Firestorm

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘I know they’re loyal to her,’ Avery said with a glance at the lieutenant, ‘but are they loyal to you? That I’m not so sure of.’

  ‘I don’t need them to be loyal to me,’ Hagdon said, knowing that they would eventually need to be if he was to stand against Iresonté, ‘at least not here and now. I need them to follow Mercia’s orders, which they will do.’

  ‘I don’t like it, Commander.’ Avery had always been the more outspoken of his adjutants, unafraid to voice her opinion, even if it publicly contradicted his own. It was one of the qualities Hagdon valued in her. But right now –

  ‘Just do it, Avery,’ he said, keeping his tone quiet. ‘This isn’t the time or place for a battle.’

  ‘Commander,’ she said shortly, turning away. He watched her organize the Republic into a group, divesting them of their more obvious weapons. Hagdon hadn’t ordered them to completely disarm – suspicion ran far too deep for that. And it was unnecessary, he thought. They just needed to fool the patrol long enough to get out of range.

  Mercia’s red-mailed Sartyans formed up around the Republic, penning them in the middle. ‘Fall back,’ Hagdon said to the Wielders. ‘If this works, you won’t be needed.’ Kait, he noticed, looked rather put out.

  ‘We’ll be watching,’ Nediah assured him. ‘If it doesn’t go to plan, I can shield the whole group for a limited time, but the afternoon wears on.’ He gave the sky a meaningful glance.

  ‘That’s a lot of people, Nediah,’ Brégenne said. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘If he says he can do it, he can do it.’ Kait folded her arms. ‘No wonder it took him so long to gain the gold with you as his mentor.’

  Brégenne flushed. ‘I only asked if—’

  ‘Do you both mind?’ Nediah said with an unusual snap in his voice. ‘We’ve bigger concerns.’

  ‘Thank you for your offer,’ Hagdon said, aware of the tension. ‘I hope it won’t come to that.’

  ‘I do too,’ the Wielder agreed, still sounding irritated. He swung down from his horse and handed the reins to a Sartyan. Then, without waiting for either woman, he moved back to join the corralled body of the Republic. Brégenne, Hagdon noticed, looked pained. Kait was smiling serenely.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said to Irilin, who’d already given up her horse. Without thinking, he took her hand. It was warm. He was immediately conscious of its softness and, a moment later, of his own calloused palm gripping hers. He let go quite suddenly, before they’d even gone a few steps. Irilin looked a little surprised. ‘It’s a while till evening,’ Hagdon said. ‘I don’t want you near the fighting.’

  ‘I thought there wasn’t going to be any fighting?’

  ‘In an ideal world. I’ve served with the army long enough to know we don’t live in one.’

  ‘For Sartya’s sake, pull up your hood, Hagdon.’ Mercia came cantering down from the front of the group. ‘The last thing we need is someone recognizing you.’

  The wind had blown it back. Hagdon rearranged the thick material about his face. With a sigh he unbuckled his greatsword and handed it to Mercia. ‘Take care of it,’ he said, his palms already itching to have it back.

  Mercia raised an eyebrow. ‘The sword of the Sartyan general,’ she said, hefting it. ‘You’re running a risk, Hagdon. Even the rawest recruit would recognize this.’

  ‘It’s been with me too long,’ he said with a casualness he didn’t feel. ‘I couldn’t just leave it behind.’

  ‘I’m sure Iresonté was very put out.’ Mercia gave a wry smile. ‘She probably combed the camp before realizing you’d taken it.’

  ‘Yes. I imagine she plans to have it along with my head.’

  ‘We’ll see if we can’t delay that a bit, then.’ She turned her horse towards the front of the company, urging it back into a canter.

  ‘Do you think we’ve any hope of fooling this patrol?’ Irilin asked.

  ‘As long as we keep our weapons under wraps.’ Hagdon studied those around him and then beckoned his other adjutant, Hu, over. ‘Does everyone know the plan?’

  ‘They’re not happy about it,’ Hu said in a low voice, ‘but they’re less happy about the prospect of fighting Sartyans on unfamiliar ground. Nevertheless, Mercia needs to get us through quickly. For many, even the semblance of being Sartyan prisoners strikes too close to the bone.’

  Hagdon nodded grimly, not needing to ask more. How many of these people had his tenure as general directly affected? He’d ordered countless raids on settlements from Causca to the Heartland and stayed to watch the after-effects of few. What was he doing here, trying to lead these people? Surely they deserved better.

