by Duncan Lay
‘Does he think to restore his right wing, threaten again the elven left?’ Gaibun asked.
Sendatsu nodded his agreement. ‘That has to be it. Sumiko has shown she still has plenty of arrows. The real question is, how are we going to get to her?’
‘We can strike them at the side, while they are concentrating on the Forlish,’ Cadel suggested.
Sendatsu looked at the closest clan. From the colours of their armour, he could tell they were Kaneoki, the clan of Sumiko and Daichi, the one that had started all this by seizing power and slaughtering all humans with magic. It could not be a coincidence that they were there, as Sumiko would surely be close to her own clan. It would be apt to carve through them and make them pay before finishing her off. Then he looked at Asami, standing on wobbly legs, and Rhiannon, who was still sweating heavily, and he cursed Huw.
‘We need magic to protect us,’ Sendatsu said. ‘We can cut through the first few ranks of warriors but then Sumiko will see us and they will surround us and kill us. Swords and skill are not enough.’
‘Just give me a little time,’ Rhiannon said.
Sendatsu smiled at her, while inside he was raging. Bloody Huw!
‘Look on the bright side. Ward can’t come over here and complain we’re not doing enough if he’s acting the decoy out on the flank,’ Rhiannon said.
Sendatsu was finding it hard to see the bright side in any of this. But he forced another smile — one that was cut off when the trumpets sounded the charge once more.
‘What is Ward doing?’ he asked again.
‘How good is this, sarge?’ Ruttyn grinned as they waited in the fourth line again, the second-last line. Of the six ranks that had begun the battle, one was gone, torn to pieces, left bleeding on the ground in front of the rest. Any survivors were now in the last rank, their eyes haunted and their tunics drenched with the blood of their mates. Caelin hoped they would not be needed again.
Having found themselves in the second rank, they were allowed to move back when the elves retreated.
‘We’ve only had a taste of elven swords but we’re safe here again,’ Harald agreed. ‘A good day’s work.’
‘It’s not finished yet,’ Caelin said grimly. ‘We will be fighting again before long. Those elves were killing our right and only Velsh magic saved us. They’ll try it again, with magic and arrows as well this time.’
‘I don’t think we will be fighting again soon. I think we’ve got this won,’ Harald said.
‘Really? Do you want to tell me why, oh great general? Is this something we should be sharing with the king?’
‘No — it’s because the king’s riding out to charge the elves.’ Harald pointed.
Caelin turned his head and tried to peer over the massed ranks towards the right. He could see little from where he was, apart from the king’s standard, which was definitely moving out and around.
‘Now why’s he doing that?’
Ward settled himself into the second company of cavalry. The lead company would act as a distraction, buying time with their lives for him to get to Wilfrid. He could sense the fear of the men around him but it meant nothing to him. He wanted to see his son’s face when he brought him back; he wanted to see Mildrith when he told her how he had saved their last son.
He scarcely heard the trumpets blow the charge but was aware of the men and horses around him speeding up, of the gap as the first company went into a gallop, hooves throwing up clods of earth as they tore towards the elves, swords in hands. He was focused on where his son’s standard had fallen.
He vaguely registered the first arrows flying in, as well as the carnage they created.
‘Protect the king!’ someone roared and there was suddenly a wall of men between him and the elves.
Men and horses dropped as they were struck and Ward guided his charger around them.
He expected more than this, thought the elves would launch everything they had at him when they saw his standard. The arrows were deadly but they were not the storm that had wiped out Wilfrid’s attack.
They had to slow down to avoid Wilfrid’s men and horses, pick their way through the wreckage of what had been a proud cavalry regiment. And still the hail of arrows was more of a shower, taking men and horses but not slaughtering them. Ward pulled his horse to a halt and jumped down where Wilfrid’s standard lay across a dead horse. Heedless of men trying to form a ring around him, of the survivors of the slaughtered first company racing off in all directions in a desperate desire to stay alive, he strode towards his son’s horse and twitched the standard back, dreading what he might find.
