Brave Men Die: Part 2 (10 page)

Flames burst forth from her clenched fist and she slapped him hard across the face. It took all the restraint he had not to hit her back then and there. This girl got under his nerves and the last couple of days had frazzled him more than he thought they had.

‘Not so tough without a sword in your hand,’ Ara gloated. ‘Guess—’

Before she could finish the sentence, his hand was pressed against her shoulder, his foot hooked behind her knee and Pollux had dropped and pinned her to the ground.

‘Let’s get some things straight okay? A week ago I was competing to go to Sarkridge with hopes of becoming a sword master. Now, we’re at war and not only have I been promoted twice in the last three days but I’ve also got to look over my shoulder to make sure you don’t end up dead.’

Ara held his gaze.

‘Yesterday I was promoted to sergeant and told to lead men into battle who are looking to me to keep them alive. Earlier this afternoon, the man that I looked to for the better part of my adolescence as someone I wanted to be, died before my eyes. For the sole reason that I was left alive at the end of the day, meant that I was the one promoted in his place.’

Pollux slowly got off her, releasing his grip and collapsed backwards, resting his back against the wall of the building and cupping his face in his hands. Ara sat up, rubbing her shoulder and waited for him to continue.

‘I don’t know if you know this but Kryst was a legend around these parts, the finest swordsman in Buckthorne, but lost the chance to become a sword master. I trained with that man everyday for the last three years and he could still wipe the floor with me. That skill didn’t save his life, the arrow still hit him in the neck, his blood poured out of the wound.’

‘I was right next to him when he got hit. I keep running the moment through my head over and over again. What if I did this, what if I did that. Ara, I should have done something.’

The silence hung in the air as the two sat there, each staring beyond the other.

‘There was nothing you could have done Pollux. It hurts the most when you lose someone close to you, but you have to keep going. Use that emotion to propel you forward. This war has just begun, there will be many more battles before it’s done; many more deaths. All you can do is keep these men alive as best you can. You obviously have the talent for it or else the baron wouldn’t have given you the position. That trick with the oil ended what would have been a bloody night before it even began.’

Pollux caught her eyes, sought the truth in her words.

‘I’m sorry about before,’ he muttered.

‘It’s alright, I can be a bitch sometimes,’ Ara replied.

‘Only sometimes?’ Pollux said.

A faint smile crept onto her face as the smirk spread across his.

‘You can pick someone else to take my place if you like, I won’t be offended.’ Pollux shrugged.

‘And break someone else in? No, I’ll think I’ll put up with you and your baggage. With all the training you’ve had with that sword of yours and now that you’re a captain and have all that influence … I think I’ve got a good deal.’

‘Just one thing?’ Pollux asked.

‘Name it?’

‘Don’t tell Octans I cracked. I won’t hear the end of it and he already wants my job. Unless you have a thing for blondes …’

Arryn Dunn, Earl of Gravid’s Drift, pulled on the reins of his destrier to stop on the embankment beside the Dyrest River. He pulled off his helmet and handed it to his aide, Juan, as he looked down upon the line of Kyzantine soldiers assembling at the entrance to the Musea Pass. A sea of red and black covered the landscape. The earl judged that ten thousand infantry had already come through the gate and more would be marching soon.

He held out his hand and Juan placed an eye scope in it. Putting it to his eye, the earl scanned over the massing troops and then to the gate in the distance. The Kyzantine cavalry hasn’t passed into the Murukan side of the pass so he could still strike and send them fleeing back to the godforsaken Empire. There was no sign of any Murukans fleeing from the battle; if any had escaped they would have discovered them by now. He scanned the ramparts of the bastion and saw nothing but blood, and the Kyzantines standing along it. Moving his gaze slightly to the centre tower, he saw what he was dreading. Three bodies hung from the tower top, ropes wrapped around their necks, their bodies cut, broken and bloody. Covered with dried red stains, armour in tatters, their flesh pale from the loss of blood. Carrion birds hovered above and on the deceased, ripping and tearing furiously at the flesh.

He recognised two of the three. The first was older and Arryn could never mistake the captain of the gate. Zeke’s familiar face looked sad, his features distorted after the battle and the crows’ feast. The unknown second man was younger but looked much like Aspring beside him. The third was a young man in armour bearing the insignia of the wolf that could still be made out despite the damage. His sandy brown hair still blew in the wind half-covering his mutilated face. Arryn’s stomach turned at the sight of his son’s body desecrated by the Kyzantine bastards.

Throwing the eye scope to the ground, he turned his destrier around and rode the short distance to his waiting troops. Juan rode beside him, always where he was needed. The earl spat on the ground in disgust before talking to his men.

‘Those bastards have my son’s body hanging from the tower,’ he choked the words out. ‘I will not stand by and let this atrocity continue. We will strike now and claim the bodies of the fallen and send those bastards back to hell.’

