The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (50 page)

‘Because they’re not expendable, I suppose,’ replied Lanry. ‘Think of the yeomanry as a way to soften us up before the elite warriors attack.’

Al-Hasim shook his head in disapproval. ‘So, the common folk do the bulk of the dying? Your king has a strange way of making war. The Ro tell anyone who’ll listen about their amazing military skill but, when it comes to battle, they throw boulders at us and send in untrained militia.’

Both men looked down at the killing ground exposed between the first and second walls of the city. The grass was stained red and hundreds of Darkwald yeomanry lay dead amongst the splintered wood of South Warden. It had taken a relatively small force of Free Company men to repulse them and, after filtering them into a small channel, the Ro auxiliaries had had little chance of survival.

‘Charging that breach is suicide,’ said Al-Hasim.

Lanry tried his best to smile as he smoothed back his grey hair. ‘Those men are with the One now. They can get a drink and a warm bed in the stone halls beyond the world. Their earthly bodies are spent and they can rest.’

The Karesian raised an eyebrow. Lanry felt out of place. He was a cleric of the One God and his pious summary of events did not sit well with his companions.

‘Well,’ said Al-Hasim wearily, ‘I’m sure they’ll re-form and come again. Trained or not, there are a lot of them.’

Lanry poked his head over the wooden palisade and looked out over the plains of Scarlet. Little could be seen beyond the huge military camp spread out across the horizon. It was a sea of soldiers, torches and trebuchets which could be glimpsed through the darkness.

‘Why do they attack at night?’ he asked.

‘A soldier’s prerogative,’ answered Al-Hasim. ‘They attack at night because they think that’s the time the enemy would least like them to attack.’

‘They’re probably right,’ replied Lanry. ‘I could certainly do with being tucked up in bed.’

Hasim laughed and patted the cleric on the shoulder in comradely fashion. ‘Spirits up, my dear Lanry. You should have seen Ro Hail, it was much worse than this... at least we have a decent wall to hide behind here.’ The Karesian pointed to the third gate, a reinforced structure, thicker and more solid than the outer two. ‘As long as that thing holds, they won’t commit to a full assault.’

Lanry scanned behind him to the inner mount of South Warden with the Ranen assembly at its centre. The majority of Free Company men had fallen back to this most fortified area of the city, while the women and children were safely out of sight within Rowanoco’s Stone.

‘Here they come again,’ shouted a voice from below. ‘Hasim, get your arse down here.’ The speaker was Captain Horrock Green Blade of Wraith Company. He stood, axe in hand, to the side of the killing ground.

Al-Hasim smiled thinly at Lanry and drew his scimitar. ‘Don’t go anywhere, brother,’ he said, with as much cheer as he could muster.

‘Don’t... get killed... or something equally foolish,’ spluttered out Lanry.

Hasim jogged down the wooden steps to join a large group of warriors.

They had not moved the dead bodies from the previous assault. The Ranen clearly planned to catch anyone that entered South Warden in a flanking meat-grinder as before. When the first assault came, none of the yeomanry made it to the second shattered gate before being chewed up by Ranen defenders. Lanry had to turn away from the efficiency of the Free Companies. They were men committed to die for their land and their people, and that lent them a ferocity which showed in every swing of an axe and every severed limb. In contrast, the Darkwald yeomanry were just common men, thrown away in pursuit of a doubtful military goal.

The yeomanry had been reluctant to make their second frontal assault on the breach. Purple clerics were giving the orders. One in particular was verbally whipping his troops forwards and, though less committed than before, at least two thousand men had begun to cross the ground. They carried long spears and crossbows and wore low-quality chain mail and pot helmets. Several men at the front wielded two-handed swords, but they looked ungainly. Perhaps the large weapons had been thrust into their hands with little ceremony or training.

Below him, flanking the sides of the breach and waiting in ambush, were the men of Ranen. On one side stood Captain Horrock, Al-Hasim, Haffen Red Face and the men of Wraith Company. On the other, Mathias Flame Tooth, the corpulent axe-master of South Warden, led the men of Scarlet, while Johan Long Shadow stood in plain sight with a small group of his toughest warriors. The plan was simple, to draw the attackers into the killing ground and trap them between three forces of defenders. As Hasim had said, so long as the third gate remained intact, the Ro would be unlikely to break the defence and would be forced to engage in a protracted siege. This would play into the hands of the Free Companies and give Bronwyn and Dragneel time to rouse the clans of the Moon Wood.

