Steel And Flame (Book 1) (42 page)

The center man opposite Marik seemed of average build
in the shadows, bearing a sword similar to Marik’s own.  He came on hard and
fast, opening with a high strike from above.  The three Kings had spread far
enough that Marik could move without interfering with his shieldmates.

Both hands gripping the hilt, Marik raised his sword
while ducking low.  He blocked the first blow.  When his opponent’s blade rebounded,
he brought his arms down and flicked his wrists.  The motion altered his hands’
positions only slightly, but sent the sword arcing in a quick slash for a
responding strike.

It met the other man’s sword, he having already
initiated his next attack.  The two blades crashed against each other.  Marik
started forward a step to place his weight against the enemy’s sword and force
him backward before realizing that would break the line, leaving Landon
vulnerable.  As he thought that, Marik heard Landon’s bow twang.  Hopefully it
found a mark in their enemies.

He stepped back quickly, retaking his position.  This
surprised his foe who had shifted his own weight forward to counter Marik’s. 
Fielo’s man lost his footing and stumbled.  Marik took advantage and lunged
forward, slashing at the man’s torso.  The man had nearly recovered, but not
enough to save himself.  Instinctively he raised his sword arm in an attempt to
block and Marik’s blade bit deep into his flesh.

Marik felt bone, heard the man’s screech, heard the
clatter of his dropped sword striking the stone.  He wrenched his blade back. 
A flash of silver streaked through the faint moonlight as his sword delivered a
killing stroke to the man’s neck.

His foe collapsed in a heap.  Marik turned his attention
on the other attackers.  Nial fended off the two swordsmen he faced ably,
though this left him few opportunities for a counterattack.  Sloan was a
different story altogether.

He wielded his strange blade with ease, having
dispatched one opponent so quickly and efficiently Marik had never heard the
man die.  Marik saw the cold mercenary slice off his second enemy’s weapon arm,
then reverse his stroke in a continuous motion that cut through the man’s neck
before he could register the fact of his lost limb.  The man died before much
blood from the amputation struck the ground.

Marik turned back to aid Nial when Landon’s bow sang
again.  One of the remaining opponents sprouted feathers from his chest.  With
only one to deal with, Nial easily occupied his opponent’s weapon with the
short sword long enough to deliver a crushing blow to the side of his head with
the flail.  It split the flesh, dislocated the jaw and shattered all the teeth
on the man’s right side.  Nial stepped quickly to the fallen man to dispatch
him with the blade.

Talbot flopped over the cliff’s edge like a landed
fish before jumping to his feet and shouting, “Agghhhh!”  He stopped shouting
while still fumbling to draw his sword when he noticed the four men looking at
him in silence.

“Oh,” he said.  “Looks like you’re already done.”

“For the nonce,” Landon agreed.  “These were the
closest to the call.  More will be arriving any moment.”

Nial nodded and returned to the drop.  He looked down
as Kerwin clambered over the edge.  “Go faster,” he shouted down.  “We need to
move!”

Dietrik peered from his perch halfway up the wall. 
“We’re going as bloody fast as we can!”  He sounded out of temper.

“More!” called out Landon, who had been watching the
direction the first men had run from.

Light, and not far off either, could be seen from the
campfires of Fielo’s army.  Men stirred over there.  Closer to, three men came
at a dash.  They stopped several yards away when Landon’s arrow streaked past
them and missed by inches.  In a glance they took in the mounds on the ground
combined with the pungent reek of fresh blood.  These three retreated
immediately.

“Damn,” swore Nial.  “They’ve gone to get real
reinforcements.  We’ll be in for it if we stay here much longer.”

Dietrik crawled over the edge, panting from his rushed
efforts.  “Another three,” he wheezed, then sat up to catch his breath. 
“Should only take a wink.”

“We may not have a moment,” replied Landon, listening
to the scrambling of men organizing in the dark.  “But we don’t seem to have a
choice.”

Time slowed to the speed of cold molasses while
everyone waited for the remaining men to ascend.  When the last man, Korial,
reached the edge, two pairs of hands yanked him the rest of the way over.  No
one waited for him to regain his balance.  They started north, only to stop
when men charged from the shadows.

Luckily, weapons were checked after the two groups
recognized each other.  Fraser shouted, “Just what the hells happened?”  Landon
opened his mouth to reply when the sergeant overrode him.  “Never mind! 
Everyone south to rejoin the Second Unit!”

That sounded a great idea.  Everyone began
double-timing it, the going much easier topside than on the uneven riverbed. 
This time Marik jogged at the rear with the others.  Nial glanced over his
shoulder, then tapped a warning on the back of the man before him.  The message
quickly traveled along the line to Fraser, who looked behind as well.  Marik
saw torches clustered where they had ascended.  Several torches spread out and
began moving their way.

They found Bindrift’s group jogging north to their
aid, somehow avoiding any other lookouts posted.  The two units paused a moment
while the sergeants decided their next action.

Well, you were thinking you’d rather strike at night,
and here you go!  You should have your head examined by the chirurgeons.

He watched the torches drawing closer, moving at a
slower rate than the Kings had.  Hayden and Dietrik found him.

“Shut one of your eyes,” Hayden oddly suggested.

“What?”

“Those torches will screw up your night vision when
they get close and we start fighting.  Keep one eye closed during the fighting,
and as soon we snuff the flames open your eye and your vision will be better
than theirs.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It’s an old trick.  I’m surprised how many people I
run into who don’t know about it.  Your smart hand is your right one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then close your right eye.  Your reaction time on the
right is quicker and will make up for the blind spot.  If you close the left,
your blind side will be even weaker with the slower response on top of it.”

