by Duncan Lay
‘If you think I’m opening my shield for longer than a heartbeat, then you’re a rutting idiot,’ the man on his left said.
Caelin concentrated on his crossbow, gasping at the effort to pull the string back.
‘We’ve got to do more. They’re laughing at us as they kill our men!’ Wilfrid raged.
‘We stick to your father’s plan. We have drawn more of the elves away from their main attack and they are using up their arrows,’ the castellan said steadily.
It did not look like it to Wilfrid. Every time a company mock-charged, they left a handful of men behind. The ground was sown thickly with arrows but also with dead and wounded men and horses.
‘They expect us to veer off now. They are aiming their arrows that way. We should charge home now, for they are not expecting it,’ Wilfrid argued.
‘That was not your father’s plan. He knows what to do. Watch for his orders. Until then, obey the ones we have.’
Wilfrid swore in frustration. The elven flank was growing thin, stretching back and around to make sure he and Wulf, over on the left flank, could not strike their sides or rear. He could see himself punching his men through that thin line, winning Forland a great victory and sealing his father’s praise and pride.
‘Patience,’ the castellan said.
Mogosai walked in the front rank of the elven host, holding his face in a mask of fierceness. The front ranks of each clan were filled with the best warriors, Council Guards, Border Patrol and the sons of the nobility, all of them dressed in their finest armour, resplendent in the clan colours. Behind them came the lower classes, wearing armour of varying quality and faded colour, down to the esemono, who carried plain swords and wore simple brown cotton robes with merely a scarf of clan colours.
He kept his face looking angry but, inside, he was wondering what he was doing here. Things had been getting stranger and stranger since the day he had helped Gaibun escape Dokuzen. Back then he had not imagined Gaibun could murder anyone, let alone be a traitor, even though he was from another clan. Gaibun had always been an honourable elf and Mogosai’s respect had only deepened after Gaibun had saved him and the other survivors from the Forlish during the slaughter of Lord Konetsu’s patrol.
The rise to power of the Magic-weavers, the death of the Council and Lord Jaken — these were all concerning. He was most confused by talk that Sendatsu was somehow the mind behind this all. His older sister Kayiko had been married to Sendatsu before her death in childbirth and, in all the years he had known Sendatsu and heard his own father, Lord Ichiro, talk about him, there had been nothing like this. Sendatsu was devoted to Mogasai’s niece and nephew, Mai and Cheijun, and that was about it. Talk of him plotting to bring down Dokuzen was madness. The only thing that made sense was the need to punish the Forlish. Not only had they attacked Dokuzen, but they had killed his father. Like every other warrior in Dokuzen, he had been eager to show the barbarians they should never dare to set foot in the forest again. But, unlike many of the others, he would have been far happier had Sumiko and the Magic-weavers not been leading them. He had been there when Sumiko had killed a warrior for refusing to slaughter women and children and, although he had not used his sword on the humans, he felt ashamed for not standing up to the Magic-weaver.
He caught a glimpse of a crossbow bolt flying in, flat and hard, and ducked instinctively, expecting to feel the shock and agony of its impact — only for a puff of ash to splash across himself and his neighbour.
‘Thank Aroaril for the Magic-weavers,’ his neighbour said heartily.
Mogosai said nothing. It was too late to say anything about the Magic-weavers or what they were doing here. The humans were ready to fight them and there was nothing else to be done. He had loosed nearly half his arrows at them already but now he would be matching swords with them. And soon.
‘They are using magic to stop the arrows and bolts — this could be our chance,’ Asami said.
‘They have to be tiring,’ Rhiannon agreed.
Sendatsu stretched his sore back and shoulder. ‘We have to be tiring as well. And I’m down to my last arrow.’
Cadel joined them. ‘We’re all out as well — nothing left,’ he said.
‘It has taken it out of them. They won’t be able to do much now,’ Rhiannon said. ‘When they attack, we can use magic back on them, see how they like it.’
‘Not straight away,’ Huw said softly.
