The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “You asked.” Rhenkin shrugged.

  The tent flap flew open then as Kennick stepped in. “You asked that I inform you when the moon rises, sir.”

  Salisbourne gave Rhenkin a grim smile. “I suppose now we’ll see, eh?”

  Rhenkin grunted and followed Kennick out of the tent. It wasn’t especially dark and the moonlight worked with the fires to make it brighter still. “How do things stand?”

  “As you ordered, sir,” Kennick said. “Scouts are rotating in every half hour and the men are at half-rest.”

  Rhenkin nodded. Half-rest would ensure the men all had weapons to hand and were able to move at a moment’s notice. None would be sleeping and company commanders would be keeping a close eye on their men. “Keep me updated. I’m going to take a look at the men,” he told the lieutenant.

  “I believe General Ackerson wished to speak with you, sir,” Kennick said, stopping him.

  Rhenkin grimaced. “Again?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir.” Kennick told him, his face gave nothing away. He’s better at hiding it than me, Rhenkin realised.

  “Well it can wait.” Rhenkin sighed. “I’m going to look at the men.”

  “Where shall I find you, sir?”

  Rhenkin looked back at him. “Use your initiative, son. There aren’t many marshals here.”

  He wandered aimlessly, picking his way through the camp. The army stretched out much farther than he could hope to circle but he felt a need to see the men. Talking to them would be a waste of time. Every soldier picks themselves up when speaking to an officer. What he needed was to taste the mood.

  The men were nervous, that much was obvious. It could be seen in the over-loud laughter from the three he passed playing dice just as easily as it could in the silence of the others who ran whetstones over their weapons or checked their armour. The officers were feeling the nerves too, barking orders at their sergeant and corporals. Oddly, what sergeants Rhenkin saw seemed to be taking things in stride. Experience, he supposed. There weren’t many sergeants who made officer rank. Most stayed sergeants for the duration. Officers were likely to be new to their company or their rank, a sergeant though, they were the bedrock of any army and familiarity probably gave them something firmer to cling to.

  He shook his head at himself. There was nothing familiar about any part of the situation. The coming battle would be huge, somehow he knew that. The small clashes they’d had with the fae before the new moon had been small. They’d been tasting his men, testing their responses. Now that the full moon had returned, the full fury of the fae host would descend upon them and a small part of him wondered if they were really ready.

  It wasn’t just the tactics, though they were novel enough. It was the fact that he would have to relinquish control. This army was simply too large a force for him to manage everything. He would need to trust in his men and his officers to do what needed to be done and pray to any gods that might exist that they'd do it well. “Time to loose the reins, old man,” he whispered to himself.

  The report, when it came, was delivered with more calm than it ever had previously. The runner that found him pointed him back in the direction of the command tent but the mood of the army had already changed. It was almost possible to see the point that orders reached units as men shovelled down the last few mouthfuls or rushed off for a last piss.

  “Tell me,” Rhenkin called out to Kennick as he approached the tent. Salisbourne stood already half into his armour, surrounded by majors, and not a few colonels, as he pointed at the map in the lieutenant’s hand.

  Kennick snapped off a salute. “Lord High Marshal, scouts report contact to the east, no more than an hour away at best.”

  Rhenkin chewed his lower lip as he squinted up at the sky. “The sun will still be up then. Are they on the march?” he frowned at the nod from the lieutenant. “Seems out of character but I suppose that’s what we get for making assumptions isn’t it, Kennick?”

  “It is indeed, sir,” the lieutenant told him but he was already turning to the others. “Gentlemen, it would seem that the fae have come along to play. They’ve even arrived in daylight, isn’t that accommodating of them?” He gave a thin smile at the chorus of responses.

  “You all have your orders. I don’t see that anything has changed overly and so I intend to stick to the plan as much as we can. The fae are far too fast for us to control a battle if we try and advance towards them so we’ll fight a defensive position and let them come stick themselves on our iron. Objections?”

