Fire and Sword

Chapter 29

Kumul lay awake in the early hours of a new day, his first in the civilized lands east of the Algonka Pass for many months. It was hard for him to believe that spring was almost over. He had forgotten how long it took a large army to march any distance, even one as mobile as the Chetts‘. In some ways it seemed a lifetime ago when he and his friends had crossed into the Oceans of Grass. Since then his prince had grown into adulthood and become a leader among warriors; the world he had lived in all his life had been turned upside down; the sureties of his past had become the uncertainties of his future. Most of all, he thought with wonder, Jenrosa Alucar had fallen in love with him.

How and when he had fallen in love with her was a mystery to him, and in that way seemed typical of all the other changes in his life. Before he had not been sure whether or not those changes were for the best, but now—in the cold early morning of a new day, and perhaps a new era for the whole kingdom of Grenda Lear—he suddenly found himself willing to embrace the changes wholeheartedly. Lying there in the dark, the warm body of his beloved Jenrosa by his side, the future had started to take shape, and he could see a path through the turmoil to a brighter and happier life.

Kumul propped himself on one elbow and gazed down on Jenrosa’s sleeping face. She was like no other woman he had ever been with before. She actually loved him, and without reservation. Jenrosa did not seek power or influence or wealth; she wanted nothing but the chance to learn about herself and be with him.

Pride and loved swelled in Kumul and he leaned over to kiss Jenrosa’s forehead. Without waking, she wrapped an arm around him and pulled him down so his head rested between her breasts. He closed his eyes and felt himself slowly drift off to sleep again, his fading thoughts measured by the beat of her heart.

The grass was too green and the sky was too pale, and the landscape was closed in by forests and wooded hills and streams and creeks. Lynan felt a stranger in his own land.

His army had left behind the Barda River two days after crossing the Algonka Pass and was now deep into Hume. The supply wagons had slowed their rate of progress, but his scouts were roving far and wide. That morning two of them had returned with three of their opposites from the army of Grenda Lear whom they had killed in a night action only hours before.

Lynan felt almost too tense to think, and he wondered if this was how his father had felt before a battle. Perhaps, he thought, but Elynd Chisal never had to worry about the consequences of attacking his own people.

He heard riders approach, and looked up to see Kumul, Ager, and Jenrosa.

“You wanted to see us, lad?” Kumul asked.

Lynan was not sure how to say what he had to say to them. They knew—they must have known—what would happen once they crossed into the east, but how ready were they for the reality?

“We have made contact with Areava’s army,” he said at last. “They are only three or four hours’ march to the east of our position. Korigan is preparing our forces to attack.”

He let the words sink in. Ager and Jenrosa seemed frightened, and Kumul’s face had paled almost to the color of his own skin.

“Well, we knew it would come,” Kumul said huskily.

“It has to, my friend,” Lynan said, wishing he had words that could make it easier for all of them. “I know no other way to end this, not now.”

Kumul nodded stiffly, then said, “My lancers are ready. They’ll be no match for the knights of the Twenty Houses, but against any other regiment they’ll do fine.”

“Jenrosa?”

Jenrosa breathed deeply. “As Kumul says, it had to come.”

“And your magic? What does it say to you?”

Jenrosa had told no one except Kumul about her dream of Silona, not even Lasthear. “Sorrow, and ...” She closed her mouth. She could not tell Lynan what she had seen. The dream might have meant nothing.

“And?” Lynan urged.

“If my magic is true, you will soon have the Key of the Sword around your neck.”

Lynan’s eyes widened in surprise. “You saw this?”

“I think so. I think this is what my vision showed me.”

“And not the Key of the Scepter?” Ager said.

Jenrosa shook her head. “I did not see that.”

“What can it mean?” Ager asked.

“I do not know.”

“It is enough,” Lynan said. “To win the Key of the Sword, we must win the battle.”

“I cannot say,” Jenrosa said, answering Lynan’s unspoken question.

“Ager, do you ride with your clan?” Lynan asked.

“Of course.”

“Then stay with me in the center with Gudon and the Red Hands. Kumul, I want your lancers in reserve. The enemy will be expecting horse archers, though not in the number we have. The lancers will be an extra shock to them, perhaps the deciding one. The gods go with us.”

They silently regarded each other, each of them thinking something more should be said, but none knowing what it was. Kumul was the first to move, wheeling his horse around and galloping back to his lancers. Jenrosa followed him.

Ager gently tapped his horse’s flanks, then suddenly reined in. “Lynan, are you prepared for what comes after the battle? Because I’m not.”

Lynan did not know and wanted to answer truthfully, but said instead: “Yes.”

“Good,” Ager said, and then was gone as well.

Lynan felt nauseous and tired, and that somehow he was not only betraying the land of his birth but his friends as well.

“What’s that?” Edaytor asked, pointing back the way he and Olio had just come.

At first Olio did not see anything out of the ordinary. The dawn sky was a pale, washed-out blue, and in the distance he could see tiny pennants fluttering from the masts of ships in the harbor. Then he noticed a ruddiness in the skyline above the old quarter. “I don’t know.”

For a moment they stood there watching, and then at the same time they saw the lick of yellow flame leap from one roof.

“Oh, no,” Olio murmured.

