Shattered Shields - eARC

by Jennifer Brozek

  Three came at Coreo at once, hoping to overwhelm him with sheer numbers. Coreo sidestepped the first blade, caught the second on his shield, and met the third with the flat of his own, angling so that his opponent’s sword slid safely wide of Jain’s calf. Hooking a foot behind the center soldier’s ankle, he pulled, sending the man toppling into his comrade to the right, then slammed his shield into the face of the remaining soldier. Bone crumpled like eggshell and the soldier collapsed to the ground. One of the other soldiers lashed out in a clumsy overhand chop, and Coreo dodged out of the way, slipping past the man and sliding his sword up into the soldier’s unarmored armpit.

  Blood spurted and the man fell, twisting the gore-slick hilt of Coreo’s blade from his grasp. Suddenly weaponless, Coreo turned to find himself face-to-face with the last enemy. The man smiled.

  Coreo dropped to the ground. There was the briefest flicker of surprise in the soldier’s eyes, and then his head flew clear as Jain’s sword came around in a flat arc, slicing cleanly through the man’s neck.

  Coreo recovered his sword and stood, Jain already turning back into position. Neither man said a word.

  That was the part that no one outside the Bonded Legion ever understood. While two-man teams weren’t unknown on battlefields or in gladiatorial pits, a Bonded pair was so much more. By only accepting those warriors who were already committed lovers, the legion moved beyond simple tactics into a realm of perfect communication.

  A bearded soldier lunged in beneath Jain’s guard, and Coreo slid around his partner’s side, catching the blade on his shield and stabbing the attacker in the kneecap. Then Jain brought his heavy blade down, and the beard became two. Coreo slid back out of his partner’s way, feeling the heat radiating off the big man’s tattooed chest, sweat mingling where their skin touched.

  Men and horses screamed, and Coreo danced with his lover.

  Then, suddenly, there were no more blades to block. Across the field, the battle still raged, yet right where Coreo and the other Bonded men stood, the enemy had swirled away, drawing back to seek easier prey. Coreo found himself standing with Jain and the rest of the legion amid a knee-high mire of gore and crimson uniforms.

  “Legionaries! To me!” Captain Dorson and his partner, long-legged Raja, raised fists, the signal for the unit to form up. Jain and Coreo fell in alongside Barcas and Hosch, the dagger man with a long flap of skin hanging open on his cheek, but still grinning his manic smile.

  Yet not everyone was present. Behind them, a familiar keening rose above the din of the surrounding battle, and the whole unit turned toward its source.

  Jesen, a two-swords man, knelt over the body of his partner. Karse, another northern warrior with one eye and an easy laugh, lay sprawled in the mud, a ragged red line carved across his throat. His good eye stared up at nothing.

  Jesen’s voice rose again in the high, oscillating tone. Two by two, the other Bonded pairs took it up, moving into a defensive ring around the man. Coreo put a hand on Jain’s back, feeling the vibrations in the man’s chest, a baritone counterpart to Coreo’s own.

  Still kneeling, Jesen reached down and touched two fingers to the blood coating Karse’s neck and chest. Fingers spread wide, he then touched his own closed eyelids, drawing his fingers down and painting two bright red lines down his cheeks to his chin. The tears of the kavapara.

  Dorson’s voice broke through the chorus. “Cavalry incoming! Form up and follow me!”

  Coreo glanced back at Jesen. The man stood and met his eyes, nodding. He could wait a few minutes.

  “Move!” Dorson yelled.

  Then they were all running, charging through the surrounding soldiers, not so much fighting as using their blades to part the sea before them.

  The Bonded Legion was a legend: the greatest infantry unit in the Empire of Loremar, in which every man fought in perfect synchronicity with his beloved. Yet every unit has a weakness, and the problem with being a legend is that word tends to get around.

  For the legion, that weakness was cavalry. Though they always traveled with long pikes for setting against charges, those had been abandoned with the tower shields in favor of giving the Bonded pairs the chance to use their individual strengths. Now Coreo wondered if that had been Lord Eron’s plan all along—to draw them out with infantry, then trample them with cavalry. Regardless of skill and training, foot soldiers couldn’t stand against a mounted charge without the proper precautions.

