Heartwood (59 page)

He wished he had Fulco at his side. Not as a bodyguard, although it had always been nice to know someone was there to protect his back, but as a companion, a friend to watch over and to watch over you when all around you the enemy were baying for your blood.

Once again, he found himself wondering just what he was doing there, in Heartwood. The outcome seemed inevitable, and he faced almost certain death. If that was the case, shouldn't he be at home, in Vichton, trying to save the people who looked to him for security, as well as looking after his family? He thought about the beach he had stood on only days before, when Dolosus had vanished into the sea. Presumably, that would soon be under water when the Darkwater Lords invaded. They would storm the city and take his castle, and Arbor knew what they would do to his children.

His hands tightened on the reins. He should be there. He should not be amongst these knights who lived a life he could not comprehend, with their rituals and services and strange deference to the dying tree that made shivers run up his spine.

Then he remembered Fulco's last “words”.
You are the key
, he had signed. Chonrad shifted in the saddle, aware once again of this feeling of fate, that somehow he was destined to play a part in this struggle, a part he had not yet fulfilled. He wanted to scoff at such a fanciful notion, but as a battle commander, he had learned to rely on hunches and gut feelings, as they had saved his life more than once. And now his gut feeling was telling him his job in Heartwood was not yet done.

Not that it would have made a difference if he had wanted to leave, Chonrad thought wryly as the flow from the top of the battlements increased. It was too late now. The tide had turned, so to speak, and it was only moments before Darkwater struck.

The water level outside had clearly almost reached the top of the wall. Water was pouring through the crenellations, adding to the already-large puddles in the Baillium, but he could see it was nothing compared to what was about to come over the wall.

He glanced along the front line again and suddenly saw Procella as she stepped forwards and yelled something to her army. He gave a half smile. She was stunning, not an ounce of fear on her face, her sword glinting in the moonlight.

And then the water reached the top of the wall.

There was a moment when time seemed to freeze, and Chonrad thought that was it; the water was not going to go any higher. They had won; the Darkwater Lords would go away and leave them alone.

Then, when it happened, it happened suddenly. A stream of water started pouring down the wall, producing a tremendous waterfall, all the way round the wall from one end where it met the mountains to the other. And as it touched the ground, Darkwater warriors leapt out from the water, materialising in solid form and immediately coming forward, swords drawn.

Procella yelled something, although he couldn't hear her over the rush of the water and the battle cries of the army. The archers pulled back their strings, and the continual rain was joined by a torrent of arrows. They thudded down into the water warriors, and hundreds of them stopped, shuddered and then dissolved in water, but immediately there were more to take their place, splashing through the remains left by their kin. Another hail of arrows flooded down, then another, and then the water warriors were too close to the Exercitus, and so the archers drew their swords, and battle was engaged.

Chonrad gritted his teeth, holding the reins of his horse tightly. He wished he had refused to follow her directions and had stayed with her on the front line. It was his usual role, and he did not enjoy this waiting game. Though she was Dux, she was not his captain, and he should have ignored her. But it was too late now.

She wanted him to wait until the last of the Darkwater army was over the wall and then move in behind them, effectively closing them in a pincer movement, but the Darkwater warriors just kept on coming. There was no sign of them stopping. He looked over at Aquilas, whose pale face echoed his own fear; there was no end to the army, just as there was no end to the fish in the sea, and they would be waiting there all night if they waited for the end.

Chonrad raised an eyebrow at Aquilas, who nodded firmly. Drawing his sword, Chonrad kicked his heels into his mount. The horse reared, then charged out from the Barracks, straight into the side of the Darkwater army.

Very early on in his life, Chonrad had learned a well-trained cavalry could turn a battle in an instant. Not only did a cavalry knight have the advantage of height from which to see the battle, the horse itself was both a weapon and a shield, protecting him from the occasional blow and yet able to crush enemies beneath its huge hooves.

