by Rachel Lee
In the end, it was not the firm Bozandari anvil that crushed their spirit, nor the swirling Anari hammer. Only the pale pink tendrils in the eastern sky brought relief, for only then did the Enemy suddenly break and flee into what remained of the darkness. Many would not make good their escape, for Jenah’s men pursued them hotly and took no prisoners of the laggards. Denza sank to his knees and heard a moan from beneath him. He looked down and saw that he had knelt on the belly of an enemy soldier, the man’s eyes wet with fear and pain, his breath coming in short gasps.
He raised his sword, ready to slash through the man’s throat, to punish him for the horror that Denza had seen this night, to put him out of his misery, to rid Denza of the hollow, sinking feeling in the pit of his belly. But then he stilled his arm and moved his knees.
“I will get you to our healers,” Denza said, sheathing his sword.
He took the man’s arm and began to lift it over his shoulder, but the man let out a shrill moan that froze Denza in place. The act of lifting the man had opened the wound across his chest, and a bubbling wetness spilled out over Denza’s knees. No healer could save this man. He would be dead long before Denza could get him to an aid station. And to move him only tortured him more.
“Kill me,” the man said.
Denza shook his head. “I have killed enough for one night.”
“I will die regardless,” the man said. “You know it to be true. Spare me the pain.”
He was right. But try as he might, Denza could not bring himself to draw his dagger. “I am sorry. I cannot.”
The man gripped his tunic fiercely. “I would do it for you. Does it matter that I die of a wound you gave in the heat of rage, in battle, or of a wound you gave later, in mercy? Which will lie better on your conscience?”
Denza nodded. This was no longer a locust in a swarm, nor a man whose mind was bent by the dark magick of a hive. He was a man in pain, knowing his death was near, and only seeking to end the pain more quickly. Denza would have done it for a wounded dog. Was this man less than that?
He drew his dagger. “I am sorry, soldier.”
“Be not sorry,” the man said, closing his eyes. “Only be quick and sure.”
Denza plunged the dagger in, closing his eyes as soon as he was certain of his aim. When he opened them, the pain had melted from the man’s face.
He wondered if it would ever melt from his own.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ratha knelt beside Cilla, watching her sleep. The man who seemed to be running the aid station told him little of what had happened, and Ratha had found it difficult to look at her hand. The fingers that had caressed him with such tenderness were now gnarled and curled, shiny, covered by a patina of wavy ripples. Through the night, he had forced himself to look at it again, and again, hoping that with time his stomach would not lurch when he looked upon it.
“I know not whence the power of these women comes,” Crazzi said, looking at Ratha. “But in these past days, we have seen the horror they can wreak, and the good that they can do. I pray that yours will do only good.”
“She will,” Ratha said quietly. “She can do no other, for her soul is pure.”
“I would that we were all thus,” Crazzi said.
“Do you know what happened?” Ratha asked.
Crazzi shook his head. “Not in full. I was wounded in one of the early attacks of the night, and brought here. Then I felt an awful burning, and passed out. But I knew when I was struck that I could only die, and still I live. I can only say that she saved my life. If not my leg.”
Ratha had been so focused on Cilla that he had not examined Crazzi’s wounds. Indeed, where his leg had been there was now only a short, thick stump, tightly wrapped in an herb-soaked bandage.
“That was my decision, sir,” a man said, moving over to them. “She stopped the bleeding, but your leg was cold and blue. I knew it was dying.”
“And you are?” Crazzi asked.
“Tende Kanholt,” the man said. “Of your Third.”
“You did well, Tende Kanholt,” Crazzi said. “You, also, saved my life. And many others here, it seems.”
“We did what we could, sir,” Tende said. He bit his lip before continuing. “There were too many that we could not save.”
“I could have,” Cilla whispered.
Ratha looked down. “You wake.”
Her eyes found his. “Aye, cousin. I wake. If I had not slept…”
“You would likely have died,” Crazzi said. “And how many more would we have lost for lack of an Ilduin?”
