The Crimson Shield (27 page)

‘They bleed like any others,’ he said. The rain was already easing.

‘Don’t they just.’

The Vathen lowered their spears, pointing them straight at the faces of the Lhosir. Gallow felt the soldiers around him tense, bracing for another fight, but the Vathen held their ground, and
then through the midst of them came a giant in blood-red mail. His shield was black, but when the giant drew out his sword, the blade was a deep red like his mail, with an edge as long as a
man’s leg. The air fell still, the voices of the Lhosir and the Vathen alike quiet. The giant held out his sword and swung it this way and that. As he cut the air, the sound it made was like
the shivering moans of lost souls.

‘The Sword of the Weeping God!’ The Lhosir beside him raised an eye. ‘So they really have it then.’

‘And we have the shield,’ said Gallow. He stared. The sword he’d seen in his dream of the Weeping God, before he’d left Andhun, and again after Gorrin had hit him on the
back of his head under the monastery. ‘It’s just a sword, no better or worse than the man who wields it.’ Today he said it as much for himself as for anyone else.

The soldier grinned. ‘Aye. And that man is no Lhosir!’

The giant walked up to the Lhosir line, batting aside a hail of missiles with his shield or simply letting them bounce off his armour. When he reached them and the first Lhosir tried to stab
him, he caught the spear in the sword’s guard and wrenched it away. He took another blow to his shield, this time from a sword, and then Gallow couldn’t see anything, but there were
screams and the giant was bellowing something; and then there was the Screambreaker, out in front of the Lhosir.

‘Here!’ he cried. ‘Here I am! Corvin the Screambreaker. Widowmaker! Nightmare of the North!’ He threw down his spear, jamming the point into the ground, and drew his
sword. ‘I have no god-touched blade or shield, but I will still bleed you. So face me if you dare, Vathan!’

The giant turned. He pointed the red sword at the Screambreaker and roared. The second Vathan line raised their spears and charged, the hail of stones and javelins began again and the giant and
the Screambreaker vanished into the swirl of swords and spears. At the front of the shield wall, crushed by friends from behind and the enemy in front, barely able to move, Gallow had no eyes for
either. The flash of swords and spear points became all that mattered. He stabbed the Vathan in front of him in the foot, same as he had the last, and the man behind Gallow, a stranger, finished
the job just as he had before with a sure understanding for him even though they’d met only minutes ago. Blood flecked Gallow’s face and spattered his helm. His arm screamed with the
effort of holding up his spear but he shut out the pain and stabbed and stabbed until this line of Vathen fell back like the last, leaving their own new litter of corpses behind.

The giant with the red sword was still standing. He prowled between the lines, bellowing challenges. The Lhosir answered him again with stones and javelins, and the giant shrugged them aside in
disdain. Again the Screambreaker stepped out to face him and again the giant ignored him. The Lhosir jeered. Another line of Vathen assembled down the slope.

‘Where are their horse?’ muttered Gallow. The longer they took about this next attack the better. His arm was killing him. They’d all tire soon. Whatever stamina advantage
they’d had taking the battle to the Vathen today, that was surely gone now.

‘Not here,’ said the Lhosir beside him. ‘That’s all that matters. I don’t know your face, but you must be Gallow Truesword since you’re the only man without a
beard. They say you’ve taken to living among the Marroc.’

‘So I did.’

‘Well you don’t fight like them.’ The soldier nudged him, the closest they could get to clasping arms with their shields still held up in front of them. ‘Nodas of
Houndfell. I’ve heard of you. Some things good, some things bad. The good came from men I know and trust, the bad I’m less keen to believe now I’ve stood beside you.’

‘Well, Nodas of Houndfell, if we live through this, you can tell me all of both over a keg of Marroc beer.’

Nodas laughed. ‘More likely I’ll tell it to you in the Maker-Devourer’s cauldron.’

Here and there, up and down the line as the giant walked, other Lhosir stepped forward, throwing down their own challenges and laughing as they were ignored. ‘What’s he
doing?’

‘Making a fool of himself.’

And the Vathen came again.

W
ave after wave came, and each time the Lhosir line threw them back and held its ground. Then finally the Vathen sent their horsemen, who threw a
hail of javelots and withdrew, and when they did, the Lhosir plucked the javelots from the ground and out of their shields and passed them back to those behind them, so that the next ranks of
advancing Vathen felt them too.

