It will be simple, then, to set the charge of this civil war’s beginning at the feet of Lord Ilgast Rend. And us Wardens.
‘We wonder, sir,’ Kullis then said, turning to look upon his captain, ‘when you will speak.’
‘Speak? What do you mean?’
‘Who better knows the mind of Calat—’
‘Calat Hustain is not here.’
‘Lord Ilgast—’
‘Was given command of the Wardens. Sergeant, who is this “we” you speak of?’
Kullis snorted. ‘Your kin, sir. All of whom are now looking to you. This moment, sir. They are looking to you.’
‘I conveyed Hunn Raal’s words,’ Havaral said, ‘and the lord chooses to answer them.’
‘Yes sir, I see the knife in his hand. But we sacks of blood now bear beads of sweat.’
Havaral looked away. The sickness pooling in his stomach churned. His eyes travelled down the length of the Wardens waiting on their wood-armoured horses, the breaths of the beasts softly pluming, the occasional head tossing amidst the mosquitoes. His kin were motionless in their saddles, their lacquered, banded-wood breastplates gleaming in the bright sunlight. Beneath the rims of their helmets he saw, one after another, faces too young for this.
My blessed misfits, who could never in comfort wear the soldier’s garb. Who forever stood outside the company of others. Could face down a dozen scaled wolves, and not blink. Ride to the Vitr and voice no complaint at the poison air. Wait here now, for the call to advance, and then to charge. My children.
My sacks of blood.
‘Sir.’
‘Urusander’s Legion is eager for this,’ Havaral said. ‘Once at strength, it would have had to march on the Wardens, before closing on Kharkanas. The Legion could not countenance us at its back. We meet it today, on dead grasses and in a bitter wind, and dream of a gentle spring to come.’
‘Sir—’
Havaral turned on the man, his face twisting. ‘Do you think the captains have all remained mute?’ he hissed. ‘Did you fools actually imagine we swallowed down our bile, and did nothing but bow meekly before our commander?’
Kullis flinched slightly at his captain’s words.
‘Hear me,’ Havaral said, ‘I do not command here. What shame would you have me suffer? Do you think I will not be riding down there with you? With my lance drawn and hard at your side? Abyss take you, Kullis – you have unmanned me!’
‘Sir, I did not mean such a thing. Forgive me my words.’
‘Did I not warn you against matters of faith?’
‘You did, sir. I am sorry.’
Voices rose then, drawing their attention to the valley floor, where two small figures had appeared, one pursuing the other.
They then, in silence, witnessed a murder.
Skirmishers arrived to chase away the child, and continued on in their advance.
A moment later, Ilgast Rend’s voice carried clear in the cold air. ‘The Legion ill keeps its tent, it seems. Think well on that misery, Wardens, and the cruelty of childhood. Hunn Raal commands the field of play in the manner of the thug. The bully. And dreams of a place for himself in the Citadel.’ The words did not echo, as the wind was quick to sweep them away. After a brief pause, the lord continued, ‘But you are children no longer. Awaken what memories you need, and make answer!’
Clever words, Havaral conceded, to so probe old wounds.
‘Ready lances and prepare to advance. Captains Havaral and Shalath, flanks will rise to canter and then swing inward at the blue flags. We’ll trap those skirmishers and be done with them.’
Havaral gathered his reins. ‘To our troop now, sergeant. Trust this will be well timed, as I see the pikes now on the move.’
‘They yield the crest,’ Kullis said, as they set off for the flank units.
‘The slope suffices.’
‘And less winded our mounts upon reaching them!’
Nodding, Havaral said, ‘They see the wooden cladding and imagine our horses lacking in endurance. They are in for a surprise, sergeant.’
‘That they are, sir!’
‘Ilgast Rend was a soldier,’ Havaral said. ‘Remember that – battle is no stranger to him.’
‘I’ll watch for the blue flags, sir.’
‘You do that, sergeant.’
They arrived opposite their troop, wheeling forward just as the command to advance was sounded. ‘’Ware your steps, Wardens!’ Havaral shouted, recalling the pitfalls on the slope.