‘What? Don’t tell me you’ve got a plan to weaken the Forlish before letting them win.’ Sendatsu released his last arrow and then turned on Huw.
‘Why not? Leave Ward in control and he’ll be at the gates of Patcham next.’
‘How many times do I have to say it? We must beat Sumiko first. Do you know what is going to hit the Forlish lines? The first couple of ranks will be slaughtered and torn apart — it is just a question of whether the rear ranks can hold,’ Sendatsu said angrily. ‘Try to be too clever and you will doom us all.’
Huw said nothing for a long moment, then smiled and clapped Sendatsu on the shoulder. ‘You are right, of course. We’ll strike just before the two sides come together.’
Sendatsu stared at him, wondering if Huw was trying to be clever again. ‘I need Rhiannon and Asami with me. As soon as the two sides start fighting, we will cut around the side and drive through the elves, find Sumiko and finish her.’
‘Of course, take them, and the dragons, as we planned,’ Huw said.
Sendatsu was slightly mollified. Huw agreeing to release Rhiannon for his attack on Sumiko did seem to indicate he was willing to be sensible.
‘Come on then,’ he said, stretching his arm and leading the dragons, as well as Gaibun, Asami and Rhiannon, closer to the fighting.
‘Do we even know where Sumiko is?’ Gaibun asked.
‘Rhiannon and Asami will feel her magic. When the two sides come together, she will try to open up the Forlish lines,’ Sendatsu predicted. ‘As the rest of our Magic-weavers try to distract her, and stop her, we will use that to our advantage.’
‘As long as Huw lets them,’ Rhiannon muttered.
‘He might try to delay but he will see within a few heartbeats that only immediate action can stop Sumiko,’ Sendatsu said.
‘What do you want us to do, Lord Huw?’ one of the Magic-weavers, a young man from Catsfield whose name had quite escaped Huw, asked.
‘Nothing, until I tell you,’ Huw said, watching the others walking away. He remembered the battle at Patcham, and again at Dokuzen and how he could sense when one side was about to give. He was sure he could feel that again — and that was when he would commit the magic. That way, Ward’s men would suffer and be pathetically grateful to him, ensuring Vales’ safety. Nothing else mattered.
‘Crossbowmen back!’
The shout went out and Caelin stopped wrestling with his bow and backed through the lines, making it to the fourth line before stopping.
‘Well, that did bugger all,’ Ruttyn said, flexing sore fingers.
‘We stung them a little,’ Harald said.
‘Stung them? Your wife’s mother would have given them a harder time than we did.’
‘You’re right there. They’d be running right now if she was here.’ Harald pulled his shield around.
‘Well, I wish she was here then. Her and about a thousand like her,’ Caelin said.
‘No, you wouldn’t, sarge. The ear-bashing would make you throw yourself on an elven sword just for a bit of peace.’
There were a few chuckles from the other men at that, but only a few. The elven swords were getting very close now.
‘Shields up!’ someone bawled and the three of them raised their shields over their heads as a new rain of arrows began to fall. The front few ranks were being spared — it was the rear ranks that had to hunch down and try to protect themselves.
‘I hate bloody arrows,’ Ruttyn said, as the screams started again.
‘Still better than swords,’ Harald pointed out.
‘Hold fast! Spear
s ready!’ Sergeants up and down the lines took up the cry and, even in the fourth line, Caelin could feel the whole shield wall tense, bracing itself for the expected impact.
Sumiko grabbed hold of Oroku’s arm. ‘Break shields and keep breaking them until you drop,’ she ordered.
‘And you, High One?’
‘I will watch for Rhiannon and Asami. I expect them to come looking for me as soon as I am distracted. So I do not intend to be distracted.’
‘But what if I do not do enough? What if they hold their line? What if they don’t come for you but fight us with magic?’
Sumiko chuckled. ‘How long have you been with me? And still you doubt! If the humans prove better than expected, then I shall merely unveil our final surprise. Now, the shields — get moving!’
