If Caros had found the earlier war cries unsettling, now they became truly fearsome. The Masulians broke from the pass at speed, outrunning the dust that rose high behind them. Their small ponies sped across the grassland and arced towards the massing Aeronosii. They closed the distance and then cut to the left of the enemy. The Aeronosii milled around uncertainly, lulled by the Masulians’ lack of action throughout the day. The glint of a spear caught Caros’ eye; launched too early, it fell away into the grass before him. More spears flashed and arrows lifted. Now the Aeronosii were leaping their mounts forward and charging. Aksel braced and Caros followed suite, watching the Masulian’s timing carefully. Like a whipping sapling, he launched his javelin. Caros grunted with admiration at his skill and hurled his own. Behind him, the Masulians loosed their javelins en masse. Caros fed the next javelin from left hand to right and targeted a cursing Aeronosii. He hurled and reached for the next. A thrown spear sailed by his head and suddenly arrows thrummed into the grass and skittered off rocks all about him. He hurled another javelin, noting that the Masulians threw as many as three javelins in the space of a heartbeat. Aksel led his men beyond the Aeronosii and swept up a low hill. He pulled aside and sat as his men galloped over the hills and fanned out below him. Caros, breathing deeply and fumbling for another handful of javelins, pulled up and turned to look back. He expected to see the Aeronosii following on their heels, but the enemy was running in circles. In the distance, some had broken and fled, but they were just a few, likely youths with no experience. The Masulian attack had been fast and deadly. In one pass the four hundred men and knocked three score or more warriors from their mounts. Many of those now cried in pain and thrashed about in the dry grass. A party of Aeronosii crossed the path the Masulians had taken, their intention not immediately obvious. Beside him, Aksel hissed and shouted. Caros jerked in surprise and then focused on the valley. A Masulian impaled by a spear broke from the ground where he had lain unseen. With the spear protruding through his gut, he hobbled and skipped towards a cluster of rocks and a lone thorn tree. The Aeronosii galloped past him and then turned. Jinkata arrived beside Aksel.
“It’s Silaus. Shit!”
“Where are his kin? He has a brother and a cousin!” Aksel roared, a vein throbbing on his forehead. Caros had never seen him lose his temper. Looking closer, he realized there were no Masulian bodies in the valley, while there were ten or more injured and riderless ponies. A wail sounded from behind them and Caros turned to see a young Masulian start up the slope, followed by two comrades. The Masulian sped up the hill and over the crest. His horse’s rear sank as he halted it in a cloud of dust. It took him a moment to process the sight of the wounded Masulian harried by the Aeronosii.
Aksel and Jinkata lunged to grab the boy, but with a desperate cry, he galloped downhill. Aksel cursed and cursed harder when the boy’s companions sped after him. Jinkata anticipated Aksel and whistled. The Masulians came to the crest of the hill in a broad line where they paused. Ready to charge, Caros looked expectantly to Aksel who sat ridged as stone on his mount.
“It is my people’s practice to carry away the dead and wounded so they are not taken by the enemy. The brothers may have become separated, but anyone of these others could have saved him.”
“Well we had better attack so they have a chance to come to their senses.”
“They are dead. We watch now to better remember to look after one another.”
Caros turned on hearing a cry. Two Aeronosii had dismounted and each held an end of the protruding spear. They laughed as they spun the agonised warrior and jostled him. Their companions spat at the dying man while watching the three oncoming Masulians. The larger column of Aeronosii closed ranks behind the three would be rescuers. Caros clenched the javelin in his hand, helpless to do anything. Sun glinted on a speeding javelin launched by the charging Masulian youth. It punched clean through the chest of an enemy rider. The man toppled to the grass, blood surging from his mouth.
Another javelin flew, then two more. The Masulians watching from the hill began to chant while drumming their javelins against their small round shields. They chanted a single phrase repeatedly and it rolled across the valley, buoyed by the beat of their shields.