  It was a scant few minutes before they spotted the patrol. Hagdon squinted, doing a quick count. About fifty Sartyans, all mounted. At the sight of Mercia’s group, they reined in, adopting defensive positions.

  ‘Hail,’ Mercia called out confidently. She guided her horse forward. A man rode out to meet her.

  ‘Hail.’ His eyes swept over their group. ‘You address Captain Rikr. Who are you and where are you bound?’

  Hagdon recognized the name, though the man who bore it looked much older than he remembered. He’d served as sergeant on one of the Hozenland raids. Hagdon tugged his hood further over his face.

  ‘Lieutenant Mercia of Artiba,’ Mercia said crisply. ‘I’ve a group of rebels – none other than the Republic, in fact – bound for Parakat.’

  Something flashed across the man’s face. ‘Parakat?’ He grinned. Hagdon did not like it. ‘Your force is small to escort so many, Lieutenant.’ Their movements inconspicuous, his men had edged up, ready to surround Mercia. He knows, Hagdon thought with a chill. Get out of there.

  Mercia gave a shrug. ‘They’re just a rabble, Captain. Untrained and unarmed. My men are quite capable of keeping them in check.’ She tilted her head. ‘Where did you say you’d come from?’

  He held her gaze. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘He’s just playing with her,’ Hagdon hissed to Avery. ‘Get ready. Pass the message on.’ He looked at Irilin. ‘Stay back.’

  Mercia’s hand slid towards her sword. ‘Anyway, Captain, time is pressing and we need to reach Parakat before winter snows us in.’ She began to turn her horse and that’s when Rikr struck. His sword sprang from its sheath and he delivered a vicious slash that would have severed Mercia’s arm at the elbow if she hadn’t been expecting it.

  Rikr gave a frustrated growl and disengaged. ‘You didn’t truly think that would work, Mercia? Giving your real name, riding so openly with crows in your midst? Sloppy, Lieutenant, very sloppy.’

  ‘News travels fast,’ Mercia said through clenched teeth.

  ‘Word of your treachery has been circulated through the Causcan garrisons.’ Rikr smiled coldly. ‘You thought Iresonté would let it lie? She might be busy with the Rairam campaign, but order needs to be upheld at home.’

  The Causcan garrisons. Something tightened in Hagdon’s belly. Did that mean Parakat was aware of Mercia’s defection too? If so, their plan would go up in smoke.

  ‘Were you truly heading for Parakat?’ Rikr said. Hagdon didn’t miss his use of the past tense; he meant to slaughter every last one of them. ‘A suicide mission, if ever I heard of one, Mercia.’

  ‘Only if they’re expecting us.’

  There – a flicker in the captain’s face. Hagdon hoped that meant he didn’t know whether the news had reached Parakat. He gripped the hilt of his handaxe, wishing for his sword. Battle was unavoidable now. He signalled Hu. Mercia would need cover under which to retreat. Varlan knew it too. Out of habit, perhaps, the Sartyan looked to Hagdon for orders.

  Bowmen formed the rearmost line of the Republic. On Hagdon’s signal, they dropped to one knee, nocking arrows. He watched them sail overhead, falling like deadly hail among Rikr’s men, who raised shields against them. Mercia took the opportunity to retreat, wheeling her horse and cantering back to them while the arrow storm continued. But Sartyan plate was forged in layers of steel; the officers’ str
engthened by ambertrix. The arrow that struck Rikr did no more than rock him in his saddle and the captain snapped it scornfully in two.

  His men fared worse, but few arrows found their mark. Hagdon glanced at his own forces, clad in ordinary mail. They didn’t stand a chance against a return volley.

  Rikr realized the same. He barked an order and the next moment, the sky was filled with projectiles. Hagdon raised his shield, braced for their impact.

  It took him a few moments to gather that it hadn’t come. He chanced a look.

  A golden shield shimmered overhead. Sartyan arrows struck sparks from it, bouncing off. Every one deepened the strain on Nediah’s face as he held one arm out, fingers spread. Light surrounded him.

  A yell, half cheer, half battle cry issued from the Republic. Mercia’s Sartyans, of course, stayed silent, but their eyes glittered.

