In an instant, Goronwy was beside him. “My lord!”
“You and I will lead men east to attack the Saxons from the rear,” Cade said.
“But my lord!” Goronwy said. “I thought—”
“You thought we’d ride to rescue Dafydd and Rhiann?” Cade said. “Rhun will see to them.” Cade met Rhun’s eyes and he nodded. With a shout, Rhun and his forty men rode off into the dark. It was only a mile. They’d be there before Cade’s group had even left the road.
“Do you need more of an explanation?” Cade asked Goronwy.
Goronwy’s chin was like granite. “No, my lord.” He traced the path of the departing cavalry with his eyes. His anger was like a dark cloud, but Cade knew he was making the right choice.
“Emotion is a mistake in battle, Goronwy. More often than not, it gets people killed,” Cade said, deciding that explanation was more important than silence in this instance. A lord wasn’t required to explain his reasoning, but sometimes it was better to do so, especially to men such as Goronwy, with whom Cade was more or less equal. If Cade ascended the throne of Gwynedd, it would be because of men such as Goronwy.
“I know it,” Goronwy said, through gritted teeth. “I just don’t like it.” Cade granted him that, not happy about leaving Rhiann to Rhun either.
The horse’s hooves thundered along the stony road as Goronwy followed Cade, along with eight others, back towards Llanllugan. He then led them off the road and under the trees, skirting the place where he’d left the dead men. They headed north through the woods, keeping the river to their left.
After only a quarter of a mile, they approached the point where the Saxons were crossing the ford. Cade didn’t know that he’d ever heard so much shouting and revelry by any group of warriors in any battle. Their discipline was negligible, which was why most of them wouldn’t live to see the dawn.
Cade’s company came out of the trees and onto the road the Saxons had followed from Caer Forden a hundred yards east of the rear of the Saxon’s force. It was a Welsh track, not a Roman one, and thus narrower and comprised of packed earth, not stone. Most of the Saxons were already across the Rhiw and in heavy fighting with the cavalry led by Rhun and Geraint. Cade’s men would truly would surprise them.
“Form up,” Goronwy said, keeping his voice low, not that the Saxons would have heard him if he’d blasted a horn. “We’ll ride straight for the river crossing.”
The men obeyed him, moving into position. Before he took his place at the front of the line, Goronwy looked back at Cade, a questioning expression on his face.
“I’ll bring up the rear,” Cade said.
Goronwy nodded and urged his horse into a trot. Cade found himself beside a man-at-arms younger than he by the name of Hywel. A pungent scent of fear seeped from him and he swallowed hard.
“My lord,” Hywel said. “I heard a rumor that not every man here is a Saxon. That some are ...” he paused to swallow again.
“Demons?” Cade said. “Creatures of the Underworld? Undead warriors returned to stalk the living?”
“Yes,” he said. “Is it true?”
“It is,” Cade said, simply. “That’s why I’m riding with you. Stay close and don’t hesitate.”
“Yes, my lord.” Hywel shot another fearful glance at Cade, but then seemed to master himself. His heartbeat slowed. Now that they were on the road, the sky showed lighter, indicating the approaching dawn. Time always seemed to speed up when there was too much to do. At least the clouds had not dispersed so the dawn would not bring the sun with it. That was to Cade’s benefit, and to how many others?
Cade pulled his sword from his sheath. He hadn’t mentioned to anyone—particularly to Rhun or Taliesin—how the sword made him feel. While it felt right in his hand, at the same time it augmented his already considerable power and made it that much harder to control. The blade shone dully in the moonlight, giving no sign of what was happening inside him and it. Cade nodded at Hywel and Hywel pulled out his own sword. Its metal glinted, a match to Cade’s. The action seemed to give Hywel courage.
“Now!” Goronwy said.
The company raced to the river ford and into the rear of the Saxon army. Cade’s sword arm rose and fell as he hit one man and then another from behind. Soon the formation broke apart as the horses were slowed by the falling bodies, as well as those Saxons that turned and matched Cade’s men blow for blow. If not for the surcoats his men wore, it would have been impossible to tell one side from the other.
