by Tom Lloyd
Emin took a slow breath, ordering his thoughts as he extended the principle further. ‘If Larat is willing to admit that much, no doubt the truth is something deeper, something more fundamental to their relationship with the Skulls - perhaps even the existence of the Gods themselves. The Skulls are stores of power; the Gods are power incarnate. Could they be the flip-side of the same coin?’
— How does this help?
Emin topped up her goblet with a smile. ‘Lord Styrax is not collecting them to secure his rule or aid his conquest, those are just by-products. He wants that power over each of the Gods of the Upper Circle, not to ask questions but make demands.’ He shook his head. ‘As great and long-lived as he is, the man is only mortal. One day he will die, unless . . .’
King Emin puffed on his cigar and looked at the icons hanging on the wall. The empty cowl of Death occupied the centre; on His left was Kitar, Goddess of Fertility, on His right, Karkarn, God of War.
He said slowly, ‘He will die unless he becomes a God. Unless this peerless warrior asks something of the Gods they cannot refuse.’
CHAPTER 21
Captain Hain looked around at the army and felt a strange surge of exhilaration. ‘Damn but it’s a sight,’ he said, nudging Sergeant Deebek with his elbow. ‘Shame the major’s missing it.’
Behind his helm Deebek grinned as best he could, his mangled top lip lifting on one side to reveal the ruined gums underneath.
‘Reckon ’e’d agree, sir. I ’eard ’e were sent to play spies in Byora ’til ’e’s fit for duty. Can’t see ’im takin’ that over an honest fight.’
The entire Cheme Third Legion was lined up in tight ranks, as though on the parade ground. Ahead was the Second, and the other side of a copse, the lighter-armed troops of the First. Lord Styrax’s favoured shock troops, his minotaur clans, were a few hundred yards north, alongside a division of light cavalry. On their other flank was a legion of Chetse, what was left of the Crocodile Guard bolstered by fresh recruits from the now-quiescent Chetse cities.
Hain had lingered on the sight more than once; he’d never believed he would see the day a legion of the Ten Thousand marched under Menin banners. Once each of the commanding tachrenn had kneeled to Lord Styrax, the enlisted had started to see him as something other than a conqueror: they saw a peerless warrior, a Chosen of the Gods who truly deserved the title.
‘Don’t hope for much of a fight today, Sergeant,’ Hain warned. ‘I doubt they’ll dare.’
They had skirted the Byoran marshes and gone up through the Evemist Hills and just crossed the Narkang border. Now they stood less than a mile from the fortress town of Merritays, Narkang’s first line of defence against aggression from the Circle City that had never materialised until now. Four square stone towers were connected by defensive earthworks and enclosed a small garrison town, accessible only by drawbridges attached to each tower. Some two miles behind Merritays stood a market town that had grown up in its protective lee.
Hain watched the First Legion advance to within bowshot of the defensive lines. The earthworks were built in two enormous steps and looked down over a water-filled ditch. There was a neat stone wall on each level. There weren’t many soldiers on view at the moment; Hain knew they wouldn’t commit their strength until the Menin attacked.
‘What’s the plan then, Captain?’ Deebek asked conversationally.
‘You think General Gaur tells the likes of me?’
‘But you might ’ave seen summat, I reckon we ain’t ’angin’ around for a siege.’
‘You’re right there,’ Hain admitted, ‘but I still don’t know what’s planned. Shut up and we’ll both find out.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ Deebek said. He reached out and gave the axe resting on Hain’s shoulder a tap with his fingers, then balled his fist and thumped it against his chest.
‘Fer luck, sir,’ he explained without embarrassment. The medal he pulled out next was one he’d won ten years previously and he kissed it, as he had before every fight since.
Hain didn’t comment. The axe was the one Amber had used to kill the Chosen of Tsatach; if the men now considered it a talisman, all the better. Ten minutes later, they heard the drums beat out the command over the whisking wind: Advance to enemy. Whatever General Guar planned, they were certainly going to get some sort of a fight today.