‘When their line cracks, run and kill everyone.’ The order came from the Magic-weavers, passed instantly up and down the ranks.
Mogosai gripped his sword tighter and banished his thoughts about Sumiko — that would only get him killed. Many of the other warriors had boasted of how they would slaughter the humans but Mogosai remembered how the Forlish had ridden down his patrol, killed Lord Konetsu and then hunted him through the forest like an animal. He would not take them lightly.
The Forlish line was only paces away. The first rank was hunched down, shields close together, helmeted heads low, only their eyes showing. The second rank had its shields higher up and together they made a fearsome-looking wall of wood and metal, with barely a chink for a sword to break.
As well as the shields, spears poked through other gaps, ready to drive forwards and into any flesh that got too close.
‘Our swords will drink their blood for the murder of our children!’ someone roared.
Mogosai kept quiet. Partly because he was watching the wall, trying to pick out a weak spot, but mainly because it was one of the more stupid battle cries he had ever heard. Other elves were shouting insults but Mogosai suspected they had spent too much time working on them. They sounded less ferocious and more foolish.
The elven advance slowed and then stopped dead, no more than ten paces from the shield wall. Anger and a desire for revenge had pushed them this far but they had to gather themselves to rush the final few paces. Nobody wanted to be the first. Hitting that wall promised to be a world of blood, hurt and screams.
Then the shield wall broke apart.
Mogosai watched in shock and surprise as shields shattered, leaving the owners reeling back, holding just scraps of timber held together with leather straps and the iron boss.
‘Now!’ someone yelled.
The whole line raced forwards, all eager to break in to the human lines before they had a chance to gather themselves. Mogosai bounded with them, sword held over his shoulder, picking out his spot. Two men had kept their shields, while the ones either side of them were trying to push backwards, seeking the safety of the next line. But Mogosai did not give them a chance. He drove his sword in hard at the back of a neck, feeling only a slight resistance as his blade, which he had spent days sharpening, punched through the man’s throat and painted red over the shields in front. He ripped the blade clear and sliced down, hacking into the leg of a man with a shield. Muscles and tendons were severed and the man collapsed, shrieking, until other elves silenced him.
Mogosai could see the second line was backing away, horrified by the slaughter, although spears were flickering out of the lines and at the elves now. To his right, an iron spearhead punched an elf from his feet, tearing a hole in his chest. Mogosai cut down furiously, splintering the shaft, then rained blows at the second line, trying to crack it open. This was for his father.
In an instant, a hundred more elves were doing the same, long swords reaching out for throats and eyes, while Forlishmen ducked, covered and tried to use spears to keep them at bay.
Mogosai took a pace backwards and picked up a fallen shield, surprised at the weight of it. But he had trained with a bow every day for the last fifteen years and he hefted it easily, spun once and hurled it into the line of humans. It snapped one man’s head back, breaking his nose and sending his helm flying off. His body fell, creating space like ripples on a pond and Mogosai leaped to the attack. A short sword reached for his ribs but he flicked that away and used a cartwheel cut to take off the swordsman’s arm.
‘Kill them all!’
Now that was a battle cry and Mogosai joined it. The shade of Lord Ichiro would approve of what his son was doing to avenge his death.
Caelin could feel the tension all along the line as men braced themselves for the elven attack. The moment when two huge blocks came together was always terrifying — and it only got worse. The more times you fought, the more you feared it. The first couple of ranks were men from the south, soldiers who had not faced the horror of the wall at Dokuzen but were instead used to the southern armies, who fought bravely but crumbled in the face of the Forlish war machine. Men screamed out their fear at the elves in the form of challenges, although there were a few — fewer each battle — who became so lost in the fight they wanted to hurl themselves into the enemy.
Harald and Ruttyn joined in the chorus, bellowing defiance at the elves who hesitated just a few paces away.
‘They’re scared of us, the bastards!’ Harald shouted.
‘Come and taste our steel!’ Ruttyn bellowed.
