by Duncan Lay
‘We need help!’ Reynaud cried, nodding his thanks to the blood-covered Sendatsu.
‘Here it comes,’ Sendatsu said, driving back a pair of elves. His sword was moving too fast to follow and he took one’s leg off at the knee then killed the other with a thrust through the heart that found the gap in the armour.
He could feel the desperation in the southerners; they were ready to break unless they had some help.
And then it arrived.
‘Now is the time,’ Huw said.
‘Really?’ Rhiannon winked at him. ‘I think we can all see that.’ She waved to the other Magic-weavers, including a tear-stained but grim-looking Asami, and then pointed at the elves.
The grass underfoot exploded into growth, grabbing and binding nearby elves, while from out of the sky and from underfoot, insects and birds attacked.
Then the effect died away as Sumiko and the elven Magic-weavers fought back.
‘Don’t waste yourself on them — don’t forget they still have Captain Wulf,’ Huw said anxiously, watching Rhiannon’s face.
This time she was not so quick to fire back with a comment.
‘Half of you with Cedrik keep going, keep testing them, keep their attention on what we are doing there. The rest of you, join me. We have to watch and protect the horsemen,’ she called.
Wulf cheered with the rest of his riders as the tight block of Forlish carved their way through the elves, making them run back towards the hill. But he only allowed himself a brief glance. Instead, he watched to his right, where the Velsh and southerners were fighting a losing battle against the elite elven warriors after some initial success. When even magic only slowed the elves down for a few moments, he signalled to his trumpeter.
‘Sound the charge. We shall hit them in the flank and roll them up, clear them away from Lord Sendatsu’s front,’ he ordered.
With the elves in front of them either dead or running, and the archers too far away to be a real threat, it was a relief to sound the charge and race in at the elves. They had all seen what had happened to King Ward’s riders yesterday and Wulf worried that would be tried again. But the Velsh Magic-weavers had promised to keep them safe and he had to trust in that.
There was a momentary flutter, when all the horses in the front rank raised their heads, ears pricked, and slowed down for a pace — but they put their heads down again, leaving the riders wondering what had happened.
Then they had other things to worry about. The trumpet called them to the charge and they dug spurs into their horses’ flanks and drove at the ragged edge of the elves. Some elves heard them coming and tried to run, others tried to form some sort of line while, from up on the hill, arrows reached out for the Forlish riders. The far end of the line was hit hard, a dozen riders and horses going down in a tangle of limbs, but the rest pressed on and smashed into the elven flank.
Wulf picked out a warrior in a gaudy yellow helmet, his armour splashed with dried blood — probably from the day before. He slashed down with his sword, feeling it bite home, and saw the horned helmet fly high. Another elf dodged out of the way and slashed at his leg and he had to haul on the reins hard to avoid losing his calf. Then the rest of his men arrived and began chewing up the elven side, showing them the same mercy they had shown the Forlish wounded the day before.
‘Get them back! Get them out of there!’ Sumiko shouted at Oroku.
‘It is hard — the Magic-weavers there are holding back the Velsh, and we are losing control of the warriors,’ Oroku cried.
‘Then we need to give them time. Put everything you have into stopping those horses,’ Sumiko ordered.
Mogosai watched warily. Again the humans had shown resourcefulness and magic. The esemono were being rounded up, control imposed by magic and returned to ranks on the lower slope of the hill. But without the nobles and armoured warriors, that would not be enough.
‘For Aroaril’s sake, I shall do it myself!’ Sumiko snarled.
Wulf knew he had them. The elves were panicking; those at the back breaking and running, while the ones at the front and the flank would have loved to run — if they’d had the chance. Sendatsu and his Velsh were pressing forwards, backed up by at least some of the southerners, and Wulf’s riders were delighting in catching broken infantry. Without their bows, the elves were helpless. He could see himself riding on and on, right to the top of the hill and finishing this battle.
And then his horse went wild.
As he fought to stay in the saddle, he saw it was happening to the rest of his men as well. Some were thrown, others clung on, as the horses turned and galloped away.
