Wall of Spears (39 page)

‘Sire, the scouts are racing back,’ he said quietly.

Coming so soon after the aerial attack, the sight of the scouts returning had an instant effect on the Forlish. Cavalry troopers climbed into the saddle and the front ranks of the infantry locked shields together with a crash.

‘Those scouts are fools. Have them put into the front rank for panicking the army,’ Ward ordered. ‘We had better prepare. And I hope you Velsh are ready this time!’

He rode off, leaving Huw fuming. ‘We should let him experience what it would be like without our help,’ he snarled.

‘That won’t aid our cause. And we knew he would be like this,’ Sendatsu said soothingly. ‘Think about Sumiko. Soon she will give him more than enough to worry about!’

‘I tell you, I hope she bloody does.’

‘They look pretty enough. But do they fight dirty, like us?’ Ward mused as he watched the elves march closer. They were in twelve distinct blocks, each one of a thousand or more, although their ranks were nowhere as neat as his men. Each block seemed to have a different colour of armour, the warriors all dressed differently but in the same shade. To a man used to the grey steel of chainmail and the black and white of his wolf colours, it looked strange indeed.

‘They fight like demons, sire,’ Edmund replied.

‘But for how long? Sendatsu is right. If things do not go their way, then we will have a chance. How far away do you think they are?’

‘Probably five hundred paces, sire. Too far for their bows to reach. Looks like their leader is firing them up with a speech, ready to let them loose on us.’

Ward looked out over his army, waiting in nervous silence.

‘Then I must do the same,’ he said, kicking his horse into motion.

Accompanied by Edmund, a handful of guards and his standard bearer, he rode slowly along the front of his army. He stood in his stirrups and roared at them.

‘You have followed me to victory after victory. You have never lost when I was there. Today will be the same. Fight for me, fight for the glory of Forland! This will be our final battle, our final victory, and every man will be rich at the end of it!’

Perhaps a thousand men could hear clearly, the rest knew something was going on but could not understand it, so he simply rode on, shouting out the same message as he went down.

‘That’s not a good speech. And it doesn’t even say the right things,’ Huw protested softly as Ward rode past where they waited.

‘Obviously he should have asked you to write one for him,’ Sendatsu said, amused.

‘He should! A great speech is a piece of art. The message has to be simple, reach down into hearts and set them alight, so men will stand when there is no reason to, do things they would not normally.’

‘Can words really make that much difference?’

‘You would be surprised.’ Huw watched Ward ride further down the line. ‘If you were all sitting around a warm fire, safe and full of food, a battle speech would sound ridiculous. Everything about it would make you laugh. But when you can smell death in the air, when every breath tastes sweet, for you don’t know if it will be your last, it can change history. You can reach into men’s heads, change them from farmers to warriors, put steel into spines and hate into hearts. The glory of Forland? The power of a king? Those are not things to get men fighting.’

‘The Forlish seem to like it,’ Sendatsu said mildly, as the Forlish in front of them bellowed at their king.

‘Any speech can make them cheer. A good one will make them fight, a great one will make them win,’ Huw said.

‘You need to be writing some of this down,’ Sendatsu said.

Huw chuckled. ‘Perhaps I should. I just hope I don’t have to make a speech like that.’

‘Careful what you wish for,’ Sendatsu said. ‘Things like that have a way of coming true.’

Ward rode back along the line, waving to his men, saluting his officers, until he had reached his spot in the centre of the formation. The lines opened smoothly and he rode through to the rear. Only then did he look again at the advancing elves.

‘How far now?’

‘Four hundred paces, I would say, sire,’ Edmund replied.

Ward shifted in his saddle and pointed at one of a dozen signallers. ‘That’s close enough. I don’t want those elven bows slaughtering our cavalry. Send them out and around.’

A flag was raised and both Wulf’s and Wilfrid’s standard bearers dipped their flags in response. Instantly the two cavalry wings swung out and around, looping around the flanks of the elves, aiming to attract their arrows and also compress the elves so they could not outflank the thick block of Forlish infantry.

