Authors: Jennifer Fallon
Warlord (48 page)
T
o the sound of distant thunder, Rorin Mariner rode out at Tejay Lionsclaw’s side, just as the last of the Sunrise archers was settling into place. Feeling awkward in the unaccustomed weight of the borrowed breastplate he wore, he followed Tejay in her magnificent jewelled and gilded armour, wondering why he was the only one who didn’t realise at first glance that the armoured figure cantering to the head of the lines wasn’t Terin Lionsclaw.
o the sound of distant thunder, Rorin Mariner rode out at Tejay Lionsclaw’s side, just as the last of the Sunrise archers was settling into place. Feeling awkward in the unaccustomed weight of the borrowed breastplate he wore, he followed Tejay in her magnificent jewelled and gilded armour, wondering why he was the only one who didn’t realise at first glance that the armoured figure cantering to the head of the lines wasn’t Terin Lionsclaw.
Even wearing a suit of archaic armour, Tejay rode better than her husband. She was far more confident in the saddle, far more anxious to lead from the front. Rorin hurried to keep up with her. It was important any final orders be relayed through him. The armour might fool everyone into believing the Warlord of Sunrise was recovered enough to take the field, but one word from Tejay would give the game away.
The officers saluted their Warlord as he rode past, but made no attempt to address their liege lord. Their orders had been relayed the night before by Rorin, who had addressed the officers and made certain they were fully briefed on today’s strategy. There’d been a few discontented rumblings about why the troops were getting their orders from their Warlord’s new seneschal, rather than their Warlord, most of the complaints coming (not surprisingly) from Stefan Warhaft, heading up the small contingent of Elasapine cavalry. They were to cover the right flank, mostly because Damin didn’t want him anywhere near Narvell while he was carrying a weapon. Rorin had handled the questions well and eventually, even the most disgruntled man was forced to accept their orders came from the High Prince and through Terin Lionsclaw, and the seneschal was merely here to fill them in because their lord was still too unwell to do it himself.
The plan they had was quite specific and had been worked out in minute detail by Damin, Narvell, Almodavar, Kraig and Lady Lionsclaw over many late nights in the darkness of Tejay’s tent, talking in whispers as they tried to secondguess every possible contingency.
The purpose of Tejay being here this morning was twofold. The first was to rally the inexperienced Sunrise archers, to ensure they got away those critical few arrows before they retreated, and the second was to make certain everybody believed Terin Lionsclaw was alive and well and in command of his Raiders. Rorin was under strict instructions to accompany Lady Lionsclaw through those first vital moments of the engagement and then make certain she retreated with the archers, leaving the infantry battle in the hands of the more experienced officers of Greenharbour and Pentamor Provinces, who made up the bulk of the first wave.
The air was heavy with impending rain, the sky low and overcast. Rorin could actually feel the mood of the men—an odd mixture of excitement and apprehension—even though he had no telepathic ability to speak of.
His palms moist with anticipation, Rorin heard the Fardohnyans long before he saw them. Banging their spears against their tall wooden shields, the enemy advanced in a disciplined formation, their interlocked shields presenting an impenetrable wall that moved with the slow and merciless force of a lava flow. He watched with growing apprehension as the enemy filled the field of battle from the bank of the muddy Norsell to the fast-flowing Saltan River on the other side, assuming (not incorrectly) that the Hythrun would be unable to flank them with the rivers blocking the way. Of course, they didn’t know this wasn’t really the chosen battlefield; that they would be drawn much further down the valley before the day was done, down to the foothills around Lasting Drift, past the only two river crossings in this part of the country, where the massed cavalry of Dregian, Elasapine and Krakandar awaited them.
As the Fardohnyans moved into view, the unrelenting thumping pounded against the ground so hard the earth throbbed in time with the beat. More than a little anxious himself, Rorin leaned forward to calm his skittish gelding and glanced at Lady Lionsclaw. She sat upright and unflinching in the saddle, as if the sight of the seemingly endless Fardohnyans was nothing to be concerned about.
“Ye gods,” Rorin breathed in awe. “Is there no end to them?”
