The Grave Thief: Book Three of The Twilight Reign (69 page)

Isak nodded. ‘And also giving us the chance to not engage at all unless we really have to. The closer we can get to Byora the better. With luck the Ghosts can break through the gates and take the Ruby Tower. Either way, we don’t want to give Azaer any space to intervene if we can help it.’

‘I doubt the opportunity will arise, my Lord,’ Lahk said. ‘Everything I hear about Kastan Styrax makes me certain there
will
be a surprise waiting.’

‘I know, but it’s still not why we’re here. There’s a fair chance he’ll take Chalat out after the initial charge - if he does, those mercenaries will fall back. That’s our opportunity to treat with Styrax - we can tell the clerics it’s a ruse; if they do object, they’ll be too disorganised to do anything about it in time.’

Lahk bowed, his face expressionless. ‘As you wish, my Lord.’

‘How near ready are we?’

‘Two legions mounted and formed up, plus the First Guardsmen to the east,’ Vesna said, pointing to Isak’s left, ‘and the Fordan and Tebran divisions behind you.’

As he spoke, an aide ran up with a scout in tow. The soldier was dressed more like a forester: his poorly fitting tunic had been reinforced with steel strips and he carried a light helmet. A long dagger was tucked into his belt; if he had a bow, clearly he’d left it with his horse.

‘Report,’ Lahk commanded as the pair saluted Isak.

‘General,’ the aide began breathlessly, ‘Lord Chalat has given the order to advance.’ Isak guessed the youth to be a couple of years younger than he was himself, probably a noble son assigned to Lahk’s command staff since it was deemed a relatively safe post.

‘Disposition?’ he asked.

‘Wide advance, sir,’ the scout replied confidently. His accent marked him as a man of the mountains, despite the absence of any identifying badge. He was twice the age of Lahk’s aide, and obviously experienced, if the scar on his face was anything to go by. ‘Divisions o’ Knights o’ the Temples and penitents, with Chalat and the Cardinal Paladins in the centre, Dark Monks on the left flank and the rest o’ the penitents on the right - penitents’re in tight division blocks, though Suzerain Torl don’t look like he ’eard the order quite right and chose to stay loose.’

‘Damn Chetse don’t know anything about cavalry,’ Vesna muttered. ‘It’s a wonder he’s got them moving at all.’

The scout wisely chose not to comment, but continued, ‘The Siul legions are clearing ahead; enemy’s got archers and light cavalry stationed at each bridge. They’ll have engaged by now.’

‘What state are the rivers in?’

‘Look high to me, sir - the ground’s soft, so I’d say there’s been a fair amount of rain. Can still be crossed, but only slowly. I’d not want to be the one trying to outflank the enemy.’

Lahk turned to Isak. ‘My Lord, we should have the Tirah cavalry standing ready as rearguard - if the enemy does have reserves hidden behind Byora’s walls, we need to move now to ensure they’re not exposed.’

Isak sighed and looked up at the sky.
It’s promising rain, and if it does, it’ll be even harder going. The more bogged-down the clerics get, the more likely it is we’ll engage and I’ll end up face to face with Lord Styrax.

‘Give the order,’ he said to the general. ‘It’s going to be a long, hard day.’

 

Dawn turned into morning with a sullen reluctance. Isak had a clear view of the battlefield from atop a small rise. In the east was the massive bulk of Blackfang, and in front was Byora. He had a fine view of the two levels which rose up from behind the main wall of the city. The quarter’s unnaturally tall towers were dwarfed by the great black cliffs behind.

He couldn’t see Akell; it was hidden by a sloping spur of rock that jutted out from the main bulk of Blackfang.
Pretty obvious the Circle City isn’t really one continuous city
, he thought to himself. Outside the Byora city wall was a wide skirt of buildings that looked like shanties, getting progressively larger and nicer the further they were from the wall. Larger detached houses and farms dotted the land all the way to Ismess.

To the west were the mist-covered fens that spoiled the view from the Duchess of Byora’s Ruby Tower. They looked closer to the city than Isak remembered. Even in his childhood when he was running wild, Isak had kept away from the fens: they were treacherous at the best of times. The wagon-brat might not have been welcome on the streets of Burn or Wheel, but all the same he’d never wandered far from the city.

