Sovereign

CHAPTER 33

Dejanus stood outside his tent drinking red Storian wine from the biggest cup he could find. From his vantage point on a slight rise he could look out over the Great Army. His Great Army. He had to remind himself of that every now and then, seeing as everyone else in the Kingdom seemed to want to tell him what to do with it.

'You promised me those supplies, General,' one of his captains was saying. 'My company is eating porridge three times a day because we no longer have any bread or meat.'

'At least your soldiers have porridge,' another captain cut in. 'General Dejanus, my warriors have to take food from nearby towns because we've received no supplies at all since arriving from Lurisia.'

Dejanus took another gulp of the wine. Down below he could see Amanite light infantry marching up and down, looking splendid. That was his doing. The first thing he had noticed on his arrival at the camp was the loose, slovenly way some of the regiments seemed to deport themselves. Well, he had fixed that. But did anyone thank him?

'General, my soldiers haven't eaten properly in ten days, and we don't have any steel and wood to replace weapons we've lost or broken in training.'

Not far from the Amanite light infantry, some Storian cavalry were charging at targets and hurling their javelins, sounding terribly fierce.

Dejanus's aide, a polite and deferential Lurisian named Savis, coughed politely to get his attention.

'What is it?'

'A messenger from Captain Urling, General.'

'Urling? Who's Captain Urling again?'

'In charge of the Amanite light infantry, sir.'

Dejanus pointed to the regiment marching in the camp below. 'That's our Amanite infantry.'

'Half of the contingent, sir. The other half you posted several leagues north to run the pickets and carry out scouting duty.'

'Scouting duty? Infantry? Why not our cavalry?'

Savis timidly pointed to the cavalry practising with targets. 'Otherwise occupied, sir.'

'What about the medium cavalry? Those units from… you know…'

'Also from Storia, sir.'

'Where are they?'

'You ordered them to set camp about five leagues south of here.'

'Did I?'

'They are your reserve, I seem to remember.'

'Ah, yes.' Now he remembered. When he had arrived, another thing he had noticed was that no one thought about matters like a reserve. He had fixed that, too. Apparently.

'What does this… Captain…'

'Urling, sir.'

'What does Captain Urling want?'

'He reports that he is seeing increased activity to the north, sir.'

Dejanus blinked. 'Enemy soldiers?'

'Not as such, General. Increased dust in the air, birds some wild karak fleeing south, that sort of thing.'

Dejanus grunted. 'Urling would be scared by his own shadow. Are you sure he doesn't mention any sign of enemy soldiers?'

'Positive, sir.'

'Well, bloody not likely to, eh? Who in their right mind would take on the Great Army of Grenda Lear?'

'No one in their right mind, sir,' Savis said cautiously, remembering some of the tales about mad Prince Lynan that were circulating in the camp.

'There is also a message from Chancellor Orkid Gravespear.'

Dejanus cursed. 'What does that interfering bastard want? Same as always?'

'I'm afraid so, General. He insists you advance on Sparro as soon as you are able.'

Dejanus spread his arms in appeal to the captains around him. 'God spare us from idiot civilians! Doesn't he understand the problems of a Great Army like this? I can't solve all of them overnight. The army isn't ready yet. It needs more supplies. It needs more training.' He turned on Savis. 'I thought I asked you to send a message to him about our supplies?'

'I did. He says in his reply…' Savis brought out a crumpled note from a vest pocket '… that we have enough supplies to feed a city twice the size of Kendra for a year.'

Dejanus grabbed the note from Savis's hands. He read it quickly, scrunched it in his fist and threw it away.

'In a separate message,' Savis said, pulling out another note, 'the chancellor stresses that since winter is almost upon us, it may soon be too late to do anything at all with the Great Army and it may have to disperse.'

Dejanus grabbed that note, too, and threw it away without reading it. He put his face close to Savis's and said: 'This army will not disperse because by winter it will occupy Sparro. There's time yet!' He swallowed another mouthful of wine. 'By the way, what happened to those supplies that arrived last night?'

'You ordered me to send them to the cavalry reserve.' Dejanus frowned at him. 'The one five leagues south, sir.'

'I thought we were going to use them for the Amanite pickets?'

'We were, sir, originally. But you changed your mind.'

Dejanus frowned. Last night he must have forgotten about the pickets between the Great Army and Sparro. He had trouble remembering all the units under his command and where they were and what supplies they already had and what they still needed.

