The Crown of the Usurper (39 page)

  "Lock shields!" Caaskil barely had time to roar the order before the Salphors were on top of the company. As the company stopped and closed up, Muuril's spear flashed out from beside Gelthius, its tip plunging through the long beard of a charging warrior, punching into his throat. Protected by Caaskil's shield, Gelthius jabbed with his weapon, the point crashing against the bronze shield boss of the Salphor directly ahead of him.

  Almost undone by the surprise of the attack, the company could do little except receive the charge, catching weapons on shields and absorbing the momentum of the Salphors. Gelthius saw yellow sparks soaring into the air above the men in front of him, and realised that they were flaming arrows being shot from behind the Salphor attack. Though each was nowhere near as bright as the tar fires launched by the catapults, there were several hundred flashing overhead.

  By luck rather than judgement, the advance of the company had brought them much closer than the enemy had suspected, so the fire arrows arced overhead and landed some distance behind. Gelthius and the others, and their attackers, were still shrouded in darkness, save for the odd glitter of firelight from a spear tip or raised axe. Sound was a far greater aid than sight, and Gelthius heard thousands of bellowed war cries as the Salphors launched their all-out charge against their now-visible opponents. His instincts had been right, in a way: the initial ineptitude of the Salphor attack had been a ruse.

  Captain Caaskil was an experienced fighter and so was Muuril, and between the two of them Gelthius barely had a foe to face. He concentrated on keep his shield up to protect Muuril's spear side, and ramming his spear in the general direction of any Salphor that managed to get past Caaskil's vicious jabs. In the darkness it was hard to tell how many more foes were coming, and Gelthius could feel the rank stretching out, more distance growing between him and the men to either side, as warriors from the back ranks fed into the front to counter the overlap of foes to either flank. The inexperienced warriors of the Twenty-first were trying too hard to push into the fight, adding pressure from the rear ranks that meant those in the second, third and fourth ranks were forced to step forward too quickly as legionnaires fell at the front.

  A particular burly Salphor with a red mane of hair and bushy beard smashed aside Muuril's spear with his shield and swung high with a long-hafted axe, forcing the sergeant to duck back as Gelthius tried to raise his shield against the blow. At the same time, Caaskil stepped forwards to drive his spear into the shoulder of another warrior, and the gap between the two captains widened even further. The axeman saw the opening and plunged towards it, swinging for Gelthius' face. Gelthius was forced to barge into Muuril to avoid the axe head whistling just past his nose, and then the front rank disintegrated.

  Half-turning away from Gelthius, the Salphor hefted his axe at Caaskil's back, his blade biting into the captain's exposed neck between body armour and helm just as Gelthius' spear plunged into the exposed armpit of the axeman. As more warriors plunged into the fray, ignoring the front rankers to get inside the reach of the spears of the following ranks, Gelthius could feel the cohesion of the company fracturing. He had drilled enough to know what a solidly manoeuvring formation felt like, and the warriors at the back short on battle experience were committing the fatal crime of backing away at just the moment the rear ranks were supposed to shove those men in front to regain the momentum of attack.

  Catching a sword blade on the bronze band beneath the head of his spear, Gelthius felt something grab hold of the hem of his jerkin. Powerful arms pulled him down and he cried out in alarm as he came crashing down on top of Muuril.

  "Play dead!" the sergeant spat, the words almost lost in the cacophony of the fighting. Muuril's hand shifted to grab Gelthius' spear hand, pinning him to the ground. All around him, the men of the Thirteenth were falling, some with blood flowing from wounds, others, as far as he could tell, only mimicking their less-fortunate comrades.

  With the front ranks of the Askhan company faltering and falling, the Salphors came on with renewed determination. Gelthius ground his teeth as a Salphorian warrior stood on his leg, stepping over the supposedly dead and wounded to hack and slash at the soldiers of the Twenty-first. Another boot caught Gelthius in the side of the head and he stifled a cry of pain.

