Dangerous Offspring

by Steph Swainston

  The main force was drawing up into two deep blocks of roughly equal size, one about ten metres behind the other. The first block would have to break through the Insects, with the reserve formation offering support and engaging if those in front started to waver. In such a large force the Select units were interspersed with the inexperienced General Fyrd to provide an example and keep them fighting.

  The centre of the first body was a solid phalanx of pikemen led by Lourie, stationed astride the road to the dam. They stood sixteen deep and, once engaged, their lowered pikes would present an impenetrable forest of points to the Insects, who would simply impale themselves on the barbed shafts trying to get at the men. They wore greaves and breastplates but trusted in the six metres of ash and steel they wielded to fend off Insects better than any shield. Behind them came a triple rank of javelin-throwers commanded by the Javelin Master, in their front line. They would hurl their missiles over the heads of the spearmen should they be hard-pressed by Insects. They were unarmoured and when their ammunition was exhausted they would pull back to the munitions carts following the troops at a safe distance to rearm.

  Guarding both flanks of the phalanx were thousands of heavy infantry: solid blocks dripping with chain mail and shining plates, with tall rectangular shields and spears. In addition each carried a mace, axe, or Wrought sword to destroy any Insects who broke through their shield wall. They were a patchwork of colours as they drew up by battalion, each with its standard flickering in the breeze, and within that by division and company. Each square seemed tiled with smaller squares, in five hundreds, and smaller patches still, in fifties. The commanding Eszai stood in their front lines: Tornado and Serein on the left flank nearest the reservoir, the Macer and Sapper on the east flank by Cyan’s tower.

  The second body of troops were lines of archers, predominantly Awian, and more shield men in reserve, mostly Morenzian. The archers were on foot, their captains and wardens mounted, with Lightning clearly visible on his white horse in their centre. Those on horseback directed the shot of the footmen, who would be loosing blind over the heads of the ranks in front. In the open, archers cannot be left to face Insects alone so they shot high and indirectly, relying on the sheer weight of arrows to impact into the Insects’ backs. The Awian ranks were typically orderly, each soldier turned out in blue livery and gleaming helmet, but more spacious to allow each man sufficient room to draw his longbow. The Morenzians were a motley contrast; only their officers and the richer fyrd were armoured. But a sea of banners fluttered above them, proudly proclaiming the village or Hacilith district from which they’d been raised. Each man in their jostling ranks held a shield and spear provided by the Castle and wore a sword, from Wrought. The Armourer and the Blacksmith led this infantry reserve.

  Slightly to the rear on each flank of the second block of infantry were the armoured lancers. Eleonora held the left with the Tanager and Rachiswater lancers; and Hayl held the right with detachments from Eske and Shivel. They rode in discrete wedges, ready to intervene quickly if Insects threatened to envelop the archers and infantry.

  The aristocracies of Awia and the Plainslands found it increasingly fashionable to arm as lancers, but I thought it an unnecessarily hazardous way of fighting. I couldn’t help but remember how the last mass cavalry charge I had witnessed at Lowespass turned out. Still, the casualties probably helped keep inbreeding amongst the nobility under control.

  Finally, directly behind the reserve block, the Imperial Fyrd rode onto the field together: a bright red square. They took position in the exact centre of the line, and in the centre of that, the Emperor on his midnight black stallion. Above him flapped the Sunburst, the largest banner on the field. Frost, mounted on an immense destrier, trotted to his right surrounded by the company of her bodyguard, Riverworks’s foremen and navvies. She was to take command of operations when we reached the dam.

  The whole host was centred on the metalled road leading to the dam’s walkway, though only a few men in the deepest part of the mass were actually walking on it. It emerged from under the leading pikemen’s feet, and stretched ahead of them, bisecting the expanse of ankle-deep mud that they would have to cross.