‘Any moment now,’ Ward said happily.

‘Sire?’

‘Someone will begin our challenge. I always look forward to that.’

Caelin took comfort from being in the fifth of six ranks of the men. Of course he had seen how quickly even the rear lines could get caught up in the fighting but it was certainly better than being in the front rank. He rolled his head around and checked the straps on his helmet one more time, although he had done so a score of times already. He missed Hild and wondered how she was — and if the elven girl would protect the three of them.

‘It’s this waiting I hate. I wish they’d get a move on. Bloody elves have probably spent the morning prancing around and making up poetry,’ Ruttyn grumbled.

‘The king didn’t spend much time on his speech. Edmund always made good ones — even Captain Wulf was all right,’ Harald said.

‘What did you expect? A cosy chat for a turn of the hourglass?’

‘I don’t know! I’ve never fought with the king before, so I thought it would be a bit more — special, or something.’

‘There’ll be enough special to go around for everyone soon,’ Caelin told them.

‘It’s the waiting that’s the worst,’ Ruttyn said. ‘All you can think of is what’s coming, about sweaty hands and the need for a piss.’

‘You need something to take your mind off things. How about a song?’ Harald offered.

Caelin had had enough of marching songs; they would remind him too much of Hild. Instead, he began to knock his sword against his shield, making a rhythmic noise. Almost instantly it was taken up by others, men banging spear or sword on shield. The noise swelled and grew, while men began to shout at the elves, daring them to come closer and be killed, calling them cowards and women, promising vengeance for the families who died on the march south. Caelin stood taller, taking comfort from the men around him and the noise they were making, the challenge they were throwing out to the elves.

Sumiko was one of the few still mounted, with most of the horses in the care of a hundred or so warriors who had gone lame on the march south and had not healed properly, despite the help of priests. She stared at the mass of Forlish, who were shouting and thumping their shields in a coarsely threatening way in front of her.

Out to the left and right, the human cavalry circled, their threat obvious. While there were more than enough archers to turn a charge into a slaughterhouse, as soon as they took their attention away from the cavalry, they would be open to attack.

Every so often, a company or more of the cavalry would race towards the elves and the bows would go back. As soon as a volley was released, however, the cavalry would split apart and ride away, most of the arrows falling uselessly to the ground. Each time, a handful of horses and riders would be struck and thrown to the ground, to either bleed to death, lie there screaming or limp away. Sumiko ignored them. That was not where the battle would be won or lost — it was at the wall of spears that waited for her warriors.

‘Oroku, I want everyone to hear what I say,’ she instructed.

She halted her army about four hundred paces away from the mass of humans.

‘From our earliest age, our parents warned us of the horde of barbarian humans that waited outside our borders, held back only through the power of the magical barrier. That barrier is gone and the evil humans have attacked us three times, trying to steal all that is bright and good in this world. They want to tear down what we have built, while they have lived in filth! But today we stop them. Today we tell every evil monster out here that to threaten the elves is death. Today we take vengeance for the children they killed, for the mothers they slaughtered and burned in the Council Chamber, for the clan leaders and Elder Elf they betrayed and murdered. This is our chance to make a new barrier, to keep your families safe. Are you ready not just for revenge but to make a safe future for all our children?’

Her words echoed out across the thousands of elves, magically reaching every single ear, and they roared their desire for revenge back at her.

‘Remember what they did! Remember the heads of our brothers, stuck on their spears and carried as trophies, remember dead mothers and children, remember the fear as they marched to our very gates, the horror we all felt as they burned our Council Chamber! And destroy them!’

They were shouting now, calling for human blood, and she signalled to Oroku to stop the magic.

‘They are ready now. We advance,’ she said. ‘Use arrows to drive the horses away, the Magic-weavers to concentrate on their wall of shields. Use whatever means they prefer. It is better to have a dozen different attacks, so Asami and Rhiannon do not know what to defend against first,’ she said, and the word went out instantly to every Magic-weaver with every clan.