  Off to Coreo’s left, a low mound appeared, blood-slick steel shining. One of the fallen giants. “Captain!”

  Coreo pointed, and Dorson followed the gesture. “Left!” the commander roared. “Take the high ground!”

  The unit turned like a flock of birds, sandals biting deep into the gore-watered field. Those few enemy footmen who’d had the same idea fell easily beneath the unit’s blades.

  Standing, the giant would have towered higher than most castle walls, and even sprawled in death, its torso still rose nearly ten feet high. Its vaguely humanoid face was hidden behind a thick grille of steel bars, yet the ram-like horns curving out from holes in its helm were actually part of its skull. Crude armor plating covered its body, not so much worn as bolted and cauterized directly onto the beast’s tough flesh. It appeared Eron the Pike was nearly as hard on his own troops as those of his enemies.

  “Climb!” Dorson yelled, but the order was unnecessary. Already the first ranks were scrambling up the carcass, Coreo and Jain among them. Coreo reached down and lifted Jesen up as well. The kavapara said nothing, his chest heaving in rapid breaths, whites showing wide around the edges of his eyes. Jain squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Just wait until after the cavalry charge, if you can.”

  Gaze still distant, Jesen nodded. “Good man,” Jain said.

  Any further conversation was cut off by a new thunder: the arrival of the cavalry, felt as much as heard. Those legionaries unable to fit atop the dead giant’s torso turned, placing their backs to the corpse and setting themselves to meet the charge as enemy troops split to let the horsemen through.

  Only they weren’t horsemen—or rather, not in the conventional sense. Armored like a mounted knight in full plate, each of the charging warriors’ humanity ended at the waist, flowing seamlessly into the chest and withers of a powerful destrier. The jet-black plate they wore stretched all the way back and down their flanks, jointed and overlapping to turn each heavy equine body into a steel juggernaut. Couched in the crook of each beastman’s arm was a long, barb-headed lance.

  Jain swore softly. “Centaurs.”

  Coreo agreed. Normal cavalry was bad enough, but at least a knight could be unseated. A centaur was his steed, with a precision and grace no human rider could hope to match.

  Still, the legion’s tactic was a good one. With the giant at their back, the cavalry couldn’t simply charge over the top of them, trampling or scattering them. They’d have to pull up short rather than charging full-on, or else risk losing or impaling themselves on their own spears as they drove through the legionaries and into the giant behind them.

  “Brace!” Dorson yelled.

  And then there was chaos. Even checking their momentum, the centaurs still slammed into the legionaries, some spears ending up stuck in the giant, others ramming home into human flesh. The legionaries, for their part, didn’t wait for their attackers to recover, instead leaping forward, ducking low under lances as they cut at unprotected bellies or slashed hamstrings. Deprived of their natural advantage in speed, most of the centaurs dropped their lances and pulled out curved sabers, point-heavy weapons designed for taking off heads at a full canter.

  The legionaries still atop the giant prepared to leap down and join the fray, but before they could, Jesen stepped forward and raised his blades. While Coreo had been fixated on the charge, the man had removed his cuirass and used the tip of one of his blades to slice the last of the kavapara marks—a rune of two interlocking circles—into the skin just left of his sternum, over his heart. He looked to Dorson.r />
  The captain nodded.

  With a scream that was equal parts rage and triumph, Jesen threw himself off the giant, slamming into one of the centaurs and knocking the beast-man sideways. Then he was up again, swords flashing, spinning left and right as he cut with whirlwind speed, heedless of his own safety. Behind him, the rest of the legionaries took up his cry, turning it into the keening ululation from earlier.

  Coreo forced himself to watch. Kavapara was a beautiful, terrible thing. Deprived of his bondmate, Jesen would fight without rest or retreat until he was slain, joining Karse in the halls of the dead.

  Though he knew it was selfish, Coreo hoped that when the time came, he died first—or perhaps that he and Jain could go down together, back-to-back.