  Occasionally tiny gaps opened in the battle lines, where a man was having a piss, and his fellows on either side were trying to shuffle out of the way of the splatter, because none were allowed to leave the line for any reason. I curved up, gaining height to about five hundred metres, until the whole host was arrayed in browns and splashes of colour below me; pennants, padded jacks and white armour bright against the mud. There were the many-shaded blue backgrounds and individual devices of Awian manors; the greens and devices of Plainslands manors; the red hand of Morenzia. All the fyrds of the Fourlands bar Cathee, Brandoch and Ghallain’s infantry were represented.

  Behind the fighting troops, auxiliaries of all kinds trailed through the canvas city back to Slake Cross, industrious as Insects. A constant pony cart relay brought up supplies of arrows and javelins to stockpiles behind the ranks. Wagons laden with stacks of stretchers swayed through the mud to the forward dressing stations, where orderlies fussed over them. Water-bearers staggered under dozens of canteens they would carry to the men once underway. Swarms of boys tried to sell apples from barrels to the stragglers. Whores were doing a roaring trade in the tents with young fyrdsmen who didn’t want to die as virgins. A party of artillerists tried to lever a cart-mounted repeating ballista out of a ditch. Squads of Gayle’s mounted provosts brandished their truncheons as they trotted between the pavilions and alongside the road, scaring skivers back to their units.

  I heard Lightning’s horn calling thinly into the sky. Each Eszai carries his or her own signal to call for the Messenger but it has taken me years of selective deafness to convince them that just because I can fly I can’t answer them all at once. Now they have learnt only to use them in truly important cases. I wheeled back over the tumult.

  Lightning had ordered his Select to bunch up, clearing a strip of ground for me to land on. It simply looked brown, but as I dropped closer it looked like someone had decided to plough a pond.

  I came to earth in front of his horse, peeling off the top layer of mud in a sliding flurry of feathers, probably just as Lord Melodrama had planned. ‘This had better be good! Even if I can get airborne from this muck, I’ll be carrying half the field around with me all day.’

  ‘Hush.’ He looked around and then, sighing, dismounted to stand next to me. His riding boots squelched into the slurry and stopped being so damn clean. In a low voice he said, ‘I do not want the fyrdsmen to hear. I am worried.’

  I whispered back, ‘Look, this is the strongest we’ve ever been. It looks glorious from the air. Half the Fourlands is here. The Insects can’t even outnumber us by more than three to one.’

  ‘Yes, that is exactly my concern. Nobody here has experience of handling a host this size. Forget the governors, even most of the Eszai have barely commanded a force bigger than a battalion in the last two hundred years, and then mostly on the defensive. The Emperor hasn’t directed a battle for almost eight times as long.’

  I shrugged, annoyed. Trust Lightning to be so perfectionist he finds fault where there is none. ‘So?’

  ‘Nobody has proper control over this field. A developing situation could get quickly out of hand. The mud will slow the dispatch riders. Most of these troops are untried and barely trained–we have many men but not many soldiers. Originally we just expected them to make a great show for the press and then spend the next month demolishing cells.’

  ‘Look, all the Select is here. You know nearly all the Awians drill regularly. The entire Circle is here. The Emperor is here. The green troops will either be straining their best to impress or be terrified of us. Don’t fret. Oh, and I checked on Cyan this morning; she’ll be safe.’

  He scowled. ‘That wasn’t what I was thinking about. Jant, you’re the only one who can watch everything as it happens. If you see anything start to go wrong, tell me immediate
ly.’ He looked down the first line. ‘Damn! Ata had a proper head for this, so had Dunlin. Or Sarcelle. And the last Hayl.’

  I was shocked. Had he really so little confidence in us?

  ‘What about San?’

  ‘You must go to him if he summons you, of course. But remember that he is here to inspire and observe. He hasn’t taken formal command from any of us. They are forgetting–’ he waved an arm towards the front, in Tornado’s general direction ‘–that San created the Circle to do this for him.’

  I looked Saker full in the face. Behind his usual expression he had a weariness I wasn’t used to seeing.

  I nodded. I pulled my damp feet from the ooze, ran soggily, and leapt into the air. A whole division of Morenzians ducked as I flashed over their spear-points. When I looked behind me again, Saker was still standing where I had left him, patting his horse’s neck abstractedly.

