Chartomancy

Chapter Fifty-three

2nd day, Month of the Hawk, Year of the Rat

Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Tsatol Deraelkun, County of Faeut

Erumvirine

I could scarcely imagine a finer martial display. Though I had the sense that I’d seen it all before, I could not summon up any memory that matched what I saw from the battlements of Deraelkun. The kwajiin had drawn itself up in a broad line running from the Imperial Road to the east, paralleling the fortress’ broad front to the west. Bright banners flew, each of them with legends in precise Imperial script, and I imagined this is why I was thinking I’d seen this before. Sunlight glinted from swords and spear blades, and bamboo mantlets protected the front ranks from our archers and ballistae.

The troops defending Deraelkun, though numbering no more than four thousand-roughly a fifth of the force facing us-had raised their own banners to proclaim membership in a military unit, a noble household or, with a few xidantzu, the schools where they had gotten their training. I actually thought our display outdid theirs, for each banner marked a hero, while most of the kwajiin wallowed in anonymity.

Still, the enemy had to take heart in the fact that they had five for our every one. Deraelkun could fall, and if the kwajiin below were half the fighters of those I’d already faced, the fortress would be lost before the day was out.

Taking it would not be a simple matter, however. The road itself curved west and ran along below the first fortress wall, and the two bridges that spanned the gaps had been drawn up. This cut the road and split the front, so that the armies would have to come in three sections. Shifting reinforcements to any one of the sections would necessitate a withdrawal and redeployment-or a deployment from so far back in the line of battle that they wouldn’t be able to advance for a critical amount of time.

The ravines that trifurcated the battlefield had been expanded so that a small island existed in the center. From the roadbed heading south, and the battlefield heading north, two narrow bridges connected the island with the fortress. This island made the center utterly impractical for attack and had long been used as a spot where warriors fought duels of honor. The center had been set with a ring of stone, and dotted outside with several small monuments to warriors who had fought and died there.

So, in reality, any advance to take Deraelkun would be heading uphill, would be divided into two parts that could not communicate with or support each other. Siege machinery could be brought up to breach the first wall at the place where the road turned to the west, but archers in the towers overlooking that point would murder the soldiers trying to break the wall.

I listened to the snap of banners in the breeze. The wind blew north, toward the fortress, bringing with it the faint stench of the vhangxi. The kwajiin had herded them to the center and would release them as a distraction. I did not think they could leap to the top of the battlements, but they might be able to scale the walls. Even though we would slay them all, they would use up arrows and demand attention at a point away from the two main assaults.

And I knew it would be assaults, two of them, coming hard and fast. The enemy leader had no other choice. If he concentrated on one wing or the other, we could mass our troops and fend him off. Along either of the two fronts we could match his strength easily. Only by engaging us along the entire front could he tax our supplies and slowly bleed us to death.

And the logic of it was not the only motivating factor he had. He was arrogant and overconfident. He’d already had reports of troops abandoning Deraelkun, heading north into Nalenyr. If we knew the defense of Deraelkun was hopeless, our morale would be low and his troops would be that much more elated. He’d not faced any strong opposition prior to this and Kelewan had fallen easily, so he had no reason to suppose his troops would not function perfectly and take the fortress without much trouble.

But, trouble he would have, and I meant to be much of it.

I descended from the battlements, taking the broad stone steps two at a time. At the base I bowed to Consina and her son. They returned my bow, then I turned toward the fortress’ central tower and bowed again. I held it deeply and long. Without a word I straightened up, turned on my heel, and marched out through the small sally port in the center of the fortress wall.

I quickly crossed the road and mounted the narrow footbridge to the island. Once there I bowed to the enemy, then turned and saluted the fortress and its defenders. A great cheer rose, then a dozen flaming arrows arced down and struck the bridge I’d crossed. It began to burn merrily.

I turned from it and entered the circle. Like many circles where duels had been fought for ages, this one had absorbed a fair amount of wild magic. The grasses in it, long-bladed and supple, were silver, and tinkled as my legs brushed them aside. I moved around toward the east so the rising sun’s reflection would not blind me. I took off my helmet and the snarling tiger mask, and set them on the circle’s white marble edge.

Looking at the kwajiin arrayed to the south, I began speaking a challenge, using the same formula and archaic words I’d heard from the first kwajiin I encountered far to the east. I kept my voice even but loud, allowing the barest hint of contempt to enter my words.

“I am Moraven Tolo, jaecaiserr. For years beyond your counting I have defended the people of the Nine. I have opposed tyranny. I have slain highborn and low-. In this spot, over a hundred and seventeen years ago, I killed the bandit Ixus Choxi. Before that I slew eighteen disciples of Chadocai Syyt, and then I killed him, ending his heresy. In the east I have slain your brethren. I led the escape from Kelewan. I do you a great honor by considering you worthy of dueling with me. I fear nothing you can send against me.”

I knew my words would slowly spread back through the kwajiin army, though I had meant them for only one pair of ears. Whether or not their leader deigned to meet me in combat was important, but my fighting others would suffice to accomplish my goal. Making his people wait meant they would become hungry and thirsty, hot and tired. Every minute I gained was a minute in which they worsened.

