by Duncan Lay
Gaibun grinned. ‘No. I’m going to be busy enough keeping you alive.’
Sendatsu slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well, this day is going to be one to tell our children about.’
Gaibun’s smile disappeared at that and Sendatsu nudged him again. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t think you’ll have enough funny stories?’
Gaibun shook his head. ‘I know this is foolishness but please hear me out. I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about my child and the things I would have to tell them about what I have done, the mistakes I have made. I had to write some of it down, get it out of me. If anything should happen, it’s in my belt pouch. Make sure Asami sees it, reads it to our child when they are old enough.’
‘That is nonsense. You can tell them yourself,’ Sendatsu snorted.
‘I am serious!’ Gaibun grabbed his arm. ‘Remember, please!’
‘I’m not likely to forget. In fact I plan to bring it up as often as possible to humiliate you.’ Sendatsu nudged his friend.
‘Here they come!’ The shout went up from a dozen throats and Sendatsu forgot about Gaibun’s nonsense to look at the way the elven host was advancing. The bright colours of armoured warriors were all facing them, while the plainly-dressed esemono were over on the left, trotting towards what they thought were Velsh and slaves but were actually the Forlish.
‘Perfect, she has done exactly what we wanted,’ Sendatsu said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice.
‘But it looks like they’ll be trying to drive us off with arrows,’ Gaibun said, seeing the first elves slow to a halt more than a hundred paces away, bows in hand.
‘Get ready to fall back! Shields up! Retreat by lines!’ Sendatsu roared. ‘We go back two hundred paces, no more, and reform there! Rhiannon — tell Edmund what we are doing!’
The steady retreat he wanted turned into more of a torrent as men hurried away, shields held high.
‘Hold your lines! They have to think we are the Forlish!’ he shouted, his orders echoed by the southern leaders. But it was only the Velsh who really listened and obeyed, keeping their order, and even they began to hurry when the deep thrum of thousands of bows being released echoed across the fields.
‘Slow down! Stop at the line of marshals!’ Sendatsu yelled. He would have liked to hold this hill, for it would have given the southerners some reassurance. But it was not worth the cost.
Gaibun grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Get moving yourself. I am going to keep you alive even though you don’t plan to make it easy for me. I’m going to do something impossibly brave to save you.’
Sendatsu half turned to see him grinning.
‘If I fall saving you, Huw will have to make up the longest song he’s ever done to describe my heroism.’
‘I’ll be the one saving you.’ Sendatsu winked.
‘Hah! That’ll be a first!’ Gaibun laughed, before an arrow flew down and ripped open his throat.
Sendatsu stood there in shock as Gaibun’s blood sprayed across his face and he watched his friend fall to the ground. For a long moment they looked at each other, then Sendatsu saw the life fly from his friend’s eyes.
‘No!’ he cried, falling to his knees, but it was too late. Gaibun was gone.
Sendatsu dimly registered the sound of thousands more arrows whistling through the air and forced himself to his feet, stumbling after the last of the Velsh. Behind him, screams said that a few stragglers had been caught as the hilltop was covered in arrow shafts. Awareness came back to him as he followed the others towards where Edmund’s marshals were trying to slow down the fleeing southerners and get them to reform the line.
‘Are you hurt?’ Asami asked, rushing to his side.
‘It’s not mine. It’s Gaibun’s. He’s dead,’ Sendatsu said dully. He rubbed at his face, smearing Gaibun’s lifeblood over his sleeves.
‘What? No!’ Asami cried and tried to turn, forcing him to grab her.
‘It is too late. He was killed in a heartbeat,’ he said brutally.
Asami clung to him, sobbing, and it was all he could do not to join her as they stumbled after the Velsh.
‘Run!’ Edmund ordered, his words picked up by the sergeants. ‘Run as if you’ve never heard an order before and never stood in the battleline!’