'Sir?' Savis said. 'Captain Urling?'

'Tell him to stop worrying,' Dejanus said curtly. 'When the enemy moves, he'll see more than dust and birds in the air.'

'Yes, sir,' Savis said, and went to tell Urling's messenger.

Lynan was pulled back into the woods by the scout. 'There, on the rise,' the scout said.

Lynan had to squint, something he was not used to doing. Having Silona's blood coursing through his veins had had some advantages. He could just make out two spear-carrying infantry squatting on top of the rise. They were very still, not talking to each other. They seemed very alert, but their position was too low to see over the woods.

'How many?' he asked.

The scout pointed to a second rise about fifty paces south of the first and no higher. 'Two more on that one,' the scout said. 'Between them is their camp. Maybe two or three hundred light infantry besides the fifty or so we ran across pretending to be scouts.'

Lynan nodded. 'I've seen enough.'

The two slowly retreated back through the woods. Fifty paces west they came across a clearing. Waiting for them were Korigan and Gudon with the horses. Beside them was Akota, one of the oldest chiefs and now in command of a banner made up of Chetts from different clans. Lynan had seen her in combat using a bow he would have trouble even pulling.

'Well?' she asked impatiently.

Lynan took the reins of his horse from Gudon. 'It's time,' he said.

Akota grinned at him, wheeled her horse around and trotted off.

'We had better get to the Red Hands,' Lynan told the others. 'Akota is so excited she is likely to start without us.'

They carefully followed Akota along a trail that wound its way through the woods for another two leagues, eventually emerging onto farmland, now churned up under the hooves of hundreds of horses. Akota's banner was already on the move, and the Red Hands were looking on anxiously. Then they saw Lynan and knew they were not going to be left out of the coming battle.

Captain Urling scowled at the messenger. 'Dejanus said what?'

'That you should stop worrying about nothing. When the enemy moves, you'll see more than dust and birds in the air.'

Urling shook his head. He could not believe his ears. He had fought for Grenda Lear in the Slaver War as a lowly Amanite recruit and worked his way up to commanding his own battalion of light infantry. He knew the signs of an approaching army. He knew the enemy was on the march.

'So the Great Army is still in camp?'

'It was when I left, Captain.'

'The idiot,' he said under his breath, not wanting anyone to hear his opinion. Morale was low enough without subverting the authority of the commanding general. He thanked the messenger and turned to his second-in-command, another veteran of the Slaver War named Ordt. 'Dejanus is going to need hard proof. We need a prisoner.'

'Our patrols just ain't seeing anyone, Captain. They're seeing plenty of signs, but no enemy as such.'

'A night patrol might have better luck. Send one out this evening, heading northwest where we saw all the dust this morning. They should be able to cover five or six leagues and still get back before daylight.'

Ordt nodded. 'That's fine, sir, but what if they don't find anything either?'

'Then we pull back to the main camp,' Urling said. 'The Chetts are out there. I can feel it in my bones. I'm not going to let them cut us off.'

'The General won't like that.'

'He'll like it a lot more if we bring a prisoner back with us.'

'I'll see to it, sir.'

Ordt turned to go, but Urling grabbed his arm. 'Listen.'

Ordt did, but heard nothing above the normal sound of the camp. There were birds nearby, a flock of them scattering into the sky…

'Something's coming,' he said.

Urling dropped to the ground and put his ear against it. He shot straight back to his feet. 'Form up!' he shouted. 'To your flags! First and second company north of the camp, third and fourth companies south! Quickly!' He pushed Ordt to the south. 'It's cavalry! Put a company on either side of the road. I'll take the north!'

'What happened to our lookouts? And where are our scouts?'

Urling glanced at both the rises. There were no lookouts there now. 'Gone. All gone. Hurry! Take the south!'

There was sudden confusion in the camp, but the Amanites were professionals and soon gathered around their company flags. Urling and Ordt started setting up an ambush when the first riders burst into the valley from the north. Chett horse archers, riding full pelt, their bows already drawn. Ordt quickly ordered his companies to join Urling, but it was too late. The first volley of arrows fell among the Amanites like a hail storm, followed quickly by a second and then a third. The Chetts galloped through the camp and scattered Ordt's force, firing arrows into the fleeing soldiers. When they reached the end of the camp the Chetts dismounted and set up a line running oblique to the road. Ordt managed to gather some of his soldiers together to meet up with the survivors from Urling's group; the captain was not among the living, however.

