Horn of the River God: Book I of The Song of Agmar

by Frances Mason

  “From what I hear it takes several.”

  “You’re altogether too well informed about my private life. You know, you’re not exactly a holy man yourself.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Well, it would have to be, given how bad your arthritis is. I’d be surprised if you can even get it up anymore.”

  They mounted their horses and rode down the path to the fields, continuing their banter until the knights could no longer hear it. Harvest time was near, and the wheat extended into the distance like a golden sea, across which an occasional gust chased golden ripples. A road of chipped stones writhed through this sea like a grey water snake, all the way to the forest, through which it passed. Its surface was well maintained, augmenting the rivers to keep goods flowing quickly to and from the capital. Other occasional hills rose out of the golden sea to the north of the road, including two near the forest verge.

  The forest rose like a green wave above the gold, and soon they could clearly see the rebels. They were, as the scout had told them, far back from the road, but were watching for something or someone.

  Soon they reached the verge, only scanning to left and right by looking past each other while speaking.

  “They’re not closing in,” Oliver said.

  “No, they want to be sure they have us in the trap before they spring it.”

  “How far in do you think?”

  “They’re a couple of hundred yards back from the road. They’ll want to pull the noose tight, but they won’t want to draw our attention, so they’ll move as slowly as us. By the time we’re a couple of hundred yards in they’ll be behind us.”

  “And you want to let them do that?”

  “They have no carts, only men, and the men at the verge are few.”

  “So we will get to fight.”

  “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “What about archers?”

  “That’s why I chose this road. The branches hang low. By the time the main body of soldiers are coming after us we’ll be out of range, at least until they reach the verge. There may be archers among the men at the verge but, see this kink in the road about the granite outcrop? They’ll make for here to block our path, it’ll give them good cover to shoot at us from a defensive position, but there’s a beaten path which the locals use, and it leads right back to the road behind them. By the time they realise…”

  “I think I see your reasoning. Let’s hope they think the way you do.”

  “If they don’t use the natural defences, and come up the path instead, they won’t have a clear shot till they’re within range of our swords. Make sure you ride ahead of me too.”

  “You want to use me as a shield?”

  “No. They won’t fire on you.”

  “Because you think they’re my brother’s men?”

  “The hardy core. The others are opportunists, or peasants with grievances.”

  “I think you assume too much brotherly love. More likely he’d tell them to kill me first.”

  “Then I’ll light a taper in The Temple for you,” Arthur said, reaching across and gripping Oliver’s shoulder with a mock mournful expression.

  “You’re a real friend,” Oliver said dryly. “It’d be much easier if you’d just declare him a traitor and execute him.”

  “I don’t have sufficient proof. I’m not a tyrant to condemn a man without proof, especially not a duke. Your brother is a subtle politician. Not as subtle as Augustyn, but not stupid enough to be easily caught trying to assassinate me.”

  “How about after today? If we survive, I mean.”

  “It’ll confirm my suspicions, but I need to take the Assembly of Lords with me, or at least the Privy Council. They’ll need more than circumstantial evidence. Your brother has allies enough, and Augustyn’s enemies will be wary of any move that’ll strengthen his hand. Your brother’s death would do that, which is another thing I need to consider. Even if Amery is trying to murder me, I might prefer him alive. If only I could get rid of both of them at once.”

  “You could just whisper in your father’s ear. He did accuse both of them in court of coveting his crown, and he doesn’t seem to mind hanging men on hearsay, or less.”

  “It wasn’t always thus, and when I’m king it’ll no longer be.”

  “A prince with bloody principles. You know that makes you kind of crazy yourself?”

  “Just as well I have the loyalty of a man as crazy as me then.”

  “You know, if you do gather enough evidence to execute my brother, I still won’t be duke. He has a son. Nothing like his father. He actually likes his uncle.”

  “And you won’t try to take the duchy from him. I know. But you would become his regent, and control the duchy’s finances till he comes of age, which would mean you could satisfy yourself without listening to Amery’s moralising.”