Taking the lead, the captain began the descent. His mount wanted to canter rather than trot, but he held the reins tight and leaned back in the saddle, forcing the animal to take its time.
The skirmishers, each one bearing three or four lances, were spreading out. They seemed reluctant now, their pace slowing upon seeing the cavalry drawing closer.
From a troop to Havaral’s left, a horse screamed, tumbling its rider as it broke a foreleg in a burrow or rut.
‘Eyes ahead!’ Havaral snapped. ‘Gauge every step!’
Drawn by sweat and harsh breaths, the mosquitoes massed ever thicker as the Wardens made their way towards the valley floor. The captain heard comrades cough as they inhaled bugs. Curses sounded, but mostly the sound was of creaking armour, the thump of horse hoofs, and the gusting wind that slid beneath iron helms and moaned as if trapped.
Havaral left the slope and rode out on to the basin, at last giving the horse freedom to quicken its trot. His troop drew up behind him, keeping pace.
He had loved a man once, long ago now, and the memory of that face had been years buried. It appeared suddenly in his mind’s eye, as if emerging from shadows, as lively and enticing as it had ever been. Others crowded behind it, all the confused desires that had marked his adolescence, and with them came a dull pain, an ache of the spirit.
It was no crime to turn from the common path, yet it came at a cost nonetheless. No matter. The young man had gone away, unwilling to stay with any one lover, and his name had vanished from the living world after the burning of his village by Forulkan raiders. Whether he died or took for himself another life, Havaral knew not.
But now your knowing smile is before me. I only regret the end, my love, only the end.
Confusion filled his head, and sent down into his soul a sorrowful song that brought the blur of tears to his eyes. An old man’s song, this one. A song of all the deaths in a normal life, how they come up and then go past like verses, and this chorus that bridges each one, oh, it voices nothing but questions none can answer.
Beside him, Sergeant Kullis leaned over and, with a hard smile, said, ‘How clear the mind is at this moment, sir! The world is almost too sharp to behold!’
Havaral nodded. ‘Damn this wind,’ he then growled, blinking.
The first shade of blue appearing among the flag-stations lifted them into a canter, and they swung out, away from the skirmishers. As the horseshoe formation took shape, the foot soldiers suddenly recoiled in comprehension. The flags spun to show the deeper blue side, announcing the inward wheel and the charge.
The skirmishers had drawn out too far – Havaral could see that plain – and the pike line was still trudging at its turgid pace, only halfway down the far slope.
Havaral brought his lance down and slid its butt into the arm’s length leather sheath affixed to the saddle. He heard and felt the solid impact the end made with the bronze socket.
‘They’re all caught!’ Kullis shouted. ‘We’re too fast!’
The captain said nothing. He saw javelins launched from arms, saw lances dip to knock most of them away before they could strike the chests of horses. A few animals screamed, but now the voices of the Wardens filled the air, rising above the thunder of horse hoofs.
Borrowed anger this might be, but it will do.
Skirmishers scattered like jackrabbits.
A few hundred Legion soldiers were about to die, and the tears streamed from Havaral’s eyes, making cold tracks down his cheeks.
It begins.
Oh, blessed Mother Dark, it begins.
* * *
Sevegg cursed and then turned to Hunn Raal. ‘They went too far, the fools. Who commands them?’
‘Lieutenant Altras.’
‘Altras! Cousin, he’s a quartermaster’s aide!’
‘And so very eager, like a pup off its leash.’
She looked at the captain at her side. His profile was sharp, almost majestic if one did not look too closely. If witnessing the imminent slaughter of three hundred Legion soldiers affected him, there was no discernible sign. A different flavour of command, then. Lord Urusander would never have done it this way. And yet, there is no value in questioning this. She studied her cousin’s face, remembering how that expression crumpled in lovemaking, achieving nothing so much childlike as dissolute.
On the field below, the wings of the Warden cavalry tightened their deadly noose about the skirmishers. Lances dipped, caught hold of bodies and lifted them into the air, or drove them into the ground. Most weapons took soldiers from behind.
