Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

Nortah was still straining against Iltis and Davoka, spouting rage-filled curses at them as he fought to return to the temple. Lyrna turned back, seeing how the Arisaiʼs fury continued unabated for several minutes then abruptly stopped, retreating from one another as if in answer to some silent command, gazing at the carpet of corpses covering the temple from end to end.

“Enough!” Lyrna said, striding to Nortah and delivering a hard slap to his jaw. His struggles ceased and he gaped at her, eyes momentarily so devoid of reason she wondered if he had been rendered mad. “Heʼs gone,” she told him, trying to gentle her tone. “See to your regiment, my lord.”

The Lord Marshal slumped, moving back from Davoka and Iltis, his eyes tracking over the remnants of the Queenʼs Daggers now numbering barely two dozen souls. “Of course, Highness,” he muttered in a tone both caustic and weary. “My mighty force is yours to command.”

He pulled away and began to organise his survivors into some semblance of order. Lyrna turned as Brother Sollis reined in nearby, leaping from the saddle to hurry to where Aspect Arlyn lay between Murel and Alornis, his face betraying both shock and relief.

“Highness!” Brother Ivern drew up close by, staring down at her with an appalled concern that made her consider her appearance, liberally spattered with blood from head to toe and holding a reddened hatchet. “Do you require a healer?”

“No, thank you, brother.” Her eyes went to the North Guard, galloping to form a cordon between her and the temple. To the east more dust rose above a dense mass of running infantry, the banner of Al Hestianʼs Dead Company visible through the haze.

“Where is the Battle Lord?” she asked Ivern.

The young brotherʼs expression became grim. “Wounded, Highness. Itʼs bad. There were Kuritai hidden among the Free Swords, at least a thousand of the bastards.” Lyrna noted the bloody bandage covering Ivernʼs hand. “They took some killing, I must say.”

She nodded and turned to the temple, watching the remaining Arisai forming themselves into well-ordered ranks once more. She couldnʼt see their faces but the sound of their laughter was clear enough. One-half compelled to kill the other and itʼs all just a fine jape.

“Find Lord Al Hestian,” she told Ivern. “He is to ring the temple to prevent the enemyʼs escape. Have your brothers convey word to the other regiments to follow suit. Then bring me Lord Antesh.”

They tried to break out before the Realm Guard were fully in place, a tight wedge of five hundred Arisai launching themselves at Al Hestianʼs regiment whilst the remainder split into smaller groups and attempted to escape to the south. Al Hestianʼs dead men stood firm however, their line buckling under the impact of the charge but failing to break, their Lord Marshal taking position in the centre of the first rank. Lyrna heard later how he had used his spike to impale one of his men who turned his back on the enemy. After a quarter hourʼs savage fighting, with the Realm Guard moving to outflank them, the Arisai retreated in good order, having lost about half their number. The smaller groups were continually assailed by the North Guard and the Sixth Order, cut down by the dozen until they too began to fall back. The Arisai formed a dense defensive square as they retreated, moving like a single laughing beast as it ascended the steps to dissolve into the confines of the temple.

“Give the word, Highness,” Lord Adal said, his usually handsome features rendered ugly by a lust for retribution. The Arisai seemingly had no notion of surrender and he had lost many North Guard in containing their escape. “Weʼll scour the place clean for you.”

“If I may, Highness.” Lyrna turned to find Al Hestian pointing his bloody spike at the river. “Our cavalry should cover the hidden causeway and the northern bank. Itʼs their only remaining line of retreat.”

She nodded. “Lord Adal, join with the Nilsaelin horse. You will guard the causeway whilst the lancers shield the northern bank.”

The North Guard commander gave a reluctant nod. “And the assault, Highness? I would still beg the honour of leading it.”

Lyrna scanned the army, the Realm Guard and Nilsaelin infantry drawn up in good order, Anteshʼs archers forming up at their rear. The cavalry patrolled the flanks in a wide arc sweeping around as far as the river to block all avenues of escape. All done with but a few orders and no formal plan. What a deadly instrument we built, she thought. Scarred and dented enough for one day.

“That wonʼt be necessary, my lord,” she told Adal before turning to Al Hestian. “The army will hold in place. Send word to bring up the ballistae.”

The Arisai continued to make small-scale sorties as the ballistae were hauled into place, a few having retained enough horses to mount a charge to the west, attempting to break through the cavalry screen only to be met by Renfaelin knights and cut down to a man. Lyrna also received reports of others attempting to swim the river, the few making it to the far bank providing welcome sport for the waiting Nilsaelin lancers.

Alornis reported the ballistae ready by late afternoon. As ever, working with her devices seemed to bring some animation to her features and she stood by, watching with a faintly prideful expression as the last engine was trundled into place alongside its fellows. The small corps of artisans who served the ballistae worked their various levers and windlasses until every one was armed and ready, the crossed bowstaves all drawn back, waiting.

“At your discretion, my lord,” Lyrna said to Antesh. The Lord of Archers nodded and lifted his bow above his head. The archers, arrayed immediately behind the line of ballistae, all raised their bows to a high elevation, strings drawn back behind the ear for maximum range. Antesh lowered his arm and the arrow storm began. The sky was still light enough to follow the dark mass of arrows as they rose and fell onto the temple, a black rain continuing unabated as Lyrna had ordered every possible shaft scavenged from the battlefield. She could see the blood still glistening on many of the arrowheads launched by the longbows. The archers seemed tireless, many grunting with the effort of drawing and loosing at such a rate, but their faces all set in determined hatred. Apparently slaughtering so many Free Swords hadnʼt been enough to sate their vengeance.

Lyrna used her spyglass to scan the temple, seeing an Arisai fall as he attempted to run for one of the pyramidal god-houses, pierced by three arrows a foot short of shelter, two of his comrades falling onto his body a heartbeat later. They are already mad, she thought, the spyglass settling on an Arisai who shook his head in amused resignation as he regarded the two shafts protruding from his breastplate. Can they be maddened further?

The answer was not long in coming, a great shout of joyous abandon rising from the temple before they came streaming forth. All cohesion had been forgotten now and they simply charged at the line of ballistae in a disordered red tide. Lyrna waited until the leaders had cleared the steps before giving the order for the ballistae to loose, the range having been narrowed to less than fifty paces. The effect was remarkable, the leading Arisai cut down by an invisible scythe, those following tumbling over the bodies or spinning from the impact of the second volley. In some cases a bolt would pierce an Arisai with enough force to continue on through to claim one of his comrades. Despite the losses however, the Arisaiʼs charge retained sufficient momentum to come within twenty paces of the ballistae, at which point Anteshʼs archers moved forward, lowering their aim and unleashing another arrow storm that halted the red host completely.