The waterlands were gateways to Death’s realm, like ponds and lakes: still waters attracted all sorts of malign spirits and creatures, quite apart from whatever might come through those gateways. The fens were studded with copses of bent and twisted marsh-alder and silvery ghost willows, and they looked forbidding even in high summer. Isak had heard more stories of the Coldhand Folk, will o’ the wisps, Finntrail and the like in Byora than anywhere else outside of Tirah. The hunting could be good in the fens, and the willows from which the medicinal bark was harvested were plentiful, but no one disputed the very real dangers either entailed.

‘Shall I send the engineers now, my Lord?’ said a voice from Isak’s knee, making him jump a little. He looked down to see Quartermaster-General Kervar standing beside Isak’s horse, looking out over the battlefield.

‘The bridges? Aye, it’s time.’

After he’d carried out Isak’s order, Kervar pulled his own mount away from Toramin, Isak’s massive charger. Bored of standing still, Toramin had decided to investigate the horse next to him, and that was making Kervar’s beast decidedly nervous.

Isak gave the reins a tug to quieten the fiery stallion and looked up. He didn’t need to see the Poacher’s Moon, hidden by heavy clouds, to know it was approaching mid-morning. There was a stiff southwesterly breeze running across the plain, which would be enough to blunt the effect of the enemy’s strafing attacks.

Isak had studied the record books in Tirah Palace during the depths of winter, and he had discovered that the Farlan heavy cavalry was always the last weapon to be used in any battle. Most Farlan victories were because the horse-archers were not only excellent marksmen - although that was part of it - but they were so much more manoeuvrable than their enemies. The classic Farlan tactic was to send the heavy cavalry in after the enemy had been weakened by the others - which, Isak suspected, allowed them to sleep late and enjoy a leisurely breakfast while the commoners did most of the work.

‘Chalat is taking his time, I’m glad to see,’ Vesna said, breaking the contemplative silence. They had an almost unrestricted view of the battlefield, all the way to the ancient boundary wall three miles away. The Menin were dug in behind that wall.

‘At least he’s not lost all his senses,’ agreed Lahk. ‘He’s giving the skirmishers a chance to make a mistake before he fords that second river.’

Isak managed a weak smile. The palace records had left one clear impression in his mind as he read them: most battles were lost because of one of three factors: poor communication, bad luck or stupidity.

Chalat’s men were roughly halfway between Isak, at the rear of his own men, and the Menin. It had taken them several hours to cross a mile of ground and the first river. The bridges across the second river had been destroyed by the retreating Menin, who now loitered just out of range, ready to take out anyone who got within bowshot. The problem was simple: how to get across the river without losing hundreds of men.

‘I’m bored,’ Isak announced. He pointed to the horsemen arrayed ahead of him. ‘Sound the advance,’ he ordered, gesturing towards Byora. The main gate lay between the rivers.

On the left flank were three divisions of the Palace Guard’s heavy cavalry, with the College of Magic regiment nestled between them. The colourful centre consisted of various suzerains and their hurscals, a number of other noblemen, all in heavy armour, and two full legions of light cavalry. Next to them were two thousand more light cavalry in loose formation. The reserve troops, the last division of Ghosts and the remaining two cavalry legions, were on the far right.

General Lahk inclined his head. ‘Bugler, sound slow advance,’ he called, and behind him a set of three long notes sounded. The call was quickly taken up and Isak’s army, looking like a great bloated beast heaving itself forward, began to advance.

Isak caught Count Vesna giving him a pointed look and he frowned for a moment, wondering what he’d forgotten. Then he got it and in a loud voice said, ‘Gentlemen, your helms.’ As he settled Siulents over his own head Isak caught a glimpse of Vesna touching his fingers to his left wrist.
Even our heroes need a lucky charm
, he thought with a sigh.
All I’ve got is a contingency plan that scares the shit out of me.

In the distance he could just make out the black dot of Lord Styrax’s enormous army standard. As though in response to his darkening mood he felt a tug at his mind from the Crystal Skull fused to his cuirass. The Reapers were stirring: they smelled death on the air. Up above him, clouds gathered, as though summoned by his call.

 

‘Good to have you back, sir.’

Amber looked up, his eyes widening. ‘Gods! What have I told you about taking your helm off, Deebek?’

