Breath of Heaven, page 49
They neared the outermost wall’s gates, slowing as the streets and buildings fell away into a massive market square now packed with Legionnaires and common soldiers instead of peddlers and hawkers. He picked his way through the chaos, heading toward the Temeritt banners—oak against a field of burnt orange—at the base of the gates. Halfway across the square, a roar rose from those gathered. He straightened at the energy and tension throbbing in the plaza, soaked it in as men and women in makeshift armor parted before him. The common soldiers gave way to the more formal Legion, the roar subsiding into a sizzling buzz of excitement. The soldiers had been sitting behind the walls of Temeritt steeping in their fears and anxieties for far too long.
“Report, Commander Pearson,” Kobel ordered, as he reached the center of the Legion.
“I would have preferred the army remain quiet, sir, but it appears the enemy is ignoring us. They’re still camped beneath the Autumn Tree. No reports of any groups splitting off from the main force. No scouting parties were sent out. And there has been no untoward activity within the camp itself. They’re just sitting there, sir. Waiting.”
“Very well. I think we’ve let them wait long enough. You know the plan. Have the men fall in.”
“Very well, sir.” Pearson turned. “Archers to the walls! Shield wall, spearmen, cavalry—form up ranks! This is not a drill! This is not practice! Move your asses now, now, now!”
* * *
GreatLord Tarken Sohn looked up from oiling his sword at the faint sound of horns. One of the guardsmen beside him hissed a warning and two others who were sharpening their blades with a steady, rhythmic hiss of whetstone against metal halted their counts.
The group held still, listening intently. All across the camp, soldiers halted whatever they were doing as word spread.
A moment later, the horn cry came again.
Tarken leapt to his feet.
“That was a call to arms,” someone mumbled.
Tarken sheathed his sword. “Spread the word through our forces. Everyone is to armor up and stand ready. Be as quiet as possible. No horns, no shouted commands.”
“It’s about bloody time.”
Tarken didn’t bother to reprimand whoever had spoken, since he felt the same. Striding away from the group even as they scattered, he searched for his Legion commander. He found him headed toward the ridge that provided them a view of Temeritt.
“Do you think Kobel is finally making his move?” Kent asked.
“Hard to tell. Let’s find out.”
They climbed the steep slope of the ridge, the grass already trampled into the mud underneath. It had rained the previous day. When they neared the top, they crouched, crawling forward on their hands and knees, then lowering themselves to their stomachs as they came upon the outer perimeter guardsman’s position. The man—Enik, Tarken thought—glanced back at them once, then returned to his scrutiny of the city.
“Report.”
Enik handed his spyglass over. “It appears that GreatLord Kobel is embarking on an offensive.”
“Really? What have you seen?” He raised the spyglass to his eye and focused his attention outward.
“The Temeritt army has exited the easternmost gates and is now making its way around the city to the south. That occurred before the first horn cry. They were joined by additional men at the southeastern gates. The call to arms went up when that group reached the southern gates and signaled the opening of the main gates.”
Tarken had found the army, the image blurred with distance. But he could still see the main force as it spilled out from the gates, could pick out Kobel’s position by the multitude of banners at the head of the force. “At least two thousand Legion with Kobel.” He swept the glass through the ranks coming around the city’s wall from the south. “Not many Legion in the southern flank. They appear to be mostly commoners. About a thousand of them.”
“I’d assume he has a similar force coming from the northern gates as well,” Kent said.
“I’d wager he has about five thousand altogether on the field.” He scanned the walls. “Archers on the walls.”
“What about the Wraith army? What are they doing?”
Tarken swung the scope toward the Autumn Tree. “They’re scrambling to organize. The Alvritshai with the talon banners are ready.”
“That was fast.”
“They seem to be controlling the rest of the creatures. Their scouts have been released. They’re circling out from the Autumn Tree now.”
“I can see them.”
