Elfsorrow

Chapter 27

Chandyr had been organising his men from the moment Rusau and the messenger had disappeared over the crest. He'd split his cavalry into two wings, leaving his foot soldiers to take the central ground. Mages were dispersed along the line, providing offensive and defensive cover. Chandyr's aim was simple. His men would not put one foot in the waters of the Dord, that was not their brief. But they would push every enemy across those waters.

He called his forces to order. Flags waved their readiness from the left flank cavalry. He would lead the right.

'Archers ready?' he called.

'Aye!' came the shout.

'Soldiers ready?'

'Aye!'

'Engage only armed men, shoot at armed men only. I want as little refugee blood on my hands as possible. No one is to walk on Dordovan land. We are not mounting an invasion. Not yet. Lieutenants, sound the march.'

Orders were barked along the line, which stretched for about a third of a mile. Chandyr trotted back to his cavalry. It would be a classic pincer if he could close it but he expected the Dordovans to be aware of the tactic. If not, he had movement orders waiting and his command team had been fully briefed, orders ready to be passed down to all levels of the army. Chandyr had studied Ry Darrick for a time and had learned a few truths about effective battle. He wondered if he could put any of them into practice.

The army advanced at a walk up the incline, the cavalry keeping pace. It was steady and ordered, as it had to be. And interrupted by a scout tearing back over the hill on foot. He sped down towards Chandyr.

'Messenger approaching, sir,' he said, breathless. 'Flag down, sir, flag down.'

'Get your breath and fall in.'

'Yes, sir.' He saluted and ran off round the side of the cavalry.

Chandyr looked to his left. 'Flagman, signal the full advance.'

'Sir!'

A thin red flag was held aloft and swept around in a long circle twice. The order was taken up along the line.

'To a trot!' ordered Chandyr.

The line quickened its pace, trotting up the slope, cresting the hill and carrying on down at an unbroken pace. Chandyr could see the refugees being herded left but not fast enough. He could see the Dordovans forming up on the north bank, cavalry in loose formation behind their foot soldiers, scattered horsemen that had to be mages among the rank and file. And in the middle of the empty plain, one rider. Rusau.

'Dear Gods, you fool,' muttered Chandyr. 'You bloody fool.'

There was nothing that could be done for him now. Chandyr's warning had been clear enough, though he felt a stab of regret.

To the left, the refugee group had seen the approaching army. There was trouble in the mass and the Dordovans were having difficulty containing it. People had got away from the guards. Some carried on running to the left, others unbelievably were coming up the plain towards them but most were making for the river.

'Keep it tight!' roared Chandyr. 'Keep it tight!'

As they descended the slope, the Dordovans were fording the river, their line reforming on the near bank and moving slowly, keeping to the flat ground, unwilling to give the Xeteskians any slope advantage. The forces closed, Rusau still between them.

'Get out of the way,' whispered Chandyr, then shouted, 'Get out of the way, Rusau!'

His voice echoed out. Rusau pulled his horse round and drove headlong towards Chandyr. He was shouting but the Xeteskian couldn't hear him until he closed to a few yards and slowed hard.

'Stop this madness!' he yelled.

'Out of my way, Rusau. Get behind the lines. There's nothing you can do now. Go back to Lystern.'

'Damn you, Chandyr. Make it stop.'

'Last chance, Rusau. Please go.' He looked to his lieutenants and signalled with a clenched fist. They were a hundred yards from the Dordovans. Spells were prepared. 'Flagman! Stand ready!'

'Sir!'

'Chandyr.'

'Leave.'

Rusau wheeled his horse again and sped back towards the Dordovans.

'Archers!' called Chandyr. At the back of the lines his archers stopped and knelt. The Dordovans were doing likewise. 'Deploy shields.' Each order was relayed by his command chain. Hard- and SpellShields came on instantly, deployment confirmed across the line. 'Fire at will!'

Arrows flew away, volley after volley, soaring overhead to clatter against the Dordovan shields and answered by the enemy. Across the divide, Rusau was being pushed away by Dordovan soldiers. Chandyr had no time to look at him any more. Dordovan cavalry had broken left and right and were galloping along the back of their line, which bristled with pikemen.

'Waiting,' yelled Chandyr. 'Waiting.'

He watched the cavalry closely. They were spread quite thin and outnumbered by the Xeteskian horsemen, their tactic as yet unclear. Thirty yards. It was enough.

'Engage!' he shouted.

The flagman flung his flag forwards, the foot soldiers roared and charged, his cavalry sprang to the gallop. Archers dropped their bows and joined the fray, spells filled the air. And in the midst of it all, Rusau, seeing his folly, began a desperate gallop to the right. He was never going to make it.