  He had thought it madness when Muuril had offered brief explanation, but in the chaos and darkness both the Salphors and Askhans were paying no heed to the men that had gone down; there were living foes to worry about. The fight continued to rage above Gelthius and out of the corner of his eye he saw the remnants of the company being forced back. Those who had been appointed sergeants did their best to reform the ranks and hold position, but there were too many Salphors. Amongst the angry shouts and hoarse moans of the wounded Gelthius heard cries of alarm.

  It was impossible to see the first of the men running, as they peeled away from the rear rank, leaving those in front to the unkind attention of the Salphors. The withdrawal was fast becoming a retreat and teetered on the verge of rout.

  "Now," growled Muuril.

  Gelthius did not hesitate. He pushed himself to his feet and retrieved his spear and shield as the others of the Thirteenth did likewise around him. Some of the Salphors must have heard the commotion behind them, but their warning shouts were silenced as the suddenly resurrected legionnaires surged into the back of the Salphorian warband. Gelthius rammed the point of his spear into the chest of one of the warriors that had turned at the noise, sending the man toppling back into his comrades.

  Muuril led the charge, his spear snapping on an upraised shield. He batted away a thrust from a Salphor and used the splintered haft of his weapon to batter the man in the side of the head. Gelthius finished off the downed warrior with a speartip to the man's gut while the rest of the Thirteenth legionnaires cut into the Salphors with ruthless ferocity.

  Caught unawares, a score of Salphors had been brought down before they realised their dire position. The fighting was close and frenetic, the legionnaires using shields as much as their spears. Finding himself without a foe for a moment, Gelthius saw a discarded axe half-hidden beneath a corpse in front of him. Dropping his spear, he picked up this weapon and launched himself at the Salphors with a furious howl, swinging the head of the axe into face of a man driven back by a lunge from Loordin.

  His arm aching from the effort, Gelthius fought on, blood spilling down his thigh from a cut opened up by a wild sword blow, his right eye closing up where the rim of a Salphorian shield had caught him on the cheek. Panting and snarling like a wild animal, Gelthius hacked down another Salphor and almost fell over the man's corpse.

  It took him a moment to realise that all but a handful of the Salphors were dead. He caught glimpses of some running into the darkness. There was no sign of the prisoners from the Twenty-first; they must have fled the fight when the Salphors had turned on the men from the Thirteenth. The surviving Salphors were surrounded and quickly butchered and calm descended.

  The sounds of the ongoing battle could be heard from the direction of Marradan, and by the light of the fire arrows Gelthius could see the long lines of the spear companies holding like a wall against the crashing waves of Salphorian warriors. Although it was impossible to be sure in the darkness, it seemed to Gelthius that they were alone. There were moans from wounded men around him, but he could not see whether they were Salphor or Askhan.

  "Thirteen to me," rasped Muuril, plunging the ragged end of his spear into the face of a fallen Salphor, ending the injured man's misery.

  Those that could do so gathered around the sergeant, twenty-seven in all. Four others managed to drag themselves to the small muster, nursing grim wounds. Gelthius saw that one of the casualties was Gebriun. His face was split from left eye to chin and blood pumped from a cut under his right arm.

  "Legion code," muttered Muuril, drawing his knife from his belt.

  Gelthius' heart sank when he realised the sergeant's intent. The Salphor looked down at Gebriun, who was barely conscious, the flap of flesh and skin that had been the left side of his face hanging down to the collar of his blood-soaked tunic.

  Knowing that it was a mercy, Gelthius bit his lip and brought the axe down on to the back of Gebriun's neck, chopping deep into bone. Gebriun collapsed and lay still. All of the strength drained from Gelthius' body as he watched the other mortally wounded legionnaires being despatched with knife and sword. He let the axe drop from his weak grasp and settled to his haunches, still sucking in deep breaths from his exertions.

  Muuril appeared next to him and grabbed him under the arm to pull him upright.

  "Looks like we have an opportunity, captain," said the sergeant.

  It took a moment for Gelthius to understand his meaning, looking dumbly into the darkness. They were alone. There was nobody from either side that could see them in the night.

  "Shouldn't we help protect the city?" someone asked from the darkness. "We can't let those filthy Salphors take Marradan."

