Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  “Hold your ground, the Baiji are coming,” the runner repeated obediently.

  “Good, go.” Darius dismissed him and went back to watching. Now he didn’t know if he wanted the barbarians to move or not. No, scratch that, he didn’t want them shifting now that he’d changed Tunheim’s orders. Hopefully the man could divide the cavalry quickly and easily, as they hadn’t planned on this.

  Time in battle flowed, different and distorted, either much faster or much slower than Darius perceived it. The closer he got to the action, the truer that became, and he felt the distortion keenly now. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since he had sent Roshan off toward the city, and yet it felt like hours. Part of the reason why Darius had chosen this specific spot for the battle was because of its close proximity to the city. If things became truly dire, they could always retreat, put up a defensive stance behind stout walls. At least short term. Ruralcalba did not have the necessary supplies and defenses to last long in a siege. Prior experience had taught them that brutally well.

  His commanders bellowed orders, barely heard over the other war cries and clash of weapons, to hold the line, get back in formation. The line staggered, bulging inward like a sack filled past capacity, ready to rend and tear at any moment. With a concentrated strength, the pikemen pushed forward again, pikes coming back down to rest on the shoulders of the front linemen, finding targets. They staggered, as they had been trained to do, drawing the horses into pockets and using the advantage to take down the riders.

  The men were tiring. He could see their exhaustion in the lines of their faces, darkened by sweat and dust, hear it in their grunts of exertion. It took more and more effort each time for them to brace against the onslaught, to push their attackers off, to face their enemies.

  Another war cry resounded through the morning air, echoing and overlapping as each clan picked it up and repeated it. Darius had heard it many times through the years, sometimes against him. He knew this version would haunt his dreams for some time to come, as the bloodthirstiness and the eerie echo of it made the fine hairs along his arms spike up.

  He knew what the cry meant. They’d sensed a weakness in Darius’s troops, or Behnam’s, and they called to each other to push harder. To press forward and take advantage. Their berserker ferocity grew a sharper edge as they nearly climbed on top of each other to challenge the pikemen and archers.

  Darius swore as he saw the change, the madness of their attacks. He’d seen it too many times. He knew exactly what the result of this would be. Desperately, he turned in his saddle, Sohrab dancing impatiently underneath him. The Baiji. Where were the Baiji?

  The gates remained closed. Darius’s heart sank. Had Roshan even reached the city by now?

  As if seeing the question on his face, Bohme leaned forward a little and said in a half-shout, “Boy and Tolk made it fine!”

  Relieved, Darius responded in the same tone. “When?”

  “Few minutesh ago.”

  So they might not have managed to get Tunheim his new orders yet. Or they had but Tunheim still needed a few minutes to sort people out before they poured out of the gates. It could be either but did it really matter? Darius knew that if they didn’t come pouring out of the city within the next few minutes they would lose this battle spectacularly. He was no longer sure if they would even be able to retreat into the city, not with the barbarians pushing them this hard.

  For the second time in this battle, Darius found himself staring at a fixed point and muttering under his breath, “Come on, come on, come on.”

  An exultant shout sounded from the other hill and Darius snapped his head around, dreading what it meant, as he knew from the tone. He didn’t have to look to know. Behnam’s defenses had just been breached. Standing in his stirrups, he hissed at the sight that met his eyes. The line still held, barely, but the barbarians had managed to get around the line, overpowering the archers. Some of the pikemen had turned, facing the enemy as they came around, to prevent them from being ambushed from behind.

  They absolutely could not afford for that to happen. Darius turned, his first thought the Night Raiders, his eyes falling to where they stood on the main highway. It didn’t take long to see that they were barely holding their own down there. He couldn’t draw anyone away to help.

  He looked about, finding that he still had two regiments of pikemen in reserve. Would that be enough? Did it matter? The situation was akin to sinking at sea with only a sieve to cling to. No matter how many times he re-arranged the men, too many holes kept appearing, he didn’t have enough of them to plug it all.

