Sword in the Storm (32 page)

“He said he liked mountains and wild woods, the scent of pine and heather on the wind. What was it that he taught you?”

Jasaray ignored the question. “Why would Banouin teach you my theories?” he asked.

“He was trying to explain the greatness of his people,” Conn replied carefully.

“Unlikely. He was not overly fond of our ambitions, as I recall. Did you know he was a general in the civil war?”

“No, but I guessed he was a soldier.”

“He was a fine general, respected by his men and feared by his enemies. He was a man without vanity. Although I had been his student, when I became his leader, he followed my orders without question. A rare man, Banouin. Yet a man with flaws. His mind was full of abstractions: honor, nobility, courage, conscience. He focused on small issues. The nature of the human soul, the possibilities of change and redemption. Good and evil, right and wrong; these abstracts dominated his thoughts and actions.”

Some of the words Conn did not understand. He had become almost fluent in Turgon, but Banouin had never spoken of
“redemption”
or
“conscience.”
But if Banouin had valued these things—whatever they were—then Conn would value them, too. When he spoke, he chose his words as carefully as he could. “I do not have the … skill in your language to …” He struggled for the right word. “… debate such matters. What I do know is that Banouin was a good man, perhaps a great one. He was loved by a people not his own, and I will always honor his memory.”

Jasaray’s cold, pale eyes showed the merest glint of annoyance. “Yes, yes,” he said, “people
loved
Banouin. I liked him, too, in my own way. Indeed, I was surprised by how sad I felt when I heard of his death. Did he ever tell you why he resigned from the army?”

“No. He never spoke of it.”

“A pity. I have often wondered why a man with such skill should become a traveling merchant.”

“He enjoyed the life: meeting new people, seeing new lands.”

“Yes, he had a way with people. No doubt about that.” Jasaray gestured toward a silver flagon filled with water. Beside it was a single goblet. Jasaray had said nothing, but with that single gesture their entire relationship was clearly delineated. He might be a guest in Jasaray’s tent, but in the eyes of the general he was just another servant. But this was not the time to
make a stand. Swiftly he moved to the table and filled the goblet, handing it to the seated man. Jasaray took it without a word of thanks, but he smiled. Then he spoke again. “Banouin also had an eye for talent. This is why you intrigue me, Connavar. What was it he saw in you, and why did he teach you? Are you the son of a chieftain or king?”

“No. My father was a horse hunter; my stepfather is a cattle breeder.”

“And yet at seventeen you are already famous in your own land, I understand. You fought a bear with only a knife. Added to this, you entered the main Perdii settlement, killed the merchant who betrayed Banouin, and then killed six of the pursuing hunters. Since then you have become a dark legend among the Gath. Are all your people so gifted at fighting?”

“All of them,” said Conn.

“I doubt that.” Jasaray stood and walked to the rear curtains, pushing them aside. Beyond was a narrow bed and a wooden stand on which hung the general’s armor. “Help me into my armor,” he said.

Conn moved to the general’s side and lifted the iron breastplate clear of its peg. Jasaray struggled into it, and Conn buckled the sides. Then the general put on a kilt made of bronze reinforced leather strips and added his sword belt. Conn knelt by his feet and buckled on his bronze greaves. He did not ask why the general wished to be dressed for war at this time of night, though it puzzled him. Lastly Jasaray put on his battered helm. Conn could not resist a smile. Jasaray saw it. “Yes, I am not a warrior,” he said without a hint of rancor, “and I know I look ridiculous garbed in this manner. Yet it serves a purpose.”

Jasaray walked to the tent flap and lifted it, calling out an instruction to one of the guards. The man handed the general Conn’s baldric, then moved off through the rain. Jasaray moved back into the tent. The general drew Conn’s sword and gazed at it in the lantern light. “This is a fine weapon,” he
said. “The hilt alone is worth several hundred silver pieces. Your father must be a very rich cattle breeder.”

“The sword was a gift from a friend,” said Conn.

Jasaray turned the blade in his hands. “The embossed bear is a creation of rare beauty, and I understand its meaning in your life. But why the fawn in brambles? I see that your cloak brooch carries the same motif.”

