Brave Men Die: Part 2 Read online

  ‘Yes sir,’ Juan saluted and ran to give the orders to the signallers.

  The cavalry rode, the three units becoming two and moving into columns. The infantry reacted to the signals from the hill and were ordered to break away and create the needed gap. The knights rode in, passing within a foot’s distance of the infantry as they charged into the fresh Kyzantines.

  The enemy was more prepared this time. Shielded units forced the knights to charge toward the pikemen. They swayed under the pressure of the charge before reasserting their line and pressed forward. Dunn drove his shield into the neck of one, lifted it back up before smacking the same soldier across the face with it, battering the man into others. His sword flashed out, cleaving armour and flesh alike. Nothing was safe from his fury and wrath. He swore that those between him and his son’s body would die and he would personally send them to hell. His horse kept moving forward, if only slightly, and Dunn knew the momentum of the charge had been stopped. He slugged it out. Sweat dripped down his face. The knight beside him was driven from the saddle by a pike that pierced him below his chest plate. The Kyzantines swarmed over him, hacking into his defenceless body. His men were dying and they weren’t making any ground. They needed to get out to make another charge, get some speed up. He killed another and ordered the retreat. His men broke away from the combat. It had a ripple affect over the Murukan force and all the cavalry pulled back. Knights were taken from their saddles as the Kyzantines pushed forward and chased the slowest of fleeing knights down. Arrows blanketed the sky claiming more of the slower knights.

  The infantry of Gravid’s Drift surged forward again, meeting the experienced fighters in the field. Wez raced over the bloodied ground amongst the unit as the archers fired, their payloads falling from the sky onto their heads. The arrows bounced harmlessly off his shield as he leapt over the dead.

  The ground gained by the earl and his knights was slowly being claimed back by the Kyzantines. The reserve units slowly marched forward to address the Murukan infantry. More and more Kyzantines were ordered to the line, adding their weight to the defence.

  Wez ducked under a thrust to his face, the spear head skimming against his helmet. Springing up and forward, he thrust his own spear into the man aiming for him, finding his mark high in the man’s shoulder. He drilled it in and twisted it out, the man screaming in pain as he went down.

  Wez took the opportunity and charged into the enemy line, taking those soldiers around him. They strode forward, taking the brunt of the counters on their shields and struck out as one, spears impaling those in front. Wez lead the charge down the right flank, using the mountain to his advantage, and kept a solid wall on his right. His spear drilled into the man in front as well as the woman behind. It snagged as the bodies dropped to either side. He tugged on the haft of the weapon but it wouldn’t budge. The Kyzantine throng swarmed forward, a blade sliced out, Wez stepped back but it managed to bite his chest anyway. Blood poured from the open wound as he grimaced in pain.

  The soldier beside him rushed forward, shield raised high to deflect the next blow as Wez was pulled back from the front line by those behind him. He gripped the soldier on the arm and indicated that he should return to the line, whilst he looked down at the wound. It would need stitches and leave a scar. He started go head back to the medic in the camps when he realised the middle of the line was so far back and devastatingly, was collapsing. Soon they would be surrounded unless they did something quickly.

  The Kyzantines sensed this and charged into the middle of the Murukan infantry line and drove them back, killing and slaughtering as they went. The standards fell as they pushed, breaking the resolve of the men of Gravid’s Drift. The centre broke, men stumbled to the sides allowing the enemy to push straight through and pin the Kingdom soldiers against the walls of the mountains.

  The earl tightened the grip on his sword and swung his mount around in tight circles. This was not going well. His men were dying and the enemy just kept coming. No matter how many he killed replacements continued to march through the gate. He rode up and down the line of knights that had come away from the last charge. Seven hundred. That was all that was left. They were tired, wounded and bloody. His infantry weren’t doing much better. The sheer numbers of the Kyzantines was weighing them down. The green standards still moved in the wind, the green plumes bobbed up and down. But there were no longer five thousand men. Maybe half that.

