The Black Tower (18 page)

The dawn was red with blood.  Blackhall’s forces aligned to the south, where they moved to the top of a ridge at the edge of a limestone valley littered with sand, mounds of ancient bones and salt bluffs. 

The Iron Count’s army massed at the other end of the narrow gorge.  While going into the valley was something of a tactical error – the Count’s forces would need to defend uphill, and the tight confines of the jagged walls would make it all but impossible to retreat – it still made sense for him to take the route, for without it the Count would have to march for miles to get a clear path to Corinth, since the southern landscape was blocked by impassable bluffs and dune seas capable of swallowing ships, a particularly troublesome prospect for the Count’s war machines, which were far too bulky to roll across the hostile terrain. 

Blackhall considered finding a way to move his own forces straight north so they could beat the Black Guild’s army to the ruins, but they faced the same problem as the Count.  The valley wound around to the northwest before curling in towards the city, which was just visible in the distance through the walls of wind-blown sand. 

White Dragon cavalry lined up along the ridge.  Pale armor glinted in what crimson light filtered through the roiling black clouds.  Lances pointed straight up, a row of gleaming blades like a wall of stakes.  The infantry brought up the next rank, easily the largest portion of their force, a mix of two companies armored in chain and leather mesh and equipped with a combination of longswords, axes and hammers.  The men shifted nervously, on edge and ready to fight.  The archers were next, rows of Jlantrians and Den’nari with longbows and capped cases, far outnumbered by the infantry and spread between the main force and an ancillary cluster of Syke’s reserves, there to help protect their flank in case the Count’s forces tried to come around and take them from behind.  The archers moved with precision, spaced so they could part and pass through the infantry to gain better firing position at a moment’s notice. 

Two trebuchets and some ballistae were near the back of the column with Syke’s men and the war wagons, hidden in a cloud of dust.  Syke himself had taken over a hundred of his cavalry around to the more hostile terrain to the north, where they would either circle back to outflank the enemy or else press on to Corinth, though according to Gess Argus and his team had already penetrated Chul Gaerog. 

That doesn’t mean they’re safe,
Blackhall thought. 
They still have to get out.

Scouts had reported seeing smaller units breaking off from the Count’s main force and heading towards the city, but because of the strange storms around the ruins it wasn’t clear if those troops had made it to Corinth or not. 

The desert air was as dry as salt, and they were deep enough in the Bonelands that Blackhall knew it would only get worse before it got better.  The earth seemed to steam but the air remained dark, like they’d set foot inside a smoking black oven.  Blackhall wiped sweat from his brow; he’d need to don his helmet soon, but had no desire to do so. 

The acrid wind swept against them from the north.  Blackhall, Gess and Malik sat on horseback a few hundred yards up the ridge, where they could clearly see the extent of the Count’s forces.  There was no question they’d been spotted but the enemy carried on towards Corinth, another half-day’s march, as if the arrival of the White Dragon Army was of no concern to them. 

Clouds of dust rose with the advance of the Count’s hordes, a stamping monstrosity of dark steel and Veilcrafted iron.  The marching feet sounded like the rhythmic cracking of a thousand bones.  Tuscars and humans moved among
nek’dool
,
drad’mont
and human cavalry, all of them clad in dark chains and leathers and equipped with spears and
shek’taar
. 

A great command chariot rode among the Count’s war machines, a metal monstrosity with twenty-foot-tall wheels and an enormous ram’s skull affixed at the front, the bust of some ancient and forgotten beast.  Teams of grey-fleshed
drad’mont
with thick armor barding dragged the vehicle, which was adorned with rows of razor spikes and shrouded by thick iron sheets that kept the interior concealed. 

More infantry accompanied the war machines, ungainly devices hauled on enormous wagons: a corbelled metal tower covered with spikes, a vicious mangonel leaking frothy smoke, a long iron tube mounted on a rotating chassis.  Even Gess and Malik seemed unsure what to make of the bizarre Veilcrafted weapons, but they both assured Blackhall they were “bad news”.

