Stephen Deas - The King's assassin

The people of the town endured the arrival of so many soldiers with a tired fortitude. Talon seemed in no hurry to move on, and his men were in no mood to argue about food and shelter and a few warm dry nights with a proper roof over their heads. Every building became a barracks and every house was soon bulging at the seams. This was his homeland, Talon reminded them, soldiers and citizens alike. His country, and so an uneasy peace reigned. Meridian sent out a cohort of cavalry, but since Galsmouth was brimming with food for the winter, there was little they could do. They tried to foul the river but the rain defeated them.

A week passed and suddenly, without any warning, Talon ordered them on. Every mule and horse in the town was rounded up and loaded up with as much food as it could carry. He made a speech that was largely lost to the wind and the rain and then they marched again, with full bellies and dry feet and warm winter cloaks. Which, it seemed to Berren, was all that most of the soldiers cared about. They marched in the open, making no effort to hide their approach ever closer to Tethis, and it seemed for a while that they’d march right up to the castle gates themselves before anyone tried to stop them; but then, a day from Tethis, Talon led them away from the road, out into a sea of mud that had once been fields full of turnips. The Hawks formed up into their battle lines, shields locked together, spears held at the ready, and waited. Meridian was coming.

‘Hold fast, lad,’ muttered Tarn. Men pressed either side of Berren and behind him too, a battle line three ranks deep and more than a hundred wide. ‘Keep your shield up. Keep your eyes open and watch your feet!’ Meridian’s line would be longer, Tarn had already said that, and now Tarn was standing right next to him and Berren’s eyes were wide and ready to fight. ‘If they come at us with horse, get down on your knees. Hold your spear steady and let the crossbows behind you do their work.’ Not that he hadn’t told them the same thing a hundred times, not that they hadn’t practised it with the lancers. ‘When it comes to the push and shove, watch your feet. You slip over and go down — and men will in this mud — you’ll never get up. When they come at you, you stab them in the face with your spear or you stab them in the foot, because that’s all you’ll be able to reach. Your spear gets stuck, drop it and use your sword. Your life belongs to the men either side of you and theirs to you. Remember that.’

Berren’s heart started to beat faster. He thought about how he’d always wanted to learn to fight, how he’d spent every day of his life in Deephaven yearning for it. But this would be no scattered chaos like the battle on the beach where every man had fought for himself; no, here was a real battle, the real thing, where men were crushed together, where it started with a rain of arrows or a charge of horse and all came down to who broke first, and learning swords had nothing to do with it.

Somewhere off through the rain he heard distant shouting. Talon rode along the battle line. Two hundred men lifted their shields and locked them together. The fear started to rise in Berren’s throat. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to run. What use were quick feet and a flashing sword when there were men pressed in all around him?

And then Talon stopped in front of him. ‘You!’ He pointed at Berren. ‘Out of the line! Now!’

Berren couldn’t bring himself to look at the faces of the men around him as he stepped out. A lot of them were going to die. He was no better than them and they knew it — he knew it. He ought to be with them, facing what they faced, fighting with them, fighting for them, dying perhaps, and yet he was shaking with relief. Talon stopped again a moment later as he rode along the line, and then again, each time picking a man to come with him. The shorter men, Berren realised. The small ones. The ones who might be quick and fast but might not be as strong as the rest. The weak links! He almost gasped. That was him! For all his skill with a sword, in this battle line where everything would come down to strength and grunts, he was weak!

‘Put your shields down,’ Talon said quietly, voice half lost in the wind. ‘You won’t be needing those.’ He handed each of them a crossbow and pointed through the rain. ‘There’s a farm half a mile that way. That’s where Meridian will be. The lancers will come around the right flank towards it and draw out his reserve. You will circle around to the left. Do whatever damage you can. Good luck.’ He saluted. The other men saluted back but Berren just stared. Then Talon rode along the front of the Hawks’ battle line, shouting rousing cries while the soldiers shouted back. In the lashing rain, men banged their spears and swords against their shields. The others Talon had chosen ran off into the sodden haze. Some, perhaps, were simply running away. Was that why Talon had chosen them? Did he know they were the ones who would break? Berren stayed where he was. He watched, creeping forward, keeping pace with the edge of the line. He couldn’t simply leave, could he? Leave the men he’d fought with on the beach, the men he’d lived with through the summer?

Meridian’s army emerged out of the rain like a wall of ghosts, banging their own spears and shields. Shouts went up from both sides: The Hawks! The Panther! The Black Swords! For Talon! For Meridian! Talon had three ranks to Meridian’s five. Somewhere in the haze Berren thought he heard galloping hooves, or perhaps he felt them through the earth, for he certainly didn’t see any horsemen.

The Hawks checked their advance — the front rank dropped to a crouch with their spears at the ready, revealing both ranks behind with crossbows. The strings were wet and sloppy, but the range was short, and four hundred bolts slammed into Meridian’s wall of shields. Men fell. In the mud, soldiers tripped and slipped over the bodies of the fallen, but the wall of shields came on, and now they returned a barrage of their own. The Hawks rose to their feet. Another shout tore through the rain. Meridian’s men began to run — not a flat-out charge, but a steady trot, keeping their wall intact. As Berren watched, the back ranks of the Hawks threw their crossbows away, high and over their shoulders. They readied their spears.

But not all of them. Along Talon’s line tiny sparks of flaming light arced through the air towards the advancing soldiers. Even through the rain, light flashed bright enough to make Berren cringe. Fire blossomed along Meridian’s line; men screamed and burned. Their charge faltered. The wall of shields wavered, and now the Hawks launched their own charge. They crashed into Meridian’s line, its soldiers still reeling and screaming, the smell of singed flesh and hair mingling with the smell of rain and earth. The shield wall cracked and broke in a dozen places. Around the edge, soldiers broke away. Berren raced after them. He cut down one man who didn’t even try to fight, just ran and wasn’t quick enough, and then a second who tried to dart past him and slipped in the mud. The next one he let go. By then, everyone was so covered in filth it was almost impossible to tell who was who any more. And they were running — why kill a man who was already running?

He sighed, shook himself down and sheathed his sword. Somewhere out there was King Meridian. Perhaps Kuy too, both of them men Talon wanted him to kill. Quietly he applauded the Prince of War. Meridian had a cohort of men in heavy armour, two cohorts of longbow archers and around fifty cavalrymen. In this mud, in this rain, in this roiling mass of confusion, they were useless. It all came down to men in thick leather and old mail hacking and stabbing at each other with swords and short spears.