  Then the middle of the line broke. A standard crashed to the ground and the unit’s general went down, his green plume no longer visible. The Kyzantines drove a wedge down the middle that forced the Murukans to divide in two and get pinned against the pass walls. A fighting retreat was ordered and they fought their way back out of the pass ever so slowly. The troops on the right were going to be pinned no matter what.

  ‘Where is my aide, where is Juan?’ the earl asked the closest knight.

  ‘He never came back sir.’

  Arryn couldn’t believe it. Juan had served with him for four years. After a significant pause he spoke. ‘Then he needs to be avenged along with the rest of the fallen. We are the might of the Murukan Kingdom. We are the guardians of the border. Our blades will sing as we carve a path through the enemy and close that gate. Their blood will cover the ground and their bodies will feed the carrion. Our charge will not be stopped. We will not be stopped. I will cut down my son’s body. Ride beside me this night and we will show them the strength of the men of Gravid’s Drift.’

  The knights assembled before him raised their weapons in the air and cheered. It was decided.

  ‘Charge straight down the middle. Do not stop, only kill.’

  The Kyzantines had poured into the empty blood soaked ground in the middle of the pass, splitting off to attack the two remaining infantry units along the sides of the pass. Some remained wary, forming ranks to halt the imminent charge of the knights. The front line kneeled, shields forward, spears propped in the ground, point aimed at the charge. The second line stood behind, shield raised and spear forward. The third lifted theirs above their fellows’ shoulder.

  The earl kicked in his heels and his mount reared up on its hind legs. The sky had turned dark and the moon illuminated his shadow over the pass. His horse leapt in the air and took off toward the Kyzantines.

  His heartbeat raced as he crossed the battlefield, his heart in his throat. Inside he knew this was it. This was his only chance to get Thol’s body back. He would give everything to make it to the tower. The boy looked so much like his mother.

  The knights rode across the grassy moonlit plain. They pressed harder, whipping themselves into a frenzy. Horses galloped full pace down the hill, mud and tufts of grass flinging in all directions. Armour caught glimpses of moonlight and shimmered in the night. The green standards of Gravid’s Drift fluttered at the forefront of the charge.

  The defensive line was set, spears pointed at the cavalry charge. The knights closed the distance, weapons raised high into the night sky. The wave of muscle and metal hit the line, soldiers on both sides screaming as blades pierced flesh.

  Dunn pushed his mount faster as he hit the line, a spear bounced off his shield, another off his armoured thigh. His mount charged through, its powerful muscles sending two in the front line reeling backwards, trampling over the bodies and breaking fragile limbs.

  Other knights in the front line of the charge were not as lucky. Spears impaled horse and human flesh alike. The man to his right rode his horse hard into the line, and spears impaled his mount. The animal reared under the pain, the knight fell out of the saddle and his mount landed on top of him. He flailed under the dead weight. Another knight down the line met a similar fate. Spears impaled his mount’s front legs making it buckle forward, and throw the rider forward onto the waiting spears. His body slid down the spear hafts, slamming into the infantrymen.

  Swinging at the first target on his right the earl took the man’s head from his shoulders, then struck and hit a woman in the throat. He battere
d his way deep inside enemy territory into the units of Kyzantine infantry. Fellow knights rode beside. Blood splattered across his face as his blade cut more flesh. Nothing was safe from the fury of his attacks. Around him, the cavalry ravaged the defensive line, breaking the first wave of defence and charging the flanks of infantry attacking the two remaining Murukan infantry. The Kyzantines never turned to face the new attack. Dunn led his men straight through the middle, silently thanking the remnants of his infantry for doing their job and holding.

  Wez knew they were being slaughtered. They had been pinned in and battered on three sides, their backs against the wall. There was maybe a couple of hundred left around him. The voice of the sergeant had long been silenced. The men had naturally formed a semicircle and held the line, fighting and holding their own.

  The right flank of the barricade was so close to their position, only a couple of thousand Kyzantine warriors stood in the way. Stairs that led to the rampart were built from the mountain wall and were even that little bit closer. But still so far away.

