The Storm of Heaven (45 page)

A great commotion of metal on metal and rising dust and shouts erupted on the far side of the Gepids' line. Alexandros assumed Chlothar had pitched in with his Peltasts to try and relieve pressure on the center.

We'll have to start over with the phalanx,
he thought grimly, turning his horse and trotting back towards the woods. More of the Companions were filtering out of the thicket and he stood up in his stirrups, shouting at them. "Form on me, form on me!"

They began to converge on him, riding forward in small clumps. Out of the thousand Companions, perhaps only half had managed to reach the battlefield. Alexandros spun his horse again, satisfied that they had seen him. His herald had gotten swept up in the charge, so his bannerman was a hundred yards away, mired in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle. He shaded his eyes, squinting into the fray. The
hoplites
seemed to be holding their own at least. They had not broken and run.

"
Comes!
Comes
Alexandros! Look out!"

Alexandros whipped around, curveting the horse, sword bare in his hand. The scout Krythos was shouting, riding hard across the field, pointing off to his fight. Behind him, the Companions were also in full gallop. They were shouting too, and some of them had drawn their bows and were shooting across the saddle. Alexandros looked to his left.

The mounted warriors in the second body of the Gepid army cantered towards him. There were two men in the lead, on glossy black stallions, with their armor gleaming in the sun. Unlike the rabble they commanded, they were clad in full mailed armor. Long, trailing horsetail plumes danced on their helms. More mounted men rode at their back, holding a forest of banners and standards. The main ensign was a coiled dragon in black on a red field.

The Draculis,
Alexandros thought as he faced them.
The dreadful enemy the Goths fear so much.

The Macedonian raised his sword in salute to the noblemen riding hard towards him. They saw him, and a command was passed to the band that followed behind. The rest of the Gepid riders charged ahead, interposing themselves between the oncoming Companions and Alexandros.

"You wish to try my sword arm, then?" Alexandros shouted at the two men as he rode forward. In this crisp air, his voice carried a great distance over the battlefield. "Come ahead, I will not stint you."

The lead man, a fellow with a long, thin face and a neat black beard, urged his horse forward. Alexandros saw he wore a helmet contrived to make a beast face when the cheek guards and visor were down. The man unlimbered a long spear, leaf-shaped point catching the sun like a mirror. Alexandros, for all the time he had spent drilling the army, had not taken to the lance himself. He preferred a long slashing sword. Mindful of his enemy, he tightened the straps holding a painted oval shield to his upper left arm, leaving his left hand free.

The Draculis lord waved his companion back, stallion high-stepping forward. Alexandros saw a beautiful, spirited creature with a glossy pelt and powerful legs. The Macedonian circled left, keeping his sword arm on the man's side.

"You are a brave man," the Draculis called out. "If you swear to me and take the blood, I will let you live! These Goths are children, they have no use for a
man
amongst them!"

"These are
my
men," Alexandros shouted back, making sure his voice carried to the Companions riding up behind him. "You try my patience with your rabble. Come, barbarian, let us see who is the better."

Alexandros watched the man carefully, seeing him guide the black stallion with his knees, watching them move as one. Luckily, these northern barbarians loved single combat, particularly between heroes or captains. The other Draculis lord had fallen back amongst the Gepids. They were laughing. It was an odd moment. Across the meadow, the struggling mass of Gepid infantry was still locked in frenzied battle with the Goths. The Companions that had charged into their flank had bent the barbarian line back into a V shape, but the second mass of Gepids had run up, forcing the cavalry back.

The Macedonian hoped that Ermanerich and Chlothar could extricate themselves without his help. He was about to be distracted.

The Draculis lord and his horse suddenly bolted forward, long lance tip slashing through the air. Alexandros had seen the rear legs of the stallion tense and he was already moving. The bay was a game horse and responsive, but it didn't have the weight or power of the black. Alexandros rose up a little, letting the horse handle the ground, springing to the left. The lance shifted in line, speeding at his chest. Alexandros felt his blood burn and his vision sharpened.

The lance slowed in the air, the stallion's hooves churning across the ground. Clods of earth flew up slowly. Alexandros' sword arm slashed sideways, his entire body turning into the blow. The tip of the
spatha
dug into the ashwood behind the lance tip.

