Valour

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

VERADIS

Veradis stared into the distance, shading his eyes with one hand. Behind Owain’s rearguard a thick column of warriors was marching towards them.

‘How many?’ Bos asked beside him.

‘About a thousand. They are Rhin’s.’

‘I guessed that,’ his big companion said.

Owain’s rearguard, mostly mounted, were milling around, some turning to face the newcomers, others still facing towards the battle in the vale. Many amongst them were blowing horns in warning. A rider cantered out towards the warband hurrying along the giantsway. He hefted a spear and pointed it at the approaching enemy, began trotting towards them. Ranks behind him followed, raggedly at first; slowly, the whole of Owain’s rearguard followed his lead.

They have a good captain, Veradis thought. That is what I would do. Strike quickly, though the odds are still against them. They are too few.

‘Keep your sword loose in its scabbard; things are about to get bloody.’

‘It looks bloody enough already, down there,’ Bos said, pointing into the valley where Owain’s and Rhin’s warbands were engaged in battle.

‘That is only the beginning,’ Veradis said, pulling his helmet on.

‘Owain’s going to want to reinforce his rearguard,’ Bos said to Veradis. ‘To help them before Rhin’s men scatter them.’

‘I know,’ Veradis said. ‘And it is our job to stop him. Best get to it.’ He held a fist high and his own messenger blew a horn, his warband spreading along the ridge, forming the shield wall. Two hundred warriors long it stretched, five rows deep, an impenetrable barrier as the shields came up. The thunder of hooves drew his attention as a large force of the Jehar rode past the shield wall. Akar, the warrior who had commanded the Jehar throughout the campaign to Haldis was leading them. They pulled up on the far side of his shield wall, blocking any passage for Owain between the hill and the first fringes of woodland down in the valley. For Owain, the only way to his rearguard now was through Nathair’s warriors. Veradis watched as Owain began drawing troops out from the rear of his warband, men that were not fully committed to combat; soon he had a few hundred gathered about him, more joining.

Behind them, Rhin’s reinforcements and Owain’s rearguard clashed on the giantsway. Veradis saw that Rhin’s men were huddled tight, shields and spears bristling as Owain’s horsemen tried to split them apart. Men were falling on both sides, screams drifting on the breeze.

‘Here they come,’ Bos said.

‘Remember, we will not attack, only defend ourselves.’ Those had been Nathair’s orders. They would aid Rhin indirectly, by thwarting Owain’s movement on the field, by keeping his forces separated. Veradis drew his short sword and braced his feet.

Owain’s men were coming up the hill, a little hesitantly. The shield wall had never been seen by these warriors before, and it was not the traditional method of battle. Veradis saw Owain and his mounted shieldmen behind them. The King of Ardan was grim faced. He is no fool — can see he has been betrayed. Defeat is a knife-edge away for him now. Veradis felt a moment of sympathy for the man, a flash of guilt for the part he was playing here. He buried it.

Owain called out behind his men, urging them on. The bulk of them ran at the shield wall, clearly preferring that to the mounted Jehar who stood calmly waiting to either side of Veradis’ warband.

The first ranks slammed into the shield wall, the impact shivering through Veradis’ whole body. A series of jolts and thuds followed as Owain’s warriors piled into one another, the weight quickly becoming immense. Veradis bent his legs, pressed his shoulder into the curve of his shield and held on. Screams rang out along the line. My men are striking back. It was inevitable, he knew. They could not just stand here — eventually shields would be pulled down and his own men would start dying. He raised his sword, slid it into the gap between shields and thrust. He felt resistance, then his blade was cutting into flesh; someone screamed. He pulled his blade back, stabbed again. And again, kept on stabbing until the muscles in his arm burned. Fingers grasped the rim of his shield and he headbutted them, his iron helmet breaking bones. A sword swiped at his ankles, sliding underneath his shield, but he saw the blow coming, managed to block it, trod on the blade with his iron-shod sandals.

A horn blast filtered through the din of battle, a high, keening sound that he recognized. The Jehar. He risked a glance over his shield rim, saw the Jehar joining the battle, their longswords slashing from horseback, cutting great swathes through Owain’s men. In heartbeats the assault on the shield wall was over, Owain’s men breaking away, running for their lives. They only had one way to go. The battle in the vale was continuing. Rhin seemed to be gaining the upper hand as Owain’s men started to try to escape the combat, panic spreading from the disaster on the hill like a disease. Rhin’s main host blocked the way through the vale, the marshland denied any flight westwards and Nathair’s forces were an immovable object along the ridge of the hill, removing any hope of a retreat to the south. The only way left was west, into the broken woodland that fringed the vale, and that is where Owain’s men ran.

Screams rang out behind Veradis and he turned to see the Jehar joining the battle about the giantsway, too. Owain’s rearguard was now caught between Rhin’s reinforcements and a group of the Jehar. Even Alcyon was striding into the fray, swinging his axe and taking lives like the angel of death. Owain’s men broke apart, most of them on horseback, scattering in countless directions. The Jehar rode them down.

So many dead. Just warriors obeying their lords. He shook his head, surveying the corpses sprawled all about them. All for the ambitions of kings and queens. He looked along the ridge, eyes searching for Nathair, and spotted him sitting tall on his draig. Relief swept him that his King had survived the battle — indeed, their entire force seemed to have sustained few casualties. And the battle was won, Nathair’s plans furthered. Warfare is strategy, Nathair had said to him, and strategy had certainly won this battle. It just did not feel very honourable.

It is for the greater good, he reminded himself.

‘What now?’ Bos asked him.

‘We’ll hold our position until Nathair orders differently,’ Veradis answered.

The battle in the vale was chaos now, most of Owain’s warband realizing that the fight was lost. Owain himself was on the slope, a few dozen of his mounted shieldmen about him, others on foot still rallying to him. The King of Narvon pulled his horse in a circle, surveying the chaos about him, then spurred his horse west, towards the woodland. He did not gallop or leave in wild panic; his passage was orderly, controlled, and he still gathered men to him as he passed, his presence bringing an edge of calm. He rode into the shadow of the woods.