Brave Men Die: Part 2 (11 page)

‘Where is my aide, where is Juan?’ the earl asked the closest knight.

‘He never came back sir.’

Arryn couldn’t believe it. Juan had served with him for four years. After a significant pause he spoke. ‘Then he needs to be avenged along with the rest of the fallen. We are the might of the Murukan Kingdom. We are the guardians of the border. Our blades will sing as we carve a path through the enemy and close that gate. Their blood will cover the ground and their bodies will feed the carrion. Our charge will not be stopped. We will not be stopped. I will cut down my son’s body. Ride beside me this night and we will show them the strength of the men of Gravid’s Drift.’

The knights assembled before him raised their weapons in the air and cheered. It was decided.

‘Charge straight down the middle. Do not stop, only kill.’

The Kyzantines had poured into the empty blood soaked ground in the middle of the pass, splitting off to attack the two remaining infantry units along the sides of the pass. Some remained wary, forming ranks to halt the imminent charge of the knights. The front line kneeled, shields forward, spears propped in the ground, point aimed at the charge. The second line stood behind, shield raised and spear forward. The third lifted theirs above their fellows’ shoulder.

The earl kicked in his heels and his mount reared up on its hind legs. The sky had turned dark and the moon illuminated his shadow over the pass. His horse leapt in the air and took off toward the Kyzantines.

His heartbeat raced as he crossed the battlefield, his heart in his throat. Inside he knew this was it. This was his only chance to get Thol’s body back. He would give everything to make it to the tower. The boy looked so much like his mother.

The knights rode across the grassy moonlit plain. They pressed harder, whipping themselves into a frenzy. Horses galloped full pace down the hill, mud and tufts of grass flinging in all directions. Armour caught glimpses of moonlight and shimmered in the night. The green standards of Gravid’s Drift fluttered at the forefront of the charge.

The defensive line was set, spears pointed at the cavalry charge. The knights closed the distance, weapons raised high into the night sky. The wave of muscle and metal hit the line, soldiers on both sides screaming as blades pierced flesh.

Dunn pushed his mount faster as he hit the line, a spear bounced off his shield, another off his armoured thigh. His mount charged through, its powerful muscles sending two in the front line reeling backwards, trampling over the bodies and breaking fragile limbs.

Other knights in the front line of the charge were not as lucky. Spears impaled horse and human flesh alike. The man to his right rode his horse hard into the line, and spears impaled his mount. The animal reared under the pain, the knight fell out of the saddle and his mount landed on top of him. He flailed under the dead weight. Another knight down the line met a similar fate. Spears impaled his mount’s front legs making it buckle forward, and throw the rider forward onto the waiting spears. His body slid down the spear hafts, slamming into the infantrymen.

Swinging at the first target on his right the earl took the man’s head from his shoulders, then struck and hit a woman in the throat. He battered his way deep inside enemy territory into the units of Kyzantine infantry. Fellow knights rode beside. Blood splattered across his face as his blade cut more flesh. Nothing was safe from the fury of his attacks. Around him, the cavalry ravaged the defensive line, breaking the first wave of defence and charging the flanks of infantry attacking the two remaining Murukan infantry. The Kyzantines never turned to face the new attack. Dunn led his men straight through the middle, silently thanking the remnants of his infantry for doing their job and holding.

Wez knew they were being slaughtered. They had been pinned in and battered on three sides, their backs against the wall. There was maybe a couple of hundred left around him. The voice of the sergeant had long been silenced. The men had naturally formed a semicircle and held the line, fighting and holding their own.

The right flank of the barricade was so close to their position, only a couple of thousand Kyzantine warriors stood in the way. Stairs that led to the rampart were built from the mountain wall and were even that little bit closer. But still so far away.

Wez slashed out with his blade, cutting the face of one woman, her body twirling under the force of the blow. He brought the blade back up tearing into a man’s sword arm. The soldier beside him dropped under a blow to the skull as he rammed his blade into the killer’s chest. He left it there as he scooped a dropped spear up with his foot, caught it with his hand, and thrust it into a man’s neck. Blood and gore covered his arm.

The line on the left collapsed when three men died and the Kyzantines seized the opportunity. They got through and stabbed soldiers in the back. They never saw it coming. The screams of the dying scared the shit out of Wez as he turned to see the mindless slaughter.

