The Warriors Path

by Brian Thomas

  The cheering eventually died down and Shushan sheathed her swords, nodding with determination. “See to our wounded and finish any of the enemy that survived. They think they are wolves amongst the sheep. They deserve no better than what they would give us. Strip them of their weapons and armour. This sheep needs their old weapons to fashion new fangs!”

  Mading had known nothing of the attempted raid until he began his morning patrol and realised there were far fewer of Sheywen’s men about than there should have been. Heading for Sheywen’s headquarters he saw Mishka and his guard from before waiting outside, still astride their horses. They looked as though they had been waiting for some time. Mading clenched his jaw as he approached the pair, Mishka’s face expressionless as he watched Mading’s every move through narrowed eyes. Mading took a seat on the step leading into the building, feeling no need to question the nomad who was clearly waiting for the outcome of the raid, as was Mading now he knew it had taken place.

  They did not have to wait long before the survivors returned, battered and bloody with many of them bearing wounds as were the horses they had recovered. Mading shook his head slightly with a grim smile seeing both Gaow and Leywee had survived, shaken but otherwise unscathed. The only horses they brought with them were the ones they rode and few of those had escaped without at least one wound. As they drew up in front of the building one of the horses staggered to its knees, grunting before it collapsed on its side bearing its teeth in pain as it slowly gave up its life to the bloody arrows buried deep in its hide.

  The outcome of their raid was obvious. There were no additional horses and this was a beaten group, still recovering from the melee they had somehow managed to escape. Their shock all the more severe at having suffered so harshly at the hands of a group they looked down on and despised. Mishka looked beyond the forlorn group checking for the rest of their force and the horses that should have been following. Mishka’s contempt at their pitiful state was obvious as he signalled angrily to his guard, pushing a way through to ride briskly out of the town without looking back.

  Mading grabbed Gaow’s arm as he passed to enter the commandeered tavern. “Is this it then?”

  Gaow looked ready to give a defiant reply but the anger drained out of him, tiredness etched into his face as he pulled his arm free and shrugged. “Some went back up the valley. They will be able to leave the way they got in but without their horses.” Gaow pushed past Mading to enter the tavern, making his way to a cupboard and taking out a jug of rice wine and a beaker. Filling the beaker he sat down and gave a mock salute before downing the contents in a single draught.

  Mading had followed him in and sat at the table beside him, ignoring the wine and other men who trudged in behind them. “What happened?”

  Gaow ignored him looking into the distance but Leywee joined them and answered instead. “That bitch again, that’s what happened.”

  Mading sat back not overly surprised at the response as he surveyed what was left of their battered men. Rising he left the building to join his own men, wondering where Sheywen was and if he’d ever come back. This situation was getting worse by the day and if Sheywen didn’t return soon Mading was going to take his men and pull out.

  When Mading reached his own billet Zhi came over. “What’s been happening Sergeant? We saw them coming in and they look pretty cut up.” Some of their other men were crowding round, anxious to hear the news.

  Mading frowned at them. “What am I then, a bloody fishwife to pass the gossip on?” Relenting slightly, Mading told them. “They made the mistake of taking on the lieutenant, that’s what.”

  Zhi frowned. “But he’s not there. We know he rode off with a whole bunch of their soldiers.”

  Mading let some of his frustration show. “Well he left some behind, didn’t he?!” Relenting again he added, “The lieutenant wouldn’t go off without leaving the place in safe hands. It sounds like that girl was in charge and did a good job of shafting them when they tried to steal the lieutenant’s horses.” Mading broke into a smile remembering their last meeting. “She wouldn’t like that either and she let them know it.”

  Zhi scowled looking out the doorway where the battered group had skulked its way past but were no longer visible. “What, the young and skinny good looking one?” he asked dubiously.

  Mading gave Zhi a pitying glance. “Good looking like a snake or a tiger before it strikes. Don’t make the same mistake that lot just did. She’s good and definitely bad news for anyone who gets in her way.”