Edaytor gripped his arm. “Go back to the palace and sound the alarm, your Highness. I will go with all speed to the Theurgias of Fire and Water. They can help.” Edaytor ran off with all the speed his large body would allow him.

Olio started running toward the palace when he heard the alarm. One of the guards must already have seen the flames.

He stopped. There was nothing more he could do there. He was needed in the old quarter. He turned around and ran back the other way.

The spasm came so quickly that Areava could not help the groan that escaped from her lips.

“Damn!” she shouted, surprising Doctor Trion and the midwife who hovered nearby.

“Your Majesty, are you all right?”

“Another contraction,” she said breathlessly. And then another wave of pain came. She pressed her lips together, but it was no good. She groaned again.

The midwife waited until the contractions had finished, then explored the queen again. Areava was so exhausted by the effort of controlling herself that she barely felt her.

“Two fingers’ span. Good.”

“What’s best?” Areava asked her.

“A span of around eight fingers. Then your daughter will be ready to come out.”

“Eight fingers! I have to wait for you to be able to shove—”

“Madam, please!” the midwife implored. “I do not shove—”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

One of her maids stood beside her and placed a damp cloth against her brow. It helped.

“Is the pain really so bad?” she asked patronizingly.

“Are you a virgin or something?” Areava said shortly.

The maid blushed.

“God, you are,” Areava breathed, and ridiculously felt like laughing. “And who’s ringing those bloody bells?”

* * *

As soon as Galen received the message from Sendarus, he turned the regiments of knights around and returned to the main portion of the army. They got there just over an hour later, when dew still covered much of the ground. He saw that the army was being deployed, facing west across a wide, mainly flat plain. Archers lined the rise midway across the plain, and the infantry were arrayed into loose columns behind them and were in the process of marching left and right along the line to form the flanks. Some cavalry was already positioned on the far left flank. Galen found Sendarus in deep conversation with Charion, and was pleased to see they were not shouting at each other as they had been for most of the time since leaving Daavis.

“What has happened?” he asked as soon as he reached them.

“A few scouts on our left flank failed to report in,” Sendarus said. “I sent a larger scouting party to find out what was happening.”

“And they haven’t come back either,” Galen guessed.

Sendarus nodded and pointed to the west. Galen could see clouds of birds winging their way. “Whatever’s stirred them up is very large. Salokan?”

Sendarus shrugged. “How could he have made such a wide detour without us detecting him? It must be him, but I don’t understand how he’s done it.”

“It may not be Salokan at all,” Charion said seriously.

“What do you mean?” Galen asked.

“Her Highness thinks it may be a second Haxus force, coming in from the Oceans of Grass.”

“Mercenaries? This Rendle that Areava was so angry about?”

“Possibly.”

“If it is, do you think he has been in touch with Salokan?”

“No way of knowing. If he has, we can probably expect him to be bearing down on us already, but whether to hit us on the flank or to join Rendle before making a combined assault, we don’t know.” Sendarus licked his lips. “There is another possibility.”

“Which is?” Galen asked.

Sendarus and Charion spoke at the same time. “Lynan.”

A whole street seemed to be on fire. Flames belched into the air as houses built from nothing but old wood and thatch ignited. Screaming people were jammed into the street, some of them on fire, some of them bleeding from burns and wounds caused by falling timber. Children slipped and if not caught up right away by their parents were trampled underneath by the panicking mob.

Olio tried to force his way though the mass to get to the stricken, but could make no headway. He grabbed one man by the arm and showed the Key of Power. “I am Prince Olio!” he shouted. “Help me get these people out of the way!” But the man shook his arm free and fled as fast as his legs could carry him. He tried with another man, and then a woman, but their reaction was the same as the first.

“God’s death!” he shouted. “Will no one help me?”

The mob swept by him, forcing him against a wall. He heard a crack above him and looked up to see a roof smoldering, and then all at once catch fire. Flames seemed to leap over his head to the roof of the house on the opposite side of the street, and it, too, went up in flames. The heat was unbearable. He retreated to the end of the street, ducked in a doorway and waited for the mob to pass him by. When he emerged, he found that a handful of men and women had also stayed their ground, desperate to do something but not knowing what. He went to the nearest, a woman, and showed the emblem of his authority.

“Where is the nearest well?” he asked.

“A block away!” she said. “But we have no buckets to get water!”

“Make sure there is no one left inside these houses,” he shouted, pointing to all those homes that were still free of the fire. “And collect as many buckets and pans as you can—anything that will carry water!”

The woman nodded, passed the word to another, and then another. In a short time there was a gang of about twenty people, all with a container of some kind.

“Form a chain to the well. We need to douse with water all the houses in the next street so the fires doesn’t spread.”

Other people came to see what was happening and, without being asked, joined in, but in a few minutes Olio could see their efforts were wasted. They could not get to the other end of the street where the fire was still spreading, and they could not carry enough water at this end to make any difference. The fire was leapfrogging houses now, sparks blowing from roof to roof, shining in the dark, smoky sky like miniature shooting stars.

“It’s no good!” Olio told them. “Get to the harbor. Carry any who cannot get there themselves!”

At first some people ignored him, desperately trying to save their homes, but eventually the heat from the flames even drove them away.