A few Xeteskian FlameOrbs soared out into the late afternoon sky, targeting mages and archers and splashing down in their midst, fizzing and hissing over shields or detonating on the ground where there were none. HotRain fell from the sky in a brief torrent over the Dordovan foot soldiers. The enemy mages were ready; their shields held, as did the Xeteskians' under the entirely predictable response.

But Chandyr had held something back. As they had been drilled, the Xeteskian foot forces, still just ahead of the cavalry, suddenly slowed for four paces. Unexpectedly, the Dordovan line was exposed to Xeteskian spell attack and more FlameOrbs fell in a concentrated burst on their left. At least one SpellShield cracked under the sudden and focussed barrage. Magical fire tore into armour and cloth. It melted faces and ate through furs and flesh, the unquenchable flames leaving their victims helpless as they died.

'Push the right. Watch the cavalry flank!'

Chandyr rode headlong into the Dordovan cavalry, horsemen to his left driving at the disoriented and weakened line, to his right fanning out to guard against a flank attack.

Rusau was caught in the chaos, wheeling his horse left and right as swords rose and fell all around him. Chandyr leaned left and swept his sword over his horse's head to clash with an enemy's. He let go the reins and dragged at the man's shoulder with his left hand as he snatched his weapon back. Pulled off balance, the Dordovan didn't see Chandyr's blade whip back and across to take him on the top of his helmeted head. Stunned, he fell from his horse, as good as dead under the churning hooves.

The Xeteskian commander glanced along his line. They had forced the Dordovans well back on the right flank and a breach wouldn't be long coming. More spells flashed across the space above his head, keeping the opposition casting mages busy with shields. A detonation told of at least one more failing under pressure.

'Rusau!' he yelled, but his voice was lost in the roar of battle, the ring of swords, the screams of dying men, the calls of fifty lieutenants and the stamp of myriad hooves.

A sword swung towards him. Reflexively, he blocked right. It was a good stroke. The Dordovan was knocked back in his saddle and took a second thrust through his gut.

'Push on, push on!' he urged, seeing the Dordovan line falter.

Chandyr dragged his horse left, swinging down to connect with the shoulder of a pikeman whose weapon was trapped underfoot. In the melee all order had disappeared; men fought for their lives moment to moment. But Chandyr chose to fight for someone else's. Rusau. Unbelievably, the Lysternan was still upright in his saddle, blood spattering his cloak and robes.

'Pull back, damn you!' Chandyr knew the mage couldn't hear him; he was caught right in the middle of the fiercest fighting. His horse was cut and terrified, rearing and bucking, Rusau demonstrating remarkable skill to stay in the saddle.

Chandyr hacked his way towards the helpless mage, his own mount, bred and trained for the fray, kicking out as it moved, head butting low, driving enemies aside and giving its rider clear vision and sword arc. The Xeteskian kept his legs back, kept his sword forward and never gave an enemy a flank target.

'Rusau! To me!'

Chandyr swept his sword into the face of a foot soldier. To his relief, the mage heard him.

'Bring him round. To me!'

But Rusau's mount wasn't responding. The mage hauled at the reins, searching for space. There was none.

'Help him!' Chandyr leant over the shoulder of his horse and smashed his sword down. Another foot gained. Around him, his men pushed. Hard. 'Go! Go!'

This was the time to trust. It was the only way. Orders to men beyond five yards were pointless. Local leaders picking up on the course of battle were vital. Men of better vision in the thick of metal and blood, of panic and death. Darrick had taught him that and he had trained his own. In this battle, it was making all the difference. All along the line, Xetesk held formation and Dordover fell back.

He heeled his horse again, it kicked a man aside and plunged forward.

'Rusau!' He was almost within touching distance. 'Behind me, jump on.'

From nowhere, pikes thrust from both sides, freed by the movement of bodies. As it had been trained to do, Chandyr's horse stepped smartly back and reared to use its forelegs as a shield. Rusau's panicked creature reared too, but pitched its rider off. The mage fell calling out, grasping desperately, straight onto the point of a Xeteskian pike.

'No!' cried Chandyr, but it was done.

The blade speared straight through the Lysternan's back and out of his chest, breaking his ribcage as it came. Blood rushed from Rusau's mouth and he died, the pikeman dropping the staff and snatching out his short sword, too scared for his own life to realise what he had done.

Chandyr wheeled and galloped from the battle to check progress. The day would be won. The Dordovans would be forced back across the river. But Chandyr didn't care much about that. Enough Dordovans had seen Rusau die. A neutral on a Xeteskian pike. He would tell the truth. The Dordovans would not. He could only guess at the consequences. It was night and the battle was done. The Dordovans had been crushed and driven back across the river but not before herding many of the refugees to their deaths, caught helpless between the opposing forces.