  Zhi raised an eyebrow at his sergeant, not entirely convinced but trusting his opinion. “So what do we do?”

  Mading swore under his breath again. “We wait. We wait and we watch very carefully. If it comes to it, we may have to leave and it might be in a damn hurry.” Mading turned to the rest of the men who were listening carefully. “And any of you too drunk or slow to keep up with me when I go gets left behind! I’ve got a bad feeling about this place, so keep ready for a quick exit and your packs stuffed with what food you can. This lot are looking less scary by the day and if the town’s people decide Sheywen isn’t coming back we could all find ourselves at the wrong end of a hoe.”

  Chapter 35

  Ronan took a quick look along their position. Given the circumstances it was as good as it could be with the time they’d had to prepare. “Archers aim for the front rank and target their horses, we need to break the charge!” Nestled between the rocks as the caravan was the bandits had only a restricted front on which to come at them, the ground on either side littered with loose boulders from the up thrust of hard rock behind them. The pack animals and horses they had brought for trade were tightly packed in a natural bowl, protected on all sides except their front and this was where he had drawn up their shield wall. During what had been left of the night they had gathered what materials they could to restrict the entrance further and his swordsmen now barred the gap standing shoulder to shoulder, shields locked tight in a well practiced formation with the spears from the back rank thrusting out over the shields of the front rankers. Behind them and in positions which offered some protection he had placed his more lightly armoured archers.

  Well, ready or not there was no more time and Ronan braced his own shield more firmly, raising his spear with the others so that together they formed an unbroken line of glittering points, each with a bright ribbon wafting gently in the breeze just below the metal head. Ronan and his men had faced horse charges before and knew no horse will willingly throw itself against a row of spears, so long as they held firm. Any break in that line and a horse would seek to squeeze between and once a gap was forced their sheer weight would force a way through. His mouth was dry as the horses were kicked towards them their eyes wide and their teeth champing at their halters as they were goaded forward by their howling riders. “Hold steady, lock shields and keep the wall.” he called out above the drum of hooves, pleased his voice sounded unperturbed by the mountain of flesh and weapons thundering down on them.

  The horses were being naturally funnelled together by the debris on the ground to either side and they were wild eyed as they sought for a way round the deadly barrier in front of them. Ronan cursed though he could not hear it over the deafening drum of the charge. The best time for the archers’ volley was just as the horses could see there was no way through. He could see the whites of the riders’ eyes who screamed themselves hoarse knowing they would break the shield wall before them quickly or pay dearly if their charge were stalled. He had no trouble visualising the mountain of horse flesh crashing through them, any later and the volley would be too late.

  Ronan didn’t hear the command through his helmet but the arrows were loosed in a good volley, virtually all of them burying themselves deep in the packed ranks of charging horse flesh, only fifty feet away now. The effect was immediate, many of the struck horses falling to their knees and pitching their riders in a bloody pile directly in front of the charge. Others reared up twisting to the side as they did so, imp
eding those on either side or behind. The rear ranks were trying to jump the horses and riders which had fallen in front of them but others were too slow, crashing on top. The charge had lost its momentum, just as a second volley pounded into them at short range.

  Some of the horsemen had maintained their seat and made it through but as they approached the final space in front of the spears their horses baulked, rearing as they fought their riders, turning to avoid the glittering spears with their fluttering ribbons directly ahead. Ronan saw a third volley hit home, far more riders than horses being targeted now that the charge had been broken. The co-ordinated charge of a few moments ago had been reduced to a milling state of confusion as the riders tried to force a way past the steady row of spear points.

  A bandit directly in front of Ronan forced his mount sideways along the line trying to hack at the spear points with his sword as another volley thudded home into the pack of men and horses behind. The man beside Ronan hooked his spearhead on the rider and used his weight to pull him off his struggling mount. The rider came down towards them flailing at the spear hooked on his leather breast plate, his thighs gripping tight about his mount just as the beast took an arrow causing it to rear. Pulled off balance the horse toppled sideways crushing its rider and three spearmen in the line, its threshing legs and snapping teeth causing further damage to his shield wall. “Kill it!” Ronan shouted desperately as he stepped back, too late to avoid a flailing hoof on his shield that nearly took him off his feet.