Wulf hauled on the reins with all his strength but his horse refused to listen to him and kept pounding towards a tall stone wall across the fields. Wulf prepared to hurl himself off, knowing he could not control the beast and fearing they would both simply break their necks.
Then the horse pulled up and stood there, panting and blowing.
Wulf looked over his shoulder to see the rest of the cavalry racing after him — and stopping also, even the ones that had hurled off their riders.
‘Magic, eh?’ he said loudly to the nearest riders, who grimaced rather than grinned back.
Wulf patted his horse’s steaming neck and jumped down, keeping tight hold of the reins.
‘I say we walk back,’ he announced.
38
If people are judged by the quality of their friends, then I am a lucky man, for I have known many good friends. But treat everyone as you would want to be treated, for you never know when a simple act of kindness will come back to save you.
Sendatsu cursed as Wulf’s cavalry was magically chased away — and cursed again as the elven warriors broke free, streaming back to the low hill where their archers waited. They left behind hundreds of bodies — but they had extracted a big price from the southerners. Looking at his men, he doubted he could do anything to inspire them to fight again.
He joined Sven, Reynaud and the others where they stood together, gasping for breath and looking at the thick carpet of dead and wounded.
‘You have done well, my friends,’ he said, forcing a smile onto his face. ‘I could not have asked for more. Stand your men down and help your wounded.’
‘But the battle is not yet won. All can see that,’ the Breconian, Francisco, objected, pointing to where the elves were forming up again.
‘Your part is done.’
He could see the surprise on their faces. He expected that — but there was also guilt and, surprisingly, anger.
‘You saved my life. I cannot let that be ignored,’ Sven said fiercely.
‘You saved mine also. And the elven leader told us the stakes. If we don’t fight, we become slaves again,’ Reynaud said.
‘I don’t want men to try to save my life. My best friend promised to save my life earlier and he was first of us to die,’ Sendatsu said, feeling the sting of that memory.
‘We will let some of the men help our wounded. But we are men, not slaves. We will not stand back and let others do our fighting for us,’ Francisco said.
Sendatsu smiled through the blood painted across his face. ‘Then we would gladly have you.’ He left them sorting through their own men and strode over to Bowen and Cadel.
‘Form the lads up,’ he said. ‘We have to keep them off balance.’
He left them and hurried across to where Huw, Rhiannon and the Magic-weavers waited.
‘Sendatsu, I am sorry. Sumiko launched everything she had at those horses. By the time I got them back —’ Rhiannon said.
‘No time for that now,’ he interrupted her. ‘Tell Edmund to form up and march on that hill. We have to keep them off balance. Sumiko will throw all her magic at us again. This time you have to stop her.’
He pushed and chivvied Velsh, southerners, Forlish and Magic-weavers until they had formed up into a rough column, the Forlish leading the way, with the Velsh next and the southerners behind them.
‘As soon as you hit, the V
elsh will swing out and attack from the flank,’ he told Edmund.
‘What about the cavalry?’ Edmund asked, pointing back to where Wulf and his men were walking their horses back into place.
‘No time. We have to get them now, while they are still panicked.’
Sendatsu marched with Huw and Rhiannon, hoping Sumiko was too busy yelling at everyone to get organised but feeling as though it had all taken far too long.
‘How could they run from gaijin? I should have them die screaming for failing me like that,’ Sumiko hissed as she watched warriors run back to the dubious safety of the hill.
‘They were attacked by cavalry, without any archers. That was why Lord Konetsu and the others all ended with their heads atop spears,’ Mogosai observed.
Sumiko turned on him. ‘You are supposed to help me! Do something!’
Mogosai inclined his head and strode down the hill, dragging Oroku along with him. He found the warriors all out of order, clans mixed up in the endless confusion. Priests pushed among them, trying to find wounded to heal, while warriors looked for family and friends and shouted at each other.
‘Make me heard by all of them,’ he ordered Oroku, ignoring the Magic-weaver’s sullen look as he obeyed him.
