As he had feared, the Auligs grounded their pikes and turned them side on, and the tips were hooked and barbed like halberds. Sir Boden’s lance found a mark, killing one Aulig and probably the man behind him, but a grounded pike caught Firedancer full in the chest, the horse’s own weight driving it deep into the animal. Firedancer screamed and fell to his knees, and Sir Boden D’maitlin flew over his neck and landed on one shoulder. The pikes were reaching for him hungrily.
Celdemer rode swiftly, just out of range of the pikes, but two Auligs leapt forward, the first pike raking his right arm and then falling back and scoring Windbrother’s withers, the second pike striking his breastplate and cutting through a buckle. Fortunately it did not stick, and Celdemer was able to slide past it, but it hurt, as did his arm. “Keep going!” Celdemer screamed at the knights to his left. “Stay in your fucking formations!” He didn’t like to curse, and not one of the men had ever heard him do so. He liked to think it was their respect for his position that caused them to obey, but it might have just been shock at his language.
“Get up!” He yelled at Sir Boden as the knight struggled to his feet. The pikes were dancing in the air around him, but fortunately the man’s horse lay between the marching pikemen and the downed knight, and they were having trouble swinging the very long spears around. “Take my hand now!”
Sir Boden saw the pikes and he saw Celdemer, and he raised his right arm. Celdemer grabbed the arm with both of his, pushing it down and pressing it between his right arm and leg, and he used the weight of the horse to drag the knight away from the pikes. “You are a stupid fool!” He yelled at Sir Boden. Blood had seeped from between Celdemer’s arm guard and the metal socket that protected his elbow, and it had ruined his cornflower blue cloak. He was furious.
As soon as they were safely out of marching range of the pikes, two lancers rode back to Boden with a remount. “It’s your fault, Sir Celdemer!” Boden yelled while he put his foot in a stirrup and pushed himself into the saddle. Without a squire’s help, the man had difficulty mounting in full plate. The horse didn’t seem to think it was a good idea either, and kept backing away. “You should have ordered a charge!”
“You’re a dangerous and reckless man, Sir Boden!” Celdemer replied hotly. “Those were hedgehogs. Pike formations, and good ones. If we had charged that formation we would all be dead! Get off of this battlefield and back to the Wood Castle. You are done. I won’t have you in my company.” He heard his voice wanting to break into a sob, but he stifled it. Tears were in his eyes.
“And you’re afraid to fight with real men.” Sir Boden yelled back. But he turned the lancer’s horse aside and rode toward the wooden castle, disgust radiating from him.
“Sir Celdemer?” It was Brant O’Morin. “You’re wounded.”
“It’s nothing, Brant.” He replied, grinding his teeth to keep his emotions under control. “Get back in formation.”
They reformed the column, repeated the maneuver, and the Auligs came on, no longer trying to hide the nature of their formations. Celdemer could see the Aulig archers forming into ranks back in the Cthochi camps, but they were thinking the arrows were going to come from the Wood Castle, perched still a quarter league up the hill, which was the key to the plan. When the horsemen cleared the front of the Aulig hedgehogs they had reached preset markers in the field. The Mortentian archers stood up from their places of careful concealment and loosed directly into them, at two hundred paces. It was excellent middle range for archers, and pikes require two hands, so the Cthochi had no shields.
Death rained down on them in waves, and the fletchings stood up from their bodies like weeds or blue flowers. When the pikemen broke and ran, Celdemer gave a signal, and the lancers and knights rode through them, striking them from behind with lances, swords and the occasional mace. When the surviving Cthochi reached the protective cover of their advancing archers, Celdemer called back his men and let them go. The Auligs had learned from Walcox, so as soon as their surviving pikemen were safe, the archers retreated in good order.