Olio found an old man with only one leg who was struggling to keep up with the crowd; he was leaning against a corner post, bent over and gagging. Olio hooked an arm around the man’s shoulders and helped him along.

“Thankin‘ ya, sir,” the man said between bouts of coughing. “Thankin’ ya.”

A little way on they came across a small child, crying, standing by herself under the lintel of an open door. Olio shouted to a passing youth to take the man, then went to the child.

“What’s your name?” he asked, picking her up.

“I can’t find my mumma,” she said.

“We’ll find her, darling. What’s your name?”

“Where’s my mumma?”

The contractions were now less than two minutes apart. Areava was covered in a film of sweat. Her nightgown and the sheets on her bed were soaked, and the smell of them made her want to gag.

“A span of five fingers,” the midwife said.

“Find Olio,” she said desperately. “Find my brother. Find Prince Olio.”

“There is nothing he can do for you, my lady,” the midwife said, trying to sound stern.

“He has the Key of the Heart,” she said. “The Healing Key. He can help the baby.”

“Your Majesty—”

“Find him!” Areava screamed, and the midwife scurried off. A second midwife took her place and curtsied.

“I don’t believe this,” Areava moaned, then tensed as the contractions started again.

The first flight of arrows fell short, and even as the second flight was on its way Lynan was suddenly surrounded by twenty of the Red Hands. This time the arrows found targets. One of the Red Hands screamed and fell from her horse. Lynan heard other screams nearby.

“Spread out!” he ordered his bodyguard. They ignored him. “Listen to me, we’re just making a bigger target for them! Now spread out!”

It was not until Gudon repeated the order that they reluctantly moved away from their charge. Another flight of arrows fell among them. Ager galloped over to him. “Where are they shooting from?”

Lynan pointed to a rise about three hundred paces away.

He could clearly see a line of archers dressed in Charion’s colors. “They belong to a Hume regiment,” he said.

Ager squinted through his one good eye. “God, they’re hopeful. They’re shooting at their maximum range. Let them waste their arrows, I say.”

Lynan agreed. Gudon and the Red Hands were spread out in a line to his left, and on his right extended Ager’s warriors. A hundred paces behind him, Kumul had drawn up his lancers into two wedges. Farther on his flanks the rest of the Chett army were still getting into their starting positions for the attack.

Someone on the other side must have realized the archers were wasting their time because the volleys ceased. The ground in between was sparsely coated in arrow shafts sticking out of the ground.

Over the next few minutes riders came to Lynan telling him that their respective banners were ready. Lastly came Korigan. She reined in beside Lynan and Ager.

“Everyone is in position,” she said.

“Give the word, then.”

“Do you want my people to take that ridge first?” Ager asked. “I could clear those archers away in five minutes.”

“We don’t know what’s waiting for you behind the ridge. We go as planned. Flank movements first.”

Korigan nodded and rode off, and for a while the only sound anyone could hear was the beating of her horse’s hooves on the plain. When they stopped, there was a moment of complete silence. There was no wind, and all the birds had long fled.

A cry that sounded like the wailing of an angry grass wolf pierced the air. The cry was taken up by twenty thousand throats, and the ground seemed to rumble like thunder.

“I stopped the archers,” Charion said, embarrassed at her own troops panicking like that.

“How many arrows have they left?”

“Half a dozen each, but I’ve ordered up more.” She pointed to a supply wagon being quickly trundled up the ridge by hand.

“Let’s hope the enemy don’t charge in the center first before they’re restocked,” Galen said dourly.

Charion glared at him, but Sendarus held up a hand to each of them. “No time for this. Has anyone here fought with the Chetts?” Both commanders shook their head. “I don’t suppose anyone here has fought against them?”

“If they had, you don’t really think they’d admit it, do you?” Charion said. “The only people to fight against the Chetts in the last two generations have been slavers, mercenaries, and troops from Haxus.”

“What tactics do the Chetts use?”

“Until now, small-scale tactics,” Charion said. “The Chetts have never fielded an army. The largest clan can put up three or four thousand fighters, given time, but no one has ever seen this many warriors before.”

“And never one under the command of a Rosetheme,” Galen added, the contempt clear in his voice.

“You are sure that pennant represents the Key of Union?”

“What else?”

“But they are all horse archers,” Sendarus said, changing the subject. He did not want to think about being in battle against his own wife’s brother, no matter how much she hated him. “So if we keep our discipline, keep our lines intact, we can wear them down.”

“And when the time is right, charge with our own cavalry,” Galen agreed.

“That’s the hard part,” Charion said. “Knowing when to counterattack. The Chetts are good at fooling their enemies into foolish charges, then isolating and destroying them.”

Suddenly the air was rent with the most terrifying cry they had ever heard.

“At least,” Charion added, repressing a shiver, “that’s how the Chetts behaved before they had an army. Who knows how they fight now?”

It was close to midday, but smoke hung so thickly over the city and its harbor that it could have been midnight. Dark figures moved like ghosts through the gloom, lost and aimless. Olio did his best to help organize refugees into groups that came from the same street or the same block so that families could be reunited, but the sheer number of people fleeing the fire made it impossible.