  Swearing, he turned to Sergeant Kayvion, standing ready with the reserves and snapped out, “Behnam’s left flank has fallen. Double time to that position!”

  “Sir!” the newly minted sergeant snapped out a salute before turning and ordering his men to fall out. They did so at a quick jog, all more or less in unison, skirting around the edges of where the Night Raiders still fought with ferocious intensity on the highway.

  It wouldn’t be enough. Even as Darius sent them, he knew that. Desperately, he turned back toward the city, willing the gates to open. Open. Please open.

  Shaa finally decided to listen. The gates pushed inexorably apart, horsemen pouring through in twos and threes, barely enough space for them to squeeze through, and then as the gates swung open wide, they came out five or six abreast. Darius felt like weeping at the sight of them. They split to either side even as they came out, dividing like a river around a boulder, swinging wide around the pikemen and the hill they dominated. They moved fast, at a near run, putting speed behind their charge.

  Snarling with fierce anticipation, Darius swung back around, watching his side as the Baiji came sharply around. Aiming for the back ranks, they positioned themselves perfectly and with a blood curdling war cry of their own, they slammed right into the barbarians, the concussive impact of it loud enough that people in Niotan likely heard it. The victorious cries of the barbarians died abruptly, cut off with the harsh reality that they had just been flanked.

  Rising up in his saddle, Darius peered over the front lines and watched as the Baiji hit both sides near simultaneously. Truly, the timing was almost impeccable, as if Tunheim had trained his men in this very maneuver for weeks instead of issuing new orders on the fly. The barbarians crumbled in between them, some of them trying to escape north again, and failing as the Baiji ran them down.

  Bohme snorted. “Not in the mood for prishonersh, the Baiji.”

  “Apparently not.” Darius hadn’t given them the impression that he wanted a massacre, but then again, the Baiji were infamous for not really obeying orders. If not for his personal relationship with Tunheim, he likely wouldn’t have been able to give them orders at all. It didn’t sit well with him, but the barbarians hadn’t done anything to earn mercy, either. Shaking his head, he let it go, as Darius couldn’t do much to stop them in the middle of the battle like this.

  Turning, he checked on Behnam’s side again. The barbarians that had broken the line retreated now, trying to come to the aid of their allies, but they didn’t have the numbers or the position to do anything effective. Darius held his breath as he watched the tide slowly turn. Would it be enough? Would the Baiji be enough to turn this battle back into their favor?

  Darius held his breath, waiting for the answer, as he could do precious little at this juncture. Everyone he could deploy in the field already stood fighting. This would either work or not.

  The change came in a ripple effect, starting from the back, rolling along the sides and toward the front, as the conflict slowly died down. Darius saw it happen in the blink of an eye, saw the moment when the barbarians realized they were surrounded on all sides, with no escape routes, and their leadership floundered, unable to point any of them in a specific direction. The woman on the roan horse stood in the middle of it all, shouting something—Darius could see her mouth moving, but she had no voice that could overcome this madness. She needed a horn, or fl
ags, something to signal with, and without those her orders became lost.

  People shifted, hard, thrown off-balance as the Baiji gave another hard push. Darius lost sight of the woman when that happened, and he honestly didn’t know if she had just been shoved off her horse or if she stood in some blind spot. He didn’t much care. One way or another, she had lost control of the clans, and no longer represented a threat.

  From Behnam’s hill, a long, sonorous note rang out loud and clear. A clarion call signaling for a final push toward victory. Darius, grinning, lifted his own horn and gave a similar call. The men in front of him didn’t even cast a glance backwards, but he could see their grins as they gathered up whatever energy they had left and pushed mightily forward, long spears jabbing.

  The barbarians faltered under this onslaught and turned, away from the pikemen, away from the hills entirely, trying to retreat back toward the highway. They ran afoul of the melee instead, the Baiji taking no quarter. Darius saw the moment of opportunity and lifted the horn again to his mouth, blowing into it in three short bursts.