“We
are the end of them,” Tejay replied simply. Then she turned to look at him through the narrow eye slits of her jewelled helmet. “Can you actually use that sword you’re wearing?”
are the end of them,” Tejay replied simply. Then she turned to look at him through the narrow eye slits of her jewelled helmet. “Can you actually use that sword you’re wearing?”
Rorin glanced down at the borrowed weapon she’d found for him last night. “Not really.”
“Then use magic to protect yourself, Rorin. I can’t watch over you every minute.”
Rorin thought that was probably a very good idea, even though he was supposedly watching over Tejay. Deflecting a killing blow magically was a far safer bet than trying to be a hero with a blade he’d probably drop out of fatigue ten minutes after picking it up. And it would also allow him to extend that magical protection to cover his companion. But it didn’t seem fair to be the only one using magic.
“Isn’t that cheating? Using magic?”
“If it means you’re still alive at the end of the day, will you care?”
“Well … no, I suppose not.”
“Then do it, lad, and don’t argue with me about it. I’m your Warlord.”
Rorin couldn’t argue with that. He closed his eyes briefly, drawing the magic to him. When he opened them again, his eyes were as black as his gelding, the Fardohnyans had finally stopped moving and Tejay Lionsclaw had raised her arm to give the signal that would start the war.
There was a pause, a pregnant moment of anticipation as the Fardohnyans settled into place and the Hythrun faced them across the field. A breathless, silent moment, long enough for men to realise they were about to die, but not nearly long enough to ponder why. As soon as Lady Lionsclaw dropped her arm, the air hissed with the flight of several thousand arrows arcing overhead and there was no turning back.
Many of the Fardohnyans recognised the sound and had the wit to raise their heavy shields against the deadly rain. Others did nothing—too close to their comrades to be able to lift anything, even if they recognised the danger. Either that or they were contemptuous of their enemy’s efforts to halt them. It was a foolish attitude and a costly one, Rorin thought. Even inexperienced fools will hit something if enough of them simultaneously shoot into a mass of closely packed bodies.
Rorin’s horse reared, a little unnerved by the noise and the sporadic lightning streaking the horizon. Horns rang out across the valley and the Fardohnyans began to move forward in a tight and disciplined formation, the sky behind them black with the advancing storm and almost keeping pace with them. Tejay raised her arm a second time, but held it there for what seemed like an eternity before she finally gave the command. Rorin flinched as the sky darkened with arrows a second time. Again, rank upon rank of the Fardohnyans fell, but their companions simply stepped over the dead and wounded, moving up to fill the gaps caused by the men who had fallen. His heart in his mouth, Rorin watched the advance, wondering why nobody was taking a shot at him or at Tejay dressed in her tempting jewelled armour. Wondering if Sunrise Province’s inexperienced archers would stand long enough to deliver the third volley they needed. Wondering what had possessed him to think there was any glory in battle. He wouldn’t blame the archers if they ran away. It was certainly what every instinct Rorin owned was telling him to do.
“Any minute now,” Tejay remarked, “they’ll let loose their own …” She ducked intuitively as a shower of arrows suddenly arced overhead from the Fardohnyan side and sliced into the ranks of archers behind them. “That’s the trouble with the enemy being in range. It means we’re in range of them, too.”
Arrows ploughed into the ground around them. Two or three bounced off Tejay’s armour. Frantically, Rorin extended the magical shield over both of them and watched in awe as the sky rained deadly missiles. He could barely hear Tejay over the cries of the men caught by the Fardohnyan volley. Screams filled the air, punctuated by thunder as the storm and the Fardohnyans moved closer.
The God of War might be Hythria’s god,
Rorin thought,
but it seems as if the God of Storms is on the side of Fardohnya.
Rorin thought,
but it seems as if the God of Storms is on the side of Fardohnya.
Forcing her excited horse under control, Tejay raised her arm again. “We need to get that last volley away and those men out of here,” she told Rorin, yelling to be heard over the advancing infantry and the screams of their own wounded. “Once that rain sets in, this place is going to turn into a quagmire and we won’t be drawing anybody anywhere.”
Decisively she dropped her arm and another volley followed, this one much less certain than the others, a little more sporadic, a lot less confident. As soon as the arrows whooshed overhead, Tejay pulled her sword from its scabbard and raised it high—the pre-arranged signal for the Sunrise archers to retreat.