Thunder, his own horse, was a stallion standing at seventeen hands high, built and bred for war, a horse that sensed blood in the air and got the battle fever in his eyes.

Thunder crashed into the Darkwater Lords on their left flank, crushing bodies beneath his hooves as Chonrad swung his heavy sword on either side of him, slicing through green skin and limbs. The stallion ploughed through the Darkwater army with the rest of the cavalry on his tail, cutting a swathe through the green warriors like a plough in a field of corn.

As before when Darkwater first attacked in the Curia, Chonrad was struck by how powerful the warriors were. They were all tall and broad-shouldered with bulging muscles, and although he seemed to hack limbs off all over the place, his sword just rang off the strange seashell armour they wore.

And still they kept coming. He reached the other side of the Baillium and turned the horse, both of them sweating, the stallion's eyes wide with excitement. Aquila reined in beside him, and they looked over at the walls to see more and more of the water warriors materialising. The flow of the waterfall from the battlements did not seem to be easing, either. With a sinking heart, Chonrad realised they were vastly outnumbered.

He caught himself there, however. Had he really thought they stood a chance? He had already known his death was written for that day. He was not going to spend his last minutes getting depressed. He was a warrior, and he was going to fight to the death.

“For Anguis!” he yelled, hoping his children would meet a quick death.

“And for Heartwood!” yelled back Aquila.

That too, thought Chonrad, with slightly less enthusiasm.

He charged back into the fray. This time, the bodies seemed more compact and he did not cut such a swathe through, finding himself jammed in about halfway across the Baillium. He slashed with the sword as hands reached out to grab him, but it was only minutes before he realised it was no good; if he didn't dismount they would pull him off the horse, and then he would probably be crushed under its hooves.

Pulling sharply on the reins, he leaned forward as Thunder reared and then crashed down on several bodies, bones snapping under his weight. Kicking his feet free of the stirrups, Chonrad dismounted neatly, slapping Thunder on the rump so the stallion skittered off, scattering warriors as it ran.

With one hand, he pulled the hood of his mail coat over his head, and then someone was on him, and he was swinging his sword with all his might as the Darkwater warrior slashed at him with his curved weapon.

He killed that one, then another, realising that although they were strong and powerful, his years of training and battle experience made him more than a match for most of the water warriors. However, there were so many of them, he soon realised it was sheer numbers that were going to be the problem.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Procella. She was fighting easily, seemingly with two warriors at once, and Valens was at her back, the two of them circling in a kind of horrific dance, Valens clearly favouring his injured leg. But as he neared, he saw her glance repeatedly at the wall, and he knew she was thinking the same as him: there was no way they could hold out against those kinds of numbers.

He reached her side, and she gave him a brief flash of a smile before they continued to fight. “I am sorry I could not do more with the cavalry,” he shouted above the noise of swords on armour and the screams and yells of battle. “They were too many.”

“And they are still coming,” she yelled back. “We shall fall under this number. We are going to have to retreat.”

He fought off a particularly big Darkwater Lord whose sword just managed to nick him in the face before he thrust his own blade down into his neck, and Chonrad cursed as blood poured down his cheek. It was a small wound but one of those which would bleed profusely; just what he didn't need.

He looked around briefly, knowing in battle the balance of power was like a ball tossed into the air; it would continue to climb, and then it would reach its peak and seemingly hang there for a moment before it began its descent, and he wondered whether this battle had reached the peak yet.

All around him, the Exercitus were battling hard. Darkwater warriors were falling, dissolving into water as they hit the ground. The whole of the Baillium was now ankle-deep in water, and rising. Though the Exercitus were holding their ground, the water warriors were still increasing in numbers, pressing forward all the time, and friendly bodies littered the ground all around him. He saw one Heartwood warrior fall and then another as their foes seemed to double in number, coming forward in droves.

It had happened, he thought. The ball was on its way down.

