Brave Men Die: Part 2 Read online

  ‘Does this remind you of old times?’ Cronos asked.

  ‘What exactly are you referring to? Us standing on the walls of a barricade somewhere across the Kingdom, or Black Claw itself?’

  ‘Any of the above, Byrn. It’s like we’ve done this so many times in our lives that they all seem to blur into one another.’

  ‘We have only been here twice before, Cronos. The first time as young men, spending our days performing drills and standing watch on the walls. The second time was when those Kyzantine mercenaries got the shits with us. Remember, we wouldn’t let them through into the Kingdom and they tried to overrun us.’

  ‘They weren’t quite expecting us to be actually good at our jobs back then. We held them for a whole three days before their captain ordered the retreat and headed back into the Empire.’

  ‘You know I can still remember the man’s face like it was yesterday,’ Byrn commented.

  ‘Same. There was something about the way he raised his eyebrow and looked down on us in outrage when he learned a seventeen year old had convinced the captain to refuse them entry. What was it, “no respectable man in Murukia would hire them.” Bloody dodgy lot they were.’

  ‘They were good times Cronos.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s different now. There are a lot more of them than there are us.’

  Byrn shot him a look. ‘We don’t know that yet.’

  ‘I feel it in my bones. History won’t repeat itself here like it did back then. This is going to be bloody and a lot of these boys won’t be going home at the end of it.’

  ‘Maybe not, but they know what they signed on for. They will gladly give their lives if we give them the order to stand and fight and hold them off Murukan soil.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that Byrn. I just want to strike the first blow before they can get themselves dug in out there in the valley and we have to spend months getting them out.’

  ‘We still don’t know why Black Claw came under attack. This could have been it, this handful of soldiers acting under orders from a disgruntled Kyzantine, and it ends here with them.’

  ‘That might be the case but I won’t hold my breath in the meantime. Is everything set Byrn?’

  ‘Yes, the Sentinels are on the wall, the Fists are resting, and the Fangs are preparing for a charge.’

  ‘Good … good, I want to be able to go as soon as the scout returns.’

  ‘He still hasn’t yet?’ Byrn asked, a look of worry flashing across his face.

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ Cronos exclaimed, pointing toward a lone figure darting out of the shadows and racing across the open toward the gate.

  ‘Lower a rope,’ Cronos’ voice boomed. He and Byrn raced along the rampart.

  The scout hit the wall running, grasped the rope and heaved himself up. Cronos reached out and grabbed him when he was within arm’s reach and pulled him over the top of the wall.

  Sweat dripped from the man’s face as he gulped in air. His eyes were open wide and the whites of them gave away his growing concern. His lips were parted and dry, waiting for the signal to report. Cronos indicated he should get on with it.

  ‘Sir, there is a small detachment camped just around the bend, about a hundred and fifty soldiers. I climbed the slopes to get a better angle to look into the valley but I could see no one there.’

  ‘Surely they know that we that we have retaken the gate. Perhaps this is just the advance force?’ asked Cronos as he stroked his beard.

  ‘That’s likely. If we push through now while the sun still shines across Cerebus Valley we could hold them at Iron Talon Gate,’ Byrn suggested. ‘If this really is an invasion and not a disgruntled neighbour pissing on the fence.’

  Cronos paced along the rampart in tight circles. He raised his head and looked for the sun. The afternoon would last for another couple of hours and the summer heat was still rising.

  ‘Let’s go. I want the Fists to take out the detachment. The Fangs will overrun those that flee and press on into the valley. Leave half the Sentinels to guard the gate and the wounded, the rest will follow. We march upon Iron Talon by nightfall.’

  Pollux marched through the gate next to Octans in formation. The Fists moved as one. He tightened his grip on his shield. He kept his eyes forward. Head up. Swallowed.

  Once through Black Claw’s gate the infantry pushed out, the unit’s width expanded to the edges of the pass. Eight hundred of the originals marched on. Of the others, most were wounded but some were dead. Kryst marched silently out the front, leading the Fists to the encampment.

