Ranger's Apprentice 3 & 4 Bindup (47 page)

‘Face half left!' called Will. ‘Position three!'

The forty-odd remaining men brought their bows to maximum elevation.

‘Draw … shoot!'

He waited this time to assess the effect of the volley, making sure the men's angle and elevation were correct. He saw arrows striking the support ranks of Temujai, saw the panic caused by the suddenly renewed arrow storm.

‘Keep them shooting!' he called to Evanlyn.

He turned and shot at the thin line of Temujai shooters, drawing a brisk shower of arrows in return. Behind him, he heard the thrumming noise of another volley arcing away towards the main battle. He shot again, picking a target and seeing him fall. Then he felt a surge of excitement in his chest as the small group of riders began to move.

‘Horace! They're pulling back!' he yelled excitedly. He pointed wildly to the line of shooters. Less than twenty of them remained and they were gradually falling back from their exposed position. Gradually at first, anyway – as they moved further, they moved faster and faster, none of them wanting to be the last one exposed to the accurate shots from the Skandian lines.

He gripped his big friend's arm and shook him with excitement. ‘They're turning it in!' he yelled. Horace
nodded soberly, jerking his thumb towards the hardpressed line of Skandian defenders below them.

‘Just as well they are,' he said. ‘Because these ones aren't.'

Below them, the Temujai swordsmen, dismounted now, were pouring through a gap they had forced in the Skandian lines.

Nit'zak, field commander of the Temujai force attacking Will's position, had poured his men into the attack with reckless disregard. As the
Kaijin
engaged the archers, his lancers and swordsmen hurled themselves against the line of Skandian axemen protecting them.

Nit'zak had sensed that this attack was a final throw of the dice for his commander. If they couldn't break through this time, he knew Haz'kam would order a general withdrawal, unwilling to take further casualties in this campaign. The thought of withdrawal, of failure, was anathema to Nit'zak. He urged his men on now, willing them to break through the Skandian line and destroy the small, but highly effective, force of archers who sheltered behind it.

The ground in front of the Skandian defences was littered with the bodies of his men and horses. But gradually, they were driving the wild northerners back as their numbers were depleted and the defensive line became
more fragile. Dismounted now, the Temujai swarmed up the earth slope, slashing and stabbing with their longbladed sabres. Grimly, the Skandians fought back.

‘General!' One of his staff grabbed his arm and pointed to a small group of riders angling away from the battle. ‘The
Kaijin
are withdrawing.'

Nit'zak cursed them as they rode away. Pampered and privileged, he thought. He knew they regarded themselves as elite members of the Temujai force.
Kaijin
shooters were excused the dangers of direct combat so they could sit back and pick off enemy commanders in relative safety. Now, faced with accurate and deadly return shooting for the first time in their lives, they had broken and deserted him. He made a vow that he would see them all die for their cowardice.

But that would have to wait. Now, he realised, the Skandian archers were launching flight after flight of arrows into the rear ranks of the main attack once more. They had to be stopped. The sudden resumption of the deadly volleys could well tip the balance of the battle.

Haz'kam had remarked that his deputy had no sense of the bigger picture when it came to warfare. But Nit'zak had an ability that made him a superb tactical commander. He could sense the crucial moment in a battle – the moment when everything hung in the balance and a determined effort from either side could make the difference between victory and defeat. He sensed such a moment now, watching his men struggling with the Skandians, seeing, for the first time, an element of uncertainty in the enemy. He drew his sabre from its scabbard and turned to his own personal bodyguard, a half-
Ulan
of thirty seasoned troopers.

‘Come on!' he yelled and led them in a charge towards the Skandian line.

Nit'zak's instincts were accurate. The Skandians, exhausted and bleeding, their numbers depleted, were hanging on with their last reserves of strength and will. The Temujai numbers seemed never-ending. For every one who fell before the Skandian axes, it seemed another two rushed to fill his place, screaming their war cries and slashing and stabbing with their sabres. Now, as a fresh force drove into the line, dismounting and scrambling up the earth berm, the balance tipped. First one, then another Skandian, gave way. Then they were retreating in groups, as the Temujai drove through the gap they had finally forced, striking down the fleeing Skandians as they tried to escape.

Nit'zak waved his sabre towards the line of archers, still pouring volley after volley at the main attack.

‘The archers! Kill the archers!' he ordered his men and started towards them.

In the command position, Horace threw down the bulky, clumsy shield he had been using and grabbed up his own round buckler. His sword slid from its sheath with an expectant hiss as he swung his legs over the parapet.