  Kennick cleared his throat from behind him and Rhenkin turned with raised eyebrows as the more senior officers muttered complaints. “Something to add, lieutenant?”

  “A suggestion, sir,” Kennick said. “A retreating line of archers to harry them as they approach?”

  “I don’t think so, no.” Rhenkin shook his head. “Normally I’d agree with you but with the little presents we’re going to be leaving for them, I don’t want to give them any reason to speed up. If that’s all then, gentlemen? I believe you all know your jobs.” He made his way back into the tent as the others left, reaching for his own armour.

  The catapults were already launching by the time he had the gambeson on and he smiled a grim smile to himself as he shrugged his way into the mail. The plate could stay where it was, he decided. His armour was only for show anyway. If the fae made it deep enough through the ranks to fight him then the battle was lost anyway.

  “No sign of the Bjornmen?” he asked Kennick in a low voice as he stepped out of the tent.

  “Nothing so far, sir,” Kennick told him, apologizing as if it were his fault.

  Rhenkin muttered darkly and looked eastwards, past the foremost ranks of his army. The command tents had been erected on a small hill, with the army arrayed around him. The hill wasn’t large enough to make any kind of defensive position but it would afford him a decent view of the battle. Not for the first time he wondered if he’d been right to settle in this location. There were more defensible positions to both the north and west, but none that allowed for the same range of movement and visibility over the battlefield.

  “Rhenkin!” the voice was loud enough to cut through the noise and Rhenkin groaned as he looked to the source.

  “I told your man I wanted to talk to you an hour ago. Where have you been man?” Ackerson bulled his way through to the tents, thick white moustache standing out against the red of his face.

  “General, I really don’t think this is the time for a discussion,” Rhenkin told him as he approached. “The enemy have been sighted. We could have less than an hour.”

  “Listen to me, Rhenkin,” Ackerson told him in a quiet voice. “We can do this here, or in your tent. Either way this shouldn’t take long.”

  “Fine,” Rhenkin sighed, leading the way into the command tent. “Give us a few minutes,” he told the men poring over the large map spread over the tables.

  Ackerson waited, watching the men leave until the flap fell closed behind them. “Rhenkin, do you know what I've learned over the years as I rose through the ranks?” Ackerson said, turning to him. “I’ve learned that it’s impossible to do everything yourself. There is a world of difference between being a major in command of a few companies and being a general with an entire army under you. There’s no shame in accepting help from someone more experienced.”

  “Thank you, Ackerson,” Rhenkin told him. “As I’ve said before I appreciate the offer but I am quite comfortable with the command. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  “Damn it all, Rhenkin,” Ackerson snapped. “You’re a country major with no real battlefield experience. How well do you really think you’re going to do when the lines buckle and men start falling over each other and pissing themselves?”

  “I think that’s about enough, Ackerson,” Rhenkin told him quietly.

  “I really am going to have to insist, major.” Ackerson snapped. “Go and play with the maps and let someone who knows what he’s doing take care of things.”r />
  “I said, that will be enough!” Rhenkin snapped out the last word like a whip. “I am Lord High Marshal and you will do as ordered, Ackerson.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, boy.” Ackerson sneered. “It’s an honorary rank from a girl who’s not even been queen long enough for her arse to warm the seat of the throne. If I’m forced to have you removed I will do so.”

  “General Ackerson,” Rhenkin told him in a dreadfully quiet voice. “I am in command here and your insubordination will not stand. I will give you this one, final chance to return to your men and carry out the orders I give you or I will have you put in irons and chained to the supply wagons, do you understand me?”

  That actually seemed to puncture the pomposity and the man gaped at him for a second before collecting himself. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Rhenkin pulled open the tent flap. “Kennick!” he roared.

  “Sir?”

  “General Ackerson will be returning to his company now. If he finds any cause to delay he will become a colonel. If he countermands my order he will become a major.”