‘Silence! Dokuzen depends on you now! Wounded move to the rear, where you can be healed! Those with armour go to the front. If they come at us, we have more than enough arrows to make them pay!’
They began to shuffle into order and he shouted again.
‘Are you elves or gaijin? Move!’
Now they jumped to obey and Mogosai nodded with satisfaction. The armoured warriors would take the initial impact of the human advance — then the archers would finish them off.
‘Stand tall! The humans tricked us but they have nothing more. We shall send them reeling away to fall to their knees before us!’ Mogosai shouted and was rewarded by a slight cheer.
‘Here they come again,’ Oroku said, the sneer wiped from his face.
‘Let’s hope we have enough arrows, for your magic does not seem equal to the task,’ Mogosai told him.
Caelin stretched sore muscles and followed the men in front. After leading the way in the first attack, he was happy enough to be at the back this time. Besides, it promised to be grim work. He had wiped most of the blood off his face and taken the time to strip off his silly clothes to reveal the armour beneath. Now was not the time for tricks, now was the time to grind down the elves.
‘Pick up the pace! We must break them!’ Edmund urged the men onwards.
A moon ago they would have broken into a trot and raced at the elves. But, after all they had been put through, all they had been asked to do, the best they could manage was a shuffle.
‘We’ve beaten them twice now. Third time will be the last time,’ Caelin called out.
The men were tired but there was more spirit in them now. Going forwards was always easier than going backwards and it was far more like what they had come to expect from a battle.
Then the arrows began to snap in. The hill was not high, more of a low rise, probably fifty feet taller than the rest of the fields around, while its slope was gentle enough that even an armoured man could walk up it without getting out of breath. But that extra height meant extra distance and the elven archers were using that now. Worse, they seemed to have plenty of arrows still.
‘Shields up!’
The troops were more than used to this by now and the pace quickened as men tried to get out of the arrow hail before it caught them, tried to get close enough to the elven warriors that their archers had to stop.
Arrows bounced off shields and helms, sunk into the earth — or into flesh. Wounded men screamed, while dead men dropped, gaps opening up in the ranks until the sergeants and corporals had the chance to close them up again.
Caelin stepped over a writhing man without a second glance, keeping his shield high. His shoulder, already sore from the earlier fight, was burning, but to drop your shield was to die.
‘Let’s hope the Velsh have some magic left in them,’ Ruttyn said, then cursed as an arrow thudded into his shield.
In front of them, grass rose to form a wall. The front ranks checked — and then the grass shrank again and they pressed on, nervously. Shields shattered and then reformed, the timbers snapping back into place on men’s arms.
‘I would rather there was no magic at all, than this magical battle with us in the middle,’ Harald gasped.
‘But we are protected by magic,’ Ruttyn said.
‘And isn’t that comforting,’ Caelin muttered.
Birds swooped in and then swooped away, insects crawled up legs and then jumped off. Each one slowed the Forlish advance a little. No matter how the sergeants shouted, men still checked whenever something threatened them. And all the time the arrows were claiming men in ones and twos. But they crept closer to the elves, until they could see individual faces.
‘There they are! Gut the bastards!’
The Forlish held their formation tight then, in the last ten paces, rushed forwards. But when they did, rather than wait and be driven backwards by the weight of the Forlish lines, the elves broke and raced at them.
Arrows soared in, the archers losing over the top of their warriors and into the massed ranks — then elven warriors hit those gaps.
Caelin felt the front rank shudder as the two sides came together with a crash. From his vantage point, shield held over his head, he could see what was happening — and it was very different to the last time.
Spears still punched out, knocking elves off their feet, men staying close and using their swords and shields to form little fortresses that the elves could not break. But, elsewhere, elves cut deep into the formation. Men in the second and third ranks could not use spears if they had to defend themselves.
Wounded screamed and thrashed on the ground, stepped on by struggling men and elves. Caelin noticed the elves were aiming at legs, cutting low and forcing the men to keep their shields down — making them easier targets for the elven archers.