‘Stay here,' he told Will, then headed down the slope to meet the first group of Temujai as they clambered up towards him. Now it was Will's turn to watch in awe as his friend went on the attack. His sword moved in bewildering patterns, flicking in and out, overhead, backhand, forehand, thrust, as he cut down the attackers. The first attack was driven back and now a larger group of Temujai moved towards the tall warrior. Again there was the clash of steel on steel, but now, as they threatened to encircle him,
Horace was forced to give ground. Will looked down at his arrow bin. There were five arrows left and he began shooting: steady, deliberate shots to pick off the Temujai who tried to surround his friend.

He glanced towards the archers. The shield bearers had grabbed up their own weapons and were moving to protect them. In addition, some of the retreating Skandians had regrouped at the archers' position. Evanlyn was still calling the volleys, he noticed.

‘Keep it up!' he yelled and she glanced round, nodded and turned back to her task.

Horace was almost back to the elevated command position now, still fighting off the determined attacks from the Temujai. He was fighting alone, however, and vulnerable from the rear. Will, his stock of arrows finally exhausted, drew his two knives and moved to protect his friend's back.

In the centre of the Skandian line, Erak sensed a similar moment of opportunity. The Temujai were fighting hard, but the savage intensity had gone from their attacks.

Weakened and demoralised by the regular downpour of arrows from the right flank, their support ranks were withdrawing, and leaving those troops engaged with the Skandian line without the regular reinforcements that they needed to maintain the rhythm of their attack.

He cut down a Temujai captain who had come screaming over the earthworks, and turned to look for Halt. The Ranger was positioned behind him, standing on a parapet and coolly picking off the Temujai as they came forward.
Haz'kam's tactic of stripping his
Ulans
of their shooters was working against the Temujai here. For a change, it was they who were losing their commanders to accurate, aimed shots, while the Skandian leaders continued to devastate anyone who came within range of their whirling axes.

Disengaging himself, Erak vaulted up beside Halt. He gestured to the Skandian left wing, so far uncommitted.

‘I'm thinking if we hit them from the flank, we might finish them,' he said. Halt considered the idea for a moment. It was a risk. But battles were won by taking risks, he knew. Or lost. He came to a decision.

‘Do it,' he agreed and Erak nodded. Then he looked beyond Halt and cursed. The Ranger swung round to look in the same direction and together, they watched the Temujai breaking through the line below Will's position. They both knew that if the rain of arrows stopped, the Temujai rear ranks might well recover their cohesion and their moment might be lost.

Now was the time to act.

‘Bring the left flank in,' Halt said briefly. He grabbed up a spare quiver of arrows and started to run towards Will's command post. Erak watched him go, knowing that one man wouldn't make any difference. He looked around desperately, his gaze lighting on Ragnak, standing in the middle of a circle of fallen Temujai. The Oberjarl's eyes were wild and staring. He had discarded his shield and was swinging his massive axe two-handed. Blood streamed from half a dozen wounds on his arms, legs and body, but he seemed oblivious to the fact. He was on the point of berserking, Erak knew. And he also knew that one man like that might make all the difference in the world.

Erak cut his way through to the Oberjarl, winning a brief respite as the Temujai fell back from the two huge warriors. Ragnak looked up, recognised him and showed his teeth in a triumphant, savage grin.

‘We're destroying them, Erak!' he yelled, his eyes still wild. Erak grabbed him by the arm, shaking him to make him focus his attention.

‘I'm bringing in the left flank!' he yelled and the Oberjarl smiled and shrugged.

‘Good! Let them have some fun too!' he bellowed. Erak pointed to the battle raging on the seaward side.

‘The right wing is in trouble. They've broken through. The Ranger needs help there.'

It seemed odd to be giving orders to his supreme commander. But then he realised Ragnak was incapable of directing the flank attack in this mood. He was good for only one thing – a devastating, crushing attack on any enemy who stood in his way.

Now, as he heard Erak's words, Ragnak nodded repeatedly.

‘That sarcastic little know-all needs help, does he? Then I'm his man!'

And with a roar, he charged off after Halt, followed by his retinue of a dozen axemen.

Erak breathed a quick prayer to the Vallas. A dozen men might not be a lot, but with Ragnak in this near-berserk mode, it could be enough. Then he shoved the troubles of the right flank to the back of his mind and began yelling for a messenger. The right flank would have to look after itself for a few more minutes. Right now, he needed the left flank to hit the enemy from the side.

Horace sensed the presence of someone directly behind him and pivoted rapidly, his sword swinging back, ready to cut side-handed. Seeing the slightly built form of his friend there, grimly engaging a Temujai swordsman with his two knives, he widened his stroke and laid open the Tem'uj's forehead with the point of his sword. The trooper staggered away, hands to his face, sinking to his knees.