'The enemy's dismounted,' Ordt told the survivors. 'This is our only chance. We have to charge them. We have spears and shields to their bows; at close quarters we'll slaughter 'em. Keep two paces apart, two lines, one directly behind the other, shields up, and run. Got it?'

Those who heard nodded, terrified. 'Once we're past them, get to the forest and make as best you can for the Great Army. Alright, up now! Companies one and two form the first line, three and four the second.'

Despite the swarm of arrows now falling on them, they managed to form some semblance of two lines, their raised shields protecting them most of the time. A handful fell with arrows in their legs and feet. Ordt raised his spear for the order to charge when he heard more horses behind him. He swore, looked over his shoulder, and saw Chetts not armed with bows but with the short sword, and each hand with a sword was dyed red past the wrist. He knew what that meant, and despite all his years in the army and all the combat he had seen, he still pissed himself.

Lynan was coming.

It was almost sunset. Terin's long shadow, and those of the lancers who lined up either side of him, darkened the ground before them as if they were stretching for the enemy camp. A single rider galloped along the line until she reached Terin, then reined in hard.

'Ager Parmer is ready,' the rider said. 'The Ocean Clan has barred the road north.'

Terin nodded and the messenger manoeuvred her horse behind the line. Terin looked left and right. The lancers were calm, sitting well back in their saddles, their weapons held vertically. Then he looked down on the enemy, who was so confident and so completely unaware.

A shout came from below them. Someone in the camp had finally noticed the cavalry on the rise to their west. Terin saw people stop and look up at him. They would see the lances, assume they were more cavalry come to join them in the reserve. Then they would wonder why they were line abreast, and why they were sitting on the hill and not moving. Then doubt would set in.

Right about now, Terin told himself. He nudged his mount forward a few paces and drew his sabre out of his saddle sheath. He heard the riders behind him sit straighter in the saddle, gather their reins, change their grip on their lances. He smiled, raised his sabre high enough for the sun's last rays to catch its blade, then dropped his arm and spurred his horse into a walk. The line started moving behind him. He watched the enemy below and could imagine their doubt turning to panic as they recognised the beginning of a charge.

Terin wished he could move to the gallop straightaway, but it was too far for the horses to run and still have the strength and wind they would need for the battle; more, they were going downslope, and experienced riders never forced their horses to gallop downslope.

The enemy were starting to run to and fro, some scrambling to fit saddles on their horses, others disappearing into their tents to get weapons, still others jumping bareback on horses and running away as fast as they could. Most of those fleeing headed south, and they were of no concern to Terin or the Chetts, but many ran north in the direction of the Great Army camp and, Terin knew, Ager's waiting Ocean Clan; none of them would be allowed to get through.

The lancers were off the slope now and Terin eased his mount to the trot and then the gallop. He held his sabre out as Lynan had shown him, with the elbow bent slightly. His blood raced with the sound of his banner charging behind him. Some came abreast as the line started to break, their lances couched low.

A short fence, easily cleared, and then the first of the defenders, some on horseback. Terin swiped at a head, missed, the impetus of his charge carrying him on. Someone with a sword appeared from behind a tent. He swung underarm, catching the side of the man's head. Still at the gallop. An officer on a horse, armed with a straight sword. Terin brought his arm up again, shouted his war cry. His sabre punched through the officer's arm and through to his chest. The impact tore the sabre from Terin's grasp as his horse slammed into the officer's mount and went down. Terin tumbled on the ground, sprung to his feet. His horse tried to scramble up, but its back was broken and it collapsed onto the enemy officer, killing him outright. Terin waited until the horse squirmed aside and retrieved his sabre, finished off the wounded animal, grabbed the reins of the officer's stallion and remounted. His lancers were all around the camp, finishing off scattered groups of defenders. The enemy that could escape had done so; it was too late for the rest.

Dejanus woke with a thumping headache that seemed ready to punch out his eyeballs. He managed to swing his feet out of his cot then had to stop. Savis came into his tent, looked down at the general with his head in his hands.

'I heard you get up,' he said cautiously, wishing now he had stayed out.

'What is it?' he said testily.

'Some of your captains are begging to see you.'

'Whining, are they?'

'They have concerns—'

'Concerns!' Dejanus shouted, and immediately moaned as pain seemed to grip his whole skull and shake it.