Good to have expert advice on hand
, he thought bitterly.

Blackhall couldn’t determine if the Count’s apparent disregard for his presence was baiting, or if the lunatic truly didn’t care. 

They outnumber us, and with that Veilcrafted weaponry we’re going to have our hands full. 
Still, he couldn’t leave Argus and Slayne on their own, and more help was on the way – three hundred Den’nari cavalry had been transported via
cutgate
and would assault the Count’s forces from the east, assuming they didn’t run into any trouble.  None of the scouts had been able to bring back any sign of Hajir or his horsemen.

Blackhall grasped the ankh crucifix around his neck and prayed to Corvinia for the safety of his family and his men. 

“When are your friends coming?” he asked Malik.

“They’ll be here,” he said.  “Probably just in the nick of time.”

“That’s how it goes,” Blackhall said.  “I don’t like ‘nick of time’.  I prefer to have things planned out.  Surprises are what lose battles.”

“Surprises are the way of the world,” Gess said. “Having children teaches you that, as I’m sure you’ll learn once you’re back with your son.”

Blackhall flinched.

“You have children?” he asked the Veilwarden.

“Two,” Gess said proudly.  “All grown up now.  One is a bookkeeper for the seneschal of Granger.  The other married a spice merchant and is pregnant with her first child.”  He caught Blackhall’s look and smiled.  “I’m older than I look, Aaric…most Veilwardens are.”

Blackhall laughed.  Surprises, indeed.

“I hope you get to see them again, Toran.”

Gess drew a breath, and looked out at the enemy force.  An air of fear and uncertainty settled around them. 

“I suppose we’ll just have to see…” he said.

They saw movement in the distance – the Count’s forces were breaking formation.  Infantry split from the main body and moved in wide waves along the valley ridge, where they climbed the walls with impossible speed.  Several hundred troops, most of them Tuscar, charged up the western slope: once they completed their ascent they’d have cut off the Jlantrian’s route to Corinth, while the main body of the Count’s troops still occupied the shallow valley on his right flank.

“Runner!” Blackhall shouted, and within moments a man on horseback appeared, young and unshaven, as lean as a cat.  “Spread the word, it’s now or never.  I want archers and infantry backing the horses!” 

It would be best to hit the Count’s men while they were out of formation. It was a simple matter to re-direct his men and funnel them around to strike at the enemy infantry as they rose to the top of the slope; he’d leave plenty of Jlantrian footsoldiers to guard the entrance to the valley in case the Count tried to double back and outflank them. 

They waited.  Calls ran up and down the line.  The thunder of hooves sounded as the cavalry moved over low rolling hills to reach the broken black plains west of the valley.  Runners reported that the ground there was thick with sand, not ideal for charging, which meant it would be best to lead with the archers and set the area for bombardment with the trebuchet.  It would come down to an infantry engagement after that, as the horses would be useless in the thick soil.

“I just received a sending from Hajir,” Malik said.  “Their spotters have confirmed that the Iron Count is
not
in the chariot, nor anywhere on the field.” 

“Damn it,” Blackhall said.  Malik quietly spoke under his breath, turning the air gelid.  Gess said the man had a knack for culling facts from thin air. 

“He’s in Corinth,” the Den’nari said, his eyes glowing pale.  “He was taken there by an Arkan.  The Black Army is now under the command of a Voss named Ghul.”

Blackhall’s breath stilled in his chest.  A Voss, and an Arkan, along with hordes of Tuscars...it was the Rift War all over again.

“Captain Greer!” he shouted.  “Let’s go!”

Greer drew his sword and raised it high, signaling for the archers to move into position.  They fell in behind the infantry as the cavalry took their place to the west flank, where they wouldn’t interfere with the advance.  The Jlantrian forces marched to the crest of a smoky hill.