He hoisted his spear above his shoulder and launched it at one woman, taking her in the stomach. He pulled his blade from the Kyzantine as she collapsed to the ground.

‘Tighten the circle,’ he screamed as he charged toward the melee. He raised his sword above his head and brought it down, taking a man through the neck.

The half circle was shortened but it was too late. There were even less of them now and there was no chance of survival. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run.

Wez took another series of blows on his shield before stabbing out and claiming another life. His eyes darted around looking for the next blow and saw it coming. Two Kyzantines surged forward into the gap created, striking as one. Wez pushed his shield forward to take the blows, hearing the ringing sound as the first blade bounced off. The second slipped around the edge, piercing deep into his side. He stepped back as the blade was pulled out, faltered, his hand moving to the wound as his position in the line was lost. Blades and spears flashed out, taking the men on either side.

Wez stepped back further doing his best to fend off the blows when he tripped over a fallen comrade. His back thudded into the ground, his head hit dirt. Wez kicked out, connected with nothing but air. Around him the others died, blood spraying into the air. His blade cut through one man’s leg as a spear drove deep into his thigh. He screamed as the head went through muscle and bone. Blades bounced off his shield as he kept it above his torso. He never saw the blow coming as it clean took off his other leg just above the knee.

Wez turned his head to the side as the vomit hurled out of his mouth. As a foot kicked his shield away from his chest, Wez reacted, ramming his sword into the man’s groin. But the blades came anyway, his death already written. Over and over again they penetrated his chest and his arms, the blood came out of his mouth as his punctured lungs breathed blood. As his eyes began to roll back the final blade came down straight through his neck.

Blood splattered the earl’s face as his blade cleaved through another torso. The gate was in sight. He could clearly see his son’s body dangling from the tower. It swayed slightly. He could see the bloody days old wounds. He could see the binding, the dents in his armour. His hollow eyes stared back.

A spear drove into his thigh. His blood-curdling scream filled the air as the Kyzantine twisted it. He retaliated, driving the point of his sword through the man’s neck. The soldier fell retaining his grip on the spear shaft and ripped it out of Arryn’s thigh. In agony he lashed out again decapitating another warrior.

He was so close he couldn’t fail now. The knight beside him was pulled from his saddle. He fought the entire way down, swinging his sword out at legs, batting soldiers away with his shield. He had been stabbed three times before he landed and still took another with him before they finished him off.

The green standard with the wolf was next to fall. The earl saw it waver out the corner of his eye. The soldier’s mount reared up, kicking at the enemy, and took a woman square in the jaw. Blood splattered against the hoof, spraying into the air. Spears and swords drove into the horse’s underbelly, the mount screaming in pain as it battered out against shields. The standard fluttered to and fro in the steady hands of the bearer. His sword swung out catching a soldier in the shoulder and he clung for dear life as the horse pitched forward. As the horse landed it rolled left, trapping the knight’s leg in the stirrup. In a last ditch effort he slammed the bottom of the standard into the soft dirt below him as his leg broke from the impact. Pinned, he attempted to keep them at bay with his sword but was soon overwhelmed.

As the standard bearer fell the Murukans surged forward, rallying to the green cloth. They pushed past it, giving their horses freedom to crash into the Kyzantine line and defend the most sacred of emblems. Each put their lives on the line to safeguard it from the enemy and each was eventually cut down, falling under the weight of larger numbers. Metal pierced flesh. Blood soaked the ground.

Arryn Dunn, Earl of Gravid’s Drift, watched as his men were butchered, cut down against a force they didn’t even seem to dent. He couldn’t give in now, he was so close to Thol. So close he could reach out and touch him. There were hardly any of his knights left. Maybe a hundred. Probably less. He killed another Kyzantine. His arm was red with gore. He didn’t care anymore. They all needed to die. He wanted his son.

‘Keep fighting! The men of Gravid’s Drift do not surrender! We take as many of them to hell with us!’ he screamed, ramming the pommel of his sword into the face of one woman, the point of his blade across another’s throat.

A sword penetrated his defence under his shield, rammed into his gut. He smashed his shield down on the man’s arm and decapitated the man. Another blade took him. He hurt. He gritted his teeth and fought on.