After each wave the giant was still there. The hill was awash with the dead now, piled up to make each Vathan advance harder than the last, but the Vathen weren’t the only ones dying and
there were still thousands upon thousands of them on the lower slopes. Taking their time. Waiting. Slowly wearing the Lhosir down until they didn’t have the strength to hold their shields
tight and their spears high. When Gallow looked over his shoulder, the Lhosir line looked thin. He couldn’t see much past the helms and the angry faces, but there, right at the brow of the
hill, Medrin’s standard still flew. Five hundred men, the Screambreaker had said, to throw into the fight wherever they were needed.

‘Let them miss it all,’ said Nodas. ‘All the glory for us.’ He was breathing heavily and bleeding from a savage cut across his cheek that must have gone right through the
skin, judging from the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

‘Medrin needs to do something with those.’

‘He does. Imagine if they miss it all. They’ll kill him.’

The next wave came. A moment before it broke, the Vathan in front of Gallow hooked Nodas’s shield with an axe and pulled it down, and the next Vathan along stabbed Nodas squarely with a
long knife. The blade skittered off Nodas’s mail, straight up his chest and buried itself in his throat. Nodas looked surprised, then angry, and then nothing much at all. When the Vathen
withdrew once more, he toppled forward onto the mound of bodies that lay in front of the Lhosir line. Gallow looked at the sky. A warm spring evening, the sun sinking low but not yet starting to
tinge with orange. Another two hours maybe before dark. Two hours? He didn’t have the strength for that.

‘Twelvefingers!’ The Screambreaker stepped out from the line again. He looked exhausted. ‘Call our prince to the centre before we win the battle without him! Medrin!
Medrin!’ The shout went up, but when Gallow looked to the brow of the hill, the prince’s standard never moved.

It started to rain again, a longer shower and heavier than the last. The Vathen didn’t wait this time but came again, though they weren’t happy about it. They slipped and stumbled
among the bodies of their own fallen and this time broke quickly. On the slopes across the valley Gallow saw more movement. Men running away perhaps, chased down by Vathan riders? Or something
else. But either way the battle was close to its end. The Lhosir were losing their strength and the Vathen were losing their stomach for it.

The giant was roaming in front of the next line of Vathen again. No one threw anything at him any more because no one had anything left to throw. Even the Marroc archers had fallen silent.

‘Face me!’ bellowed the Screambreaker. He looked as though he could barely stand. His shield sagged and he couldn’t keep the point of his spear up. And now, at last, the giant
stopped and turned. He faced the Screambreaker and twirled his sword. Around him the air moaned, and if the giant was worn down at all by two hours of fighting, he didn’t show it. He came at
the Screambreaker slowly, cautiously, while the Screambreaker circled away from his own men, inviting the giant in closer.

The giant closed the gap between them with a charge and swung the red sword. The Screambreaker didn’t even try to strike back but threw himself out of the way, stumbling and barely keeping
his feet. The giant whirled and swung again – this time the Screambreaker slipped as he ducked out of the way. He rolled and dropped his shield as he scrabbled back. Gallow frowned. The
Screambreaker? Dropping his shield?

The giant roared. He came on slowly.

‘He’s playing with him,’ Gallow whispered in disgust.

‘Yes,’ said the man beside him, a greybeard Lhosir who’d come up to stand in Nodas’s place. ‘But then he’s only fighting a Vathan, and the Vathan has refused
him a half a dozen times already. Give the old sword his sport.’

It took Gallow a moment to understand. The greybeard thought he’d meant the Screambreaker?

The Vathan took another swing. As the Screambreaker launched himself out of the way, the giant lunged with his shield, battering the Screambreaker back and knocking him down. The Screambreaker
dropped his spear now too. He rolled and barely got out of the way as the giant struck out yet again. He hauled himself to his feet and stumbled away, then staggered and tripped over a body with a
spear sticking out of it and fell. The Vathan laughed. As the Screambreaker pulled himself to his feet, the giant roared and drew back the red sword for the killing blow.

