The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (94 page)

Timothy approached James and handed him a big cup of hot tea. “Thank you, lad.”

James sipped the brew carefully, savoring the lance of warmth coursing down his gullet. Nodding, the squire retreated, nursing his left leg. The boy had taken a glancing hammer blow to his hip, but he had endured well and even made his first kill in that fight. Afterward, they got him drunk till he puked and had a pair of whores care for him through the night.

At James’s side, Xavier hawked phlegm from his throat and lobbed it high and away. “Don’t like it. They’re dug in there too well. It will be risking leading a frontal assault. The ground is too muddy. Our troops will get bogged down.”

James winced as he swallowed too much tea, and a boiling knot of pain expanded under his ribs. He looked at the terrain again. No one knew if the land’s contours had any names, but they called the hill overlooking the Oth Danesh encampment Small Teat; the valley was known as the Cunt. That knoll would give his archers a superior ground for a harrying attack. If they kept their arrows true for a few hours, the pirates would either give chase, fighting uphill, or move deeper into the valley, away from their defensive positions. If not, well, James wasn’t quite sure what to do. Rob argued for caution, but something inside his bones told him they should finish this.

Someone whistled. It was Colonel Perry. He signaled with his hand. The flanking force was in place. James nodded.

“What if we sneak up on them?” Master Hector said, chewing on a boiled egg like mad. He always ate half a dozen of them before a fight.

Rob tilted his head to the side. “Where?”

The grizzled sergeant—he had refused any other title—waved toward a small clump of trees growing to the north of the valley. It was some distance from the hill, across open ground. But a force could get there by giving the pirates a wide berth and approach unseen. “Get a force of five hundred there. Hunker down a little while. Let the archers pepper them with all they’ve got. Then, advance the unit as if to engage and retreat. We use the trees to break the numerical advantage. Then, get the rest of the troops moving in while the pirate bastards are busy with the forest group.”

James smacked his hip impatiently. “It is done then. Get the order rolling.”

Rob wanted to say something, but then paused. Then, he just followed after his friend.

A jaundiced sun rose, hidden by a silver cover of clouds. It would be a dreary day, cold but mercifully without precipitation. It was a sort of false spring day, the one that gave you hope there would be no more snow or morning ice.

Shouts erupted through the camp, men stirring to action. James nudged his horse toward the front line, flanked by Rob and Xavier. Master Hector had gone to rally his own regiment, the Lynxes. Timothy was trying to mount, using a stool to get himself into a saddle. He refused any help.

Rob extended his hand in a fist. “Good luck, James. Make history, like your father did.”

The emperor in the making bunched his own hand and made a small punching gesture. “I will.” He thought of Rheanna for a moment, but then steeled himself free of distractions. His eyes turned toward the wriggling mass of color in the distance, the enemy position teeming with hardened warriors and tempered in desperation. It was going to be a difficult fight.

Three hours later, the baiting force emerged from the copse and spread out around the lip of the valley’s northern edge, just a few hundred paces from the pirates. They clanged their weapons against shields, hooted, yelled, cursed, blew their horns. On their left, the massive wall of men with every sort of bow knelt, nocked their strings, aimed high, and let loose a hail of steel-capped bodkins and hunting arrows.

For almost half an hour, the pirates endured, even as the forest unit, led by Colonel Gilles, one of Xavier’s more trusted officers, edged forward closer, almost within the arrow range themselves. Soon, they would couch their lances and charge.

Then, the enemy force lost their nerve and moved forward. Almost like jackrabbits scattering before an eagle’s shadow, Gilles’s men turned about and fled from the Cunt. The Oth Danesh followed them shortly, arrows raining on their heads. At the very same moment, Master Hector advanced the main body, driving a wedge toward the enemy.

Their progress across the valley’s muddy western entrance was slow. The ground sucked on the horses’ hooves, turning a canter into a hobble. When they didn’t sink in dirty slush, they walked over polished patches of ancient ice refusing to melt. Animals skidded and fell on their sides, jostling the ranks like kegs on the back of a cart. James watched with dismay. Any moment, the pirates might turn around and careen into the snailing van. But then, the Lynxes reached the rocky center of the valley unchallenged, the pirates being too busy with the annoyance attack, just as planned. Then, the master-at-arms veered left and pounced. The infantry followed, a mass of men knee-deep in mud, plowing forward, exhausted and terrified.

James could hear the screams from his position uphill, sounds carrying up the valley floor with uncanny clarity. Everyone thought it would be too risky for him to fight in the fray, but he was allowed to lead the skirmish units. James wanted to protest, but then he knew the importance of being a general in the army.

Xavier moved forward, leading the Wolves in support of the Lynxes. James’s own unit, the Foxes, lingered behind. But almost like driftwood, it was slowly being pulled toward the battle. James hated the wait. Rob was smoking, enjoying himself. He did not seem too concerned. For a posh urbanite, he was rather casual about combat in the countryside.

Then again, James realized, the Caytorean elite had been waiting for deliverance for quite some time. They had suffered humiliation time after time, for two generations now. Liberating their country of invaders was a blessing. Even if they forgot it was another foreigner leading their armies.

It took a while for James to realize that the battle was not going well.