The two sides were locked together and hacking at each other, close enough to embrace. Men butted with helmets, smashed shields into bodies and faces, snarled and growled, stabbed and spat. Elves swung their swords furiously, trying to create space, while some used their own little magic, to pull apart a shield or push a helm down over eyes; simple things that were done too fast to block — and enough to see the soldier dead and the elf triumphant.
‘Looks like we’ll be back into it again in a moment,’ Caelin said grimly.
‘Why don’t the Velsh do something?’ Ruttyn growled.
Sendatsu watched in frustration. The combination of the arrows, the hill and the ferocious elven attacks had not quite stopped the Forlish but they were having to fight furiously for every step, and leaving piles of bodies in their wake. Their forward progress had almost stopped and he feared if they took one step back, they would break. He had hoped to drive the Velsh through to Sumiko but that was not going to happen. They would have to do the hard work themselves.
‘Follow me!’ he shouted and raced out to the right, leaving behind the safety of the Forlish lines.
The elven archers were still concentrating on the Forlish and they did not switch their attention to the Velsh for precious moments, allowing Sendatsu and the first Velsh to close on the esemono before arrows began to fall. When they did strike, they hit the southerners behind the Velsh, who had shields to give them some protection.
Sendatsu ignored what was going on behind him to focus on the esemono who rushed to meet him. They were howling battle cries, shouting that they were going to wash their shame in gaijin blood. Sendatsu swayed back from the first, his sword crunching down through sleeve, flesh and bone to take the warrior’s arm off just below his shoulder. He ignored the screaming elf to elbow the next in the face and crash his sword into the elf’s skull. The blow jarred all the way up his arm but also ripped the back of the elf’s head off.
Beside him,
Cadel and Bowen guarded his flanks. He had no idea where Sumiko might be but guessed she would be at the back. He knew Asami and Rhiannon were somewhere behind him, following as best they could — although, given their magical abilities, their best was better than his.
The esemono he fought now were brave and willing and some of them were even skilled. But it was hard to practise your sword work when you had to work from dawn to dusk to feed your family. And the compulsory once a week practice sessions were no match for what Sendatsu had been doing. He could feel them giving before him. None could stop him.
‘It’s Sendatsu.’ Oroku pointed. ‘He’s trying to get to us.’
Sumiko looked at the wedge of Velsh forcing their way through the mass of esemono and cursed. To her right, her best warriors had stopped the Forlish, albeit at great cost. Behind her the archers were still mostly aiming at the Forlish, only a handful loosing at the rear ranks of the Velsh.
‘Tell every archer to loose at Sendatsu,’ Sumiko ordered.
‘What? We shall be hitting our warriors!’ Mogosai cried.
‘They are only esemono; there are plenty more. There is only one Sendatsu. And where he is, Asami cannot be far behind. Kill them and the rest of these human sheep will scatter.’
‘I will not give that order. You will murder our own!’ Mogosai snarled. ‘You cannot do this!’
‘Wrong,’ Sumiko said. ‘I can do anything I want. Oroku, give the order.’
Oroku bowed. ‘Your will, High One.’
Sendatsu blocked a high cut and threw the warrior backwards, where he snarled and advanced again. Half a head taller than Sendatsu, he was a fearsome size across the shoulder and must have been a smith, or perhaps a prized labourer. The sword looked like a twig in his hand. But while he had strength, Sendatsu had speed and he prepared to use it — when the giant warrior suddenly stiffened and staggered forwards, sword dropping from his hand. Sendatsu backed away a step, unsure whether this was some strange trick, when he saw an arrowhead burst through the man’s shoulder. He looked up at a cloud of them coming in. Dropping his sword, he jumped at the choking giant, whose eyes were already rolling back in his head. Sendatsu grabbed the man by his grimy robe, gasping at the dead weight and using all his strength to keep the huge body upright. The giant shook and his breath rattled in his throat under the impact of other arrows.