The Second Legion headed for the nearest of the towers. There was a scramble of movement on the earthworks in response as archers moved out to face the Menin troops. The Third Legion went up to the Second’s right flank, five regiments in the lead with the rearguard division mirroring them at a short distance.
Hain’s regiment was in the vanguard, nearest to the Second Legion. They were all expecting the next order and as soon as it was given they began to move forward, heavy shields raised against the expected volley of arrows. As the first began to fall a prayer to Karkarn whispered through the ranks, causing Hain to grimace. The pace was swift and steady, with Hain chancing quick looks through the spear-rest of his shield to check when he would have to give the order.
An arrow smashed into his shield and exploded into splinters, causing him to miss his step for a moment, but the soldier behind him half-caught him on the shaft of his spear and shoved him forward, back into place.
‘Bastard,’ Deebek growled beside him. Hain looked over and saw blood on the exposed side of the sergeant’s scarred nose. A splinter of the arrow’s shaft protruded from the small cut.
‘There go yer looks,’ Hain laughed with the men around him.
‘Aye, sir.’ Deebek glanced back at the man who’d steadied the captain. ‘Soldier, you trample ’im next time, ’ear me?’
Still smiling, Hain chanced another look. Arrows were still dropping, but far fewer than he’d expected. Either the garrison was under-strength, or they were keeping the bulk of their men back. As the front rank neared the ditch Hain could see it wasn’t going to be easy to negotiate. The slope was almost sheer on each side and the dozen ladders they carried weren’t going to be long enough, unless the water was only a foot deep.
‘Regiments to halt, defensive position,’ came the shouted order, and Deebek instantly relayed it at the top of his voice. The troops slowed to a stop and the front rank kneeled behind their shields, allowing the second rank to rest their own shields on those in front.
‘Come on, General,’ Hain muttered as he peered left and right, ‘don’t let us be the decoys.’ He saw movement to the right and called forward to the front rank for information.
‘A company’s left the line, sir,’ called a trooper. ‘Handful o’ men - what in the name of the Dark Place are they doing? They’re just standing with shields raised - and some’re just sittin’ down on the grass behind. Ah no, someone’s lying on the ground too, reaching forward with summat.’
‘Mages,’ Hain and Deebek said together.
‘Aye, sir, can’t see what he’s doin’ but there’s summat up down there. Some sort o’ white mist fillin’ the ditch.’
‘Any mages on the rampart?’
‘No, sir, but the archers are after ’em now.’
‘In that case: ready to advance,’ Hain said, raising his voice. He didn’t know what was about to happen, but you didn’t need an entire division to shield a few mages.
‘Piss and daemons,’ exclaimed one of the men in the front rank, ‘that wind just got fuckin’ cold.’
‘Ice then,’ Hain muttered to Deebek. ‘They’re freezing the ditch; Lord Styrax did just that in the Numarik campaign once.’
‘It work?’
Hain shook his head and Deebek chuckled nastily.
‘It didn’t then, but it was Verliq himself who broke the ice. A mage has got to be fucking strong to shatter half a yard of ice; I reckon King Emin won’t have any of those spare, not for a pissy border town.’
Hain lifted his shield a fraction, realising the archers were directing all their efforts at the mages. The mages were taking their time completing the spell, but Hain wasn’t
surprised. They would be weaker than the Chosen, and it was a long stretch of water. Fortunately for them, the ballista-stations couldn’t reduce their elevation enough to hit them, and the shields were proving more than a match for the archers, given the groan of ice Hain could hear. The Menin archers were peppering the rampart to give them as much cover as possible and before long the trooper reported the mages were retreating again.
‘Looks like we’ll get that fight after all,’ Hain muttered as the order to advance was yelled and repeated by every squad sergeant. He saw the first rank drop gingerly down on the ice. One soldier lowered his shield as he tested the ice underfoot - only for a second, but a sharp-eyed archer noticed it all the same and put an arrow through his neck.
‘First blood!’ came the cry from those around him, ‘Heten Sapex!’
