Necromancer's Gambit (The Flesh & Bone Trilogy Book 1)

by A J Dalton

  Young Strap watched Saltar’s armoured back as the animee trod purposefully onwards towards the enemy, towards their doom and their salvation. The young Guardian had tried to resist the impulse to reflect upon the events of his short life so far, but had realised it was futile: he would find no peace and be unable to prepare himself for the fight until he’d put his affairs in order, at least in his head. Was that why people’s lives flashed before their eyes just before they died? Was it the only way and only moment when humanity finally found peace?

  His mother’s sad face was there, smiling at him with all the love she had. The cruel image of his father came next, and although Young Strap knew anger towards him, he realised he pitied the man more than he hated them. The boys who had joined the King’s army at the same time as him ran past laughing. The surly soldiers he had known in the mountains looked over their shoulders and nodded respectfully at him. Then he saw the Scourge waiting for him with a tense and kindly impatience. At one moment he’d been the wise Old Hound looking out for a boisterous pup, at another he’d embodied the merciless and uncompromising demands of unswerving loyalty, a self-sacrificing pursuit of duty and the unending battle with the enemies of Dur Memnos. Nostracles was there nodding encouragement at him. How Young Strap missed the gentle priest who had been the closest thing he’d had to a true friend! Kate, Savantus, Mordius, Vallus, Constantus marched past and Saltar, the one who had saved him from himself and shooting the Scourge in the back. There was someone and something missing. Where was the love that was at the centre of his being? Where was his beloved sorceress? He fought to bring the details of her image to mind, surprised at how difficult it was, but suddenly he had her. She whispered gently in his ear and he knew she loved him. It gave him the peace and resolve he needed.

  Satisfied he knew who he was and his affairs were taken care of, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and stepped up to the mark just behind and to the right of Saltar. Young Strap straightened the banner – a red heart on a black and white chequered field – in the harness on his back and nocked an arrow to his bow. They were almost in range of the waiting enemy and about to break into a run. Young Strap was ordered to keep close behind Saltar for this part, as the Guardian was one of the few who was truly vulnerable to anything the enemy archers could unleash.

  They came within several hundred yards of the enemy and started to run. The Memnosian cavalry swept down upon Saltar’s ranks and trampled large numbers of the dead into the earth, but the Accritanian dead could not be daunted, cared nothing for their fallen and moved ever onwards. The mercenary cavalry from Holter’s cross led by the Scourge rode to intercept the Memnosian horse, but found their way blocked by Saltar’s infantry as it poured forwards. The undead were too witless to move aside. Then, a necromancer lieutenant had his head cloven in two and a large number of the dead between the Scourge’s force and the Memnosian cavalry collapsed to the ground. The Scourge shouted a battle-cry and led the charge over the bodies littering the ground.

  Even though he was running, Young Strap raised his bow. He felt the wind rising and falling, the thump of his heart, the rhythm of his footfall and the thunder of horse hooves shaking the earth, found the briefest instant of stillness and fluidly loosed his arrow. It sped straight at a hulking soldier whose eyes were fixed on Saltar and buried itself deep in his forehead, just below the rim of his helmet. Young Strap saw Saltar’s head twitch slightly to the side in recognition of the near impossible shot, but then all was forgotten as they quickly closed with the bristling, steel-clad Memnosian army.

  The Memnosians threw javelins and lowered pikes and the front rank of the Accritanian dead were skewered and brought almost to a standstill. But few of the dead fell. Those caught on pikes dragged themselves along the lengths of the Memnosian weapons until they could reach the horrified and defenceless living soldiers still holding the other ends. Eyes were gouged out by the clawed fingers of the dead. Memnosians who opened their mouths to scream in terror suddenly found dead fingers cramming into their mouths to tear out their tongues.

  Blood began to jet across the battlefield. Desperate to help their comrades, the second rank of the Memnosians waded forwards and found the Accritanians were slow and easy targets for their maces and blades, that limbs could be amputated or crushed and heads lopped off without much trouble. It made for grizzly work, but the Memnosians wielded their weapons with a growing confidence.