  I could see my couriers converging on the Imperial Fyrd and its captain turning around in his saddle to speak to the Emperor. San raised his hand. The standard bearers of the Imperial Fyrd sounded their horns and the buglers of every division responded, till the air vibrated with a single note. The advance began.

  Lourie’s phalanx started to elongate as the men in the front line began to march; then those towards the middle. The lines separated slightly and narrow gaps opened between them as those at the back, and the infantry behind them, waited for their space to move.

  Their pikes jutted ahead, held straight out from the first few ranks, and directly upwards in the others. They looked like a hairbrush. I looked down into the spaces between the spears; they seemed to bristle as I soared over.

  Hurricane’s polished glaive was clear among them, a wider blade in the centre. He was setting the pace deliberately slowly, to prevent men stumbling in the adhesive mud or advancing too far ahead of the archers.

  The prickers fell back as planned. Around the flanks, exhausted men headed their horses to the rear to rest. As they retreated, Insects began to venture forward. The strong south wind gusted, spreading a ripple of interest through the Insects gathered around the lake.

  I watched the forward movement surge through the infantry and reach the archers. Over the roar of airflow and the rhythmic swoosh-and-batter of my wings I could hardly hear their horns but I saw thousands of men bend their bows in unison. Their shot arced high, arrows pausing at their zenith, turning and falling at a steeper angle, thicker than rain or snow, spraying out in front of the first spearmen.

  Their barrage was so thick they were catching Insects in a broad strip in front of the host. Insects writhed and fell. The closest rushed powerfully up against the first pikes. Some were killed outright, others slowed down until the pike points buckled into and cracked their hard carapaces.

  Hurricane let the arrow barrage come down some fifty metres ahead of the pikemen–he kept the distance with incredible skill.

  The pace was so slow it was a quarter of an hour before the wave of movement reached the last ranks of the Imperial Fyrd. It was mid-morning already but we were only ten minutes behind schedule. It is absolutely impossible to keep men walking abreast in perfect rows, and they were stumbling and dragging in the mud. Every formation was warping slightly; growing thinner and longer. The archers’ line bent forwards at the ends as the men there walked faster, spreading onto open ground where the infantry hadn’t churned it up.

  I stretched out in the air, way in front of the pikemen, with the storm of arrows coming down behind me. I was watching Insects charge in up the slope from the lake shore, where they were ranging all over the mud in great numbers, but nowhere so densely packed as to be a serious threat to the infantry.

  I turned and flapped upwind in an ungainly fashion, resting now and then because the gusts were strong enough for me to lean against. All the spearmen could see me poised stationary like the figurehead of a ship.

  Back towards the town I saw the dual lines of Thunder’s immobile trebuchets drawn up in front of the walls. The machines weren’t operating but were still manned, just in case–they seemed no bigger than my thumbnail and the crews no more than black dots.

  Better go see if anyone needs me, I thought. I swept out wide and came in under the tunnel of arrows pouring up from Lightning’s ranks. I flew down the tunnel and out of the end. Then I gained height so as not to frighten the horses, and cruised over the Imperial Fyrd, looking down on their sun banners. It was easy to see the Emperor’s billowing white cloak against his horse’s back.

  I was worried that San was on the field. His presence was foremost in everyone’s minds. We couldn’t risk him getting hurt–if he was, none of us knew what would happen to the Circle. At least he’s well protected in the rearguard.

  Back on the other side of the arrow storm, Insects rushed towards the spearmen. The spears thrust out or down. Little dents formed in the first line where shield and spearmen had to stop and make sure an Insect was dispatched before walking round or clambering over it. Eleonora’s and Hayl’s lancers trotted forward to guard the archers’ flanks.

  The fyrds walked steadily for three hours, cutting a wide swathe through the Insects, with some attrition of the spearmen and heavy infantry, and horses as the cavalry fended off Insects coming round to our rear. The host trailed bodies like rag dolls, curled up and sinking in the shallow liquid mud.