It was a man two rows in front of Caelin who was struck first. One moment he was standing there, crashing his spear onto his shield, the next he was dropping them and jumping up and down and shouting.

That silenced everyone around him.

‘What is it?’ someone cried.

‘Ants!’ the man screamed.

One or two others, who had not been at the battle of Dokuzen, laughed, but Caelin could see this was not just a handful, but thousands, boiling up out of the ground and biting and stinging. The men around him began to back away, then they too were jumping around and shouting out in alarm.

More shouts to the left made Caelin look. The grass, which had been trampled flat by thousands of feet, was growing impossibly tall, twining around men and binding them more effectively than rope.

The front rank, which had been a bristling wall of spears, wood and iron, was thrown into disarray as the spears bent back upon themselves, the wood warping out of shape, while shields buckled and broke.

From the air came swarms of biting and stinging insects, while more birds began to swoop down from above, talons reaching for faces, beaks searching for eyes. Worst of all, men in the front line began screaming horribly as their armour heated up, sizzling through the leather backing and into the flesh beyond.

Instinctively, Caelin, Harald and Ruttyn clustered together, standing back to back rather than forming ranks. Around them the same action was repeated by a thousand other little groups. Men sought out their friends and stood with them, ignoring the shouts of the sergeants. In a matter of moments, the neat, ordered lines had turned into chaos and the defiant challenge was silenced, replaced by shouts, warnings and screams.

‘Hold fast! Help is coming!’ Ward roared out, his voice reaching Caelin and the others. But not all could hear him and Caelin felt the army would break at any moment.

‘Where is the Velsh magic?’ Harald cried.

‘Asami, you take care of the insects, you four get rid of the birds, six of you stop the plants, the rest of you restore bent spears and shields,’ Rhiannon ordered.

‘And you?’ Huw asked.

But Rhiannon did not have time to answer. She was looking for men pulling at their burning armour. They were easy to spot, for their friends were backing away from them, horrified. She reached into the magic and reversed it. The men whose armour had begun to glow stopped shouting as it cooled so fast that frost crackled on the rings of the chainmail. A couple whose red-hot iron rings had burned through their leather tunics to the skin still screamed, until she sent them to sleep.

She glanced around, seeking where she could help. Everywhere she looked, she sent insects scurrying back to hiding places, birds flying away — or at least to chase the fleeing insects. Grass withered, releasing winded warriors. Spears bent back into shape, shields were restored and shouting, frightened warriors fell silent. Rhiannon looked around frantically but could not see anything else that needed her attention.

The lines of Forlish looked at each other nervously, down at the ground and into the air. But when nothing else appeared to attack them, the sergeants began to shout and they shuffled back into lines, picking up the weapons they had dropped.

A score of wounded men, faces clawed open or stung badly by insects, staggered to the rear, while another dozen or so were carried out, including a few who had been burned by their armour, although ice flaked and crackled among the rings now.

‘Is that it?’ Rhiannon asked.

‘She must be testing us, feeling us out,’ Asami said. ‘That cannot be the extent of her plans.’

Edmund galloped over. ‘King Ward’s thanks. But he wants you to save his men faster next time,’ he said.

‘Does he understand magic?’ Asami asked.

‘No, but he understands his men and he knows they cannot take much more,’ Edmund said.

‘Tell your men that is the worst they will face. We know what they will try now,’ Rhiannon said.

Edmund inclined his head. ‘Thank you. I mean that,’ he said, then rode away.

‘What did you say that for? This was just Sumiko feeling us out, seeing what our powers are,’ Asami hissed.

‘Would you rather I told them that and had them break and run?’

Asami smiled ruefully. ‘I see your point. So what is Sumiko’s next move?’

‘That’s up to her.’

‘We’re not doing anything much except killing our men. We’re paying with lives for a few arrows each time,’ Wilfrid said angrily, as another one of his cavalry columns reined in to a halt, riders swearing as they pulled arrows out of their horses or their mates. Wilfrid could see four horses had been downed by that little charge, with just one rider limping back towards them. Even as he watched, a pair of arrows converged on the rider and he collapsed, writhing.

