The Jalakh Bow

by Jamie Edmundson

  Theron ordered them to advance another fifty paces, then he declared himself satisfied, waiting to see what the enemy would do. What they did came as a surprise. A small group on horseback detached themselves from the army, carrying the white flag of parley.

  What is there to talk about? Theron asked her suspiciously.

  The group stopped at the midway point between the two armies and waited.

  Well? Belwynn asked Theron.

  Well I suppose I will speak to them.

  Me too, she demanded.

  Alright, he said, in a resigned way.

  Belwynn asked Leontios for a horse, while she told the Madrians to rest and meditate.

  She climbed into the saddle and rode ahead, passing between the units of infantry.

  Theron and Evander appeared from the right flank of the army, Tycho from the left. They trotted their horses towards the middle of the field.

  Waiting for them were five figures. The soldier holding the flag she didn’t recognise, but she knew the others. Diodorus, puffy-eyed and sad looking, sat his horse a few yards away from the others, as if he didn’t want to be there. And so he should, thought Belwynn. Galenos and Belwynn had never exactly met, but they had once shared a look in the Great Hall of the Knights, at the High Tower, as she roused his order against him. He grinned at them now, seemingly confident about the revenge he would get for what they did to him that day. Finally, the two brothers, Straton and Dorian. Except they weren’t brothers, for surely Dorian was dead, his body inhabited by the same monster that had killed Elana.

  ‘You’ve got a bigger army than you did last time,’ Straton said to Theron conversationally when they drew up. ‘Where are they all from? There can’t be many soldiers there.’

  ‘They’re loyal Kalinthians,’ said Theron, ‘prepared to fight our enemies even if you have chosen to fight alongside them.’

  Diodorus had the grace to look to the ground at that comment, but the others didn’t. Straton gave a light smile, looking away, somewhere into the distance.

  ‘Loyalty?’ retorted Galenos, his voice high-pitched and hysterical sounding. ‘You have the gall to sit there and lecture us on loyalty? Oh, I will enjoy your humiliation today. Very much.’

  ‘Have you asked us here to trade worthless insults?’ Tycho said angrily. ‘What does your leader say?’ he added, gesturing at Dorian. ‘The monster that inhabits the bodies of its victims! What kind of creature do you take your orders from?’

  ‘It is time I introduced myself to you,’ said Dorian. At least, it spoke with Dorian’s voice, but it was clear to Belwynn that it wasn’t really him. ‘I am Siavash, Lord of the Ishari. I have come at the bidding of Diis, my master. When I visited in Heractus, I killed the leader of the Knights and I killed Madria’s champion. My armies have conquered the Krykkers of Dalriya. The fleet of the Sea Caladri is destroyed. As I speak, our armies descend on the Brasingian Empire, on our remaining enemies in Halvia. The war is over. I have brought you here to make it clear to you that your continued resistance is pointless. If your people lay down their arms, they are free to return to their homes. Kalinth will be incorporated into the Isharite Empire. Straton will rule as king. I will not seek vengeance or pursue vendettas. If you choose to fight, all you will achieve is the slaughter of Kalinthians.’

  Siavash? The man who had replaced Erkindrix? Belwynn wondered at it. She wondered why he would risk coming to Kalinth alone, albeit he had succeeded so far.

  Tycho was one step ahead of her. He urged his mount forwards, drawing his sword as he did, before shoving the sharp end of the blade into Dorian’s chest.

  Siavash cackled. He grabbed the blade, pulling it out. No blood came with it.

  ‘You cannot kill what is already dead,’ he explained simply.

  ‘You strike under a white flag?’ Galenos demanded, looking outraged.

  ‘I strike a demon!’ Tycho retorted.

  ‘Enough,’ said Theron. ‘We did not come here to surrender. Your revelations change nothing, except to make us more determined to defeat you today,’ he said, pulling at his horse’s reins, turning away from them.

  ‘I will let you live,’ said Straton quietly. ‘I will rule justly. Theron, we have no real choice in this. Don’t kill our people without reason.’

