Elucia shouted over her shoulder. “You can start your attack now.”
The wildlings needed no orders to move forward, they all but ran towards the river, and were disappearing into the dark before the Cren and Rarshman’s cavalry had crossed the Broan. Soon after, Mott could hear the growling attack of the wolves as they met the still-confused Kel’madden.
Thankfully, Nacole stayed by his side.
Behind them, the Darkin Wolves lined up ready for orders to advance. Farnok was out in front. Mott knew he wouldn’t move until the Cren were across the river. That just left the Rukin. Mott heard Aleban’s bark, and together with the three hundred Rukin on his flank, he made his way forward.
The river was cold. The water had begun to run faster. The wildling was right; much longer, and they would not have been able to cross it. As it was, Mott had to fight against the current, with water up to his shoulder. Nacole fared no better. She was slightly shorter than Mott and had to swim some of the way.
Of course, the Darkin had no such trouble. They tramped across the river as if it were no more than a puddle in the road. But they were almost as big as Rarshman’s horse.
The Cren were waiting when Mott climbed the bank. No bows this time, the tall men carried their long spears instead. The spears, probably ten feet long, had a diamond shaped point with jagged barbs on the underside. The shafts were tied at the wrist with a leather strap, the back of the shaft was thick like a club. Mostly made of a Blackwood, Mott thought they looked like dark-steel polearms, not “short spears”—which is what they were to the Cren.
Mott stood by Caylib, waiting for the wolves to cross. Once most were clear of the river, Caylib turned east. The Cren raised his spear and pointed east, and with a loud cry—that Mott assumed was in the Old Tongue—the Cren led the charge on the Kel’madden.
Halfway across the field, Mott heard the bats turn north. Elucia was still west of the river. The woman had probably ordered the bats back to the tunnels. Maybe the creatures couldn’t tell friend from foe. Still, they had done their job.
The howling wails of the Darkin replaced the sound of screeching bats. Farnok, their alpha, led the enormous wolves as they thundered past Mott and disappeared into the darkness ahead. Mott heard pitiful cries and pleading calls that must have come from the Kel’madden. It was clear the line of archers was crumbling; the first part of the plan was working. Mott wished he could see what lay beyond them. The Kel’madden troopers—the “fanatics,” as some had called them—would not turn and run so easily.
CHAPTER 22
The Naked Truth
Mikelmoor, his face almost level with the maps spread over the wide table, waved over one of the sergeants, then stabbed his finger where the narrows forded the Broan River. He could have grabbed the wolf figurine himself, but didn’t want to break his train of thought by looking for it. The sergeant appeared to realise what he wanted. The small marble wolf appeared in front of his nose.
Toban’s—or rather, Mott’s—line was being pushed hard. Ker said the enemy archers had dispersed, which was good, but now the wolves faced a thick front of Kel’madden pikemen—and they were not going anywhere. He would have to send word to Elucia, see if she could come up with something to keep those pikemen occupied while the Darkin circled around and attacked from the north. He would have used the dragons, but Gialyn’s last message from them wasn’t promising. Seemed that the mighty beasts were afraid of a little rain. Well, probably the lightning had them worried. Still, it was annoying; what was the use of having dragons if they spent the entire battle sat around in a circle next to the Highgate?
Archers, wolves, cavalry, infantry; that’s what they needed on the western front. Those bloody pikemen were running the show. It was the Brion Ridge all over again.
Mikelmoor stood up straight and knuckled his back. Yes, this battle was similar to the skirmish at Brion Ridge, but he didn’t remember his back and neck hurting so much back then. Of course, that had been a much smaller battle, and almost twenty years ago.
It would appear that this General Turasan already had a plan in place to counter an attack from the city. Mikelmoor could sense that, but he hadn’t expected them to have moved so quickly. Maybe they were already in position, just in case. Hardly two hours old, and this battle was proving… intriguing. No, that wasn’t the right word. There was more at stake here than the rights to the Rundair mines; the freedom of Aleras’moya was the prize. Decisive: that was a better word for it. Despite a pang of guilt, he couldn’t help feeling invigorated by it all.