By now magickers from the all the theurgia were present to help, the most successful being those from the Theurgia of Fire—their most powerful spells were able to impede the progress of the fire by lowering its temperature. Mostly the magickers assisted by adding extra bodies to the long water chains that led from the harbor to the worst affected areas of the old quarter. Priests were everywhere, lending a hand and consoling where they could. Royal Guards arrived to help keep control of the crowds, and to distribute food and wine sent down from the palace’s own stores.

The fire had not spread much farther north than the old quarter, where the buildings were uniformly old and badly maintained. Homes beyond the original city gates were spaced farther apart and there were servants and other workers to help landowners defend their property.

Still, it was a larger disaster than Kendra had experienced for many decades; some were saying the worst since the storms that had devastated the whole city one summer day a generation before the late Queen Usharna was born.

Tired and dirty and ragged as he was, Olio was recognized by some members of the Royal Guard and immediately assigned an escort to take him back to the palace. At first he refused to go, but when a brazen cleric pointed out he was more a distraction than a help, he reluctantly left.

The escort took him through that part of the old quarter the fire had already blazed through. Olio could smell charred wood and thatch, and the sickly sweet smell of the occasional burned corpse—sometimes a dog or cat, but usually human—that littered the streets and the burned out shells of what had once been homes. Near the edge of the quarter, where some of the homes seemed less damaged, they came across an inn. The inn’s front wall had partly collapsed, but the roof was still in place and supported by intact beams, and dozens of people lay on the floor. Olio stopped and looked more closely. The people were all injured, and a few uninjured people worked among them to make them comfortable.

“Your Highness,” one of the guards said, “we had best keep moving.”

“Wait here,” he ordered them, and went into the inn. The guards looked unsure but did as they were ordered.

Olio first came across a woman. She had no burns, but one of her legs was broken in several places and she was suffering intense pain. Olio knelt down next to her.

“How did this happen?” he asked her.

“It was the crowd, sir. They trampled all over me. Lucky to have only one leg broken.”

Olio could feel the Key of the Heart warm suddenly. He needed no prompting. He took it out with his left hand and gripped it tightly, then put his right hand on the woman’s knee. She winced in pain but did not cry out, almost as if she knew instinctively what was about to happen. The power surged through him so quickly he had no time to mentally prepare for it. He reeled back, blacked out for a moment. When his vision cleared, he saw that the woman’s leg was completely healed and that she was falling into a deep sleep. Blue energy seemed to crackle around him.

He stood up and felt immediately dizzy, but still made his way to the next person on the floor, another woman, younger, with blackened skin all along her exposed chest and stomach. He did not even talk with her, but bent over and ever so gently placed his fingertips against the curled rind of skin that marked the edge of her burn.

“Soon now,” Trion told Areava. “You are almost there.”

She was crying, and was in too much pain and was too tired to feel embarrassed or ashamed about it.

“My brother,” she whispered hoarsely. “Where is he?”

Trion shook his head. “I am sorry, your Majesty, I don’t know. The midwife and some of your guards are searching for him.”

“He can’t be far,” she said. “Please find him for me. My baby will die ...”

Trion patted her hand. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Someone coughed discreetly near the door. Trion looked up and saw Orkid standing there, his face furrowed in concern. Trion went to him

“How is she?” Orkid asked.

“She is doing fine, but the baby has turned. The contractions are causing her a great deal of pain. Has Prince Olio been found?”

“No.”

“Then I suggest you send out more guards to find him. She calls for him all the time.” He swallowed. “The baby comes too early to live.”

“Does she know?”

“Yes. I think so.” He looked desperately at Orkid. “Only Olio can help.”

“The palace is stripped bare of guards,” Orkid told him. “There has been a terrible fire in city; most of the old quarter had been burned down.”

“God’s death!” Trion hissed. “So that’s what the bells were about.”

“We have no idea how many have died, but the guards are helping to keep things going down there.”

A horrible thought came to Trion. “You don’t think his Highness is down there, do you?”

Orkid could only shrug. “We will find him and bring him to the queen as soon as we can.” He looked across to Areava and saw her arch her back as another spasm of pain rippled through her. He gasped and looked away; he could not stand to see her suffer so.

“Believe me, Chancellor, Areava is young and strong. Nothing will happen to her.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Wait patiently for nature to take its course. And find Prince Olio. I think more than anyone else, Areava needs her brother.”

Lynan had no real idea how the battle was going. From his position in the center he could not see if his army’s flanking attacks were succeeding or being driven back. As the Chett horse archers closed in on the enemy, loosed their arrows, then retreated out of range again, the grass was slowly trammeled to the ground and then destroyed. Clouds of dust were now spiraling into the air, obscuring the view. As well, the lay of the land was not completely flat—there were dips and rises—leading to strange consequences. Lynan could hear the clash of weapons and the cries of the wounded and dying in a skirmish on the far left flank between a troop of Chetts that had been surprised by a sudden charge by light infantry, but he could hear no sound at all from another skirmish much closer on the right flank between Chetts and a small band of Hume cavalry.