Caelin took a breath to shout out his own challenge, then took an involuntary step as shields burst and shattered all along the front line, men staggering backwards in surprise and horror. The mass of elves burst like a dam and flooded over the Forlish line, hacking and stabbing and howling.
Men took another step back, those in the third line, who had expected to do nothing more than thrust spears home into trapped elves, had to drop those spears and bring shields around, try to protect those in front.
Caelin started forwards, feeling fear pulsing back from the front lines. He could see instantly they were in trouble. Usually the Forlish shield wall was their greatest advantage. Pressed in tight together, they could work with each other, using shields and short swords in close, where a longer blade was useless. Then the rear ranks could use spears on the men trapped against the press of shields. But what the elves had done was open hundreds of holes in the front line, so the remnants there were fighting on three sides and the second rank was sometimes helping them and sometimes the first rank. And now the longer elven blades were an advantage, able to reach over and between spears and create holes in the second line.
‘Hold fast! Shields together!’ The sergeants took up the cry, the same words they shouted every time. But now Caelin could hear the fear in their voices, the desperation, as if by force of words alone they could sew the line back together.
And everyone else could hear it too. Most men did not know their officers well but they knew their sergeants. They were the ones who held the line steady and provided the guidance in the madness of battle. If they were afraid, then what was happening?
‘Hold your ground!’ Caelin shouted it without really knowing what he was saying. He got his weight behind his shield and pushed the third line forwards. ‘Stand and fight!’
Harald and Ruttyn followed, then other sergeants took up the cry, and the rear lines began to heave forwards, pressing the third line into the second and the second into the elves.
Caelin could hear the elven shouts, see bloodied swords flashing through the air, but they had reduced the fight to a simple choice for the men in front: if they could not go back, then they had to fight or die.
They did both.
The elves were close enough now so that drops of blood were landing on the fourth rank. A man fell in the old second line — the new front line — and the soldier in front of Caelin stepped forwards into the breach. Caelin did not have to think — and anyway there was a shield in the small of his back urging him forwards. He stepped up, raising his shield high to protect the soldier in front’s head, so he only had to worry about the low blow.
&n
bsp; An elven sword jabbed across and then swung down in a huge blow that Caelin only just caught on his shield. He did not even bother thrusting back — he was too far away for his short sword to do any damage. Caelin looked into the elf’s eyes, saw the hate there and spat back at him. The elf recoiled a pace and then jumped high, bringing his sword down again in an even bigger blow. Caelin took a half-step forwards, all the room he had, and pushed his shield up and out as hard as he could. The sword smashed into the metal boss in the centre of the shield with a ringing noise that deafened Caelin — but the force of it flung the elf’s arm back and away. The soldier in front of Caelin thrust once, hard, his sword plunging into the elf’s throat and sending him reeling away, lifeblood pumping out.
‘We could use some magical help about now!’ Ruttyn yelled.
Caelin risked a glance to his left to see him standing there now.
‘We don’t need magic, we’re holding them!’ Caelin shouted back.
‘Not on our right, we’re not,’ Harald said.
Caelin felt a cold shiver go down his back but he had no time to look there, as another elf rushed in, howling a song of hate.
32
I hope you never have to kill another man. The first is always the worst and it is harder still if you are close enough to see his expression as the life goes out of his eyes. Ignore what the bards sing. Killing is not glorious. It is bloody, stinking, frightening and scars you forever.
‘Now is the time,’ Huw said. ‘Direct it all on the right, make the grass grow to form a barrier. We shall save the Forlish now and they will know it.’
He looked down at the Magic-weavers from the height of the saddle and saw they all had their eyes closed, facing towards the right. But nothing was happening.
‘They are holding us back,’ one cried.
Huw stood in his stirrups, mouth dropping open as he stared at the crumbling Forlish line, feeling his heart begin to pound.
‘Keep trying,’ he croaked.
‘The left is holding, sire, but the right is being pushed back. A few more steps and they will buckle,’ Edmund said grimly.