Wilfrid burst out from underneath, sword in his hand, a battle cry on his lips, only to stagger to a stop when he recognised who was around him.
‘Father?’ he cried. ‘What happened? Have we won?’
Ward felt himself snap back into focus when he saw his son and he opened his arms and embraced him.
‘Not yet — but we will, never fear,’ he said.
Some of the men with them cheered to see the prince still alive — but not the ones watching the elven ranks nervously, still expecting arrows to claim them all at any moment.
‘Come, we’ll get you a horse, get you back to safety.’ Ward pointed at one of his men, ordering him out of his saddle so the prince could ride.
A handful of other men lifted themselves up from where they had been hiding, sheltering from the elven arrows, rushing over to men they knew, begging to be taken back to the safety of the Forlish lines. They and the man who had given up his horse for Wilfrid either clung on to a stirrup or sat behind other men.
‘Sire, should we check the others? There may be more men who can fight on,’ someone asked.
‘No time. We need to leave now. We have taken enough of a risk as it is,’ Ward said, hurrying over to his horse.
Now he had done it, he could barely believe he had ordered something as rash as this, putting himself within the elves’ hands. He was lucky to be given the chance to get away. No sense in stretching that luck to breaking point.
And then he saw how the elves had prepared a trap for him — and how he had ridden right into it.
Sumiko let her archers destroy the hopeless ride of a hundred cavalry. That did not even deserve her attention. Instead she focused purely on what was happening around the king’s standard. Birds overhead were circling carefully, ready to fly back to her hand — but the burst of cheering from the Forlish told her all she needed to know.
She took one last swallow of honeyed water before reaching into the magic — and out to the hundreds of horses. She eased into their minds, pulling up the primitive fears of the grass-eater for a hungry predator, then dumped it into their small brains.
The effect was startling. The war horses had been trained for years to stand their ground, even to fight themselves with hooves and teeth, no matter what came at them from in front or behind. But they could not defend themselves against an attack from inside their minds, the sudden primeval fear of sharp teeth in the night.
Almost as one, they fought and reared, bucking the men off their backs in many cases. Those who were able to hold on then had to cling, for every horse bolted for the open farmlands, galloping at breakneck speed, eyes wide and ears back. No matter what the remaining riders did, they could not slow or turn them. Even hauling back on the reins with all their strength did nothing, beyond unhorsing those who tried it. The horses had to get away and they could not be stopped by anyone or anything.
‘Clan Chenjaku. Bring me the Forlish king — alive. We shall finish this battle as soon as he is in my hands,’ she ordered.
More than a thousand elven warriors, from metal-clad nobles to esemono whose most valuable possession was the sword they had been given on Test day, sprinted at the stunned and helpless Forlish.
Ward watched the horses disappear, carrying dozens of his men — and all of his hopes.
‘What happened, Father?’ Wilfrid cried.
‘Magic,’ Ward spat. ‘So m
uch for the bloody Velsh and their promise to protect us.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Get back any way we can,’ Ward said grimly, loosening his sword in its scabbard. ‘On your feet, men!’ he shouted.
A score of riders had been injured when they were unhorsed, arms, legs and ankles broken by the fall. But there were many more who were unhurt and, while none had shields, they all wore armour and carried long cavalry swords.
‘Back! Back to our lines. Quick as you can. Wait for nobody!’ Ward ordered.
The men with broken legs and ankles begged and pleaded to be taken along but a roar from the elven side told Ward they had no time for risking that. Hundreds of elves were racing towards them.
‘Sire, you lead the way. We’ll hold them off as long as we can,’ an officer said.
Ward looked back at his lines. They were more than two hundred paces away — and it might as well have been that many miles.
‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing Wilfrid’s sleeve. Despite the weight of leather and armour and sword he was carrying, he broke into a jog. ‘Save yourself, my son,’ he urged. ‘Drop your armour and run for it.’
