Nana smiled and gave a nod. She looked ready to gloat… but didn’t. “Best we get moving, then,” she said. Standing, Nana waved at her sergeant and began issuing orders.
Grady stayed quiet until Nana left.
“What is it?” Elspeth whispered.
“Mikelmoor is dead. Assassins, not ten minutes ago. Captain Theodore is in charge until Daric gets back to command the army.”
“Daric? What about the other generals.”
That wasn’t what Elspeth wanted to say, but it was better than saying what she felt. Assassins! If assassins could get into Bailryn, nobody was safe. Brea, her brother, Gialyn; they were all in danger—especially now that all three of them had Powers. The Powers, she mused, slowly shaking her head. More trouble than they are worth. Not for the first time, she wished she had stayed at home. Should have done what mother wanted, married a rich man and settle down in Beugeddy. For a moment, the thought seemed appealing, but only for a moment.
“Daric knows the plans better than anyone,” Grady said. “And to be honest, I’d rather have him issue orders than one of the nobles.”
Elspeth nodded; she couldn’t argue with that. She had only met a few nobles during her short time at the palace, and none had struck her as the type she would want to follow into battle. Quite the opposite, actually. They were petty folk, filled with vanity and self-importance. They had no business going anywhere near a battlefield. At least not as officers; she wouldn’t mind seeing one or two of them joining the line as infantrymen.
“Strange times, Elspeth,” Grady said, picking up his belt and pack. “A month ago, I would have bet good money against me ever fighting alongside Toyans. Now look at us, we are depending on them to save Aleras’moya.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he swung his belt over his shoulder and followed Nana towards the stream.
Elspeth followed, too, as Skelk and the other sergeants gathered what was left of the Toyans.
Now and then, Elspeth could hear the Kel’madden up ahead, sometimes voices, sometimes the sounds of clanking armour. They were a way off, thankfully. Good officers or not, she didn’t want to cross the Kel’madden with just the Toyans on their side.
* * *
Elspeth waxed her bowstring as they walked. The ground was wet mud and shone faintly in the darkness. Shallow puddles covered more and more of the field the closer they came to the stream. She could smell the bog to her right; it reminded her of the Am’bieth—thank the gods, or whatever they were, they weren’t going that way. To her left, all was dark, apart from the occasion flicker of light from a Kel’madden fire or a blazing arrow. She could hear the battle raging. It seemed so far away, although she knew it was only a mile or so. North was where the trees started again. At least that is what Grady had said; she could not see any sign of them. Occasionally, lightning would strike and light the way, but the glare would blind her to all but the immediate vicinity. Overall, it was a miserable way to spend the night. And to think, she could be comfortable and warm in the palace. That thought made her wonder what Gialyn was doing, and if that… princess was still by his side. She would have to put a stop to that, once she got back—if she got back.
Suddenly, Elspeth was thrown backwards by what felt like a large rock hitting her around the hip. Staring up at the clouds, she could sense water seeping through her clothes, cooling her back and shoulders. The chill, damp feeling was oddly soothing, compared to the fire raging in her side. Not wanting to look—she already knew what had hit her: an arrow—she fumbled around and found the wooden shaft protruding from her side, just above her hipbone. With the ground wet and her with it, she wasn’t sure if what she could feel was water or blood. But she could feel the arrowhead deep inside her. There was no mistaking that, she knew it had gone almost all the way through her body. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but scream as she tried to remove the shaft. She could feel the tip cutting into the muscle along her side.
All around, Toyans were running. Some shooting arrows, some brandishing swords; but most just running. Ahead, Elspeth could hear screams. Someone shouted, “Where is it! Where is it?”
Where is what? She tried to look, but the pain forced her back down.
A group ran towards her. They were looking everywhere but where they were going. Elspeth shouted to them, but none paid her any attention. Two tripped over her where she lay. Elspeth felt a thud on the side of her head—it felt like a shield swiping her temple, or maybe it was just someone kicking her as they ran past. Either way, the blow knocked her flat on her back, again.
Fending off the fleeing Toyans, she tried her best to protect her wound. She tried to roll on her side so the arrow sticking out of her was not in harm’s way, but time and again, one of the soldiers managed to catch her with a boot or shield. She felt dizzy, helpless. All she could do was roll up into a ball and hope for it to stop. Her thoughts turned to Gialyn. She wished she was lying beside him. Pulling her knees up as far as they would go, she covered her head… and waited.
CHAPTER 23
Cracks in the Stone
“I’ve told you three times already, I don’t remember,” Ealian said.
It was a lie. How could he forget kissing her? His knees still felt a little unsteady from the experience.
“You’re lying,” Brea told him. “Was it you? That’s all I want to know. Was it you or Alacin?”
You’ll have to tell her, Alacin said inside his head.
Be quiet, nobody asked for your opinion.
Alacin laughed. It’s not an opinion. And if you don’t tell her, I will. Don’t you think it would sound better coming from you?
Go away, I’m trying to—
“Are you ignoring me?” Brea asked. She had stopped walking. And was now standing in the street, arms folded, staring at him.