From the corner of her eye she caught Hunn Raal’s gesture, an almost lazy wave of one gauntleted hand.
Behind them, the outer units of Legion cavalry on the back-slope lurched into motion, quickly surging into a canter. Then, pivoting as if one end was fixed to the ground, the troops wheeled to face the slope. The riders leaned forward as their mounts climbed.
He should have ordered this earlier. A hundred heartbeats. Five hundred. Not a single skirmisher will be left.
As if reading her mind, Hunn Raal said, ‘I had a list of malcontents. Soldiers too inclined to question what is necessary to bring peace to the realm. They argued at the campfires. They muttered about desertion.’
Sevegg said nothing. There was no crime in asking questions. The last accusation was absurd. Deserters never talked about it beforehand. Instead, it was the opposite. They went quiet in the days before disappearing. Every soldier knew the signs.
The foremost ranks of the Legion cavalry crested the slope, swept over and then flowed down in a solid mass, arriving on the field of battle beyond the Warden flanks. She saw the first of the enemy riders discover the threat, and confusion take hold, lances lifting to allow the quick about-face. The centre formation, where the bulk of Rend’s force still advanced at the trot, began to bulge.
‘See that,’ Hunn Raal suddenly said. ‘He abandons his flanks to a mauling, and sets eyes only for our pikes.’
‘Those armoured mounts of theirs are surprisingly agile,’ Sevegg said, seeing how the outside ranks were already settling, lances dipping as they rode out to meet the Legion cavalry.
‘Outnumbered,’ Raal said, ‘and on weary beasts.’
The way ahead for Rend’s centre was now clear, with only motionless bodies to ride over as they approached the slope. Three-quarters of the way down the hillside, Raal’s pikes now halted, setting their weapons and anchoring the heels against the unyielding, frozen ground.
In the past war against the Jheleck, the pike had proved its efficacy. But the giant wolves charged without discipline, and proved too foolish and too brave and too stubborn to change their ways. Even so, Sevegg could not see how the Wardens could answer that bristling line of barbed iron points. ‘Rend has lost his mind,’ she said, ‘if he hopes to break our centre.’
Hunn Raal grunted. ‘I admit to some curiosity about that. We’ll see soon enough what he has in mind.’
The Legion cavalry had turned inward, rising to the charge. The Wardens answered. Moments later, the leading edges collided.
* * *
On the crest of her hilltop, Renarr flinched at the distant impact. She saw bodies silently rising as if invisible hands had reached down from the empty sky, snatching them from their saddles. Their limbs flailed, and blooms of red snapped sudden as flags in the midst of the crush. Horses went down, thrashing and kicking. An instant later, the thunder of that collision reached her.
The whores were shouting, while the children now crowded between the men and women along the ridge, silent and watching with wide eyes, some with thumbs in their mouths, others pulling on pipes.
Renarr could see how, in the initial impact, many more Legion horses staggered and fell than did those of the Wardens. She suspected that this was unanticipated. An advantage of the wooden armour of the enemy’s mounts, she supposed, which while providing surprising defence did little to slow the swiftness and agility of the beasts. Even so, the Legion’s superior numbers checked that counterattack, absorbing the blow, and now, as riders fought in the crowded, churning maelstrom, the Wardens began giving ground.
She looked to the centre, and saw the foremost Wardens reach the base of the slope. Flags rippled, changing colour in a wave leading out from the stations upon the opposite hillside, and all at once the Wardens charged up the slope.
The pikes awaiting them glinted in the sun like the thread of a mountain stream.
Sensing someone at her side, Renarr glanced down and saw the girl with the bloodied face. Tears had cleaned her cheeks in narrow, crooked trails, but her pale eyes, fixed upon the battle below, were dry.
* * *
His lover’s face was everywhere now, upon all sides. Beneath the rims of helms, among his kin and among the enemy surging around him. He sobbed as he fought, howled as he cut down that dear man again and again, and screamed each time one of his comrades fell. He had left his lance buried halfway through a horse, the point driving into its chest and reaching all the way to its gut. Disbelief had flashed through Havaral then: he’d felt little resistance along the weapon’s shaft. The point had slipped past every possible obstacle. The horse’s rider had attempted to swing his heavy longsword at the captain, but the beast collapsing under him had tugged him away, and moments later a Warden’s lance cut clean through his neck, sending the head spinning.
