Breath of Heaven, page 30
Braxton swore, dropping to the boy’s side. A fleeting look of pain crossed the swordmaster’s eyes, there then replaced with the hardness Corim had come to associate with the aged task master.
Braxton glanced up. “You and you.” He motioned to two others crouched near where the boy had fallen. “Take his body down to the black tents. The rest of you, keep moving. We need more stone! Drop the box and raise the other!” He shoved a few of the unit into motion, three of them grabbing the ropes attached to the box and kicking it over the side, letting out the line fast, the box dropping to be reloaded below. Ten paces away, three others began hoisting the second box back up to the top of the wall.
“Come on.” Corim snagged Wade’s arm as he moved to help with the boxes, but Wade didn’t move.
He turned to find the merchant’s son staring at the dead boy’s body, even as the two Braxton had picked out hauled him up beneath the arms and legs and headed for the stairs. Wade’s gaze dropping to the smear of blood on the parapet where the boy had fallen.
“He was already wounded.”
“And then he died. There’s nothing you can do now.” Corim pulled on Wade’s arm.
Wade jerked his arm from Corim’s grip. “How can you just brush it off? He died! In the space of a breath!”
“We can all die in the space of a breath! I’ve already seen it a hundred times! They killed everyone in my village, except me and Jayson. They killed more in the towns and villages between there and here. An arrow in the neck is nothing.”
When Wade simply gaped at him, he brushed the merchant’s son from his mind, darting forward and grabbing the end of the rope hauling the box up from below. Within moments, his fingers were rubbed raw and his arms and shoulders ached. Moments later, the box hit the bottom of the parapet.
“Hold it,” an older boy named Harden shouted. He leaned out over the side, hooked the crate on one side and dragged it up to the ledge. Corim dropped the rope and rushed to the box to grab another stone.
When he saw Wade still cowering behind the crenellation, rage bit down deep inside his chest. He used that rage to heave the stone as far out from the wall as possible, then turned.
He wanted to snap at him, to ridicule him, the way Wade had ridiculed him during training. He wanted to laugh in his face and tell him this was real, this was what war was really like, not the games Wade had likely imagined in his head, the heroic charge onto the field, sword swinging. But all of that vindictiveness died as he thought back to that first attack in Gray’s Kill, the subsequent flight to Cobble Kill, and after. He’d been terrified then, too, had shrunk in upon himself, like Wade was doing now. They’d only been stationed at the wall for two days, and this was the first day of real fighting for the group. They were only here now because nearly all of the rest of the Legion and the trained fighters had been pulled back.
Corim’s anger dampened. He ignored Wade and returned to the box.
He lost count of how many stones he heaved over the wall. The motions became rote: trudge to the box, lift a stone in his scraped and bloody hands, carry it to the aperture and either throw it out if it were light enough, or roll it off the edge if it were too heavy. Sweat sheened his face, stung his eyes, but after a while he stopped trying to wipe it away. He tasted stone grit and dirt, knew his skin was coated with dust. A some point, he noticed Wade had begun moving again, the merchant’s son tossing stones with a terrified desperation. He ducked his head when he saw Corim watching.
Then one of the guardsmen roared, “Ladder!”
Corim turned to look, muscles aching, body awash in exhaustion—
And heard the clatter of wood against stone. Close.
He lurched toward the crenellation, hit the raised edge and leaned out, squeezing in beside the dark-haired Harden. The ladder had slapped against the wall an arms-length below their post. Down its length, Corim could already see some of the cat-like creatures scrambling upwards.
“Diermani’s Balls,” Harden breathed. “What are they?”
Corim didn’t answer, shoving back from the wall. “We need a stone. A big one.”
To one side, Braxton shouted, “Arm yourselves. Swords and knives.” The rest of their unit darted for the crates that contained swords. Not the weighted sticks they’d used for hours upon hours in practice, but actual blades. “One each, then to the walls. If anything reaches the heights, kill it!”
Harden headed for the weapons, but Corim snagged him and steered for the stones again. “We can get a sword later.”
“What are we doing? We can’t kill them all with a single stone!”
“But we can break the ladder.” Corim knelt over the box, began discarding stones to one side. “It has to be big. It has to have weight. That one.”