  Theron ignored him, moving off. Belwynn glanced surreptitiously at Siavash, before following him. The Lord of Ishari had killed Elana, Madria’s champion. Did he suspect that Madria had chosen a new one? It didn’t seem so.

  They rode back to their lines.

  ‘It changes nothing,’ Theron insisted.

  None of them disagreed. But now they knew that it was Siavash who somehow resided in Dorian’s body. And that he couldn’t be killed.

  Soren! Belwynn called with desperation.

  But Soren didn’t answer.

  I’m not waiting any longer, Theron declared.

  Trumpets blared across the battlefield. The Knights on each side of the army began to move forwards. They were the best fighters, the ones who could win the battle for them. Straton’s army, inferior, held their position on higher ground, waiting for them to come.

  Belwynn knew enough about battles, mainly from listening to Clarin’s stories, to know that Straton’s army would have dug in, prepared unpleasant traps and other surprises for the horses. They would defend, and somewhere the knights under Galenos would be waiting, ready to counter-attack.

  The Knights picked up speed, streaming away from their lines. There was a nervous energy amongst those left behind, who had to wait for their turn to fight.

  Like so many others, Belwynn peered ahead, fruitlessly trying to make out what was happening, to see whether the two sides had engaged yet. Theron had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she must stay with the reserves, and give out her orders from there. A small, basic tower had been constructed here, giving Belwynn and Leontios something of a view over the battlefield. It was enough for Belwynn to oversee her unit of Madrians. For Leontios, it would help him to decide when and where his small force should intervene.

  We’ve engaged, Theron finally told her. They’ve dug in. It’s hard to get to them.

  Belwynn passed the message on to Leontios. The young man nodded coolly enough, but Belwynn had some idea how difficult it was for him to wait it out while his brothers were fighting.

  Belwynn! It came as a shout, Belwynn shocked by Theron’s voice echoing around her head. We’re in retreat! Tell Leontios! You need to move the infantry forwards to cover us!

  ‘Leontios, they’re retreating back here, I think he wants you to help, I—’ Belwynn paused, as Theron passed on more information. She went cold, her mouth opening and closing in mute shock.

  ‘What is it?’ Leontios demanded, his face full of concern at her reaction.

  ‘Theron says it’s the Drobax. The Drobax are here.’

  March! Belwynn ordered the Madrians. There are Drobax coming! Be prepared!

  What kind of affect her words had on them, she could only guess. But they did as she ordered, moving forwards in close formation. The other infantry units began to follow. Belwynn couldn’t warn them. She tried to reach out with her mind to them, but there was no connection that she could use. They were unknowingly walking into a Drobax horde coming for them, and she doubted whether they would hold out for long.

  Leontios took his mounted reserves to the left, swinging around the infantry units, whereupon he would lead them into the Drobax coming their way, trying to give the rest of the Knights time to retreat and regroup. He had insisted on leaving someone behind with Belwynn, and so Philon stayed with her on the tower, watching his friend ride away into battle.

  The meeting before the battle made more sense to Belwynn now. Siavash’s offer of an end to the conflict. The confident grin of Galenos. Straton’s diffidence. Diodorus’s shame. They had all known about the Drobax. Known that if it came to a fight, they were going to win.

  Then she could see and hear the Knights. They made a noise like thunder,
Theron’s and Tycho’s forces both returning to their original positions on either side of the infantry.

  Halt! she ordered her soldiers, keeping them in place while the Knights arranged themselves. They seemed to be spreading out much more thinly than before, leaving larger gaps between each other. She could hear shouts but couldn’t make out the words. She could hear the neighs of horses as their riders frantically turned them around, trying to get them into position. Somewhere out there, too far away for Belwynn to see, Leontios would be harassing the enemy, buying them precious time.

  Belwynn! Every message Theron sent now came as a shout. Get them ready. When the Drobax come they need to advance to meet them.

  Belwynn relayed the instructions to her soldiers, and it was just in time, because the Drobax now came into view. They howled when they saw the Kalinthians, picking up the pace from a fast march to a jog. There was little real order to their march, each creature travelling at its own pace. Belwynn could see their weapons, mostly crude wooden things, in their hands. Few wore armour. But it felt like none of that mattered, because more and more kept coming. The horizon darkened with Drobax, and yet there seemed to be no end to the numbers.

