Sovereign (56 page)

'We can try moving,' another officer said. 'If we do it slowly we should be able to maintain the square.'

'And go where?'

The officer shrugged. 'Well, Kendra.'

'It'd take us a year!'

'There's only one thing for it,' the third said. 'We wait for nightfall and make a run for it.'

'They'll be waiting for that.'

'Didn't say they wouldn't be, but there ain't nothing else to do, and some of us will make it.'

'Something's happening to the north,' someone from the square said.

All three officers looked that way.

'I don't believe it. I thought Chetts never fought on foot.'

'And what's that they're holding?'

'Fuck, they're carrying short swords. Who'd have thought, eh?'

'What are we gonna do now?' asked the first officer, his voice rising with panic.

'Stay calm, first off.'

'Charge them?' suggested the second officer.

'Look west, against the sun,' the third officer said. 'There's the bloody Chett lancers. We deploy to charge their foot, they attack our flank and roll us up all the way to the Sea Between.'

'There must be something we can do.'

'Fight and die,' the third officer said, leaving to join his company. 'Fight and die.'

Lynan let Ager plan and lead the attack. He deployed his clan and the Red Hands into troops, and set the troops along an oblique line. When he was happy with the deployment he raised and lowered his sword. The line started to move. At first they kept good formation, but unused to walking for any distance, let alone marching, the line soon became ragged, but the oblique angle largely remained. Ager was in the lead troop, Lynan in the middle one and Gudon in the last, and their commands and firmness helped stop the attack from degenerating into a wild charge. When he was only thirty paces from the enemy square, Ager raised his sword again and picked up the pace. It was impossible for him with his crookback to actually run, but by the time his troop was ten paces from the enemy he could let them go and they slammed into the shield wall, ducking under spears, tearing away shields and jabbing at faces with their short swords. The second line of spearmen jabbed at the Chetts, finding unprotected heads and necks, but not quickly enough to stop the wall from shuddering under the assault. More spearmen joined the press, too far back to use their weapons effectively, but able to lend their actual weight to the line in front.

Then the second troop of Chetts hit. As with the first troop, the wall actually seemed to ripple with the impact and started to give way, but extra spearmen rushed to give their support and the square held.

Then the third troop threw themselves against the enemy, and the fourth and the fifth. The wall was starting to buckle, and the Chetts were clambering over the dead, grabbing spears by their shafts, pulling them out of the hands of the enemy and stabbing and cutting with their swords. Spearmen fell back moaning, hands over their faces, blinded, mutilated, bloody and dying. More Chetts hit the square, and then it was Lynan's turn with the first troop of Red Hands. They rent the air with the war cry of the White Wolf and leaped between the spears of the enemy, falling on the shields that blocked their way. Lynan thrust at any face under a helmet, and used his free hand to grab at spear shafts and shields. The swaying line of heavy infantry would start to buckle and then straighten as fresh soldiers joined the ranks.

A spearman jabbed at Lynan's face. Lynan ducked and stabbed in return but hit only air. The spearman jabbed again and Lynan automatically ducked a second time; but the spearman let the spear slide through his hand so it became unbalanced; the spear's head dipped and the soldier tightened his grip and thrust down with all his strength.

Lynan screamed with sudden pain as the spear top lanced through his right side just above his hip. Two

Red Hands grabbed him by his arms and pulled him out of the way. Warriors rushed around him to fill the gap, but many stopped fighting to watch Lynan; they had never seen their invincible leader bleed.

He shifted his sword to his left hand and with his right covered the wound. He stepped back into the line. 'It is nothing!' he shouted. 'Are the Red Hands afraid of a little blood?'

The Red Hands grinned at one another. Lynan was alright. Victory would still be theirs.

The spearmen forming the other three sides of the square, who could not clearly see what was happening but could hear the terrible sounds of battle and the screams of the dying and wounded, involuntarily started to pull closer together. The square started to fall apart, and then the inevitable. One of the last troops to attack found a gap and charged through to assault the spearmen from inside their own formation.