Savis blanched and retreated a step. 'About supplies, sir. Some regiments have been without food for several days now. And Captain Harden from Kendra died in his sleep two nights ago and his regiment wants to know which officer is to replace him. And there are representatives from three nearby towns who are here to complain about the army's use of their wells, and to report the theft of several cattle and sheep and several bales of hay—'

'Enough, Savis, enough. Why is everything happening at once?'

Savis did not remind Dejanus that most of the problems had come up over the last several days. He did not relish a tongue-lashing this early in the morning. 'Will you be up and about soon, sir? I can tell those waiting to come back, if you like.'

'Yes,' Dejanus said. 'Later. Tell them to come back later. And get me some wine.'

Savis nodded and left. Dejanus slowly, cautiously, stood up. He had slept in his uniform and it stank of stale wine. He ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it, strapped on his sword, and stood there. What now? How could he organise this army to besiege Sparro when its captains could not even solve their own supply problems? Orkid had not given him an army, he decided, he had given him a rabble commanded by petty officers without initiative. He deserved better than this.

There was an argument outside. He heard Savis's voice try to rise above the hubbub. Another voice rose above Savis's. Then suddenly it all went quiet. After a moment Savis reappeared.

'You had better come out, sir.'

With a low growl Dejanus burst out of the tent. The sudden brightness blinded him and he put a hand over his eyes.

'What's going on?' Dejanus demanded. He looked down and saw a young man in the uniform of the Amanite light infantry. Several captains, pale-faced, hovered around him. 'Don't tell me, another bloody message from Captain Urling. Well?'

'We are attacked, sir!' the Amanite called out.

The words hit Dejanus like physical blows. He actually reeled back. 'No,' he said.

'Yesterday afternoon, General,' the Amanite continued. 'At least a thousand Chetts. We heard them coming and were able to prepare an ambush. We killed many hundreds and drove them off.'

Dejanus did not know what to say. The one thing he truly believed would never happen was that anyone would dare attack the Great Army. The messenger's last sentence sank in. 'You killed hundreds of them?'

The messenger nodded.

'And you drove them off?' There was a note of hysteria in Dejanus's voice.

The messenger nodded again. 'But my captain is afraid they will try again today.'

Dejanus swallowed. 'I see.'

'He suggests this is a wonderful opportunity.'

'He does?'

'He thinks the Chetts will come in even greater numbers, but still only expect to find four companies of light infantry. If you could reinforce us with the other companies of light infantry, and maybe some cavalry, the captain says your victory will be even sweeter.'

'My… victory?'

'As general of the Great Army, of course it would be your victory,' the messenger said, surprised Dejanus should doubt it. 'As last night's victory belongs to you.

After all, it was you who placed our infantry so far forward.'

'Yes, of course.'

'So you will send the reinforcements?' the messenger asked hopefully.

Dejanus did not answer right away. His mind had grasped the opportunity offered and run away with it. If I defeat the Chetts today, I can claim two victories. That will shut up Orkid and all my whining captains. Maybe even terrify that fat fool Tomar into surrendering Sparro to me.

'I will do more than send reinforcements,' Dejanus said. 'I will bring up the whole army, and I will lead it personally.'

The messenger seemed overjoyed. 'This is better than even my captain expected!'

'Go back to Captain Urling. Tell him we're on our way. Tell him we'll be there by midday.'

The messenger bowed and left. Dejanus turned to all the captains who had come that morning to complain. 'Well? What are you standing there for? Get your companies ready to march!'

The captains scattered. Dejanus turned to Savis. 'Get word to all the other units whose captains were not present. We march in one hour. We march to victory.'

'Here they come,' Korigan said, watching the dark line of the enemy snake its way north from its camp.

'And all in marching order,' Gudon said, shaking his head in amazement. 'This Dejanus is a fool.'

'He is a king slayer,' Lynan said flatly. 'Can you tell their order?'

Korigan nodded. 'Some medium cavalry in the van and light cavalry on either flank; not much of either, though. The rest of the Amanite light infantry comes next, then archers, then heavy infantry, the general and an escort of more cavalry, supply wagons, and the last of the heavy infantry bringing up the rear.'

'We need to lure the cavalry away from its infantry support, especially the archers,' Lynan said.

'What we need is bait,' Korigan said.

Akota said: 'I can take care of that.' She stood in her stirrups and pointed north. 'The road bends around the copse there. That's where I'll set it up.'