  ‘Forward,’ Hagdon called after exchanging a glance with Nediah. The Wielder nodded and Hagdon hoped that meant he could hold the shield while they closed the distance with Rikr. He swung out of formation to grab the reins of a horse. Mercia shouted and tossed him his sword. With reflexes born of a hundred campaigns, Hagdon caught it, comforted by the familiar grip. He spared a glance for Irilin. Brégenne was with her and he gestured for both women to stay at the rear, at least until they were able to use their abilities.

  Kait kept to the very front of the shield, a penned cat stalking the bars of its cage, coiled to strike the moment it opened. She had a golden scimitar in each hand. Although Hagdon had seen them before, he couldn’t help but stare at the unflinching way she gripped the hilts, flames dancing over her fingers. He half expected them to burn before realizing she was the fire; it encased her forearms in golden vambraces.

  ‘I can’t hold it for much longer,’ Nediah gasped, sweat beading his face. His tanned skin was ashen, the glow about him fitful.

  Hagdon nodded: That’s fine.

  The old thrill was in his veins, something he hadn’t felt in months. He cantered his way to the front of the shield where Kait gave him a feral grin. Nediah’s barrier failed the moment they met Rikr’s forces. Hagdon just had time to see the Wielder slump in his saddle before he was forced to block a fierce swing. The soldier gripping the sword was old enough to have seen his own share of campaigns. Their eyes locked.

  Hagdon took the man’s head in the moment of recognition. It was unfair, an unforeseen advantage, he thought, as he met the blade of another Sartyan, swinging the greatsword in a scything arc to cut into the man’s arm. An officer, by the marks on his shoulder, but not one Hagdon recognized. His sword bit into the red plate with ease and the soldier screamed, as much with surprise as with pain. Hagdon came in close, knocking the man out of his saddle. One of Mercia’s men rode him down.

  Only the emperor had a better blade than the Sartyan general. It had come with Hagdon’s appointment: forged in a Lleu-yelin’s breath, pure ambertrix from the belly of a dragon. Despite the fact that it no longer crackled with energy, it cut through Sartyan plate like butter. Blood slicked the bright metal.

  Battle seethed around him. Steel on steel, blade on flesh, the shrieks of the maimed and dying. It sickened him, excited him. This was where he belonged, moment to moment balanced between life and death, at the mercy of chance. In an ugly melee such as this, luck was equal to skill.

  He leapt from his saddle, straightened smoothly, and found himself back to back with Kait. Red stained her clothes and teeth, still fixed in that fierce rictus. Hagdon felt it mirrored on his own lips, his face sticky with blood. He heard a gurgle from behind him and glanced over his shoulder in time to see Kait pull one of her flaming swords free from a woman’s chest. Clearly Sartyan plate was no match for the Solar blade either.

  One of those strange silences that come so suddenly in the midst of fighting descended over them. Hagdon blinked. A moment later, he felt chagrined. A commander was supposed to hold himself outside the fray, taking stock of a battle’s changing tides. Belatedly he surveyed the field.

  It wasn’t good. Blood had mixed with the dust of the pass, making a silted mire. Bodies sprawled indiscriminately, black feathers among red mail. A few horses were with them, their legs a limp tangle, proud necks twisted. Although he and Kait had carved a swathe through Rikr’s unit, the rest of the Republic had not fared as well. Bunched, they were being forced back into the narrowest part of the trail. Ledges overhung each side and Hagdon spotted figures up there, bows in hand. An arrow storm in a bottleneck would decimate them.

  Hagdon cursed. He shouldn’t have let the archers out of his sight. He shared a look with Kait and watched his own dismay blossom across her face. Sartyans filled the space between him and his struggling forces. Mercia fought with bared teeth; almost singlehandedly keeping the Sartyan line at bay. As he watched, she slipped on the slick ground and fell to one knee. Avery chopped at the soldier about to take her head, thrusting him back just long enough for Mercia to regain her feet.

  He’d been distracted too long. Hagdon clumsily parried a sword blow, feeling it shear through the old, patched mail he wore, and wished he still had his Sartyan plate. Pain spread with the blood welling from his slashed side, but he’d sustained enough injuries in battle to ignore it for the moment. He hamstrung his attacker, sword cutting through her armour with ease.

  The scuffle had lasted seconds, but when he next looked up, Hagdon saw the Republic had lost ground. Automatically, his eyes sought out Irilin. She and Brégenne were near the back, still within easy range of the Sartyan archers. He felt his heart contract. They were defenceless until night.