A kwajiin commanding the vhangxi prodded one with his sword’s wooden scabbard, then pointed at me. The beast began to gallop in my direction. Its powerful shoulder and chest muscles heaved as knuckles pounded into the ground. It didn’t even head for the bridge, but made to leap the gap and, in another jump, pounce on me.

I exhaled slowly and set myself. As I did so another mask and armor settled over me. Jaedun flowed, filling me, strengthening me, and altering the way I saw the battlefield and my enemy. Even before the beast made the first leap to the island, I knew how it would die.

I strode forward quickly, drawing the sword from over my right hip. As the vhangxi began his descent, claws raised high, mouth gaping, I reversed my grip on the sword. The blade stabbed back along my forearm, the tip touching triceps. I leaned forward, letting its left hand sweep above my head, then I twisted my wrist.

The blade’s tip caressed the vhangxi’s armpit. Blood gushed, steaming, splashing silver grass. It pulsed scarlet over the stone, spraying out in a vast arc as the vhangxi spun to face me. It took one step, arms raised, letting blood geyser into the air, then it collapsed. It clawed at the green grasses outside the circle. More blood jetted from the severed artery, then it lay still, grunting, as its huge lungs emptied for the last time.

In one fluid flash of silver, I resheathed my sword and turned to face the kwajiin again.

“Am I mistaken for a butcher that you send a beast at me? Or have you less courage and less honor than this lifeless lump?”

I had actually hoped that the kwajiin in the front rank would send several more vhangxi at me, in a group this time, but he saw the consequences of doing that. If I defeated three, he could send five, and if I killed five, he could send nine, but none of that would show his courage or honor. He had only one option.

He stepped forward and bowed. He wore the crest of the bloody skull and raised his voice for all to hear. “I am Xindai Gnosti of Clan Gnosti. I have fought for years beyond my own remembering. I have slain many here, and slew many of my kinsmen to earn the honor of leading troops…”

I interrupted him. “You are a beastmaster, not a warrior.”

He stared at me, startled, and faltered as faint rumblings of displeasure filtered back from the kwajiin line. He began again. “I am Xindai…”

Again I interrupted. “Your name, your lineage, and history bore me, herdsman. If you have courage, come, meet me.”

He drew his sword and began to run.

I turned my back on him and moved to the center of the circle as I awaited him. His footsteps thundered over the bridge. They thumped more softly as he sprinted toward the circle. They chimed metallically in the grasses, then stopped six feet from me. He leaped into the air, his sword raised high, both hands on the hilt, already bringing the blade down for the blow that would split me from crown to breastbone.

I took a half step back. Raising my arms, I crossed my wrists and caught his wrists firmly. Bending forward, I shortened his leap’s arc and smashed him into the ground. He bounced up, grunting, but before he had hit the ground again, I tore the sword from his grip, reversed it, and stabbed it through his throat, pinning him in place.

I turned, not wanting to watch him thrash out his life, and let the din of the grasses describe his final agonies. When the ringing faded, I opened my arms and looked to the south.

“I see now why you let the beasts fight for you.” I seated myself on the circle’s edge. “Is there no one among you who is a warrior?”

More came, fifteen in all. The young came swiftly and foolishly, and died quickly. Some came cautiously and fought formally, but their fear hobbled them, and their ancient forms served only until they met an attack they had not learned how to counter. The most dangerous came nonchalantly, without a care in the world. His blade cut me beneath my right eye, and he took great delight in watching my blood flow.

So I blinded him, such that the beauty of that vision would never be eclipsed.

Finally, their army split as a wedge of banners moved forward. Tallest among them was one featuring a ram’s head; the beast seemed quite angry. Below it flew a number of pennants, each with the crest of another clan subordinated. The front ranks parted and a tall, slender man strode forward. Like me, he wore two swords and had abandoned his helmet and face mask. He came to the far end of the bridge, stepping aside so the blind warrior could stagger past, then gave me a short bow.

I decided to bow in return, deeply and respectfully. The warriors on Deraelkun’s battlements cheered.

The kwajiin shook his head. “I am Gachin Dost. This is my army.”

“I am Moraven Tolo. I do not need an army.”

My enemy smiled slowly. “I know what it is that you are trying to do.”

“It is what I am doing.” I let my eyes half lid. “Stop me if you are able.”

“I am more than capable.” He drew both of his swords and held them out to the sides, their points raised to heaven. He brought the right sword down in a slash. Drums began to pound to the east and that wing of his army marched forward. The other blade fell, and that half of the kwajiin force began its assault.

He crossed the bridge, then paused. Flaming arrows sailed from behind his lines and ignited that bridge. Grey tendrils of smoke swirled forward and around him. He advanced to the circle’s edge, then crossed his blades over his chest. “I have dueled with gods and won.”

I shrugged. “I’ve had dreams I thought were real, too.”

He shook his head. “Enough of this. If you want to kill me, try. Succeed or fail, it will not change the outcome of the battle.”

I opened my hands. “Let your steel talk.”