The solemn faces of those before him felt for the earl as he spoke those words. Figur’s unit had waited here since the signal smoke had first been spotted and the outpost had already been overrun. Their scout had already found them on the road and offered to join the forces of Gravid’s Drift to retake the gate. They would follow the earl to retrieve his beloved youngest son Thol. He was the child of Gravid’s Drift. His mother had died giving birth to him and every woman of Gravid’s Drift had adopted him instantly When it was known Kyzantium attacked, the women had ordered their husbands and sons to come and bring him home.

‘The cavalry will charge first, pick off the front line while the infantry move into position to coordinate attacks. We drive hard and straight and today will be ours.’

He reached out for his helmet from Juan and pulled it over his head, casting his face in shadow. The black plume stuck high in the air, signalling his authority. He looked over the sea of armoured knights, the late afternoon sun glinting off their metal helmets and shields. The commanders’ green plumes and the standards shifted in the breeze. It was a good day to spill blood.

The three units of cavalry took off behind the earl, falling into three separate arrow formations and hurtled across the short distance toward the waiting Kyzantine force. Hooves thudded into the dirt. Armour jingled. Knights bounced in the saddle. Knuckles whitened. Fists clenched. Teeth grinded.

Kyzantine soldiers hid behind shields and spears to keep the cavalry at bay, holding their lines and waiting for the crunch of impact. The spear tips glistened in the afternoon light as men and women of the Empire held them steady in the face of the charge. Eyes darted left and right as orders told them to hold the line. The Murukan cavalry released their grip of their reins and drew their blades, directing their mounts with the pressure of their thighs. The earl screamed as his heels dug into his horse’s sides, triggering the entire cavalry to scream blood-curdling battle cries as they charged in and were met with a volley of arrows that bounced harmlessly off their armour.

Following the high-flying green standards of Gravid’s Drift into the Musea Pass, the cavalry sped forth to wet their blades with Kyzantine blood. The forces met with a sickening crunch, Kyzantine bodies smashed under the weight of horse muscle and Murukan blades. Screams of the dying, both animal and human echoed into the pass. Spears punctured flesh and armour as the Murukans pushed deep into the first line of the Kyzantine assault force.

Earl Dunn drove in his heels and pushed his mount faster. He swung his sword at a woman’s face, slicing it in half. His horse shouldered into another as he blocked blows with his shield. His blade smashed in a soldier’s helmet then pierced another’s shoulder. He looked beyond the front line and saw the Kyzantines react by pressing against the knights in the three formations. Soon they would be surrounded and the momentum and advantage gone.

‘Fall back,’ he ordered, slashing out and swinging his horse into the open gap. His men did the same, following the green standard and the black plume as they raced back across the open ground behind the waiting infantry. As the last of the cavalry passed the infantry the commanders were given the go, who screamed orders to charge and surged into the gap left by the earl’s knights.

Wez gripped the haft of his spear in a near death-like hold as he waited for the last of the cavalry to pass. He blinked as the horses charged through the gaps and the infantry spread into formation. He lifted his shield and took three deep breaths before moving into position amongst his company.

The sergeant and the standard bearer stood at the front of the unit, capturing Wez’s attention as the green flag whipped from side to side above them. Orders were shouted, ‘Double time, stay in line.’

The infantry charged into the created gap, over the dead bodies and into the remnants of the retreating Kyzantine front line who were colliding with the second wave trying to move forward. Two Kyzantine reserve units ran to bolster the line but wouldn’t get there first. The men of Gravid’s Drift hit the line together across the width of the Musea Pass. Shields were raised to defend the barrage of arrows fired over Kyzantine heads. They hailed down and felled men when they found small holes in the defence. Blades swung as they clashed, blood ricocheted into the air as the Murukans drove forward under the command of the generals. Steel tore into limbs and torsos alike. Blood drenched the ground. The Kyzantine conscripts stood no chance against the trained Murukan warriors who ravaged their way through the two thousand men.

Wez thrust his spear into the chest of one woman, whipped it out and smacked the butt into the side of a man’s head. He stood his ground as the last of the conscripts ran forward, holding his shield forward beside the rest of the unit. The Kyzantines charged into their ranks, their blades striking off the metal. His back foot passed forward as his arm shot out, impaling the man on his spear.

The standard fluttered and the unit marched forward over the piles of the Empire’s dead. Enemy reserves ran forward to help the failing line. Moments before the Kyzantines were upon them, the Murukan infantry halted, found their balance, secured their footing, swung their shields around and pulled their spears back to their sides, points toward the enemy.

The enemy threw their bodies against them, barrelled into the shields of the Kingdom line. It failed to budge under the pressure, the Murukans managing to hold under the onslaught of the screams and stabs.

‘Forward!’ echoed across the line, originating from the middle of the unit.

Wez put his shoulder into it and pushed into his shield. The move was taken up by the entire front line, with those behind adding their weight. One foot in front of the other, the Murukans pushed back.

The troops of the Empire faulted as spears were thrust repeatedly into their flesh. Screams of death and agony erupted into the air as the first fell, and then those that stepped forward to replace them.

The battle shifted.