Time resumed with a snap, and the thunder of the stallion rushing past was loud in Alexandros' ears. His
spatha
whipped back, parallel with the bay, and wind keened in his helmet strap. He turned the horse, arm stunned by the shock of contact. The Draculis was turning as well, but his powerful arm flexed, flinging the
kontos
, bladed head shorn away, to the ground.

Alexandros tested his grip on the
spatha
. His arm was not broken. If it had been, he would have changed hands. The Draculis lord drew his own sword with a sharp
ting!
The man gave forth with a high piercing cry and the stallion stormed forward again.

The Draculis cut overhand, trying for Alexandros' exposed head, but the Macedonian's
spatha
caught the blow at an angle. The two blades sang like a bell as they slid apart. Alexandros cut at the man's saddle strap. The Draculis' stallion snapped at the bay's rump, spoiling the stroke.

The horses circled, the bay nervous and jumpy. The stallion lowered its head and pranced sideways. The Draculis lord let the horse lead, waiting for an opening. Alexandros took the bay's reins in his left hand, keeping it in the fight. Confident in his advantage, the Draculis darted in, the stallion nipping at the bay's face. Alexandros let his horse spring back, clods flying. The Draculis slammed his sword down, catching the Macedonian's block full on. Alexandros' whole body felt the blow, and sparks sprang from grinding metal. A sense of despair lapped around the Macedonian's thoughts.
A sorcerer of some kind? That's not good!

Alexandros attacked furiously, blade flickering, and beat the man's guard down. The Draculis attempted to strike back, but Alexandros crowded the gelding, making the stallion buck backwards. After a few seconds of loud exchange, steel ringing on steel, Alexandros turned the bay back to face the stallion. The Draculis thrust underhand, the tip of his longsword spalling across armored plates circling Alexandros' waist. The Macedonian grunted at the blow.

In that instant, as the blade grated across the solid metal, Alexandros'
spatha
nicked the saddle strap on the opposite side of the stallion, shearing through the thick leather band. Crying out in rage, the Draculis lord whipped his blade back, barely stopping Alexandros' stroke inches from his face. The stallion lunged forward at the same moment, and strong yellow teeth chomped down on the bay's haunch.

Alexandros let the bay bolt for twenty feet, then reined in fiercely. The bay was shivering from head to toe, back leg held up. The Macedonian vaulted out of the saddle,
spatha
reversed and pointing up behind his head.

"Krythos! Take this horse away and see to its wounds."

The scouts were arrayed in a loose line thirty feet behind Alexandros, bows drawn and arrows ready. At least half the Companion cavalry had joined them. Matching them, behind the Draculis lord, who had fallen heavily from his horse, were the remains of the Gepid nobles.

The truce of single combat maintained. Alexandros caught a glimpse of the two lines fighting on the other side of the meadow; they had broken apart. Bodies were being dragged from the wreck of the phalanx by the Goths, and the Gepids had fallen back to form into a ragged mob behind their chieftains. Many of the men were watching the single combat as well, though their sergeants were keeping an eye on the immediate enemy.

Alexandros walked forward, boots sinking a little into the springy loam. Bluebells and a scattering of tiny white flowers peeked up out of the green grass. The sun was high in the sky, burning away the morning's chill. The
spatha
felt good in his hand. He drew out a long dagger from a scabbard at his left side. The Draculis stallion was unhurt, and had run off when the
lamia
had fallen. Alexandros' heart leapt to see the horse safe. The Draculis scrambled to his feet as the Macedonian approached. The man's helmet had been knocked askew, but he righted it with a swift motion.

"You are a cunning dog," the Draculis rasped. "Do you think that we are evenly matched now?"

Alexandros grinned, raising his sword and the dagger in guard. "I think I still have the advantage of you," he said merrily. "Let us see how well you fight without that beautiful horse!"

The Draculis moved warily, both hands on the long, wire-wrapped hilt of his sword. Like many of the northern barbarians, he favored a long blade, giving him at least six inches of reach over Alexandros. The Macedonian crabbed sideways, leading with the dagger in his left hand. The ground was a little uneven, littered with tufted clumps of grass.