‘I am not leaving you, Father,’ Wilfrid said stubbornly.
Even though it was foolishness, Ward found that comforting.
33
You will hear some people tell you they wish they had been at this battle or that battle, been part of some glorious victory. They are fools. Those of us who lived through it wished only that we had been elsewhere.
‘Aroaril!’ Sendatsu swore, as he saw the banner fall and the horses bolt. ‘Rhiannon, can you bring them back?’
Rhiannon closed her eyes for just a moment. ‘It will take too long,’ she said instantly. ‘They think they are a wild herd. To break that, I have to go into each horse’s head and turn them back into what they really are …’
‘A simple “no” would have been enough,’ Sendatsu grumbled and raced across to where Edmund, his officers and a pack of message riders were staring in horror at what was going on.
‘We can’t bring them back by magic. We have to use whatever we have,’ Sendatsu said urgently, grabbing Edmund’s bridle.
‘I’ll send Wulf in. He can gallop around and rescue them,’ Edmund said immediately.
‘More horses? Are you mad? They will just be slaughtered by arrows or driven off with magic!’
‘Then what? We have no time!’
‘Attack all along the line, then give me a regiment of your men and I’ll cut my way through to Ward, with my Velsh leading the way,’ Sendatsu said.
Edmund hesitated for but a moment. ‘Take the fifth. They are closest. Signal the advance across all ranks, send two riders to Captain Alfred, tell him he has to follow Lord Sendatsu here,’ he snapped.
Sendatsu turned and raced back to where Gaibun, Cadel and the others waited, wondering.
‘What are you planning?’ Gaibun asked.
‘Edmund is giving us a regiment of Forlish and we are going to cut our way through to Ward,’ Sendatsu said.
‘But he is no friend of ours,’ Cadel objected.
‘He’s no friend of anyone except himself,’ Gaibun added.
‘If he dies, how long do you think this army of his will stand?’ Sendatsu demanded.
They could not argue with that.
Forlish soldiers swung out from their rear ranks and began jogging over towards him, led by a lean, scarred officer with only one eye.
‘Follow me!’ Sendatsu shouted, then began to run towards where the elves were catching up to Ward’s dismounted cavalry.
The Forlish hesitated, looking back towards the safety of where they had been standing, then they formed up behind the Velsh.
‘This feels very strange,’ Cadel said, glancing over his shoulder.
‘You’ll be glad they are there when we hit the elves,’ Sendatsu said.
‘I thought they were Elfarans?’
‘Until they know the truth, they are elves.’
For a brief moment, Sendatsu thought they might have surprised Sumiko. But then a pair of clans, led by his old enemies the Kaneoki, swung out and rushed at him.
In an instant they were fighting, the elves looking to overwhelm the unarmoured Velsh.
But, at an order from Cadel, the Velsh formed into a wedge, with Sendatsu and Gaibun at the tip, Cadel and Bowen just behind. Sendatsu felt strange to be standing with Velsh and Forlish against his old people — then the feeling vanished as the elves were upon him.
A howling warrior, resplendent in armour and a tall helm with sweeping horns, aimed a simple cartwheel cut at Sendatsu. He flicked it away contemptuously and killed the warrior with a straight thrust to the throat, then snapped back into position and despatched the next with the zigzag style, tearing open wounds in thigh and groin. To his right, Gaibun was not quite as perfect in his strokes but even more powerful, grunting as he killed.
The elven warriors broke around them and flowed down the sides of the wedge, where the Velsh put their training to the ultimate test. Time and again, the elven warriors were so surprised to have familiar strokes returned at them that they hesitated. A fatal mistake.
At first the Velsh made good progress but then the second clan arrived and the resistance in front of Sendatsu thickened dramatically. He might have pressed on by himself, or with Gaibun by his side, but the Forlish were now fighting and had locked themselves into a shield wall and he could not get too far ahead of them.
