Part 48 (1/2)

'Twenty years ago I realised the truth, one I see realised in the faces all around me: I believed that we were equal of any of the seven tribes - but now I see we are greater still!'

He paused, waiting and watching, until the watching soldiers were breathless with antic.i.p.ation.

'When the White Circle attacked Narkang, many of you fought alongside me, fought as equals alongside Lord Isak himself, and when the breach came it was his actions that saved the day, and yet - and yet he did not claim the t.i.tle of hero that day, though he was more than ent.i.tled.'

Doranei could feel the expectation building like a tidal wave inside them all.

'Young as he was, Isak knew his G.o.d would protect him as he called the storm down, and secure in that knowledge, he sought to close the breach alone.'

King Emin paused again. The faces were rapt, every man holding his breath until the king slowly raised a finger. Doranei felt the murmurs building from the crowd.

'But . . . but in that breach he was not alone - '

He got no further as a roar of approval crashed out around the fort, drowning out all other sounds. The king waited for the tumult to die down again, knowing their pride would eclipse any thing else he might now say. Many of those present had fought on the walls of the White Palace; many friends had died beside them, and they had all known their lives were hanging in the balance when Lord Isak of the Farlan had stayed alone to defend the wall.

' - yes, brothers, there was another - one who was neither white-eye, nor favoured of the G.o.ds. Commander Brandt was a man, no different to you or me, and yet he was a hero a hero! He was not even a soldier - the City Watch was his mistress, and he served it faithfully, man and boy.

'When the time came, this simple watchman sacrificed himself for the city he loved, for his wife and children, and to protect this dream we share! And he did so gladly.

'He stood, back to back with a figure from myth - back to back and unafraid!'

King Emin turned to the advancing Menin Army, then back to his men, a mocking smile on his lips as he made a dismissive gesture.

'Equal to the Seven Tribes? No - not that day, nor for ever more! They come to kill us; they come to conquer us, to the Seven Tribes? No - not that day, nor for ever more! They come to kill us; they come to conquer us, because they fear us because they fear us! Without the patronage of G.o.ds here we stand, as strong as any of them, and solely through our own endeavour. Even now they dare not face us alone, but with reluctant, fearful allies.'

The king gestured at the faces arrayed below him. 'The blessed of the War G.o.d march on us, yet I see no fear on your faces. They have hurt us, they have razed our towns and murdered our countrymen, yet still I do not see fear. Instead I see a people of one mind, a people of one unstoppable resolve!

'Together, brothers, we will show them the quality they fear, the true strength of the nation that eclipses them! This day I leave the field as King of Narkang, or not at all, and as a watchman once laid his life down for his wife and children, so shall I, if the G.o.ds demand it!

'We are steel, tempered in the flames of their disdain. On steel, their ancient bronze will break. Tomorrow we will pity them, for their time is done, but today we will show them only our rage!

'Rage for the innocents they have slain. Rage for the threat to those we hold dear. Face them, my brothers - face them and show them the strength of free men!'

CHAPTER 36.

'Where is that novice-f.u.c.king cripple?' bellowed a voice from somewhere behind. 'Os.h.!.+ Where are you, you c.o.c.kless relic?'

Hambalay Osh stifled a smile and turned stiffly. He had positioned himself on a small rise, the better to view the troops under his command, and from there he could see a figure forcing its way through the crowd of soldiers. The Mystic of Karkarn was today dressed in a long red robe with bronze-coloured braiding, and a bronze helm covered the grey stubble on his head and cheeks. A long s.h.i.+eld rested against his left side, partially hiding the metal brace that encased his leg.

'Daken!' he called as the white-eye barged through the a.s.sembled soldiers, knocking one infantryman to the ground in the process.

'That's f.u.c.king General Daken to you,' the man roared cheerfully, grinning in antic.i.p.ation of the battle to come. He grabbed the ageing mystic in a bearhug, chuckling madly. 'Still upright, then?'

Osh gestured to his ruined knee - after escaping the Ruby Tower in Byora, with a little help from the Brotherhood, the mage, Tomal Endine, had healed the injury as best he could, but Osh still need the brace to stop the knee collapsing underneath him. 'Until you give me a good shove anyway.'

Daken did just that, thumping Osh hard on the chest and doubling over with laughter as he fell backwards onto his rump. The mystic gave a wheezing cough, trying to recover his breath while Osh's aides helped him up.