That was the key to the deception. Not only did they have to hide their armour beneath clothes and stand beneath the banner of the Velsh, they could not reveal their discipline. Slowly at first, then with more enthusiasm, men broke and ran, waving their arms and their swords.
‘But stand at the marshals! Don’t go a step further!’
Edmund joined the headlong rush, looking over his shoulder at the advancing elves and the arrow storm falling on where they had stood just a few moments before. A handful of men slow to obey were caught and riddled with arrows but the rest were racing away. He glanced over to where the southerners and Velsh were also running back, showing just a hint of discipline.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ he muttered, looking for Sendatsu in the crowd.
‘They are breaking, just as we thought they might! They didn’t even stand for one volley of arrows,’ Oroku reported excitedly.
‘They will not get away again like they did yesterday. Chase them down and kill until there are none left,’ Sumiko said ruthlessly.
‘High One, this could be a trap. It would be better to advance slowly and with care,’ Mogosai warned.
‘A trap? They are running! If we let them, they will keep running until they reach their city. We will move to the hill with our female archers, as planned. If they have some trick up their sleeves, then we shall pull back to the hill and destroy them with magic and arrows.’
Asami was in no condition to fight. Not yet anyway, Sendatsu saw. Her grief at Gaibun’s death would surely change to anger and a desire for revenge but she wasn’t there yet. He supported her as they hurried along and used his own pain to give him fury, a fury that spilled over as he watched dozens of southerners racing on past the marshals, leaving behind swords, shields and anything else they were carrying.
He stalked off in search of the southern leaders.
‘This is where we stand!’ he told them. ‘When the elves get close, you will draw swords and follow my dragons at the charge — or I will hunt down every last one of you.’
They drew back from his rage, as well as the blood coating his face.
‘You have to understand these men are not ready —’ Reynaud began.
‘And they have to understand there is something worse than the enemy over there. And that is me.’ He glared around at them and none could meet his eyes.
‘Tell them!’
He let them hurry off to try to rally their men and turned back to Sumiko and her elves. They were flooding forwards now, advancing at the run, as if they were afraid the humans would escape them. He could see archers taking up positions on the hill and cursed. That was going to cause problems. He glanced back at his own side — the southerners were holding in place, although many were still looking over their shoulders. He drew his sword and began walking along the front of them.
‘When the elves get to within twenty paces, the dragons will loose their crossbows, a cloud of little bolts that will stop those elven warriors dead in their tracks. Then you will follow me into their ranks. The elves are a terrible enemy and they will give you no mercy. They killed every wounded man yesterday, so giving up will only get you dead. And if they don’t kill you, I shall! If things are going badly, then the Velsh will use magic to save you. This is the time when you take back these lands for yourselves. Follow me and live, or run and die. The choice is yours!’
He could see the doubt and even fear in many of their eyes but he did not care.
‘Sendatsu!’ Huw shouted and he turned again, to see the first elven warriors racing in, now just one hundred paces away. The leaders slowed a little, to let the rest of the clans catch up, and enable a thick rank to strike at the same time.
Sen
datsu pushed his way between Sven and one of his Landish warriors, another giant of a man. But while the blond Landish were a good head taller than Sendatsu, they drew back from him.
‘Loose on my command!’ Sendatsu raised his sword and waited. The warriors racing towards him were his own people, perhaps even from his own clan. But at the moment they were just the enemy — and he hated them for killing Gaibun.
‘Hold!’ Edmund ordered. ‘Wait until they are too close to stop!’
Edmund watched the charging elves dispassionately. Sendatsu had given them a strange name, called them esemono. But to Edmund the only important thing was they carried little or no armour. Best of all, they seemed to think they were facing a rabble, so they were coming in raggedly, the faster runners getting way ahead of the slower. But the Forlish were ready for them, the first two ranks standing loosely, without shields — hiding the real Forlish line behind them.
‘Now! Wall of spears!’ Edmund roared.