He wiped blood from his face and dared cursing Kaneoki warriors to come and die.
‘I am Tadayoshi Moratsune Sendatsu, your rightful Elder Elf! To face me is a sentence of death. Bow down or I shall cut you down.’
‘Liar!’ A young warrior in old armour raced at Sendatsu. ‘My grandfather was Elder Elf and betrayed and murdered by your kind!’
Sendatsu did not recognise him, guessing he was one of Daichi’s older grandsons, who had marched to war in his father’s armour and now sought glory. That made Sendatsu regret what he had to do but he did not hesitate as he used a dragon-tail cut then a tiger-claw stroke to take the elf’s sword-hand and then his head.
Through the mist of blood, Sendatsu could see Chenjaku warriors surrounding Ward’s men and knew they were too late.
‘There’s men coming to get us. Stand fast and we can hold these bastard elves off long enough to be rescued!’ Ward shouted, gasping to get his breath.
Trying to run in armour was a game for young men and he fought for air as he drew his sword, Wilfrid doing the same next to him.
There were hundreds of elves running at them but he still felt confident. He had more than two hundred men with him, all of them veterans of the southern wars and experts with their swords. Surely they could hold off some elves for long enough for his men to cut their way to him?
Mogosai again found himself in the front rank of a charge. He still had his doubts but he banished them ruthlessly. Who knew how these humans would fight. They did not have shields and their swords were different as well — did that mean they were better than the ones they had already fought?
They were standing in a rough semicircle, but not packed nearly as close as the ones with shields. He picked out a gap and ran at it, aware of others to his left and right doing the same. A human drew his arm back over his shoulder and brought it down in a huge stroke.
Mogosai felt a moment’s sadness, that the human was so poorly skilled with the sword. It was almost unfair to kill him. Then he stepped to his left, helping the huge swing of the sword on its way with a subtle parry of his own. The human staggered, off balance because he had put so much effort into a wasted swing, then Mogosai stepped inside and drove his sword deep into the man’s thigh. Arterial blood sprayed out and the human toppled over, screaming.
Mogosai left him for the esemono, or the blood loss, to finish — whatever got him first — and turned to his right, to where another human was backing away. His chest was well protected with a coat of mail but as he raised
his arm to block a high blow from another elf, Mogosai rammed his sword into the man’s armpit, and into the chest beyond. He had to wrench his sword free as the man collapsed, then looked ahead to see only open space — and a pair of richly dressed humans standing close together. He ran at them.
Ward gaped in surprise and horror as his men were cut to pieces, torn apart in a few heartbeats. A few score survivors backed away, trying to form a ring around their king and prince, but they stood no chance. There were twice as many elves and each had double the skill of the men they faced. A few men stood their ground, using size and power to drive back smaller elves — but they were attacked on all sides and it was only a matter of time before they were battered down onto the bloody ground.
The ring got tighter and tighter around Ward and Wilfrid.
‘You should not have come for me, Father,’ Wilfrid said.
‘I had to come for you. You are my last son,’ Ward told him.
‘We are going to die here.’
‘I have faced death before, by myself, and it was a terrible thing. Facing it now with you is far better. I am proud of you.’
‘We are not dead yet,’ Wilfrid said. ‘Stand back to back with me, Father!’
Ward hefted his sword, knowing it would do no use.
Ahead of him, a cavalry trooper, well over six feet tall, with shoulders the size of a barn door, slashed furiously at an elf, any one of his strokes enough to kill a horse — if they landed. But the elf merely ducked, dodged and blocked, then the trooper over-extended himself and elven steel ripped into his knee. The man howled and fell forwards — right into another blow that tore his face and half his skull away.
Ward realised he and Wilfrid were the last ones standing. He saluted the elves with his sword and rammed his sword at one’s eyes. Behind him he could hear Wilfrid grunting as he swung his sword furiously, as though he were cutting hay.