‘Shift yourselves!’ Hain roared as the name was repeated around the regiment in Cheme tradition.
His troops obeyed without a moment’s hesitation and raced forward, several losing their balance on the ice but propelling themselves forward as best they could until they reached the other side. More men piled into the shallow impression, the first six ranks of each division, and the ladders were passed forward.
The front rank, pressed against what small cover was afforded by the earth wall, took the ladders and hoisted them, pulling them flat against the slope and locking their arms to hold them fast. The second rank began the terrible scramble up; Hain watched them with the familiar jangle of fear and excitement flooding through his body as he waited for his turn.
A loud roar came from their left and the Chetse warriors barrelled towards the remaining space in the ditch. As in all the Ten Thousand, the bulk of the Crocodile Legion didn’t carry shields, only the first few ranks. The rest wore oversized bronze pauldrons, vambraces and one-piece helms to deflect axe blows, and many even eschewed mail shirts, going shirtless to display their painted barrel-chests. Each man bore the legion emblem and Styrax’s Fanged Skull in ochre and woad, along with ritual scars and invocations to Kao, Karkarn’s berserker Aspect.
They had waited for the Cheme troops to draw the worst of the artillery before making their move, but as soon as they arrived Hain saw the focus turned towards them and a ballista bolt smashed bloodily through the leading knot of four. The next dozen were cut down by arrows before they even reached the far side of the trench.
Hain gasped as he watched the first few reach the lower edge of the rampart. The bare-chested warriors threw themselves at the earth wall, using their enormous axes to climb up it, oblivious to the damage being done from above.
‘Mad li’l buggers!’ Deebek cackled, seeing Hain’s surprise, ‘let’s move afore they kill ’em all!’
They started up the ladder, Hain in the lead with his shield shipped over one shoulder. An arrow glanced off his exposed pauldron, but he ignored the impact, intent only on getting to the top. The first few up there were fighting for their lives, defending the breach furiously until help could arrive.
As Hain scrambled onto the stone-topped rampart and swung his legs over, he had to throw himself flat on his back as a spear swung wildly forwards. He grabbed the shaft and yanked it back, kicking at the man’s knee while he got a better grip on his own weapon. Recovering his balance Hain hopped up and hacked at the man’s head, felling him with one blow.
He looked down the trench, a walkway no more than an arm-span in width. His troops were barely able to fight at the moment as they stood two men abreast on each side of the breach and kept behind their shields as the defenders battered at them frantically. Hain made his choice, roared a curse in Menin and charged, swinging his axe down over a soldier’s shoulder to catch the man pressing him back. There was a yell and a spear flashed forward but Hain dodged it and reversed his grip on the axe, stabbing forward with the spike that killed Lord Chalat.
They moved forward by inches, driving with shields and lowered spears into the terrified defenders while more troops swarmed up the ladders. Renewed roars of bloodlust came from the Chetse end, telling Hain that the crazed warriors had a breach of their own and were bloodily expanding it. After five minutes of fighting Hain found himself at the corner, looking up at a narrow cleft in the earth that led up to the next tier.
‘Keep moving,’ he roared, pounding the backs of the soldiers in front. ‘Heten Sapex!’
‘Heten Sapex!’ came the reply as the first two charged up the cut steps, shields held high.
One was taken down by an arrow from the darkness, but the other found an enemy in front of him and barrelled straight on, smashing into the smaller westerner and knocking him to the ground. Hain followed up quickly, hammering the butt of his axe against the man’s chest. There was a crack and a scream of pain, and Hain heard nothing more as he continued on, swinging his shield back around just in time to feel the thud of three arrows slam into it.
One passed almost straight through before catching on the steel rim, another glanced off the boss at the centre of the shield. The third went through shield and chain-mail to embed itself in his bicep. He gasped in pain, but he kept moving, unable to stop, even to break off the shaft.