"Ha!" The Draculis attacked with a wickedly fast diagonal cut against Alexandros' head. The Macedonian blocked with the shield on his upper arm and gasped at the power behind the blow. The oval shield, a laminate of pine on pine, faced with stiffened leather, cracked lengthwise. Alexandros reeled back, engaging the man's longsword with the tip of his own.

The Draculis beat Alexandros' blade aside with two powerful lunges and then slashed upwards with the tip of his longsword. The Macedonian flung his head backwards, barely escaping losing his lower jaw. Without pausing, Alexandros spun and the edge of his dagger clanged against the side of the Draculis' blade. He pressed hard, trying to turn the man and drive the longsword into the ground.

Heedless, the Draculis wrenched back, his entire body behind the motion. Alexandros' left arm flew back, unable to withstand the man's raw strength. The tip of the longsword blurred past an inch from his nose. Alexandros scrambled back, fending off two more slashes at his head.

Cursing, the Macedonian flipped the dagger into the grass behind him and took his
spatha
in both hands. The ruined remains of the shield on his left arm were a distraction. He had never faced an opponent so quick and strong. The barbarian even had some idea of what to do with a sword.

"You're the first of these children to last against me, daywalker." The Draculis breathed easily, moving gracefully on the uneven ground. Alexandros felt a chill wash over him. There was something inhuman about the man, some cast to his face, something in the way he moved. "You will die with honor."

Snarling, the Draculis bulled in, his longsword snapping through the air. Alexandros blocked the first blow, putting his strength into it, and was not knocked back.

You are the master of this body,
his mind shouted.
It does not feel pain or exhaustion!

For an instant, locked hilt to hilt, he matched his gaze against the Draculis and saw the man's eyes were yellow and bisected by vertical black pupils. At the same moment, there was a shock of some power against his mind, something that clawed at his thought, trying to make him gibber with fear and run. The Macedonian laughed, for such phantoms had no power over him.

"You," he grunted, putting his shoulder into a push, "are a pitiful creature."

The Draculis sprang back as Alexandros broke their lock and slashed at his legs. The Macedonian circled, letting his awareness of the other man grow. He dragged his left foot a little. Then, as the Draculis lunged at the opening, he sprang into the man's motion. The
spatha
whipped sideways in a flat arc. The Draculis lord reacted just as fast, blocking with the haft of his longsword. Alexandros let his blade "stick" to the other sword, driving it into the turf. Again, they struggled, strength against strength.

The Draculis rammed his head at Alexandros, catching him on the side of the skull with his beast-faced helmet. It was a heavy blow and Alexandros was thrown back. By sheer will, he managed to keep his sword, but blood clouded one eye. The cut bled profusely. Alexandros tried to roll away from a half-sensed blow. The Draculis' sword arrowed down, grinding against the mail backing the Macedonian's
lorica
. Metal, stressed beyond its ability to withstand, popped with a tinny sound. Alexandros felt cold steel slide into his flesh, piercing his stomach.

He blinked furiously, clearing his sight. The Draculis, narrow face split by a tremendous grin of triumph, loomed over him. The man was trying to twist the longsword in the wound, but the flat iron plates held the blade straight.

"Well fought, child!"

Alexandros grimaced, willing his body to respond, and his right arm whipped the
spatha
across the front of his body, cleaving the Draculis' head from his neck with a meaty
thwack
. The skull, eyes wide in surprise, spun off across the green grass, bouncing to a halt amid a spray of daffodils. Alexandros raised his other arm just in time to catch the corpse as it fell heavily onto him. Blood flooded from the severed neck, drenching him in a thick bluish fluid. Spitting, Alexandros pushed it off. It was heavy, with all that armor and inert weight.

There was a great commotion all around him, howls of despair and hooves hammering on the ground. The Companions flooded past Alexandros as he staggered to his feet, charging into the mass of Gepid knights. Arrows whistled past overhead as the scouts loosed themselves onto the mass of spearmen beyond. Across the meadow, the Peltasts were shooting, their bowstrings humming like a lyre as they sent volley after volley into the barbarian ranks.