  “You know, I’m almost tempted to fabricate some evidence against him.”

  “But you wouldn’t do that.”

  Oliver sighed. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

  “Whatever happens to your brother. I know I can rely on you to do what’s right. You’re a man of principle too.”

  “Two idiots together then. Two idiots with principles, riding into a trap which they know is closing about them.”

  Suddenly the prince became earnest. “Whatever happens, I can rely on you?”

  Oliver’s face showed his surprise. “You know you can.”

  “And all of mine?”

  Oliver looked concerned. “They’ll have you to protect them.”

  “But if they don’t?”

  “I’ll look to them as if they were family. No, scrap that. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d hate them as much as I hate Amery. I’ll look to their welfare as well as I would look to my nephew’s.”

  “All of them.”

  Oliver said firmly, “All of them. After all, they’re my kin too.”

  They were now about a hundred yards in, and horns sounded to north and south.

  “Do we run now?” Oliver asked.

  “Wait.”

  “Thulathra’s bloody left nut bag.”

  Now in the gloom they could clearly see shadows, moving quickly toward them.

  “Now,” Arthur whispered, “give the signal.”

  Oliver shouted, “Bandits, prince Arthur. Flee for your life.”

  At the sound of Arthur’s name the shadows quickened their pace and cracking branches were heard throughout the forest as men ran from all quarters toward the voice. They spun their horses around and galloped back to the west. Arthur pointed to the beaten path and Oliver tugged his reins in that direction. Ducking under branches and weaving between boles they made their way around the granite outcrop. At the other side six men were waiting. Two archers leaned against the rock, only now turning at the noise. Arthur and Oliver trampled the four others, who had yet to draw their swords. Arrows flew over their heads, then they had cut down the archers. They looked about, others were visible coming from north and south, and a huge noise of running men and galloping horses came from the west.

  “Quick now, Oly. Before they surround us.”

  They rode at a mad gallop for the verge. The men to the north and south saw them and changed their direction, heading for the meeting of road and forest verge. Some nocked arrows to bows, but few arrows made it through the canopy, and those that did fell behind the horses. Arthur and Oliver urged their mounts to greater exertion, the circle of light amidst the shadowy green like a door to freedom for a long held prisoner. Then the circle was filled with men. The horses crashed into the two who stood their ground, and Arthur’s sword severed the neck of another, while Oliver’s took another in the throat. They spun their mounts and quickly despatched the two remaining men so that they would not take arrows in the back, then they spun around again and galloped out of the forest, the steel of horseshoes cracking loudly against the stones as they fled westward toward the outcrop.

  Soon after,
men poured out of the forest. A company of cavalry formed up, and when there were a score of them set off in hot pursuit. The sound of their shod hooves along the road thundered loudly, and birds shot up out of the fields to either side, flying swiftly to north and south, away from the road. The horses of Arthur and Oliver were fast, though Arthurs’s was trailing behind because of the size of its rider. But both rode faster than the pursuing company. They rode past the outcrop where the knights waited, but did not stop there.

  Both infantry and cavalry were pouring out of the forest now. Arthur stopped long enough to see. Hundreds of men, and the size of the host was growing. As the pursuing company reached the outcrop where the knights had waited the knights charged out, lances lowered, crashing into their flank. The others turned and fled back toward the growing host. The host advanced out of the forest. The knights followed Arthur. Over a low hill and through a narrow defile they went. On the other side a score of Sir Marl’s knights waited, along with squires and pages and spare warhorses. Among the squires was William. He helped Arthur into his battle armour and another helped Oliver. Then the company returned through the defile and over the hill.

  The host marched on the prince. At least a hundred cavalry and two hundred infantry were marching toward them. They marched in disciplined formation, flattening the fields as they passed, the cavalry in two wings and the infantry in three battalions at the centre. All wore studded armour that glinted in the sun.

  “They outnumber us, Highness,” said Oliver with a smile.

