The Legion archers sent a return volley. The arrows dug into wooden beams, some bounced off and fell into the street, and others vanished through open shutters. The faces in the windows disappeared.
The footmen reached the foot of the main road and stopped. The New Guard cavalry did not carry lances, but looked intent on forcing the charge with the strength of momentum alone. Their riders dropped their heads and lay flat against their steeds, awaiting the coming collision. They must not have seen the pikes in the second line, for they did not slow when the footmen sank to their knees. The first two rows of pikemen kneeled behind them, their pikes resting level on the shoulders of the footmen, and the second two rows held at port, forming a wall of pointed steel.
Horses screamed. Men cried out in pain. Pikes shattered. The footmen on point were buried beneath horseflesh. The pike rows staggered. Others lay sprawled, knocked down by the sheer force. New guardsmen struggled to untangle themselves from stirrups and the weight of bodies, their horses converted to pincushions. Bell watched as one guardsman took a pike just below his helm, through his neck as he tried to stand. Only a handful of footmen shambled from the mass of bodies, their shields raised. They had given their lives to protect the pikes from arrows, a sacrifice that had likely saved all of them. The remaining horsemen were few.
“Pikes advance,” Cyleste ordered. “Take the inlet.”
The hornsman relayed the order with a short squeal. The pikes climbed over the dead, both the enemy cavalry and their own footmen. The stunned riders had no time to wheel and regroup. Pikes drove through chainmail and clanked off shields. Soldiers fell from their mounts and the pikes surrounded them. Wooden butts flashed in quick succession; jab in, pull out. The pikemen made quick work of the remaining cavalry, but that only left them vulnerable. Paned windows flew open on their flanks, and in a blink, arrows pierced the plate-clad soldiers, making pikemen into porcupines. Knees buckled. Breathing stopped.
“Footmen, first rank, break those doors. Clear those houses. Footmen, Second Rank, provide them cover,” Cyleste ordered.
Bell felt her breathing at his neck.
“Bell, we need to get into those houses. We shall take the right corner.”
The remaining footmen scrambled over the dead mounts. The first row collapsed against the houses, the second encircled them, their shields raised to protect against another arrow volley. The volley came. Two footmen went down, one with an arrow in his leg, the other killed by an arrow in his heart. It had found a weak spot in the shield wall, and at such short range, drove through his breastplate.
With three-foot swords drawn, the kites met the enemy soldiers among the bone and sinew frames of the now leather-less, Vandu tents. The guardsmen held the narrow exits of the alleyways. If the guardsmen’s lines were not broken, the Legion would be bottled in the courtyard. Bell pushed their plight out of his mind. He forced himself onward, through a path cleared by footmen. He arrived at the corner building just as one man drove his boot into the wooden door. The door burst at the lock and flew back on its hinges. Arrows flew from the doorway. The footmen had not expected it, and they took too long to position their shields. Their center collapsed.
“Shields on breach!” the Grand cried. Hopefully, her warning would prevent the same mistake repeating.
Stepping over dead footmen, Bell forced through the breach and into the home. A single arrow, half drawn and poorly nocked, bounced off his shield. Six bowmen clustered at the far end of the room, hunkered down behind an upturned, wooden table fortified by stacked chairs and a small bed. He drove forward, up to the furniture, and with a short thrust, cut down the center man before he could drop behind the table. The bowmen on his victim’s flanks drew knives and one slid across Bell’s chest plate before Marl reached his side and drove her blade into the attacker’s wrist. The knife dropped. As she swung, her momentum drove her sword into the bowman’s sternum. His polished leather neck-guard could not resist her sharpened blade. Blood squirted as Bell leapt over the makeshift blockade and into the next man.
Cutting him down, Bell wheeled to find an empty room. The final bowman fell with Skibs’ sword smashing into her chin. The remaining group of footmen followed them in from outside. Bell was relieved to see the two-story building had only one room on this level; it looked to be a sitting room, with a small fireplace. He did not relish the thought of clearing the home room by room, nor did he envy the footmen who rushed to take the steps.