Instantly the first two ranks melted back through the others, moving to safety, unmasking lines of shields bristling with spears and eager to take revenge for the death of Ward and the slaughter of their friends the day before.
‘Brace! Ready, lads!’ Caelin roared. He and the others stood in the third rank, which was about to become the front rank, which was strange in itself. He had never wanted to take that responsibility and risk but their victory the night before and the way he had saved Hild had turned him into something of a talisman. And now he was a captain he could not let down the others by stepping back.
‘Let them get so close they can’t stop!’ Caelin shouted the orders while tugging down the stupid collar on his ridiculous tunic. He wished he could simply rip it off but a disguise was a disguise.
The elves running at them now looked different — none of them had the bright, elaborate armour of the warriors they had faced the day before — but they still came on fast and they still all carried the long, curved swords. When they were barely twenty paces away, the cry went up along the line.
‘Wall of spears!’
The front two ranks pushed back, as if they were too afraid to stand there and Caelin, Harald and Ruttyn let them through then locked shields, making a solid line with the rest of the men. Behind them, the new second and third lines levelled spears at chest and head height.
‘Crouch and touch!’ Caelin bellowed.
‘You sound like you mean it now, captain,’ Ruttyn said as they braced themselves, knocking shields together to make sure they had an unbroken line.
The leading elves slowed dramatically at the sudden transformation but the ones behind, who had too much momentum and could not see what was happening, pushed them onwards.
Caelin picked out a young elf who was glancing over his shoulder rather than looking where he was going. He drove forwards, putting his weight behind his shield, using his legs to power up and forwards. The metal boss in the centre of his shield, the size of his fist, smashed into the elf’s face. The elf’s feet went flying out from underneath him, while his teeth went flying in all directions.
A sword came in from the left but Harald caught that on his shield then the spears began to punch out, the heavy iron heads driving through clothes, bones and flesh, piling up elven bodies. Still the elves rushed in and now the Forlish front line was using their swords as well.
One screaming elf thrashed his sword at Ruttyn, who covered up behind his shield. The man behind Ruttyn kept his shield high, protecting Ruttyn’s head. Caelin swivelled on his right foot and thrust with his sword, feeling it drive deep into the elf’s side. Blood spurted out and the elf turned, mouth open in a scream — then a spear smashed into his mouth and knocked half his head off.
Elves rushed in, their swords flashing in extravagant, crazy strokes that changed direction at the last moment to cut throats instead of chests, or knees instead of heads. But the very nature of these huge blows from the longer swords meant they had to give each other plenty of room. They fought alone, while the Forlish fought together, the front rank protecting each other, the rear ranks stepping instantly into any fallen man’s place and always the spears were hammering out, driven with men’s full strength and weight behind them, crunching in ribs and chests and heads, until the solid iron heads were flinging blood high in the air every time they were withdrawn.
‘Forwards! Drive them back!’ Caelin roared it out and the sergeants took it up all along the line.
‘Stay together!’
They had piled up bodies in front of them, which made the footing treacherous and the elven advance impossible. Now they moved into wedges. Caelin took the lead with one, shoving forwards with his shield and Harald and Ruttyn stepped up to his shoulders, shields held high.
An elf swung at Caelin’s head and he ducked down, taking the impact on his shield but also feeling the tip screech across the top of his helm. He pushed up from his knees, knocking the blade high, then stabbed the elf in the throat in one brutal movement. Bloodied spears appeared over each of his shoulders and powered into the elven mass, creating space for him to step forwards.
One pace then another; slamming his shield into the mass ahead of him, stabbing whenever he saw a throat or belly, ducking return blows and trying to blink elven blood out of his eyes. The shouts, the screams, the stench of dead and dying men filled his senses but his world had shrunk to the tiny space in front of him. He did not know nor care what was happening elsewhere. He snarled and swore at the elves.