  “It’d seem so,” the prince said, returning the smile, and dismounting, “Oly, you lead the mounted knights. I fight on foot.”

  The other knights expressed their surprise.

  “I’ll fight with the squires. But I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun.” There were about thirty squires, and Arthur quickly ordered them into ranks, armed with lances, while pages handed weapons and shields to the still mounted knights.

  Now the host of rebels had advanced well beyond the forest.

  “Ready for some fun?” Arthur asked William. He reached out and adjusted the squire’s grip. “Like that. And don’t lower it until we’re in range or you’ll tire from the weight. Let the enemy ranks bear the weight.”

  “In the face if you want the point to stick,” added Oliver helpfully.

  “The thrill of battle joined will give you strength then too. Look for the opening to maim or kill, but generally just keep them at bay. If they close in, use the length of the lance to block them, unless they get too close, then use your sword, but don’t break ranks. Thrust with your sword as though it was a small lance. These rebels may be professional, but they don’t have long lances. Hold formation. Discipline will see you through more battles than bravery.”

  “Here they come,” Oliver said, and put down his visor, while a page handed up his lance and ran back to the rear of the company where the sumpter horses grazed the grass between road and field. The pages hefted spare lances from the sumpter horses in case they should be needed later in the fight.

  Then there was a sound of thudding, deep in the earth, like thunder heard through water. The rebel host stopped. Several shouted to each other in question. Then hundreds of knights were pouring over the hills to north and south.

  “Forward,” Arthur shouted, and his company advanced.

  Oliver led the mounted knights in a charge, with Arthur and William and the other squires marching quickly behind.

  Sir Marl’s knights came together in a solid mass behind the rebel host, blocking any retreat toward the forest. Some of the rebel cavalry were pointing to the fields, seeing something the infantry as yet could not. Then a shower of arrows arced out of the sky. Unmounted knights marched out from the fields, their lances lowered. The rebel army was thrown into confusion, with men running into each other and being trampled by their own cavalry’s horses as they turned in all directions, not knowing which way to run. Then Sir Marl’s mounted knights crashed into the rear. Heads were hacked off, gizzards spilled on the ground. The road became a river of blood, flowing off into the fields. Some of the mounted rebels tried to flee north and were cut down, as more and more dismounted knights rose from their knees, appearing unexpectedly at all quarters. Others fled south and were caught between the left wing of Sir Marl’s knights, his reserve, and Oliver’s knights, charging south into the fray.

  Then Arthur’s contingent saw a solid wall of terrified fleeing men closing on them with inhuman swiftness. “Lances ready,” Arthur shouted, and lowered his visor, and the squires lowered their visors, then their lances to the horizontal, forming a wall of solid points. The first men ran straight into them, as they looked back over their shoulders, and others piled behind them, still more afraid of the death behind than that in front. They were climbing over bodies, blood smearing their greaves. The weight of the rebels’ numbers increased by fear as they fled the greater host, they piled into each other’s backs climbing over each other’s bodies, only to find death on the other side of that bulwark of human flesh.

  Then, as suddenly as the weight had struck their lances, it was gone. They looked about, and at all quarters men lay dying or dead. The few rebels who had survived tried to surrender, but the bloodlust was upon the victors, and they hewed about without mercy. It was not a rout. It was butcher’s practice. The squires dropped those lances that had not broken and drew their swords, wading into the slaughter. Arthur gripped William’s shoulder as he moved to do the same, lifting his visor.

  “Highness?” William asked, as he lifted his own visor.

  “Watch, William. See the true face of war.”

  William’s face, like Arthur’s was streaming sweat, washing away the few drops of blood that had found their way through his visor. He looked about. “It’s bloody.”

  “And uncertain.”

  “But we had a good strategy.”

  “And strategy and tactics are important. But chance as often wins the day. Men’s morale fails. An overconfident commander leads his men to unseen defeat.”

  William reflected for a moment. “There might be others.”

