Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1)

by Harry Leighton

  Wait, was that a glint of metal? Surely not. Brand peered into the gloom between the trees, desperately trying to see.

  First one armed man then a couple more, followed by a dozen, then another came running from the forest, more and more appearing behind them. There was a great roar. Rebels streamed from the trees, a seemingly endless horde. How fucking many of them were there? He glanced back ahead. The main rebel force was on the march too. Shit. They’d been flanked. And with the main force moving to engage the heavies, no help was coming.

  “Stand firm!” The call went up from multiple voices as officers desperately tried to wheel their units to face the surge of enemies. Brand shouted, kicked and slapped at his men with the butt of his spear, trying to get them into shape. He’d be damned if they were caught out.

  There was a tremendous crash as the first of the rebels made contact with the end of the imperial line and within seconds it began to buckle, the surprised and disorganised light infantry struggling to manoeuvre coherently to face the foe.

  “Fuck,” Brand said. “Form up!” he yelled. “Form up!”

  His men shuffled in around, taking positions nervously. More and more rebels came running from the woods. How had the scouts not seen this? How had there been no warning? Heads would certainly roll later, Brand had no doubt.

  The imperial line near the woods had become little more than a disorganised mob as soldiers mingled with an increasing number of rebels. The weight of numbers began to push what now seemed like a completely inadequate number of imperial soldiers back. Some of the unengaged soldiers started to run.

  “There's too many of them,” Finn yelled, eyes wide. He dropped his shield and turned to run too. The squad looked at him, then the rebels and following suit.

  “Hold you maggots, hold!” screamed Brand, watching as his men ran with the others. He spat on the ground and faced the rebels. Greens continued to flood past. He raised his shield, gritted his teeth and aimed his spear. Greens damnit. He knew they'd be the death of him.

  Setting his shield, he waited to face the enemy. Sorely tempted to run himself, he stood, knowing that turning was more than likely just a way to get a blade in the back rather than the front, unless you were one of the first to run. And he’d never been about running.

  He set the butt of his spear in the ground as a large man ran directly at him, lowering the point at the last second and leaving the man to skewer himself through the chest. A surprised scream escaped the man, quickly turning into a gurgle as he slid onto the weapon and sagged, taking the spear with him. Brand swore. Idiot move, he’d lost his spear already. He slammed his shield at the next man, using the newly created breathing space as an opportunity to draw his sword. He could feel that there was a lot of room behind him now and his back felt exposed. That was bad and had meant that a lot of the men had run. If no one was guarding his back he’d have to fight his way through to one of the pockets of men who’d stood. He barged forwards, shield-first into a pair of men. The first lifted his own shield and it locked with Brand’s but was pushed back by the soldier’s momentum. Brand lashed his sword at the second man, catching him across the arm and forcing him to drop his weapon. He turned his attention quickly back to the man he’d locked shields with and only had an instant to duck as a sword snaked over the top of them. The sword bit into the top of his helmet, dragging it clear. Brand shouted in frustration, bringing his own sword to bear, jabbing in a short efficient stroke around the side of the shields, forcing the man back into another rebel coming up behind him. Brand looked. It was only a short distance to his nearest comrade…

  Pain exploded in his side, his hardened leather breastplate seemingly doing little to slow the blow. He tried to bring his sword to bear but it had suddenly become very heavy, like it had changed to lead and was four times the size. The tip dipped and touched the ground in his empty stroke. His assailant had ripped the blade clear and stepped back. Brand couldn’t breathe and his legs went from under him. Damnit. He saw a face that in his blurring vision he swore could have been his own looking down at him. But for a few years and geography. His double thrust down with the sword and the world went black.

  *****

  “Folded like a sheet of parchment,” Ospin said, crowing and waving a bloody axe as he looked at the pride of the imperial army fleeing before him and his men. It had taken surprisingly little to break them, the General had been spot on. How they’d not known they were coming was baffling, as if somehow all the imperial scouts had been taken. No matter. The soldiers had crumbled like he’d been told they would. Soon the rest of the army would smash into the imperials and break them just like he and his men had. Victory would be theirs. The legion was massively overrated. Even the city guards during the riot had shown more backbone than this. It seemed as if reputation alone could win battles. A reputation that, on the evidence of what had just happened, seemed massively undeserved.

  He’d killed a number himself, many as they ran. He looked at his axe. It seemed a more fitting weapon than the sword he’d lost in the riots and felt more natural in his hand. Just like chopping wood, he smiled to himself. It was a shame that the soldiers had broken and run so easily. He was starting to feel comfortable in battle.

  Ospin thought about his orders. Flank and then disrupt from behind. He could do that. They wouldn’t know what hit them. But to hit them where they hurt? Fighting the soldiers was one thing, but if they could get to the Imperial General? They were behind the imperial lines now, it couldn’t be hard. Some were already starting to call him a hero of the riots. But a hero of the war? That had a slightly different ring to it. That would sound good. But how to do it?