  Pollux separated from Octans as the Fists moved to occupy the entire pass, his own contingent of men following him along the right. Some of the faces he recognised, a few had followed him up the stairs when he retook the walls of Black Claw. They all looked to him for orders, to get them through this in one piece, which he doubted he would. He just hoped that he could rally them quickly enough to save some of them when the time came.

  After two hundred metres, just prior to the bend in the pass, the captain ordered weapons drawn. Minimal clutter could be heard as every soldier’s gauntleted hand unsheathed their weapon in unison. Kryst raised his sword high, paused momentarily, and dropped it forward, signalling the charge. The Fists took off, the line haphazard as they raced around the corner startling the Kyzantine force.

  The enemy scattered before the Murukan attack. Two thirds of them formed into ranks and waited, lifting shields and spears while the others raced to the horses. It was a tactical manoeuvre designed to imply frantic chaos.

  ‘Charge!’ Pollux screamed, surging with the front line of the Fists toward the waiting Kyzantines. His men raced beside him and around him, eager to impress. Pollux watched as the soldier in front of him was impaled on a spear as the lines met. He twisted his body side on, squeezing past the dying man, and brought his sword down into the Kyzantine. It punctured his jugular and blood pissed out.

  Octans pushed forward, knocked a careless jab away with his shield and impaled another before the Kyzantines broke. Men fought around him, followed him, even though he hadn’t given a single order. The scattered enemy infantry raced after those that had fled initially. Octans leapt after one, lunged forward and sliced his sword across a woman’s hamstring. She fell as the Fists swarmed over her and swarmed down the pass in pursuit.

  In the mayhem of the battle the Fists hadn’t moved to the stabled horses to cut off their retreat. They had charged along the pass pursuing the routed infantry but the early riders were long gone. The last Kyzantine fumbled with a stubborn mount, having to calm it before she could get close enough to get into the saddle. Pollux took off to intercept the last rider, his thighs aching as he sprinted off in a perceived intercept course. He slid into position in front of the rider, balanced himself as she kicked the mount and raced toward him. Pollux waited until the horse was almost on top of him, sidestepped to the right and swung, cutting off the horse’s front leg. It smashed head first into the ground and threw the rider. She hurtled forward, arms and legs flailing in the air before she smashed into the dirt. Pollux raced after her, his legs hurting as he got there before she could draw a blade. He stepped on her hand and looked over her broken body: her shoulder had popped and one of her legs was twisted and the bone had broken through. He looked at her face as he raised his sword and noticed a smile between grazed lips.

  ‘It’s too late,’ she muttered.

  Pollux tilted his head in confusion as he drove the blade down and the Fangs thundered past. Pollux looked at the cavalry charge chasing after those that had fled on horseback and then back at the woman he had just killed, her twisted smile now permanent on dead lips.

  Baron Scythe raised his war lance, a motion copied by the entire unit, as the Fangs charged forward after the fleeing Kyzantines. His banner waved in the breeze, brushing against his peripheral vision on his right. The five hundred men roared through the Fatelli Pass, a rumbling that shook the mountains. The Fists had parted to allow them through, the crash of
the hooves thundering down the pass. They easily overran the last few Kyzantines that took a stand and fled on foot. Blades hit the backs of heads, blood sprayed as the bodies fell. The riders never paused.

  The Kyzantines on horseback kept the pace and the distance between their pursuers. The fifty outraced the five hundred hurtling through the pass. The riders weaved in and out of the shadows until finally the pass widened into the valley. The high speed chase raced out of the pass and into the sun-covered valley.

  Emerging into Cerebus Valley, the wave of heat hit Cronos in the face. He grinned and bore it, determined to chase them down. Noise erupted all around him and alarm bells went off in his head. He kept up the pace and frantically looked behind him over both shoulders. On the left a unit of cavalry had charged into his flank halfway back along the column. On the right an infantry unit was running to attack the other side.