He had moved beyond the aid of the others, those close to him had already fallen. Their blood pooled around their broken bodies, their lives given.

Hands grabbed at his body and tugged at him. He lashed out, killed as many as he could. He gripped tightly with his thighs but it was useless, he had already lost all feeling in the left leg. He heard the cries go out as he fell, Murukan knights trying to rally to his position. It was pointless.

His arm reached out to the tower. The muscle twitched. Blades drove into his flesh and smashed his chest plate. His lungs crushed under the impact, searing pain erupted from the punctures. Blood trickled from his lips as he reached one final time to the gate tower and whispered, ‘Thol.’

A single lithe figure rode confidently across the Empire, her long dark hair blowing across her face as her brown eyes scanned the countryside. The destrier between her legs continued at its steady pace along the road, her scabbard knocking rhythmically against her thigh as she started down the decline toward the south–western corner of the country.

When Pyxis closed her eyes she could almost hear the noise of battle drift on the winds to her ears throughout the mountains. It had taken three days to get from Cerebus Valley to the Empire’s entrance to Gorgon Pass. Three days in which she could have already taken Black Claw.

Cresting the hill behind her, the standards fluttered to life and slowly the first of her warriors came into view. Pyxis’ personal cavalry force, the Wraiths, her two hundred veterans, slowly rode down the road under the watchful eye of Cunx.

Beside the entrance into the mountain pass, marshalled to the side of the road, were a two thousand strong cavalry unit and another five thousand infantry from Redisberg. With this rabble she would have to take the Murukan outpost that had already obliterated the first wave.

Pyxis pulled on the reins as she approached the waiting reserves. Her black destrier responded, snorting and pawing at the ground. The animal’s eyes looked around, as if searching for imminent danger before relaxing and lowering its head to the ground to nibble at the grass beside the dirt track.

‘We should definitely have the numbers advantage this time general,’ said Cunx, riding up beside her. His helmet rested on the pommel of the saddle, his curly hair rustling in the wind. Cunx’s eyes were alert and his dimples were apparent even under his four-day stubble.

‘Magic could be a problem, and seeing the magi at Black Claw it concerns me they could get there so quickly.’

‘Then I’ll organise a death squad, volunteers to hunt the witches out. They are vulnerable when they cast …’

‘I’m aware of that Cunx, for that split second we might have a chance. Organise a squad, if there is one, they are to break formation and hunt her down.’

‘Yes general.’

A man with dark hair and dark complexion rode forward as Cunx rode off. He was short, sat slightly hunched forward in the saddle, and wore a crooked grin under a crooked nose.

‘General, I’m Captain Fizdis. This is the Redisberg First and Fifth. We await your commands.’

Pyxis judged the man was a capable administrator who managed to get his troops fed and to wherever they needed to be. Was probably average with the sword strapped to his waist, but he looked indecisive. Better to just give him orders and not let him think too much on his own.

‘Move scouts in now along the mountainsides to find covered positions. In two hours time they are to remove the sentries on the wall, and that will be the signal for the cavalry to charge. When riders come out of the gate to deal with the scouts we can wipe them out and move through the gate. Infantry are to remain here to stop anyone from fleeing.’

With a wave of his hand, Captain Fizdis signalled back to his detachment and a second officer shouted commands at the unit. Twenty men and women disbanded from the flanks of the infantry unit and raced into the pass. They were lean and dressed in greys, camouflaged to perfection for the mountain terrain. Bows slung over shoulders, they divided into two groups and ran into the shadows on either side.

‘What are we getting ourselves into?’ Pyxis asked.

‘Scouts have never seen more than twenty men on the walls at one time, but it’s expected that more are waiting beyond the gate hidden from sight. For them to have slaughtered the men led by Dale and Peake so quickly, I’d assume close to four hundred soldiers. The battlefield is covered with hoof prints confirming they have a mounted division, of no more than a hundred or so.’

‘Any survivors from the last attack? Surely the four hundred didn’t kill everybody? Anybody witness how they defended the walls?’

‘We arrived yesterday and have seen no one in the vicinity. Scouts said that there were no tracks leaving the pass, only going in. The ground is scorched where the bodies were burnt to ashes. Smoke could be seen two days' ride away. The bodies must have been piled high and so much fuel added to the fire to make it burn so. The smoke was black and acrid, and the stench was horrid.’