They quickly pulled the lose stones around it away, Braxton bellowing, “Steady!” behind them. Harden grabbed one end, Corim the other, and they lifted it, both groaning at its weight. The cords in Harden’s neck stood out as they sidled toward the crenellation. Braxton saw what they were doing and shouted those at the opening out of their way, but they couldn’t lift the stone up onto the ledge; it was too heavy.
Suddenly, another set of hands appeared and Corim glanced up to see Wade’s determined face. Together, all three rolled the stone onto the lip, Harden releasing the stone with a cry of triumph. He began to roll it toward the edge, but Corim stopped him, squeezing beside the stone to check the placement.
As he leaned out, the first of the cat-like creatures reached the top of the ladder and leaped.
Corim screamed as it attached itself to his face, claws digging in to the sides of his neck and forehead before it leapt off again with a dry, whispering hiss. Corim slammed into the side of the crenellation, pain lancing down from his shoulder. Chaos erupted behind him, even as blood from the slices on his brow blinded him in one eye. The pain was silvery and intense, but he reached out and latched onto Harden before he could scramble away as two more of the creatures slipped through to the parapet. Braxton roared orders and the rest of the unit screamed, blades flashing as the three creatures attacked, but Corim pointed to the stone.
“To the left!”
Harden, Wade, and Corim shoved the stone hard to the left, rolling it forward as they did so. Three more creatures appeared in the opening, two leaping over the three boys, chips of stone stinging Corim’s face as their claws dug in for purchase. The third got caught as the stone rolled forward, but they didn’t falter. The stone rolled to the edge, crushing the creature beneath it, and then Corim yelled, “Now!”
With one final shoved, the stone slid over the lip.
Corim leaned forward to watch the stone fall, his hands in the black ichor oozing from the crushed remains of the creature on the ledge. Arrows pocked into the stone to either side, but he hardly noticed, his breath caught and held as the stone tumbled.
It struck the wall and bounced outwards, missing the top of the ladder and the three creatures preparing to leap the last few feet. They hissed in irritation, their lantern-like eyes blinking, turning to follow the stone’s fall. One of them turned back—
Then the stone hit the ladder, the wooden supports bowing in towards the wall before snapping. The three creatures shrieked, their cries joining those from lower on the ladder as it buckled and spun away from the wall. One of them leaped, claws scraping against the stone, but tumbled down in the ladder’s wake.
Wade let out a whoop and ducked back behind protection. Harden gave a choked laugh.
When Corim turned, Braxton and the others were dispatching the last of the creatures that had ascended the ladder. One of their unit, Rory—who they all called Rat because he was so short and had a sharp, pointed nose—snatched up a dead body and threw it over the wall.
Braxton wiped his sword on his arm, a few of the others mimicking the gesture, although only one or two were actually stained with the creatures’ black blood. The swordmaster motioned with the blade when he was done. “Good job. Keep the swords, but back to the stone throwing. Hopefully we won’t have another breach.”
Eyes bright, the unit hastened to follow orders, sheathing swords and picking up the stones Corim and Harden had tossed aside in their search. Braxton caught Corim’s gaze and nodded.
Before Corim could feel anything—pride, relief—horns sounded, one close, the other farther away, almost an echo.
The unit crowded up against the crenellations, including Braxton. All along the wall, men began to shout and cheer, the sound passing along the wall toward the main gate’s tower in a wave. Corim jostled between Harden and Wade. He glanced to the ground first, the Horde still pushing up against the wall at the base, but near the edges, the creatures had turned their attention north.
“Look!” Harden shouted, pointing.
From around the curve of the wall, a force of a thousand Legion on horseback, two thousand behind on foot, charged forward. Corim sucked in a sharp breath as he caught sight of the lead horsemen—GreatLord Kobel and those closest to him in command. They drove forward in a wedge formation, those behind them beginning to fan out onto the grassland in a flanking maneuver.
The Horde reacted, the creatures beneath turning with a roar. The Alvritshai archers scrambled to reform their line.
They didn’t have enough time.