‘This is not what my father wanted,’ Wilfrid added, looking at the line of dead men and horses left behind as the elves advanced and his cavalry had played at charging home.

‘This is exactly what your father wanted,’ the castellan contradicted him. ‘We must stick to the plan. They waste arrows on air and earth rather than on our men. Soon they will run out and then we will charge home. Shall I signal the third company to make another run at them?’

Wilfrid nodded savagely. ‘This is not right,’ he muttered to himself as more men spurred into a mock-charge and the elves lifted their bows again.

‘They have some ability. They will be able to exhaust most of our magical strength before we can defeat them,’ Sumiko mused.

‘How is that possible?’ Oroku asked.

‘They are just like us. All they needed was training. And thanks to that traitor Asami and the Forlish bitch Rhiannon, they now have it. We need to wear them out before we tackle them. Have every archer loose at the Forlish. If we’re lucky, they will waste their energy stopping the arrows.’

‘And the cavalry?’

To either side, men and horses probed and swooped at her advance, teasing arrows out of her warriors with every fake charge. That was distracting but she forced herself to ignore it. As long as her warriors had arrows, the cavalry were no danger. And if she could destroy the heart of the Forlish army, they would become even less important.

‘Have the closest clans to the left and right watch them and screen the rest of us,’ she decided.

They were now less than two hundred paces away from the Forlish and she sent out the order for the archers to loose. Thanks to her Magic-weavers standing not just with the clan leaders but scattered through the lines of warriors, the ten clans she was using as her main block were reacting instantly. She thought of them like ten fingers: she would poke and prod at the Forlish, then form them into fists and smash through.

The noise of thousands of bows being drawn was like the rumble of angry thunder. The release was more like the roar of a storm.

‘Shields!’

Caelin heard the cry and took it up. Men clustered together, pushing forwards at the line in front, to present an unbroken wall of shields. The front line went down on one knee, while the second line tilted their shields and the other lines raised theirs over their heads, every man knocking his shield on his neighbours’ to make sure there were no gaps.

He thought he knew what to expect, having felt it outside Dokuzen. But this was at another level. The arrows then had thumped home into shields with painful force. These ones were almost punching through the wood, points jabbing into arms and hands, or heads and faces. Some men were driven to their knees by the force of multiple arrows smashing into their shields. And while thousands of arrows had fallen outside Dokuzen, now tens of thousands were falling.

Gradually the careful wall of protection cracked open, as men cried in pain at steel points gouging into their heads and faces and let their shields slip, or those who had been forced to their knees struggled to get back up. And the arrows kept coming. They were driving through mail and leather as if it was thin cloth, and ripping into flesh. The men’s helms were good enough to deflect the arrows but more than one man was stunned by the impact of an arrow to the head, even if it did not kill them. But any that struck shoulders or necks had more than enough power to drive down into the body, all the way to the flights.

Gaps were opening up in the lines every moment, and although men bellowed at each other to keep shields together, such a thing was impossible under such a rain of arrows. A few searched for Asami and Rhiannon but those were burned up in the air before they could bite home. The rest, however, they had to leave. They watched the rain of arrows break across the Forlish lines with horror. Men fell, choking and writhing, until more arrows pinned them dead to the ground. Arms grew tired from holding heavy shields up in the air, under the repeated hits of the arrows, but the slightest chink was exploited. The Forlish fell to their knees, trying to make themselves a smaller target, shields balanced on top of their helms in a desperate attempt to shelter from the arrow storm.

Ward was safe, back from the main line and with a score of guards holding shields high around him — but he could see his men suffering and ached for it.

One man, an arrow in his lungs, crawled clear of the line, seeking safety further back, or perhaps trying to flee. Ward did not know and the man could not say, for more arrows bracketed him, pinning him to the ground through the back and legs. He arched his back against the agony of the steel and wood inside him, looking straight at Ward accusingly, then blood gushed from his mouth and he fell limply.