The Aeronosii closed in a rush on the trio of Masulians, tired of the javelins that had struck down four more of their number. Spears stabbed and horses shrieked. Swords and spears lifted and plunged and the tumult ended.
“It is done. It will be dark soon. These riders will not stumble on Jornican’s column this night.” Aksel spoke woodenly.
Caros nodded, attention fixed on the scene below. The dead men’s heads were raised on spears to triumphant roars and taunting catcalls to the watching Masulians. The sun fell below the western hills, bathing the valley in a final blush of crimson.
Jornican’s Andosinni warriors stalked in silence from beneath the trees under whose boughs they had slept. Moonlight cast the valley in an eerie grey world as blankets of fog drifted across the meandering river. In the distance sat the black silhouette of Olot and Jornican needed his warriors in place before first light. He wanted the Aeronosii to awake to the sight of the enemy at their gates. He was under no illusions. With just six hundred men his force was no match for the Aeronosii whose horsemen alone numbered more than that. He was counting on the Bastetani and the four hundred Masulians, but even more so on Castrodubis. The Aeronosii warrior claimed he would turn the Aeronosii to his cause and Jornican believed him or he would not be taking this risk.
He rode his mount forward slowly, straining to pierce the shadows and fog. His horsemen numbered just eighty and they were fanned out in a line either side of him. They walked their horses forward across a tilled field. Behind them, the rest of the warriors followed on foot. Their faces dim pale discs above their dew-darkened cloaks, still pulled tight around them. Oriol looked over his shoulder and then at Jornican. “The men are cold and hungry.”
“They are. Between the fog and the dew, it might as well have rained.” Jornican replied tightly.
Oriol smiled. “I pity the Aeronosii if they try to keep us from their food and fires.”
Jornican placed a hand on the curved hilt of his sword. “Gualbes has brought this on himself.” He glanced east. The sky was lightening perceptibly on the horizon. The dark palisades of Olot stood tall on the hill before them. Behind him, warriors muttered and cursed. For a moment, Jornican’s blood ran thin and he cursed himself a fool. Gualbes would crush them he thought. His fist tightened around the sword hilt until he thought his bones would burst from the skin. He tried to stiffen his resolve, drew his horse up, and squared his shoulders. A cold breeze tugged at his beard and whipped tendrils of fog into a macabre dance. Thoughts of retreat grew in his mind. The men behind him were his peoples’ future. Oriol’s stare burned into his cheek and he turned to his trusted captain, ready to order him to retreat.
“I hear them. They are coming.” Oriol was gazing past him.
Jornican sensed the stirring in the air before he heard them. The fog coiled and shifted then shattered before the wall of horsemen who broke from its depths. The muted rumble of their approach now a sudden thunder of sound. The massed riders ploughed over field and stream, sending silvered spray high. Now came the sounds of war, as from the palisades of Olot issued the alarm call of the first warhorn. The relentless riders charged on and from their throats came a sound that curdled the Andosinni’s blood. Rising ululations that scratched across already taught nerves. Jornican’s heart beat faster, there would be a blood-battle this day and he and his warriors were outnumbered outside the very gates of their enemy.
The Masulians had risen as the moon sank towards the west. With stealth remarkable for such a body of riders, they walked their mounts through the broken hills until they filed out onto the valley floor between the Aeronosii horsemen’s camp and Olot. Unseen and unheard, they had ridden towards Olot. Cutting across razed farms and swollen streams, they picked up speed as light edged into the v
alley from the east and the palisade fortress of Olot became clearer to see against the backdrop of wild mountains. Rounding a spur of hillside that broke into the valley, Caros spied the line of horse and mass of warriors. Torches flickered along the walls of Olot and a warhorn croaked and then blew true. He nodded to Aksel. The chieftain issued a signal and a man lifted the curled horn of an antelope to his lips and blew. The Masulians began their ululations as they rode hard at the gates of Olot. The body of riders swept past the walls in a thin column, shrieking their war cry. They loosed no javelins and none were directed at them. A few guards lined the walls, the early dawn light reflecting from their iron helmets and the sharp heads of their spears. Caros and Aksel broke off from the lead and rode across to where Jornican waited with his warriors.