‘What do you think you're up to?' Horace yelled, in between parrying another attack from the front.

‘I'm watching your back,' Will told him, as he blocked a thrust from another Tem'uj trying to take Horace from the rear.

‘Well, next time let me know,' Horace said, grunting as he sidestepped a lance and hammered the hilt of his sword into its surprised owner's skull. ‘I nearly cut you in half just then!'

‘There won't be a next time,' Will replied. ‘I'm not enjoying myself here.'

Horace flicked a rapid glance over his shoulder. Will was using the Ranger's double-knife defence to parry and block the Tem'uj's sabre. But it wasn't a form of fighting he was particularly skilled in. Besides, it had been over a year since he and Horace had practised the moves in the hills of Celtica. The Temujai swordsman was having the better of the exchange and in that quick glance, Horace had seen blood seeping through the left arm of Will's shirt.

‘When I tell you, drop to your knees,' Horace said.

‘Fine,' Will replied grimly. ‘I may even do it before you give the word.'

In spite of himself, Horace grinned. Then, as he drove two attackers back, he called over his shoulder:

‘Now!'

He sensed that Will had dropped to the ground and, flicking the sword into a reversed grip, he thrust backwards and heard a startled cry.

‘You all right?' he called, reversing the sword again and deflecting that persistent lance once more. For a moment, there was no answer, and he felt a sudden jolt of fear that he had just stabbed his friend. Then Will answered him.

‘Very impressive. Where did you learn that?'

‘Made it up just now,' Horace said, then grunted in satisfaction as the lancer stepped a little too close and took the point of his sword in the shoulder. As the man sank to the ground, Horace withdrew the sword, flicking it into a whirling overhand cut at another Tem'uj. The cavalryman's thick felt helmet saved his life as the sword crashed down on it. But there was still enough force in the blow to knock him to his knees, concussed and cross-eyed.

For a moment, they had a brief respite. Horace stepped back and studied his friend.

‘Is that arm troubling you?' He nodded towards the widening seep of blood on Will's sleeve. Looking down, Will seemed to notice it for the first time.

‘I didn't even feel it,' he said in some surprise. Horace grinned mirthlessly.

‘You will later,' he told him. Will shook his head doubtfully.

‘If there is a later,' he said. Then, from the lines behind them, they heard the thrum of bowstrings and the hissing flight of another volley. They looked at one another in amazement.

‘It's Evanlyn,' said Will. ‘She's still got them firing!'

Horace gestured to the swarming Temujai, surrounding the thin line of defenders who were keeping them out of the archer's redoubt.

‘She won't for much longer,' he said. The Skandian line was already beginning to buckle. ‘Come on! Watch my back and yell if you get in trouble.' And with that, he bounded down the slope, his sword rising and falling as he drove his attack into the rear of the Temujai. Startled at the ferocity of his assault, they gave ground for a few seconds. Then, seeing the new assault consisted of only two men – one of them armed only with knives and small enough to be a boy – they rallied and drove forward again.

Horace fought grimly, gathering the few remaining defenders around him. But the enemy numbers were beginning to tell and now individual Temujai were bypassing the small knot of defenders and dropping into the trench itself, where the archers were still sending their volleys into the main Temujai force.

The two boys heard Evanlyn's voice raised in urgent tones as she directed some of the archers to fire point blank at the attackers. They knew it was a matter of minutes before the Temujai overran the trench and killed everyone in it.

‘Come on!' said Will, leading the way towards the trench. Horace followed close behind him.

A Temujai warrior barred his way and he struck at the man with his saxe knife, feeling the blow jar all the way up his arm as it struck home. A warning cry from Horace alerted him to danger and he turned just in time to block a savage sabre cut with his crossed knives. Then Horace was by his side, slashing at the man who had attacked him, and the three others with him. The two friends fought side by side, but there were too many of the Temujai. Will's heart sank as he realised that they were not going to reach the trench in time. He could see Evanlyn, not twenty metres away, with a group of archers around her, facing a still larger group of Temujai as they advanced up the trench – moving slowly, held back only by the threat of the bows.

‘Look out, Will!' It was Horace again, and once more they were fighting for their lives as more of the Temujai swarmed towards them.

Nit'zak led a party of men into the trenches that had sheltered the Skandian archers. His other men could take care of the two young warriors who had counterattacked so effectively. His task was to silence the archers once and for all.

His men poured into the trench behind him, striking out at the unarmoured, virtually unarmed bowmen. They
retreated down the line of the earthworks, some of them scrambling up and over and running to the rear. Grimly, Nit'zak followed until, rounding an angle in the trench, he stopped in surprise.