Three miles west, the surviving refugees had regrouped, huddling together for comfort around fires. Another blow had been struck against their fragile spirits and here they were again with no food, shelter or hope.

The flight from the fighting had been terrifying. Once the Dordovan guard had deserted them to shore up their fractured line, Avesh had got Ellin away from the panic and those who ran to the Dord, or those who decided to throw themselves on the mercy of the Xeteskians. Many had followed him, and as the day wore on yet more joined the group.

They sat in almost complete silence. A misty rain was falling from a clouded night sky and in his arms Ellin was unmoving. He rocked her gently, cursing those who had reduced her from bright light to traumatised shell. He had to strike back but had no idea how to contact those he wanted, but then three of them rode into the camp just as he was fighting back sleep.

Alarm rippled through the exhausted refugees but the riders sought to quell it quickly, assuring them they were not from any college. Avesh sat up, fatigue fading, and as a hush fell, one of the riders spoke.

'I and my men had sight of the events of today and I want to pass on my sympathy at your plight and my fury at those who treat you no better than animals. But the reason I am here is to offer you hope and a way to make a difference and to end the persecution of ordinary Balaians.

'My name is Edman, and I am an emissary of the Black Wings.'

He waited while renewed nervousness coursed through the cold, wet and hungry refugees.

'Please,' he said, raising his hands. 'I know our reputation but I want to assure you we mean you no harm. We seek to restore what has been lost but we need people to make it happen. I can offer you food and shelter. It is a long walk from here but we will help you every step of the way. We will keep you from contact with our common enemy and we will help your sick and your wounded.

'Any of you who want to return to rebuild the lives the colleges took from you go with our blessing. But any who come with us will make sure that those lives can be lived in security in the years that follow.

'Who is with me?'

There were questions, there was suspicion, there was fear. But Avesh was not alone in feeling a surge of purpose. By him, Ellin reached up a hand to stroke his face.

'You must go,' she said. 'Avenge our son for me. And when you are done, find me at the broken timbers of our farm and we will start again.'

Avesh gazed down at her, tears standing in his eyes, and knew he had never loved her more than he did right now.

'I won't let you down.'

'Just come back to me.'

'You know I will,' he said and, kissing her gently on the lips, he heaved himself from the ground and went to hear what Edman wanted of him. Heryst rode into Dordover with the night full and cool. He and his delegation were tired from the trail but Vuldaroq wasn't in the mood to give them much time for food and rest. Still feeling dusty, Heryst met the fat red-faced Dordovan Arch Mage in a small warm reception chamber hung with dour portraits and with a roaring fire in a large grate.

The shake of hands was perfunctory but the wine Vuldaroq gave him was very welcome. The two men sat in large leather chairs either side of the blaze.

'So, come to your senses finally, my Lord Heryst?'

'I have always been in full possession of my senses, Vuldaroq. I had hoped that Xetesk and yourselves might rediscover yours.'

'Exactly what was it you were hoping for?'

'A way to peace through diplomacy, what else?'

Vuldaroq smiled indulgently. 'You know I respect your skill as a politician and mage but in this you are being as naive as a child. Surely you cannot close your eyes to what is happening now. Peace is only possible when both sides desire it.'

'I have never been naive, Vuldaroq,' said Heryst. 'I simply choose to seek a less bloody path.'

'You think we wanted war against them?'

'I think Dordover was angry enough at its defeat on Herendeneth to view conflict as preferable to negotiation. You as much as they have brought us to this juncture.'

Vuldaroq was indignant. 'Preposterous, Heryst. We sought justice for Balaia and the sharing of the treasures discovered on that island.'

Heryst blinked slowly, having to make a deliberate effort to keep a scornful smile from his lips.

'Who exactly do you think you are talking to here? We formed an alliance, if you recall, with the express intention of stopping the Nightchild realising potential beyond her control. Her death was always a possibility we had to consider. But you had darker motives. Nothing would have survived there had The Raven not intervened, would it? Wasn't that why you involved the witch hunters?'

'They were the only people capable of finding those we sought.'

'Damn you they were not!' Heryst spilled his wine on his hand. 'And you gave Erienne to them. One of your own.'

'A betrayer,' said Vuldaroq smoothly. 'A little like your own General Darrick, wouldn't you say?'

'Darrick's actions were regrettable, I admit, but he was not prepared to stand shoulder to shoulder with those who would see us all dead, as apparently you would. He will account for his actions, have no fear. He, at least, is a man of honour.'

Vuldaroq sipped his wine. 'And I am not? I and my college, alone, stand between Xetesk and their dominion of Balaia. Remember why we allied. We cannot let the power rest with one college alone; it would return us to the wilderness.'