“Retreat!” yelled Procella at the same time, obviously realising the battle had reached its turning point at the same time as he had. Behind her, someone sounded the horn, which echoed above the clashing of battle. “Retreat!”

The Exercitus started to move backwards towards the Temple. Chonrad stumbled several times on bodies, although he did not have time to check who they were. There was no time either to pick up the bodies or take them with him. He fought continuously, and began to realise he was starting to use defensive tactics more than aggressive ones. The Darkwater warriors were growing more confident, sure of success. They scented blood.

Under the water, which was now a foot deep, gravel scrunched, and he realised he was in the Quad. Exercitus were pouring through the oak doors into the Temple, and he joined Procella and Valens at the front, digging his heels deep into the ground and holding off the onslaught while the army retreated. Gradually, they were pushed back. Beside him, Solum fell, speared like a pig in the stomach, but although he cursed, he could not stop to help because he was being pushed back, and he was slipping in the water.

“Get back!” yelled Valens, and turned to see only a handful of knights remained in the Quad, surrounded on all sides by the Darkwater army.

Chonrad stumbled on a fallen knight and could not regain his balance; he fell backwards, landing heavily in the water. Cursing, he rolled onto his knees, expecting any moment to feel a blade cut into his spine, but suddenly, Procella was there, heaving him to his feet with one hand under his arm, and she pushed him through the doors, which were already closing as the last knight filtered through.

“Procella!” he yelled as Bearrach put his weight on one side and Fionnghuala leaned on the other, and the doors slammed shut. “She is still out there!”

Valens strode to the door. Bearrach pulled it open a crack, and Valens stuck his arm through, grabbed Procella's mail hood and yanked her back. She landed inside the Temple, sprawled on the floor, and then the doors were shut and the two Hanaireans placed huge oak beams across, barricading them in, piling stones and wood against them.

 

V

Chonrad walked over to Procella where she lay sprawled on the floor and extended his hand. For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse it and get angry with him as she had on the way back from Vichton. Then, to his surprise, she burst out laughing.

“What is so funny?” he asked, bemused and amused at the same time.

“I am sorry.” She wiped her face. “That was a close one.” She accepted his hand, and he pulled her onto her feet. They both looked over at the doors as a thundering sound echoed from the wood.

“How long will they last?” asked Chonrad warily, expecting Darkwater to come crashing through at any moment.

Bearrach put a last piece of stone on top of the pile in front of the doors and said, “Should be a while. There is not even any water coming through yet.”

It was true, Chonrad noted; there was not even a trickle of water through a crack in the door. Clearly though, it was just a matter of time before they found a way in.

“How many made it in?” he asked Valens as the Imperator scanned the crowd inside the Temple.

Valens counted silently, then looked at him. “Maybe three hundred.”

“Three hundred? Out of three thousand!”

“I know.” Valens beckoned to Procella. “We need to get any wounded who managed to get in over to Silva. Then organise the remaining knights into groups, one on the Temple doors, one over by the Domus, one by the Arbor. Make sure there is food and drink for everyone. Try to get them to rest, if only for a few minutes. Darkwater will break through, and they need to be ready.”

“Yes, sir.” Without further bidding, Procella went off. Chonrad watched her go, thinking how marvellous she was; she had just nearly died out there, and yet there had been no dramatics, no regaling of stories on how she had been brave and heroic; she had merely put her mind to the next task and continued on as if nothing had happened. She was amazing.

Looking round, he saw Valens watching him, a small smile on his face. Chonrad felt embarrassed. “Do not get the wrong idea,” he warned, cleaning his sword on a piece of cloth; “I was only admiring her talents as a general; that is all.”

“Of course,” said Valens in a tone that suggested he wasn't convinced. “She is a fine knight. A noble heir.” He sighed. “Of course, I had hoped Dolosus would take over from me one day, but that idea faded like a rainbow when he lost his arm.”

Chonrad suddenly realised he hadn't seen the Militis since he came in. “Is he… Did he make it?”