A flopping, thrashing elf writhed at his feet, blood spurting from a spear wound that had smashed in his ribs. Caelin stamped on his chest, had to stay there as another elf rained blows at his head, struggling for footing, trying to ignore the desperate pleading of the dying elf. He caught them on his shield, wincing at the ache deep in his shoulder. He was sucking in deep breaths now, the fetid stink of blood and brains and bowels filling his nose and catching in his throat. A spear came over his shoulder but missed — the elf hacked the tip off with a huge cut, leaving a splintered end. But that was enough of a distraction and Caelin barrelled into the elf, using the fallen one as a springboard. The metal rim of his shield caught the elf under the chin, knocking his head back and exposing the throat, then Caelin rammed his sword home, hot blood spraying over him and blinding him.
‘Step past! Take my place!’ he gasped, spitting out the coppery taste.
Men shoved past and he pawed at his eyes, using his hated borrowed clothes to clear his vision.
‘Are you all right, sarge, I mean captain?’ Ruttyn asked.
‘Give me a moment. What’s happening?’ He blinked rapidly, cursing the salty sting in his eyes.
‘They’re running!’ Harald cheered.
Caelin pushed himself upright, slipped on a patch of entrails and peered through watering eyes as the elves broke, streaming back towards the hill where the Velsh and southerners had started the day.
‘We did it!’ he roared, the ache in his shoulder and arm forgotten for the moment.
‘It’s not over yet,’ Ruttyn said.
Caelin swung around to his right, to see what was happening there.
‘Now!’ Sendatsu shouted.
The Velsh were all standing in the second line, every one of them holding what they had once named elven crossbows but were now calling Velsh crossbows. At Sendatsu’s command, they worked the levers like madmen, a cloud of the wicked little bolts flying out at the running elven warriors.
The elves wore armour but it was not like the Forlish version. Sendatsu knew it well, for he had worn a similar suit many times before. It had ribs of iron to withstand a sword stroke — but there were gaps in there big enough for the tiny bolts. And none of them carried shields, either. The swarm of bolts engulfed the leading elves, seeking out eyes and faces and hands and slipping in between gaps in the armour. Even though most bounced off harmlessly, just the sheer number of them made the elves stop and duck, throw up arms to protect their eyes, or even turn away.
Sendatsu judged w
hen they were completely disrupted and then stepped forwards.
‘Bows down! Charge!’ he roared, leading the way. The memory of Gaibun’s death spurred him on — he wanted revenge.
The Velsh surged after him, picking up the front rank of the southerners and dragging them along. They were the chosen warriors of four nations, men who had lived by the sword and burned with the disgrace of their slavery. The other ranks were less enthusiastic but followed anyway, Sendatsu’s threats encouraging even the most reluctant.
A limping elf, several little bolts hanging off his armour and another buried in his thigh, tried to lunge at Sendatsu but he flicked that away contemptuously, ripping the warrior’s head off with one blow.
He stormed through the dazed first few elven warriors, driving deep into their ranks, followed by a mixed bag of Velsh and southerners.
In an instant, things dissolved into a thousand individual fights as men and elves hacked and slashed at each other, matching skill and speed. At first the men drove the elves back. Those elves who were not wounded had been slowed and disorientated and the speed of the human charge drove them through. But then came fresh elven warriors and now their skill began to tell.
The Velsh had trained in this style and matched all but the best of the elves. But the southerners all had different sword styles and only their very best bladesmen had a hope of staying with the elves. Southerners began to fall like leaves and now it was the elves who pressed forwards.
Sendatsu knew he should not be in the thick of it. He had planned for this battle, had left instructions with Huw and Edmund. He told himself he could do more good outside the fight than in the heart of it — but he could also sense he was the one holding many of the southerners together. The Velsh were forming on him, drawn to the one who had trained them, forming a rock against which the elves broke. But how he wished Gaibun was there.
He took an elf’s arm off at the shoulder a moment before the warrior would have killed Sven, then raced twenty paces past fighting men and elves to behead another who was threatening Reynaud.