Lynan knew the moment the square collapsed. It happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, that one moment he seemed to be surrounded by enemies, and the next he was standing alone, surrounded by nothing but discarded shields and spears. He told himself to join the pursuit, but he knew Korigan and Terin had been waiting for this moment, and he could feel through the ground the lancers and horse archers moving in for the final kill. He told his feet to move, but his body rebelled. The wound in his side was throbbing and blood had trickled down his leg and into his right boot so his toes squelched in the stuff. He was too exhausted to do anything, even sit. All around him rang the cries of the victorious Chetts and the wailing of the enemy who knew they were about to die.

The Great Army is destroyed
, he told himself, and wondered why he felt nothing but shame.

'There was nothing I could do,' Dejanus mumbled to himself. 'I was told it was a Great Army. It was a hollow gourd, an empty promise.'

He sat on the end of the dock, apart from his fellows, the few members of his escort that had managed to escape with him in the first few terrifying moments of the Chett ambush. Now he was back at the small fishing village in southern Chandra where he had arrived what seemed only days before, and was waiting for a boat of any description that might take him back to Kendra. He dared not go overland. The Chetts were everywhere. The only thing Dejanus knew for sure was that the Chetts did not have a navy.

He studied the flagon of cheap red wine the local inn had given him. It was crude stuff, but it was having an effect, so he took another mouthful. Some of the wine dribbled from the corners of his mouth.

Dejanus frowned. He would get back to Kendra and have a few words with Orkid about his so-called Great Army. And maybe he would have a few words with that bitch of a queen, too. They had tried to set him up. They had set him up to die with their Great Army.

He hiccupped.

They will have to make me constable again. Head door-opener. Yes, no Chetts are interested in ambushing head door-openers.

In the darkness he saw the phosphorescent bow wave that meant a ship was coming. He stood up and waited. As the ship got closer he realised it was a small sloop, probably a local trader. That would get him back to Kendra by tomorrow night. If the captain was going that way. He waved to his escort. He would make sure the captain was going that way.

He decided to sit down again. For some reason his legs did not want him to support him.

Yes, tomorrow he would be in Kendra, and he would have a word with Orkid Gravespear. In fact, he would have lots of words with him. Maybe the chancellor would give him a new army. A real one with real soldiers and real supply.

That would be fair. And with a real army behind him, he would never have to be afraid again.

Korigan herself bandaged Lynan. She would let no one else near him. Lynan did his best to stifle his cries, but he had never felt so much pain before. He felt ashamed and apologised to Korigan.

'You do not have to prove yourself to me, Lynan Rosetheme,' she said quietly.

Lynan looked at her then, and realised he had not properly done so since Jenrosa's death. He had avoided her whenever he could. He had treated her cruelly. With a shock he then realised something else, something he should have known all the time.

'Still,' he said, 'I am sorry. You at least deserve more from me.'

She glanced up from her work with the bandage, briefly met his gaze. 'You are my king,' she said. 'I have no right to expect any more than—'

'Stop it,' he said. 'We both know you are more than subject to me.'

'Am I?'

He touched her face, and ignoring the spasm of pain it caused bent over to kiss the top of her head. 'Silona told me it was Jenrosa I loved—' he started.

'Don't!' she interrupted. 'I don't have to know this—'

'Yes, you do,' he said, interrupting in turn. 'And I did love her. She was my friend, and Kumul's beloved. But Silona lied to me, and I am only now starting to learn just how much. You mean more to me than simple comfort. You are not just my companion. You are not just my lover.'

Korigan met his gaze again, and this time held it. 'Do you
love
me?' she asked.

Lynan understood her meaning. He nodded. 'Yes.'

CHAPTER 34

Olio and Edaytor were on their way back to the palace after inspecting the first of the new clinics established with the cooperation of the theurgia and the Church. They were deep in conversation, not really aware of the other people on the street and alleys they walked along. In front and behind them walked a small escort of guards, bored and thinking of the beer they would be drinking when off duty. When the rock struck the wall above Olio's head the party stopped, startled by the noise. Edaytor bent over to pick up the rock.