“Hold,” the Grand hissed.
The footmen paused. Their eyes followed her outstretched finger to one of the dead bowmen. They nodded and lifted the man. One of the soldiers took off his own red and black tabard and together they forced it over the dead man’s shoulders. They walked quietly to the foot of the steps, just out of sight of any at the top of the stairs, then threw the dead man into the clearing. A hail of arrows flew into the guardsmen’s corpse. Their gambit successful, the footmen charged up the steps. Bell heard screams, and then the nick of blades cutting flesh.
“Clear,” a man shouted. He recognized the voice as one of theirs, but couldn’t place it to a face or a name. A soldier descended a few steps, flashed them a thumbs-up, and then disappeared back up the stairs. Skibs crossed to the steps and followed him up.
Bell waved a hand to the first-floor windows. “Get those windows closed,” he ordered, “Careful. Stay away from the door.”
Kenneth and Acklin went to the windows, and Bell was happy to see they were not met by arrows from the house across the street. They closed the windows, drawing the drapes, and Bell loosed a loud, relieved sigh as he finished his head count. No one wounded. No one dead. He hoped Tel fared as well with the archers.
He could hear fighting somewhere nearby, but their job was done. They had secured the Grand, now they need only protect her until the fighting ended.
Bell crossed to the window nearest the door and drew back the drapes for a peek. A red and black tabard hung from a top floor window of the first two houses across the street. A group of kites clustered outside the doorway to the third home. Bell heard wood splinter as those soldiers charged into the third building. He waited, and in less than a minute, he saw the tabard draped from the upper floor window.
“Next three houses clear on the far side, Grand.”
Rise spoke from the next wall. “So is the house adjacent to us.”
Skibs returned from the staircase with a sad shake of his head. “No civilians, probably those poor sods in the courtyard.”
Then where is the fighting? Bell wondered. The sound was too close. He heard a thump along the back wall. Oh gods, Bell cursed. I forgot the alley. The far wall had no windows, only a lone door. Bell eased it open a crack. A wall of chainmail and brown and white cloaks awaited him. Outnumbered by guardsmen, the kites were struggling to gain a foothold in the alley. If he did not help, those men would die. Bell threw open the door and charged into the nearest man’s flank.
The guardsman did not seem to notice him until Bell’s sword cut into his neck. Bell levered his shield under the falling body and pushed it into the crowd of guardsmen, hoping to stagger them. Again, Marl fell in on his left and slashed her blade into the next soldier’s face. The guardsman’s faceplate caught the brunt of the blow, but blood spurted from the woman’s nose as she toppled. With a foot on the guardsman’s fallen sword, Marl pivoted to meet her next opponent.
Bell estimated the alley’s width; eight feet. Three soldiers stood between them and the far wall, but if they took the alley, they could trap the remaining guardsmen between themselves and the kites. He threw himself forward and parried a blow headed for Marl’s helm. His sword hit the attacker’s blade at an odd angle and bounced off the cross hilt before striking the man’s fingers. The guardsmen howled and dropped his sword. As the man bent over to tend his injured hand, Bell swung through, driving his blade into the man’s exposed clavicle. The guardsman collapsed.
The kites rallied, pushing forward into the now confused guardsmen. A few
guardsmen whirled, trying to face these new attackers, only to be struck down before they could gain a solid footing. Bell charged into another man, thrusting his shield into the man’s face, staggering him to the sound of humming metal. Rise’s sword caught the man under his helm as Bell drove his own blade through the man’s visor.
Pulling loose his blade, he heard heavy iron pound against stone, then the ringing sound of a sword bouncing from hilt to point, followed last by a horrible gargling. Acklin squealed, and as Bell pivoted, he saw the knife in Acklin’s hand fall. Acklin stepped back in horror as his hand unwrapped from underneath Perval’s sword arm and Perval toppled.
“Oh gods,” Acklin screamed, pressing both hands to his faceguard. “What have I done?”
With all the guardsmen dead, the alley fell quiet. Every eye darted between Acklin and Perval’s limp form.