Ager, next to him and Gudon in the line, was able to make more sense of goings-on and could tell when the Chetts had the upper hand or when they were on the receiving end, but in one way this made it harder for Lynan. Having given the order for the attack to start he could do little to influence events until he decided to let the center or the reserve join in, and he was loath to do that until he had some clear idea of what the situation was like on the flanks. He needed to know what kind of troops his horse archers were encountering, and whether or not any had met the knights of the Twenty Houses. He had to know what quality of troops they were fighting, and whether or not they were determined or demoralized. He knew Korigan would arrange for riders to bring him information when she had the opportunity, but it seemed that the attack had already been going on for hours.

“Your center is getting itchy,” Gudon said.

Lynan glanced along his line and saw that the Red Hands and Ocean clan warriors were looking frustrated. They were constantly shifting in their saddles, pulling on their bow strings and drawing and resheathing their swords.

Lynan kicked his mare into a canter. He first rode in front of the Ocean clan, making sure they noticed him, then back to the Red Hands. When he had the line’s attention, he stopped before them.

“Our time is soon, but you must be patient. After this battle, no one in Theare will ever be able to stand against the Chetts without feeling fear!” The Chetts started to cheer. “You are my warriors, and I will lead you to battle today.”

The cheering became louder, and he rejoined Ager and Gudon.

Gudon slapped him on the back. “Truth, little master, that was not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” Ager conceded. “No Elynd Chisal, but not bad.”

“And what would my father have said?”

Ager grinned at him. “Charge.”

Lynan was surprised. “Just charge?”

Ager shrugged. “More like ‘Charge you fucking sons-of-whores,’ but you get the idea.”

Word had spread about the miracle worker. More and more of the injured were being brought to the inn.

Olio was no longer completely aware of what he was doing. The healing surge that coursed through his body was like a river of blue fire in his mind. His vision had narrowed to the point where he could barely see the victims being brought before him. His hand would go out, touch a hand or an eye, a burn or a puncture, and then another would be placed before him.

After a while he could hear a voice in the back of his head, and it sounded familiar but he could not put a name or a face to it.

He needed to stop, but did not know how. He tried to say “enough,” but no sound at all came from his lips.

And all the time there was this voice trying to tell him something, something he was sure was important.

More victims. He felt himself fall, but hands picked him up and supported him. The river of fire grew wider and wider, his vision dimmed more and more, and there came a time when at last all he could see was the river. He wanted to step into it, to leave this place, and even as he wished it, it happened. He was adrift in the river, and slowly it covered him over until at last he was drowning in light. At that moment he heard the voice in the back of his head for the last time, saying a single word over and over, and he recognized the voice as his own.

And then it was gone.

“The infantry cannot take much more of this,” Charion said, shouting to be heard over the din of battle. “Both our flanks are starting to cave in. Most of our infantry and light cavalry have been destroyed. We have to commit our heavy cavalry!”

“No!” Galen shouted back. “It’s not time yet. The Chett center is still uncommitted. If we move the knights into action now, we will have nothing more to throw into the battle. The infantry have to hold or all is lost.”

Both commanders fell silent and turned their gaze on Sendarus. He had visited each flank himself and seen the casualties they were suffering. A Chett troop would gallop in, let loose a volley of arrows, then retreat to be replaced by another troop. None of the volleys by themselves did much damage, but cumulatively they were starting to inflict significant casualties and damage morale. All their attempts so far at counterattacking had only resulted in the destruction of the pursuing units. But Galen was right. Until Sendarus knew what Lynan intended to do with his center, he had no choice but to hold back the knights. Still, there was one thing he could do to help the flanks.

“Move the archers from the rise,” he ordered Charion. “Shift them all to the left flank. They have a greater range than the horse archers. When the enemy attack starts to flag, transfer them to the right flank.”

It was not what Charion wanted to hear, but she was smart enough to know it was the most she would get from Sendarus at this point in the battle. She hurried forward to give the orders to the archers.

“That will leave our own center vulnerable,” Galen pointed out.

“And offer a tempting target for Lynan,” Sendarus countered. “Once he moves, we will know where to commit your knights. I hope he commits sooner rather than later.”

Galen silently agreed.

It all seemed so unreal for Jenrosa. Beside her, sitting on one of the big stallions taken from the victory at the Ox Tongue, Kumul stared straight ahead, occasionally turning his head slightly one way and then the other. His face was almost blank; the smallest of frowns creased his forehead. Before her, she could see the thin front line of the Red Hands and Ager’s clan warriors. Beyond that there was a muffled, metal noise, like the sounds from a busy kitchen heard from the street. A cloud of white dust slowly drifted over the whole plain.

She tried to see inside her own mind, but there was nothing there except her own confusion. She wondered what Lasthear and the other magickers who had come with the army were thinking right now. The previous night she had asked Lasthear if there was some incantation they could use to help ensure victory, and Lasthear had laughed at her. “We might make it rain,” Lasthear said, “but I can’t see how that could help. Or we could start a fire and hope it spreads the right way on the grass, but I can’t see how that would help either. No, best to strap on a sword and join someone you are prepared to die with.”

Well, novice with a sword though she was, she was by Kumul, and there she would stay.

A rider galloped up to them. “His Majesty asks that you come to him.”

Kumul nodded, and he and Jenrosa followed the rider back to Lynan. Ager, Gudon, and Korigan were already there.

“Any sign of heavy cavalry?” Kumul asked.