'I suppose,' Osh puffed, 'I asked for that.'

'Sounded like'n invitation to me,' Daken agreed, beaming. The white-eye general wore a battered breastplate and a plundered Menin helm, but the cloak around his neck was pristine: white, with a red border. Osh tilted his head to get a better look at the design on it: a ma.s.sive curved axe.

'Fate's eyes,' Osh breathed, 'he really has enn.o.bled you?'

'Aye, but he made me a marshal too!' Daken said, grinning. 'Likes a man who carries out orders well, does King Emin.'

Osh turned and looked towards the defensive lines ten yards away. 'So you're here commanding this flank?' They were near the tree-line, and the smaller of the two Menin forces was closing in, now only four hundred yards away.

Daken nodded. 'He wants my axe here, help hold the line. I command this flank, General Lopir's got the cavalry, and Suzerain Tenber has the right, for all the good he can do there.'

'The reserve?'

'Yours to call when you want 'em, half o' Tenber's infantry are moving this way already.' Daken's face twisted in scorn. 'Fer some reason he's given command of the reserve to a bunch o' Raylin there - some local crone and that blind b.i.t.c.h who smells like a Demi-G.o.d and is pretty enough to be the next thing I ask the king fer!'

A tall soldier in Canar Fell colours interrupted them. 'Sir, the first line of skirmishers are withdrawing.'

The pair looked over the heads of the blue-liveried infantry and watched the furthest division of archers scramble back towards the Narkang lines. They were pursued by two regiments of light cavalry, but without enthusiasm as a second division of bowmen positioned behind the next staggered ditch had already started firing.

'Hurry up, ya b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!' Daken called out to the enemy army, 'we're gettin' bored back here!'

Osh smiled, watching the effect one white-eye's belligerence could have on a unit of men. This was why Daken had been removed from the cavalry: to stiffen the resolve of nervous troops in the face of an undefeated enemy.

More enemy cavalry were out ahead of the advancing legions. Those not engaged in trying to clear the skirmishers lingered on the edge of bowshot, but Osh knew they wouldn't stay there long: Before the heavy infantry caught them up they'd start to strafe the Narkang line, see if they could draw out a pursuit. If anyone followed they'd quickly be surrounded and wiped out, so every single officer had had the same order drummed into them: if they allowed anyone to leave the line without a clear order from the king or a general, they would be executed.

Not long after, the beat of drums drifted over the moor and the sound prompted a sudden jerk from the cavalry and a grin from Daken.

'Here they come,' he yelled triumphantly, 'now hold the line, all o' you!' He beckoned over one of Osh's aides. 'Archers ready, fire on my word.'

The man saluted and gestured to a major commanding the archers on the right.

Daken watched the Menin follow the tree-line, aiming to slant across the line of pikemen holding the open ground at the end of the ditch. 'Rear legion,' he called, turning to face the officer waiting for his order, 'five volleys, fifty yards in from the trees - furthest range: Fore legions, fire at will fire at will!'

Osh resisted the urge to duck as he heard the dull thrum of bowstrings ring out and a cloud of black arrows flashed over their heads, arching down towards the attacking cavalry, and before the second volley was loosed, the first of the enemy were tumbling from their horses.

The cavalry pressed on, unable to do anything but close the ground and throw their javelins at the infantry; attacking an ordered line head-on would be suicide, and even their efforts to ride down the line cost them dearly as archers were positioned there specifically to pick them off.

'Hold the line!' an officer shouted from within the press of infantry, and his call was quickly taken up by the rest as the cavalry swept past and turned away.

Once they moved away Osh could see the heavy infantry behind: armoured Menin troops with fat, oval s.h.i.+elds and long spears, advancing steadily in two wide blocks. They appeared oblivious to the streams of arrows raining in on their flank from archers behind the ditch.

'Rear legions, another five volleys, furthest range,' Osh called to the officer behind him, 'then keep firing just beyond our line.'

'What're we missin' here?' Daken muttered as the officer spread the order. 'Those heavy infantry ain't goin' to push their way through eight ranks o' pikes, not unless they got another few legions behind.'

'Scryer said eight of them, but they don't look like they're all engaging yet,' said the mystic, scratching his cheek. He looked up suddenly. ''Ware incoming arrows!' Osh called loudly. They watched the missiles fall with a strange detachment, knowing they could do nothing - most fell short, but a few found their mark and the screaming started.