The GreatLord and his forces hit them hard, two lengths down the wall from Corim’s position. The horses plowed through the front ranks, the Legion’s swords slashing downwards in smooth arcs. The roar on the wall intensified and blood flew, the cat-like creatures leaping out of the morass onto the horses, clawing their way onto the armored men above. Shrieks and screams melded, the cavalry’s charge halted twenty feet deep. Corim saw two Legionnaires pulled from their saddles, saw Kobel slice one of the cats in half in mid-leap—
And then someone grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back from the edge, flinging him aside. An archer, Corim noted, as he steadied himself behind the crenellation. Another archer yanked Harden and Wade back, then both were leaning out over the edge, bows drawn and arrows loosed before Corim had caught his breath.
All along the wall, archers were spreading out, a Legion commander shouting, “Target the trolls! Target the trolls!” while Braxton ordered Corim’s unit to step back and give the archers room.
Corim crawled to Harden’s and Wade’s side, where they sat with backs against the inside of the outer wall. Wade chuckled. “The GreatLord will take care of them. Nothing can beat the Legion on the field.”
Corim said nothing. He’d seen the Legion lines collapse at the northern ridge.
“Who was with them?” Harden asked. “They weren’t all Legion.”
“All of the other trained fighting men, I expect,” Wade answered, wiping at the blood and grit that had caked to his face. “Anyone who can wield a sword or pike with any skill. We should have been with them. We’re just as good as any of them.”
Corim stared at him. None of the terror he’d seen in Wade’s eyes remained. He’d returned to being the sniveling, arrogant merchant’s son.
He turned away in disgust.
But then what Wade had said registered.
“Anyone who can wield a sword or pike,” he whispered. “Jayson.”
* * *
Jayson’s unit trotted forward behind the ranks of the Legion on horseback, spear clutched tightly in both hands. His armor weighed heavily on his arms, a newer addition to their armament. From his vantage, he could see nothing but the walls of Temeritt off to the left, stones and oil and arrows dropping or shooting down from the heights, while other arrows arching up from the Horde’s forces on the ground. The charred spire of the Autumn Tree sat off to the right. Only the backs of the shieldbearers and the asses of the cavalry lay ahead.
Horns sounded, close, followed in instant later by an answering call from the forces to the south. He shot a glance toward Gregson, on horseback to one side, Terson beside him. Both were watching the field ahead.
Then the cavalry in front charged, clods of dirt and grass from the churned ground flying up and back, a few of the shieldbearers biting back curses as it rained down on them. Vics barked tense laughter, a few other chuckling, but Terson snapped, “Keep the line! Hold steady!” and everyone quieted. Vics shot the lieutenant commander a black look.
“As if some laughter will break the line,” the grizzled elder muttered, spitting to one side. “We’ll be seeing plenty of blood and death in a few moments.”
As if in answer, the Legion cavalry roared down a small slope, and for the first time since they’d marched through the northeastern gates, Jayson saw the Horde they faced.
A ripple of despair cut through the line, felt more than heard in the low gasps and faltering steps of those around him. Jayson kept silent, fresh sweat prickling in his armpits and down his back.
The Horde appeared black on the field, turning toward the sound of the horns, toward the Legion’s charge. The cat-like creatures Jayson had faced in Gray’s Kill streaked across the grass, larger creatures that those in Temeritt had started calling goblins and orcs behind them. The trolls continued to pound against the stone walls, still unaware of the attack.
And then there were the Alvritshai.
“Company halt!” Gregson bellowed, as the Alvritshai archers began to reform their ranks. “Shieldbearers, form the wall! Spearsmen, form up! Ready shield wall and hold position.”
All along the line, the men Jayson had been training with for the last eight months sank to the ground, the shieldbearers digging their shields into the ground, bracing for potential attack. Once set, they drew their short swords, Jayson and his fellow spearmen falling into position behind them, leaving enough space for the cavalry to slip through their ranks when they returned, but tight enough they could close ranks quickly. Each spearman was partnered with a shieldbearer. Jayson was paired with a man named Owen, a hand shorter but broader of shoulder. He cut Jayson a quick glance, then focused forward, watching the battle. Watching the archers.