“What did you do?” Kenneth shouted, flipping up his visor. Rage and sorrow fought for dominance as he dove forward to hold his dead friend. Tears streamed down the old veteran’s face as he tore a cloth from his tabard and pressed it to the gash on Perval’s throat. Perval didn’t move; his eyes hollow and dead.
“I…” Acklin said. “I don’t know. I was confused. All I saw was a blade headed for the Grand’s head, so I wrapped my arm under the man’s sword arm, you know to hold him down, and the next thing I knew I was pulling my dagger from Perval’s throat. I don’t know what happened. Gods, I swear, I don’t.” Acklin took off his helm. “The visor…” he moaned, studying it. “I don’t know…”
“Rise…” Bell whispered. “Can you calm him down, please?”
Rise bent over Kenneth’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. Bell had been referring to Acklin, but that was just as well. Kenneth and Perval had served together for twenty years and Bell had rarely seen them apart. It is a good thing she is wiser than I am. Lost, Bell’s eyes searched for an explanation. The Grand stood firm, a look of disgust curling her nose and lips.
“Kite General Toddrin,” she hissed.
Bell’s awareness returned. The guardsmen were dead and the kites gathered around them. Bell found Toddrin, a short man with the Legionnaire’s Mark adorned with a golden lining that denoted his status as head of the kites.
His triangular shield bobbed as he shook his head. “Yes, Grand?”
Cyleste flipped a wrist at Acklin, who had sunk down to sob into his knees. “Take this man into custody. I will speak with him later. Marl, find the hornsman and his messengers. We will make a foothold here until we are certain the other homes are clear.” Acklin lifted his head and stood. He offered his hands to Toddrin without complaint. Toddrin led him away.
Bell walked to Kenneth’s side. Up close, he could hear Rise’s whispers.
“We have to move him,” she said.
Kenneth mumbled something unintelligible.
“I know,” Rise said. “But we have to take him to one of the whores. He needs their help. Come, I will go with you.”
Though the blood had stopped, Kenneth still pressed a cloth to Perval’s throat. He shook his head, but lifted his dead friend anyway. Rise led him out of the alley and Skibs followed.
“Bell.”
Bell turned to the Grand Legionnaire.
“Take the rest of your squad inside please. I wish to speak with you after I have attended to my responsibilities.”
“Yes, Grand,” Bell said, but it felt mechanical. He searched his surroundings and found Bern. With Tel stationed with the archers, it was only he and Bern left. The man’s face was pale. When Bell met his eyes, Bern blinked then smiled a sad, consolatory grin. Bell nodded to the gaping doorway. He entered, and Bern followed. Bern shut the door behind him.
“Did you see what happened?” Bell whispered.
“Aye,” Bern sighed. “But I wish I hadn’t. It’s about as Acklin said. Perval was swinging wild and his blade came awful close to the Grand. If I didn’t know better, he was aiming to cut her down. That’s crazy, of course, but it’s easy to see how Acklin might have been confused. A first timer like that, and with all the tight corners… you start seeing only the steel and nothing else.”
Bell nodded. He knew exactly what Bern meant. “Bern,” he said firmly.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know how you feel about all this, and I don’t know how close you were with Perval or Acklin, so I’m not going to tell you how you should tell this story. When the Grand asks, that’s your decision to make, but I strongly suggest you tell the truth… Perval’s already dead, and what you say might mean the difference for Acklin’s life. If you decide not to tell her what you told me, I won’t tell her any different, but… just think carefully about it. Please.”
“Acklin’s in for some rough times,” Bern said. “I won’t make it any worse for him. If the Grand asks, I’ll tell it true.”
Bell’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Bern shrugged. “I hope it helps. Kenneth’s served a long time. I don’t know what he thinks he saw, or what he plans to say, but his words’ll be worth more than mine.”
“We’ll deal with that when it comes. Hopefully, he’ll find the nerve to do what’s right.”
Bern nodded his agreement.