Pyxis kept her eyes focused on the captain as she pondered his words and didn’t turn as the sound of hooves thudded behind her.

‘It’s been organised general,’ Cunx interrupted, after riding up from the column.

‘What’s this?’ asked Fizdis.

‘Death squad for magi,’ answered Pyxis before Cunx could query the man’s presence, let alone authority.

‘Surely they wouldn’t be involved so early?’

‘We had a problem at Black Claw. This time we will be prepared.’

The man nodded, masking his distress, although the whites of his eyes revealed his concern. Fizdis turned away before his anxieties were questioned, riding back to the column of cavalry and organising his troops.

Castor reached out and moved a branch with his hand to get a better view of the Kyzantines sneaking forward. He watched on from the top of the ridge as the scouts moved in the shadows toward the barricade. They moved with the utmost silence; even their bows slung against their backs tapped silently against their armour. Slowly the line of ten separated, moving into different positions behind trees and rocks.

Castor nervously gripped the reins as the soldiers below unslung their bows and nocked arrows. Turning, he glimpsed the look of grim determination on Hydrus’ face as he held back an urge to rush in. As a youth Hydrus could never just stand by and let the world happen around him. There had been one seventh day where all three of the boys had been given leave and they'd gone went into Buckthorne town below the keep. Around the centre of the town a group of adolescent bullies had stolen a child’s toy and were throwing it to each other as the child whimpered and ran from one to the other in a hope to claim it back. The child’s older sister had yelled at them to give the soft bear back but they had just laughed and pushed her down. That was when Hydrus acted, walked straight up to the closest bully and hit him squarely across the jaw. The toy dropped from his hands and the young child had picked it up and scampered away to his sister as the other bullies joined the fight. Castor could remember the surprised look that Pollux had given him before they both went running into the fray.

Volans’ was much the same, his knuckles were white from the death grip he had on his pommel. Volans was a tough bastard of a lieutenant but he wouldn’t stand for the other men beating on each other or starting the brawls at the taverns. That’s not to say he wouldn’t end them when he was drawn into it.

Gods, it was so hard for both of them not to simply charge down there right now and gut them before they could even fire a shot. They could save the lives of those men on the wall who probably didn’t even know the scouts were out there.

Rotating his shoulder, Castor reached up to touch the spot the bolt had gone through over a week ago. Gods, he couldn’t believe it was so long ago and now he was sitting in Virtue’s saddle waiting for the Kyzantine Empire to attack the barricade at Gorgon Pass. He'd never thought he would see the day. This was so much bigger than stopping some common thieves. The world had turned so quickly that he doubted it would ever sink in. The promotion, the bloodshed, the death of his best friend. At the thought of Argol his blood began to boil and anger built inside him. Someone needed to pay, and he was looking to stick his blade into the enemy’s soft flesh and watch their blood spill. He would take his vengeance on those below. On all of them. It wouldn’t be long now.

Castor had argued with Hydrus for twenty minutes earlier in the morning to have a squad of the Nails positioned on the other side of the pass for this inevitability. If Kyzantine scouts were creeping down in the shadows on this side then they would be on that side too. Left to their own devices, enemy archers could pick their targets at will. Finally, Volans had agreed with him and Hydrus reluctantly gave in. At this very moment they would be stealthily moving over the rocks, knives in hand and slitting the Kyzantine’s throats.

For a moment Castor imagined blood running along his blade as he dragged it across an archer's neck. The thought made his heart race and he didn’t know whether he would have enjoyed leading the group on the other side more than having the opportunity to sink his blade into as many as possible.

Castor shook the thoughts from his mind and turned to Hydrus who signalled them to be prepared.

Pyxis cantered into the pass as the scouts opened fire. She watched on in the distance as silhouettes on the wall fell, screams rang out, and havoc was spread along their lines. Men on the wall looked around frantically for the archers as the arrows hit. Pyxis judged what the Murukan response would be, what she would do — locate the threat and send a heavily armoured, mounted response to deal with it. The knights should come thundering out of the gate, probably only a handful of them, just enough to ensure that the threat was dealt with. And as those gates opened her cavalry would be already charging down the pass to intercept them and break through the gates and take the compound.

Pyxis drew her scimitar and looked at Cunx and Fizdis. The blade glinted as it caught the sunlight.