Celdemer looked the field over and estimated that they had killed somewhere between a thousand and twelve hundred pikemen, a bit less than half from the two formations, a mere skirmish in a war of this size. His right hand glove was dripping blood when he finally returned to the fort. It was a mistake the Cthochi commander was unlikely to make again, advancing pikes without shield men to screen them or archers to cover their retreat. In just a week of such skirmishes their commander didn’t make the same mistake twice. Celdemer wasn’t sure they should be giving him so many lessons.
When he rode into the gate he was the last one to leave the field, and they were waiting for him, all of his beautiful boys. He knew from the expressions on their faces what was coming and he started to laugh, but it was bitter laughter. He pulled his helmet from his head and threw it to the ground as he approached them.
“Really?” He demanded, tilting his head to regard them. His cheeks were pink and flushed. “Really, Angon? This is what you remove me for? A thousand dead Auligs on the field and not one dead Mortentian, and you pack of so-called knights want to retire me because I didn’t give you your precious charge? Is that it?” Angon looked sideways for a moment, but his face lifted resolutely, determined.
Sir Boden was beside Angon, and still furious from his debacle on the battlefield and the death of his prized warhorse. His face was pinched and his cheeks red. “You have no idea what it means to be a godsknight, Sir Celdemer. You’re just a … a blademaster freak.”
“You can shut your ungrateful mouth, Boden.” Celdemer said, and he knew he had tears streaming down his face because that was how he was made. There wasn’t a thing he could do about it. “I just saved your life. I just saved all of your lives.” The pitch of his voice was changing now, like it always did when he cried.
“You stripped us of our honor!” Munith Vanketer roared. “You robbed us of our glory!”
“Oh you big stupid man.” Celdemer replied, weeping openly now and shaking his head in sorrow. “There is a time for a charge and a time for glory. There is honor in winning and glory in surviving. We just won a victory and not one of us dead.” He undid the brooch that held his cornflower cloak, and let it fall to the ground. He reached for the four-pointed gold necklace that all of them wore, pushing his mail-clad fingers into the space between his gambeson and his breastplate to do so, and he simply pulled it free, breaking the thin silver chain. He let it fall on top of the godsknight’s cloak.
“You don’t have to quit the godsknights.” Sir Brant said from beside him. Celdemer smiled and looked at him gently, the beautiful man, so tall and so fine.
“Oh, thank you Brant. You’ve been very loyal to me.” He said, and his voice caught like it always did at times like these. He could only continue in a whisper. “But today they’ve made me really want to quit.”
He turned from them and went into his tent, and for a little while they could hear him weeping, which only made them feel better for their decision. Sir Brant and a few others wept also, men who had understood their commander and loved him, but secretly and in silence, and so with less shame.
Chapter 75: On the Emerald Peninsula, Late Dire, Early to mid-Kastanus
“What should we do now?” Fyella O’Mangavolle asked, looking at Levin and Kuljin expectantly. “Should we hide? Wait for rescue?” Kuljin was still in bed, but Levin and Fyella had been up since the bleary-eyed dawn, gathering their things. They were still within the walls of the ruined town that had no name, where the people had offered gifts to Gaikan, the strange sexless god and sometimes goddess of plagues, and received nothing for their gifts but death. They had been recuperating for a month and a half, living on scavenged food that was running out.
“I have no faith in rescues anymore.” Levin said bitterly. “I rescued Limme and I rescued the women, and they’ve all been taken, one way or another.”
“Tell me more about what happened to Limme.” Kuljin asked. “Who precise
ly took her, and what did they say?”
“They were soldiers in armor.” Fyella said. “Chainmail under tabards, and the tabards were of all different colors. Some spoke with voices that … I could tell by the sound that they’d had the pox. I hid when I saw them coming. I only got a glimpse of them in the distance, but they looked like regular Mortentian soldiers, not bandits. They had spears, swords and horses.”
“We could use horses.” Levin suggested.
“We’ll have to steal them.” Kuljin replied.
“Hah. Here we have all of this gold, and nothing to buy with it. Fyella, it was a good thought you had, concealing it.”