Horns sounded from the army of Ro and the ranks of yeomanry picked up speed as they came into range of South Warden’s catapults. As before, several volleys thudded into the mass of troops.

Long Shadow stood out below, his tattooed head contrasting sharply with the wild and matted hair of his fellows. He stepped forward, a lone man facing the oncoming yeomanry, and shouted, ‘This is our ground... our land... our city. These men want to take it... they want what is ours. Show them no mercy, for their masters wish nothing for us but a cage.’

The men of Ranen gripped their axes and prepared to get bloody once more in defence of their home. Lanry frowned and again felt a deep well of conflict within him. He believed what the king was doing was wrong, and what the Ranen were doing was right, but he had never questioned the vows he had taken as a boy or the direction his life had followed. Now he was in a city besieged by his countrymen. Despite what Lord Bromvy might believe, it was not simply a matter of right and wrong.

He was certain that, if the city should fall, he would be treated better than the Ranen. They would not think to kill a Brown cleric. In fact, the Purple traditionally ignored the aspect of poverty and would probably regard Lanry as a wayward brother in need of re-education. There was a part of him that resented this. He knew, too, that were he a younger man, he’d find a quarter-staff from somewhere and join the defenders. But he was an old man and he remained behind the third gate, watching from above.

Behind him, the Ranen assembly and the chapel to Rowanoco provided the last lines of defence, the ultimate fall-back position should the third wall be overwhelmed. He had heard it said that the defences of South Warden would allow men to fight and retreat, fight and retreat, until they had their backs to Rowanoco’s Stone. Lanry hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Half-hearted shouts rose from the advancing column as they reached the outer walls. The Ranen held their ground, waiting for the yeomanry to enter as far into the breach as possible before springing their ambush. The yeomanry had to slow down to pick their way among the splintered wood and dead bodies. Their lines narrowed as they were funnelled into the breach. Many of them had caught sight of Long Shadow, who was making no effort to remain hidden. He did not move to meet them, but simply stood in front of the last gate and beckoned them on with predatory eyes. Either side of him, the Ranen waited for their opportunity to destroy the invaders.

Horrock Green Blade was an impressive figure, standing at the head of his men with a hand raised to hold them back until the optimum moment. Next to him, Al-Hasim looked out of place. The Karesian was calm and measured, crouching low and weaving tight patterns in the air with his scimitar. He was not a fighter who relied on strength, but Lanry suspected he would prove more dangerous than many of the men of Ranen.

The dead bodies from the previous assault made the ground treacherous as the yeomanry began to charge Long Shadow and his men. Several stumbled and were slowed to walking speed, allowing the Ranen to mark their targets well.

‘Cut them down,’ roared Long Shadow, once the bulk of the yeomanry had funnelled into the breach.

The Free Company men were suddenly visible and their cries of defiance were deafening as all three forces advanced. Horrock’s men attacked first, using the shock of the impact to drive the first few ranks of Ro on to the waiting axes of Mathias Flame Tooth and his men. Johan Long Shadow rushed forward and split a man in two with a great swing of his axe. The yeomanry quickly dissolved into a rabble, trapped between the three forces of axe-men. They had the advantage of numbers but they were no match for the Ranen’s skill and ferocity.

The scene was grim as the meat-grinder did its work. The rear ranks of yeomanry tried to force their way forward but succeeded only in pushing their fellows further on to the waiting axes of South Warden. In moments, dozens lay dead or mutilated.

Horrock and Long Shadow led their forces in a triangular formation, driving the body of the yeomanry towards Mathias and his men. Al-Hasim and Haffen were on the left flank, where there was no duelling, only a brutal hacking apart of men who had nowhere to run and no hope of defending themselves.

‘Let them retreat,’ shouted Lanry, well aware that his words would not carry over the sounds of combat. A few scattered men of Ro had indeed managed to squeeze through the press of bodies and run in panicked groups out of the killing ground, but the majority were simply being cut to pieces.

