by M. S. Brook
The terrified children went to ground, hiding among the grain and in the ditches, but it wouldn’t last long. The fire would soon flush them out.
Before I could take it in, there was a great shout across the river, and I turned back to see. From his vantage at the top of the drawbridge, Saduk raised his right arm and dropped it in a swift chop. The keepers let go of their leashes, and the vithons leapt forward. In a wild swarm, they poured out of the gates and swept down the long stone bridge, gaining speed as they came. All around me, strong fists tightened on weapons and reins as the bronze-colored throng rushed toward our front lines.
“Engage spears!” shouted Constable Carlin.
The first vithons reached the bottom of the bridge and sprang across the short distance to our line. In the strange illumination of the fire, the vithons’ bronze-colored hides appeared as red as the crest on Domaine’s flag. Jaws open, the vicious beasts thrust into our front, and the whole line swayed inward at the center. It was like every other vithon attack, only multiplied. Many of the vithons leapt wildly onto well-aimed spears. Others evaded the spears and sprang between defenders, only to be stopped by the next line of men. One of the vithons darted through the lines and made for our flank. It clawed up the back of a yeoman’s horse and dragged it to the ground, man and all. Azar and two of our Eagle patrol ran for it, waving their spears, but they were too late to save the yeoman. The vithon’s roaring mixed with the shrieking of man and horse until Azar cut it down with a violent thrust.
The front lines were already weakening, vithons slipping through as they were joined by more vithons pouring off the bridge. Guardians from the flanks quickly moved up to support the front and contain the vithons on the plain, keeping them away from the town.
The bowmen around us were restless at being shut out from the fight. “Why can’t we go and help them?” I asked Rowland.
“In a minute the vithons will break through the line, and the Bezarqs will follow.” Rowland pointed his bow toward the bridge where mounted Bezarqs waited in the gateway. “We must be in position to take them.”
I swallowed my impatience and looked toward Bal Zor. Many of the Bezarqs had left their positions on the bulwarks to prepare for their assault. The Bezarqs crowded the gateway, but the bridge was still thick with vithons. For every vithon our men killed, another charged onto the field. I could tell by the hunted look in Rowland’s eyes that he was looking for a way to follow his orders and get me out. Still, I couldn’t just sit there, waiting. There was shouting and screaming and death all around. The flames of Balton’s harvest were advancing, the breeze pushing the fire to leap from terrace to terrace. The thatch roofs and wooden timbers of Balton would go up like a torch, leaving throngs of Dominians trapped between fire and sword. Eventually our forces, together with our followers and the inhabitants of Balton, would have nowhere to go but the river. Our reserves, if they were still alive, would not be able to get to us for the wall of fire behind us. I stared at the green flames still swirling behind the dark silhouette of Bal Zor. Were the lights a mockery of the real fire? Or were they a message?
There was no way to reach the minstrels, so I started singing on my own, high and clear as though I were a bell tower pealing over the fields.
“Fear and deceit will never win;
This shining truth will overcome.
Dark cannot hide the break of day;
The night must bow to dawn’s pure ray.”
I sang it like a chant, rapping my fist on my shield. Before long, our wing of archers was chanting too in deep, rough voices and drumming on their shields. I made a ride down to the standard bearer near Carlin and plucked my rainbow-colored standard, Rowland following in my wake.
Something stirred in me that I’d never felt before. I maneuvered Morningstar along the flank, singing with all my might: “Dark cannot hide the break of day; the night must bow to dawn’s pure ray!” I raised my banner high, whirling it in a figure eight overhead. It streamed behind me as I galloped back and forth from one end of the flank to the other. The warriors cheered as the colors passed them, and their shouts stirred my heart all the more. If it’s possible for a young woman to roar like a lion, I did so. I paused to catch my breath and heard a faint sound of pipes and drums coming from the square—and then it came to me.