Tarken remained silent for a long moment, then let the spyglass drop, handing it across Enik to Kent, who immediately raised it to his eye. “I think Kobel’s run out of time, or patience, or both. He’s mounting his main offensive, right now. And the Wraith army is responding in kind. What do you think?”
He waited as Kent assessed the field below. More horn calls echoed up from the wide plain below, the stretch of land marred only by the rise of the hill on which Temeritt stood, the four sets of walls easy to see, and the glinting blue of the sliver of lake visible beneath the hill on its northern edge. Dozens of thick columns of smoke rose from the city. Scattered remnant clouds from yesterday’s storm drifted overhead, dotting the battlefield with shadows.
Kent lowered the spyglass. “He’s outnumbered, but I agree. He’s attacking all out. Things inside the walls must be more desperate than we thought.”
Tarken was already moving. “Ready the men. There’s no way we can hide our approach. But we can help divide the Wraith force’s attention.”
“Even with the additional men Laurelen sent from Yhnar, we won’t come close to evening up the armies down there.”
“I know, but we’ll do what we can to help them. Mount up! We ride to Temeritt!”
* * *
Jayson roared until his chest hurt as his entire unit charged out onto the field, his spear angled across his body, gripped tight in both hands, Owen’s shorter form pounding the earth a few paces ahead of him. Their entire group was bellowing, releasing the pent up rage and desperation that had driven them since the last failed attempt to break free from the siege. The weeks in between had been deadly, disease striking entire quarters within the city, food running short, riots breaking out as fear overcame common sense.
Images sparked across his sight, blocking the surge of bodies from the amassed army as it charged onto the field, horns crying out orders he could barely hear: Ara as he’d left her in the haphazard infirmary, tears streaking her face, her hands dropping to her sides as he reluctantly pulled away, pushing Corim ahead of him; his one-time apprentice ducking his head, then hugging him fiercely before trotting off to his own unit on the walls; his own glance over the spear bearer’s unit as he arrived, half of the men there new after the devastating losses of the last attempt to defeat the Horde. He’d trained with them for months, but he still didn’t know half of their names. He hadn’t seen the point.
Ahead and to either side, the shield bearers suddenly dropped to one knee and planted their shields into the earth. Jayson cut his roar short and fell into place behind Owen, men mimicking his move to either side, short, curt commands issuing back and forth all along the line. Jayson slammed the butt of his spear into the ground and slid it into position without thought, his training kicking in. He nodded to Owen, who thrust out his chin and said, “Look.”
Jayson looked.
Ahead of them, GreatLord Kobel and the cavalry charged toward the Horde, straight toward the dead bole of the Autumn Tree. Clods of dirt flew beneath their horses’ heels, the wet ground soft. Beyond them, Jayson could see nothing except the eagle talon banners of the Alvritshai and the massive bodies of the trolls.
The banners were charging straight toward the Legion. The trolls were lumbering behind.
He glanced back toward the wall, surprised to find it only two thousand paces away. It had felt like they’d run forward forever. His gaze shot up to the heights, where he could see shadowed figures running back and forth, too distant to pick out faces.
To either side, the line of spear bearers and shields stretched in a smooth arc. But unlike their last few ventures onto the field, this time they didn’t reach all the way back to the walls. Space had been left on either side, so that the forces before them now could retreat behind the shield wall if necessary to regroup.
The clash of metal against metal spun him back to the battle.
“And it begins,” Owen muttered.
All along the line, the tension mounted. Spears tapped against shields, armor rattled. Jayson fidgeted as screams drifted back from the battle being fought along a line he couldn’t see. He wanted to join the attack and run for the safety of the walls at the same time. Everyone had been bitching about doing nothing behind the thick granite as their friends and relatives starved to death or sickened before their eyes, yet here on the plains Jayson felt exposed.
“Here come the flank attacks,” the man next to him said.