  Wez slashed out with his blade, cutting the face of one woman, her body twirling under the force of the blow. He brought the blade back up tearing into a man’s sword arm. The soldier beside him dropped under a blow to the skull as he rammed his blade into the killer’s chest. He left it there as he scooped a dropped spear up with his foot, caught it with his hand, and thrust it into a man’s neck. Blood and gore covered his arm.

  The line on the left collapsed when three men died and the Kyzantines seized the opportunity. They got through and stabbed soldiers in the back. They never saw it coming. The screams of the dying scared the shit out of Wez as he turned to see the mindless slaughter.

  He hoisted his spear above his shoulder and launched it at one woman, taking her in the stomach. He pulled his blade from the Kyzantine as she collapsed to the ground.

  ‘Tighten the circle,’ he screamed as he charged toward the melee. He raised his sword above his head and brought it down, taking a man through the neck.

  The half circle was shortened but it was too late. There were even less of them now and there was no chance of survival. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run.

  Wez took another series of blows on his shield before stabbing out and claiming another life. His eyes darted around looking for the next blow and saw it coming. Two Kyzantines surged forward into the gap created, striking as one. Wez pushed his shield forward to take the blows, hearing the ringing sound as the first blade bounced off. The second slipped around the edge, piercing deep into his side. He stepped back as the blade was pulled out, faltered, his hand moving to the wound as his position in the line was lost. Blades and spears flashed out, taking the men on either side.

  Wez stepped back further doing his best to fend off the blows when he tripped over a fallen comrade. His back thudded into the ground, his head hit dirt. Wez kicked out, connected with nothing but air. Around him the others died, blood spraying into the air. His blade cut through one man’s leg as a spear drove deep into his thigh. He screamed as the head went through muscle and bone. Blades bounced off his shield as he kept it above his torso. He never saw the blow coming as it clean took off his other leg just above the knee.

  Wez turned his head to the side as the vomit hurled out of his mouth. As a foot kicked his shield away from his chest, Wez reacted, ramming his sword into the man’s groin. But the blades came anyway, his death already written. Over and over again they penetrated his chest and his arms, the blood came out of his mouth as his punctured lungs breathed blood. As his eyes began to roll back the final blade came down straight through his neck.

  Blood splattered the earl’s face as his blade cleaved through another torso. The gate was in sight. He could clearly see his son’s body dangling from the tower. It swayed slightly. He could see the bloody days old wounds. He could see the binding, the dents in his armour. His hollow eyes stared back.

  A spear drove into his thigh. His blood-curdling scream filled the air as the Kyzantine twisted it. He retaliated, driving the point of his sword through the man’s neck. The soldier fell retaining his grip on the spear shaft and ripped it out of Arryn’s thigh. In agony he lashed out again decapitating another warrior.

  He was so close he couldn’t fail now. The knight beside him was pulled from his saddle. He fought the entire way down, swinging his sword out at legs, batting soldiers away with his shield. He had been stabbed three times before he landed and still took another with him before they finished him off.

  The green standard with the wolf was next to fall. The earl saw it waver out the corner of his eye. The soldier’s mount reared up, kicking at the enemy, and took a woman square in the jaw. Blood splattered against the hoof, spraying into the air. Spears and swords drove into the horse’s underbelly, the mount screaming in pain as it battered out against shields. The standard fluttered to and fro in the steady hands of the bearer. His sword swung out catching a soldier in the shoulder and he clung for dear life as the horse pitched forward. As the horse landed it rolled left, trapping the knight’s leg in the stirrup. In a last ditch effort he slammed the bottom of the standard into the soft dirt below him as his leg broke from the impact. Pinned, he attempted to keep them at bay with his sword but was soon overwhelmed.

  As the standard bearer fell the Murukans surged forward, rallying to the green cloth. They pushed past it, giving their horses freedom to crash into the Kyzantine line and defend the most sacred of emblems. Each put their lives on the line to safeguard it from the enemy and each was eventually cut down, falling under the weight of larger numbers. Metal pierced flesh. Blood soaked the ground.