  Advance.

  The pikemen obeyed on both hills, grimly advancing, staying in step with each other so that no part of the line fell apart. Darius watched them go, an eagle eye out for any trouble, but finding none. He’d been in war too long to trust his naked eye and lifted the glass to his eye, scanning the area again, and still didn’t see any spot that needed reinforcements. Some of the barbarians had managed to get free of the Baiji and raced northward, retreating as quickly as their horses could take them. Darius let them go. They’d no doubt cause some trouble but as long as they headed toward home, he didn’t care what they did.

  Bohme stayed planted at his side as the line advanced, leaving them both behind. Darius felt like he’d missed something, forgotten to check on some important detail, and he turned his sight inwards for a long moment, puzzling through everything he’d done since this morning.

  Roshan.

  Swearing, he spun in his saddle and looked all around but didn’t see his brother-in-law anywhere. “Bohme, did you see Roshan?”

  The bodyguard gave a pained noise and twisted in his saddle as well, looking in all directions. “No. Not Tolk either. Where are they?”

  A very good question that Darius absolutely had to have an answer to. “Go find him. Now.”

  “Shir!” Bohme protested.

  He well understood his bodyguard’s protests, as they might be winning the battle now, but Darius stood on top of a hill and made a perfectly wonderful target. Now would be the perfect time for the enemy to kill him and cause enough confusion to turn the tide of battle back into their favor. “Bohme, if that boy is hurt, I’m a dead man either way. Find him.”

  Bohme grimaced, expression rueful and acknowledging of this truth, before he spun his horse about and put boots to its flanks, heading straight for the city.

  Darius prayed the boy had simply been delayed in the city, hence why he didn’t return to Darius as ordered. But he had a terrible feeling he’d somehow been talked into going along with Tunheim. It was exactly the sort of mad impulse his crazy friend would have.

  It better not be as he suspected. Darius liked Tunheim. He’d hate to have to murder him.

  Eventually, a white flag went up. Well, not a flag per se, it looked like someone’s shirt that had been ripped forcibly off, but Darius took it in the spirit it was meant. He gave two short blasts to the horn, signaling a halt, but didn’t call for a retreat. They kept the barbarians pinned in place, silently demanding someone to come up as spokesperson.

  He took in a breath, emotions at war with each other. Hope threatened to choke him, caution warned not to get carried away, and desperation clawed its way forward, trying to upset both. They hadn’t won, not yet. The tide of the battle had turned in their favor but this was nothing more than a break. Handled right, they could end the conflict here.

  Handled wrong, they’d be ground into the dust before sunset.

  Darius felt his throat freeze, parched as if he stood in a desert, nerves sapping his ability to speak. He lifted his canteen up and took a long draw, forcing himself to calm down as he drank, then replaced the canteen with studied care. Now was not the time to lose his head.

  Slowly, grudgingly, the woman on the roan horse nudged a little forward and spoke in the guttural, rough language of Roran. He was strung so tightly that Darius almost laughed. Really, that was how she chose to play this?

  Kaveh came jogging up to his side and asked, “Sir, do you understand what she’s saying?”

  “I do.” Darius shook his head in amazement. “I know what she’s doing, too. She doesn’t actually want to negotiate surrender so she’s deliberately making it seem as if we can’t communicate with each other.”

  Kaveh’s eyes crossed. “Is she suicidal?”

  “Stubborn more like.” He was not about to say aloud that she still had a chance of winning here. His troops didn’t need that kind of slice through their morality.

  Darius knew good and well Behnam wouldn’t understand a word out of that woman’s mouth, so negotiating fell on him. Sighing, Darius kneed Sohrab forward, carefully picking his way through the men, trying not to unduly jostle people. It took more than a few minutes before he finally made it to within sightline of the woman. ‘Ugly’ didn’t do her justice. Was her father a horse? She had the face of one, long and boney, eyes too small for her head, chin square, hair a wiry mess protruding in every direction.