  Belwynn told the Madrians to ready themselves: lock their shields in place, point their spears ahead. The Madrians let out a roar of their own as they did so, finding strength in the shields of the men and women who stood to either side of them.

  Now! said Belwynn. The Madrians moved as one, shoving shields forwards to stop the Drobax, striking out with their spears at unprotected flesh. They had a few seconds of freedom, targeting the exposed Drobax who had arrived without the safety of a shield wall. But that was all they got, because then the Drobax coming behind hurtled towards them. The Madrians locked shields together, presenting a wall of death. The Drobax crashed into it, pushed forwards by the weight of numbers behind them.

  From Belwynn’s position it resembled a wave crashing against rocks, her Madrians arriving first, then behind them the rest of the Kalinthian infantry, following their advance. Finally, the Knights on each side moved ahead, using their height and long lances to skewer the Drobax before they got too close.

  It was a strange sensation, then, as Belwynn ignored all else and focused on her Madrians. They punched ahead with their left arms all at the same time, smashing teeth and noses with their shields, then lunged forward with their right arm, a forest of steel coming at the Drobax all at once, impossible to escape. It was like Belwynn was the queen bee, and the Madrians her workers, following her orders without thinking for themselves. No fear; no sense of self-preservation. When one of them fell, they were replaced. This sense of unity, of harmony, was enough to withstand the greater numbers of Drobax.

  Belwynn couldn’t say how long this lasted, before she was pulled out of her reverie by Philon.

  ‘My lady,’ he warned her, pointing ahead.

  Belwynn’s Madrians had withstood the Drobax attack, but the infantry forces to their left and right could hold no longer. Men were turning and running from the monsters, and once a few of them left, more and more followed, in an effort to save their lives. Staying to fight suddenly became futile, and the units collapsed, turning to flee and outrun the Drobax while they still had a chance.

  They ran in the direction of Belwynn and Philon, some dropping weapons in their haste to escape. The Drobax gave chase, though surely it was only a matter of time before some of the monsters moved around Belwynn’s Madrians and surrounded them.

  Philon gestured behind them. ‘They’re running to their deaths,’ he said, bitterness filling his words. ‘They’ll never cross the river.’

  Belwynn turned around to look. The fast flowing Pineos waited for those who made it that far. Some might gain the bridge in time, but most would face the choice of turning to face their pursuers or taking their chances in the water.

  ‘I need to get you out of here,’ he added.

  The fleeing Kalinthians were drawing the Drobax towards their position, but where could they escape to?

  Belwynn pointed towards the Madrians ahead of them.

  ‘Take me there,’ she said.

  Philon looked around, his expression full of indecision. There was the bridge across the Pineos, perhaps still the safest option. He looked across the battlefield to where Theron fought. He could get her on a horse and ridden to safety from there, but they would have to get through the rampaging Drobax to reach Theron’s knights. The Madrians ahead of them were closer, but how long would they hold out?

  ‘I need to be with the Madrians,’ Belwynn insisted.

  ‘Alright,’ Philon reluctantly agreed. ‘Come, we must be swift.’

  Descending the tower steps, Belwynn found herself running after Philon towards the battle, while not much more than a hundred feet away, Kalinthians were running past them in the opposite direction. They began to attract the attention of the Drobax following the Kalinthians, some of whom broke away in their direction. However, the thought of running hard back the way they had come seemed to dissuade them, and they reverted to their original quarry.

  As they got closer, Belwynn could see her fears becoming realised. The rear of the Madrian unit was being attacked by the Drobax, who had all but encircled them.

  ‘Come,’ said Philon, urging her on, though her breath was getting ragged now.

  Three Drobax came to meet them. Philon, sword already drawn, approached them, but he couldn’t stop one of them moving for Belwynn. She drew her short sword.

  ‘It’s alright, Philon,’ she assured him, sensing his anxiousness. ‘I can hold it off.’