  Making his decision, he turned his mount around to the right and led his unengaged knights into the flank of the lightly-armoured infantry. The front half of the Fangs turned in a wide arc, the horses ripping up the grass as their hooves found purchase. As the knights turned they spread out in a long line, the baron at the centre. Lances lowered at the enemy, they charged across the grassy plain and hit as one, impaling the unguarded flank. Soldiers were thrown off their feet as the lances punctured flesh and muscle trampled those pinned underneath.

  ‘Fight your way to the back of the column!’ Cronos yelled. ‘Don’t let them trap us in a pincer!’

  The dying screams of his men echoed in his ears. Geysers of blood erupted into the sky as blades were driven into his knights, the arms of the enemy driving steel into his men. Cronos’ contingent swept across the front of the Kyzantine infantry, protecting his own flank as Byrn charged by with his squad in tow.

  ‘With me!’ Byrn screamed above the din of battle.

  Two dozen of the Fangs followed him as the old master of arms swung around and went barrelling back into the enemy.

  Kryst yelled at the stragglers to reform ranks as he began marching with those already assembled. Blood dripped down the side of his face as he screamed, ‘Left, right, left. Keep in line you bastards!’ Spit flew from his mouth as he stirred the fighting spirit into his troops.

  Pollux marched in the middle of the unit, his sword in hand. He looked around for Octans but the giant of a warrior was nowhere to be seen. There was no point looking over his shoulder, Octans would only be at the front of the unit. That was the focus. Moving forward. There was no turning back, not when there was so much at stake.

  Within moments the sounds of battle drifted to them, the clash of metal and the screams of the wounded, battle cries and horses.

  Kryst ordered the full charge and the Fists and the Sentinels raced down the pass. Lines were forgotten as the faster men took off, legs pumping as they hurtled to the valley. Pollux raced forward, passing the slower men as sweat dripped from his face, down the back of his neck and spine. He was one of the first to see the corpses of Murukan knights and their mounts stricken on the valley floor. He could see others performing a fighting retreat, and some fighting frantically for their lives pinned between the two forces.

  ‘Attack the flank!’ Pollux screamed as he picked up the pace, sweat dripping further down his back. He ran out of the pass into the brilliant sunlight and toward the left, leaping onto the back of a slain horse and springing off it. Holding his sword high he flew through the air and sliced through the body of a passing Kyzantine knight. The man screamed as Pollux’s weapon tore through him and others turned to face the new threat.

  The Fists and Sentinels crashed into the Kyzantine cavalry and in a flurry of swift attacks cut down the closest of them. Hands reached out and pulled riders down, hacking and slashing their bodies. Horses reared up and kicked out, smashing Kingdom men in the head, or battered their shields. Swords flashed out and silenced some of the mounts, their falling masses crushing fighters on both sides.

  Pollux weaved in between the horses, his blade striking at the buckles on the saddles. As the straps came loose, the knight came down and those Murukans following silenced them for good.

  Pollux heard the Kyzantine leader scream for order, to continue to press the knights. But as the Fists slammed against the flank, more knights turned to the screams of their dying brothers. Still the Kyzantine knights were only partially divided, while some had turned from their task, others continued the mindless slaughter of the baron’s Fangs.

  Octans noticed that most of the Fists went left to engage the Kyzantine cavalry so he directed his men to the right. Not the fastest man alive, Octans was in the first third to cover the distance. Before him the enemy infantry had positioned themselves amongst the struggling Fangs who were being pushed back against the pressure and unable to manoeuvre.

  Octans tore into the first of the enemy he came across, his blade rising and falling into the woman’s chest. He pushed past his men, squeezed between two knights and launched himself at the enemy. The Fists followed. Some of the Sentinels too. He was the arrowhead that led the way, clearing a path that his men raced to fill, their weapons spilling blood to hold the ground he made.

  Taking off a man’s weapon arm, Octans ducked under a blow aimed at his head and impaled the man through the stomach. The dead man collapsed to the blood soaked ground as he pulled the blade out. Out of the corner of his eye Octans saw the man beside him fall with a spear erupting out of his back. His sword flashed out and avenged him as the Fists surged around him and into the Kyzantine ranks.