“Greetings, Jornican! Greetings, Oriol!” Caros shouted.
Jornican lifted a hand. “Greetings! An impressive arrival.” He smiled. “Gualbes is sure to know we are waiting.”
“His horsemen are all still asleep far down the valley. We did not have the heart to wake them before we left.” Caros swept his gaze across Jornican’s warriors.
Sensing the question, the Andosinni chieftain spoke. “Castrodubis has not arrived nor have we received any message from him since he left to gather his warriors.”
Aksel grunted and pointed. “Looks like Gualbes is sending a signal.” A beacon fire flared on a hilltop above Olot.
Jornican cursed. “He is calling his horsemen in. It must be doused!”
Caros fixed Jornican with a level stare. The chieftain carried a strained look, his eyes wide with alarm. “There is no need to send men to do that. The fire will have been seen by now and if not, it will have by the time any of our men reach it.”
Jornican ignored Caros and instructed Oriol to send twenty men to kill the signalers and douse the fire then turned back to Caros, anger on his face. “Gualbes’ horsemen alone outnumber all our forces! We cannot risk being trapped between Olot and his riders.”
Caros exchanged a quick look with Aksel. It seemed Jornican’s heart was not in this battle and his warriors would quickly notice. This whole maneuver was on the verge of collapse and not a blow had been struck. Caros rode his horse close in to Jornican and Oriol. “I sense your heart is not in this battle. There will be a battle. Of that, there is no doubt. Commit your heart to battle and to victory now or you will have led your men to certain death.”
Jornican hissed and his hand reached for his sword. Oriol forced his horse between Caros and his chieftain and gave Caros a stern look as he gripped his chieftain’s shoulder. “The Bastetani speaks true. We cannot leave without battle and we cannot retreat after. There can only be victory or death. If its death, it will be the death of all our people and I will not accept that.” He broke away from his chieftain who blinked in rage at both Oriol and Caros. At that moment, the sun broke the horizon and sunlight lanced across the tableau. Jornican turned and looked across at his warriors who sat in groups watching the Masulians who kept their horses moving, darting from time to time at the walls. They had not witnessed the altercation. They suddenly surged hooting and cheering to their feet. Confused the chieftain looked towards Olot. A lone Masulian had darted close to the walls, braving the whistling iron spears thrown by the defenders to hurl his own in reply. Now a defender hung limp over the spikes atop the palisade. Jornican looked back at his captain and then at Caros and Aksel. His lips twitched and he firmed the tremor in his spine. “You speak truly and the Andosinni will not quail before Gualbes. We fight to win with or without Castrodubis!”
Caros huffed out his cheeks and shouted. “By the will of Runeovex! Victory!”
Jornican felt the eyes of his warriors on him as their leader and a return of courage to his heart. He smiled in relief that he had not turned and from his sheath, he drew his long sword. Today, the souls of the maharra would sing death and drink blood.
Chapter 12
Caros’ gaze drifted from the honking flight of geese to the palisade, now thick with defenders. Behind him, the Andosinni warriors stood clashing their weapons against their shield faces. They called out insults to the Aeronosii defenders and an informal relay of warriors broke their ranks to jog forward and challenge the defenders to battle. Caros watched an Andosinni warrior do so now. He guessed the man was probably older than his father would have been now, with hair and beard faded to white and arms crisscrossed with old scars. The warrior walked courageously to within a spear’s throw of the walls and lifted his arms wide. His shield in his left and spear in the right, the leather armour on his chest gleamed with animal fat.
“He is brave. They will have him with a spear in a moment.” Caros spoke without taking his eyes off the challenger.