His troop was falling back, collapsing inward. Lord Rend had done nothing to prevent it, and Havaral understood the role his flank now inherited, as a sacrificial bulwark protecting the centre. They would fight on, without hope of victory or even escape, and in this forlorn fate their only task was to take a long time in dying.
He knew nothing of the rest of the battle. The few flags he caught sight of, barely glimpsed and distant on the far slope, were all black.
He swung his sword, hacking at Legion soldiers. The multitude of his lover’s face showed twisted, enraged expressions, filled with hate and fury, with terror. Others showed him that face in grey, clouded confusion, as they sank back, or slid from their saddles. The surprise of death was one no actor on a stage could capture, because its truth cast an inhuman shade upon the eyes, and that shade spread out to claim the skin of the face, rushing down to bleach the throat. It was silent and it was, horribly, irrefutable.
Beloved, why are you doing this to me? Why are you here? What have I done to you, to so earn this?
He had lost sight of Kullis, and yet longed for the man, desperate to see a visage other than those that now surrounded him. He imagined holding the man tightly in his arms, burying his face in the crook of neck and shoulder, and weeping as only an old man could.
Was not love its own shock? A match to that of death? Did it not take the eyes first? Such reverberations as to weaken the bravest man or woman – its trembling echoes never left a mortal soul. He had fooled himself. There was no music in this, no song, no chorus of longing and regret. There was only chaos, and a lover’s face that never, ever went away.
He killed his beloved without pause. Again and again, and again.
* * *
With a gap of only a few horse-lengths separating the two centres, Sevegg saw the lances of the enemy riders angle to one side, and only at that instant did she note that one entire half of the Wardens in the front line had anchored their weapons on their left sides – and that line was to her right.
As the forces collided, the foremost line of riders peeled out to the sides in staggered timing, and a roar of clashing announced the rippling collision of their lance shaft
s with those of the pikes facing them as they swept those weapons outward, as if folding to one side blades of grass.
Immediately behind them, and matching the staggered cadence of those before them, the second line hammered into the exposed front line of the centre, the impact rippling out to the sides.
Sevegg shouted her astonishment. The precision of the manoeuvre was appalling, the effect devastating.
The Legion centre buckled, as dying bodies were plucked from the ground and driven into the ranks behind them. Pikes caught on fellow soldiers, dragging weapons or snapping the shafts. Moments later swords flashed down, hacking at heads, necks and shoulders.
Against the slope, the soldiers struggled to back up, many driven to the ground instead, and still the fist of the enemy drove deeper, churning up the slope.
‘Shit of the Abyss!’ Hunn Raal hissed, suddenly galvanized. ‘Commit our foot flanks!’ he shouted, rising on his stirrups. ‘Hurry, damn you all!’ He sawed his mount around. ‘Second rank centre, down the slope at the double! Form a second line and hold to save your lives!’
And ours. Sevegg’s mouth was suddenly dry, and she felt her insides contract, as if every organ fought to retreat, to flee, only to be trapped by the cage of her bones. She closed a hand about the grip of her sword. The leather wrapping the handle was too smooth – not yet worn or roughened by sweat – and the weapon seemed to resist her grasp.
‘Keep it sheathed, you fool!’ her cousin snapped. ‘If you panic my soldiers I’ll see you skinned alive.’
Below, the Wardens chopped, slashed and hacked their way ever closer. Of the six-deep line of pikes, only two remained, and the lead one was fast fragmenting.
Then soldiers seethed over the crest to both sides of Sevegg and Hunn Raal, closing up once past and levelling their pikes.
‘We’ll grind them down now,’ Hunn Raal said. ‘But damn, that was well played.’
‘He did not imagine he was facing three entire cohorts,’ Sevegg said, her voice sounding thin to her own ears, even as relief flooded through her.
‘I could have done with two more.’
Fall of Light Page 3