  Ronan could see other riders already kicking their mounts trying to force them into the breach before the gap could be filled. Swords were already hacking at the flailing beast and it would be only a moment before it was stilled but he could see it was going to take too long, his men behind the horse so closely packed against each other they could not move. “Front row forward three paces.” he shouted, deciding to reform the shield wall beyond the threshing horse and give his men space. Ronan scrambled over the fallen horse and could feel men on either side lock their shields with his, but there remained a gap in the row of spears from behind where the horse had broken them in its fall. Already a rider was on them and Ronan just deflected a blow from above as the bulk of the horse against his shield nearly took him of his feet. He could feel himself being forced back by the sheer weight of the horse, the shield wall buckling as a result. Roaring in anger he drove forward against the beast, encouraging those on either side to push with him.

  Ronan caught the look of fear in the man’s eyes beside him as he too could feel the line breaking, knowing what it meant for all of them once it did. The man’s face suddenly disappeared in a curtain of blood as the rider brought his sword down in another savage cut. Risking all, Ronan lowered his shield and brought his sword up from the crush to bury it in the stomach of the rider above him. The rider, triumphant at his own kill was still savagely grinning as he toppled from his saddle to fall across the rim of Ronan’s shield, ripping it from his arm as he fell and snapping Ronan’s blade at the hilt as he landed on top of him. Unable to free his hand from the shield straps Ronan was dragged to his knees while his other hand still gripped at the now useless sword handle.

  There was now a gap in their shield wall left by the dead man to Ronan’s right and Ronan who was struggling to free his trapped shield from under the dead weight of the fallen rider. Quick as they were to fill the gap and get Ronan back on his feet two other riders were kicking their mounts into the breach. He tore savagely at the trapped shield but was hampered by the wrenched muscles in his arm and the fallen bandit’s body which pinned down by his own dead horse tenaciously snagged the shield. Ronan snarled up at the horsemen bearing down on him, realising they were charging straight for him and would be there in a heartbeat. At last the shield was wrenched free and Ronan threw it up to lock with its neighbours, the shadow of the charging horses looming over him as hooves struck the shield throwing him stunned to his back. Landing heavily his breath was knocked out of him as Ronan slammed against the hard ground. His vision blurring from the impact he saw the huge bulk of Markurd sailing over him spread-eagled as he flew by like a bird. The bizarre image was blocked out as the horse’s hooves bore down on him again, one of them hitting him full on his helmet. There was a momentary sense of detachment as Ronan realised this was the end and there was just time for him to recognise the irony that reputedly the best swordsman in the kingdom was killed by a horse kick in the head. He acknowledged the Gods’ sense of humour while wishing it had not been his shield which had broken the wall. Then the darkness engulfed him.

  Markurd was in the line behind Ronan using his spear to fend off the horses and keep the attackers from reaching Ronan and enabling him to maintain his place in the shield wall. Ronan had been the focus of the assault, the gap left in the spears by the falling horse drawing the bandits like bees to honey and he had seen the lad take a number of blows, but nevertheless hold his place firm and calling out encouragement to hold the line. Markurd had managed to skewer a rider who thought he would take Ronan while he was fending off an attack from the other side but the spear point designed to snag and pull riders clear of their mounts snagged on the man’s ribs and the spear was torn from Markurd’s hands as the horse sheared away. The man next to Ronan dropped his shield too low and took a blow to his head throwing him back in a sheet of blood. Markurd saw Ronan clear his sword to take the horseman, who fell forward as he died. Without his own spear to fill the gap Markurd knew their attackers would race to break through at this point, if they succeeded it would be the end. He could feel the men on either side of him come to the same conclusion and their resolve falter; the bandits kicked their mounts towards the breach with new resolve.

