by D. P. Prior
Binizo wheeled his mount and touched his forehead.
‘No,’ Theodore said. ‘On second thoughts, make it a mule.’ Hagalle already viewed him as an imperious conqueror. Maybe a touch of humility would help. ‘And inform Exemptus Cane that he may ride in the lectica.’ Either that or break it up for firewood.
***
‘They have the high ground,’ Ignatius Grymm said, looking down on Theodore from his destrier.
‘That is rather apparent,’ the Ipsissimus squinted up at the twin hills that rose in great natural steps either side of the valley. ‘Surely that can’t be a natural feature.’ Theodore shifted his position on the mule to find a degree of comfort. The animal stank of musk and sweat, and he was sure it was infested with lice.
‘Some sort of earthworks, maybe,’ the Grand Master said. ‘Either that or canny fortifications. Sahul has seen its fair share of warfare. I was reading about the Zaneish rise to hegemony on the voyage from Aeterna.’
Theodore gazed back over his own army deployed at the edge of Dour Wood, if the maps were anything to go by. A thin line of Britannic skirmishers provided a screen for the main force; hard men from the north, lightly armoured in leather and equipped with slings and javelins for harrying the enemy, and long bladed knives for finishing the wounded. Behind them, to the left, just nudging out of the tree-line, were the Templum’s shock troops: over a hundred knights of the Elect, heavily armoured and perfectly disciplined. One coordinated charge from them was enough to decimate any army in Nousia. Theodore only hoped they’d enjoy the same success in Sahul, should it come to it.
The centre was held by the heavy infantry units, nearly two hundred men in plate armour and wielding fearsome glaive guisarmes, twice the length of a spear and with hooks at the back of the blade for unseating riders. They had a contingent of the Ipsissimal Guard to their right and another to the rear—seasoned veterans in red cloaks with an embroidered white Monas. These men fought with short stabbing swords and rectangular shields. Theodore had seen them manoeuvring in Latia and had been in awe of their ability to flawlessly change formation and to use their shields as a defensive wall. A long line of archers came next, each with Britannic long bows carved of yew. Bringing up the rear were the Elect Foot, Theodore’s personal bodyguard, fighters of incomparable skill and loyalty. He imagined they were feeling a little forlorn back there with no one to protect—besides Exemptus Cane, who seemed quite at home in the Ipsissimal lectica.
‘Are they a threat?’ Theodore asked his Grand Master. It was so difficult to tell with these things. He’d never actually witnessed a battle, but he had endured years and years of endless parades with Ignatius wittering on in his ear about the pros and cons of every single unit.
‘All enemies pose a threat, Divinity. The first rule of war is never to underestimate your opponent. Especially when he outnumbers you by at least two to one. See how Hagalle employs a screen like our own, only longer. He doesn’t want to show his full strength. Those peltasts at the foot of the hill will split and run once the real fighting begins, making way for whatever he has behind. Those are light cavalry on the left hill, but too few to be more than a nuisance. I doubt he’ll risk them against the Elect. Up there,’ Ignatius pointed to the top of the left hill and swung his finger over to take in the right, ‘he has twice our archers. If those are long bows, we lose the range advantage. Their heavy cavalry are on the right flank. He aims to use them against the Ipsissimal Guard, but if he does, we’ll wheel away and let them face the guisarmes. What troubles me most is what he has guarding the mouth of the valley. Perhaps when we get closer we’ll be able to see.’
‘If we get closer,’ Theodore said. ‘I have a feeling Hagalle is not going to want to parley. Nevertheless…’ Theodore shook the reins and sent the mule plodding forward.
‘You know my feelings on this, Divinity’ Ignatius said, dismounting and handing the reins of his destrier to a young squire. The Grand Master took hold of the mule’s bridle and walked beside it.
‘You have surpassed yourself in letting me know,’ Theodore said with a smile. He knew how hard it had been for the Grand Master to speak his mind, even when asked. ‘But it is not with all this,’ Theodore flicked his hand back at the Templum army, ‘that we do Ain’s work. We must reach out with humility and friendship. If Hagalle refuses us, then we shall have to think again.’
