Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

The garudas had done their jobs well. All the nearby troops, stationed within a mile of the city, were gathering, passing from the eastern side of Lantuk and heading into the western valley beyond. Within two hours, four thousand soldiers had moved here from the surrounding garrisons and the city; it wasn’t much, and how many of them were part-timers and not professional soldiers, Brynd did not know. For a good number of them it would probably be their first taste of battle.

The Night Guard stationed themselves at the very front, in full battle regalia, new shields on their arms and swords at their sides. Behind them stood seven hundred Dragoon veterans. Each side of the road two steep hillsides towered above to a height of a few hundred feet. The landscape was littered with spindly bushes, snow and rocks, but Brynd had ordered four hundred archers to climb up and he could see them now, dotted on the slopes above. He had decided to leave the Mourning Wasps in the city to rest: they would be no good in close combat battles like the one coming.

‘Sir!’ Brug shouted, and gestured to the west. The remaining Night Guard snapped to attention, catching Brynd’s eye and he followed their gazes to the road in front of them.

Up ahead, he could see the blue figure of Artemisia running back down the road, followed by many others like her, all of similar blue skin and warrior garb. As expected, there were other creatures too, all hominids, some he had seen before, a few he had not.

‘At ease,’ he ordered his comrades.

A quick count and Brynd estimated the new additions were nearing a hundred in all — not ideal, but better than nothing.

‘Any news?’ Brynd enquired.

‘The Okun have mostly scattered,’ she replied. ‘There is chaos on the beaches, but more organization inland. Creatures are swarming across the countryside, but they seem to know that there are dense populations this way. They were given one message, we believe — to cleanse these islands of people. That is what they will continue to do.’

‘Have you stationed units around the hills?’

‘I have,’ Artemisia confirmed. ‘Two thousand.’

Brynd breathed a sigh of relief. The hills would not be overrun with so many defenders on such difficult terrain. That meant the only way for miles around would be through this wide path along the bottom of the valley; however, if they broke through here they would have free passage through all the cities and towns on the island.

‘Let’s send a scout up ahead to tell us of their arrival.’

They waited until mid-afternoon and there was still no sign of the scout returning. The sun was concealed behind the hillside, leaving the thousands of soldiers in the cold shade. Spears were being brought forward and stockpiled.

‘What’s keeping him so long?’ Sergeant Tiendi asked.

‘He’ll get here when he’s seen something,’ Brynd replied.

They regarded the distance a little longer. The road only stretched so far before arcing out of sight. Brynd could perceive noises in the distance, now, but could see nothing. .

No, wait . . What are they?

He could see the tops of siege towers.

‘They’re definitely here,’ Brug said. ‘We can hear them.’

‘Fetch a horse,’ Brynd ordered.

One was summoned, and a few minutes later the reins of a brown mare from the Dragoons were handed to him. Brynd jumped up and nudged her forward, racing along the road, through a chill wind.

A few hundred yards later he pulled for her to stop. He could sense the vibrations in the earth now, could hear the low-pitched horns sounding in the distance; the sheer noise of footsteps on the ground was intense, as thousands upon thousands of enemy infantry were being funnelled into the valley. Monstrous creatures loomed up above the ranks, pulling even taller machines of war.

Brynd lifted up his helmet. ‘Dear Bohr. .’ There were things in the distance with several heads, like nothing he could imagine, and before them was a sea of warriors on foot.

Suddenly something flew through the air in an arc and landed some distance behind him. He nudged his horse to canter over, where he saw that the launched object was in fact the head of the scout he had sent to investigate.

He immediately rode back to his line, the noise of the advancing enemy behind him seeming to intensify between the two hills. Artemisia’s comrades had spread out across the valley bottom, beyond the road, on either side. Their shields were ready.

Brynd rode in front of his own lines now, loud enough for rank upon rank of soldiers to hear what he had to say.

‘They’re coming!’ he bellowed, ‘at least thirty thousand of them against us few thousand; they outnumber us at least three to one, but here, within this valley, they cannot overpower us.’

Led by the Night Guard, the gathered soldiers began to strike their shields with their swords.

‘If the enemy breaks through, they will begin ending civilization across the Boreal Archipelago. Your children will be wiped out, your homes will be burned. There will be no future. However, if you die today in glorious victory, comrades, it will be better than being defeated and remaining alive to see what follows.’

The clamour continued and he took the unusual step of riding deeper through the ranks to repeat his message further in; then, finally, he returned to the front line.

Brynd dismounted and sent the horse back.

He stood among the Night Guard, with Artemisia and her warriors alongside them.

They waited as the ground shook and horns blared. Brynd raised his sword in the air and silence fell across the thousands behind. He waited.

The enemy continued to pour into the valley, just a few hundred yards away now, a seething mass of anger marching ever closer. . then began their charge.

Brynd lowered his arm.

A moment later and the skies darkened with hundreds of arrows, which arced into the distance and over the enemy. Brynd repeated the gesture and another wave of arrows was released, this time at a lower trajectory to take out those at the front. Brynd circled his sword in the air and the archers continued firing freely into the advancing ranks.

‘Close the line!’ he shouted.

The front row of defence locked shields and spears were pushed forward, a barbed frontier of what was left of the civilized world. Artemisia’s hundred took several paces and then locked their own.

The enemy tide could be discerned clearly now: the creatures here were hominid, of sorts, like the Okun but with hideous, blistered skin; there were worse things beyond, a few Okun in between.

The Night Guard braced themselves. Veterans from the Dragoons locked shields behind; Brynd peered over the edge of his shield, which he held with his left arm, and gripped his sword more tightly.

He counted down quickly and loudly as the first, huge wave of the enemy advance crashed into the shields and spears.

Multiple dull thuds clattered into the wall. At first, everyone’s feet slipped back because of the sheer force, but the Dragoon veterans shoved back behind the Night Guard, who gave a quick, collective heave, pressing forward with their spears.

‘Release!’ Brynd shouted.

Shields were unlocked for a brief moment as they turned and stabbed their spears, and hacked at any flesh within sight, cleaving limbs and aiming for faces and necks.

‘Lock!’ Brynd bellowed.

The shield wall re-formed, spears protruded, and again everyone shoved forward in unison.

‘Release two!’ Brynd commanded, increasingly out of breath now.

They fought for twice as long as last time, now with drawn swords, stabbing where appropriate, severing limbs, coolly ignoring the snarling faces beyond, before locking once again.