Henry Neff - The Maelstrom

“By Bob,” Max sighed, figuring that if anyone could keep the hare safe, it would be the battalion’s ogre and his iron-banded cudgel. “But don’t talk his ear off, Tweedy. Bob gets quiet at times like this. Leave him be.”

Turning to Cynthia and Lucia, Max sent them off to their posts—Lucia to support the right flank nearest the cliffs while Cynthia held the middle. It was an emotional moment. Even Lucia had tears, embracing Cynthia like a sister before hurrying off toward the cliffs and the roar of the churning surf below. Only Scathach remained, sitting easily on the Appaloosa with her spear laid across the saddle.

“Your father would be proud,” she said, her eyes glittering.

“Which one?”

“You know the one I mean,” she replied. “Command comes naturally to you.”

“Where will you take up position?” asked Max. He’d given Scathach the freedom to go wherever she thought she was needed.

“For now, I’ll stay by you,” she replied. “The Atropos care nothing for this war; their only concern is you. That assassin is still lurking.”

Max held up his hand so she could see the silver shining on his finger. “I’ll know if he’s close.”

“If Prusias storms the outer walls, these lands will be riddled with demonkind,” she replied. “That ring will scald whether he’s close or not. You must not trust it.”

“Then I’ll have to trust you,” said Max, smiling.

“As you should.”

Even as she spoke, her features shifted and Umbra’s guise fell away to reveal the proud, beautiful face of the warrior maiden. Her expression was solemn as she took his hand. “No one knows what battle may bring,” she said, gazing at his brooch and then at him. “Not even Lugh or the Morrígan or any of the Tuatha Dé Danaan can say where the spears and arrows may fall. In this hour, I would have you see me as I am.”

From the north, a thunderclap sounded, a shuddering peal that shook the ground and rolled across the open country like a shock wave. The blare of horns carried to them on the wind, thousands of horns blown in unison. Beyond the outer wall, the dark sky was taking on an orange-red cast.

Boom boom boom

Even at such a distance, the drums drowned out the sound of wind and horses and soldiers settling into position. At the outer walls, Rowan’s horns answered in a blaring call as hundreds of catapults were loosed. The shots rose like meteors, tracing fiery arcs high into the night sky until they disappeared from sight.

The battle had begun.

An hour passed. Then two. Max found their position maddening. He could make out very little of what was happening at the front. The walls were now obscured by a haze of ashy smoke that settled over the land like a pall. Intermittent bursts of light crackled across the sky, illuminating the farms and forests like a flashbulb before the land settled back into shadow. Now and again, the earth shook or there was a cheer as horns rose above the din.

Max was trembling as he walked YaYa back and forth along Trench Nineteen, gazing out at the wall. Already, the Old Magic was stirring within him, its awakening as steady and ominous as the terrible drums from beyond the wall. Even sheathed, the gae bolga knew that blood was being spilled. The spear hummed, its shaft glowing a dull red as though it had been pulled from a bed of hot coals.

“I should be out there,” he muttered, shifting anxiously in his saddle.

“Your place is with your soldiers,” Scathach reminded Max, calming her horse as it snorted and shied away from him.

Scathach’s horse was not the only one that sensed a change coming over Max. As the pair rode past the platoons and companies, many of the troops ceased their hushed conversations to watch them. Some were obviously curious about Scathach and the fact that an apparent newcomer was wearing Umbra’s armor and carrying her fearsome spear. But most gazed uneasily at Max as though he were the stranger in their midst. When they passed by Tam, the girl who could perceive auras, she abruptly hushed her friend Jack and stood at attention.

“What’s the matter, soldier?” asked Scathach.

“His shine, lady,” said Tam, staring at Max. “It’s changing !”

Max said nothing but looked at Jack, who had apparently been crying. There was vomit by his boots. Glancing at her friend, Tam spoke up on his behalf.

“He okay,” she explained. “Just getting jitters. I told him to stick by me and he’ll be safe. Ain’t that right, Jack?”

The boy nodded, blew his nose on his sleeve, and stood at attention.

“Listen to Tam,” said Max, gazing down at the boy. “Stick by her and do what she says. Do you understand me?”

Jack nodded, glanced appreciatively at Tam, and sniffled.

“I’ll see you after,” said Max, riding on.

The explosion occurred just before dawn, a pluming fireball in the northwest that shone through the haze, rising hundreds of feet into the air. The earth shook once again and there came a distant cry of horns.

“They’re breached,” said Scathach, standing up in her stirrups.

A foul wind blew in from the north, a brimstone reek that brought clouds of dust rolling down over the hills to settle upon the soldiers in their trenches. Another explosion, this time directly north along the section of wall that Max and Scathach had visited. Black smoke billowed up into the sky, oily and heavy as though from a factory or smokestack. It crested over the wall like a wave, spilling onto the lands beyond.

Huge flares raced overhead from the citadel, screaming past like crimson comets to burst over the outer walls and signal that those forces should pull back. More explosions sent tremors shivering through the ground. The nearby earthworks trembled, spilling dirt and pebbles onto the huddled Trench Rats. The Enemy was already advancing. Gazing out, Max could just make out Stygian crows circling above the walls. At this distance, they looked like thousands of black midges buzzing round a bonfire.

Twenty minutes passed before the first of the retreating forces reached the trenches. They hurried over the open country in glinting streams of armor and weaponry. There was some semblance of order to the retreat, but not much. Many of the troops were clearly exhausted, panting and sweating as they headed for the safety of Northgate. Some were grievously wounded, helped along or even carried by their comrades. Others were anxious to continue the battle and fell in with the trench battalions. Max welcomed them into Trench Nineteen, offering encouragement but also telling Sarah to ride down the line and remind the lieutenants to maintain their existing groups and formations. The reinforcements were most welcome, but they must fit in between the platoons, not among them. Otherwise all the Trench Rats’ careful training and practice would be for naught.

The retreating forces thinned. Max heard a gruff voice barking orders, Ajax telling the troops to check their weapons and have a swallow of water. Wheeling YaYa about, Max rode along the trench one last time.

Some of the Trench Rats were praying, alone or in little groups. Others were eating, wolfing down three days’ worth of rations as though they were having their last meal. One grizzled veteran was obsessively checking his gear while his neighbor smeared mud across his face like it was war paint. People had their own way of preparing for what was to come, but most simply stared ahead, gazing mutely at the band of flickering orange that was approaching through the miasma of black smoke. The very air seemed to vibrate as the drums grew louder.

Boom boom boom boom …

With each drumbeat, YaYa trembled and began to chuff from somewhere deep in her throat. She was trotting more easily, her limp less pronounced as she headed along the broad trench. Heat was rising off her like morning mist off a lake. She walked to the narrow gap between the Trench Rats and the neighboring battalion as Prusias’s soldiers came into clearer view.