The first blow on his shield ripped the arrow free, and Hain howled as he thrust forward, off-balanced by the wound. The spike of his axe missed its target and he slipped sideways onto one knee, but the welcome sight of Sergeant Deebek charged into view in the next moment. The westerner dropped screaming, Deebek’s spear lodged in his armpit, and Hain struggled back to his feet.
On they fought, through the shadowed cleft and back out into the pale morning sun as they reached the larger upper level. There were more soldiers there, but the Menin went through them like butter, cutting a bloody path until the overwhelmed defenders threw down their weapons and the Menin were able to stream down the other side of the rampart into the town beyond.
Hain paused on the rampart, ordering a pair of soldiers to corral the prisoners. He dropped his shield and checked his arm, which was bleeding freely. Cursing, he unhitched the chain-mail and shoved his fingers underneath. The wound was shallow but wide.
‘Private, wrap this tight,’ he ordered, pulling a piece of cloth from around his neck. As the man was doing as ordered Hain paused for breath and looked at the prisoners they had taken.
‘Piss and daemons,’ he muttered, ‘I know they’re smaller here than back home, but this lot’re the fucking dregs.’
The soldier looked up as he pulled the rag tight. ‘Aye, sir, and not much fight in ’em either.’
The flow of blood stemmed, Hain set off after his regiment. There was a wide killing-ground where the steps opened out at the base of the earthworks, but not enough defenders to plug it. They had retreated to defend the towers and the gates attached to them, the thin lines of soldiers already looked outnumbered. He searched around and found his regimental banner in the thick of the fighting at the northern tower. By the time he got there, there were barely a dozen shields defending the fortified door to the tower.
Hain inspected the gate while his men killed the last of the enemy. He was trying to work out how to drop the drawbridge and admit the rest of the army, but as far as he could see it was controlled by a mechanism on the top, bound by steel clamps and far out of reach.
‘That ain’t openin’,’ Deebek opined, appearing as if by magic at the captain’s side. ‘Cables’re cut.’
He pointed to the right of the steel clamps and Hain realised he was right; the drawbridges were never going to be dropped without significant work.
Hain turned and looked at the neat garrison town enclosed within the four ramparts. The only movement he could see was that of the Chetse warriors charging down the streets and kicking in doors to root out the remaining defenders. What he didn’t see was civilians, fleeing, screaming, fighting, or any of the above. There was a strong smell of tar in the air, but a noticeable absence of panic.
‘Town’s been bloody emptied,’ he muttered.
‘No surprise; they know they’re on the f
ront line.’
‘But where’s the rest of the garrison? This was too easy.’
There was a splintering sound as the door to the tower began to give way.
‘Get that door open,’ Hain bellowed, suddenly desperate to see what was going on outside the ramparts.
The soldiers redoubled their efforts and hacked furiously at the door, and in half a minute it was sufficiently weakened that they could break it down. The men inside didn’t put up much of a fight - most threw down their weapons, and any who didn’t were easily dispatched.
As soon as he could Hain was up the spiral stair and onto the upper level, looking down at the earthworks and the troops beyond.
‘Karkarn’s horn; never trust fucking scryers when they’re sure they’re right,’ he growled, thumping his fist against the stone wall. ‘There’s the rest!’
Out of the tower window he could see a mass of enemy troops, the best part of a division, he guessed, surrounding the minotaurs, while a second division advanced towards the hastily retreating Menin cavalry. Their speed of attack had been turned against them.
Most of the rest of the army were already at the ramparts, following the order to get as many men inside as fast as possible. A few officers were starting to shout orders to reform their units, but it was a disordered mess. For the next few minutes the minotaurs would be on their own.
‘Get back out there,’ he yelled, ‘get that fucking drawbridge open!’
‘It’s bust, sir,’ a soldier shouted back from the walkway above the gate. ‘Ain’t movin’ no time soon.’
Hain fought his way back down the stair, furious at his powerlessness. He battered aside the soldiers in his way and made his way to the broken door, but before he reached it he heard shouts of panic that sent a chill down his spine. He ran into the sunshine, axe at the ready, and stopped dead.