  She focused now on the creature, holding a wicked looking club. She had been taught enough of sword fighting not to panic. It came for her, but she used her footwork, moving to the side as it approached. It made a vicious swing in her direction anyway, but the club sailed harmlessly past. Belwynn knew that a proper soldier like Clarin would have attacked at that point, but she simply backed away, not willing to risk getting into trouble. The creature grinned at her, but she wasn’t intimidated by that. She feinted at it with her sword, making it think twice about charging at her. It moved towards her, twirling the club, perhaps ready to be a bit more patient this time.

  But it didn’t have time. Philon appeared behind it, chopping down with his sword on its skull. It dropped to the floor, where he made sure it was dead. He had already dispatched the other two Drobax.

  However, the fight had drawn more Drobax in their direction. It didn’t look like they would be able to get past them.

  Help me, Belwynn ordered the Madrians, not really thinking, just acting.

  They came at once, swiftly moving from defence to attack. The Drobax were forced to turn and meet the threat.

  Philon ran at the Drobax, using his sword to punish them for turning their back on him. Between the advancing Madrians and the knight, the Drobax were either killed or forced to retreat.

  Belwynn slipped in amongst the Madrians, safe for now.

  Hold! Fight for Madria! she ordered them.

  But they were being pressed from all sides, and Belwynn could tell that they wouldn’t be able to hold for much longer. When their defences were breached, there would be no chance of an escape to the river. They would be surrounded and slaughtered.

  Reappearance

  XXII

  THEY LEFT BASERNO BEHIND THEM, Clarin carrying the Persaleian Shield on his back. He enjoyed the weight of it; enjoyed being close to it.

  Would Zared and his father allow him to keep it? Allow their people’s shield to leave Persala? He couldn’t be sure. If they didn’t intend to let him have it, why take him to Baserno with them in the first place? Unless they had somehow known that he was the one who could claim it from the old flamen, Ennius. Ennius had only given up the shield when Clarin had said Belwynn’s name. The strangeness of that stayed with him. Why Belwynn?

  Zared and his father’s champion, Duilio, were focused on leading their group to the rendezvous location with King Mark. Maybe
then Clarin would get some answers.

  They soon left the Persaleian roads to cut across country, heading for one of the old places of Persala, away from the towns and prying eyes. By a track that continued on to a collection of farm buildings stood a giant old oak tree, that had perhaps served as a meeting point when the Persaleian Empire was at its height. Here they threw off packs and sat down for a bite to eat.

  Zared paced up and down, waiting for Mark and his force to arrive.

  Clarin sat with Rudy and Jurgen, watching the Rotelegen massage his leg. Jurgen had taken a spear to the calf muscle in Samir Durg and had been lame ever since.

  ‘You two must be tempted to head south from here, to your homeland,’ Clarin commented.

  The two cousins looked at each other. ‘We’ve discussed it,’ Rudy admitted. ‘Don’t know what we’ll find there if we do, with Isharite armies heading every which way. And from what you say, finding yon shield could do more good for our people than anything else. But home does call to me. We have family who would be surprised to see us alive, that’s for sure,’ he said, grinning at the thought.

  ‘I appreciate your help and loyalty,’ said Clarin, ‘and I’d be honoured if you stayed. But I’d understand if you didn’t.’

  Jurgen nodded. ‘I can’t go on walking like this for much longer. My body needs rest. But like Rudy says, two of us marching south, into only the gods know what kind of mess? You’ve kept us alive this far, Clarin. Against the odds. I’m not keen on doing something hasty and throwing our lives away after what we’ve lived through.’

  Shouts disturbed their talk. Clarin jumped to his feet, Rudy pulled Jurgen up to his.

  ‘Soldiers!’ came the warnings. Presumably they weren’t Mark’s.

  Duilio’s men pointed to the east, from the direction of Baserno. Tamir and the Barbarians pointed to the fields that stretched to the north. Disciplined ranks of spearmen marched towards them from both directions, supported by cavalry. They numbered in the hundreds, too much of a match for their group of twenty-eight.