Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

As she and the Companions returned to their position on the front line, the sound of a great commotion came from the hill. Korin’s men were beating their shields and shouting war cries as they advanced to their places. It was a daunting sound, and grew louder as the first ranks appeared out of the morning mist.

“Answer them back!” Tamír shouted. Ki and the others drew their swords and beat them against their shields, shouting, “For Skala and Queen Tamír!”

The battle cry spread through the ranks in a deafening roar that continued as Korin’s army massed above them.

When the shouting died away the two armies stood facing each other at last. Korin’s banner was at the forefront of his line and Tamír could see his red tabard.

“Isn’t that Duke Ursaris’ banner over there?” said Ki. “The one you sent packing?”

“Yes,” Lutha replied. “There’s Lord Wethring’s banner, on the left. That’s Duke Syrus and his archers on the right. Korin’s sure to rely mostly on horse, though, and his men-at-arms, since he has the most of those.”

“Where’s General Rheynaris?” asked Ki.

“He fell at Ero. Caliel said that none of these others are near the tactician he was.”

“That’s good news for us, then.”

“He still has Master Porion,” Barieus pointed out.

“Bilairy’s balls, I hope none of us will have to face him!” Barieus murmured, speaking for all of them.

“Shit,” Lutha muttered, still staring up the hill.

“What is it?” Tamír asked.

“On Korin’s right. Don’t you see them?”

Tamír shaded her eyes and looked. “Shit!”

Even at this distance, she recognized the golden-haired rider.

It was Caliel. And there, between him and Korin, was Tanil.

“Lutha, you and Barieus have my leave not to fight him, or Tanil,” Tamír told them. “I won’t ask that of you.”

Lutha shook his head grimly. “We’ll do what we must, when the time comes.”

Korin’s herald cantered down to the base of the hill, and Tamír’s went out to meet him. They spoke briefly, exchanging intentions, then rode back to their lines.

“King Korin requires that you surrender or fight, Majesty. I gave him the same message to carry back as you instructed.”

Tamír had expected nothing less. “You may withdraw.”

“Illior give you victory, Majesty.” The herald saluted her and rode off down the line. Heralds were sacred in battle, as well, and would observe the combat and carry word of the outcome.

Caliel sat his borrowed horse in his ill-fitting armor, his torn back sore under the rough shirt he’d been given. He cared nothing for the discomfort, though, as he gazed down at the opposing line with a heavy heart. He found Tamír at the center, just as he’d expected, and on foot. There were Ki and Lynx, too. Hoping against hope, he searched the other faces close to her, and his heart sank as he found Lutha.

Closing his eyes, he sent up a silent prayer to Sakor, Keep me from them on the field .

He owed Korin his loyalty, but he owed Lutha and Barieus his life, and Tanil owed his to Tamír, though he still did not grasp that they were facing her. Korin had tried to leave him behind with the baggage train, and even considered tying him up, but Tanil had wept and pleaded, thinking it was because he’d been disgraced.

“Let him come,” Caliel said at last. “He’s strong enough to fight. And if he falls? That’s kinder than leaving him as he is now. At least he’ll die a man again.”

Looking at Tanil now, he knew Korin had been right to agree. He looked more alert and alive than he had since Caliel had found him again.

As he watched Tamír’s banner fluttering below, however, his own doubts warred with duty, making him vaguely ill. Korin would not hear the truth about Tamír, and Caliel’s oath kept him silent. But what if she is a true queen? His conscience spoke with Lutha’s voice. What does it mean for us if we go against the true queen?

He looked at Korin again and sighed. No, he’d made his choice. He would stand by it, come what may.

Standing at Tamír’s right hand, Ki’s heart swelled as he looked around. Lynx, Una, Nikides, and their squires formed a square around them, every one of them fearless and ready. He saw the same determination in the faces of the soldiers. Grannia and the women of her guard gazed fiercely up at the other army—an army they would not have been welcome in. He wondered where Tharin was, and if he’d been victorious. Only the thought of Caliel and Porion in that other line gave him pause, but he pushed regret aside. They’d all made their choices.

A hush fell over the field. He could hear men talking in Korin’s ranks, the sound of coughing from their own. The rising sun was a faint white disk behind the clouds. In the forest, birds were waking up, their songs mixing with the measured sigh of the sea against the cliffs. It was strangely peaceful.

An hour passed, then two as Tamír and Korin waited for the other to make the first move. In his lessons on battle, their old teacher Raven had said that this was one of the hardest parts of a battle, the waiting. Ki had to agree. The day was turning heavy, making him sweat in his damp clothing. His empty belly rumbled under his belt and his throat felt sore.

Another hour passed, and the two sides began to trade taunts. But Tamír stood silently, gaze fixed on Korin, who’d dismounted to consult with some of his generals.

Nyanis walked up the line to join them. “He’s not going to move.”

“Then we’ll just have to make him,” Tamír replied. “Ready your archers. Grannia, pass the word down to Kyman’s wing.”

The shout went down the line, and was answered by the rattle of quivers being made ready. Ki unshouldered his and set an arrow to the shaft.

Tamír drew her sword and held it up, shouting, “Archers forward!”

The entire front line rippled as the archers ran to close the margin of flight with the enemy line. The rear ranks had moved up, too, keeping the stakes hidden.

The archers let fly, aiming high and sending a deadly hail of arrows down on the heads and upraised shields of Korin’s line. The enemy’s taunts turned to curses and cries of pain, mingled with the screams of wounded horses.

Tamír stood with her standard-bearer as the Companions and archers loosed shaft after shaft. Arrows fell like dark rain and continued for several minutes, as the archers loosed at will, then retreated to their original positions.

On the hill, horses were rearing and bolting. Korin’s banner wavered but did not fall. The line remained firm and, just as she’d hoped, the first attack began.

Korin saw Tobin advance on foot. That blue banner mocked him as he huddled under his shield and Caliel’s, fending off the whistling onslaught of arrows. Three struck his shield, jolting his arm, and another glanced off his mail-covered thigh.

Porion’s horse and Garol’s were hit and threw them. Urmanis threw out his shield arm to protect his fallen squire, then tumbled backward out of the saddle with an arrow jutting from his throat. Garol crawled to him, and held him as he clawed at the shaft.

“Get him to the rear,” Korin ordered, wondering if this, too, was a bad omen. Another taken from me!

“Look, Majesty, they’ve fallen back,” said Ursaris. “You must answer with a charge before they shoot again. Now’s your moment, Majesty!”

Korin drew his sword and brandished it, signaling Syrus and Wethring’s cavalry to charge from the wings.

With blood-chilling war cries, they booted their horses and flew down the hill, bearing down like a great wave on Tobin’s line. The front line of men-at-arms followed at a run.