Korigan shook her head.

“What of Areava?”

Again Korigan shook her head.

“But they have brought up archers to their left flank. I am starting to lose riders. If I pull my forces back from that wing, the enemy commander will just switch the archers to the opposite. If something isn’t done, our whole attack will stall, and I’m certain their infantry is close to collapsing.”

Kumul and Lynan looked at each other. “Your lancers have their target,” Lynan said.

“The baby is starting to come,” the midwife said. “I can feel her crown.”

“Keep on pushing, your Majesty,” Trion said, grimacing. Areava was gripping one of his hands so tightly if felt as if his fingers might break.

Areava kept on pushing.

“Olio?” she panted.

“I’m sorry. He isn’t here yet.”

Charion was starting to breathe a little easier. Her foot archers had forced back the Chetts, giving her infantry time to remove their dead and then reform their lines; the infantry crouched low and in straight lines, their shields covering their heads and sides, their spears held vertically to give some interference against flights of enemy arrows. The queen was about to send the archers across to the other flank when there was a new sound. It was not the rolling galloping of the horse archers darting in, but something heavier, slower. There was a glimmer of something as yet indistinct behind all the dust.

Sendarus joined her. “What is that sound?” he asked.

Charion shook her head. “I’m not... God, it can’t be.”

The dust cloud had parted for a moment, and she had seen what looked like massed cavalry, and they were carrying lances. She looked at Sendarus. “Tell me I didn’t just see Chett cavalry starting a charge.”

“Can you hold them?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” There was a note of desperation in her voice. “We’ll try.”

“It is time for Galen and his knights to play their part,” Sendarus said. “Hold for ten minutes more, that’s all I ask.”

Charion ordered her infantry to stand and move to alternate ranks, filling the gaps between the lines, then told the front rank to go to one knee. The first two lines dug the buts of the spears into the ground, holding the points out at forty-five degrees, each succeeding line holding their spears a little more vertically than the one before. The maneuver was just completed when the horse archers appeared again, the sound of their coming hidden by the deeper thunder now swelling over them. A hail of arrows fell among the more closely packed infantry, and then another. The foot archers hastily moved out of marching order into some kind of line and started shooting back, but only sporadically.

Charion swore as her infantry, almost involuntarily, started to edge back.

“Hold your ground!” she shouted at them. “Whatever you do, hold your ground!”

But the infantry were starting to waver. One or two soldiers dropped their spears and ran, others looked over their shoulder to see them flee and were on the verge of doing the same. And then, as quickly and silently as they had come, the horse archers disappeared.

Before any of them could breathe a sigh of relief, a wall of solid horse appeared before them with glittering spear points; leading them was a giant man on a giant stallion, and each infantryman felt that the giant’s sword was pointed directly at his head. The sound of the enemy’s coming filled their ears The line crumbled like a sand bank before a flood. The infantry threw away their spears and fled, running as fast as their tired legs could carry them, but it was too late. The first wedge of Chett lancers ignored them and carried on to the now defenseless archers, ploughing into them with savage ferocity, but the second wedge chased after them, their momentum carrying them through any resistance.

Charion galloped away from the onslaught, looking for any troops she could use to form a second line or just to throw in the way of the Chett attack so Galen’s knights had time to get into action, but all around her were fleeing for their lives.

Kumul tried to recall his lancers, but they were carried away with bloodlust. Lynan kept them on the leash for too long, he cursed. They’ve gone crazy. The first banner was still together and under his command, but the other had broken into smaller groups intent on hunting down and killing every enemy soldier they could find. Around him were the remains of what had been a Hume regiment of archers. At least they would no longer be a threat. Now, if only he could get his own banners to reform, he might even be able to carry the battle to the enemy’s center, or maybe even the opposite flank.

He gave command of the first wedge to Jenrosa and personally corralled a handful from the second, and from that small core started to reorganize it. When the battle was over he would make damn sure they knew how much they had failed him, failed Lynan, and failed as trained cavalry.

The wedge was almost completely reformed when he looked up and saw single riders galloping back. About bloody time, he thought, but as they drew closer, he saw the fear on the faces of the riders and realized they were fleeing from something. And there was only one thing he believed his lancers would be afraid of. He peered north, toward the enemy’s center. A silvery line shimmered in the middle distance. He saw pennants and horsetail plumes. He knew what it meant.

Now what? he asked himself. His first wedge was still pretty fresh, but the second was sitting on a lot of blown horses. He rode to Jenrosa.

“Take back the second banner. They cannot move quickly, but get them out of the way. Tell Korigan we need horse archers up here, quickly.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Give you the time you need to get away.”

“No,” Jenrosa said firmly. “You tried to do that once before, remember, for Lynan, and he came back. I’m not going to leave you now.”

“This isn’t for me,” Kumul told her levelly. “It’s for the four hundred Chetts who make up the second banner. Get them back to safety for me. You are one of Lynan’s companions. They will obey you.”

“I can’t leave you to die.”

“We will all die if someone doesn’t tell Korigan to hurry up. Can you use your magic right now?”

Jenrosa shook her head. “I need time to prepare—”

“There is no more time. Get these troops away and come back with Korigan. That way there’s a chance we’ll both be alive after all this is over.”