“Do we know if those Toyans are in position?” Leaning forward, he picked up the small figurine of a jumping fish that he had decided to use to represent the Toyan army.
A tall, thin man, with hardly any hair, stepped forward—Mikelmoor thought his name was Carron, Sergeant Carron; but there were so many unfamiliar faces… “There’s no news from Qiel, sir,” Carron said. “We should assume they are still following their trooper escort back from the bog.”
Mikelmoor rubbed his neck. He hated assuming anything, especially when lives were at stake.
If Qiel’s last report was accurate, they should be at the southern end of the bog by now. Why had the wolf not contacted them?
“Ker?” Mikelmoor looked around for the wildling. The wolf was lying on the floor in front of the fire, looking sorry for himself. “Ker, can you try contacting Qiel? I need a report.”
The wolf got slowly to his feet. “I should be out there,” Ker said. “Kin are dying, and I’m sitting by the fire, sending messages. I should have told Suresh to do this job.”
Mikelmoor suppressed a sigh. Thus far, the wolf’s help had been invaluable, but if he kept up with this moping about, he could make mistakes. “We all have our duties, Ker,” he told the wolf. “Your skills have been vital to our efforts. If we win the day, it will be because of your help.” There, that should make him feel better.
The wolf raised his head and nodded. “Qiel isn’t due to report until they have reached their goal. Wolves don’t… chat through the Voice, General. If anything had happened to him, I would know.”
Mikelmoor assumed that meant Ker wasn’t going to contact the other wolf. Suppressing another sigh, he asked, “Then could you tell whoever you have with Rarshman to ask the captain if he can move the cavalry forward? He should be within sight of the western flank, ready to take advantage of any breaks in the line.”
Ker nodded, and his face took on the now familiar vacant look associated with using the Voice.
“Horrick’s men will be getting tired, sir,” the tall sergeant said. “Should we order the reserves in to rotate the line?”
Mikelmoor opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it again, when he saw a shadow cross the doorway opposite the stairs. A wide man in civilian clothes stepped into the Hungry Fisherman’s common room.
“And you are?” Mikelmoor asked.
“Martin, sir.” The man took off his hat and executed a passable bow. “The other man, uh… Major Daric? He told me to let you know if the ships started moving.”
Mikelmoor waited a moment. “And… are they moving?”
“Oh yes, sorry, sir. But only one of them, the big one at the front.”
Mikelmoor scratched his chin. “They’re probably coming in for a closer look.” He pointed at the map. “How far have they come?”
“They’re almost level with the Northcliff breakers, sir.” The man rushed forward and stabbed his finger on the map where the northern wall met the cliffs—as if Mikelmoor didn’t know where they were.
“Stand your ground for now,” he told the man. “Let me know if anything changes.”
“Of course, sir. Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”
Mikelmoor waited, staring at the wide man. He eventually had to nod at the door.
“Oh right, of course, sorry, sir. I’ll be off.” He turned and ran back out.
Mikelmoor tried not to laugh. He shot a stern look at the sergeants on the other table, who were ch
ortling away as if at a dance.
“Come on, concentrate,” he told them, pointing at the map on their table. One sergeant bit his lip, the other tried not to look in his direction. Mikelmoor shook his head; this was no time for joking about.
Captain Theodore entered the room from the door under the stairs.
“Did you find it?” Mikelmoor asked him.
“Yes, sir, it was right where the landlord said it would be.” Theodore unrolled the long map on the edge of Mikelmoor’s table. It showed a detailed depiction of the area east of the Crescent, with an especially good illustration of the bog.
Theodore pointed at the bottom of the map. “This is where they should—”
Mikelmoor started as Theodore picked up the wolf figurine and threw it towards the hallway. Mikelmoor turned just in time to see a dark figure duck out of the way. Another black-clothed man came into the room and threw what looked like a dagger at Theodore. Ker growled and jumped towards the attackers. The two intruders split left and right, both running fast along the walls, throwing daggers as they went. Mikelmoor heard Theodore curse, then watched him grab at the dagger sticking out of his arm.