  ‘Retreat!’ Cronos screamed above the battle, spinning his horse around and searching for a way back across the valley.

  The Fangs followed, their blades striking one last time, making that small break so they could get away over the bodies of the fallen. They raced after the baron, his black plume bouncing high on his helmet. Those Fangs pinned by the Kyzantine pincer were locked in battle, unable to get away from the carnage. So many had already fallen.

  Cronos pulled up and waited, the majority of the surviving Fangs reining in beside him as he watched the battle ensue with the Fists and Sentinels. They held the line at the entrance of the pass but were going to be pushed back slowly under the weight of superior numbers. He looked around, there were maybe two hundred Fangs left, with the occasional straggler wondering back to the line.

  Byrn pulled up beside him, his left arm dangling, his shield held limply in his hand.

  ‘We can’t get cut off. More of them will be coming through Iron Talon and we’re dead if we are still in this valley.’

  ‘So you think this is an invasion now?’ Cronos asked.

  ‘This was a deliberate set up to lure us into the valley with blinkers on.’

  ‘I’m aware of that Byrn. No doubt about it, we are at war. Do you want that put back in,’ Cronos asked, indicating his shoulder.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

  Cronos sheathed his sword and reached out, grabbed hold of his friend’s arm with one hand and braced Byrn’s shoulder with the other. He quickly snapped it back into place with a loud pop. Relief washed over Byrn’s face and he hesitantly lifted his shield to test his mobility.

  ‘Shall we?’ Cronos asked.

  ‘I can’t think of anything else to do.’

  Cronos turned his horse around, looking over the Fangs; their bloodied bodies, wondering how much was theirs, how much the enemy’s. He pushed himself up in the stirrups, gaining a little height and getting the attention of his men.

  ‘We need to get back into the pass, get back to Black Claw and defend it until we are reinforced. Lance formation down the left. Assist the infantry to fall back.’

  He unsheathed his sword and turned his mount around to face the enemy.

  ‘Forward,’ he ordered, driving his horse toward the battle and his men followed.

  They thundered across the plain, plunged into the Kyzantine line driving a wedge through the milling infantry. Hacking and slashing their way through, the Fangs hammered t
heir weapons into the backs of heads — skulls crushed, men fell. Pushing forward, the Murukan line parted as the knights surged past.

  Pollux watched as the last Murukan knight was pulled from his saddle as the others darted behind the infantry. Raising his shield high to block a blow from a Kyzantine knight, he slashed his sword out and whipped it into the horse’s leg. The bone cracked and the horse slumped to the ground. The soldier beside Pollux drove a spear into the fallen knight’s chest.

  Pollux turned to see Cronos lead a charge into the left flank, pushing right. The move caused some confusion amongst the enemy. He recognised the tactic.

  ‘Fighting retreat! Keep the line steady, shields forward!’ Pollux screamed.

  A line of spearman formed into ranks in front of him, shields interlocked and ready for the enemy charge. The surviving Fangs rode between the two opposing armies, battering away harmlessly on a wall of shields, as the Fists and Sentinels backtracked as quickly as possible while maintaining their lines.

  Pollux hadn’t stepped back far before the Kyzantine infantry surged forward over the piles of dead. Pollux bent at the knees and took a full charge on his shield, then lifted and threw the soldier into the air over his shoulder. He heard those behind him finish off the man as he whipped his sword around to deflect a blow aimed at his stomach and brought his shield down on a woman’s weapon arm. As the bone shattered, Pollux rammed the crossbar into the soldier’s eye. Ooze splattered over his hand as the woman reeled back in pain, her hands going to her face.

  Sitting patiently in her saddle beside Daria further down the pass, Ara observed as the Murukan infantry slowly retreated while holding the line. Their retreat was going to be a long and bloody one the way they were going. The infantry needed assistance, something that would give them time to fall back safely to Black Claw.

  ‘Mind my horse Daria, I’m going down there to buy them some time.’

  Daria’s hand reached out and grabbed her arm, ‘What are you planning on casting that won’t destroy our own soldiers?’