  He looked at the imperial lines. Much as he didn’t like to admit it, he really wasn’t sure what he was looking at. He could see heavily armoured troops ahead to his left. A lot of heavily armoured troops to his left. Many of whom had turned to face his attack. The General probably wasn’t there, was he? No, like all imperial officials he was probably a coward, hiding behind the lines. But he had to be close enough to direct the battle so it wasn’t as if he’d still be in camp. Maybe he was at the back somewhere. There were some archers on a low hill. Ospin didn’t fancy charging them. Dying to a shaft from afar was not a good way for a prospective hero of the revolution to go. Behind them there appeared to be some sort of temporary encampment. The General was probably there, hiding among the wagons.

  He looked at his men. They’d follow him. They admired him. He was a hero after all.

  “To me,” he shouted. “Let’s take their general and end this!”

  “Ospin! Ospin!” went up the cry from multiple throats.

  “Follow me!” he shouted, waving with his axe and rushing for the wagons.

  “Ospin! Ospin!” shouted the men, charging with him. The heavily armoured men didn’t rush from their positions to engage him. Their mistake. A few arrows fell but they were soon among the wagons.

  Ospin looked around. This wasn’t the command position. This wasn’t the command position at all. This was the baggage train. He was disappointed but a whoop went up from the men and they started swarming among the wagons. Someone grabbed a torch, threw it and a wagon went up in a rush. There was an explosion and a pillar of flame. Oil wagon. Why the imperials had brought oil with them Ospin wasn’t sure. Flaming barrels from their catapults? Well not now. His men roared, matching the roar of the flames, tipping over wagons and loosing the horses, tearing apart sacks. So quickly they’d forgotten the battle and had fallen to looting. He shouted but no one heard him over the din. He ran around but there was no restoring order. He stopped, staring in desperation. What was he to do? Surely the imperials would react and his men would be caught unawares, totally absorbed in their rampage. Maybe if he climbed on a wagon they would see him? He ran to the nearest wagon but was surprised to see a cowering man chained to one of the wheels. A prisoner? Already? He grabbed the man and turned him round to face him. He was shocked when he recognised him from his pictures.
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  “Governor Erland? Really? This is an unexpected pleasure,” Ospin said after a moment.

  “Do I know you?”

  “No. But if you’d talked to me at the beginning maybe all this could have been avoided. What are you doing here chained to a wagon?”

  “Things haven’t quite worked out how I expected.”

  “That’s an understatement. Why are you here?”

  “The General replaced me. But he wanted me to see his victory.”

  “Where is the General?”

  “I don’t know. Probably somewhere near the artillery. I’m not exactly party to his plans.”

  “Well things aren’t going how he expected either.”

  “Judging by you being here, I think that’s an understatement too. Why are you here?”

  “We’re the flank attack to break the legion. A legion that breaks like an old stick.”

  “I’m no expert but shouldn’t you be attacking the rest of the soldiers from behind rather than looting the wagons?”

  Ospin raised his axe. The Governor just looked at him. He brought his axe down hard on the wagon wheel. The Governor could be a useful hostage. The wheel gave slightly so he hit it again. There, the chain was free. He grabbed it to make sure the Governor didn’t try to get away but the man was surprisingly placid in the face of an enemy standing over him, holding an axe. He wondered how he’d be if the roles were reversed.

  Ospin heard a low rumble over the noise of his men looting. What was that? Thunder? The sky was clear.

  *****

  “What the hell is going on?” Storn said. “I can see the flank has crumbled, why aren’t they attacking from behind like I ordered?”

  “Smoke sir,” one of his aides standing next to him said, pointing at the column now rising a short distance behind the imperial lines.

  “Pull the men back,” Storn commanded, swearing to himself.

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me. Sound the retreat.”

  “Very good sir,” the aide said, running to one of the trumpeteers.

  “But … you’ve got them on the run,” Larly said, stepping up behind him.

  “We have nothing of the sort,” Storn said, not taking his eyes from the battle.

  “The flank?” Larly said, confused. He jumped a little as the trumpet sounded.

  “Do you even know what a flank is?” Storn said, rounding on him.

  “The side?” Larly said, stepping back.

  “Yes, very good. The side. As you have seen, our surprise took them in the flank. But rather than engaging the main line from behind as I ordered, allowing us to act as both the hammer and the anvil, they seem to have found a mission of their own.”

  “A mission of their own?”

  “Looting from the look of it,” the aide said, walking back up.

  “Looting, in the middle of the battle?” Larly said.

  “It was on your recommendation that I put Ospin in charge,” Storn said.

  “He’s a hero of the revolution,” stammered Larly.

  “And against my better judgement, I let you talk me into it,” Storn continued.

  “We agreed, for morale…” Larly mumbled.

  “It won’t happen again,” Storn finished.

  Storn turned back to the battle. It wasn’t a disaster yet and this had only been the first real action. His main force had been far enough from the imperials to retreat in good order. At least they could do that when told. He looked at the imperial lines. They’d not advanced on him yet. Not after the idiotic failed cavalry charge anyway. He supposed that was reasonable. If he had a force break through his lines and rampage around behind him, he’d be reluctant to advance too. Ospin hadn’t been a total loss. Not yet anyway. It looked like the remaining imperial cavalry were riding around behind their own lines to engage him. Well if Ospin got himself killed he deserved it.