Rowland’s mouth was still open in a deep-throated roar. I tossed my flag to him and flashed past. “Don’t follow me!” I unslung my bow and jabbed my heels into Morningstar’s flanks. He surged into full gallop toward the river. Ignoring the shouts behind me, I looked ahead. There were still archers on the wall, though their numbers had thinned. They raised their bows and shot as one—half a moment too soon, their arrows striking the ground in front of me. I dropped my reins. My body was one with Morningstar, anticipating the arc of his powerful lunge forward. I notched an arrow and sighted on Saduk.
One shot. I drew in a slow breath and pulled the bow taut. I closed my eyes, thought better of it, and snapped one eye open on my target.
I let fly. Grabbing the reins with my left hand, I poked with my right knee. Morningstar pulled hard to the right flank, and we tore out of reach of returning arrows, swerving back and forth until we were out of range and up the bank to our wing. Rowland had ridden across to intercept me.
“What were you thinking?”
“Did I hit him?” I gasped.
Rowland shook his head. “You might have hit his breastplate. He seemed to stagger back, and we thought you had him. But he rose up again, none the worse. He waved at us. I think he might have been laughing.”
I slumped over, my heart still pounding. “I had to try.”
“Well, don’t try again. They’ll be waiting for you next time.”
I patted Morningstar’s neck. He was quivering and slick with sweat, his sides heaving.
“There’s something you missed.” Rowland pointed behind Balton, where scores of brave Dominians were helping the remaining children out of the fields. The Blackcoat archers had stopped shooting. Their backs were to the fire, and I saw why. A large company of horsemen had emerged from the woods, moonlight gleaming on their helmets and shields. They were advancing on the Blackcoats, pushing them into the fire.
“Our reserves! They’ve come!”
“The Blackcoats must have been blinded by the fire and didn’t see them coming.”
“Finally, something’s going our way.”
“That’s not all. Look behind us.”
Unnoticed in the confusion, townsfolk had gone to the outer bend of the river. They stood in a long line and were passing irrigation buckets up to the fire. With no enemy archers to worry about, the Dominians were soaking their cloaks in the buckets and beating back the flames. If they kept it up, they might stop the fire from jumping to the lower terraces. More townsfolk were hastening to join them, bringing spades and wet sacks.
“They can still save the town!” I said to Rowland.
“Perhaps, but it’s not looking good at the front.”
On the bridge, the Bezarqs were coming on, riding single file beside the vithons. The vithons had torn gaps through our front lines and were deep into the softer middle now. The middle had opened in the center to contain the vithons inside a circle of our troops. The vithons repeatedly tested the strength of the surrounding circle, but the men were shoulder to shoulder, knowing that if the vithons broke through, they would shortly be into the minstrels and then the townsfolk.
The ferocious beasts were too quick to be held back for long. A half dozen or so broke through and reached the square, where our Dominian followers were still trapped. People were screaming and pushing, the Evergreens torn between fighting the vithons and keeping the frightened Dominians from crushing each other in their fear.
The first of the Bezarqs came into range on the bridge, and it was time for the bowmen to shine. We aimed for the place between the helmet and the heavy breastplate
Bezarqs wore. We knocked off a good number of them, but not enough. Many more were coming. Those who escaped our arrows tangled with our overrun front lines. Constable Carlin was busy moving the Guardians on the flanks to support the front. Even so, my little ride into arrow range didn’t go unnoticed. Brady came with new orders for Rowland and I.
“Constable wants us to make a corridor between the river and the fire. Give the Dominians and minstrels a chance to escape while we still hold the field.”
Carlin was sending me as far from trouble as he could. At best I had only a few more minutes to influence the battle before I would be packed off with the minstrels. Rowland and I followed Brady behind the Evergreen lines. The smoke was much heavier here. We were all coughing, and the minstrels had nearly given up playing. Rowland and I took positions along the escape route to guide the Dominians. We readied our spears, watching for vithons.
