I am trying to save your country for you!’ he bellowed back. ‘These men will feed and clothe the women and children!’
Merren was in no mood to have an argument at the top of her voice so, in frustration, turned Tomon away. She would have to stop appealing to reason.
‘Who wants to die?’ Merren thundered, her voice echoing off the buildings and ripping through the park.
That got their attention, the noise died away, although there were still many children wailing and crying. But, compared with the bedlam of a few moments ago, it was nothing.
‘We shall get away as many as we can. First, let all the children come forwards. All children and mothers with babies!’
The mood of the crowd changed with that, people at the front stepping back to allow children to come forwards, although the noise rose again as men embraced wives, mothers hugged children, most knowing this would be their last embrace.
Merren had to lock her jaw to keep her emotions in check, seeing a thousand final goodbyes.
At an order from Martil, the lines of soldiers opened and stepped back, forming a funnel shape to allow the children to move through. Some did not want to go and clung to their parents, who were openly sobbing as they pushed their children towards safety. The ones at the front were shouting hopeful promises to see their children again but Merren, on Tomon, could see those further back, who knew they had no chance of making it through. Women and men clung to each other as their children, not understanding what was going on, sobbed and wailed. Parents, tears running down their faces, pushed their children away, knowing they would never see them again.
The crowds seemed to part and Merren’s eye was caught by one particular scene. She watched in horror as a pair of boys, one about ten, the other a few years younger, sobbed as they embraced their parents, then the older pulled his crying younger brother towards the soldiers, while the father had to hold back the screaming mother, who finally collapsed completely, unable to watch her children walk away.
Merren took a deep breath, knowing she had to say something, but not knowing what could comfort them, or the hundreds like them. The knowledge this was her fault, this suffering was because she had put her happiness ahead of the country, had been selfish and spent time with Martil, was like a knife to the heart.
Then the trumpets sounded.
At first some people cried out, thinking the attack had begun, but the trumpets went on and on, a strange call Martil could not recognise.
‘What?’ Merren turned to Martil, who could only shrug.
Then, from the vantage point of Tomon, Merren saw Captain Kay galloping towards them, waving furiously and shouting something that was lost in the noise of the crowd.
‘What?’ Merren shouted, but was frustrated when an obviously excited Kay could not be heard in reply.
‘Karia!’
Karia closed her eyes and pointed at Kay, who was trying to shout something.
‘…Derthals! The Derthals are here! Thousands of them here to save us!’ Kay’s voice echoed across the park.
The effect on the crowd was almost like magic.
Two days, even a day ago, half the people would have run a mile to avoid a Derthal, the other half would have run a mile to spit at a Derthal. Now people were on their knees, thanking Aroaril, men were embracing each other, people were crying with relief, hugging each other, hugging soldiers.
Many were even rushing back towards the walls, eager to see their saviours.
Merren was stunned. Barrett had assured her it was impossible for the Derthals to be here before the evening. She leaned down to Martil, after making sure Karia had taken the power from her voice.
‘They’ve come so far, so fast. Will the
y be ready to fight?’ she whispered.
Martil paused. ‘We shall have to speak to Sacrax,’ he admitted. ‘They might need a day to recover. But their arrival alone will give our enemies pause.’
She nodded. ‘But we shall act as though they are ready to fight now. We must give the people hope. And if we do not fight until tomorrow, it will give us more time to get people away.’
‘Agreed,’ Martil turned to Karia. ‘I need you to…’
‘I know, I know,’ she sighed, then patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’re just lucky you have me around to help you.’
Martil had to hold in his feelings as he turned to the disappearing crowd. He knew he would have to fight now, knew it would be worse than Sendric, worse than Pilleth. He clung to the thought that Argurium would save him if she had to, that Karia would not be left alone.
‘All soldiers to the walls!’
14
Gello had been enjoying a leisurely breakfast with Mother’s portrait, and anticipating an afternoon of entertainment. He was sure the Rallorans would fight like the cornered rats they were, and the close confines of the city would ensure the massive numerical advantage of the Berellians and Tenochs would mean nothing. Both would suffer terribly, he hoped, before victory.