'Fine,' Lynan said. 'Take whatever you need to do the task, but make sure none of the enemy horse get away.'

Akota grinned. 'That will be a pleasure.'

Captain Mylor of Storia was enjoying the morning jaunt. The sun was pleasantly warm without being too hot, something she had found easy to take after the cooler climes of her native province in the south of the continent. There was a light breeze brushing across the landscape. She and her company were in the van, so avoiding all the dust kicked up by the footsloggers. And best of all they were on their way to severely punish the army of this renegade Rosetheme.

She found Kendrans a peculiar bunch at the best of times, but the Rosethemes seemed to concentrate all the strangeness in a few individuals, throwing up the best and the worst of their kind. The sooner this civil war was over the sooner she could resign her commission and get back to her father's vineyards.

There was a picturesque little copse to her right, around which the road bent. She tried to remember the map she had studied that morning in the general's tent, but only had a vague recollection of a small wood. She had no real idea how much further they had to go before reaching the picket camp established by the Amanites. Perhaps it was even around this bend? Time to give the horses a bit of a run, she decided, and urged her horse into a trot. Her company followed her example and they drew ahead of the column. As she rounded the bend she saw about one hundred paces ahead of her twenty or so mounted Chetts, relaxing as their horses cropped at the grass by the side of the road. She glanced quickly over her shoulder to make doubly sure her company was behind her, gave the signal to charge and kicked her horse to the gallop. The Chetts looked up in shock and whipped their mounts with their reins. They moved quickly back onto the road, but Mylor knew she had them. The distance between them closed to sixty paces, then forty. Mylor could feel her surprise turn to excitement; it was like being on a hunt back home. Thirty paces. She aimed the tip of her spear at the back of the nearest Chett rider, right where his kidney would be.

Then, from the copse running along the right side of the road, came a sound like the furious whirring of bees but a hundred times louder. She was stopped from dwelling on it when the Chetts she had been pursuing peeled off the road and wheeled around in a manoeuvre that would have been impossible on her big charger. She overshot them, caught a glimpse of them loading their bows. She reined in and desperately pulled her horse around. The road behind her was covered in the dead and dying, and all of them belonged to her company. She stopped, her mouth dropped open in shock, and she realised what the sound must have been. Hundreds and hundreds of arrows. She had never heard nor seen such a thing before. Some of her riders were turning and turning again, looking for someone to fight, and then from the copse came a shower of arrows as thick as a cloud. The last thing she saw was the last of her company fall to the ground with an arrow in his throat, then she felt herself pitch back over the saddle with the force of several shafts plunging into her chest and stomach at the same time. She was dead before she hit the ground.

The ensign leading the remnants of the Amanite infantry, a grizzled old campaigner who had worked his way up from the ranks, recognised the sound coming from the copse ahead. He immediately halted the column and ordered his infantry to form a line across the road, and signalled to the officer leading the archers behind his infantry to copy him. As the two units started to spread out, a regiment of heavy infantry ran into the rear ranks of the archers and an argument started. The officer in charge of the archers raced back to sort things out. His own soldiers stopped forming their line, not sure what was happening or who was in charge. Some of the more enterprising actually strung their bows, nocked a flight arrow and put a handful of the heavier barbless arrows in the ground before them, but they were on level ground and could see little ahead of them because of the Amanite infantry, now neatly organised in three lines across the road. The argument behind them was getting fiercer when a commotion started in front of them as well. They looked up as one and saw it was no argument, but the curses of the Amanites watching their doom ride down upon them.

As soon as the enemy cavalry had been cleared away, Akota reformed her banner. She waited until she saw Lynan and his Red Hands appear at the northern end of the road and gave the signal to charge. They stormed around the bend in the road and found the Amanite light infantry had formed a defensive line across their path. Without hesitation the column split in two, one heading east around the Amanites, the other heading west. As they passed the enemy, the Chetts, directing their horses with their knees, loosed a salvo, reloaded, loosed again, and by then were parallel with the foot archers, still disorganised, and shot another two salvos. The foot archers scattered, causing chaos among the Amanites in front of them and the heavy infantry, still entangled with their lines, behind them. Amid the panic the Chetts dropped more and more arrows, and to the enemy it was like a dark rain of death.