Cade felled a Saxon and then turned to kick a demon in the face as he approached, his axe held high. Cadfan reared, whinnying furiously, his front hooves pawing the air, inadvertently taking out yet another man. To Cade’s right, a man-at-arms fell into the river and was set upon by a fighter with a hideous mask for a face. Cade urged Cadfan towards them. Dropping his shield, he switched his sword from his right hand to his left and then swung it, severing the demon’s head from his body.
This last attack brought Cadfan through the bulk of the men on the bank so Cade turned the horse back to continue the fight. During the time it took to swing Cadfan around, Cade checked the progress of the battle across the river. Cade’s group had arrived at least a quarter of an hour after the cavalry and the chaos on the west bank was far worse than on the east. It looked as if all forty of Rhun’s cavalry had crashed through the line of Saxons, felling many, before turning to attack again. Cade didn’t see Geraint, although Rhun was unmistakable with his bulky body, high helmet, and feathered plume.
Along the road, following the cavalry, the line of foot soldiers came on fast. They no longer marched. The first ranks had broken into a run once they saw that the fight was in full swing. They held their spears and axes high and their mouths were open in that universal war cry that men shouted to give themselves courage.
As the foot soldiers hit the Saxon army from the side, what had survived of their formation broke completely apart. Unfortunately, the panic that ensued engulfed Cadfan, who reared again, this time dancing backwards. Cade clasped him around the neck, leaning forward to urge him to calm, but the stallion lost his footing in the mud and both he and Cade went down, with Cade slipping his feet from the stirrups before the horse crushed him into the bank.
Cade stumbled as he hit the ground and had to put his free hand into the mud to maintain his balance. Cadfan fell sideways, half-submerging his body in the river. Cade went waist deep into the water to grab his bridle and Cadfan struggled to his feet, thankfully not seriously hurt. Once upright, he burst away, out of the shallows, heading east up the road they’d just come down. Helpless to stop him, Cade watched him race past Saxon men fighting not only Welshmen but also each other, clawing and scrambling to see who could retreat faster from the western bank of the Rhiw.
They were fleeing Cade’s men, but more than that, they were fleeing their own demon allies, whom they’d enlisted—or more likely had enlisted them—for battle. A demon with three horns across his forehead and unholy, red eyes appeared in front of Cade. He swung a massive axe at Cade’s chest, which Cade met with his sword, a clang ringing out at the impact. The force of the blow unbalanced them both. The demon’s strength was incredible and to Cade’s dismay, he recovered as quickly as Cade himself.
Cade was far stronger than a normal man at any time, but when he allowed the creature within him to surface, when he truly unleashed that dreadful power, he had yet to find a being he could not defeat. Facing the demon across the muddy bank, Cade realized that regardless of who saw him, he needed that added strength if he was going to survive the battle. His sword was channeling power in a way Cade knew he could use, even if demons had no life force to drain. Before the demon pounced again, Cade allowed the full fury of the darkness within him to shine out, just as it had when he’d killed the Saxon in front of Rhiann. It was just as well that he no longer rode Cadfan. The urgency of Cade’s power was upon him, and even his horse might not have been safe from it.
Cade retreated up the bank, using the
high ground against the demon. He countered the creature’s attack with controlled swings of his sword. Then, Cade sensed movement behind him and split his attention enough to check his back. Another demon was bearing down on him, this one carrying a pike. Before he could reach Cade, he impaled one of his own Saxon allies on the end of it (probably by mistake, but one could never tell with demons). Cade twisted out of his path, spinning around to his left in order to meet the first demon’s axe again, while the creature with a pike continued up the road and away from the battle.
Cade managed to hook the edge of the demon’s axe on the hilt of his sword, and took the opportunity to duck under his guard. He jolted the top of his head against the demon’s chin. The monster’s teeth snapped together as the force of the blow pushed him backwards into the water. He fell spread-eagled. Cade pounced on him, at last able to slide his sword across the demon’s neck, severing his head from his body.