  Saltar leapt into the fray and began to strike at all those around him with lightning speed and deadly accuracy. When one of the dead inadvertently stepped too near or across him, he did not hesitate to smash it aside or pulverise it against an oncoming opponent. A young Memnosian soldier who was either foolishly brave or looking to make a name for himself ducked forward under the end of Saltar’s staff and swung a formidable two-handed sword at Saltar’s midriff. The passage and weight of the blade threatened to cut the Battle-leader’s legs completely from his body, except that it came too slowly. Saltar slapped a palm under the flat of the blade and pushed it up and over his head. He took a step forwards and slammed the butt of his staff into the metal nose-bridge of the Memnosian’s helmet and made a wreckage of the once unblemished and handsome face. Nasal cartilage and bone caved in under the terrible force hammered into them and, with an abrupt, piteous cry, the youth slumped to his death, his body voiding bladder and bowels.

  I am an animee, Saltar told himself, I feel nothing about the youth’s death. People were dying all around. What was one more? Why then was he analysing it so much? Every death speeded the apocalypse towards them – that was why the youth’s death troubled him. Why couldn’t the Memnosians simply stand aside and save themselves, in turn to save them all? He didn’t want to kill them. He took no joy in it and knowing that he did Voltar’s selfish work for him. How could he turn the Memnosians aside from their own self-destruction? It was too late to circumnavigate them. He would have to break them while killing as few as possible. The Memnosian army had to be decapitated.

  ‘Saltar!’ Young Strap cried.

  Saltar blinked. The air thrummed around him. Danger! Instinct screamed at him to move, but which way? Unsure but knowing he could not afford to remain exactly where he was, he dropped like a stone, hoping the threat was not coming for him at a low level. Something glanced off his brow and he lost the vision in his left eye. What was happening? He was off balance and couldn’t get himself into a stable crouch where he could get his guard up. He tried to go into a backward roll, but the sprawled body of the youth he’d just killed spoilt the manoeuvre and a short sword hacked down into the base of his neck. The top of his breastplate and the angled inclination of the blade were all that saved Saltar from having his head stricken from his shoulders. As it was, the blade was buried deep and wouldn’t come away despite his combatant’s savage attempt to twist and pull. Saltar was in no doubt that the wound would have been fatal if he’d been alive.

  A mailed fist the size of a war hammer met Saltar’s chin and snapped his head back. He heard the bones in his neck crunch. Another blow like that and his spine would break.

  There was a whistle and Saltar’s foe grunted in pain. An arrow protruded from the Memnosian’s armoured chest, but didn’t look like it was going to slow him at all. There was a glint in his eye harder than adamantium. He intended to tear Saltar apart with his bare hands.

  Another whistle and Young Strap’s next arrow found a truer mark. It separated the chainmail rings of the Memnosian’s coif, tore through his throat and out at the base of his skull. Choking, the ogre-sized Memnosian still had strength enough to reach for Saltar.

  Saltar surged to his feet, grabbed the flight of the arrow beneath the Memnosian’s chin and shoved it upwards. The Memnosian tried to grit his teeth and keep functioning, but his eyes were beginning to glaze. The giant passed out and Saltar let him fall without another thought. There were plenty of others closing in and Young Strap would not survive long if he wasn’t afforded the space to use his bow any longer.r />
  The Battle-leader hooked his foot under the metal-shod staff he’d lost in the melee and flicked back into his hand, not a moment too soon for he was required to use it in the instant. They knew who he was and almost fought amongst themselves to be the one to take his head. This was the moment of focus, the moment when his irreducible nature, his lifetimes of battling and killing, were made manifest. He shifted his staff to his right hand and pulled a sword from its place at his left hip. The Memnosians arrayed against him had no idea how to combat this combination. Young Strap was a constant menace to them, forcing them to keep their shields up, and then they became unsighted on Saltar. And he did not hesitate to lay waste to them.

  ‘Rush him!’ came a guttural command from a hulking sergeant.