Jayson craned his neck to look left, saw the southern forces hit the Horde’s ragged side, their attack unexpected. The Horde had focused their attention on Kobel’s group. Battle cries and roars of hatred and pain melded with the sounds of the battle ahead, coming from the north as well. But the flanks of the Horde were composed mostly of the strange dark creatures Jayson had once thought only stories. Shrieks of rage and terror came from the diggers, the more sibilant screams from the cat-like creatures, and bellows from the trolls. Jayson closed his eyes as vivid images from the attack on Gray’s Kill and Cobble Kill flared across his consciousness, followed by the horrifying and exhausting flight to Temeritt.
Behind, Gregson’s horse thudded past. “Hold the line! Ready your spears!”
Jayson wondered why, then realized that the sounds of battle had grown closer.
He opened his eyes. The GreatLord and the cavalry had been pushed back. Horns blared and the cavalry within sight suddenly wheeled and charged directly toward them. A triumphant cacophony rose from the Horde behind, even as the cavalry suddenly angled south, to curve along the shield wall.
Revealing the Alvritshai and ravening Horde behind.
“Here we go.” Owen shifted his position. His short sword was drawn and ready behind the shield, his body braced.
Gregson returned at a gallop. “Steady! Keep your positions. Remember your training!”
The advancing Alvritshai on horseback suddenly slowed their charge and allowed the creatures of the Horde behind to overtake them.
Both Owen and the man beside him cursed—
And then the lithe cat-like creatures leaped for the spear bearers with dry hisses, the less agile diggers not far behind.
Jayson adjusted the position of his spear, impaling one of the cat-like creatures, then ducked. Claws scored along his scalp, but he ignored the fiery pain. Ignored the creature as well as he heard Gregson bellowing for the footmen far behind them to advance. A digger was clambering up over Owen’s shield. The bearer skewered it with his sword, a quick thrust, then ducked behind his protection.
“The main force is almost here,” Jayson warned.
Owen glanced behind them. “The footmen are dealing with those who got over the shields.”
“Good. Ready now. In three, two...”
He didn’t have to finish. Owen braced himself as the creatures of the Horde slammed into the wall. Jayson heard someone scream to his right, heard cries of a breach, heard Gregson’s horse charging in that direction, but the shouted commands were lost in the sudden roar of the creatures directly before him. Black-gray with sinewy, corded muscles and vicious claws and teeth, they tore at the shield wall, climbing up its side with malicious glee. Jayson struck out with the spear, the cat creature’s body hanging limp halfway down its length, giving it an odd weight. The tip punched through one of the larger creature’s shoulders and it fell back, two more taking its place. Owen stabbed over the top of his shield blindly, slicing cleanly through the claws of one, biting deep into another’s arm. Black blood sluiced along the top of the shield, but Owen stabbed again, Jayson driving the wounded back. The man to his right jostled him, having retreated too far from his shield bearer, and Jayson risked a lunge to the side to give him room to recover. He lurched back into place, but a digger had climbed Owen’s shield and launched himself toward Jayson’s face in those few precious seconds. Instead of ducking, he head-butted the creature before it could extend its claws. The creature dropped to the ground and Jayson stomped hard, felt bones crack beneath his booted heel. He ground the creature into the mud as it squealed, fended off two more attackers. But there were too many of them, too close together. His spear was becoming entangled. He jerked it back to free it, pulled for another lunge—
And someone grabbed his shoulder and shouted, “Fall back for the footmen!”
He stepped back without thought, bringing his spear upright as swordsmen rushed forward to take his place. He must have missed the orders, for all along the line the spearmen were being replaced. Taking another step back, he nearly slipped and fell in the muddy grass. The dead cat creature slid down the shaft and struck his hand, coating it with black blood. He shifted and let it slid to the ground, lifting his spear free. Cradling the spear with one arm, he reached up with the other and wiped at his sweaty face. His hand came away streaked with red blood. He stared at it a moment, then prodded his scalp, felt the scrapes there, the trail of blood that tracked down around his ear and along his neck. Now that he was aware of it, he could feel its tackiness inside his hardened leather armor where it had soaked into his undershirt.