He looked up at Olio in surprise. 'I think someone
threw
this at you.'

The guards, suddenly alert, surrounded their royal charge, looking fiercely for any sign among the milling crowd for the assailant, but seeing no one particularly suspicious.

Olio was blushing. He found it hard to believe that anyone would dislike him enough to want to hurt him. He was embarrassed to realise his feelings were hurt. 'Maybe it was thrown at
you,''
he said to Edaytor, only half joking.

Edaytor did not even bother replying. He was eyeing two young men chatting under the entrance to an inn across the way. Then he noticed the guards were starting to look anxious. They did not like being out of their environment in an uncertain situation and wanted to take their prince safely behind the palace wall. 'You go on,' he told the prince.

'What are you going to do?' Olio asked, not liking the idea of the prelate being left behind. 'What if the rock
was
meant for you? I'll leave you a guard.'

'No,' Edaytor said firmly. 'Go home, your Highness. I'll come and see you this afternoon.'

He nodded to the constable in charge of the guards, who fell behind the prince and started marching, forcing Olio to move along.

'Edaytor!' Olio cried.

'This afternoon!' Edaytor called after him.

He waited until the royal entourage had disappeared among the crowd and then made his way to the two youths he had spotted before. They pretended he was not there, so Edaytor cleared his throat.

'Can we help you?' one of the youths asked, feigning boredom.

Calmly, he said: 'Why did you throw this rock at Prince Olio?'

The youth looked indignant. 'I didn't throw no rock!'

'One of you did.'

'You can't prove that!' the second youth declared angrily.

'I don't have to,' Edaytor replied. 'All I have to do is suggest to the Royal Guards that you attacked their prince and they would not hesitate to cut you down where you stand.'

The pair paled, but they did not seem intimidated. The first one said, 'You're here by yourself, now, Prelate Fanhow. There ain't no guards nearby to help
you
.'

Edaytor leaned closer so his face was less than a hand's breadth from the youth's. 'I'm a magiker, you fool. I don't need a guard to smite you.'

The youth blanched, looked down at his boots to avoid Edaytor's gaze. The second youth wore an expression that suggested he would rather be anywhere else than here with his friend.

'Why don't we go into the inn for a drink? I'll buy you both a beer.'

'Are you serious?' the first youth asked.

Edaytor nodded. 'Never more serious. I want to ask you some questions.'

'About what?'

'I don't pretend to think you're the smartest lad in Kendra,' Edaytor said casually, 'but I certainly don't think you're
that
stupid.'

The three entered the inn and found a deserted table. Edaytor called across a waiter and ordered three beers. When the mugs came he let the youths swallow a few mouthfuls.

'What are your names?' he asked.

'Leandeon,' said the first.

'Wheremer,' said the second.

'Now, Leandeon and Wheremer, I don't know which one of you threw that rock at Prince Olio, and at this point I don't care. But I do want to know why.'

The two youths looked at him with disbelief. 'You're not serious,' Wheremer said. Edaytor simply raised his eyebrows. 'I mean, everyone knows who Olio is—'

'Prince Olio,' Edaytor corrected him. 'Or his Highness.'

'And everyone knows his Highness is a witch, just like his sister!'

Edaytor was so astounded he did not know what to say.

'And that they sacrifice children to make their magik!' Leandeon added.

'If this is a joke it's gone far enough,' Edaytor said seriously. 'I resisted my natural inclination to turn you over to the guards, but now I wonder—'

'But everyone knows it's true!' Wheremer said, his voice half pleading. Leandeon nodded frantically. 'Isn't it true that Areava—?'

'Her Majesty!' Edaytor declared. 'Or Queen Areava!'

Wheremer shook his head. 'Damn, Prelate, don't tell me how to speak of these people.' He jabbed in the air with a finger. 'Isn't it true that she murdered her own daughter to make magik? And that same night the fire started in the old city? And Olio was in the old city at the same time to help her?'

'This is ridiculous!' Edaytor cried.