If he didn’t kill them. Theodore dreaded the thought. Such an incident would spark full-scale war between Sahul and the whole of Nousia. It was hardly the kind of legacy he was hoping to leave.
Ignatius led the mule out onto the dusty red plain between the forest and the hills. Sunlight glinted from the spears and armour of Hagalle’s forces, making it difficult to see. Theodore wondered if perhaps he should have brought a white flag. Maybe his robes would suffice. In any case, even a total brute would be able to tell that two men and a mule hardly constituted an act of aggression.
The sun harried them every slow plodding step of the way, deadlier than a hail of arrows, more certain than a sword through the guts. Theodore wished he’d brought a waterskin. Now they were out of the limited shade of the eucalypts, they’d probably both shrivel and die before they came within talking distance of the Imperial force, and even if they should make it, he’d probably be too parched to speak. If Ignatius was feeling the heat beneath his chainmail and cloak, he didn’t show it. There was a sheen on his forehead beneath his iron grey hair, but other than that the Grand Master was as stoic as ever.
Midway between the two armies, Ignatius brought the mule to a stop as the screening peltasts in front of the imperial force parted to either side of the valley mouth. Two staggered phalanxes guarded the pass between the hills. It was impossible to gauge their depth, but each was at least forty men wide and bristling with spears.
‘Hoplites,’ Ignatius said, for once sounding surprised. ‘That’s a throwback. I’ve studied them in Balzeal’s History of Conflict, but this kind of warfare was obsolete by the time cataphracts and pikes were on the scene. Not to mention the longbow.’
Theodore climbed down from the mule and shaded his eyes to get a better look. The hoplites must have really been suffering in the heat; they wore bronze breastplates and shouldered heavy round shields.
‘You think Hagalle’s technology is expanding faster than his purse? Maybe he can’t afford to upgrade his entire army,’ he said. ‘Does this give us more bargaining power?’
‘I’m not sure, Divinity. Out in the open the Elect would smash through them, and head to head, our glaive guisarmes have the greater reach. But holed up there in the valley mouth, they may well prove an immovable object. I’d say Hagalle’s plan is for a defensive battle. He seeks only to prevent us making further progress on Sahulian soil. He’s hoping we’ll turn tail and head back to Aeterna.’
That wasn’t really an option, not with the threat posed by the Statue of Eingana. And besides, Theodore had a feeling that his piece of the statue wasn’t about to let him go anywhere but forward.
‘If necessary, can we break through?’ Theodore studied the Grand Master’s face, but Ignatius was giving nothing away. His hesitation, however, caused Theodore to frown.
‘There is an ancient story,’ Ignatius stared out at the hoplites, ‘of a few hundred men like these resisting an army of thousands—some say a million. If we get drawn into attacking their position, we may suffer heavy losses.’
He didn’t need to say any more. Theodore could already tell. They might even lose. ‘All the more need for diplomacy to succeed then,’ he said, abandoning the mule and walking towards the hills. Sweat soaked his robes and trickled in stinging rivulets down his legs and into his sandals.
‘Divinity, wait,’ Ignatius said as a ripple passed through the massed troops on the right-hand hill. ‘They’re coming down to meet us.’
About thirty heavily armoured troops, black-cloaked and bearing shields emblazoned with the Sahulian Imperial Fist, made their way through the footmen fanned out along th
e slope. They marched in column around the front of the hoplites and then formed into a diamond about a central figure who towered over them.
‘Hagalle?’ Theodore watched as the clustered troops set out towards them.
‘If it is, that’s a brave move for an Emperor.’
More so than for an Ipsissimus? Theodore quashed the thought the instant it reared its head. Mind you, he’d heard Hagalle was fearful to the point of paranoia. If it was him, then either the rumours were false, or Hagalle was facing up to his fears. That might make him a very dangerous man.
Theodore looked back at his own troops some five hundred yards away. They were drawn up in disciplined ranks, and from this distance there was no sign of the red dust that stained their cloaks. They looked pristine, immaculate; a professional army that would be very difficult to beat.
The mule was nuzzling the ground as if it were looking for something to eat. Theodore hoped it stayed put. The walk back in this heat suddenly seemed beyond him. He fingered the Monas around his neck and turned to face the approaching soldiers.
