They’re looking to me.
But I know nothing.
Fool! Nothing but a life of war! Look well – decide what must be done! Twisting in the saddle, he scanned the climbing slope to his left, squinted at the succession of fortified tiers – and saw soldiers streaming from the highest positions.
But between them and the Letherii … four trenches. No, this is impossible. We’ve lost a third of the army against this first trench alone!
Grub faced the Letherii ranks once more. ‘Withdraw!’ he shouted. ‘By the prince’s command, withdraw!’
And he saw, all along the front, the Letherii soldiers disengaging, shields up as they backed away, others dragging wounded comrades with them.
Another quarrel hissed past – too close. Cursing, Grub kicked at the sides of the Ve’Gath. ‘Down from the ridge – along the front – put those weapons away and find us some shields! Better yet, pick up some of the wounded – as many as you can carry!’
The beast skidded down the slope, righted itself and, staying low beneath the cover of the first berm, began picking its way through heaps of bodies.
Grub stared down at the terrible carnage. I remember on the wall and that man and all the ones who fell around him – he fought and fought, until they overcame him, brought him down, and then there was a cross and he was nailed to it and the crows spun and screamed and fell from the sky.
I remember the old man on his horse, reaching down to collect me up – and the way he wheeled outside the gate, to stare back – as if he could see all the way we’d come – the bloody road where I was born, where I came alive.
I remember that world. I remember no other.
All of the brave soldiers, I am yours. I was always yours.
The Kolansii counter-attack from troops stationed in the next two trenches met the advance of Saphii and Evertine legionnaires in an avalanche of iron fury. Rolling down with the slope, along the wide descent tracks or up and over the berms, they slammed into the Bolkando forces like a storm of studded fists. For all the wild fury of the Saphii, they were not sufficiently armoured against heavy infantry, and the Evertine soldiers were unable to close a solid shieldwall with the Saphii in their midst.
The first lines were overwhelmed, driven underfoot, and the entire Bolkando front reeled back, yielding once more the second berm and then the first trench, and, finally, the first bank of earthworks. With the enemy gaining momentum, the legion was pushed back still further.
Almost none of the Saphii remained by this time, and as the Kolansii rolled out on to level ground they rushed across, only to collide with the legionnaires. They met a solid shieldwall. The impact sent bodies and weapons into the air and the crush made both sides recoil, before closing once more in savage fighting.
Queen Abrastal, still mounted, her sword and forearm painted with blood, forced her charger away from the inside edge of the Evertine line – the animal’s muzzle was gushing blood from a frenzied bite against a visored face and its hind flanks were slashed through the cladding, spattering blood with every muscle surge. But she could feel the pounding of its heart and she knew that her horse had never felt more alive than at this moment – it was impossible for her not to grin at the terrible joy in the beast she rode. Impossible to not find herself sharing it.
Still, they’d arrived upon the crux – and looking to the west, she saw the Letherii forces withdrawing from the assault, though their onager salvos continued unabated.
The Pure had done as she had expected – seeking to break her hold here, forcing the Letherii away from any hope of marching to the Spire by blocking the valley – but only if they could succeed in turning the Evertine Legion.
She rode hard round to the back of her legion.
Still held in reserve, the Barghast ranks were readying weapons, and Abrastal caught sight of Warchief Spax, standing atop a small hill of bundled supplies and straining to see over the Evertine ranks to the front of the battle. She saw him turn to her upon hearing her horse’s drumming hoofbeats.
She reined in before him.
‘I’ve never swum in a sea of blood before, Firehair. How was it?’
The queen glanced down to see herself lathered in gore. She shook her sword clear. ‘How fast were those Perish moving?’ she asked.
‘A good clip – almost as quickly as a band of White Faces on the raid. If they have anything left after tackling the valley side, they should be almost in position – but Highness, you’ve seen how many are headed their way.’ He shook his head.
‘Can they even slow them down?’
The Warchief shrugged. ‘Depends on the lay of the land, I suppose. If it’s a broad front they need to hold … no, they’ll barely slow ’em.’
Abrastal cursed under her breath as she swung her mount round. Thought furiously for a moment, and then nodded. ‘Very well. Warchief, take your warriors and the Teblor and move with all haste to support the Perish – whatever you can manage, understood?’
‘You send us to our deaths, Highness.’
‘Aye.’ She bared her teeth at him. ‘I show you my coin. You show me your love.’
‘I wasn’t complaining, just saying.’
‘We will screen you here.’
‘Highness, you can’t hold against this counter-attack – we can see that.’
‘We will screen you for as long as is needed,’ Abrastal said firmly. ‘Now get going, Warchief.’
‘If we do not meet again, Firehair, I should tell you’ – and Spax leapt down from the mound of supplies – ‘I went and knocked up your daughter.’
‘Gods below!’
‘You’ll have years of doting on that little runt – you’ll know it for mine ’cause it’s got my eyes.’
‘Just get going for Errant’s sake!’
Laughing, Spax raised his axe and waved it in a circle over his head.
As one, the White Faces lunged into motion – eastward.
Impressed in spite of herself, Abrastal watched in silence for a moment.
Spax was following her gaze. ‘Aye, we live for this, Firehair. We’ll give a good account of ourselves, I promise you.’ He looked up at her. ‘Sing songs about us, and remember to tell your court poets, that’s Gilk with one k.’
She frowned down at him. ‘How else would it be, you fool?’
‘Fare you well, my queen,’ Spax said, bowing even as he turned away.
When he’d trotted a dozen paces Abrastal called out, ‘Spax!’
The Warchief glanced back.
‘Boy or girl, I’ll make sure it’s named after you – but that’s the only favour you’ll get!’
Smiling, the Barghast waved his weapon, and then was on his way again.
She watched the Teblor falling in alongside the mass of White Faces, and then she swung round to study her legion.
Sure enough, they were being driven back – these Kolansii heavies were anything but soft. Abrastal adjusted her grip on the sword in her hand, collected the reins once more. Let us make them remember us.
She was about to kick her horse forward when a rider thundered up on her left. ‘Highness!’
Abrastal stared. A damned Letherii! ‘That was a long ride – what news?’
The messenger – a Bluerose Lancer – saluted. ‘Felicitations from the prince, Highness—’
‘Felicitations? Gods take me – sorry, go on.’
‘Highness, the Pure Forkrul Assail is dead. Only mixed-blood Assail remain in command. The prince hereby informs you that he has disengaged his forces from the Kolansii positions. And that he has established dug-in defences along the onager line on the valley floor and will commit a third of his remaining forces there—’
‘Excuse me, a third?’