‘Why are the Velsh not helping?’ Ward demanded.

Of course nobody could answer, so he turned his horse and spurred it to the gallop, racing towards the Velsh, his startled guards trying to keep up and hold their shields high.

‘Here comes Ward.’ Huw pointed. ‘I don’t think he is happy.’

‘Can you blame him? His men are being punished,’ Sendatsu said. ‘He will want you to protect his men.’

‘We cannot,’ Rhiannon said. ‘It would take too much out of us. That was the problem we had last time.’

‘Are you protecting those Forlishmen we met last night?’ Sendatsu asked Asami.

‘Of course not!’ she said, although she would not meet his eyes.

He did not press her. He, Gaibun and the Velsh dragons had strung their own bows and were loosing arrows back. The dragons, even Cadel and Bowen, were not particularly good with the bow but the mass of Elfarans gave them a target that nobody could miss. There were only fifty of them and it was like spitting into a raging forest fire and hoping that would put it out. But it was better than nothing.

‘Help my men! Protect them!’ Ward roared as he rode up, dragging his horse to a stop.

‘We cannot,’ Huw said. ‘To stop these arrows would exhaust our magic, which we need to fight Sumiko. We can protect you from one, but not the other. Your men have shields, they need to use them.’

‘You are doing this deliberately!’ Ward accused, pointing at Huw’s face.

‘Why would we do that?’

‘You’re protecting yourselves from the arrows. Look!’ Ward pointed at another handful as they were turned to ash by Rhiannon.

‘Of course,’ Huw said reasonably. ‘We have no shields. Would you rather we died to prove we cannot help you?’

‘You fear us and want to see us weakened by this battle. You would be happy if we finished with just one man left alive,’ Ward accused.

‘If it wasn’t for us, your men would already be running and Sumiko would be deciding how best to kill you in front of your city,’ Huw replied angrily.

Sendatsu lowered his bow and stretched sore back muscles.

‘Gently, Huw,’ he warned softly.

‘I don’t care about the magic now! My men cannot take much more of this!’ Ward shouted. ‘Get your Magic-weavers to help us now or I will make you do it.’

‘You will not. Because you cannot,’ Huw snarled back.

Sendatsu stepped swiftly between them. ‘Our enemy is out there — not here!’ he cried.

Neither looked like they wanted to listen to him — then the arrow storm stopped. It did not peter out or trickle to a stop, it cut off suddenly. They had become used to the thumping noise of arrows striking shields, interspersed with ringing noises as they bounced off shield bosses, helms, or spear points, and screams as they buried themselves into flesh. The screaming kept going but the absence of everything else silenced their argument better than any loud noise.

Caelin peeked from underneath his shield and, when nothing took out his eye, lowered his shield and looked around him.

‘Is it safe?’ Ruttyn asked nervously.

‘I think so.’ Caelin stretched his aching left arm and shoulder, which had borne the weight of the heavy shield. ‘I only got one arrow. You?’

‘Didn’t pick up a single arrow,’ Harald said, inspecting his shield. ‘One bounced off the boss at the front but that was it.’

‘Same here,’ Ruttyn said. ‘Do you think that elf was helping us?’

Caelin looked around. Every man around them had at least one arrow in their shield — some had four or five. For a few moments he thought everyone else was dead, but then they began to stir, to stand and to help the wounded and dead around them.

There were not as many of those as it seemed while they suffered under the pouring arrows. Every moment seemed to bring a fresh scream but Caelin reckoned less than a dozen from his company of one hundred had been hit, and only a handful of those were dead. Thanks to their shields, most had survived, although it had been a terrifying experience.

‘Why did they stop?’ Harald said.

‘Do you want to go and ask them?’ Ruttyn suggested.

‘What are they doing? Why did they stop?’ Ward asked.

‘They would only have a certain number of arrows. They loosed most of one bag then — they must want to keep enough in reserve to finish you off.’

Ward looked up and down the line as wounded men crawled out, dead men were dragged away and the survivors shuffled together.