“We should get back to the palace,” Ealian told her. “We can’t stay out here. It raining, and who knows what sort are lurking around in the shadows.”
“I am going nowhere until you answer me.”
“Then stay here.” Ealian turned and continued walking.
The palace was still a good half-mile away. They would have been back by now if Brea hadn’t led them astray. She should have spent more time looking where they were going and less time asking questions. Better still, Ealian should have ignored her directions and gone the way he had wanted to. Why did he even listen to her? The girl had gotten them lost in the harbour, even though there was only one street.
The southern end of the Blue Mile was empty, apart from the odd small group of civilians, patrolling the alleys as if they were regular soldiers. Ealian thought they looked funny, with their rusty half armour and worn leather tunics. Some had swords or daggers, but most were carrying kitchen utensils; carving knives, spit irons and the like. He doubted any of them would last very long if the Kel’madden breached the walls. Still, at least they were friendly, so to speak.
They fought them off at Highgate, Alacin said.
Yes, with the guards supporting them. I doubt they would have attacked if they were on their own.
You are such a cynic, boy. Can’t you see bravery when it stares you in the face?
If you ask me, bravery is very close to stupidity.
Again, Alacin laughed.
“Are you coming?” Ealian shouted back to Brea. “I’m going down here.” He pointed towards an alley that ran in the general direction of the palace. “You’ll be on your own in a minute.”
Brea unfolded her arms and stomped over to him. “You’ll be on your own, too. I’d like to see which of us manages better. That alley leads back to the Westgate.”
Ealian chuckled. “Says the girl who got us lost.”
“No,” Brea said, “says the sign on that post.” She pointed to a sign that said “To the Westgate.”
Ealian said nothing. He turned south and continued along the road they had been following for the past ten minutes.
Brea caught up to him. “You won’t even admit
when you’re wrong. Your sister told me you were annoying, but I had no idea how much.”
“Ha! My sister says I’m annoying. That’s typical.”
“Can’t you just tell—?”
“All right! It was me!” Ealian shouted. “But I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t.”
Brea smiled in a very peculiar manner. She pulled the hood of her cloak tightly around her face, and continued walking.
“Is that it?” Ealian asked.
“I just wanted to know,” she said, over her shoulder.
Ealian could hear Alacin laughing in the back of his mind. Did the old fool know this was going to happen?
“So, what now?” Ealian asked. He stumbled to catch her up.
“Nothing. As I said, I just wanted to know.”
“But—”
“Come on, Ealian,” Brea interrupted, “we’re going to catch a cold if we don’t get back soon.”
She took his arm and led him towards the palace. He had no idea what just happened.
Alacin was still laughing.
* * *
General Turasan blew out a long breath, then stretched his neck from side to side. His desk was filling up with notes. More messengers were waiting for him by the entrance. How had the enemy managed to form three fronts? What happened to Lord Breen’s Black Hand? The fool was supposed to be holding the west for him. He wished Breen were there, instead of those messengers. Under the circumstances, he didn’t think Vila would mind if he had the idiot hung.
The enemy had reached their inner ranks. He was going to have to bring more troopers back from the front and shore up the holes in the west flank. Those bloody wolves were running all over the lower fields, and no one could tell him where the Surabhan cavalry were. Still, he had not engaged the fourth and seventh regiments yet; they should prove more than enough to push them back. Now, if only the dragons would choose to fly in the rain, he could come down hard on the east and encircle the larger Surabhan force.
The dragons… What a waste of time they had proven to be. Oh, they had burned a few building and helped destroy the Highgate, but where were they now? Hiding from the rain, that was where. At least the ones he knew about were—there were a few missing from the field behind the camp. I wonder where they have gone. Vila must have sent they off somewhere.
“General,” a messenger said. Turasan blinked up at the man; he hadn’t heard him come in. The messenger continued, “I have important news, sir.”
“Really,” the general replied, sitting back in his chair. He wasn’t sure his idea of “important” would be the same as the messenger’s. “And what is it? Have those wolves given up and gone home?”
“No, sir, my news is from the east. The Toyans have turned against us.”
“What? The ships? How did they—”
“No, sir, the Toyan infantry. Two thousand of them are attacking the lines west of the bog. The rest are marching east. The runners say they are heading for the Barais Tower; they’re probably on their way back north, on the coast road, and into Barath. And, sir, the Surabhan are letting them pass!”
“I knew it,” Turasan grunted. “We never should have—”
He cut himself short. He wanted to say he knew all along that this would happen, but what did that matter to a messenger, other than giving the man gossip to spread? Well, it appeared that his mind had been made up for him. Picking up his quill, he scribbled down a note.
“Take this to Captain Mordi. He should be over by the stream, across from the cook tents.”
The messenger took the note and, after saluting, left at a quick march.
Dragons or not, Turasan knew he would have to crush the eastern flank; it was the enemy’s greatest weakness. Crush the east, then force his way behind them. With any luck, the battle should be won in an hour or two.
Turasan went back to his papers. Whoever said being a general was exciting had obviously never done the job. He pushed the messages to the side and flattened a fresh piece of parchment. He’d have to send word to the west to hold at all costs; little point taking the eastern flank… if the Surabhan ran them down to the west.