He couldn’t do anything about it, so resisted the urge to shrug, even though it itched. Instead, he shifted his attention to the battle, keeping one eye forward as the swordsmen hacked at the Horde trying to reach over Owen’s shield. Owen himself had given up trying to use his sword and was hunched low, straining to keep the shield upright as the creatures pressed in on the far side.
Down the line, one of the large trolls bellowed, an arm sweeping down and plowing through three men, flinging one of them aside. He flailed as he flew. It had breached the shield wall—all of the trolls had—and they were surrounded by the rear forces, including the cavalry. Those with spears who were near them had focused their attention on taking the beasts down. Someone flung a spear that sank deep into the nearest creature’s right eye and it reared back with a hideous, rumbling scream and stumbled back. It pulled the spear out with one meaty hand and tossed it aside, but the swordsmen at its feet had taken advantage of the distraction. One sliced into the beast’s hamstring, then was slapped aside. The creature roared again, but its leg crumbled beneath its own weight as it shifted and it fell, vanishing in the surge of Temeritt men.
A sudden horn cry caught Jayson’s attention and he tensed, shifting the spear into a ready position. Terson charged by, the Legionnaire’s face splattered with black blood. “Prepare to fall back. Spearmen ready! Wait for the mark!”
Jayson edged forward, spear half lowered. He caught Owen’s eye, then the swordsmen blocked his view. A horn sounded a long note and Jayson took a deep breath. Three short notes followed.
On the last note, the swordsmen lashed out with their blades, driving the Horde back. Owen and the shield bearers surged to their feet, thrusting outward with the shields as the footmen fell back, all of them retreating in a rush. Jayson braced himself as the swordsmen brushed past on either side. Owen fell back the four paces necessary to get himself into position, then slammed the bottom of his shield back into the ground and crouched. Every shield man to either side mimicked the movement, one that they’d trained hard on for weeks. As soon as the shield men ducked and braced, the spear wielders slammed their spears into position to meet the oncoming charge of the recovered Horde.
Jayson jabbed the spear forward, its tip taking out the right side of a creature’s throat. His arms screamed at the motion, so much different than on the training grounds, so much heavier, but he knew the battle had just started.
With grim determination, he tightened his grip and stabbed forward again.
The shield wall fell back four more times over the next hour.
* * *
Kobel slashed into the troll’s hide, felt his blade cut deep and hit bone, the roar of wind and battle in his ears as he continued moving without pause. His mount surged forward beneath him as he cut left and right into the few creatures of the Horde who had managed to get past the shield wall. He nudged his mount into a curve, banking left for another pass at the troll, the rest of his escort following suit around him. As he did so, he took stock of the field.
They’d halved the distance between the initial line of defense and the wall. The gates remained open, men and women rushing out to drag wounded back inside. The archers on the heights were leaning over the battlements, waiting for the orders to fire. The shield wall had withdrawn far enough that the enemy lines were almost in range.
Circling back, he noted two of the trolls had fallen. Kicking hard, he urged his horse forward, the animal responding immediately. His escort rallied behind him. He leaned forward as he approached the same troll he’d hit before. Common soldiers surrounded it, the creature exacting massive damage. It reached down and snatched one man from those at its feet and crushed him with one hand, tossing the dangling pulped body aside. With its other arm, it took a swipe at those remaining, flinging them all to one side.
Kobel seized the opening, pulling the reins and cutting in sharply. His blade scored along the creature’s stomach and blood splattered onto Kobel’s face, burning slightly as it mingled with his own sweat. As he ducked the beast’s return swing, he heard it roar, his horse staggering as something hit its haunches. He cursed, glanced over his shoulder, and caught the troll as it stumbled forward and fell to the ground, crushing one of his mounted escort. The horse screamed in pain, thrashing violently, but then the commoners surged over the troll’s body, stabbing it repeatedly.