Then the Chett horse archers had passed on, continuing down either side of the road, shooting salvos into the regiments behind, and those in the van thought that for the moment it was over and they could reorganise their lines and perhaps even counterattack, but before their officers could rally them the Red Hands appeared, led by a screaming, pale-faced madman who could only be Prince Lynan. At first the surviving Amanites thought the banner would course around them and shoot their arrows, but then they noticed these Chetts were holding sabres, not bows. Before they could tighten their lines and raise their spears, the Red Hands ploughed into them like a pike slashing into a school of fish.

Lynan would not let any rider pass him. He came around the bend at full gallop, his sabre ready, chose his target and dug the spurs into his mare's flank. The horse seemed to leap into the enemy. Lynan's sabre swung down to his right, slicing open a head, then caught another skull on the upswing. He brought the sword down on the other side, cutting off an ear, brought it up and down again on the right. He tore through the first line, then the second, slashing in wide arcs, scattering the enemy before him, and then was upon the archers. Here he went for arms and hands and eyes, and instead of charging through he wheeled around to ride along the line the archers had tried to form, then pulled back and wheeled around again. To the archers it was like being attacked by a windmill with a steel blade instead of sails, and they dropped their weapons and fled. But by then the rest of the Red Hands were among them, and no matter which way they ran there seemed to be Chetts waiting for them, their terrible swords lopping off heads and limbs. The air around them was wet with a bloody mist and they gagged on the smell of it.

By now some of the more experienced officers among the enemy had organised some of the heavy infantry companies well enough to offer some resistance. Chett arrows had little effect on their armour and shields, and when their lines were properly formed there was little the Red Hands could do to get at them.

Lynan saw it was time to go. He ordered the retreat, and as the order was passed along, the Chetts broke contact with the enemy and rode hard for the north, back the way they had come. Behind them they left most of the enemy milling in confusion, their vanguard utterly destroyed.

Dejanus was ready to flee south and desert his Great Army, but Savis pointed out that meant they would have only their small escort of cavalry; he controlled his fear and decided to stay with the column.

'We march south immediately,' he ordered. 'Everyone about face. Back to the camp. At least there we can defend ourselves properly. And I can demand Chancellor Gravespear send us more regiments. We are outnumbered already!'

The rest of the army did not need much convincing. Although still largely intact, word had spread through the column about what had happened to the van, and no one wanted to share its fate. The light cavalry that had been protecting the army's flank now took the new vanguard and led the way back south, followed by the regiments in reverse order from their march north. By early afternoon they were in sight of the camp, and were heartened to see their reserve of Storian cavalry riding up the road to greet them. Then, with horror, they watched as the Storians lowered their lances and charged.

Lynan had waited patiently for this moment. So far he had used only a handful of his banners, but now it was time to unleash his whole force. The Great Army was demoralised and unsure of who was ally and who was enemy. Lynan gave the signal and, led again by Akota, the horse archers poured over crest and out of forest to bear down on the enemy column, but this time she led fifteen banners instead of just her own. Like a dark tide they flooded around the column, shooting salvo after salvo of arrows into the densely packed infantry. Fire arrows slammed into the supply wagons, sending black plumes of smoke into the air. As if that was not enough, Terin's lancers, dressed as Storians, had swept away the Great Army's last vestiges of cavalry and then driven into the heavy infantry before they could set their lines. The lancers drove through the centre of the column like a chisel through a block of mealy wood, splitting it into two. The final blow came when the Red Hands charged from the east, hacking and slashing their way through all opposition, and from the west charged Ager's Ocean Clan, doing the same on the other side of the road.

As before, Lynan led the charge of the Red Hands. His sabre was red to the hilt with gore and the enemy reeled back from him, terrified of him. One soldier managed to stick a spear into his horse before being ridden down, and the mare sank to the ground. Lynan loosed his feet from the stirrups and jumped off. Within seconds Red Hands had surrounded him, one offering him her horse. He mounted and charged into the enemy again, his sabre whistling through the air. It took the Red Hands a long time to hack their way from one of the columns to the other. No one asked for mercy, and no mercy was given. Eventually Lynan had to stop, overtaken by exhaustion. His sword arm refused to lift any more and his borrowed horse could go no further. He slid out of the saddle, put the point of his sabre in the ground and rested on the hilt. A short while later he was joined by Gudon and Ager. The three embraced quickly. Before them the Chett horse archers were still sending their short black shafts into the enemy, but then had to dismount and scrounge among the dead for more arrows. To the west the sun was only a hand's breadth from the horizon, making the whole world look as bloody as the battlefield.