Marik closed his eye.  “Thanks.”

“From me as well,” added Dietrik.

“Don’t mention it.”

Fraser and Bindrift wanted all the men carrying bows
so Hayden departed.  Orders were issued to target everyone carrying either a
bow or a torch first.  Once those were down, the archers would mark the nearest
available targets.

Marik counted eighteen separate torches in the dark, a
floating tide of fire with numerous men beneath.  While he waited with Dietrik,
he calmed his mind of extraneous thoughts, letting only the battle fill him. 
He triggered his senses as Chatham had shown him on the road.

Look at everything at once, not one thing only.  Let
the eyes lose focus for a moment, then see all around you so you can react to
anything in your sight.  Stop ignoring the sounds o’ the world around you;
listen to every twig breaking, every insect singing, every branch rustling in
the wind.  Smell the air an’ smell all the men an’ land about you.  Know where
it all is.

It took only a moment.  When he came back to himself,
he felt ready for anything.  He could feel the new muscles in his arm bulging
as he gripped his sword and thought he could almost see them in his mind’s
eye.  He was aware.  He was ready.

Dietrik must have sensed the subtle change because he
said, “You seem bloody confident all of a sudden.”

“I am confident now,” he replied.  “Look out there. 
There’s not as many of them as us, and they don’t seem to be as good at
fighting as we are.”

“That’s no surprise, mate.  Most private guardsmen
spend their time sitting around and eating or telling stories or chasing the
women.  The only time they practice is during scheduled sessions, if their
liege bothers to schedule any at all.”

“And I’ll bet they feel pretty good about themselves
afterwards too,” Marik added with a hint of smugness.

“It’s part of the whole ‘the uniform makes the man’
state of mind.  Private guardsmen are looked down on by the army regulars.”

“Do they realize it?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve never asked them.”

“I think they’re about to find out.”

Indeed, Fielo’s men were entering bow shot.  They did
not realize it yet since the two units made no advertising of their positions
with torches and were still outside the light cast by the pursuers.

Packed together as a result of their pursuit, Fielo’s
men made easy targets.  Marik wondered if the archers could distinguish
specific targets in that crowd when Fraser’s voice called out.  The arrows shot
forward.

Several men in the fore fell, either dead or to their
knees.  Confused shouts told the mob to scatter or charge, resulting in several
men running forward as others jumped aside.  Collisions occurred and Marik saw
one man knocked off the nearby precipice.  He could not hear the end result
over the noise, but he could imagine it.  This far south the wall was less
vertical so perhaps he had survived by rolling.

The archers launched a second flight.  Many of Fielo’s
men had withdrawn shields after the initial volley.  They held them in the
direction the first arrows had come from, blocking several new shafts.  A few
found their mark while the angry mob surged forward to press their attackers.

Many torches had fallen during the first assault and,
while they still burned on the ground, their flames were dampened, providing
less than half the light as before.  A scattered dozen remained in hands.  By
their light, Marik still judged the enemy to be less in number than they,
though by fewer than he had first thought.

The arrows still sang, their voices solos or duets
rather than the thrumming chorus they had opened with.  No defender apparently
carried a bow so the torch bearers drew the archers’ attention.

A wave of men crashed against the frontline of Crimson
Kings.  Marik faced a man wielding the same type of sword as the foe he had defeated
earlier.  Faint moonlight reflected from the blade’s surface.  This allowed
Marik to defend.  He had feared that fighting in this darkness would render him
incapable of seeing his enemy’s movements.

His current enemy seemed no stranger to the sword,
despite his attacks lacking the speed and surety Marik had become accustomed to
facing during the last winter.  He blocked the attacks easily, then gashed the
man’s arm on a counterstrike.  The man clutched his wound and retreated quickly
into his crowding allies.  Another fighter took his place, leaving Marik no
time to think.

The hacking, chaotic battle continued in the dark. 
Marik lost his time sense.  Everything shrank to the moment, to the swing of
the sword and the constant watch for new danger from every side.  He could not
have said how long they fought, only that it seemed unending.

Every time he felled a foe or forced one to retreat, a
different fighter stepped forward.  None displayed ability anywhere near what
he had witnessed after a season in Kingshome.  Fielo’s forces were dangerous in
that they became one long, continuous opponent.  Marik could feel the weariness
of constant effort building quicker than usual due to his lack of sleep.  Soon
the exhaustion would rob him of the edge his ceaseless practice afforded him,
drastically reducing his odds of staying alive.

Beside him a King went down under multiple blades.  He
could spare no time to see who.  Marik continued the struggle, knowing his life
depended on how much of his skill he could maintain.

A shout he recognized after a moment as Fraser’s broke
through the haze surrounding him.  The sergeant wanted the units to fall back,
to retreat to the south.  Why did they need to do that, given the two sizes of
the different companies?  Marik felled his opponent, his fourth actual kill if
he remembered correctly, and strained to see through the night before another
fighter engaged him.

He could do this now, he realized, because the night
had faded.  Early gray diluted the depthless black, the clouds pinkening with
the first of the unrisen sunlight.  In a half mark they would be able to see
across the hills.

Marik also saw the Kings had been retreating already,
inched backward with every blow.  Fallen men a hundred yards north testified to
the skirmish’s initial starting point.  He also saw new men running from the
camp.  The number of foes they faced had grown substantially.

A fighter jumped forward to engage Marik.  This time
he backed away, retreating with the surviving Second and Fourth Unit members. 
They could not run without separating from their shieldmates, which would turn
the retreat into a rout.  Instead, the men half-ran, half-trotted, stopping
after short distances to lash out at the enemies following.  Once Fielo’s men
stopped to meet the attack, the retreaters would run further.