There was a young girl facing him, a long dagger in her hand and a look of total defiance in her eyes. The remaining archers gathered protectively round her. Then, on her command, they brought their bows up to the present position.

The two groups faced each other. There were at least ten bows aimed at him, Nit'zak saw – at a range of barely ten metres. If the girl gave the order, there was no way the archers could miss. Yet, once that first volley was released, the girl and her archers would be helpless.

He flicked his eyes sideways. His men were level with him, and there were more behind. He had no intention of dying under the Skandian volley. If it might serve a purpose he would do so willingly. But he had a job to do and he didn't have the right to die until that job was done. On the other hand, he had no qualms about sacrificing ten or twelve of his own men, if necessary, to get that job done. He gestured them forward.

‘Attack,' he said calmly, and his men surged forward in the constricted space of the trench.

There was a second's hesitation, then he heard the girl's command to shoot and the instant thrum of the bowstrings. The arrows tore into his men, killing or wounding seven of them. But the others kept on, joined by more men from behind him, and the archers broke and ran, leaving only the girl to face him. Nit'zak stepped forward, raising the sabre in both hands. Curious, he studied her
eyes for some sign of fear and saw none there. It would be almost a shame to kill one so brave, he thought.

Off to one side, he heard an agonised cry – a young man's voice that broke with fear and pain.

‘Evanlyn!'

He assumed it must be the girl's name. He saw her eyes flick away from his and then, she smiled sadly at someone out of his view. It was a smile of farewell.

Will had witnessed it all. Helpless to intervene, fighting desperately to protect Horace's back and his own life, he had seen the Temujai move up the trench, saw the archers threaten them with a point blank volley, and then watched, horrified, as the Temujai calmly moved forward once more, oblivious to the danger. The final volley stopped them for a second or two, then they charged, sweeping the archers away before them.

Horace's urgent warning brought him back to his own situation and he darted sideways to avoid a sabre, jabbing with the saxe to drive the off-balance Tem'uj back a few paces. He turned to look again and saw a Temujai officer poised over Evanlyn, his sword held in two hands as he raised it.

‘Evanlyn!' he cried in torment. And, hearing him, she turned, met his agonised gaze and smiled at him – a smile that remembered all they had been through together in the past eleven months.

A smile that remembered all they had ever meant to each other.

And in that moment, he couldn't let her die. He spun
the saxe knife in his hand, catching it by the point, feeling the balance, then brought his arm back, then forward in one fluid movement.

The big knife took Nit'zak under the left arm just before he began his downward cut.

His eyes glazed and he crumpled slowly to one side, lurching against the earth wall of the trench, then sliding down to the hard-packed earthen floor. The sabre fell from his hands and he plucked with weakened fingers at the heavy knife in his side. His last thought was that now Haz'kam would probably abandon the invasion after all, and he was angry about that.

Will, now unarmed except for his small throwing knife, was under attack once more. He leaped forward to grapple with a Tem'uj and they rolled down the earthen slope together, with Will clinging desperately to the man's sword arm, while he, in his turn, tried to avoid the ineffectual slashing attacks Will made with the small knife.

He saw Horace overwhelmed by four warriors attacking him at once and he realised that, finally, it was all over.

And then he heard a blood-chilling roar and a huge figure was standing over him, literally plucking his adversary from the ground and throwing him a dozen metres down the slope, to send another three men sprawling under the impact.

It was Ragnak, terrifying in his berserker rage. His shirt had been torn to ribbons and he wore no armour save his massive horned helmet. The horrifying roaring noise came constantly from his throat as he plunged into the midst of the Temujai attackers, the huge double-bladed axe whirling in giant circles as he struck his enemies down on either side.

He made no effort to protect himself and he was cut and wounded over and again. He simply ignored the fact and cut and hacked and beat at the men who had invaded his country – who had dared to awaken the berserker rage in his blood.

His personal guard followed him, each man in the same awful killing rage. They drove a wedge into the Temujai force, implacable, irresistible. A dozen men who didn't care if they lived or died. Who cared about one thing and one thing only: getting close to their enemies and killing them. As many as possible. As quickly as possible.

‘Horace!' Will croaked, and tried to scramble to his feet, remembering that last image of Horace desperately holding off four attackers. And then he heard another sound – a familiar one this time. It was the deep-throated thrum of a longbow and, as he watched, Horace's attackers seemed to fade away like snow in the sunshine and he knew that Halt had arrived.

On a knoll a kilometre away, Haz'kam, general of the army and Shan of the People, watched his attack fail. The enemy's left flank had curled around to crash into his main force, buckling them and driving them back, causing severe losses. On the enemy's right flank, Nit'zak and his men had finally managed to silence the Skandian archers. In his heart, he had always known that his old friend would succeed in the task.