They were joined by Korigan.

'What remains of the enemy is mainly heavy infantry,' she told them. 'They have gathered together and formed a square, showing little except their shields and helmets. Our arrows find a mark occasionally, but we are running out and the enemy is not inclined to return them, and Terin's lancers cannot charge their wall of spears. Should we let them go? Wait until they drop from thirst and hunger? Or ask them to surrender?'

Lynan shook his head. 'We can't spare the time to wait for thirst and hunger to do our work for us. Who looks after them if they surrender? And if we let them go, they will reinforce Kendra.'

'Then what can we do?' Korigan asked.

Lynan and Ager exchanged weary glances. 'Only one thing to do,' Ager said.

'And there are only two banners who can do it. Your clan and my Red Hands.'

Korigan looked at them, puzzled. 'What are you planning?'

Lynan stood straight, leaving his sabre in the ground, and drew his short sword from its sheath. 'Find Terin for me.'

'What now?' one officer asked, voicing the question in everyone else's head. There were three of them in the centre of the square, the last officers left alive. 'We can't stay here. They'll just surround us, continue to pepper us with arrows, and wait until we are dying of thirst.'

'We can try moving,' another officer said. 'If we do it slowly we should be able to maintain the square.'

'And go where?'

The officer shrugged. 'Well, Kendra.'

'It'd take us a year!'

'There's only one thing for it,' the third said. 'We wait for nightfall and make a run for it.'

'They'll be waiting for that.'

'Didn't say they wouldn't be, but there ain't nothing else to do, and some of us will make it.'

'Something's happening to the north,' someone from the square said.

All three officers looked that way.

'I don't believe it. I thought Chetts never fought on foot.'

'And what's that they're holding?'

'Fuck, they're carrying short swords. Who'd have thought, eh?'

'What are we gonna do now?' asked the first officer, his voice rising with panic.

'Stay calm, first off.'

'Charge them?' suggested the second officer.

'Look west, against the sun,' the third officer said. 'There's the bloody Chett lancers. We deploy to charge their foot, they attack our flank and roll us up all the way to the Sea Between.'

'There must be something we can do.'

'Fight and die,' the third officer said, leaving to join his company. 'Fight and die.'

Lynan let Ager plan and lead the attack. He deployed his clan and the Red Hands into troops, and set the troops along an oblique line. When he was happy with the deployment he raised and lowered his sword. The line started to move. At first they kept good formation, but unused to walking for any distance, let alone marching, the line soon became ragged, but the oblique angle largely remained. Ager was in the lead troop, Lynan in the middle one and Gudon in the last, and their commands and firmness helped stop the attack from degenerating into a wild charge. When he was only thirty paces from the enemy square, Ager raised his sword again and picked up the pace. It was impossible for him with his crookback to actually run, but by the time his troop was ten paces from the enemy he could let them go and they slammed into the shield wall, ducking under spears, tearing away shields and jabbing at faces with their short swords. The second line of spearmen jabbed at the Chetts, finding unprotected heads and necks, but not quickly enough to stop the wall from shuddering under the assault. More spearmen joined the press, too far back to use their weapons effectively, but able to lend their actual weight to the line in front.

Then the second troop of Chetts hit. As with the first troop, the wall actually seemed to ripple with the impact and started to give way, but extra spearmen rushed to give their support and the square held.

Then the third troop threw themselves against the enemy, and the fourth and the fifth. The wall was starting to buckle, and the Chetts were clambering over the dead, grabbing spears by their shafts, pulling them out of the hands of the enemy and stabbing and cutting with their swords. Spearmen fell back moaning, hands over their faces, blinded, mutilated, bloody and dying. More Chetts hit the square, and then it was Lynan's turn with the first troop of Red Hands. They rent the air with the war cry of the White Wolf and leaped between the spears of the enemy, falling on the shields that blocked their way. Lynan thrust at any face under a helmet, and used his free hand to grab at spear shafts and shields. The swaying line of heavy infantry would start to buckle and then straighten as fresh soldiers joined the ranks.

A spearman jabbed at Lynan's face. Lynan ducked and stabbed in return but hit only air. The spearman jabbed again and Lynan automatically ducked a second time; but the spearman let the spear slide through his hand so it became unbalanced; the spear's head dipped and the soldier tightened his grip and thrust down with all his strength.