‘Forward!’ she screamed, kicking her mount's flanks to drive the stallion on. The Kyzantine cavalry surged forward, hooves thundering through the pass as they hurtled closer to the barricade. The stone walls loomed ever closer as the dust kicked up around the column.

The scouts continued to fire at the figures along the wall, fewer and fewer were falling now as the remaining soldiers shielded themselves as they peered in vain at the mountainsides. Those on her left had stopped firing and Pyxis wondered what the fuck had happened.

The gate wasn’t opening like she expected. Those on the walls turned their attention toward them, the visible target, and fired. The shafts fell short as they barrelled forward. Her troops would be in range soon. Where was the mounted response that should have ridden out to deal with the archers? Pyxis looked frantically around for the trap.

The screams and cries came from behind her and off to the right. Travelling hard and fast they came through the scattered trees and between the boulders in a suicidal charge. They were above the scouts’ position. The column wouldn’t have time to react. This was going to hurt.

Hydrus ordered the charge from their concealed position atop the ridge once most of the column had passed. Volans and Castor charged by his side, hurtling toward the enemy. Branches snapped against his armoured chest and scratched his exposed flesh. Hydrus focused on hitting the side of the column with as much force as possible. He was unaware of the scouts directing their fire at the advancing threat. Arrows flew around him, one whistled by his ear.

He raced past the scouts' hidden locations — they were ridden down by those following. Swinging his sword he cleaved the first cavalier at the waist, his horse barrelling into another as he sliced a horse’s hind leg. The horse stumbled, throwing the rider into another Kyzantine. Battering his way across the width of the column, Hydrus suffered minimal scraps and cuts. He kept going, gave the rest of the Nails time and space to get through. He looked around: the whole unit had broken through and shortened the Kyzantine cavalry column. The front kept riding but the rear had stopped, lost and confused, milling around the fallen bodies of their comrades.

Before the enemy could regain the momentum of the charge, Hydrus wheeled Honour around and led the Nails at the Kyzantines. The enemy reacted and leapt forward to engage, but the Nails had the speed and split, forcing the enemy’s charge to pass between the Nails as they switched their angles and attacked on either flank. Sabres bounced harmlessly off shields as the Nails struck their victims down. They leapfrogged around their fellow brothers fighting in front, darted out to pick up speed before diving back into the line. Blades dripped with blood as horse and man died under vicious blows. The Murukans were clearly superior. The Kyzantines fell quickly to the barrage.

The Nails rode around the end of the chargers, wheeled around as Hydrus looked over his men. Three empty saddles. The horses had gathered with their companions, still following the orders of the group. Hydrus turned toward a groan from a knight on his right, and watched as the man slumped over and fell dead from the saddle. His armour crunched as his body hit the dirt, his leg still tangled in the stirrup. Blood pooled around his body, seeped through his armour from a hidden wound.

Hydrus’ nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed in the shadow of his helmet. Those that survived fled down the pass, dragging their sorry arses out of there. He turned his attention back to the Kyzantine cavalry that had remained on course and watched as some started to perform a turning manoeuvre while under fire from Duncan’s archers.

Half the Nails pulled hand crossbows from their saddles, aimed, and fired at the back half of the Kyzantine cavalry who charged to meet them. The short, sharp bolts punctured armour and exploded into flesh. Those at the front of the charge dropped from their saddles, slowing those following.

‘Nails! Charge!’

Pyxis cursed the One God that she didn’t have the foresight to see this coming. She raised her shield to protect herself from the hail of arrows.

‘Turn you fuckers!’ Pyxis screamed. ‘Aim for their cavalry, stop them from hitting our rear!’

An arrow thudded into her shield and another into the saddle close to her leg. Turning sharply, her thighs gripping tightly, Pyxis exposed her back to the enemy archers as they released another payload. Cavaliers around her fell with arrows in their backs.

The company wheeled around, urgency spreading amongst the cavalry to avenge the soldiers lying hammered on the ground. Pyxis analysed the battlefield. The Murukan unit had decimated the column’s rear and was battling those left alive. There were barely two hundred of them and they were slaughtering her troops. They were good, too good for foot soldiers trained to ride a horse. Suddenly she realised her reinforcements were not good enough to deal with these men.