  Ackerson’s mouth dropped. “Now see here, Rhenkin. I don’t need to stand for this…”

  “Ackerson, if you don’t leave this tent right this moment I’ll have you digging latrines and watering horses before the day’s out,” Rhenkin warned him.

  “I…”

  “Now!” Rhenkin roared.

  “I think we’d better leave, sir.” Kennick told Ackerson, holding the tent flap open for him.

  An hour passes very quickly when you’re counting the minutes and Rhenkin stood in silence as Kennick dealt with the readiness reports that came and went. Finally even the catapults fell silent and a hush drifted across the army as men were left with little to do but wait and think.

  The dark stain that was the fae host seemed to appear in moments, passing over the horizon and pooling out over the ground like a scribe’s mistake. Rhenkin watched as the fae host drew closer and frowned at the dark clouds that seemed to follow them.

  “Another illusion, sir?” Kennick nodded at the clouds.

  Rhenkin glanced at his second. “We’d better hope so, lad. If those bastards can control the weather then we’re going to be in for a shit time of it.”

  “I think we all knew we’d be in for a shit time when we left Druel, sir,” Kennick replied.

  Rhenkin snorted, laughing through his nose. “Keep an eye on that toffee-nosed bastard, Ackerson. If he so much as farts out of turn I want to know about it.”

  “Understood, sir.” Kennick’s face was carefully blank.

  The fae moved slowly. If they were a human army Rhenkin would have assumed they were using the time to make sure units were in position but these creatures didn’t seem to work in the same way. The previous battle, and the few small skirmishes they'd had since, had shown a different way of thinking. Though the fae were banded together in a host they almost seemed to work independently, rushing into battle in a mob that placed little or no reliance on individuals working together. It was something that should work to give him a decided advantage. Men fighting as a unit were always more effective than men fighting alone, or so he hoped.

  The armies of the fae approached until they were at the limits of catapult range, and there they stopped. Aelthen was clearly visible in the vanguard as they drew to a halt, surrounded by fae riding some form of massive cat. Horrors were visible among the fae, creatures formed of flame or raging storms of ice. Still others seemed to be formed of writhing smoke or things fresh from nightmares.

  Darkness fell steadily and the huge fires that dotted the field were lit by torch and flaming arrows. Still the fae stood, silent as they waited. Rhenkin felt the mood of his men shift as surely as he heard the mutters.

  “What are the bastards waiting for?” Kennick spoke up in a low voice.

  “The moon I expect,” Rhenkin replied, not taking his eyes from the massive figure of Aelthen at their head. “From what the druid tells me so much of their power comes from the moonlight.”

  “And you’re just going to wait and let them have it, sir?” Kennick asked as politely as he could manage.

  Rhenkin fought the grin back as far as he could, glancing over at him. “It’s in hand, lieutenant. It’s in hand.”

  There was no signal, no horn or trumpet. Between one breath and the next the fae charged. They ran in silence, moving so swiftly that for a moment Rhenkin froze, and then the first catapult fired, lofting a cloth bundle that unfurled as the air tugged at it and loosing a cloud of iron filings into the path of the oncoming fae.

  The fae faltered for a moment, but then barrelled on, pushing through the clouds that grew thicker as more catapults hurled the iron into their path. Rhenkin glanced up to the horizon and a small smile grew as he saw the first sliver of the moon. Sparks were visible even from this distance as the moonlight worked with the iron filings misting down out of the air and landing on exposed skin.

  The satyrs raced ahead of the fae, rushing in a dark torrent as they passed the first of the bonfires. They were still far beyond arrow range and Kennick gaped at Rhenkin as the first of the fae faltered, and then fell to the ground howling as they burst into blue flames. The charge faltered in moments as the host bunched up behind the satyrs writhing on the ground in agony as the flames consumed them.