The Screambreaker drew his own sword in the middle of the giant’s backswing and threw it. The Vathan swatted it away with his shield but just for a moment he blocked his own sight of the
Screambreaker, and that was when Corvin moved with a sudden surge of speed, rolled and snatched his spear from the ground where he’d dropped it. The Vathan took a moment to see where the
Screambreaker had gone and by then it was too late. The Nightmare of the North came up into a crouch to one side of him and thrust the spear sideways into the giant’s knee. The Vathan
screamed. Now the Screambreaker didn’t look tired at all. He picked up an axe and a shield from the battlefield and marched straight forward, whirling the axe over his head as if to finish
the fight, and then dropped suddenly to one knee and let the axe fly. It caught the giant just above the ankle of his other leg; the Vathan roared and down he went, both legs ruined. The
Screambreaker picked up another spear. The giant tried to protect himself with his shield as Corvin walked in circles around him, out of reach of the red sword, jabbing with his spear, but it was
hardly any time at all before the Screambreaker found a way through and touched the spear point to the giant’s throat. He held it there lightly.

‘Yield!’ he cried, loud enough for both the Vathen and the Lhosir to hear.

The giant’s answer, if he gave one, was lost to the wind, but it was clear what it must have been, for the Screambreaker suddenly leaned hard into his spear and drove it through the
giant’s neck. Then he took another axe, cut off the giant’s hand, unpeeled his dead fingers from the red sword and held it high where everyone could to see. ‘Solace!’ He
cried. ‘The Peacebringer! The Comforter! The Sword of the Weeping God! Sorrow’s Edge! See! Just a sword! That’s all it is! There is no god here guiding any hand to victory. There
are only men.’

Cries went up from the Lhosir lines, jeering and cheering and laughing at their enemy, but if the Screambreaker was hoping for the Vathen to break and flee, what he got was the opposite. Instead
of coming up the hill at a steady pace, the next wave broke into a run, howling in rage and fury, surging forward at such a fierce pace that the Screambreaker had to run to make it back to his own
line. He pushed into the shield wall beside Gallow.

‘Look at it,’ he hissed. ‘It’s just a sword. Give me a spear any day.’ Gallow offered his own, but the Screambreaker shook his head. ‘I left the scabbard for
this on the giant’s body.’

‘Then throw it away, if it’s just a sword.’

‘I’ll see how it swings first.’ The Vathen smashed into the Lhosir line and their first ranks were slaughtered, undone by their own fury, but more and more and more of them
came, rank after rank running up the hill to pile into the back of the heaving melee, pushing and pushing. Gallow stabbed with his spear over and over. Beside him the Sword of the Weeping God sang
as it cut the air. And it
wasn’t
just a sword, whatever the Screambreaker said, for the red steel cut through mail and man as nothing Gallow had ever seen. From behind his shield the
Screambreaker lunged and the sword point seemed to seek out the Vathen with a will of its own over and over, throats and necks and faces. And the Vathen were afraid of it, Gallow saw that too.
Within the Screambreaker’s reach they whimpered, eyes wild, and dropped their swords and axes and clutched at their shields, eyes on nothing else.

But beyond the circle of fear that reached to the tip of the red sword, the Vathen had become a raging horde. They pressed and howled and died at the points of the Lhosir spears but still they
came on, and the push of them forced the Lhosir slowly back up the hill, a litter of dead in their wake for the Vathen to climb.

‘Medrin!’ roared the Screambreaker. ‘Twelvefingers! We need his five hundred! We need them here! To the centre! Now!’

Gallow lost his spear, lodged in some Vathan helmet and torn out of his hand. A brief rain of arrows fell, loosed by the Vathen but falling on Vathen and Lhosir alike. He hacked and slashed with
his axe, tearing at the men either side of him. His face was covered with blood, his helm, his mail; Vathan gore spattered across his shield. And always beside him the red sword lunged and lunged
as if the Screambreaker’s arm was made of iron and never tired. The Lhosir beside Gallow on the other side fell and another pushed up to take his place and fell in turn to be replaced by yet
another.

‘Where’s Twelvefingers?’ the Screambreaker shouted again.

The man on the other side of Gallow staggered, his helm knocked sideways by a javelin from among the Vathen. Before he could recover, an axe hooked his shield, a sword lunged and he was falling
backwards. This time no one stepped forward. Gallow snatched a glance behind him. There was no one there. No Lhosir left, only fifty yards of open grass to the top of the hill. And Medrin with his
five hundred. Standing fast and doing nothing.