  Upon seeing him, that face screwed up into one of outright hatred, turning her tanned skin nearly maroon in color. “Kingslayer.”

  Somehow, he’d just known she could speak something aside from Rorese. “You have the advantage of me, Warrioress. I know you lead this army but not your name.”

  She spat on the ground, long limbs shifting as if fighting off the urge to grab her weapon up and charge him. “Atki.”

  Darius almost winced when she introduced herself only by the clan name. Hardcore traditionalist, eh? That never boded well. “Atki. Will you speak with me?”

  Those dark eyes narrowed to mere slits and several taut seconds ticked by, the tension ramping up with every moment that she didn’t speak. Even her own men eyed her warily, as if afraid she would explode in any second. Known for her temper, eh?

  “You,” she finally responded, “are supposed to be in Niotan. You are not of the Sovran.”

  In a lightning flash, Darius realized what she really meant by that. They had heard in Roran that Darius had defected, that he was now serving Niotan, and thought they had a chance of taking on the Sovran because of it. Him coming into this battle was a nasty surprise they hadn’t counted on.

  “I will speak with the lead general of the Sovran Army,” she declared with vicious challenge.

  “You are,” Darius responded mildly. “King Baros appointed me lead general.” From his coat pocket, he took out the talisman serving as proof of his appointment and flashed it at her.

  Atki stared at it hard, lips pulling back to expose crooked and sharp teeth, for all the world like a feral animal.

  “Now,” Darius calmly put it back into his pocket, staring her down. “Are you ready to speak with me?”

  Her face twisted up, literally choking on some insult that she barely kept behind her teeth. She didn’t, however, speak.

  Darius stared at her, then turned and looked over the barbarians gathered around her on all sides. He saw in them gaunt cheeks, a paleness of skin lingering under their dark tans, the shivering of hunger and desperation in their frames. Even though they had caused him no end of grief he couldn’t help but be moved a little in pity. Desperation had clearly driven them to this point.

  Taking a breath, he took a page from his father’s teachings, and spoke to her emotions instead of logic. “The winter in Roran was brutal.”

  She blinked, startled, losing half of her anger. Everyone around them froze as well, not expecting any sentiment from him, and not sure how to react to it. It made them truly list
en.

  Seizing the opportunity, Darius pressed forward. “I’ve examined your fallen warriors. They were all half-starved and ragged looking. The winter in Roran was hard, wasn’t it? You went to war because you had no other choice.”

  That stopped her dead and she looked at him hard, eyes scouring his face, searching for something. Deceit, perhaps? Insincerity? She said a single word, clipped and hard: “Yes.”

  Darius had to walk a tightrope here. He couldn’t afford to be generous, the Sovran had lost too much as it was, and if he did so, he encouraged the enemy into attacking them again. After all, if it worked, why fix it? But at the same time, too harsh and they would rebel again right here, which did no one any good. He frantically thought, mind racing, trying to think of a compromise that would work in the long run. “I cannot afford for you to take away the bounty you looted from this land.”

  Atki’s expression snapped back into hostility.

  Raising both hands in a placating manner, Darius continued. “How about an exchange? We do not want your people starving, forcing you to come down again. I certainly don’t want to have to come back up, away from my home and family, in order to battle with you.” She might be listening again, not just planning how to detach his head from his neck. “Sign a treaty with me, speaking for all the clans, one promising peace. Do that, and I’ll have seeds, food, and plows sent back with you.”

  Another pregnant pause, this one even more fraught with tension than the last. “You would feed us.”

  “I either feed you or we meet in battle. Either way, it means too many deaths.”

  Darius saw more than one man lick his lips at the thought of food and again felt a wave of pity sweep through him. To be so hungry that death in battle looked preferable over slow starvation. He hoped he never fell to that point and sent a fervent prayer to Shaa that Niotan never reached that kind of desperation.

  The silence went on so long that Darius doubted whether Atki would respond. Then again, he didn’t know what else he could offer. Even this might be stretching his authority.