  With a snarl Markurd snatched an axe from the hands of the man next to him and leapt forward, his second step took him to the top of the fallen horse which had first broken their lines. Using its ribs as a springboard he launched himself over the heads of those in the collapsing shield wall beneath him. The two riders who had forced their way into the breach barely saw him before his crushing weight bore them backwards over their mount’s haunches, bringing their horses down in the process. His fall broken by the men and horses Markurd was quickly up, beating the struggling horses on either side by a heartbeat as they broke free from the madness around them. Their riders though winded also struggled to their feet grasping for their scattered weapons. The first man up was thrown back as he took Markurd’s axe in the chest, while the other received Markurd’s boot in his face as he at last found his fallen sword. Before he could recover the reverse blow from Markurd’s axe nearly severed the man’s head from his shoulders. Raising the axe two handed Markurd roared his challenge and defiance to the milling horsemen, standing alone and defiant, brandishing the bloody axe high in the air.

  Glancing over his shoulder Markurd saw the remnants of their line staring at him. For a second he was incensed at their inactivity. “Form shield-wall you toe rags!” And then there was no more time as he turned to face the next charge. The first rider bore down on him and Markurd stepped directly before the horse, swinging the axe in an upper cut to take the animal under its chin. The horse reared up pitching its rider over its haunches and screaming out in pain, a flailing hoof knocking Markurd off balance as the next rider savagely pulled his mount round and swung a sword at the axe bearing giant who blocked their way. Markurd deflected the blow but lost his grip on the axe.

  Seeing he had disarmed Markurd the bandit raised his sword for the killing blow when Markurd charged at his horse, grappling for a foreleg while making it stagger a few paces. The beleaguered horse stumbled over the body of another beast as Markurd strained to keep it staggering away. Markurd went down on top of the mashing pile of horse and men, unprepared for another unhorsed bandit who drove his sword at him from behind. The sword went right through Markurd and into the horse he lay across, momentarily pinning him in place. With a defiant roar Markurd swung his fist as he turned, taking his surprised attacker in the face and knock
ing him from his feet. Pushing back from the horse his movement pulled the sword free of the horse but Markurd remained skewered, the blade’s bloody point emerging from just under his breast plate.

  Markurd stood panting, fists clenched as he faced the remaining bandits the bloodied point of the sword blade sticking out from his middle. There was a heartbeat of hesitation from the bandits at seeing Markurd push himself up to face them defiantly despite his wound, when they were unexpectedly thrown into confusion as a hail of arrows landed amongst them from behind. Markurd ducked behind the fallen horse in front of him as some of the arrows overshot to land around him. The shield wall hastily went up again as the arrows also came perilously close, peppering the ground ahead of them. By the second volley the bandits broke in all directions and the area where they had been was just a litter of their dead and wounded. The deafening noise of battle was suddenly gone, the clatter of the retreating horsemen quickly diminishing.

  One of the caravan guards broke from the wall to run up to Markurd. “For the love of the Gods Markurd, are you alright?” he asked in awe.

  Markurd replied angrily. “There is a sword sticking out of me you imbecile, of course I’m not alright. Get the damn thing out before I let you know what it feels like!” Markurd leant against the fallen horse he had been skewered to, his back to the man who while happy to put a sword into another man was now hesitating over withdrawing this one from Markurd. “Gods man, get on with it!”

  The guard was about to reluctantly take hold of the sword handle when Ronan who regaining his senses had stumbled over to the stricken Markurd stopped him. “Wait until we have something to stop the bleeding.”

  Markurd looked over his shoulder at Ronan, grunting. “You have a nice sleep while the rest of us were working?”

  Ronan hid a small smile as he took the cloths handed to him. “I was woken up by the bellowing of an old bull that pricked itself.” Ronan carefully withdrew the sword, using the cloth to pad the rear wound and getting Markurd to hold another pad over the front wound. He used a bandage to hold both pads firmly in place. “Nothing vital was hit by the sword it seems.”