They stopped ten paces away and spread out in a semicircle. They were grim looking men, each with a hand clutching the pommel of a scabbarded broadsword, each glaring with practiced intimidation. Theodore felt his hopes for a peaceful resolution slipping away. The tall man they’d been guarding stepped out in front and advanced alone. The soldiers looked from one to the other and started to follow, but the tall man held up a hand and they stayed back.
Theodore knew at once he’d not been mistaken. Everything about the man’s bearing screamed Emperor. He had a leonine head with a sharp face. His grey-streaked black hair was drawn back in a ponytail, leaving the startling green eyes exposed above a distinguished nose. He wore a black enamelled breastplate above black clothes, and a huge broadsword hung from his hip. If he was suffering from the heat, he showed no sign of it.
Ignatius stepped in his way before he could reach Theodore. Nervous looks passed between the Emperor’s troops, but they made no move.
‘Get out of the way,’ the Emperor said as if Ignatius were a truculent slave.
As Theodore expected, the Grand Master stood his ground. He folded his arms across his chest and met Hagalle with a level stare. Theodore put a hand on the Grand Master’s shoulder and prompted him to step aside. He then lowered his head before the Emperor and dropped to one knee.
‘Divinity!’ Ignatius sounded appalled.
‘Very good,’ Hagalle said with a slow hand clap. ‘And it might work in Nousia, but here in Sahul we despise nothing more than false humility.’
‘Emperor Hagalle—’ Theodore began, still averting his eyes.
‘We also expect men to be men.’ Hagalle looked back at his bodyguards, who chuckled dutifully. ‘Not castrated milksops who dress like women.’
Theodore saw movement from the side.
‘No!’ he said. ‘Stand down, Ignatius.’
‘But, Divinity—’
‘I said stand down.’
Theodore climbed to his feet and did his best to smile as he met the Emperor’s sardonic gaze. ‘Emperor, we have a common foe—’
‘Shut it. Take your girlie army back to the ocean and sail on home to Aeterna.’
Hagalle turned away as if there were nothing else to be said.
‘Emperor, I ask only—’
Hagalle spun, his fist coming straight at Theodore’s face. The Ipsissimus tensed and blinked, but no impact came. Quicker than Theodore thought possible, Ignatius was in between them, his own hand clenched about Hagalle’s fist.
‘Ignatius, no!’ Theodore said.
Hagalle’s other fist came up, but the Grand Master pivoted and straightened Hagalle’s arm behind him, forcing the Emperor to the ground. The black-cloaks roared and drew their swords.
Ignatius jumped back, his own longsword rasping from its scabbard.
‘Back, Divinity,’ he yelled. ‘I’ll hold them.’
‘No, Ignatius. This isn’t what I—’
Hagalle rolled to his feet and whipped out his broadsword, but the black-cloaks were upon Ignatius before the Emperor could involve himself.
Two fell in a heartbeat, the Grand Master gliding in between them and weaving his sword through the air in a glittering sequence of thrusts, slices, and parries. He rolled around an attempted backstab and hacked his opponent across the hamstrings. The man screamed and fell amidst spurting blood.
Theodore winced and flapped his hands around. How had he lost control of the situation? What had he done wrong?
The clash of steel cut through his thoughts as they formed and he could do nothing except stare like a mesmerized beast. Ignatius hammered his sword against a shield and then kicked the man in the chest. He tried to back away, but the others had already started to outflank him. One of them charged at Theodore, but Ignatius still had the presence of mind to spot the peril to his Ipsissimus. He whirled through a vicious array of attacks, battering aside two men and dispatching the assailant at Theodore’s feet.
A group of cavalry sped down the left hill and started out onto the plain. Theodore glanced behind, but his own army remained stationary, as he knew they would. Ignatius had given them a direct order not to interfere—no matter what happened.
A blade passed so close to Theodore’s cheek he felt the rush of air. Ignatius parried it and ran the man through. He spun to meet the onslaught of three others and was powerless to help Theodore as more soldiers cut him off and the Ipsissimus was surrounded.