  ‘Ned!’ Kait cried. She began to force her way through Rikr’s men, lashing out with a ferocity that severed limbs, her fiery blades a whirl. She wouldn’t make it, Hagdon thought, even as he turned to follow. There were too many between them and the Republic.

  He laid about him with desperate fury, but Hagdon knew he couldn’t last much longer – he was beginning to take as many hits as he parried; hits that would once have rebounded uselessly off his armour. Now they left nicks and gashes, each one serving to weaken him further. When a shout came, he looked up, fearing the worst.

  ‘Get back!’ Nediah yelled. The Wielder was glowing gold, an easy target for the Sartyan archers to pick off. He met Hagdon’s eyes, reinforcing his command with a gesture. Hagdon grabbed Kait.

  He almost lost a hand, but she reversed her thrust at the last moment. ‘What?’ She countered another blow, her parry effective but lacklustre. She was covered in blood; Hagdon had no idea how much of it was her own.

  ‘Nediah,’ was all he had time to say. ‘Stay back.’

  A burst of light filled the ravine. Twin gouts of fire struck the ledges. When it cleared, Hagdon saw with dismay that only two of the archers were down. Before he could renew his advance, a series of terrible cracks echoed up the passage. Fault-lines spidered across the overhanging stone and it began to sheer away from the rockface.

  Between the dust and din, Hagdon caught a glimpse of Nediah. A feathered shaft protruded from the Wielder’s leg, but his face was set. A flickering shield sprang up over the Republic, leaving the Sartyans to take the brunt of the rockfall. There were screams as both ledges toppled into the trail, burying soldier and horse alike. Those Sartyans at the very rear managed to scramble away, though a stray boulder caught one man and sent him sprawling. He did not get up again.

  Hagdon looked around. Perhaps ten of the fifty or so Sartyans remained. He had no idea how many the Republic had lost – the rockfall hid them from view. Kait panted behind him, catching her breath in the sudden respite.

  And then a blade came tearing in from the right. Hagdon had only enough time to deflect it, not block it. The stroke cut deep into his sword arm; he felt blade meet bone.

  Teeth gritted, eyes watering from the pain, he narrowly dodged a second swing. It was Rikr. The Sartyan captain was a mess. Blood seeped in a constant stream from a cut on his temple, and a smoking hole in his hauberk could only have been made by K
ait. He limped, but it did nothing to dampen the smile on his lips.

  ‘General Hagdon.’ Rikr’s smile widened. ‘Or just James now, isn’t it? For you to stray across my path … fate looks kindly upon me.’

  Behind him, Hagdon could hear the sound of rock on rock, as the Republic attempted to shift the debris. ‘I beg to disagree, Rikr,’ he said, gesturing at the carnage. ‘You are routed. Most of your men are dead.’ He paused. ‘You’d be wise to surrender.’

  ‘Surrender to you? I’ll not make that mistake. I know what you do to those who surrender.’ He spat blood on the ground. ‘I was there. In Hozenland, remember? I was one of those who took my blade to the throats of children. On your orders.’

  A boom sounded and they both flinched. Rock tumbled and fell, revealing the path beyond the collapse and the dusty faces of Brégenne and Nediah. In the twilight, both Wielders shimmered with energy. They stepped carefully through, Mercia, Avery and Irilin on their heels. Hagdon felt a knot loosen in his chest. She was safe.

  He turned back to Rikr. ‘Those days are over,’ he said coldly.

  ‘A changed man, then?’ Rikr laughed a laugh choked with blood. ‘I’ve seen nothing to prove it. You fight like the rabid dog you’ve always been, Hagdon. You cut down men and women who, just weeks ago, called you friend and leader.’ His gaze moved from his fallen soldiers to the Republic, now following Avery through the breach in the rockfall. ‘How did you convince the black-cloaks to follow you? Out of fear? They know what you are as well as I.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Avery said. ‘We do.’

  She held a spear at the ready. As Hagdon watched, frozen, she tilted her arm and threw. Someone screamed. Hagdon flinched.

  The spear took Rikr in the chest, hurling him to the ground. Its haft glimmered with faint silver. Brégenne stood beside Avery, her skin still limned in light. ‘I thought it needed a little something extra,’ Hagdon heard her say. ‘Or it might not have breached his armour.’

  Hagdon let loose a pent-up breath. Had he truly believed Avery’s spear was meant for him? No, he thought, but his knotted muscles told him otherwise. Everything Rikr had said was true and the Republic knew it. He couldn’t look at any of them.