  They came for him, and he laughed maniacally. Death could not be killed, didn’t they realise that? He didn’t need to see from his left eye to destroy them. He could sense all the lives around him, could see the lines that connected them to this reality. They were gossamer webs floating on the wind, and he pared them as if he held the shears of fate.

  When his staff finally buckled, he pulled out the sword still embedded in the curve of his neck and plunged deeper and deeper into the press. He scythed through them, cutting a wide path and blowing them away like so much chaff. For a moment, he feared he would leave Young Strap far behind him, but Saltar had issued clear instructions to several of the lieutenants, and the dead followed his lead without hesitation. They kept the Memnosians away from Young Strap, throwing themselves in front of any and every blow, strike or missile.

  They made a direct path for the flag that bore the red fist on a white background.

  ***

  On another part of the plain, Kate led her large war-party of mounted mercenaries from Holter’s Cross towards the left flank of the Memnosian force. The Memnosians had sent their cavalry to intercept them, only to find themselves too heavily armoured to keep up with the mercenaries, who cleverly used the wide spaces of the plain to its full advantage, drawing the Memnosians on, and then wheeling and sprinting away. Suddenly the Memnosians found the mercenaries behind them and that Kate had a goodly number of skilled mounted archers under her command. The Memnosians cried out as they as they realised they were isolated from the main body of their force. Flighted death found more and more of them.

  The Memnosian lieutenant leading the cavalry could not believe what had happened. It was not meant to be like this! That traitorous, green-leathered bitch was to blame. He spurred his horse straight at her.

  The god Aa was perched on Kate’s shoulder holding onto her ponytail so that he would not lose his seat. ‘Sweetest! There’s a Memnosian charging straight for you.’

  ‘What?’ she said, whipping her head round and almost dislodging the small avatar whispering in her ear. ‘Shit! He’s too close to avoid.’ She wrestled to get her horse round so that she would at least be facing the attack. She didn’t have time to reload her crossbow so hung it on its hook on her saddle.

  ‘I told you you should have worn heavier armour,’ Aa chastised her. ‘Really, you haven’t planned this latest venture of yours very well. And I’m slightly put out that you didn’t pay better heed to my advice.’

  ‘Well, let’s just hope I live long enough to regret it. Aa, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your advice, it’s just that chainmail is too heavy for me. It stops me doing things like this…’

  She pulled one of her knives and hurled it straight at the snarling face of the Memnosian bearing down on her. He was so close that she swore that she could feel the breath of his steed and smell its sweaty fear. The drumming of its hooves filled her ears and foam from its mouth filled the air. Somehow, the Memnosian got his shield up and managed to deflect the knife harmlessly away.

  ‘Oops!’ Aa breathed. ‘You missed.’

  ‘You distracted me. Look, if you haven’t got anything useful to say, then get me one of the others! You’re supposed to be on my side. We’re fighting this war for you, you know.’

  ‘Watch out for his sabre!’

  Kate leaned back in her saddle as wickedly sharp metal slashed across her, parted the toughened leather of her chest and cut her breast.

  ‘Thanks!’ Kate said to Aa gratefully, causing the Memnosian some consternation. Apparently, he couldn’t see Aa on her shoulder.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t refuse the chainmail because you fancy yourself in that green leather of yours?’

  ‘Go away!’ Kate grated as she ducked a furious swipe from the Memnosian and kicked out at him ineffectually.

  ‘Need some help?’ boomed a massive figure encased in spiky metal plates and easily as tall as Kate sat on her horse.

  Kate’s mouth hung open. An iron fist as big as her head lifted the behemoth’s visor and she found herself face-to-face with the enlarged features of Incarnus. The god winked at her. Dumbly, she pointed at the Memnosian.

  ‘My pleasure!’ grinned the god of hatred and vengeance. He swung a mace the size of a battle-steed and catapulted the unfortunate Memnosian and his mount twenty feet across the field. Even in the heat of battle, the bizarre sight caught the attention of a good number of the enemy. They’d witnessed Kate pointing and then the cavalryman being propelled through the air by some invisible, magical force.