He and Bern fell silent for a time. They busied themselves with piling the dead in a corner. Bell did his best to avoid looking at the faces, especially that of the man he had killed. He had killed before, and if anything, these kills had been easier, but it still didn’t sit right. Prisoners were violent, sometimes deadly, but they were also emaciated. Their deaths had been harder to take, for those men had been desperate and half mad. These men here were trained and armed. They were mentally fit and fully aware of their actions. Taking these lives had not felt like murdering an innocent. But still, he did not want to face it. He did not want to face Perval’s death. He didn’t want the emotional burden, not here and not yet.
Though the door was sealed, they knew when Marl returned. Her voice was muffled, but they could hear everything she said. “The courtyard and houses are all clear. It looks to have been a small force, primarily comprised of bowmen. The hornsman and his messengers are on the way.”
“Do we have a headcount?” Cyleste asked. She sounded upset. Her voice strained by anger, or perhaps fatigue. Bell wished he could see her face.
“Not yet, but I have asked Whore Dellings for a list of our wounded.”
“Any estimates?”
“The footmen ranks lost near two dozen, most of them from Footman Halls’ squad. The pikemen are worse off, decimated by the arrow fire. They lost near two ranks, but the other six, and their reserves are both in pristine shape.”
Bern whistled amazement. “Shit,” he whispered.
“They will be honored for their sacrifice,” Cyleste murmured. “Please, give orders for any survivors of those two ranks to ride back to the camp with their wounded. They will be reassigned at a later date. No… no, on second thought. Send Halls and his fellows to me. I will see them shortly.”
Bell heard the shuffle of feet.
“Ah. Hornsman Darl,” the Grand continued, “It is good to see you well. We lost you in the melee.”
Bell couldn’t see the hornsman, but he knew him; a balding man with black, dyed hair, who always carried a letter satchel and trumpet case looped over his left shoulder. Bell, and every other legionnaire carried a similar satchel, with a smaller, straighter war horn.
“Yes, Grand,” Hornsman Darl said. “My messengers and I sought cover when you gave the order to breach the homes.”
“Good reasoning, hornsman. Do you have a report for me?”
“I do. Our legionnaires have tallied nearly two hundred enemy in total, all deceased. Their insignias denote New Guard, stationed within the city’s central barracks. Official palace guard. They must have been sent in response to the Vandu unrest, however, we do not know why they did not encounter the Vandu before us.”
“Have there been any reports of the remaining Vandu?”
“That Vandu woman Wither claims they moved on to sack the Atheist Chapter Houses, but they have not been seen or heard from. It troubles me, for subtlety does not seem a Vandu tactic.”
“You would be surprised, Darl. They may be raucous, but they are hunters as well. Besides, these Vandu are not the usual sort.”
“Pardon?”
“A small group of Atherahnian cultists has infiltrated the Vandu at the command of a woman named Putrescence. They have a personal grudge with the Atheists, and it seems they have taken the opportunity we provided them. I cannot say we did not hope for this outcome, indeed, our own subterfuge depended on it.”
“We have aided the Atherahnians? Can’t say I like that.” Bell could hear Darl’s disgust.
“On the contrary, Mr. Darl, the cultists have aided us. Do not fret, hornsman, the Atherahnians will not go unpunished.”
“Glad to hear it, ma’am. Still, it makes me sad to let them run wild. My ancestors served in the Legion during the Lockish Succession. My family’s very proud of that fact, and I don’t want to give no aid to no blooders.”
“Those who corrupt the Faith shall pay the blood price,” the Grand said.
Bell recognized the quote. It belonged to Dydal, taken from his declaration of war against Atherahn, nearly four hundred years earlier. Bell’s stomach lurched. Gods, I don’t like the way she said that. Atherahn’s a long way from home.
“Thank you, Mr. Darl,” the Grand continued. “Please see to the preparations. This battle could not have gone unnoticed. Have our wounded gathered and attended to. We leave immediately.”
The footsteps returned then faded as the hornsman left.
“Bell.” The Grand stormed into the room, alone. “We must speak. Scout Bern, you are dismissed.” She stuck her head out the door. “Marl,” she called, “see to it that the New Guard does not surprise us a second time. I will attend you shortly.”
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 61