“You cannot know that,” Cilla said.
“Nor can you, m’lady. The stain of those who fell last night is not on your soul.” Crazzi looked up at Tende. “Nor on yours, soldier. Torment not yourselves for that which you could not do. We are all grateful for that which you could.”
“Those who can still feel gratitude,” Cilla said, her eyes dark.
“Do not go to that place,” Ratha said, leaning over her. “You will find only darkness and pain, cousin. But you will never find redemption. Not in that place. This truth I know in my soul.”
Finally she nodded. “Yes, cousin. You know.”
Ratha took her good hand in his and kissed her fingers. Then, steeling himself, looking into her eyes, he did the same with her other.
“You need not pretend, cousin,” Cilla said softly, tears in her eyes. “I know it is horrible.”
“I have seen worse,” Ratha said. “And Overmark Crazzi suffered worse. You still have your hand.”
“Aye,” she said. For a long moment, she seemed to almost sink into sleep again, but then opened her eyes. “What of the others? How badly were we hurt last night?”
Ratha drew a breath before he answered. “We lost many, Cilla. Though not as many as we would have had we not Ilduin among us. Jenah’s regiment suffered the worst of it, along with Crazzi’s Golden Eagles.”
“How many?” Crazzi asked.
He had no need to finish the question. “Nearly one hundred, sir,” Tende said. “Almost all of them from the First. Topmark Langen said that, along with his wounded and missing, he lost nearly a third of his strength.”
Crazzi shook his head. “One night of fighting this enemy, and already one of my regiments is shattered. We cannot endure four more nights of this. Not and have any army left to fight at Arderon.”
He tried to roll into a sitting position but quickly fell back onto the cot. Tende put a hand on his chest. “I am sorry, Overmark, but you are not ready for action. Like the Ilduin, you must rest, sir.”
“While my men are hacked apart in these night battles?” Crazzi asked. “I cannot allow it. There must be another way.”
Ratha nodded. “Aye, Overmark. There must. And even now, Annuvil and our commanders are in conference, seeking that other way. I would be with them were I not tending my cousin. But you cannot be, sir. We will have more need of your services once you have rested.”
Crazzi nodded. “Have you a regiment in the Snow Wolves, Ratha Monabi?”
“I had,” Ratha said. “I have delegated command to one of my cousins, that I may serve as Lord Archer’s second.”
“I have seen what your family can do,” Crazzi said, looking at Cilla. “I have no doubt that you share her courage, if not her Ilduin blood. I would like you to command my Golden Eagles.”
Ratha looked at him. The Golden Eagles had been the most reluctant to serve alongside Anari. Now Crazzi, their commander, was asking an Anari to lead them. “Are you certain of this, Overmark?”
Crazzi gripped Ratha’s hand. “None of my topmarks would do better, and I need them where they are. Have no doubt of my men. They will follow you…Overmark Ratha Monabi.”
“I will carry your wish to the war council,” Ratha said. “And I ask you to take care of my cousin, lest her courage overcome her common sense.”
“I will watch her as I would my own daughter,” Crazzi said, smiling at Cilla. “Or perhaps I should say, as I would m
y own mother, for she bore me back into this world last night.”
“Your mother would be proud of you, Crazzi,” Cilla said, smiling weakly. Then she turned to Ratha. “Go now, my cousin. There is much to do, and there are many here to tend me until I am ready to tend others. Do well the duty before you. And return to me whole.”
“I will do my best, my love,” Ratha said, kissing her lips softly. “Soon we can be together.”
“Yes,” she said, returning his kiss. “Soon.”
“We cannot bear another three nights of this,” Tuzza said. “We killed ten of the Enemy for every one we lost, and yet they came on, unrelenting, until the dawn.”
Archer nodded sadly. His brother had bent his army into hives, or at least that portion he had sent out to probe Archer’s positions last night. All told, that had numbered perhaps four thousand, less than a legion. Three in four did not see the dawn, lying in windrows around the camps they had charged so blindly.