  ‘Care for another?’ Incarnus asked with boyish enthusiasm. He was clearly enjoying himself.

  She pointed randomly and then said, ‘I thought there were rules about the gods not interfering in mortal affairs.’

  Incarnus delivered another titanic blow; this an overhead one that collapsed a horse and rider and drove them deep into the churned up ground. ‘Well, they’re not purely mortal affairs anymore, now are they? Some of the old rules have been superseded. In some ways, I have a bit more freedom than I’ve ever had before. But I’m not here for the conversation. Who’s next?

  A suspicion began to creep into Kate’s head. ‘You still need to appear to be acting through a mortal agent, though, don’t you? You need me to point people out so that everyone believes I’m somehow responsible, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that! Just choose someone.’

  ‘No!’

  Aa tut-tutted at her.

  Cries of ‘The green witch!’ were soon being screamed by the Memnosian cavalry, who decided they’d had enough, turned tail and raced pell-mell back to their lines. They caused chaos and no few deaths as they ploughed into their own infantry. The mercenaries were experienced enough to know this was a possible tipping-point in the battle. They took up ‘The green witch!’ as their rallying and battle-cry and hotly pursued the remaining, panicked Memnosian cavalry.

  Incarnus had lost his jovial demeanour. Dangerously, he said: ‘After all we’ve done for you, you ingrate mortal! Be careful that I do not turn my hatred and desire for vengeance on you! You wouldn’t be alive but for me!’

  Kate took a calming breath. ‘That’s partly the point, sweet Incarnus. We need you to keep people alive as far as possible. I love you, Incarnus, you know that, but for the good of us all Shakri’s kingdom must be protected.’

  It was not in the nature of Incarnus to listen to reason or be mollified but, as he’d already said, some of the old rules had been superseded. He hesitated.

  ‘I still want something of you, though,’ she offered him instead. ‘I need this side of the battlefield cleared so that we can get into the catacombs and reach the real object of our hatred. Can you push them aside for us? Inevitably, you will end up killing a number of them – and can enjoy that – but a massacre will do us no good. Our need to revenge ourselves on Voltar eclipses everything that does or does not happen here below Corinus.’

  His disappointment was obvious but Incarnus reluctantly nodded his head. Then a look as hard as an anvil came into his eyes and he slammed his visor back down. He hefted the giant mace in his hand and lumbered forwards towards the panicking Memnosians. Those in the front rank were trying to retreat so that they did not get trampled by th
eir own heavy cavalry. Meanwhile, the second and third ranks of the Memnosian army continued to push forwards. The enemy were close to fighting amongst themselves.

  Kate spurred after Incarnus and stood up in her stirrups. She started making lavish hand gestures and shouting nonsense words that sounded magical. Incarnus started smashing mercilessly into the soldiers of Dur Memnos. They had nowhere to run and were pulped and mangled two or three at a time. Metal that was designed to protect human life and limb was dented and twisted until it made a ruin of so many bodies and lives. Incarnus stomped them underfoot.

  She was sickened by the sight of what she had put in motion and had half a mind to rein Incarnus back in. Men cried out pitifully for mercy as they foresaw their own deaths. One youth had tears running down his cheeks… until the omnipotent mace of the god stove his face in. Her vision blurred as tears filled her own eyes, and she was glad of it.

  Wasn’t this the sort of power she’d always wanted, the power to kill at will and with impunity? She’d worked her entire life to become an unhesitating engine of death that could lay waste to all the cruel men of this world who would even think of harming a young girl imprisoned in her bedroom. She wanted them to be so frightened that they spoiled their undergarments, wanted them to cry so hard that snot and blood ran in rivers down their chins, and wanted them to die with a full and hideous self-awareness and self-hatred. This was what she’d always wanted, wasn’t it? She’d always wanted to carry this dead zone around her, surely. It didn’t mean she was dead inside, though, did it? Surely she wasn’t one of the dead! Was this what she’d wanted? Why were there tears in her eyes then? Nothing really made sense anymore.