Ghul’s forces shifted in the valley below.  Tuscars moved with haste, backtracking through the valley with the war wagons in tow. 
Drad’mont
leapt forward, deceptively fast in spite of their great bulk.  Hundreds of Tuscars and mercenaries filed back towards the southern valley entrance.  Tall spears jabbed in the air, and forces to the north and south readied heavy bows.

They’re going to try and flank us.

The mixed enemy infantry to the north suddenly broke into a chaotic run.  Blackhall could barely see them through the sand smoke and dull crimson sunlight.  The horde tore across the ruddy plains and dust drifts, a wave of metal and flesh that let loose a mass inhuman howl. 

Great beetle-like
nek’dool
and reptile
drad’mont
charged ahead, impervious to the slowing effects of the thick sand.  The brown and red landscape tore beneath the thunderous claws of war-beasts and infantry boots.  The open sea of dust rapidly seemed to shrink, and try as he had to avoid fighting on two fronts against a force of superior size it now seemed Blackhall had no choice.  The infantry charged from the high ground to the north, and Ghul’s forces had turned back to exit the valley and come at them from the south. 

“You know what to do,” Blackhall told the Veilwardens.  Gess and Malik nodded, and within moments they turned their mounts and disappeared into the shifting sea of soldiers.  Blackhall surveyed the faces of his men as they passed and wondered how many of them of them he’d see dead before the end of the day.

The archers moved into position.  Bows were set, and each man nocked and stood at attention.  They were spaced a good distance back from the front lines, and a lean row of infantry stood between the archers and the approaching Black Army.  Breaths held.  Even with the stamp of hooves and feet Blackhall swore he noted a moment of silence, a collective deadening of time in the moments before the chaos of battle would be unleashed. 

The Black Army charged forth, a tide of metal.  Everything seemed to grow colder.  A strong wind came at them from the west, and Blackhall saw the archers calculating, adjusting their aim before they drew.  His infantry stood their ground, swords, axes and hammers loose, shields set. 

Captain Greer rode back and turned so his horse was lined with the front rank of archers.  He swept his blade towards the sky. 

The archers drew and held in a synchronous motion.  Greer gave the order to the fire, and the sound of two-hundred twines snapped.  Arrows filled the sky, a hail of black needles moving in near unison. 

A few of the
nek’dool
riders were snagged and thrown from their mounts, leaving the murderous beetles to lose direction and charge blindly.  Most of the volley fell into the Tuscar infantry, who didn’t assume any defensive stance but just kept roaring ahead even as arrows tore into the front ranks and pierced through armor, throats and skulls.  Bodies fell to the ground in bloody heaps, obstacles their fellows leapt over without breaking stride.  The front column went down in a wave of bloodied grey flesh, but in moments they were engulfed by the rest of the horde, trampled beneath armored boots. 

Greer ordered another volley.  Dark arrows filled the sky, a wave of sharpened steel.  Nails rained down into grey-fleshed ranks, but even as more Tuscars fell beneath the edged barrage the momentum of the mass didn’t waver.  Bodies were crushed into fleshy husks.  Blood sprayed in the air.  Numbers were on the Black Army’s side – they could afford the loss of a few hundred troops if it allowed them to close the gap quickly enough.

The open ground was shrinking fast.  A short run of hills was all that separated the two forces now, and Blackhall readied to sound the charge.  There was time for one more volley, an almost straight shot just over the heads of the front ranks.  Arrows flew, more Tuscars fell, close enough now that Blackhall saw their helmets break and their throats explode.  A few of the
nek’dool
and their riders came crashing down. 

They kept coming, a relentless tide of armored skin and bared fangs.  Their rune-covered pates were bathed in sweat and their hands gripped
shek’taars
and serrated scimitars.  Roars filled the atmosphere.  The ripple of charging bodies sliced across the open plains like a massive spear.

A great war horn sounded in the distance, and with it came another chorus of blood-curdling battlecries.  Feet trampled the desert floor.  Clouds of dust spiraled upwards.