  Arryn Dunn, Earl of Gravid’s Drift, watched as his men were butchered, cut down against a force they didn’t even seem to dent. He couldn’t give in now, he was so close to Thol. So close he could reach out and touch him. There were hardly any of his knights left. Maybe a hundred. Probably less. He killed another Kyzantine. His arm was red with gore. He didn’t care anymore. They all needed to die. He wanted his son.

  ‘Keep fighting! The men of Gravid’s Drift do not surrender! We take as many of them to hell with us!’ he screamed, ramming the pommel of his sword into the face of one woman, the point of his blade across another’s throat.

  A sword penetrated his defence under his shield, rammed into his gut. He smashed his shield down on the man’s arm and decapitated the man. Another blade took him. He hurt. He gritted his teeth and fought on.

  He had moved beyond the aid of the others, those close to him had already fallen. Their blood pooled around their broken bodies, their lives given.

  Hands grabbed at his body and tugged at him. He lashed out, killed as many as he could. He gripped tightly with his thighs but it was useless, he had already lost all feeling in the left leg. He heard the cries go out as he fell, Murukan knights trying to rally to his position. It was pointless.

  His arm reached out to the tower. The muscle twitched. Blades drove into his flesh and smashed his chest plate. His lungs crushed under the impact, searing pain erupted from the punctures. Blood trickled from his lips as he reached one final time to the gate tower and whispered, ‘Thol.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A single lithe figure rode confidently across the Empire, her long dark hair blowing across her face as her brown eyes scanned the countryside. The destrier between her legs continued at its steady pace along the road, her scabbard knocking rhythmically against her thigh as she started down the decline toward the south–western corner of the country.

  When Pyxis closed her eyes she could almost hear the noise of battle drift on the winds to her ears throughout the mountains. It had taken three days to get from Cerebus Valley to the Empire’s entrance to Gorgon Pass. Three days in which she could have already taken Black Claw.

  Cresting the hill behind her, the standards fluttered to life and slowly the first of her warriors came into view. Pyxis’ personal cavalry force, the Wraiths, her two hundred veterans, slowly rode down the road under th
e watchful eye of Cunx.

  Beside the entrance into the mountain pass, marshalled to the side of the road, were a two thousand strong cavalry unit and another five thousand infantry from Redisberg. With this rabble she would have to take the Murukan outpost that had already obliterated the first wave.

  Pyxis pulled on the reins as she approached the waiting reserves. Her black destrier responded, snorting and pawing at the ground. The animal’s eyes looked around, as if searching for imminent danger before relaxing and lowering its head to the ground to nibble at the grass beside the dirt track.

  ‘We should definitely have the numbers advantage this time general,’ said Cunx, riding up beside her. His helmet rested on the pommel of the saddle, his curly hair rustling in the wind. Cunx’s eyes were alert and his dimples were apparent even under his four-day stubble.

  ‘Magic could be a problem, and seeing the magi at Black Claw it concerns me they could get there so quickly.’

  ‘Then I’ll organise a death squad, volunteers to hunt the witches out. They are vulnerable when they cast …’

  ‘I’m aware of that Cunx, for that split second we might have a chance. Organise a squad, if there is one, they are to break formation and hunt her down.’

  ‘Yes general.’

  A man with dark hair and dark complexion rode forward as Cunx rode off. He was short, sat slightly hunched forward in the saddle, and wore a crooked grin under a crooked nose.

  ‘General, I’m Captain Fizdis. This is the Redisberg First and Fifth. We await your commands.’

  Pyxis judged the man was a capable administrator who managed to get his troops fed and to wherever they needed to be. Was probably average with the sword strapped to his waist, but he looked indecisive. Better to just give him orders and not let him think too much on his own.

  ‘Move scouts in now along the mountainsides to find covered positions. In two hours time they are to remove the sentries on the wall, and that will be the signal for the cavalry to charge. When riders come out of the gate to deal with the scouts we can wipe them out and move through the gate. Infantry are to remain here to stop anyone from fleeing.’