No sooner had he pulled away, however, when another demon set upon him, and then a third. Cade fought and slashed and pushed his way back up the bank until he stood back to back with Hywel, who’d managed to survive the onslaught, despite being on foot. Like Cade, Hywel had lost his horse in the initial foray and had been fighting as well as any demon—although he wasn’t one—ever since.
Hywel was carrying himself with a single-minded intensity that was rare in a human. The fear Cade had sensed in him before was gone, replaced by simple sweat, and a blankness to his mind that told Cade that he saw nothing, felt nothing, but the sword in his hand and the enemies who died upon it.
Cade no longer had heartbeats to count, but he could count Hywel’s: one hundred, two hundred, two thousand passed and still they fought through the dawn, covered in blood and mud, twisting and turning as they hacked away at the men and demons who attacked them. Cade, his arms vibrating with the power of the sword, shoved his blade through the throat of a longhaired Saxon with a two-handed sword he was too tired to lift, and then turned as he sensed a horseman above him.
“Cadwaladr.”
Cade held his sword up, holding the newcomer at bay for another heartbeat before he registered that he was looking at a friend instead of a foe. It was Rhun. At last, Cade let his arms fall and bowed his head, feeling his strength ebbing away. Hywel fell to his knees, his sword buried point down in the mud. He pressed his face into the cross formed by the sword and hilt and sobbed, more from exhaustion than grief, though that would come soon enough.
Cade swayed and then straightened. “Is it over?”
“We’ve clean-up work still.”
Cade nodded. “I’ve lost Cadfan. He was alive, last I saw, but running east, away from battle.”
“I’ll find you a horse,” Rhun said. “We’ve some to spare.”
They shared a look, knowing that there were only horses to spare when the men who rode them had dismounted for the last time. “I’ll walk up the road and try to find him first. How many Saxons made it along the trail after the peasants?”
“Some,” Rhun said. “I don’t know their numbers.”
“So you haven’t seen Rhiann?” Cade said. “You sent someone after her, didn’t you?” Panic—instead of power—rose in him at the thought that he’d left her and Dafydd without support, before reason reasserted itself.
“I sent Geraint and a dozen men to her the instant we’d cleared the first line of Saxons,” Rhun said. “They’ve not yet returned.”
“I need you to go there now,” Cade said.
“Wouldn’t you rather ... see to her yourself?”
“Yes,” Cade said. “Of course I would, but it’s better that I don’t. I’ll come after I take care of things here.”
“Yes, my lord,” Rhun said, uncharacteristically giving Cade his title. Cade didn’t know what to make of that, except that perhaps it was a commentary on the distance Cade’s inhumanness placed between them at times like these. Rhun turned and spurred his horse back across the river toward the trail that Rhiann and the villagers had taken. Cade watched him go, feeling in his mind for some sense of grief or despair, but finding none. She’s well. I know it. Oh Christ, she has to be.
Cade faced the carnage at his feet. Dead men littered the bank, along with severed limbs, horses, and lifeblood. He looked across the river to the larger battlefield. Strewn across the ground were a hundred dead and half-dead Saxons. Fewer Welshman lay among them, but still too many. It was awful, as always. Cade put a hand on Hywel’s shoulder, squeezed once, and let go. Hywel had stopped crying and now levered himself to his feet.
“You wielded your sword like King Arthur himself,” Cade said.
“It was your example that gave me the will to fight,” Hywel said. “You fought with the strength of ten men.”
Because I have the strength of ten men. Not that I feel it at the moment. The growing daylight, coupled with the long battle had left Cade weaker than he liked. I’ve killed so many already, what’s a few more? With a nod at Hywel, which he returned, Cade faced away from the river and headed into the woods. Many frightened Saxons had retreated there. He would find all that he needed in the darkness among the trees.
Chapter Three
Rhiann
Press. Loose. Press. Loose.
The first Saxon to appear between the boulders wasn’t even looking Rhiann’s way when she shot him. He fell with an arrow through his throat, thrown backward by the impact. The second Saxon who’d been a step behind had been speaking to the first. In the space of time it took Rhiann to press and loose another arrow, he just stood in the path, stunned at the sight of his companion on the ground. Her arrow hit him in the side of the neck. He crumpled to the trail, falling with the torch he carried still in his hand. It lay there beside his body, flaming brightly, just on Rhiann’s side of the boulder.