  But there was no time for sentiment. As Jesen disappeared into the fray, Dorson gave the signal and the rest of the legionaries hurled themselves into battle. Jain hit first, keeping his feet and swinging his sword around in a wide arc that hacked straight through a centaur’s plate and into the flesh where man joined beast. Touching down a second later, Coreo darted right, deflecting the momentum of a heavy saber with his shield, arm going numb from the impact. Before the centaur could circle the awkward weapon back around for another blow, Coreo’s sword carved a bright line across its flank, digging deep. The scream from inside the warrior’s helmet was surprisingly equine.

  “Coreo!” Jain was caught between two of the centaurs, struggling to counter both their strikes with his huge weapon. Without thinking, Coreo took two steps and leapt, hurling himself up onto the nearest one’s armored back. It reared in surprise, and he grabbed the front of the thing’s helm, both to help him stay on and to draw its head back, exposing the crack between helm and gorget. His blade slithered inside it, and then he was thrown free as the creature collapsed. On the other side, Jain had taken the brief respite to reverse his grip and stab backward with all his strength, plunging the great blade deep between two plates of the horseman’s barding. Blood fountained.

  Horns sounded. Coreo looked up, coming back from that still place his mind always went during battles, just in time to see a new wave of figures pour in from Lord Eron’s side of the lines—lightly armored footmen who advanced quickly across or around the giant’s corpse, wielding cudgels and—

  “Nets!” Coreo shouted.

  The legionaries closest to the newcomers turned to face them, but that only gave the centaurs the advantage once more. Sabers swung, biting deep, even as the slave-takers flung their nets. Packed in tight by the cavalry, men from both armies were unable to get out of the way, falling tangled in the thick ropes.

  Standing back-to-back with Jain once more, Coreo managed to dodge the first net flung at him—but Jain wasn’t so lucky. The big man’s sword point caught in the loose weave, tangling hopelessly. Coreo lunged, arm and blade making a perfect line, and took the net man in the chest, careful to keep his blade parallel with the ground to avoid catching between ribs.

  The back of his head exploded with pain. The world tilted, and then he was on the ground, seeing everything in sideways view as the soldier who’d clubbed him stepped forward and flung his net across Jain’s suddenly unguarded back.

  “Jain!” Coreo shoved himself up onto hands and knees, but there was something wrong with his balance, and the world tilted again, drawing him back down. Still he could see Jain. Like a great northern bear, the man surged against the net, slamming into the man holding its rope. Then another settled over him, pulling back the other direction, driving him down to one knee. A third man raised a cudgel in both hands. Again there came a sound of horns, ringing through the wool wrapping the battlefield. Jain met Coreo’s eyes.

  A boot caught Coreo in the side of the head, and the world went dark.

  * * *

  Seventeen.

  Coreo stood in a circle with the others, yet there was no comfort in their presence. His right ear still made it sound as if everything were far away, but no amount of muffling could hold out the wailing ululation coming from the men’s throats. From his own. When it was his turn, he took the knife and carved the joined circles into his breast, then dipped two fingers in the blood and drew them down his cheeks.

  Seventeen pairs broken. Far more lucky enough to die together. If Loremar’s army hadn’t surged precisely when they did, the whole legion might have been slain or taken prisoner. As it was, Lord Eron’s soldiers had been pushed back long enough for the survivors to retreat with the wounded. Of the seventeen new kavapara, four had partners among the dead. The rest had been taken by Eron’s unexpected ploy with the nets.

  Everyone knew what capture meant. Lord Eron the Pike hadn’t earned his name by keeping prisoners. He simply liked to take his time.

  Jain. Coreo closed his eyes, feeling the blood already cooling and drying on his cheeks, and passed the knife to the next man.

  Horns. Drums. Shouts. Up and down the lines, soldiers readied themselves. After three days of repositioning and licking wounds, it was finally time for the next battle.

  Coreo’s last.