Kumul did not wait for her to reply, but turned to give orders to his first banner. It moved forward at a quick walk, flowing around Jenrosa and then leaving her behind.

Sendarus rode forward with Galen. Everything now depended on saving their left flank and repelling the Chett lancers. If they could do that, they could win the battle; if the lancers went unchecked, nothing would save them.

The knights rode forward in three straight lines, each line with around five hundred knights. They moved at a slow canter and so closely together that Sendarus could reach out and touch the shoulders of the riders to his left and right.

They first met their own infantry, fleeing unarmed from the field. Close behind them were scattered bands of Chett lancers, but Galen refused to break his lines to go after them. The lancers saw them and quickly retreated in panic. The knights, the best trained cavalry on the continent, smoothly increased their pace to a quicker canter on Galen’s order. No words or oaths came from their lips, but everyone on the battlefield could hear the jingling of their mail and wheel stirrups, the tattoo of their stallions’ hooves on the now bare and compressed ground. Ahead, they could now see at least two wedges of enemy troops, and the giant who led them; they all knew his name, and hated him. Galen shouted a command, and they couched their lances in one swift and uniform movement and automatically increased their pace to the gallop.

It was at this point that things started getting confusing for Sendarus, his head almost completely closed in his traditional Aman helmet. The horizon jiggled crazily through the narrow slits from which his eyes peered, and all he could hear was his own breathing. He concentrated on staying mounted during the rolling ride as the line charged the nearest enemy formation.

Then something loomed in his restricted vision. He straightened his sword and bent his elbow and shouted his own country’s war cry, the roar of the great bear. Suddenly, there was a great crash. Horses screamed and went down, men cried in shock and pain. Sendarus could hear metal rending metal, and the softer whack of flesh and bone being butchered. He kept on going. Having obviously missed his target he reined in, wheeled, and charged in again, but in the confusing melee ahead he could not make out who was a knight and who was a Chett. He took off his helmet and hurled it away angrily. A Chett rode past, lance held overhand, and Sendarus went after him. The Chett must have heard his horse despite all the din because he turned just in time for Sendarus’ sword to drive through his chest instead of his back. Sendarus twisted it free as the Chett fell off his horse, already dead. He kicked his mount further into the fray, pushing aside the riderless mare. In front of him, two Chetts were getting the better of one of the poorer knights— who could afford only a sleeveless mail hauberk—and both his arms were bleeding profusely. Sendarus hacked into one, dropping him almost immediately, but was too late to save the knight, who was struggling to pull out the lance that had been driven through his neck. The surviving Chett reached for his sword, but was not able to unsheath it before Sendarus cut off his head. The dying knight had disappeared by then, his horse panicking and taking him away from the battle.

Sendarus found himself in the clear, and it was obvious to him that the knights were winning this battle easily. They outnumbered the Chetts by at least three to one, had better body armor, and all wore helmets. The Chetts were fighting desperately, though, and most desperate and dangerous of all was their leader, Kumul Alarn. He swung his sword as easily as an average man could swing a twig, slicing off limbs and heads with terrifying ease. Galen and three other knights were already moving around behind him, but Kumul seemed to physically pull the stallion around with him. His sword rose and fell, cutting through the helmet and the skull of the luckless knight underneath. The knight fell back, his blood fountaining over his comrades, taking Kumul’s sword with him. Kumul swore, punched another knight in the face and took his sword, but as he raised it high to strike down on another enemy, Galen saw his opportunity and struck, sending the point of his own sword deep into the armpit of the giant. Kumul let out a terrible bellow and for an instant seemed to freeze in place. Another knight sent a slashing blow into Kumul’s back, the blade sinking deep. Galen and the knight drew out their swords at the same time and Kumul visibly slumped over the front of his stallion, then slipped sideways to the ground. A great wail went up from the Chetts and the sound of it chilled every knight who heard it.

Jenrosa had led the banner of exhausted lancers to the rear of the Chett line, the whole time looking around desperately for Korigan, but the queen was nowhere to be seen. She thought of Lynan and headed toward the center. She could see him there, surrounded by Ager and Gudon, looking out over the battle. She called out to him but he did not hear, and rode closer. She opened her mouth to try again, but another sound cut across her, a sound of such pain and sorrow and anger that she knew immediately, instinctively, what it heralded. She added her own voice to the cry, and heard other Chetts do the same.

Then she heard Lynan’s scream, and it was as if a real grass wolf had taken human form. Before anyone could stop him he charged forward, straight for the enemy’s center.

The Chett lancers had fought with more courage and tenacity than Sendarus had ever encountered before in an enemy, but they were all dead now, lying in bloody heaps on the ground with their leader. He sighed with relief, because now he knew the Chetts were going to lose the battle.

He ordered one of the knights to tie Kumul’s corpse to his horse so he could parade him in front of the enemy, letting them know that nothing—and no one—could defeat the army of Queen Areava Rosetheme of Grenda Lear. When it was done, he rode off toward the center, an escort of knights on either side. When he saw the single Chett rider coming straight for him, he thought it must be some madman. Two of the knights spurred forward to kill the Chett before he reached their general, someone they had learned to respect and admire despite his Amanite blood.