The other sergeants had their swords out now and were angling to intercept the assassins. Three of them caught one of the black-clothed men in a corner, but it took a fourth to run the attacker through.
The second assassin was by the fire. Ker had him by the arm. The wolf growled as he tugged at the man. Another of the sergeants picked up a chair and hit the attacker over the head. The assassin fell forward, and before Mikelmoor could tell him to stop, Ker tore at the man’s throat, shredding it.
It was only then that Mikelmoor noticed the pain. He was grasping at short breaths, every draw felt like razors slicing his chest. He could feel the dagger blade lodged between his ribs. Slowly, he raised his hand and grabbed the hilt. Blood was pulsing out of him. Right then, he knew he was a dead man.
“Call for Major Re’adh,” he told Theodore, in the calmest voice he could muster.
“Sir, we need to get you—”
“No! I’m done for. Call Major Re’adh. He knows the plans better than… Don’t look at me like that, Captain. Do as I say.”
Mikelmoor felt cold. He staggered back a few steps and found a chair had been placed behind him. He sat and looked up at the ceiling. There wasn’t time to say much more. He wanted to make a speech, something profound that the others could quote when they told his story. Instead, he stared up at Theodore. “Do your duty, Captain.”
He tried to sit straight, but his sight was darkening at the edges. Holding out his hand, he felt two men kneeling by his side, holding him up. Theodore knelt in front of him.
The captain took his hand. “We will, sir. Have no fear of that. We will!”
* * *
Elspeth loosed as Nana gave the order to fire. She had taken a bow and quiver from one of the dead Kel’madden and, despite Grady’s protests to keep out of the battle, was standing in line with the other Toyan archers.
“Again!” the captain shouted, as the few remaining Kel’madden tried to run at her.
The attacking troopers were what was left of Captain Reidi’s escort. The captain—an arrogant man, Elspeth noted—had assumed the Toyans would follow him without question. Well… they did follow him, but not back to the battle. Nana had used the captain’s escort to cross the stream out of the Colaroy Valley. A good plan, Elspeth thought; they had marched most of the way back to the Surabhan lines without having to fight their way through.
The last of the Kel’madden escort fell to the Toyan arrows.
Elspeth peered into the darkness. She watched as Reidi turned and heeled his horse to a gallop. “Someone should stop him; he will go back to the witch, tell her what has happened.”
“Leave him,” Nana said, waving her hand dismissively. “The witch will know soon enough, one way or the other.”
Nana turned to Grady. “Right then, we are here! Now, where are your friends?”
Grady opened his mouth to answer, then cursed, as a hail of arrows landed all around them. Fortunately, most landed short of their position, and those that did not bounced off their shields and armour—the Kel’madden archers were a long way off.
“I suggest we take care of that,” Grady said, “before we worry about moving on.”
The Toyans released another volley.
“Hold!” Nana shouted. “Stop shooting at shadows, you are wasting arrows.”
A grumble echoed across the Toyan ranks as the archers put up their bows. Nana shook her head slowly and sighed. “As much as I hate the man,” she whispered, “Turasan had one thing right—there is no discipline in our ranks.”
Skelk moved away from the line so only Nana and those surrounding the captain could hear, “What do you expect; we are made up of merchants’ guards and mercenaries. This lot were never supposed to be an army.” He leaned on his bow as if it were a cane and glanced around at the ranks of Toyans. “To be honest, I’m surprised we made it this far.”
It had been a difficult hour. Most of the Toyans, those who had not just refused to fight, had left, marching eastwards towards the cliff path as soon as they cleared the valley. To make matters worse, of those who had remained, very few seemed to know what they were doing. Elspeth had always maintained—mostly to her brother—that she was a good archer, but it wasn’t until seeing some of these so-called soldiers that she knew it for the truth. They were terrible; no form, no concentration, slow and inaccurate.