On either side of us, the battle unfolded. Arrows darkened the sky. Men pitched screaming from battlements. Swaths of blue-skinned warriors fell transfixed. The wounded cursed and moaned or just sighed and died, bloodstained fingers trying to staunch rivers of blood. Assault ladders rose, and men with polearms pushed them back. More men fell as ballistae launched clouds of spears.

Above it all, with smoke rising in a dark grey swirl, the wounded bear banner flew high over Deraelkun.

And below the fortress, Gachin Dost and I dueled.

Twin blades flashed and rang as we parried. Swords whistled through empty cuts and grasses pealed as we landed from leaps. The sting of pain, the flow of blood, minor cuts that but for a twist or slip would have cost a limb or opened an artery. A hard parry with two swords trapping a third, which whipped away through the smoke. Another sword plucked from a corpse, slashing, tracing a red line above a knee, and another clipping inches from flowing locks or harvesting an ear.

We closed and passed, more feeling each other than seeing in the smoke; our movements cloaked, the sounds smothered by the din of battle. A quick cut severed lacings so a breastplate hung loose, and another freed it all the way. A bracer stopped a cut, but mail links parted and gnawed at the flesh beneath. A thrust, a grunt and finger probing a wound to the belly.

We sprang apart, chests heaving, blood flowing from nicks and cuts. Sweat ran into them, igniting pain in places I did not know I’d been wounded. I tore away the ragged armored skirts that had meant to protect my legs. I hunched forward, feeling every year of my age, and eons more, then licked my lips and beckoned him forward.

Gachin, black hair pasted to his face with sweat and blood, smiled easily. “You will not kill me.”

“That was never my plan.” I nodded toward the south. “I just wanted to kill your army.”

Above us, the wounded-bear banner descended on the tower’s pinnacle, and a tiger-hunting banner took its place.

“Another desire that will be thwarted.”

I shook my head. “It’s already been fulfilled.”

The troops that had left Deraelkun had gone north, then worked west and back south through smuggler trails to flank the kwajiin army. They had met with very good fortune, as a breathless runner had informed Count Derael, because they’d encountered the First Naleni Dragons Regiment and a full battalion of Keru Guards. This added a third to their number and increased the competency of the task force Deshiel and Ranai had led from Deraelkun. The raising of my banner was the signal for them to begin their attack, which would take the kwajiin left wing in the flank.

I couldn’t hear commotion from where they were supposed to strike, for it had been my right ear that was taken. Gachin must have heard something, however, for his eyes narrowed and his lips peeled back in a snarl. He knew, as I’d known, that the only chance his people had of breaking the flanking attack would be a coordinated withdrawal of the left wing and a counterattack by the reserves from the right.

But with him trapped on a smoke-shrouded island, he couldn’t give the orders that would save his forces.

So he tried to kill me before his army died.

We became the stuff of smoke ourselves, save that we bled. Swords did not clang, but hissed. Parries misdirected, not deflected, and a blocking blade twisted up and around in a riposte before the tremor of its hitting the other blade had reached the wielder’s shoulder. We spun away from attacks, slid into others, gliding low and striking high, leaping higher and slashing downward. Unseen blades whispered past each other, cold metal seeking warm flesh, hunting a fluid sanctuary where all fighting would cease.

And then he did it. He feinted low with a slash and I leaped over it. Gachin lunged as I came down, then drew his elbow back and thrust again, a heartbeat after my left sword had swept past. His sword pierced my chest on the left side, halfway between my nipple and the other scar I’d long borne there. He slid it home to the hilt, and his face, contorted with hatred and matted with blood, color vivid around his amber eyes, emerged from the smoke and thrust straight at mine.

I know he meant to say something, something I could dwell on as he ripped his blade free, slashing it from between my ribs. He’d have taken my left arm off at the elbow as well, then spun, harvesting my head in one fluid motion. It would have been a thing of beauty, an ending to a duel that would have been sung of for generations, and might have earned me a monument at the foot of Deraelkun.

But such monuments have never been to my taste.

I snapped my head forward, driving my forehead into his face before he could yank his blade free. His nose cracked and blood gushed. His head jerked back and I drove mine forward again, smashing him in the mouth. Teeth broke and slashed my forehead bloody. Ivory chips sprayed over my face, and blood painted my lips and throat.

He started to twist his sword in my side, but my right knee rose and crushed his groin. It occurred to me that kwajiin might not be as men are-I’d not checked any of those I’d slain-but my fear was unfounded. I slammed my knee up again, as hard as I could. His breath exploded, spraying me with blood and saliva, then a third blow from my forehead into his face pitched him backward.

He staggered and tried to remain on his feet. He still clutched a sword in his left hand, but stabbed it into the ground in an attempt to stay upright. He caught a heel on a corpse and tumbled back. His sword sprang out of his grasp, and I pounced, stabbing one sword through his belly and deep into the ground.

And then, ruined though it was, I took his head as a trophy. I stood slowly, still transfixed by his sword. I raised his head by the hair, blood still dripping from the neck, and as the smoke parted, I displayed it to one and all.

Strike the head from a snake and the body will die.

By the end of the day, the kwajiin army had receded from the walls of Tsatol Deraelkun, and the mountain fortress remained unconquered.