But his appetite vanished when Feld burst into his tent.
‘A relief force, sire! Ten thousand strong, approaching from the north!’
Gello had felt a moment’s terror then. Once more he was in the throne room, once more he was at Pilleth, failing at the moment of his triumph.
Dropping his plate to the ground, he had rushed out with Feld, Livett and Heath. Where had this force come from? How could Merren have found and armed so many, so quickly?
Scouts had been hurriedly sent out, while riders from the Berellian army and runners from the Tenoch forces raced across to find out what was happening.
It had been a nervous wait, and Gello’s fingernails were ragged by the time the scouts returned. Mother had always told him not to bite his nails and he could feel her baleful stare but could not stop it.
‘They’re goblins sire! Goblins from the north!’ the scouts reported.
Gello and his captains roared with relieved laughter.
‘Goblins! We can scatter them like children! Our cavalry will go through them like a hot knife through butter!’ Gello chuckled.
‘Sire, Martil will surely know that. He has more than a thousand archers. What if he tries to tempt us into a wild charge, so he can destroy us?’ Feld pointed out quietly.
Gello chewed on another nail. ‘You are right,’ he admitted. ‘We must tell our allies our horses are not ready and we must fight on foot. Let Markuz use up his men on goblins and Rallorans.’
‘Sire, surely they do not mean to face us in battle—isn’t it more likely they will use the goblins on the walls?’ Heath suggested.
Gello rubbed his chin. ‘Allow goblins into the city? Surely not even my cousin would defile the capital by allowing such creatures inside the gate?’
‘They are desperate, sire.’
Gello shuddered. ‘The thought of goblins inside the capital. Inside my palace! We’ll never get their stink out of the city. I cannot stand such an abomination! Besides, they must be exhausted after marching down here. We cannot give them time to rest. We must attack immediately, so they have no choice but to face us. Get my horse, I must speak to Markuz and Onzalez.’
The people were already delighted to see the Derthals but the final seal of approval came when they brought forward more than two score children, from babies to teenagers, the ones they had rescued. And the tale of how these youngsters had watched Norstalines walk past them for days before being saved by Derthals quickly spread across the city.
Martil had ordered food to be brought outside for the Derthals and the people rushed to obey. By the time he joined Merren and Barrett outside the city, High Chief Sacrax and many of his clan chiefs were eating and drinking.
People were packed onto the walls, pointing and waving at the Derthals, who stared back in astonishment, both at the warmth of the greeting and the size of the city. Sendric was the largest human settlement they had seen, and the capital dwarfed that provincial town.
‘Sorry we are late.’ Sacrax smiled. ‘We had to stop to look after little ones—and then the priest’s horses became too tired.’
‘But you are here now, and Norstalos will not forget that you stood beside us in our time of need,’ Merren declared loudly.
‘How did you get here so fast? Will your warriors be able to fight?’ Martil asked urgently.
Sacrax chuckled. ‘Every warrior of mine can run fifty miles and still fight. We are just warm now.’
Martil found that hard to believe, but every Derthal did seem to be healthy enough. If a man had marched across forty miles of rough country in little more than a day, they would be exhausted, needing at least a day, and probably more, to recover. But the Derthals seemed able to laugh and joke; the faces did not look drawn or haggard and they did not drag their feet as they walked.
‘Amazing! No man could have done that,’ he marvelled.
‘But we are not men. We are Derthals,’ Sacrax said proudly.
‘You are angels, sent from Aroaril,’ Merren said fervently. Not having to decide which people lived and died had her almost giddy with relief. Her mistake in giving in to temptation and spending the night with Martil had not proved a fatal one for her people.
‘So your people do not hate us any more?’ Sacrax glanced up at the smiling faces lining the walls.
‘It looks that way,’ Merren agreed, trying not to think of Sendric, and others, who had remained back at the park.