'I agree utterly. It is the method to use that has been where our differences lie,' said Heryst, knowing tit for tat accusations would get them nowhere fast.

'And do you also agree that the war, whoever you believe is to blame, now threatens you as well as us?'

'And Julatsa, yes,' said Heryst. 'That is why I am here. I am appalled by the actions of Xetesk around Arlen and at their own gates. At least you have respected the rules of engagement and the rights of refugees.'

Vuldaroq inclined his head. 'From you that is compliment indeed.'

'I want to make it abundantly clear, however, that I am not proposing a formal alliance,' said Heryst. 'But we have a joint obligation to shore up the defences of Julatsa. I also believe we must put in place a blockade of Xeteskian lands to prevent movement of troops and materials.'

'There also we are in accord,' said Vuldaroq. 'But how is this not an alliance?'

'Because Lystern is not at war with Xetesk and that is the way I want to keep it. My soldiers will not be under any command of yours. I am suggesting a sharing of responsibilities in order to pressure Xetesk to the negotiating table. I will be telling Dystran the same.'

'Of course, I respect your wishes,' said Vuldaroq, and Heryst could see the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

'Do not betray this. I will be seeking assurances you will not use this goodwill to advance the conflict.'

Vuldaroq held up his hands. 'Heryst, please.'

'Good. I suggest we break and let our respective teams discuss my proposals. We can reconvene later to iron out points of difference.'

An urgent knocking on the door was followed by two of Heryst's mages running in.

'Excuse the interruption, my Lords,' said one, a young mage named Darrow. 'I have grave news.'

He looked over to Vuldaroq. Heryst waved him on.

'He will hear it anyway, best first-hand from you.'

'Kayvel has contacted us,' said Darrow. 'As you know, Rusau travelled with a Xeteskian force riding to engage the Dordovans at the Dord crossing. It seems he was caught in the middle of the conflict. I'm sorry, my Lord, but he was killed.'

Heryst closed his eyes. He had feared this. He took a deep breath before speaking.

'How did it happen?'

'The story we have heard from Dordovans in the field was that he was killed by a Xeteskian pikeman.'

Heryst dashed his glass into the fireplace. Liquid hissed and spat. He fought to regain control but his mind churned and his pulse ran high.

'He was a diplomat. A neutral,' he said, hardly able to get the words out.

'Yes, my Lord.'

'He was also my friend.' Heryst put his head in his hands for a moment. 'Are you sure the reports are true?'

'That he's dead?' asked Darrow.

'No,' snapped Heryst. 'That he died the way it is told.'

'As sure as we can be. He was caught in the battle. In the centre of the line. He was in the way and Xetesk removed him.' Darrow shrugged.

'But could it have been an accident? Battle is confused,' said Heryst. 'You understand I have to be sure. Could it have been a Dordovan pike?'

Darrow shook his head. 'No, my Lord. The picture is reasonably clear. A Xeteskian pike was driven through his body from the back. The battle continued. Xetesk pushed Dordover back across the river and their forces are now guarding the whole stretch and apparently sending more patrols out to secure their entire border with Dordover. '

Heryst looked across at Vuldaroq, whose expression of sorrow appeared genuine enough, but the Lysternan knew that somewhere in that mind of his he was smiling at the news.

'And what have we heard from Xetesk?' he asked.

'Denials, as you would expect,' said Darrow. 'Kayvel has spoken to the rest of our delegation there and they aren't under any duress or arrest but the story they are relaying just doesn't have quite the ring of truth about it.'

'And what is it?' Heryst straightened.

'That the Xeteskian commander was trying to get Rusau out of the battle and didn't make it before his horse threw him and he landed on a pike.'

'Pure fantasy,' muttered Vuldaroq. 'I am sorry to hear of the loss of your friend, Heryst, but it casts new light on what we have just been discussing, does it not?'

Heryst held up a hand to silence the Dordovan Arch Mage. 'Don't you dare try to put pressure on me, Vuldaroq. At the moment I am not interested in what you think. Perhaps you would grant me the favour of leaving me for a moment.'

Vuldaroq nodded and rose. Heryst watched him go.

'This changes nothing as far as Dordover is concerned,' he said to Darrow. 'You will continue negotiation as if this desperate event hadn't happened. Do you understand?'

'Yes, my Lord, but-'

'But nothing, Darrow,' said Heryst, keeping his voice quiet. 'I do not trust Dordover any more than I trust Xetesk and I suggest you take my lead. I want to leave to return to Lystern tomorrow, so the pressure is on you. There, we will find the truth of this. All I will say is that it must hasten our deployment of forces.

'Damn you, Darrick, where are you when I need you most?'