  "There's not enough of us to make a difference," replied Muuril. "Look at it this way. If the Salphors win, we're fucked. If they lose, we're stuck with the Twenty-first. I don't know about you lot, but that's a fool's choice."

  There were murmurs of assent and no further objections raised. Someone asked where they should go.

  "There'll be bands of Salphors to duskwards, win or lose, so I say dawnwards," said Muuril. "Unless anyone has any better suggestions?"

  None were forthcoming and the sergeant turned to Gelthius.

  "If that's all right by you, captain?" said the sergeant.

  "Dawnwards, right enough," said Gelthius. "Let's get moving before anyone comes to find out what's happened to us."

 

By dawn, Gelthius and the rest of the Thirteenth's survivors from the company were miles away from Marradan. The morning light revealed evidence of a quiet exodus during the night, with many fresh foot prints and wheel ruts on the road heading away from the border with Salphoria. Word had spread of the Salphor attack and people had abandoned their homes overnight, so it was that they had come across an abandoned farm as the red tinges of daylight had crept over the horizon. From this temporary shelter, Gelthius could see a smudge of darkness in the sky above Marradan: the smoke of fires.

  "You think the Salphors won?" he asked Loordin, who stood beside him at the door.

  "Nah, that's just from the fires set during the battle," replied the legionnaire, raising a cup of watered wine to his lips. He drank deeply and smiled. "I think Lutaan has managed to pull off his second victory."

  Mention of Captain Lutaan brought unwelcome memories of Menesun, and it was in this frame of mind that Gelthius moved away from the door and back into the kitchen where Muuril and about a dozen others were finishing a stolen breakfast of eggs and bread; Gelthius had no appetite. The rest of the men were scattered through the building and the attached outhouses, some of them still snoring heavily in their sleep, most awake but unwilling to make a move just yet.

  "What now?" asked Muuril, looking for Gelthius to provide an answer. The captain shrugged in reply and picked up the cup of water he had left on the table.

  "It isn't up to me, is it?" said Gelthius. He looked around at the other men. "I'm not a captain, not now. I wasn't a captain before, so don't treat me like I am. Every man can do whatever he likes, right enough."

  "We're still legionnaires of the Thirteenth," said Muuril. A couple of the men beside him nodded but the sentiment was far from universal amongst those in the kitchen. Their reluctance brought forth a deep frown from the sergeant. "We are still legionnaires of the Thirteenth. We are sworn to the king until he releases us from oath."

  "He's more than likely dead," said Gelthius. Muuril stood up, tossing his spoon down onto the table with a snarl.

  "You don't know that. We have to find out. I'm not leaving him to the mercies of Urikh and those other bastards."

  "You want to attack Askh and get him back?" said Loordin, stepping in behind Gelthius. "Feel free, but don't expect me to come with you."

  Muuril looked pained at his friend's desertion and turned to the other soldiers.

  "I've had a look myself, that ain't no city burning, which means Lutaan will figure out that we didn't die in that battle when they collect the dead."

  "He's got too much to think about to come after us," said Loordin. "With Salphors prowling around getting funny ideas, he's not going to worry about a couple of dozen escaped prisoners. I'm heading to Thedraan to pick up the family and then heading coldwards. War's kicking off again, with the Salphors, and with all the mess Urikh has made of everything you can bet they ain't going to be easy to stop. Marradan's just the start, I'd say."

  "I'd head to Salphoria to find the rest of the Thirteenth, but that's out of the question," said one of the others, "not with them barbarians getting ideas of attacking Askhans."

  "The king needs as many good men as he can get," Muuril said, his demeanour defiant against the opinions being voiced.

  "The king can suck my cock," said Loordin. "I followed his father but I owe nothing to Urikh."

  "Not him, Ullsaard," said Muuril. He waved a hand at them and turned away. "Fuck the lot of you. I'm not just going to lie down while those cunts Urikh and Aegenuis fight over my empire."

  Gelthius laughed at the sergeant's choice of words.

  "Anyone would think you was king, the way you talk," said the Salphor.

  "I might as well be," said Muuril, looking back as he headed for the door into the rear yard. "Seems any bastard can call himself king these days."