“It wasn’t my idea, Levin. It was Limme’s. When it was just the two of us awake she said we should bury it beneath one of the burned out houses, and when they came and took her she simply did not mention it. I think she knew we would need it more than she.
“Anyway, the men came right into town. They weren’t afraid. It was like maybe they had been here before. They seemed surprised to find Limme and the others. It was her flying jacket that gave her away.”
“Aye.” Levin said. “Even in Hrulthan’s Steading she never took it off.”
“Once the men saw that she was a king’s eye, a king’s eye with curly golden hair and her way of holding up her chin and looking down on you, it didn’t take them long to figure out who she was. Once they did, they seemed to get very excited. ‘Here’s a princess, lads.’ Their leader said. ‘A genuine princess.’ Then they told her that her father is the king now. They were going to take just her, but she insisted that they take Grissel and poor blind Ivetta with them.”
“Why not Kuljin and me?”
“You were too sick. They took one look at you and said you were too far gone. With Kuljin, I don’t know. It’s possible they didn’t want him claiming any part of the reward for Limme’s return, but he couldn’t move anyway. It could have been as they said, he was too sick to move.”
“So you stayed hidden? You didn’t want to leave us alone?”
“It would be nice if that were the only reason, Levin, but I’ll not claim it. The truth is I didn’t want to be around strange men. Not after …”
“I understand.” Levin spared her finishing the sentence. “I don’t like thinking that they know this place and might come back.”
“I think you needn’t worry.” Fyella replied. “They seemed excited about taking Limme to Nevermind somehow for a reward. It’s possible they had a ship.”
“Whatever the reason for it, I am glad you stayed.” Kuljin said to Fyella.
“Still, I don’t think we should remain much longer here.” Levin suggested.
“No.” Fyella and Kuljin stated their agreement in unison.
“It feels like it is still poisoned to me.” Kuljin said, looking around with weary eyes.
Levin nodded, agreeing with the halfman.
“But where do we go?” Fyella said in a worried voice.
“Do you want to go home? Back to your people?” Kuljin asked her.
“It’s gone. Like this place, the Borni burned it all out.”
“Relatives?”
“We all lived in the same village, Kuljin. They’re all either dead or were taken. What about you, Levin? Could we go to your home?”
“My place is gone. It was taken before the war, even. My father is dead. My brother? I don’t know. It was just the three of us, and I spent so many years away from them in the King’s Town, I don’t think he’d know me anymore. Certainly not like this.” He pointed to his eyepatch.
“Don’t pity yourself, Levin.” She told him. “You are alive.”
“I don’t.” Levin replied, looking her straight in the eyes with his remaining one. “Truly I don’t. I’m alive when so many died. That means a lot, and I’m thankful. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to pay back the Auligs for this, though. Not if I get the chance.”
“How do you pay them back for the pox, Levin? Are you going to give it back to them?” Kuljin’s voice was soft and patient.
“It’s an idea.” Levin replied honestly. “But no. I think they’ve already had it or have it, the ones who did this. I think the pox will kill many Auligs here, though, the ones from other bands. It’s like starting a grass fire to burn down your neighbor’s barn. The wind changes and it burns down yours as well.”
Kuljin nodded. “Yes, the Auligs who did this probably didn’t think of containment. I think it was very likely the Dahavala or the Sparli Auligs. I’ve heard of them doing this to other people. They are nomadic sheep herders, and they aren’t used to a land like this, all connected by roads and trade and cities. They live in isolated little villages in the mountains and wilderness north of Khumenov, and it’s a day or two riding between their outposts. When a pestilence hits there it hits one place, and then within a couple of weeks it maybe affects the nearest one or two villages, then it’s over.
“Here, with all of these towns and villages not half a day’s walk apart and all of the ships and people moving in trade, it’s going to hit everyone, even the Cthochi. The war will make it spread faster, and some places will be hit harder than others.”
“It’s hard to imagine any place being hit harder than this.” Levin said. “This was awful.”
“We need to decide where we are going.” Fyella said, bringing the conversation back to the original topic.