Sendarus watched the madman closely, amazed and horrified by the fanaticism the Chetts had shown throughout the battle. He noticed that he seemed to have no face. Sendarus squinted and saw that indeed there was a face, but it was so pale it might almost have been nothing but a skull, the white bone shining in the sun.

He watched as the two knights lowered their lances and charged. The Chett waited until the knights were only paces from him, then swerved to his right. The knight on his left had too much momentum to change course and rode past, but the other had only to change slightly his grip on his lance to redirect it. Sendarus saw the lance go through the Chett’s body, and at the same time saw the Chett’s sword cleanly take off the knight’s head. The Chett slowed, the end of the lance wobbling in the air in front of him.

“He doesn’t know he’s dead yet,” one of his remaining escort joked.

By now the other knight had wheeled and was charging back. The Chett looked over his shoulder and then down at the lance impaling him. As Sendarus watched, the Chett grasped the lance with his free hand and slowly pulled it out of his body, then twisted in his saddle and hurled it toward the charging knight. The lance struck the knight in the eye, propelling him off the back of his horse.

“Fuck,” another of the escort said.

The Chett turned back to Sendarus and his escort, kicked his mare into a gallop and whirled his sword in the air above his head. And behind him, just coming over the rise, was the rest of the Chett army.

Sendarus’ heart froze with fear.

“Her shoulders are coming through!” the midwife called excitedly.

Trion was wiping Areava’s face and throat. “Your daughter is almost here, your Majesty ...” He stopped because he could feel something warm near his arm. He turned and saw that the Key of the Scepter was pulsing with light.

“Your Majesty ... ?”

Knights kept on getting in Lynan’s way. He sliced through necks with his sword, punched faces with his free hand, even used his teeth when he could. He felt lances pierce him, but there was no pain. He felt swords fall on him, but they could not break his bones. One by one he got rid of the annoying, armored flies, and went straight for the man who still held his ground, the man whom Lynan in his fury did not recognize, the man with Kumul’s body tied to his saddle by a length of rope, the man with the Key of the Sword hanging over his heart. He said nothing, casually brushed away the man’s sword, and thrust his own weapon deep into the man’s throat.

Areava screamed suddenly in terror and pain, her back arching off the bed.

Trion, taken by surprise, jumped back.

The midwife tried desperately to keep her hands on the baby still half in, half out of the queen. Before her eyes, a wound opened in the baby’s throat and spouted blood all over her. The midwife fainted.

Lynan pulled the sword out and thrust again, this time into the man’s heart. The man fell forward over Lynan’s arm and keeled sideways, still hanging in the saddle. Lynan put his other hand on the pommel of his sword and drove it in farther; he saw the point emerge out the man’s back, then threw him off his horse.

Trion cursed and rushed to save the baby, but before he could touch her, Areava, shouting and screaming, sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders. She pulled the baby out, lifting her up to her arms, the umbilical cord dangling between her legs. Even as she did so another wound appeared in the baby’s back. Trion put his hand over the wound, but blood seeped over his hand and spilled down his arm. He was crying now, shouting in rage, but he was helpless. The baby’s head lolled back. Her eyes opened once, seemed to stare at him, and then lost focus.

Trion stood back, in shock.

Areava held her daughter to her, the baby’s blood mingling with her own. She wailed in grief and pain, and the whole palace filled with the sound.

Ager was the first to reach Lynan. The youth was huddled over Kumul, holding him in his arms, rocking back and forth on his knees. Ager stood there, not knowing what to do. Then Jenrosa was there, and she leaped from her horse and joined Lynan on the ground, held her beloved’s head, and kissed his pale, blood-flecked face.

The Red Hands and Ager’s own warriors, led by Gudon, had swept on, discarding their bows and using their swords to drive into the main body of knights. Their fury gave them each of them the strength of two men, and even the knights could not withstand them. When Korigan arrived with reinforcements and drove into the enemy’s flank, some of the knights started to turn and gallop off.

But Ager could see the reorganized Grenda Lear infantry, most of them carrying long spears, approaching from the left. They were led by a small, dark-haired woman who marched with them on foot. Soon the Chetts would be sandwiched between the infantry and the knights, and fortune would turn against them once more.

They had lost this battle. Only barely, but they had lost it.

He knelt down next to Lynan and put his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Lynan, we have to withdraw.”

Lynan looked up at him. His face was stained with tears, and at that moment Ager once again could see the youth he had first met in the Lost Sailor Tavern all those long months ago.

“What can I do now, Ager?” Lynan cried. “What can I do without Kumul?”

“Fight again another day,” Ager said. “Fight again to revenge his death. But not here, not now.” He put a hand under Lynan’s arm and helped him stand, then pointed to the battle still raging nearby. “We have the upper hand and can retreat without much chance of pursuit, but if we wait too long, the enemy infantry will arrive and most of our forces will be trapped.”

Lynan wiped his face with the back of his hand. He looked down at Sendarus and recognized him. “She sent her lover,” he said dully, then bent down and took the Key of the Sword from around Sendarus’ bloody neck. Ager brought his horse and helped him climb into the saddle. “I will bring them back, Ager, but you must look after Kumul and Jenrosa for me.”

“They will be safe, I promise.”

Lynan nodded and rode off to save his army.