The Kyzantines rushed forward between those that were dying or dead, that remained upright impaled on spears. They dived between bodies, lashed out, using their long blades to thrust and cut. The soldiers on either side of Wez went down under a flurry of blows of glimmering steel, catching the light as it sliced through the air and into flesh. Blood dripped down Wez’s face as others stepped into the front line beside him. He pulled his arm back, his spear pulling free of the dead man as the blows rained down on his shield. He looked around. There was no room to move, or even make an attack. He stood there behind the safety of his shield and waited for something to happen.

The earl watched as his infantry eliminated the first wave of the invading force. The Kyzantine conscripts were decimated and the regulars had now waded into the fight. The infantry did well but they needed a break against the fresh troops. Reports had come in. They had lost only two hundred on the first charge. That left thirteen hundred. ‘Split into two columns for this charge. Left and right of their centre. Relieve the infantry. I want Thol’s body.’

‘Yes sir,’ Juan saluted and ran to give the orders to the signallers.

The cavalry rode, the three units becoming two and moving into columns. The infantry reacted to the signals from the hill and were ordered to break away and create the needed gap. The knights rode in, passing within a foot’s distance of the infantry as they charged into the fresh Kyzantines.

The enemy was more prepared this time. Shielded units forced the knights to charge toward the pikemen. They swayed under the pressure of the charge before reasserting their line and pressed forward. Dunn drove his shield into the neck of one, lifted it back up before smacking the same soldier across the face with it, battering the man into others. His sword flashed out, cleaving armour and flesh alike. Nothing was safe from his fury and wrath. He swore that those between him and his son’s body would die and he would personally send them to hell. His horse kept moving forward, if only slightly, and Dunn knew the momentum of the charge had been stopped. He slugged it out. Sweat dripped down his face. The knight beside him was driven from the saddle by a pike that pierced him below his chest plate. The Kyzantines swarmed over him, hacking into his defenceless body. His men were dying and they weren’t making any ground. They needed to get out to make another charge, get some speed up. He killed another and ordered the retreat. His men broke away from the combat. It had a ripple affect over the Murukan force and all the cavalry pulled back. Knights were taken from their saddles as the Kyzantines pushed forward and chased the slowest of fleeing knights down. Arrows blanketed the sky claiming more of the slower knights.

The infantry of Gravid’s Drift surged forward again, meeting the experienced fighters in the field. Wez raced over the bloodied ground amongst the unit as the archers fired, their payloads falling from the sky onto their heads. The arrows bounced harmlessly off his shield as he leapt over the dead.

The ground gained by the earl and his knights was slowly being claimed back by the Kyzantines. The reserve units slowly marched forward to address the Murukan infantry. More and more Kyzantines were ordered to the line, adding their weight to the defence.

Wez ducked under a thrust to his face, the spear head skimming against his helmet. Springing up and forward, he thrust his own spear into the man aiming for him, finding his mark high in the man’s shoulder. He drilled it in and twisted it out, the man screaming in pain as he went down.

Wez took the opportunity and charged into the enemy line, taking those soldiers around him. They strode forward, taking the brunt of the counters on their shields and struck out as one, spears impaling those in front. Wez lead the charge down the right flank, using the mountain to his advantage, and kept a solid wall on his right. His spear drilled into the man in front as well as the woman behind. It snagged as the bodies dropped to either side. He tugged on the haft of the weapon but it wouldn’t budge. The Kyzantine throng swarmed forward, a blade sliced out, Wez stepped back but it managed to bite his chest anyway. Blood poured from the open wound as he grimaced in pain.

The soldier beside him rushed forward, shield raised high to deflect the next blow as Wez was pulled back from the front line by those behind him. He gripped the soldier on the arm and indicated that he should return to the line, whilst he looked down at the wound. It would need stitches and leave a scar. He started go head back to the medic in the camps when he realised the middle of the line was so far back and devastatingly, was collapsing. Soon they would be surrounded unless they did something quickly.

The Kyzantines sensed this and charged into the middle of the Murukan infantry line and drove them back, killing and slaughtering as they went. The standards fell as they pushed, breaking the resolve of the men of Gravid’s Drift. The centre broke, men stumbled to the sides allowing the enemy to push straight through and pin the Kingdom soldiers against the walls of the mountains.

The earl tightened the grip on his sword and swung his mount around in tight circles. This was not going well. His men were dying and the enemy just kept coming. No matter how many he killed replacements continued to march through the gate. He rode up and down the line of knights that had come away from the last charge. Seven hundred. That was all that was left. They were tired, wounded and bloody. His infantry weren’t doing much better. The sheer numbers of the Kyzantines was weighing them down. The green standards still moved in the wind, the green plumes bobbed up and down. But there were no longer five thousand men. Maybe half that.

Then the middle of the line broke. A standard crashed to the ground and the unit’s general went down, his green plume no longer visible. The Kyzantines drove a wedge down the middle that forced the Murukans to divide in two and get pinned against the pass walls. A fighting retreat was ordered and they fought their way back out of the pass ever so slowly. The troops on the right were going to be pinned no matter what.