“I’ve heard of a place here.” Kuljin offered. “There is supposed to be a Thimenian king.”
Levin raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure I’d have heard of that if it were true.”
“The story is that a Thimenian out of Valtheim came here looking for something. It was a priest’s straga, like a quest or a secret mission. Apparently this was about fifteen years ago, and he never came back, but he sent a message through a Zoric smuggler to his kin, saying that he’d won a kingdom.”
“We’ve never had a Thimenian king in Mortentia.” Levin insisted. “I know enough Mortentian history to assure you of that.”
“What about your relatives, Levin?” Fyella asked.
“The Askelynes of Kundrell would never have dared to cross Maldiver D’Cadmouth when he was the Duke of Elderest. Now that he’s a king? Forget them.”
“What of your father’s people?”
Levin smiled his half-smile, knowing it looked ghastly. “The D’roots? Maybe. My father always acted like he was ashamed of them. To be honest, I know one of my uncles sent me some money for school once, but I don’t know any of them to recognize their faces. I always got the impression that they were the next thing to criminals, held together by the revenge thing.”
“The Black Duke’s Get.” Fyella said.
“Yes. They live in the hills of western Zoric and Arker, hiding out, I suppose. They never regained any status after the end of the time of the three kings. They live in little clannish towns and villages, and they’re very suspicious of strangers.”
Fyella laughed. “Sounds perfect. I’ll fit right in.”
“Zoric is known for smugglers, Levin.” Kuljin said, and Levin nodded agreement. “Even among the Thimenians. If we could get there, I could pay for passage out of this land. I find I’ve had enough of Mortentian adventure already.”
“You just got here, Kuljin.” Levin said with a wry smile. “You haven’t met any godsknights, inquisitors, witch-hunters or torturers. You haven’t even been in stocks. I don’t feel like you’re giving the place a fair chance.”
“A month of the black pox without a healer was quite enough adventure for me, thank you. We’ll go to Zoric and see if your hill people cousins will take us in long enough to smuggle me out of the country.”
“And me?” Fyella asked. “Am I invited, too?”
“Fyella dear, I owe you my life and wouldn’t be parted from you.” Levin answered. “Besides, I think in Zoric I’ll need at least one friend who can abide my poxy face. But if you like I’ll see you settled in any place we come across along the way. With enough gold in your pocket
to buy a cottage with a garden.”
“I think I will go with you to Zoric.” She replied. “P’raps if the road becomes too difficult I will change my mind and accept your offer.”
“Tomorrow, then.” Said Kuljin. “I find myself getting weary again and would sleep.”
“He’s still not well, Levin.” Fyella said to him after Kuljin was sleeping.
“No, but neither are we, Fyella.”
“He’s taking a long time to get better. They say the pox can cripple you. He said it himself.”
“It won’t cripple him. He’s a Known Man in Khumenov. He’s as strong as an axe blade. He just needs time to remember it to his body.”
“You know, I barely remember you from before. On the ship, I mean.”
“No?”
“No. I was … I was lost, I suppose, lost inside myself. Now I’m not lost anymore, but I’ve changed, I think.” Fyella looked down at the pox scars on the backs of her hands.
“I like who you’ve changed into, Fyella.” Levin replied, reaching out to hold her hand. “I didn’t know you from before, either.”
She looked up from her hand that he was holding and into his remaining eye. “I know that I’m ugly now, Levin.”
Levin laughed quietly. “My dear, I’ve seen the hell this pox has made of me in my reflection in the cistern. No woman will ever call me a pretty man again. My voice will never sing again, at least nothing anyone wants to hear. But you look me in the eye and you do not flinch or make a sour face. That makes you beautiful to me.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Levin D’root. Do you fall in love with every woman you talk to?”
“No.” Then he considered. “Yes. Maybe I do. I’m worried about it though.”
“About what?”
“You say the pox changed who you were. I think it has changed me, too. Not just my face.”
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 98