The ageing sergeant grinned, showing an irregular set of broken teeth. ‘I weren’t t’do it, sir. Said it pissed you off when I did that.’

‘Exactly,’ Amber agreed, thumping the man heavily on his armoured shoulder. Standing around Sergeant Deebek was his squad, all young men he didn’t know, and all wearing expressions of relieved anxiety.

‘I know we give you recruits to break them into the harsh realities of a soldier’s life, but for pity’s sake don’t make them look at your face all the time as well!’ he laughed.

There was no getting around the fact that Deebek was an ugly man - he’d not been a handsome child, what with arms looking too short for his stocky torso, but getting kicked in the face by a mule at the age of five hadn’t helped. Then a warhammer crumpled the front of his helm and completed the job, leaving the tip of his nose sliced off by the torn metal. His cheek had shattered under the impact and his teeth and jaw were so ruined that it was a mercy Deebek had been knocked unconscious by the blow. There’d been no neat way of removing the embedded metal from his face, so it had been done quick and nasty, and that had woken him up quick enough.

‘You really are a lucky bastard,’ Amber said, staring at the ruin of Deebek’s face. Every time he returned from a mission and saw Deebek again, he was reminded of how close the man had come to an excruciatingly painful death - instead of the excruciatingly painful recovery that had left him looking like this. Amber was gripped with renewed fascination and revulsion, as usual.

‘Don’t I know it, sir,’ Deebek said, ‘and that’s why I makes sure all m’boys gets themselves decent headgear.’

Looking around him Amber realised it was true. Every one of the recruits had the top-of-the-range one-piece Y-faced helms. Normally any decent bit of armour got nicked off the recruits soon enough, but clearly Deebek had put a stop to that, at least where his boys were concerned. No one could fault him for that; if he’d been wearing anything less that day twenty years ago, Deebek would have been stone dead.

‘How’s it looking over there?’ Amber looked out past the wall they were dug in behind. He could see the advancing Farlan well enough, but Deebek was one of the most experienced sergeants in Amber’s division, and always worth sounding out.

Deebek’s face went serious all of a sudden. ‘Goin’ to be nasty, Major, that’s for sure. Won’t be long now. They’re workin’ their way over, and our horseboys ain’t done much yet.’

On the other side of the wall, six feet away from the base, they’d dug a foot-deep trench. They’d not had the time to prepare serious earthworks beyond a few pits a hundred and fifty paces from the wall, but the trench had been easy work, and at least it would give the Farlan horsemen pause for thought when they tried to leap the wall.

Amber looked at the crossbowmen bolstering the heavy infantry stationed along the wall. There were more companies waiting behind. Their bows might not be as good - or as plentiful - as the Farlan cavalry, but they’d blunt any charge.

The minotaurs, Bloodsworn knights and a legion of light cavalry were covering the open ground on the right: they were all fast enough and dangerous enough to dissuade anyone from attempting to outflank them. On the left flank another legion of light cavalry were deployed behind a small wood, in which were two regiments of infantry and a spider-web of cables strung between the trees, guaranteed to inconvenience anyone riding through. It was the weaker flank, but only time would tell whether the Farlan would take the bait.

‘Going to get close and nasty,’ Amber pronounced, ‘just how we like it.’

On the field ahead of them, two regiments of skirmishing cavalry moved into action, strafing the central part of the Farlan army. The colourful robes indicated priests, and there was a regiment of knights Amber couldn’t identify. They wouldn’t hold for long; the numbers bearing down on them were too great. In response to their arrows a lance of flame spat out from the advancing Farlan and engulfed the skirmishers nearest them.

‘Karkarn be with us,’ Amber breathed, realising the fire was pinpointing Lord Chalat’s position. The air shimmered above the white-eye and shapes began to appear in the sky. The archers immediately started to fall back, and he knew the cavalry would follow soon.

‘Piss and daemons, what are they?’ Deebek said, voicing everyone’s thought.

Amber peered at the sky, then realised what he was seeing. ‘Gods,’ he muttered out loud, ‘they’re actually bloody Gods! Those mad bastard priests have summoned their Aspect-Guides! ’

As though in confirmation, a figure of flame rose up from just ahead of the Farlan ranks, taller and broader than any mere human, even a white-eye. A deep roar echoed over the fields, causing one of Deebek’s recruits to jump.