He’d barely written a dozen words when he heard a commotion coming from behind his tent.
“What now?” he sighed.
Putting his quill down, he stood and moved to the rear flap. Outside, troopers were running back and forth, carrying shields and bows—inside the camp.
He grabbed an archer by the arm. “What’s going on?”
“The dragons, sir, they are leaving. And someone is attacking the camp.”
“The dragons?” Turasan dipped his head, he knew what was happening. “Has anyone actually seen these attackers?” he asked.
“Well… no, but the dragons! Why else would they fly off? Someone must be attacking.”
“They’re going on a mission for Vila,” he lied. “Now find out who is causing all this commotion and tell them to stand down. Tell them those are my orders.”
The archer opened his mouth to say something but just saluted, before running off to the north.
Dragons leaving, Toyans deserting, it seemed whenever matters turned in his favour, something would happen to knock him back. Turning, he walked back into his tent. He needed a drink before seeing Vila; she wasn’t going to be happy about the dragons.
* * *
Cal had used his last arrow to save Mateaf. Spinning his bow like a club, he ploughed into the small group of Kel’madden troopers.
The troopers were relentless, nothing like those other Kel’madden his men had run into earlier—they had put up very little resistance and fled at the first sign of heavy fighting. These troopers, however, were a different story. They just kept coming, despite suffering heavy casualties. Cal thought he might admire their determination… if it were not his men standing in their way.
He clubbed one trooper over the head and kicked another one down. Mateaf punched another—the man dropped like a bag of bones—and then drew his sword. In a flurry of sparkling steel, Mateaf downed the last two troopers.
“Well done,” Cal said, nodding approvingly at his friend. “Now, if only they would stop running at us for five minutes.”
Mateaf laughed. “Yes, they are like Rass’coi in mating season. They just keep attacking, no matter how big the foe.”
Cal sighed. It was all well and good winning these skirmishes, but they still hadn’t found Horrick’s unit.
Until now, the battle had been going well. But if they didn’t move soon, the sheer number of Kel’madden would overwhelm his archers—those that still had any arrows left, that was. It seemed for every trooper they put down, two more would spring up to take their place. If they didn’t find Horrick soon, they would have to retreat, and leave the way open for the troopers to cross the Surabhan lines. If that happened, the battle would be as good as lost. Cut off from Bailryn, the Kel’madden could close the net on the Surabhan from all sides. No, he had to find a way to hold the east flank.
Cal took advantage of the temporary lull in the fighting to take a look around.
Downstream, he could hear the clatter of steel on steel. Clearly, one of the Surabhan units was down there, but they were in the wrong position; they should have been further west. Doubtless, the Kel’madden had boxed them in. Maybe if he could reach them, they could join forces and push back north.
Cal looked to his side, ignoring the dead or unconscious troopers that lay all around. Mateaf held up his bow; he was out of arrows. Indeed, all along the line, Cren were holding up bows.
“We’ll not be getting any more,” Cal shouted. “Put up your bows and draw swords. We are moving south.”
It was a good time to retreat. With the troopers slowed by the ever-deepening stream, he could run his men back along the bank and look for the Surabhan Unit.
The ground softened the closer Cal came to the bog. He yelled over his shoulder for his men to catch up. They had done well, only losing a handful; he didn’t want any shot in the back as they retreat
ed. He had been glad of the stream, glad they only had to fight on one front. Cren or not, with just two hundred men, they would have been hard pressed to hold the troopers off on more than one front. Now, he had to hope whoever was fighting up ahead would hold on until he arrived.
A few minutes later, Cal spotted the remains of a beleaguered unit. They were fighting twice their number of troopers. It was a wonder there were any of them left.
“Off the track,” he shouted. “Form up with swords and ready a charge. Leave your bows if you have another weapon. We’ll come back for them later.”
The Cren formed up with swords and axes in hand. Those who only had their bows followed Cal’s example and turned them into massive clubs. A few had shields; a few more had good armour, but not many. Most didn’t own such things, and borrowing them from the Surabhan wasn’t an option. They weren’t trained as infantry, but needs must, and Cal called for a charge.
They lurched forward, striding across the muddy ground. For some reason, Cal remembered the ships, and the first time he had seen the Kel’madden as they landed their longboats on the northeastern An’aird Barath coast. It was strange how things turned out. Then, he did not imagine he would be in a battle to save Bailryn. He had thought the council would elect to close their borders. At the time, he would have agreed with that idea. But not now, not since he’d met Daric, Grady, and the others. They were no longer faceless Surabhan—they were his friends.
Cal pushed the memory away as he manoeuvred himself to the front. He led his men to a fast run. And when the troopers were in sight, he led them in a battle cry. Memories were one thing, but there wasn’t time to worry about what might happen. Let the gods sort that out.
“Hold your form!” Cal shouted over his shoulder.
The troopers had noticed them now. Many had turned away from the Surabhan and pointed swords in his direction. Cal was happy to see scared faces, and some Kel’madden danced from foot to foot as if wondering whether or not to run. Maybe their ranks were not full of those fanatical troopers. Cal didn’t think they would show such nerves.
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