Bloodstone (15 page)

Thus to the Macewen Breim wagons had carried preconstructed segments of floating bridge--pontoons like enclosed rowboats, wide sections of thick planks for decking, poles to drive into the river bed for anchoring the structure. By moonlight engineers had rowed across the river to fasten stout rope cables to trees on the far shore. While carpenters busily lashed and hammered together new sections, completed ones were floated into the stream, joined end to end along the taut cables, then lashed to slanting piles driven into the mud. Construction moved swiftly, so that as the sun warmed dawn to morning, the bridge spanned a good three-quarters of the river.

Then the death song of arrows announced the arrival of Dribeck's forces. Unable to judge the effectiveness of his return barrage, Malchion ordered his archers to maintain cover fire, as well as they might, with the far bank virtually out of bowshot. After the initial pause, progress on the bridge continued, although at slower pace, as the workers labored behind shield-work, passing back to shore those whom a well-aimed shaft sought out.

Teres felt her pulse quicken as the scent of battle reached her flared nostrils. Her warhorse, Gwellines, stamped his hooves and snorted. Beneath her tunic of light mail she wore a jerkin of tough black leather, sewn with sections of scoured iron and cups of gray metal to enclose her breasts. Leather trousers of like pattern belled to cover booted calves. An iron casque covered her head, but left her face bare. Adornment of accouterments Teres shunned; in combat she relied on speed and lithe agility to offset her opponents' advantage in bulk, and extra weight she deemed a useless encumbrance. Her martial display, she boasted, lay in the deadly beauty of striking steel.

"Lian may have trouble holding the far shore, if Dribeck mounts too powerful a defense before the bridge is done," she commented, needling Malchion. Teres had argued for ferrying half the men across first, thereby securing both banks before turning to bridge construction. Such would have been Lutwion's counsel, she advised. Gruffly Malchion proclaimed that he had won battles without Lutwion's counsel, and he didn't need a spokesman for the general's ghost. They marched with siege machinery and supplies for reducing Selonari, and they'd save time and effort to bridge the Macewen now. Extra boats were needless freight. They'd invade Dribeck's lands before he could regroup his army from its encampment by the fordings.

The Wolf bared his teeth. "We'll have the bridge completed in another hour. Lian's got near two hundred men to defend the bridgehead, and that'll keep off this skulking band of archers. We'll cross in good time before Dribeck can do anything about it. Hell, there can't be fifty or a hundred men hiding in that forest cover, or they'd have rushed Lian before now." Sucking air through teeth with a half musical hiss, he considered the forest thoughtfully.

But on the Selonari shore there were more than a handful of soldiers that awaited the Wolf's army. Had any of Lian's scouts lived past the discovery, they might have reported that Lord Dribeck and over three thousand of his soldiers stood ready within the forest. Dribeck's own scouts had kept him informed of Malchion's march, sending word of his movements back by carrier pigeon. By forced march, Dribeck had led his army through the night to take position confronting Breimen's invasion of Selonari lands.

Shedding his blue cloak as the sun stole through the forest wall, Lord Dribeck raised in his stirrups to get a better view of the advancing enemy. "Bridge is coming on steadily, though my archers have made things tense for them," he observed. "Malchion will try to cross by the time the mists start to dry away." From beside the Selonari lord, Kane made an affirmative sound. His long fingers stroked the blade of Carsultyal steel, as if to caress its lethal strength a last time before its edge was stained and blunted by combat. "Giving out that you planned to meet the Wolf beside the fording was a well-conceived ploy," he commended.

"When outnumbered, look to strength in strategy," Dribeck quoted. "Though there's no harm in having superiority in strength and in strategy. Still, there weren't too many choices for Malchion to cross the Macewen. With all his plans to lay siege, he had to cross within access to a serviceable wagon road, and that makes it easier to pinpoint his course south."

He paused to wipe his forehead. It would seem that a certain measure of calmness could be maintained so long as he contrived to view this intellectually, as a tactical exercise rather than deadly combat. But as the battle drew nearer, Dribeck conceded that emotion laughed at the frail bonds of intellect. Kane, on the other hand, seemed to feel no tension--if anything, gave the appearance of impatience. Dribeck shrugged mentally.