“When I was a child, I tore all my clothes rescuing a fawn. The story became something of a joke with my fellows.”

Jasaray looked at him closely. “A killer who rescues fawns? Such a man should be watched closely.” Sheathing the blade, he tossed the baldric to Conn and instructed him to put it on. Then he walked from the tent.

The storm was clearing, but the rain was still falling fast. As Conn joined the general, he saw that soldiers were moving from their tents in full armor. Once gathered, they formed into silent lines and stood statue-still, rain coursing over breastplates and helms.

The storm clouds above the camp drifted apart, and bright moonlight bathed the scene.

At that moment the air was filled with battle cries, high and shrill, and javelins rained over the ramparts. The tents, wagons, and horses had been placed well back from the ramparts, and most of the missiles fell on empty earth. One pierced the back of a baggage pony, which whinnied in pain and then fell to the ground.

“They are coming!” yelled a sentry on the north wall. “Thousands of them!” A javelin took him through the back of the neck, and he was pitched from the ramparts.

Several officers ran to Jasaray. The general was standing calmly, his hands clasped behind his back. “Take one panther to the north wall,” he said. “Hold two in reserve. The main attack will be elsewhere—probably from the west. Position archers behind the baggage wagons.”

The officers ran back to their men. Jasaray walked slowly
to the leading line of soldiers. “My apologies for waking you so early,” he told them as they parted to allow him through. Conn remained at his side and was impressed by the man’s calm. He also wondered just how the general had known that an attack was imminent. Was he a magicker? Or was there some clue that Conn had overlooked? The problem nagged at him. The screams of wounded and dying men came from the northern ramparts as wave after wave of Perdii tribesmen stormed the camp, scrambling up the ramparts to hack and stab at the defenders.

“I think the rain is easing,” said Jasaray. The wounded baggage pony was continuing to whinny in pain and terror. Jasaray tapped a soldier on the shoulder. “Go put that creature out of its misery,” he said. “It is hard to think through that screaming.”

“Yes, lord,” answered the man, drawing his sword and breaking from the line.

A trumpet sounded from the west. Conn glanced across toward the western ramparts and saw two men signaling. “Here comes the main attack,” said Jasaray. A second panther of three thousand men was sent to crouch below the wall. Conn saw the tips of thousands of makeshift ladders appear. He took hold of his sword hilt.

“You will not need that yet,” said Jasaray. “It will be an hour at least before we are called upon. When the gates are breached.” Conn glanced at the gates, two six-foot-wide structures created from slender tree trunks, sharpened and shaped and then expertly fastened together with crossbars. It seemed unlikely that the Perdii would be able to force them open. Perhaps they will set fire to them, he thought.

Hundreds of archers clad in leather tunics and conical leather caps moved out to stand in front of the baggage train. Each man had a short, curved bow and a quiver of black-feathered arrows.

“Might I ask a question, General?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you have your archers positioned below the walls? Surely they could have killed scores of the enemy from the ramparts.”

“To shoot from there they would have had to rise above the rampart wall, making themselves targets. I have only six hundred archers. They are too valuable to waste. Watch them and learn.”

The archers waited for Jasaray’s signal. When it came, they raised their bows high and loosed volley after volley. The shafts rose, arced, then dropped with devastating effect on the massed tribesmen outside the camp. Conn could only imagine the havoc being caused.

On the ramparts the fighting was ferocious, but the Stone soldiers, heavily armored in breastplates and helms and carrying concave rectangular shields, were taking a terrible toll on the lightly armed enemy. And as Banouin had once said, the Stone short swords were infinitely superior in close-quarter fighting. Some of the Perdii warriors, their faces stained with red ocher, broke through. Jasaray sent three sections of sixty men to intercept them and shore up the defenses.

A dull, booming sound like distant thunder came from the western gates, which shivered under the impact. Conn gazed at the faces of the soldiers around him. They were tense and expectant, but there was little sign of fear. Jasaray stood, calm as ever. Removing his helmet, he scratched his thinning hair. “It is good that the rain has stopped,” he said. “I hate fighting in the wet. Well, let’s go meet them.”