Aksel whistled softly. “He is growing older the longer we wait for Gualbes to attack. Maybe he is worried he will drop dead with age before the battle starts”
While the Andosinni had gathered before the walls of Olot to challenge the enemy, the Masulians were tasked with keeping to the flank from where they could sweep upon the enemy when he emerged from Olot. The sun was well clear of the eastern horizon and still Gualbes had not come out to do battle. His horsemen would arrive soon and then the battle would be a short one. They had gambled on Gualbes being confident enough in the numerical superiority of his Aeronosii foot soldiers to attack before his riders appeared. Now their hopes of that were diminishing with every heartbeat. A thin shadow swooped from the palisade and a cheer rose from the defenders there. The maharra was well aimed, but at the last moment the old Andosinni warrior batted it away with his shield. Caros’ eyebrows arched in surprise and then went higher still for the warrior laughed and jeered at the defenders and took three paces closer to the wall. He shouted out his challenge to the defenders again and then turned his back on them and raised his arms in triumph to his fellow warriors who bellowed in delight at his brazen insult to the defenders. Caros laughed as well and Aksel smiled. “He has a set on him, that’s for certain!”
The defenders growled and shook their spears in frustration. It would be a cowardly man who dared throw a spear at the old warrior while his back was turned. Caros was relieved the old man had survived. He had shown his courage, his brave heart. The warrior began to sing where he stood and his fellows took up the words, chanting and drumming. Sandals and boots stamped dust into the air. Aksel stiffened. “One of those bastards is going to throw. Look!”
Caros just made out the defender who had stepped back and could be seen bracing to throw. Some of the sharper-eyed men amongst the Andosinni also saw the danger and broke ranks while shouting and gesturing to the old hero. Then the spear was afloat in the clear blue sky. The warrior stopped singing, eyes wide. He spun and as he did so, the spear struck, catching him in the shoulder. The iron tip bit deep into the warrior’s chest. A collective roar of anger rose from the Andosinni and they surged forward some paces. The stricken warrior stood facing the enemy, the spear shaft standing proud from his upper chest. He stepped towards the wall; his spear falling from his hand. He took another heavy step and blood welled from his mouth. Caros saw this and blinked the sting of tears from his eyes, thinking the old warrior would topple now. Instead, he dropped his shield and drew a long knife from his belt. He raised the knife in his left hand, his right arm no doubt useless from the injury. Deliberately he placed the blade below his right ear and then pulled it across his throat. A pulse of blood bubbled around his throat and poured down his chest before finally the warrior collapsed to the ground. In taking his life, the warrior showed the ultimate scorn for the enemy. The Aeronosii were silent while the Andosinni raged and then the gates shifted.
Aksel spotted the movement and pointed. Both men noticed the defenders on the palisade thinning. “They’re coming out. The bastards!” Caros cursed, still appalled at the slaying of the veteran warrior.
Aksel gripped his arm. “My riders will keep them from encircling the Andosinni. Are you certain you will not fight with us?”
Caros’ eyes still burned. “I will fight with them.” He gestured to the maddened Andosinni. He was still uncertain of Jornican’s conviction and wanted to be on hand should the chieftain’s resolve fail.
“Very well. Fight well my friend. I will offer a prayer to your god”
“Runeovex.”
“That is the one.” He flashed a grim smile and with a shrill war cry, galloped to the far side of the field where the Masulian horsemen sat, poised to enter the coming fray.
The gates bounced, shuddered and began to swing open. The swell of shouting from the Andosinni grew along with the drum of weapons on shields. The warriors were raising their blood, losing themselves to battle frenzy. In doing so they drove away the primal fear, the urge to flee from danger and death.
Caros swung his mare and raced her across the face of the Andosinni ranks to where Jornican steadied his capering mount. The chieftain barely registered his arrival. The man’s face was like stone, his eyes cold and focused on the warriors emerging from Olot. Caros pulled up and watched the Aeronosii pour from the gates. The lead ranks raced forward, spreading out to form a wide front. Warriors continued to stream out and mass behind the first ranks. A warhorn blew and then another. A drum began to beat. A steady, timed boom and the Aeronosii lines stepped forward. Caros tied off his reins, he would be using his knees to ride. He pulled a handful of the light javelins from their quiver and hefted one in his right hand.
Maharra Page 13