“Follow me!” Brady shouted to the first of the Dominians. “We’re going below the fields and on to the top of the river bend. The fire fighters have opened a gap along the river. Don’t stop until you’re far away from Balton!”
Led by Brady, a long line of Dominians fled toward the smoky but as yet unburnt lower fields, heading toward the bend of the Zor and the lines of water buckets. The escapees were huddled together, heads down, exhausted from the horrors of the day, hurrying and stumbling along in the darkness. I couldn’t bear to see them go like that. Not after all we’d been through together.
“Come on!” I shouted to the minstrels. “Let’s send them off with the song ringing in their ears!” I waved my spear in the smoky air and began to sing again. Our brave children dug forgotten whistles out of their pockets, and the Dominians sang with us as they waited to make their escape. The minstrels, though worn out and half-sick from the smoke, took me at my word and played with force. The pipes snarled and the drums roared, the flutes soaring into the heights, shrilling in defiance.
“On wings of song we rise to thee,
Our mouths are wide, our hearts are free.
Injustice falls and wrong’s made right,
Above the night we soar to light…”
We guided the people toward the river, keeping an eye on the vithons behind us. And then I noticed that the nearest ones, in the center of the field, seemed to have faltered and broken off their rampage. I clutched my spear and peered at the field, where our men had struggled to contain them a few minutes earlier.
“You see that?” I shouted to Rowland. “Something’s happening with the vithons!”
Rowland and I strained to see through the haze. The vithons were making an odd moaning sound. They roused when Guardians approached them, snapping their great jaws and writhing on the ground as if some force was holding them down. Our men fell to it and surrounded the vithons. They jabbed and baited with their spears, following with a deadly thrust. Vithon after vithon swallowed Guardian spears; the weakened beasts seemed unable to put up their usual fight.
“Maybe the smoke’s bothering them,” I said.
Rowland pointed to one of the vithons off to the side by itself. “Look at that. It’s scratching its ears.”
I couldn’t hear him over the children’s whistles and the growling roar of the pipes. Rowland made a scratching motion at his ear—and I saw it.
“It’s the sound!” I shouted. “It must be hurting those big ears—confusing them.”
Rowland nodded his head. “You could be right!”
It was a flaw in Saduk’s perfect plan, too small to make much difference. The vithons that had broken into the center of the field were well contained, for now, but the front was still in great danger. More vithons were charging off the bridge and tearing into our weakening lines, and the Bezarqs coming with them would eventually overwhelm us. Still, a loose thread could unravel a whole garment…if someone pulled on it.
“I’m going to bring the minstrels down to the bridge,” I said to Rowland.
The minstrels found their second wind when they heard what the song was doing to the vithons. I led them along the same route as the escaping Dominians. We were coughing and gasping in the smoke, but the minstrels pressed on, still playing as they marched. I took them to the right front flank not far from Constable Carlin and his officers. The minstrels dug in. The pipes and flutes lashed out, and the drummers beat the rims of their drums. From the route where the Dominians were walking, the sound of voices joined the instruments. I worked my way to the Constable.
“What are you doing?” Carlin snapped. “You’re meant to be evacuating these people, not getting in the way!”
“Sir, look at the vithons.”
All along the front and even on the bridge, the vithons were slowing, some of them turning in bewildered confusion as if they were chasing their tails. On the bridge, they clustered in knots. The long line of Bezarqs behind them were close to a standstill, and from everywhere came the same strange moaning sound we’d heard on the field.
The keepers swarmed down the bridge to their charges and began pulling on their leashes and shouting, but in spite of their prodding, the vithons showed no signs of quitting their odd performance. Shaking their ugly heads, they clawed and scratched themselves and snarled at their masters, resisting all efforts to get them moving closer to the sound we were making. The keepers managed to drag the vithons up and run them a bit further, but they soon collapsed into a heap and went back to scratching and wailing.