  Rhenkin narrowed his eyes and he watched the forward elements of the fae host bunch up. It was too good an opportunity to waste and he opened his mouth to give the order. The first of the catapults fired again before he could speak and he nodded approvingly.

  “Good man,” Rhenkin breathed as he watched the fresh explosions among the fae. “Loose iron arrowheads,” he explained to Kennick who frowned in confusion.

  Kennick nodded. “A good idea, sir. But what made them falter in the first place.”

  Rhenkin grinned then, in genuine pleasure. “Caltrops,” he told the younger man. “An idea of that smith’s daughter, Erinn. Three long iron nails worked together so a point is face upwards no matter how they lay. Easy to make and damned effective by the looks of things. The catapults have been littering the field all afternoon.

  “Damned clever,” Kennick grunted. “It won’t hold them though.”

  “No.” Rhenkin nodded as his smile faded. “No, it won’t.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The clearing had changed from the last time they’d seen it. The once-peaceful glade had been ravaged and the ground was churned to ruin by the passage of thousands of hoofed footsteps. Obair’s cottage had been torn to pieces where thick tree roots had thrust out from the ground and burrowed into the sides of the building to rip it apart.

  Tristan turned to Ylsriss, muttering something in his deep voice.

  “What did he say?” Devin asked, curious.

  “He said it doesn’t really look anything special and asked if we were sure about this place,” she told him.

  “Forgotten Gods, you’d better be!” Halther said, looking over to the stones. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  “Do we need to wait for the moon?” Obair wondered, raising an eyebrow at Joran and Ylsriss.

  “I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem to work the same way as the glyphs the fae use,” Ylsriss told him with a shrug. “That’s just my best guess, of course.”

  Halther worked his way around the others, leaning in close to Obair. “How long do you think you need?” he asked.

  “I really have no idea,” the old druid admitted.

  Halther muttered something to one of the scouts near him and shook his head darkly. “You’d best be getting on with it then. I really don’t want to be here when the moon rises, not if we can help it.”

  Miriam pushed past them, making her way out to the circle of stones and wandering through them with a bemused expression as her fingertips brushed over those she passed.

  Devin followed her, glancing up at the sky almost without thinking. The sun hadn’t shown itself all day. The sky had been blanketed in pale
while clouds, making it hard to guess at the time of day. Halther was right though, time wouldn’t wait for them.

  “Let’s get started.” He stepped into the circle reaching for the first of the stones as he crouched, feeling for the glyphs. Dimly he was aware of the others fanning out around him and searching the stones.

  “There’s nothing here!” Joran called out.

  “Try another one,” Devin shouted back. The edges of panic were already reaching for him. Joran was right, these stones were different to the ones at Lillith’s cottage. Not just the height, though these were far shorter, the stone was not the same. The stones at Lillith's cottage had been pitted with age but there had been a grain to the rock that had made the glyphs easier to find as they broke with the stone's natural pattern. These stones were nothing like that. They were ancient and pitted from ages exposed to the elements but other than that they were featureless. Devin looked around at the others and panic sought and found him. There was not a glyph to be found.

  “Try the hubstones,” Obair suggested. He had probably intended his voice to sound calm. It wasn’t, and the tinge of panic only served to make his own worse.

  “Here!” Joran cried out, crouched beside the fallen hubstone. It lay to one side of the monolith making a shape with its fallen companion that was close to forming a T.

  Devin rushed over, crouching down beside him and searching with his hands. There was definitely something there, a series of lines that were too regular to be anything natural.

  “It doesn’t feel like the others,” he said with a frown at the younger man.

  “How do you mean?”

  “The other glyphs were more curves and loops. This is more angular.”

  Joran looked at him for a second and barked out an incredulous laugh. “That’s your expert opinion is it? Not enough curves?”

  “If you two have quite finished?” Ylsriss stood behind them, arms folded over her chest with a raised eyebrow.

  She crouched into the gap they made for her, tracing the glyphs lightly. After a moment she closed her eyes, frowning.