  We had reached the gradient leading down to the lake–the slope helped the men walking but was too faint to speed up the lines. Hordes of Insects were racing from the shore, skittering over the road and pouring towards us. The curling breeze carried the stench of the lake.

  I was turning, intending to tell Lourie how many Insects were approaching, when an almighty shouting broke out from the spearmen. The front of the phalanx nearer the lake ground to a halt, but the rest kept going a few steps downhill, staring left at their fellows, wondering what was happening. They pulled the whole of the phalanx front out in a long concave curve.

  The first pikes started rattling side-to-side and jabbing at the ground. The men in the second line were also trying futilely to bring their weapons to bear, stabbing the mud. A shout went up to call Sirocco’s men into action. They started casting their javelins. Already? I thought. What’s going on?

  I pulled my wings in close and dropped steeply downwind, air screaming past me. I hit my top speed in seconds, blinked and tears forced out of the corners of my eyes. I swept my wings forward and up, either side of my face, and braked hard. I had to keep above the arrows. I circled, lying in the air, my wings beating quickly, and looked down through their storm.

  The men in the first few lines were dropping their pikes. Throwing them down. Their long shafts lay all over and already men were tripping on them. Some had drawn swords and appeared to be digging them into the ground.

  The men on the edges of the phalanx flung down their weapons and turned to run. The ones nearer the centre began to follow suit. Unable to force back through the tight ranks behind, they had to run the whole length of the line to get round the flanks. Some fell as they fled and didn’t get up again. Bodies struggled and contorted in the mud but I couldn’t see that they were fighting anything.

  Men in the centre of the first ranks turned around completely and tried to beat their way back into the middle of the phalanx. They came face to face with men behind them who also turned to run but could go nowhere. Time seemed to slow down and I felt a rising nausea. Shit. They’re going to rout. The fastest way to die in battle is to break formation in front of Insects.

  ‘Lourie!’ I shouted. I couldn’t dive lower–I couldn’t land. The air beneath me was thick with missiles. The wind took my words. I screamed at the top of my voice: ‘Hold the line!’

  I saw helmets moving into the centre of the phalanx then falling under the crush. The square’s middle was thickening and the edges flaking off, men running back. Lourie and a body of soldiers around him were left isolated on the road out in front. He was bent double, shouting, but no volume could make his troops take the
slightest bit of notice.

  The javelin-throwers following had now also stopped, their front rank mingling with the last line of the phalanx. They couldn’t see forward and were even jumping up to try to see over the pikemen’s heads and find out what was happening. Fleeing pikemen began running into their ranks at the sides, pushing them towards the middle, making the crush worse. Sirocco blew his horn, then every Eszai with the infantry began to sound theirs. I glimpsed Tornado looking up to me and frantically waving, mouth moving in a silent bellow. Then I was past, over the vast formation grinding to a halt. Men crunched up together as they walked into each other; the flanks rode on by a few metres as the centre collapsed into itself. The reserve block realised that the men walking ahead had stopped and came to a halt themselves.

  Lacking further instructions for the cause of the delay the archers, piecemeal, suspended their barrage. As the last arrows hissed to the ground the screams of the ever-worsening crush below seared up clearer than before.

  Finally I could descend–and suddenly all the ground ahead of the pikemen seemed to be in motion. Tussocks and rocks poking through the thin layer of muddy water over the waterlogged soil were advancing of their own accord.

  I had no idea what they were. Lower still, I could see shapes, seething in the mud, half-crawling, half-swimming. I judged the scale against the men–they were about half a metre long and mottled brown, very hard to see. They were moving close to the surface of the soil, like little Insects. I saw one lifted up on a man’s spear, writhing. It had a longer, narrower abdomen than an Insect. I saw its legs opening and closing as they waved in the air. Its thorax and triangular head were flattened, but they had the same high-gloss goggle eyes.

  I looked towards the lake and saw them emerging from the water, climbing up on the lake shore. They were scurrying, slower than Insects, but faster than a man could run. I couldn’t see the ground between them on the shore; there was no end to them. They weren’t Insects. I hadn’t seen them before–they were monsters!