Behind them, the rest of the reinforcements—Legion in armor and on foot, weapons at the ready—formed up into their own lines
Terson charged past, glaring at the unit’s line, shouting a few corrections. Gregson did the same in the opposite direction, turning his horse as the front line of Alvritshai archers suddenly sank into crouches.
“Shields up! Shields up, you bastards!”
Jayson heard the release, watched the hundreds of shafts shoot up into the mid-afternoon sky, like a flock of birds. He followed them as they reached their peak, separating as they arched downwards.
“Cover!”
Jayson ducked and stepped forward, knee coming down hard on the trampled grass, his chest pressing up against Owen’s armor as Owen jerked the shield up to cover them.
Seconds later, the rain of arrows hit. Shafts pinged off of the shields. It sounded like hail from a storm. Someone close cried out; someone screamed, a grating shriek. An arrow sank into the ground a hand’s span from Jayson’s foot.
The storm ended and through the relative silence Gregson said, “Reform! The cavalry is returning!”
Jayson shoved back, noted a few spearmen had fallen to the arrows along their ranks, but the shieldbearers remained. Behind, the Legion footmen had pulled farther back, out of the archers’ range, while leaving room for the returning cavalry. Jayson braced himself, spear still pointed to the sky but body ready. Owen dropped his shield, arm and shoulder against its inner side, left hand gripping his short sword protectively across his body. On the field below, the cavalry were galloping across the intervening grass in a ragged line, the Horde trailing close behind them.
“Here they come,” Vics muttered.
“How close?”
“Twenty feet, but the gap is widening. Get ready.”
Owen tensed, Jayson gripping his spear so hard his knuckles were white. The Legion thundered up the slope, the horses’ hooves flashing, their necks straining forward. Jayson waited until they were ten feet away before shouting, “Now!”
In a practiced motion, Owen shifted stance, shield swinging out and opening a space, Jayson dropping, ground shuddering beneath the cavalry’s passage. The lead horse charged past Owen and Jayson, a gust of wind buffeting them both, heavy with the scent of horse sweat, tainted with blood, and then Owen shifted again, closing the line. Jayson lurched back into position, lowering his spear between Owen and the shieldbearer to the left—
And then the Horde struck. The cat-like creatures leaped onto the shields and launched up over them toward the spearmen’s faces with dry shrieks and sibilant hisses. Jayson didn’t have time to react, kept his spear in position for the front ranks of the Horde. The creatures that had appeared black from the wall’s heights were actually a range of dark, dusky browns and tans. They hit the shields and spears in a solid wave. Owen cursed as three threw themselves at his shield. Jayson turned the angle of his spear at the last minute, felt it shudder into one of the creatures’ bodies, impaling it through the shoulder. The creature screamed, an ear-rending sound that sank claws into Jayson’s mind. He lifted his spear and heaved the body up and over his shoulder, jerking the weapon free as men from the Legion behind surged forward and fell on the creatures who’d broken through. Jayson only had time for a glimpse and then his attention returned to Owen, the shieldbearer thrusting the creatures back and jabbing forward with his sword, skewering one and slicing another along the arm. Jayson called to Owen, the shieldbearer crouching down behind his shield as Jayson heaved the spear through another creature’s gut. He heaved the flailing creature over and behind him. Something splattered against his face and he realized with numbed shock that it was blood.
But he had no time to think, no time to react. As the Legion behind finished off his latest kill, he jabbed the spear forward again. The Horde was pressed too close to miss, but it was only a glancing blow, the sharpened tip opening up the side of a shorter creature’s face. It roared at him, mouth gaping wide, needle-like teeth glistening with spit even as Jayson yanked his spear back and thrust again. Owen shifted, short sword swinging out from his shield, and skewered the creature through the throat, black blood spouting from the wound. Two more creatures surged forward, half-dressed in mock armor. Jayson shouted something incoherent and sank his spear into one creature’s side, Owen taking care of the second. Blood coated the end of his sword, sheeted down the shield, but neither Owen nor Jayson halted their attack. Arrows rained down again, killing Legion and Horde indiscriminently. One sank into the boot of the shieldbearer to Owen’s right. The man spat curses, but held, blood soaking through the leather.