The pirates had left the valley and were now spilling toward the bait unit and the exhausted archers, most of whom had depleted their quivers. Colonel Gilles did not have enough troops to stop their advance and was slowly retreating. The battle was going exactly the opposite from what they had planned. Instead of retreating into the valley, toward the flanking force, the Oth Danesh were trying to break through north, where his force was the weakest. If the pirates managed to get into the forest, they would be impervious to cavalry attacks. They could march away undefeated and emerge on the other side, threatening Belian and Yick Town. And farther still, Shurbalen.

James had to make a decision, fast.

“Form on me!” he shouted. “We must cut off their escape!” He lowered the visor on his helmet. And then, without waiting, he trotted forward. The Foxes followed, one thousand and seven hundred strong.

“Protect the emperor!” someone yelled.

And then, they rode in silence, focused on the blotch of enemy troops charging against Gilles, ignoring the weak fire from the archers on their left flank. The Lynxes were struggling to keep up, heavy armor weighing them down in the muddy soil. Horns were blaring frantically, and the army was reacting to the sudden change in the fighting, but Hector and Xavier would never get to the pirates in time. It was up to James to stop them. He felt a knot of panic burgeon in the pit of his stomach. But then, he bunched his muscles so hard he could hardly breathe and pushed the fear away.

James watched the landscape blur past him. Suddenly, a wall of human flesh rose before him. He slowed down just a little, edging his horse sideways, and crashed into the mass of pirates, hacking with his sword. He had never mastered the use of the lance, so he fought at close range only. Around him, more experienced men lowered their twenty-foot shafts and slammed into the enemy.

Timothy joined his lord on his left side, holding a large shield, protecting him. Rob was there, too, fighting with zeal, his coat soaked in other people’s blood.

“For Athesia! For Caytor!” James howled. And then, chaos enveloped him.

The emperor of Athesia sat on the wet ground, watching the fires burn. There were so many of them, and they stank. Human flesh and hair had an awful stench.

The battle was over. His army counted less than seven thousand men capable of fighting. The rest were piled unceremoniously at the valley’s mouth, awaiting burial, or screaming in agony in the infirmary tents not far away. Of the enemy force, there was not a soul left. The pirates had been eradicated to the last man. His first real conquest was complete.

Someone would no doubt write a pretty ballad of his feat today. There was no shortage of bards and whores to spin rumors. One thing was certain, there was no Caytorean who doubted his ferocity or dedication anymore. He might be an Eracian fighting for Athesia with the bulk of their fellow countrymen under his banners, but he was their leader.

Rob would remind him now that his father had done almost the same thing once. He had taken a bunch of ragged troops and forged them into an unstoppable killing machine. But more importantly, he had won their hearts and made them his forever.

With a hand shaking from exhaustion, James reached down and picked up a slice of bacon from his dinner platter. A skin of diluted wine rested at his side, untouched. Not far away, Rob was lying on his back, smoking. James could see the snaky tendril of smoke rising in an almost perfect column above his head before it curled and dissipated. They should have changed their blood-soaked uniforms and gone into their warm tents, but no man felt the chill right now. They were too excited to care. Their bodies were like leaden weights, but their hearts hammered with the pure thrill of being alive.

Regroup, lick the wounds, and head back home. That was the plan. He had lost so many men in this war, but he had created the future cadre of his empire. They would be needed again, soon. But he did not want to think about his half-sister or King Sergei right now.

Warlord Xavier approached, limned in an orange nimbus. “Sir, sorry to disturb you.”

James groaned wearily. “What is it?”

Xavier hesitated. “There’s another army approaching.”

A wave of desperation washed over James, but he suppressed it.
In the middle of the night?
he thought. The Parusites and their allies were crazy. The drinking and whoring would have to be postponed, it seemed.

He rose. Timothy showed up suddenly, carrying his belt and sword. The lad had fought well today, once again. James would have to figure out how to reward him for his valor.

Standing up, James noticed the camp was stirring around him. Men were rubbing their faces with snow and cold water, trying to banish sleep and drink stupor. Sergeants were barking orders, rallying exhausted men to arms.

Walking on wooden legs, James followed Xavier. The rest of his high-ranking officers were already assembled, discussing tactics for the upcoming battle. Master Hector had taken a wound to his arm, but he had poured some wine and vinegar on the gash, smeared pig grease on it, wrapped it in linen, and went about being a leathery and tough son of a bitch.

“How did you miss them!” Colonel Perry was shouting at a scout.

“Sir, that’s impossible. That unit wasn’t there yesterday. We keep track of all the Parusite forces. Duke Kiril hasn’t moved from his position.”

Perry pointed angrily toward the unseen enemy force. “Explain that!”

The scout opened his mouth twice before he spoke. “They must have sneaked up on us, sir.”

James rubbed his cheeks, crusty flakes of dried ash peeling away. “How many?”

Master Hector spat. “About five thousand, at least. Marching north at a steady pace. They will get here at dawn.”

James clenched his fists, weary tendons screaming. “Pirates?”

The scout shook his head. “No, sir. Regular troops, mostly infantry.”

Had King Sergei bested him even before they had officially declared war on one another? Had he made his units silently shadow James, studying his strategy, watching him make his blunders and mistakes, enjoying seeing him kill off his force slowly, waiting for the ideal moment to strike? He had gotten rid of the pirates for him, and now, with a third of his original strength, he was easy prey. That was so bloody convenient. James felt anger surge through his veins, making him alert.