Seeing at least some of the enemy running from them, the inexorable Fardohnyan advance surged forward, the lead group laughing and calling insults to the retreating men as the Sunrise Raiders fled.
“My lady …” Rorin warned, with concern. She was facing the oncoming army as if she intended to take them on single-handed and was too tempting a target out here in front of her men in that damned jewelled armour. “Please! We need to fall back.”
Tejay hesitated and then wheeled her mount around, barely fifty paces ahead of the advancing Fardohnyans. As they galloped toward their own lines, Rorin noticed the Izcomdar and Elasapine light cavalry forming on their flanks. Despite there only being two, provinces represented among the cavalry, to the casual observer it looked as if every province was in attendance. Riders carried the banners of each province spread out among the Raiders, to give the impression this was all they’d been able to muster of Hythria’s once formidable strength.
Ten thousand men facing a force of close to thirty thousand and right now, Rorin thought, Axelle Regis probably thinks he can win.
Another volley arced overhead from the Fardohnyan archers, this one peppering the ground around them. Protected by Rorin’s magical shield, they were invulnerable to the deadly missile shower, but the fleeing archers surrounding them weren’t nearly as lucky. Either side of them, terrified men screamed and fell as the Fardohnyan arrows rained down on them.
Then ahead of Tejay’s horse, another young man took a tumble, a blue-fletched arrow in his shoulder. The war horse reared at the sudden obstacle. She fought the beast down and turned it sharply, while Rorin’s mount charged ahead. A moment later, when he realised she was no longer by his side, Rorin turned to discover Tejay had jumped from her horse and was dragging the wounded young Raider to his feet.
Cursing, Rorin turned his mount, attempting to reach them, but the tide of frightened, retreating soldiers pursued by the deadly rain of Fardohnyan arrows pushed him back, even further out of reach. He could see Tejay, her arm around the lad, trying to lift the wounded boy into the saddle, while behind them the advancing horde of Fardohnyans, screaming some unintelligible war cry, thundered down the valley. Tejay had only moments until she was overrun. Rorin stretched out with his shield to protect her, knowing how useless a gesture it was. His magic could deflect arrows, toss a man across a room and maybe push aside falling rocks, as it had in the Widowmaker, but he couldn’t build a wall that would hold back an entire attacking army.
Desperate and helpless, he watched Tejay glance over her shoulder at the oncoming army. It was obvious she was aware of the danger, just as it was obvious she had no intention of abandoning the young man she’d stopped to rescue. The Fardohnyans were less than fifty paces away, their blood-curdling screams so loud Rorin could barely hear his own thoughts. Tejay struggled with the Raider, but the boy was fading fast and even though she was a fit and healthy woman, Tejay lacked the physical strength to lift a fullgrown man wearing armour onto the back of a horse.
Rorin suddenly cursed his own stupidity for not thinking of the solution sooner. Taking a risk that Tejay’s armour would protect her, he dropped the shield, reached out with his magic and picked up the young Raider, depositing him bodily across the saddle. Tejay jumped back, startled by the miraculous relocation of her burden, and then glanced across the field in Rorin’s direction when she realised such a thing could not have happened without some sort of magical intervention. He waved her forward, wishing he had Wrayan’s ability to communicate mentally and tell her to get the hell out of there …
He didn’t need to, however. It took Lady Lionsclaw a split second to work out Rorin had helped her, and another split second to realise she was out of time and—wearing metal armour—had no hope of remounting her husband’s big warhorse unaided.
With the Fardohnyans almost on top of Tejay, Rorin urged his horse forward against the tide of fleeing men, trying to reach her. With her sword in her right hand, Tejay had grabbed the horse by the bridle and with her wounded passenger draped across the saddle, she forced the beast across the arrow-littered field toward the Hythrun lines, no more able to run in Lernen’s decorative armour than she was able to mount a horse wearing it. Desperately, Rorin extended the shield again, hoping it was enough to reach her. He actually wasn’t quite sure where the outer edges were, and could only hope that it was enough to keep her safe.
It wasn’t, he discovered a moment later. Still frustratingly close, but desperately far from help, Tejay stumbled and fell, an arrow protruding from her left leg, embedded in the gap in her armour that allowed her knees to move.
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