But they had taken more than three hundred Anari and Bozandari with them, despite the best efforts of Tess and her sisters, men who died where they fell or bled out long before they could reach an aid station. Jenah’s regiment of the Snow Wolves had taken the worst of the attacks, though not a single regiment had met the dawn unscathed.
“Your Anari fight well,” Maluzza said, nodding to Jenah. “How many did you lose once you turned his flank?”
“Fewer than a dozen,” Jenah said. “But that was near to dawn. Most fell in the early hours of the night.”
Maluzza thought for a moment. “And you say the Enemy took no note of you on his flank?”
Jenah shook his head. “No, sir. They kept pressing the attack on the Bozandari that Overmark Tuzza had sent to my aid. It was as if each man could not see us beside or behind him, until we struck him down.”
“And that is their weakness,” Maluzza said.
“Aye,” Archer said, nodding. “To control a hive takes great power, but it can be only a blunt instrument, aimed and loosed at a single objective. This is what we saw in Lorense as well. Complex maneuvers are beyond their ken.”
“Then every legion, every regiment, must learn this maneuver you used,” Maluzza said. “What did you call it, a hammer and anvil?”
“Yes, sir,” Archer said. “But we spent weeks learning this on the march from Anahar.”
“My men must learn it in a day,” Maluzza said. “This day. We will march no farther today. Alezzi’s men are out scouting the Enemy. Today, our men will drill on this new maneuver, this hammer and anvil.”
“And rest,” Tuzza said. “The men must rest, Emperor.”
“Not until they have drilled,” Maluzza said firmly. “I am sorry, cousin, but it cannot be otherwise. We cannot bear another night like the last. We must stand ready for these…hives. And we must crush them, completely, and prove to the Enemy that such raids will do naught but to drain his own blood. One such night will buy us passage to Arderon.”
“Aye,” Archer said, nodding. “It will be done.”
“Now,” Maluzza said, “what of prisoners? I have heard no reports of them.”
“We took none,” Jenah said flatly. “Those who fought died. Those who fled escaped.”
“And likewise with those who fought the Golden Eagles,” Ratha said, stepping into the tent. “Emperor, Overmark Crazzi will live, but he has lost a leg. He must rest and heal. He has asked me to take command of his legion, and by your leave, sir, I will do so.”
Maluzza arched a brow. “It seems the healing touch of an Anari did much to change his heart.”
“It seems so, sir,” Ratha said.
“Then lead his men well, Overmark Monabi. They are brave and disciplined. Where you lead, they will follow. You have my word.”
“I do not doubt it, sir,” Ratha said.
Archer briefed Ratha on the plan to train the troops in the tactics they had practiced on the road from Anahar, and Ratha quickly agreed. “Yes, Lord Archer. And Crazzi will be glad to hear that we will not suffer another night like the last. The loss of so many of his men saddened him greatly.”
“He is a good officer,” Maluzza said. “Tell him that his legion is in safe hands, and we will return it whole to him when he is ready for duty.”
“Have we anything else?” Archer asked, looking around the tent. “If not, there is much to do by nightfall. Let us make ready. Tonight the locusts will not swarm us. We will swarm them.”
Tess lifted her head from a pile of bandages, shocked to see that the sun was high overhead. Her body still felt as if every limb were bearing the weight of the world, but she roused herself, finding her way to her knees and then to her feet.
“Are you hungry, Lady Tess?” Odetta asked, walking over to her. “We have kept some stew warm for you.”
“Why did you let me sleep so late?” Tess demanded.
“You had not slept for more than two days,” Odetta said calmly. “Lord Archer ordered that all of our Ilduin be allowed to sleep undisturbed. You, they, had less sleep than any of us on the march across the Plain of Glass, and then with last night’s fighting…”
Tess did not need a reminder of the previous night. She had seen what a hive could do in Lorense, but that had been a small hive and they had not struck in mass. Last night, the horror had been multiplied a thousand-fold, and the stream of casualties had been endless. The sun had been well above the horizon when finally she had found no more whom she could treat, and had thought to lie down for a moment’s rest. She had slept much longer than that.