Lanry was forced to turn away again as he felt the nausea rise from his stomach. The Darkwald yeomanry had little interest in South Warden, but the king had forced them into a position where the men of Ranen had no choice but to cut them down.

‘Hold your ground,’ shouted Johan Long Shadow, as the defenders met in the middle. ‘Do not pursue them.’ Most of the slaughter was now over. Barely a few hundred yeomanry had made it out of the breach. The Ranen cheered raucously.

Lanry did not join in the cheering and a tear appeared in his eye.

* * *

The night lasted forever. Lanry was frequently called upon to rush down from the wooden palisade and attend to wounds. The yeomanry were ordered to storm the breach a total of four times. Each time they were repulsed, a handful of Ranen met their ends, and the breach became more and more clogged with the dead.

Al-Hasim, who had taken no rest since the first assault, was slumped down next to a wall with sweat running down his face and a superficial wound to the left side of his chest.

‘How long till dawn, brother?’ he asked the cleric.

‘An hour, maybe two... you need rest, my dear boy,’ replied Lanry, kneeling down to inspect the wound. ‘I saw that last fight and you could barely stand and lift that... weapon, sword... thing.’

The Karesian scoundrel smiled wearily. ‘It’s a scimitar. I stole it from Horrock’s collection in Ro Hail. I never liked longswords or axes – too heavy for prolonged fighting.’

Haffen Red Face, the axe-master of Ro Hail, was nearby, pouring an entire bucket of water over his head. ‘Can you not swing a blade, brother? We could use another pair of hands down here.’

‘Some men are built for fighting and some are not. I have the luxury of years and the curse of squeamishness. I am too old and far too weak of stomach to kill anyone, I’m afraid.’

‘I suppose you are a Ro,’ he said, as if that explained everything.

Haffen slumped down next to Al-Hasim. Both warriors were exhausted and Lanry doubted whether they could remain effective for much longer. The defenders of South Warden were vastly outnumbered and the king’s willingness to throw away the Darkwald yeomanry in futile assaults was beginning to take its toll. Horrock Green Blade estimated that, if they could hold the breach until sunrise, they would be able to rest and meet the next day’s attacks with fresh arms and clear heads. However, the tactics of the Ro had given them no time to recuperate and, unlike the attackers, every one of the Ranen was needed for each defence. They had no reserves or reinforcements, and Lanry was all too aware that the king had not yet ordered his knights or clerics to attack.

‘We’ve got two hundred dead and almost that many wounded beyond fighting,’ said Haffen between deep gulps of water. ‘I reckon we can stand for one more assault, and then...’

‘And then what? You all die? That doesn’t sound like a strategy,’ remarked the cleric.

‘Well, maybe we could buy the king a present and hope he forgives us for killing all his men,’ said Al-Hasim with a wry smile.

‘They’re not really his men, they’re just common folk.’ Lanry was uncomfortable with fighting in general, but to see men thrown away so freely was disturbing in the extreme. ‘They’re just auxiliaries, they have no choice.’

‘What do you want us to do?’ asked Haffen. ‘Try diplomacy?’

‘I’ve just never seen so many men wasted so badly,’ replied the Brown cleric.

The breach had been cleared of the fallen and funeral pyres had been built. The dead had been moved in plain sight. The Ranen bodies were taken beyond the third gate and arranged on separate pyres next to the assembly. Words would eventually be spoken over them to speed their passage to the ice halls beyond the world.

The defenders were in surprisingly good spirits and gallows humour was the order of the day. They had spent the hours of darkness fighting, killing and watching their friends and family die, and yet, as the Darkwald yeomanry formed up for yet another assault, the men of South Warden remained boisterous and defiant, telling off-colour jokes and boldly declaring how drunk they would get once the city was safe.

Lanry was less optimistic. He returned to his position beyond the third gate and prepared for another spectacle of slaughter to be played out before his eyes. Horrock was leaning on his axe and looked particularly weary as a horn was sounded across the plains of Scarlet. The massed forces of Darkwald were approaching once more. They moved more slowly this time and Lanry gasped at their numbers. The previous assaults had been carried out by several companies of yeomanry, while the others remained in camp. This time they had left no one in reserve, and several dozen Purple clerics were also riding behind the common folk, pushing them forward.