A third Saxon who’d been near the other two was alert enough to dive to safety back the way he’d come. Rhiann took a breath in the pause that followed, picturing men crouching behind the boulder. Surely they were hesitating, unsure of what they would find on the other side of the narrow passage.
Rhiann was thankful for the darkness that hid her and sent a grateful message to Cade in her head for his repeated lecture on night vision. Don’t think of him; don’t think of him; think only of the bow, sighting down the arrow, and loosing it.
The torch continued to blaze brightly on the ground. It was a fresh one and any men who came after would be lit by its glare. Probably the Saxons knew that too. A single foot appeared around the edge of the boulder, and then a head poked out. The man opened his mouth to speak and Rhiann shot him before he could tell his companions what faced them.
Another pause, accompanied by some shouts and guttural sounds which didn’t mean anything to Rhiann. Clearly the Saxons were doing something that she couldn’t see from where she stood. Another shout came from behind the rock and then two men surged over the top of the boulder, thrown upwards by their companions. Rhiann shot one as he perched, staring at her, trying to discern what was felling all his friends. Rhiann’s next arrow only hit the second man in his right shoulder, but it made him overbalance and he jerked and fell backwards out of sight.
More shouting. Had that man been able to distinguish her shape in the dark? Did the Saxons now know that they only faced a lone archer?
After waiting through a count of fifty, a man walked without haste through the gap between the boulders and headed straight towards Rhiann. His calm rattled her and she misfired, hitting him in the left side of his belly. He stopped, bending forward as he did so, but as she aimed again, he straightened. He’d removed her arrow from his midsection and now held it in his left hand. He grinned wickedly at her, and threw it to the ground.
He can see me! Rhiann shot him again, this time in the left shoulder. He kept coming, and then she knew for certain that he was a demon and how dangerous that made him. The creature moved so fast, she could barely make him out once he’d left the range of the torchlight. He shouted something over his shoulder at the men behind
him; words Rhiann didn’t understand. Cade’s admonition to ‘aim for the neck or the heart’ popped into her head. Rhiann narrowed her eyes, submitting to the instinct that told her to just keep firing. Finally, she sent an arrow through his throat. He gasped and fumbled with his hands at his neck. Then Rhiann shot him one last time in the center of his mass.
He fell backwards. Rhiann didn’t think she’d killed him, but hoped it was enough to keep him down for a while. Men shouted in Saxon and when the being on the ground didn’t respond, two Saxons came through the gap. They held out their swords in front of them, but instead of directing their attention at Rhiann, faced away from her. Someone was forcing them to leave the safety of the rocks and they were more afraid of him than of her. It was ignoble to shoot a man in the back, but Rhiann did it anyway.
More and more Saxons appeared, spurred by something behind the rocks that they feared more than her arrows. Rhiann pressed and loosed one arrow after another until her initial confidence and the feeling of calm she’d managed to find within herself drained away. All that was left was a sick pit of fear in her stomach: a fear that she couldn’t continue this indefinitely; a fear that she would run out of arrows.
Then, like the miracle he was, Dafydd appeared at her side and scrambled onto the boulder, followed by Taliesin. Rhiann was so happy to see them, tears welled in her eyes. She fought them back, knowing that she couldn’t shoot if she couldn’t see, and at the moment, her shooting was the only thing keeping them alive.
“By all the gods and goddesses, my lady, keep firing.” Taliesin stuffed a handful of arrows into Rhiann’s quiver. He then helped Dafydd buckle a borrowed quiver onto his back. “Daylight is coming. We won’t have the gloom to hide in much longer.”
Rhiann nodded and continued to work. A competent archer can fire arrows so quickly that they come one after the other, in a relentless stream. All it takes is the ability to pull an arrow from the quiver, press it into the bow, and release it. Press, loose. Press, loose.
The Pendragon's Blade (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 2) Page 3