  The keening song fell silent as Captain Dorson and Raja approached. The left side of the captain’s face was one enormous purple bruise, but he still exuded his unyielding air of command. Instead of his sword, however, he carried an unfurled scroll. The rest of the legionaries, who had moved back to give the kavapara space, crowded close again, craning their necks.

  The captain’s voice was a whip crack. “They’re not dead.”

  Silence. Then, “Sir?”

  “Lord Eron sent us a message,” Dorson said, holding up the letter. “The men he took haven’t been killed—yet. He’s offering us a deal: switch sides, and he’ll return our prisoners.”

  A murmur burned through the ranks.

  It was a brilliant move. The Bonded Legion wasn’t just an elite unit—it was a symbol. If they defected at a crucial moment, it could break Loremar’s lines. Demoralize the whole army.

  None of it mattered. Jain? Alive?

  Coreo heard a voice, and was surprised to recognize it as his own. “Why are you telling us this?”

  Dorson looked from face to face among the kavapara. “Because those are your men out there,” he said quietly. “And every warrior in this legion is your brother. I can’t put the lives of thirteen men above the unit’s honor. But if you choose to go, no one will stop you. Maybe Lord Eron will still release them.”

  Coreo looked around, seeing the truth in the eyes of the other soldiers, the question in the other kavapara. He thought of Jain—the golden curls of his beard, the stubborn set of his shoulders. So strong. So fierce.

  So loyal.

  He stepped forward. “We’re kavapara. Our partners are dead, and so are we.”

  Captain Dorson reached out and clasped Coreo’s wrist tightly.

  “Not yet, you aren’t. Not by a long shot.”

  * * *

  “Now!”

  At Dorson’s command, three legionaries lifted their spears, each flying a red-and-black uniform stripped from one of Eron’s fallen soldiers. At the same time, the unit clustered together, forming ranks once more and marching straight into Eron’s lines.

  As promised, the soldiers there broke apart, letting the Bonded Legion pass with cheers and laughter. From behind came frantic shouts and horn blasts as Loremar’s other commanders attempted to fill the sudden hole in their ranks. Eron’s men closed in behind the defecting legion, pouring into the breach with a roar.

  The screams and crashing of steel made Coreo’s skin crawl, but he forced himself to stare straight ahead as he marched, not looking back at the results of their betrayal.

  Lord Eron had set up a pavilion on top of a low, treeless hill toward the rear of the lines, safely out of the direct conflict and bordered on three sides by rocky cliff, giving it a commanding view of the surroundings. It was to this stony knob that the Bonded Legion marched, faces grim but backs straight. At the hill’s foot, Eron’s honor guard stopped them, forming a wall of shields and
helms.

  Eron had apparently decided to decorate. All around the edges of the hill, tall pikes stood upright in the dirt, impaling naked corpses so fresh that some still twitched. Coreo refused to let himself search their faces. Jain couldn’t be among them. Not yet.

  At the top of the hill, Lord Eron emerged from his tent. He was a surprisingly small man for a warlord, and wore simple black leather rather than the shining plate of Loremar’s commander. Coreo was surprised to find that the Butcher Lord was actually rather handsome, with a thin moustache and slicked-back black hair. He smiled warmly as he surveyed the defectors, hands clasped casually behind his back.

  “I’ll admit,” he said, voice carrying easily over the now distant sounds of battle, “I had some doubts. Would the famed love of the Bonded Legion really be enough to make them forsake their duty, surrendering their whole force—their whole empire—for the sake of a few men?” The smile broadened. “Yet here you are.”

  “Show us our men,” Dorson called. “Prove that they’re still alive.”

  Lord Eron inclined his head. “Of course.”

  He waved a hand, and several attendants leapt to one of the canvas-sided structures, pulling at knots and cords. A moment later, one whole side fell away, revealing that behind the stiff fabric was a huge cage of metal-reinforced wood. Inside, a group of men huddled together, naked except for their loincloths. Many were bloody, but all looked up in surprise as the canvas was removed.

  One particularly large man, his head bandaged and beard flecked with dried blood, sat holding his knees to his chest. As he caught sight of Coreo, however, his slumped shoulders straightened.