Nana, however, was another matter. She was fast, skilful, determined: a real soldier. Her men, Skelk and the others who were close to her, seemed to have a great deal of respect for the woman. More than once, Elspeth wondered if anyone would ever regard her in a similar manner—assuming she decided to become a soldier. A month ago, she had been certain; join the guards, rise among the ranks, become a captain one day—or maybe even a general. A lot had happened since then, though. She had killed a man—more than one—and the way it made her feel raised questions: did she really want to do that for a living?
Nana ordered her men to back away, so the Kel’madden archers could retreat. “Let them run,” she said. “We’ve got other things to worry about.”
Looping her bow over her shoulder, Nana casually glanced north towards the stream. Elspeth followed her gaze. Sure enough, the arrows stopped flying. Elspeth could hear thudding footfalls as the Kel’madden archers moved away.
“We should go west,” Grady said. “Qiel says our forces are not far from the Crescent. Ten minutes, and we’ll be there.”
“Is there no one on this front?” Nana asked. “If we don’t plug this gap, the troopers will circle around behind. They will have the Highgate in under an hour.”
Grady looked surprised. Rubbing his chin, he gazed to the north, and then east towards the bog. From the look on his face, it appeared Nana had been right, and he was now wondering what to do about it. Grady squinted into the darkness, looking left and right across the fields. Elspeth hadn’t seen the man question himself before.
Nana took a step forward and nodded to the northeast. “There must be other Surabhan units closer than the Crescent.”
Elspeth found herself wanting to agree with the woman, even though it meant staying there, rather than heading back towards the city.
Nana continued, “We have archers, we have heavy infantry. I admit, not many, but enough. I don’t see the point travelling west just for your general to send us back here.”
“Fine,” Grady grumbled. “I’ll ask Qiel to confirm our orders with Mikelmoor.”
Grady about-faced and went looking for big wolf.
Nana unbuckled her belt and sat on a nearby rock. “You should rest, too,” she told Elspeth. “Like my father says, ‘in battle if you don’t have to stand… sit, if you don’t have to sit… lay down.’ Or something like that.”
Elspeth sat down beside her.
Skelk, who was already sitting next to the rock, handed her a waterskin. “
How did you get involved in all this?” he asked her. “I know about you and our silver friend, but how do you know Grady and the other Surabhan leaders? You don’t strike me as noble-born.”
Elspeth raised an eyebrow. “My father is an emissary,” she said. Then scolded herself for being defensive. “But—no, never mind that.” She took a drink to hide her awkwardness. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea how I ended up here. None of this has been my choice. It’s like something has been pushing me along.”
Skelk nodded as if understanding. “Sound like Lo’chi to me.”
“A what?” Elspeth asked.
“Fated,” Skelk replied.
Fated. Elspeth mused over the idea. Strangely enough, it made sense. One remarkable event after another had put her in the place she now found herself—it couldn’t all be chance.
“Is that, uh, part of your religion? Lo’chi, I mean,” she asked Skelk.
Skelk laughed. “Religion? We have no religion. The Powers are tools, not deities. And as for the Balance… Well, if you believe that sort of thing you should drop that bow you found and surrender; Levellers don’t agree with violence, unless it is self-defence, and their last resort.”
Elspeth felt her shoulders sink. “I don’t know about Levellers, but I’ve heard enough about Powers and the Balance in the past month to last a lifetime. If you ask me, humans should stay away from it.”
Nana lowered her waterskin and turned to her. “What… talking about it or using it? The Powers, I mean.”
“Both,” Elspeth said. “The Powers have been nothing but trouble; white dragons, witches, weird creatures, I’ve had a skin full of it.”
Nana shot her a quizzical look. And Skelk said, “Definitely Lo’chi!”
Elspeth didn’t bother answering. They sat quietly for a moment.
Grady came back. He didn’t look happy.
“What has happened?” Nana asked.
Grady shook his head. “Nothing. You were right; Captain Horrick’s unit are to the northeast. They want us to join them and hold the front along the edge of the bog.”
The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1) Page 134