  He looked at his own lines. Two of his three-quarters of veterans on the frontline to keep things steady. It was a shame to treat old soldiers this way as inevitably many of them would die and they deserved better. Still, many more would die if the frontline folded under the first legion assault. He was a general. He had to be pragmatic about these things.

  He’d been lucky so far, the legion general had been caught by surprise twice. Firstly by the muddy field, though that may have been an over-keen cavalry officer trying to make a name for himself, and secondly with the flank attack. He’d also been badly out-scouted, his men's knowledge of the local area giving him a real advantage.

  Still, this was a full imperial legion in front of him and most of his army was composed of civilians from various walks of life, from common labourers to farmers to clerks. He didn’t hold out much hope that they’d be able to win the battle with them despite what he’d told the so-called rebel council. Maybe if he’d had more time to train the troops things might have been different. He’d tried to make the best of his resources but the flank attack had been his best shot, composed as it was of many of his best civilian troops, those that had seen action in the riots.

  Time would tell though. He still had a couple more surprises in stock, but he hoped he didn’t have to use them. And if Ospin had done as he was told there was a good chance he wouldn’t have to. Maybe if his opposite number continued to act badly… At least from his scouts he was pretty confident no one more competent was on the way.

  He watched as his troops finished falling back and assumed their positions behind the stake line. Finally the legion looked like it was beginning an advance in pursuit, perhaps somewhat late. From the look of it though, they were coming in force. A lot of force. All at once.

  What was the man doing?

  *****

  “Is that smoke?” Zedek asked, looking out beyond the troops before them.

  “Looks like it,” Trimas noted.

  “Why is there smoke? Some sort of cunning battle forge?”

  It was too serious to laugh, people were dying, but Trimas did raise an eyebrow at his friend’s imagination.

  “There are no cunning battle forges…”

  “Perhaps an idea then.”

  “What seems likely is that rebel forces have managed to get behind the soldiers and commenced some sort of attack in the rear.”

  “Ah, excellent, a proper flanking attack, the rebels are tricksy!”

  “Why are you so excited by this?” Daeholf asked.

  “Why not? We want the rebels to win don’t we? So they just smashed into the back of the legion?”

  “Er, no Zedek. Smoke. Fire. Soldiers don’t really burn all that well, aside from — anyway, they don’t burn. I reckon we’re seeing the aftermath of an assault on the baggage train.”

  Zedek turned from Daeholf to the smoke. “And that’s not good?”

  “Sadly that’s not good,” Trimas explained. “Imperial history is filled with charges that went right through enemy lines, to where the gold and treasures were, and they stuck there while the rest of the army lost.”

  “Filled with?”

  “Alright, I can name two, but they’re two you’re taught very early on. Keep focussed, don’t wander off. The rebels caused chaos, but the attack didn’t work as planned. This General Storn very nearly received God’s blessing and instead got shat on.”

  Daeholf added, “It was a clever manoeuvre but Storn doesn’t have full control of his men, and now Garrow knows it.”

  “Ah.”

  Alia had been listening and leant over. “The cavalry charge failed though, right? That definitely failed?”

  “It did. They went too early, which works when the people you’re charging flee. Storn has some control of his men, so they didn’t.”

  “But,” Daeholf added, “these are imperial cavalry. They have the best horses, if not the best brains on them. They will regroup and might be able to attack quicker than most of our enemies ever give them credit for.”

  “He’s right.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But Storn is imper
ial. He’ll know the cavalry are more delayed than broken. He’ll be factoring that in.”

  Jonas tilted his head as he thought. “It sounds like you’re saying the legions win some battles purely for being underestimated.”

  “They do.”

  “A concept Alia and I know all about. Mostly Alia.”

  “I bet,” and Daeholf grinned at their friend, “and if you take full advantage…”

  “It has been useful. Ninety per cent annoying, ten per cent useful.”

  “Well that’s a legion for you all over, ninety per cent…”

  Daeholf scoffed at Trimas with careful exaggeration. “Ninety per cent useful troops and ten per cent idiots like you at the top making us attack things.”

  “You’d be out of a job otherwise.”

  “Fishing has a lot to recommend it.”

  “Besides the drowning?”

  “Landlubber.”

  “Yeah, and you rushed right back to fishing, didn’t you? Oh, no, you came wandering around the empire with me and him, poking into trouble.”

  “Well if I’d known we could have been official bounty hunters and got paid for doing that I’d have had a different plan.”

  “There is still a battle on.”

  Trimas and Daeholf turned to Zedek, and the former spoke. “Actually, you’ve read a lot on history, how come you don’t know more about war?”

  “I’ve read a lot of elven books about war. Mostly why we avoid it and you savages do it so often, and they’re not exactly filled with wonderful tactical detail. They’re mostly filled with heroes carving through entire units with magic swords, complete fantastical nonsense.”