The pounding of hooves rolled like thunder across the plain and Theodore forced his eyes shut, seeking out an instant’s peace before the end. Grunts and cries came from the left where Ignatius was still battling, but then a trumpet cut across the din. The clash of blades stopped as everyone turned to the north.
Dust rose in plumes behind a wedge of horsemen thundering to intercept Hagalle’s light cavalry. Theodore squinted as the Imperial riders wheeled to meet the threat. The newcomers were in Nousian white, sunlight glinting from drawn swords. At the tip of the wedge rode a gaunt man in a pilgrim’s hat and a black coat, the tabard of the Elect billowing beneath.
They wouldn’t dare, Theodore thought. The Elect would never disobey their Grand Master. But then he realized the Elect hadn’t moved. These riders had come from nowhere. No—they came from the same direction as the Imperial forces: they must have ridden from Sarum. And then he recognized the man in the pilgrim’s hat: Deacon Shader.
The white knights smashed through the light cavalry like they were chaff, scattering them and continuing on through. Shader reined in before Hagalle’s black-cloaks and leapt from the saddle. The others split, one group watching the black-cloaks, the other keeping an eye on the Imperial army. Impossible, Theodore thought. Reckless. There were only a dozen or so of these white knights, and yet they stood against the foe with the same insolence that he’d come to expect from Ignatius.
Hagalle raised his sword and opened his mouth to bellow something, but Shader darted through the black-cloaks like a striking serpent and pressed the tip of the Sword of the Archon to the Emperor’s throat.
‘Call off your grunts, Hagalle,’ Shader said through clenched teeth.
Hagalle tensed and snarled. Shader’s sword pressed harder and drew blood.
‘Last chance.’ Shader’s voice was ice.
‘Stand down,’ Hagalle said. ‘Do it, now!’
The black-cloaks sheathed their swords and bunched together, glowering.
‘Now,’ Shader said. ‘You two have something to talk about.’
Hagalle’s face burned red. ‘I will not—’
‘So talk.’
***
‘Ignatius Grymm, Barek Thomas,’ Shader said as Barek dismounted. ‘Ignatius here is Grand Master of the Elect. My former boss, if you like.’
‘Former?’ Ignatius growled, although Shader saw the glint in his eye. ‘Vows are for life, Shader, or had you forgotten?’
Ignatius reached out to take Barek’s hand, but th
e lad bowed his head and dropped to one knee.
‘I see you’ve trained him well,’ Ignatius said. ‘But as for you not genuflecting before the Ipsissimus, Shader, I imagine the Judiciary will have a thing or two to say about that.’
‘Oh, they’ve got enough to beat me over the head with already,’ Shader said. ‘I shouldn’t bother them with something so trivial.’
Ignatius tapped Barek on the shoulder. ‘No need to kneel, lad. We’re only joking.’
Barek stood and did his best to smile. ‘Master Shader spoke of you often. I’m honoured.’
Shader inclined his head towards the Ipsissimus and the Emperor who were engaged in a battle of words. At least that’s how it sounded. Hagalle was looming over the Ipsissimus, emphasizing every point with a thump of his fist into the palm of his hand. He shouted, rather than spoke, and seldom allowed the Ipsissimus to complete a sentence. The man was a bully and an idiot, Shader thought. If this went on much longer…
The black-cloaks were leaning on their shields, watching the argument with sullen expressions and occasionally whispering to one another. The White Order circled the gathering. Shader saw Solomon and Gord, Elgin and Justin, and smiled. Oh, they had their flaws, just as he did, but it was good to see them alive.
The Ipsissimus was speaking in a quiet voice, saying something about mawgs and holding out his Monas for Hagalle to see.
‘Then it should be mine,’ Hagalle cut him off again. ‘It came from Sahul in the first place, and it’s Sahul that’s under threat, is it not?’
Ignatius’ eyes narrowed and his hand went to his sword hilt.
The air behind Hagalle shimmered and then swirled with green luminescence. Huntsman stepped out of the air followed by Sammy and Rhiannon.
Shader gasped and felt his heart thudding in his chest.
‘This is bigger than Sahul, stupid white fellah,’ Huntsman said as the portal winked out of existence.
Sammy staggered and dropped to his knees. Rhiannon knelt beside him and cradled his head.