“Please, Lady Tess,” Odetta said. “You must eat now.”
Much as the memories of last night revolted her, she knew he was right. “Aye. But please ensure that the wounded have been fed first.”
“They have been, m’lady. I knew you would expect no less, and thought to save myself the argument.”
Tess smiled. “You are a mother hen, Odetta. And a wise one at that.”
Once she had eaten, she began to feel her energy return. And none too soon, for many of the wounded were in need of further tending. Most of the men were in good spirits as she changed bandages and replaced poultices, though some were still reeling from the shock of the last night’s battle.
“They wouldn’t stop,” one Anari said, tears in his eyes as he stared at his hands. “We killed so many, and they wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop.”
He repeated the words over and over, barely aware as she changed the bandage on his thigh. The wound had not been deep, and it was healing well. His gaze never left his hands, and Tess grew concerned that she had missed some wound there in the bustle and fatigue. But as she reached for them, he pulled them away, looking up at her in fear.
“No,” he said. “Too much blood. They wouldn’t stop.”
His eyes were on hers, but it was as if he was looking through her into eternity. Thousand-yard stare. The words came from her military service in her previous life. The eyes of a man who has seen and done and borne more than his mind can handle.
“Fetch me some water,” Tess said to Odetta. “And a clean bandage.”
“We are short of bandages, m’lady,” Odetta said.
“Find me something,” Tess said. “Something clean. Do it now, Odetta.”
Minutes later, he returned with the water and a scrap of pale gold fabric. When she took it in her hands, it was as soft as fleece, yet seemed to slide through her fingers like liquid silk. She looked up at Odetta.
“It is from my bedroll, m’lady,” he said. “My mother is a master weaver. She fashioned this for me when I joined the army, and I have carried it with me since.”
She nodded and paused a moment, wondering whether to use so precious an heirloom in this way.
“She would be honored if it helped him,” Odetta said softly.
Tess dipped the cloth into the water and then met the Anari’s eyes. “Let me wash your hands, my friend.”
“They wouldn’t stop,” the man mouthed almost silently.
He nodded,
whether to her or to some scream he was hearing from the night before, and Tess gently took first his right hand and then his left, stroking them with the smooth, damp fabric. There was no blood on his skin, and only the small cuts and scrapes that they all bore by now. Still, she continued to draw the cloth over his wrists, palms, and fingers, in a slow, soothing rhythm.
Focus crept back into his eyes, as if his mind were fighting to swim to the surface of a thick sludge. When he looked up again, Tess knew he saw her.
“Why wouldn’t they stop?” he asked.
“It was not their fault,” Tess whispered, still holding his hands in the warm, damp cloth. “The Enemy took over their minds and their wills.”
“I did not hate them,” he said, blinking back a torrent of tears. “I promise I did not hate them.”
“No,” Tess said, feeling her own eyes prickle with moisture. “You did not kill in hate. You are a soldier, and a brave soldier. You fought to save your kin.”
His chest began to heave as sobs burst forth. His head shook and his hands squeezed hers. “I do not want to be a soldier again. Please.”
A callous soul might have thought this cowardice, Tess thought. It was nothing of the sort. This man’s soul bore a weight that not even her Ilduin gifts could lift. It was not courage he lacked, but the cold, implacable spirit that allowed a man to kill without remorse. She could not condemn him for that, and yet she knew he would not feel whole until he could return to his unit.
“You saved many of your cousins last night.”
“Did I?” he asked. “So many fell.”
“And how many more would have fallen, had men like you not stood bravely?”
The words seemed to sink into his consciousness, like water into finely spun wool. He drew his hands from hers and looked at them, turning them, curling and releasing his fingers. He closed his eyes and brought them to his nose and inhaled slowly, wide nostrils flaring.
Finally his eyes opened.
“This war must end,” he said.
Tess nodded. “Aye. It must.”
He stood, wincing from the obvious pain in his thigh, and flexed his hands. “I must return to my cousins.”