  Arthur nodded. “It is a victory, but never stop thinking.”

  They both looked toward the forest verge. “I see no movement there, Highness.”

  “No. Neither do I. But I’ve had enough of killing for one day. What’s say we seek out Sir Marl.”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  “You fought well, today, William. Your father would be proud of you, of that I’m sure.”

  The boy’s face beamed with pride. “Thank you, Highness.”

  They made their way past archers looting corpses or guaranteeing they were dead. Two held a heavily armoured rebel, while a third slid a thin bladed knife through his visor slit as he struggled. He kicked around, his screams muffled by his helmet, and one of the archers pinned one of his legs between his own foot and the earth, then the point pierced the rebel’s brain and he went limp.

  They found Sir Marl to the north, with a reserve of mounted knights, surveying the scene, keeping a cautious eye on the forest. Oliver rode across the field, his visor up, having left the knights to their slaughtering.

  “Now that we’ve dealt with this rabble,” Arthur said to Sir Marl, “it’s time you continue north. The northern marches are in dire need of your arms. I return to the capital.”

  Chapter 51: Eleanor: Thedra

  Eleanor travelled by night, a large cloak obscuring her features from any curious observers. She had come without her ladies, whom she thought too prone to gossiping, but accompanied by two bodyguards chosen from her caravel’s sailors. She had stayed at the Lake View Inn until sunset. Then she had found a boatman, retiring for the evening. At first he had been reluctant to let her take the boat without him rowing, but a purse heavy with coin had changed his mind. They had rowed out to the west, then under the city, avoiding the glow of lamps on the refuse barges. They had moored the boat at the pier of the Crypt of Kings.

  They climbed in darkne
ss the stair that spiralled about the tower that thrust out of the lake, not lighting a torch or lantern, hidden by the newness of the moon. After the stairway had risen far above the high water mark, they reached a doorway. In the normal course of things only the staff of the High Chamberlain could unlock that door, fashioned of solid granite. He would only do that to allow entry to the bier of a member of the royal family. There were scratches all over it, where would be grave robbers had tried to move it, or, even more foolishly, to break through it.

  There was another way though. Eleanor incanted in a strange, musical language. Her vocal organs strained to express words that were not made for human tongues. She had learned them when she was young, and even then it had hurt to speak them, now she felt they might tear apart her face, her lips, her throat. She focussed all her bodily energy in the expression. She did not call down the gods, as she had done in her cabin at sea, but directly invoked the primal forces of existence, so the effort was much greater, the art more difficult. The words always seemed just beyond her grasp, as if they changed as she spoke them to deny her their power. Her body swayed, and now it was not only her vocal chords, but her entire being that vibrated. Her spine twisted unnaturally with the effort, and the men drew back in horror. Her muscles trembled, her bones shook, and the air about her whispered. They felt the hair rising, on their heads, on their napes, on their arms, as they had when she had summoned the winds that had brought the caravel to port so quickly. Then the whispering air laughed lightly, and Eleanor’s teeth clicked.

  But it wasn’t her teeth clicking. The clicking was coming from the door. Then Eleanor stopped swaying, and with a final click the edge of the door swung slightly ajar. She put her finger to the edge, and the door swung wider, as easily as if it had been light as parchment.

  When inside they lit their lanterns. A stairway descended into the darkness, curving around inside the wall, parallel to the stairway outside. Beyond the stairway yawned a cavernous well. The torchlight could not reach the other side; the Crypt of Kings had a diameter of five hundred yards. Above the dome was only a felt, massive presence. The secrets of its construction were as mysterious as that of the whole city. Giants had built it, said some; gods said others; but nobody truly knew. They descended. It was impossible to tell how far they descended, how many times they completed a circuit of the tower, but after a time the lanterns revealed a lichen that glowed faintly above them after they passed, and moisture beaded on the stones. They reached a rocky floor and she looked back up. The glowing lichen extended in a spiral through several loops before fading with dimness or distance. They were far below the surface of the lake.