"When conflict is inevitable, then choose the battleground," he again quoted. Kane laughed softly. Dribeck had made use of this axiom in planning his campaign. Thus they awaited the Breim army within the forest depths, seeking only to slow their crossing, when they might have thrown back Malchion's tentative thrust. But sooner or later, the Wolf would force crossing, and Dribeck intended this to take place on his terms. "Strategy is a fine game," murmured Kane, "but its brilliance is usually a matter of retrospect. War isn't a rational science, and steel and blood have decided many a battle that logic had won for the vanquished."

"Kane, your thoughts are as comforting as a raven's croak." Dribeck fumbled with a small flask. "Join me in a mouthful of brandy?"

Kane accepted the proffered flask. "To victory!" he toasted with a smile. As Malchion had predicted, by the end of an hour the river was bridged. On the Selonari shore, Lian's men hurried beneath the desultory sniping to lash firm the final pontoon sections. Sheltered somewhat by felled trees, he and his detachment had concentrated on holding the bridgehead. After a few tentative sorties were driven back, Lian had judged the hidden archers too minor a danger to justify a concerted advance before the main body of troops could cross. A cheer rose from the beleaguered vanguard as the shores were linked.

Teres spurred her stallion to the riverbank. At her insistence, she was to lead the first thrust--nor had Malchion begrudged her this perilous honor. "Follow me, you puke-blooded sons of whores," she howled, brandishing sword in fist. "I'll lead you straight to Hell and glory, and strangle with my boot the first bastard who looks back before we set Selonari ablaze!"

The pontoons thrummed like war drums beneath the stallions' hooves, swelled to percussive symphony with the pounding boots, clanking, jingling of harness and steel, hoarse battle cries of soldiers, wild trumpeting of mounts. The bridge trembled and slapped spreading waves across the dark current, but bore stolidly the tread of an army upon its back.

Across the Macewen Malchion's army marched, thrusting a glittering tentacle of war into Selonari lands. Separating from the massed strength on the Breim shore came closed ranks of infantry, with companies of light cavalry--few in number since the great forests precluded most cavalry tactics and left only a supportive role for the mounted soldier. Boldly accoutered officers rode or marched beside their men, yelling orders and encouragement against the uproar. Farther back on the shore reposed wagons of ponderous siege machinery, of supplies to sustain the invading army. Behind these waited the jackals, the vultures--bands of human scavengers voracious for the spoils of battle, allies not even of one another.

Perhaps a quarter of Malchion's army had crossed when Lord Dribeck launched his counterattack. The shower of arrows suddenly became a punishing hail of death, sweeping like a demon wind through the tight ranks. Horses screamed and fell, entangled flailing hooves with thrashing bodies of soldiers. Progress across the bridge faltered as jumbled bodies of the fallen and blood-slick planks made a chaos to dam the flow of men. Behind them the Breim archers could not return fire--for, thus far the only targets were their fellows. At the bridgehead men cursed and died, fighting for whatever shelter was offered from the relentless rain of iron-toothed shafts.

"Push forward!" screamed Teres, defying the death that fell about her. "Break into the forest! You're nothing but targets here! Forward and close with these slinking bandits! Cram your steel through the archers' bellies, and they'll cease to strafe us! Forward, damn you! Make way for your comrades to cross over!"

Shields braced against streaking arrows, the Breim soldiers surged over the riverbank, across the flood plain, and plunged into the heavy forest beyond. War cries roared with harsh anger as they raced to slake their fury with the blood of the hidden enemy.

"Kane! Ovstal! Ivocel! Bring up your companies!" Dribeck ordered, as the Breim army rushed toward them.

The ranks of archers parted to give passage to the Selonari heavy infantry. Forward they marched, shields raised, weapons poised to strike--swords, axes, spears, maces--the backbone of Dribeck's army crunching forward to break the Breim charge. For as the battle reached into the forest, archery would be no longer effective, nor would the field permit sophisticated tactics or formation. This would be pitched combat, hand to hand, steel against steel, and muscle and nerve would decide victory now.

The two lines swept together and struck like two raging storm fronts. Lightning crashed and flickered as blade met blade, thunder rolled and echoed the mindless roar of battle, the clangor of striking steel, the howl of violent death. And the ground grew darkly sodden with the splash of crimson rain.