Officers called out orders and then formed into columns of four to move through the baggage train into the open ground before the gates. Once there, they spread out in a long fighting line ten deep, the men in the front row standing with shields locked. Conn and Jasaray stood behind the fourth line.

The booming continued, and one of the trunks split, then
a second. Minutes later the gates parted, a bronze-headed battering ram hammering through them. Hundreds of red-smeared warriors pushed aside the ruined gates and ran screaming into the compound. A drum sounded behind the Stone warriors, and they began to march forward. The Perdii hurled themselves on the advancing phalanx and the cruel stabbing swords of the front line. Hundreds died, and the Stone soldiers advanced over the bodies. Men in the second and third lines bloodied their swords on the fallen, thrusting their blades into wounded Perdii as they moved over them.

The tribesmen lacked nothing in courage, and the battle continued for almost an hour before the Stone line reached the ruined gates. At that point a trumpet sounded from the Perdii lines, and the warriors faded back into the darkness.

Workmen repaired the gates swiftly while soldiers carried dead tribesmen outside the camp, creating a mound of dead. More than two thousand Perdii had died in the battle as opposed to just over sixty Stone soldiers killed and 104 sporting cuts that needed stitching.

As dawn was breaking Conn walked to the ramparts and looked down upon the three huge mounds of Perdii dead. Stone soldiers who had not taken part in the battle had dug long pits carpeted with oil-soaked wood. Then the bodies had been hauled out and hurled into them, along with more brushwood.

As the dawn sun rose higher, soldiers threw torches of oil-soaked straw to the mounds. Flames flickered and then caught, and Conn watched as tongues of fire licked at the corpses.

Soon the flames were roaring out above the mounds, and the sweet smell of cooking flesh drifted over the camp.

My first battle, thought Conn, and I did not draw my sword in anger. The fighting had not reached the fourth rank.

Valanus joined him on the ramparts. The officer had a cut
on his cheek that had been expertly stitched. “What happened to you?” asked Valanus. “I thought to see you fighting alongside me on the north wall.”

“I was with the general. How did he know an attack was coming? Is he a mystic?”

“He does have a feel for these things. On the other hand, it is not the first time he has called the men out to stand in ranks during the night. He often does it to keep them sharp. Perhaps he was just lucky. I once put it to him that he had more than his share of good fortune. You know what he said? ‘The more carefully I plan, the luckier I get.’ That’s the nearest I’ve heard him to making a joke. So what did he want you for?”

“I still don’t know. He wanted to talk about Banouin. It seems he was once a general.”

Valanus gave a soft whistle. “So, he was
that
Banouin. I didn’t realize. Banouin is not an uncommon name in Stone. But your man was the Ghost General. He led a cavalry force and would always appear where least expected by the enemy. When the first civil war ended, he retired. It surprised a lot of people. He was expected to enter politics.”

“Jasaray said that Banouin was both his teacher and his student,” said Conn. “Do you know what that meant?”

“Aye, I do. When the Scholar was first commissioned, he knew nothing of military matters but had a great understanding of mathematics and the logistics of supply. Banouin was sent to teach him basic military etiquette, if you like: chains of command and so on. As you can see, Jasaray was a fast learner.”

The wind changed, the morning breeze blowing over the blazing mounds and sending dark smoke into the compound. “Two thousand dead, and they achieved nothing,” said Conn. “What a waste of life.”

“They never learn, these tribesmen,” said Valanus. “They attack in vast numbers, expecting to overwhelm us. It is the only way they know how to fight. There is no real organization,
no officers, no clearly defined command structure. Their battle plans are always the same: There is the enemy; go charge them and see what happens. As you say, a waste of life.”

“What would you do in Carac’s place?”

Valanus grinned. “I’d surrender and pledge allegiance to Stone. He cannot win. We are invincible. After last night’s attack his men will know that is the truth. They will go back and talk among themselves about how tough we are, how deadly. Their fear will grow. By the end of summer we will be building towns of stone on Perdii land and bringing in thousands of Stone immigrants. I myself have been promised ten parcels of prime land, which I can keep or sell.”

“I expect you’d swap it all for a good tent,” said Conn.

“Damn right,” agreed Valanus.