By now the song was at full throat. The piercing sound of flutes and pipes echoed over the water. The nearest vithons on the field were rolling in torment, rubbing the back of their claws over their large, pointed ears as the sound swelled louder than ever, wild and raw into the night.
Carlin looked at me and shrugged. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up!”
All along the front, our song became a wild roar. At our flanks the yeomen found the hunting horns attached to their saddles and blew mighty blasts into the air. The fleeing Dominians came back and filled in behind us, singing and clapping in rhythm, the children blowing on their shrill whistles. The warriors kept the cadence going with sword and shield, drumming out all resistance to our voice. Our mighty chorus welled up and rolled over the river plain, making it impossible for anything else to be heard.
There was no denying that the sound had an effect on our enemy. Every note sung, every beat struck, was a terrible blow to the vithons. All along the length of the bridge, they cowered, fouling the flow on the span.
The Bezarqs must have felt it too, but they were not so easily foiled. They shoved and cursed their way past the vithons and came on in a straggly line. Rowland and I took up our bows again and set about knocking Bezarqs off the bridge before they were near enough to employ their weapons.
I spared a moment to look toward Balton, where the townsfolk had made gaps in the once solid wall of fire. Using spades, they threw dirt at the base of the flames, others taking turns swatting the fire with wet grain sacks, cloaks, and anything they could get their hands on. Several riders, one of whom was Connor, the head scout, broke through a gap in the fire and came galloping down the Balton Road. “The conscripts have rebelled against their Bezarq masters!” Conor reported to Constable Carlin.
“What is your situation?”
“We’re still fighting Bezarqs, but there aren’t many left. The conscripts are not engaging—they were already upset with the Bezarqs for taking the children, but when they saw the town’s harvest going up in flames and all of Balton in peril, it drove them to action.”
“Well done! Finish with the Bezarqs and call for the conscripts to surrender. Tell them that Saduk’s plan has failed, and they will be protected if they lay down their arms.”
Conor headed back up the road. In midfield the vithons were lying in motionless heaps, allowing the middle rows of Guardians to move forward in support of the front. Not a single vithon had broken through the line since I’d moved the
minstrels. They struggled and snapped when baited, but the greenest recruit had no trouble finding the soft spot and running through that black vithon heart.
On the bridge brawny keepers dragged their vithons forward, inch by inch. A good number of Bezarqs were able to squeeze their horses past the snarl of vithons, but their passage was slowed. And then Saduk seemed to lose his head. He began shouting and waving his fist at the keepers and vithons holding up his advance. Chastened by Saduk, the keepers increased their efforts, but the vithons continued to balk. The keepers’ persuasion had little effect except to further agitate their charges.
The Bezarq horsemen who managed to get past the vithons were not out of trouble. Their horses were frightened by the vithons and required a tight rein to keep them on the bridge. That left the Bezarqs no free hand to raise sword or shield. They were not prepared for the hail of arrows that hit them as they galloped to the end of the span, and those fortunate enough to slip past the arrows were met by our resolute front line. Before the Bezarqs could scramble into formation, they felt the bite of our swords. Bezarq bodies began to pile up along the foot of the bridge.
The smell of blood from the dying Bezarqs wafted over to the vithons on the bridge, and their wild agitation worsened. They snapped at whatever was in their way. Nervous horses threw their riders into the river, their uncontrolled hooves slashing at keepers and vithons alike. With no one to guide them, they reared up and fell against the stone sides of the bridge, further clogging the way.
At the top of the drawbridge, Saduk continued to shout orders and wave his arms, but no one could hear him. The sound of our song, rolling across the river, had silenced his voice. At last he jerked his horse forward and galloped down the stone bridge. His men tried to make room for him, but he showed no mercy. Those who failed to get clear went for an unexpected dive into the water or were trampled down by his charger’s hooves. Swinging a flail over his head, he plowed into the swarms of rebellious vithons cowering along the bridge, the heavy metal ball splattering black gore and chunks of vithon flesh over his victims.