‘What is this army that has arrived?’ Onzalez demanded.
‘Goblins. The same army of goblins that you suggested attack the north of Norstalos. But, thanks to the failure of Ezok and Cezar, they are here to help our enemies,’ Gello said harshly.
Onzalez seemed unmoved. ‘That they are here shows the desperation of the Aroaril-lovers, allying themselves to creatures who are not even human. Goblins! Even to speak their name invites contempt.’
‘Goblins, what are these creatures like?’ Itlan asked. ‘We have nothing like them in Tenoch.’
‘Small, foul-smelling, backwards, deformed half-men,’ Gello dismissed them. ‘My ancestors drove them out of the north of our country easily. They are vicious and brutal but they lack warlike skills. One-on-one they are dangerous, but they will break upon shields like waves on a beach.’
‘What will the Witch Queen do with them?’ Markuz rumbled.
‘Bring them into the city and fill the walls with them. It will make breaking into the city a great deal more difficult. But if we attack now, before they can get inside the safety of the city walls, we can crush them,’ Gello said urgently.
‘Attack now? Our men have only just arrived. We need the rest of the day to rest and eat,’ Itlan said doubtfully.
‘Perhaps a cavalry charge?’ Markuz suggested. ‘Your cavalry could shatter these goblins while they are pinned against the city walls.’
Gello made sure his horror did not show on his face.
‘A good strategy, except that their archers will slaughter our horses before we can crush the goblins,’ he said calmly. ‘Besides, our horses have been tired by the march here. They are not ready for a charge.’
Onzalez turned his hooded face towards Gello, who fought to keep his face impassive.
‘Then your men must fight on foot. We shall assemble immediately. The Berellians shall lead the way, followed by Gello’s dismounted cavalry, and the Tenochs shall bring up the rear, for they have the least protection from the bows of the Aroaril-lovers.’
Gello raged inside the safety of his mind, for Onzalez was ensuring the men most loyal to him were best preserved in the coming battle. But there was no backing out now.
‘At once, Brother.’ He smiled.
‘We shall be formed up within a turn of the hourglass. We shall de
stroy these goblins and then press on into the city. Once they see their desperate gamble has failed, the city will crack like an egg. Zorva is watching, my friends!’ Onzalez announced. ‘I shall go forwards with the Tenoch lines. There will be no mistakes this time!’
Martil was astonished by how much the Derthals could eat and drink. Dozens of people were bringing out casks of water and crates of food and it never seemed enough.
‘When are they going to finish? We need to get them inside the walls,’ he told Sacrax. ‘Tomorrow we shall march out and attack but today your warriors can rest—and we can use the time to get our women and children to safety.’
The Derthal High Chief belched, then grinned. ‘Many of my warriors have never tasted food like this. Soft bread. Sweet cakes. Strange meats. And we have all gone without food enough times to want to keep eating when there is plenty.’
‘And perhaps the march south cost you more than you admit?’ Martil suggested.
‘That was a gentle stroll,’ Sacrax protested with a smile. ‘We are ready to fight now!’
‘Well, you might be but I think the Queen wants to fight tomorrow, when she knows her people have been sent to safety.’
Sacrax grinned. ‘I shall get them inside now then.’
Martil turned away, only to hear a call from the walls above.
‘Captain! They’re forming up for an attack!’ Kay cried.
Martil raced inside and up the steps to the top of the wall, where a grim-faced Kay stood.
‘They’re coming straight for us. And they’re coming now.’ He pointed.
Breathing hard from the race up the stairs, Martil shaded his eyes, peered towards the Berellian camp—and felt his pounding heart beat even faster. More men than he had ever wanted to see were forming themselves into a shield wall, five hundred men wide. There were sixteen ranks of Berellians, another six of Gello’s red-clad soldiers and thirty of the strange Tenochs. It was a massive sight, bigger than anything he had seen in the Ralloran Wars. The temptation to stay here was almost overpowering. But he knew what he had to do.