Lynan screamed with sudden pain as the spear top lanced through his right side just above his hip. Two

Red Hands grabbed him by his arms and pulled him out of the way. Warriors rushed around him to fill the gap, but many stopped fighting to watch Lynan; they had never seen their invincible leader bleed.

He shifted his sword to his left hand and with his right covered the wound. He stepped back into the line. 'It is nothing!' he shouted. 'Are the Red Hands afraid of a little blood?'

The Red Hands grinned at one another. Lynan was alright. Victory would still be theirs.

The spearmen forming the other three sides of the square, who could not clearly see what was happening but could hear the terrible sounds of battle and the screams of the dying and wounded, involuntarily started to pull closer together. The square started to fall apart, and then the inevitable. One of the last troops to attack found a gap and charged through to assault the spearmen from inside their own formation.

Lynan knew the moment the square collapsed. It happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, that one moment he seemed to be surrounded by enemies, and the next he was standing alone, surrounded by nothing but discarded shields and spears. He told himself to join the pursuit, but he knew Korigan and Terin had been waiting for this moment, and he could feel through the ground the lancers and horse archers moving in for the final kill. He told his feet to move, but his body rebelled. The wound in his side was throbbing and blood had trickled down his leg and into his right boot so his toes squelched in the stuff. He was too exhausted to do anything, even sit. All around him rang the cries of the victorious Chetts and the wailing of the enemy who knew they were about to die.

The Great Army is destroyed, he told himself, and wondered why he felt nothing but shame.

'There was nothing I could do,' Dejanus mumbled to himself. 'I was told it was a Great Army. It was a hollow gourd, an empty promise.'

He sat on the end of the dock, apart from his fellows, the few members of his escort that had managed to escape with him in the first few terrifying moments of the Chett ambush. Now he was back at the small fishing village in southern Chandra where he had arrived what seemed only days before, and was waiting for a boat of any description that might take him back to Kendra. He dared not go overland. The Chetts were everywhere. The only thing Dejanus knew for sure was that the Chetts did not have a navy.

He studied the flagon of cheap red wine the local inn had given him. It was crude stuff, but it was having an effect, so he took another mouthful. Some of the wine dribbled from the corners of his mouth.

Dejanus frowned. He would get back to Kendra and have a few words with Orkid about his so-called Great Army. And maybe he would have a few words with that bitch of a queen, too. They had tried to set him up. They had set him up to die with their Great Army.

He hiccupped.

They will have to make me constable again. Head door-opener. Yes, no Chetts are interested in ambushing head door-openers.

In the darkness he saw the phosphorescent bow wave that meant a ship was coming. He stood up and waited. As the ship got closer he realised it was a small sloop, probably a local trader. That would get him back to Kendra by tomorrow night. If the captain was going that way. He waved to his escort. He would make sure the captain was going that way.

He decided to sit down again. For some reason his legs did not want him to support him.

Yes, tomorrow he would be in Kendra, and he would have a word with Orkid Gravespear. In fact, he would have lots of words with him. Maybe the chancellor would give him a new army. A real one with real soldiers and real supply.

That would be fair. And with a real army behind him, he would never have to be afraid again.

Korigan herself bandaged Lynan. She would let no one else near him. Lynan did his best to stifle his cries, but he had never felt so much pain before. He felt ashamed and apologised to Korigan.

'You do not have to prove yourself to me, Lynan Rosetheme,' she said quietly.

Lynan looked at her then, and realised he had not properly done so since Jenrosa's death. He had avoided her whenever he could. He had treated her cruelly. With a shock he then realised something else, something he should have known all the time.

'Still,' he said, 'I am sorry. You at least deserve more from me.'

She glanced up from her work with the bandage, briefly met his gaze. 'You are my king,' she said. 'I have no right to expect any more than—'

'Stop it,' he said. 'We both know you are more than subject to me.'

'Am I?'

He touched her face, and ignoring the spasm of pain it caused bent over to kiss the top of her head. 'Silona told me it was Jenrosa I loved—' he started.

'Don't!' she interrupted. 'I don't have to know this—'

'Yes, you do,' he said, interrupting in turn. 'And I did love her. She was my friend, and Kumul's beloved. But Silona lied to me, and I am only now starting to learn just how much. You mean more to me than simple comfort. You are not just my companion. You are not just my lover.'

Korigan met his gaze again, and this time held it. 'Do you love me?' she asked.

Lynan understood her meaning. He nodded. 'Yes.'