Sword flashing, Teres entered battle with a wild yell. Gwellines reared, eyes rolling, nostrils flared, as the tide of war washed over them. His hooves lashed out, caught an enemy in the face. Teres's sword clove down, leaped back slinging scarlet spray. An axe swung upward and struck the shield almost from her grip. Her spurred boot raked the foeman's eyes, her blade thrust, and he entered Hell a blindman.

Had any man felt qualms at slaying a woman, they vanished before the fury of this hellion. Through their ranks she ravaged, guiding the warhorse with her knees, though the stallion seemed to think like a man. Weaving between the great trees, Gwellines galloped, leaving many a Selonari crushed beneath his hooves. Blows aimed at her were met by shield and blade, slipped past and answered with deadly speed. Her soldiers rallied to her, fought recklessly at her side, and when a man stopped a thrusting blade from her back, his slayer drew his last breath knowing the blaze of her wrath.

Into the forest they surged, where trees were giant pillars of this temple of war. And the sacrificial altars were glutted. It was a chaos, a desperate melee of man against man, a myriad of individual duels on which the outcome of the battle hung, although in the turmoil, the maze of forest, there was no way to guess which army had the firmer grasp on victory.

Resting a moment as the battle swirled about her, Teres tried to gauge her army's status. It was a hopeless task at present. The steady pressure from the forest beyond was proof that Dribeck had brought up his main army in the night, though how many soldiers he held in reserve could not be known. Noticeably absent from the struggle thus far was any sign of the Selonari cavalry. Glancing back at the bridgehead, Teres saw that the Wolf's soldiers had cleared the planks and were trickling across the Macewen. As their advance drove the archers out of bowshot of the bridge--and their fire was nearly stilled already--Malchion's army would surge across. Then Dribeck could send in all his reserves, but with little hope of throwing back the invaders. Since this moment was his only real chance to crush their advance, Teres assumed he must already have brought up the greatest part of his army. Well, Selonari had not enough strength; they could only meet her vanguard on, at best, even terms. It remained for her to hold firm until Malchion's main force could cross to support them, then they'd chase Dribeck all the way to Selonari, where he'd be lucky if enough of his army survived to bar the gates.

She saw a horseman draw near--one of the few Dribeck had shown so far--and recognized Kane as the rider. The stranger loomed more massive in battle gear than in his priest's cloak. He fought like some elder god of war, it seemed, face twisted in malevolent laughter, eyes glowing blue fire, slaying her soldiers like infirm slaves. With surprise Teres noted that he carried no shield; instead he swung a heavy mace in his right band, parrying, striking with it as if he had full use of both arms. Their eyes met for an instant, and even at this distance Teres felt stunned by their chill flame of death.

Kane wheeled his mount and turned to another portion of the field. Teres wondered about his reasons for continuing his masquerade--to preserve Dribeck's confidence, presumably, but after this battle the Selonari lord most likely would share his secrets with the ravens. Perhaps Kane had found no opportunity to desert, though he fought under Dribeck's standard as if he were that schemer's champion. It occurred to Teres that her own men might well slay Kane without ever learning he was the Wolf's agent. But that, she decided, was Kane's risk, and she wondered if such might not be a fortunate twist of fate.

But there was enemy blood to spill: She pushed Kane from her thoughts and spurred Gwellines forward to where her soldiers were falling back, scattering men of both armies before her charge.

From his own steed, Lord Dribeck viewed the weaving battle with concern. Crempra's archers had been broken by the Breim advance. He had pulled them back, but now wondered if he would be forced to commit them once again-although he had hoped to hold them for a better moment. Still, he had advanced almost his entire reserve, keeping back only his personal guard. If many more of Malchion's soldiers came across, he would have to use Crempra's archers for infantry, throw in his own guard as well, and try to force the invaders back to the river. It would mean the final cast of the dice for him, but unless his first strategy came through, and soon, this desperate move would be his only recourse.

Then the anxious eyes that searched the far shore widened in hope. Confusion caught up Malchion's right flank as it waited to cross the Macewen. Down the graveled flood plain wildly galloped a company of horsemen, steel blazing in the morning sunlight. A cavalry charge on Malchion's unprotected flank!