Brave Men Die: Part 2 Read online

  Pollux stood on top of the wall and peered out into the pass. The sun was on the verge of setting and it was going to be a hot summer’s evening. He looked at his men. With barely an hour’s respite they looked tired but ready. Tower shields lined the walls, held by every other man. The alternates held loaded crossbows and stood silently watching. Pollux nervously paced along the wall, waiting, watching.

  The attack came as the sun hit the horizon with very little light in the sky. The Kyzantine force surged forward under the cover of a blanket of arrows that filled the red sky.

  ‘Shields up,’ Pollux ordered as the arrows sailed overhead. Men propped the shields forward as the archers ducked behind. They thudded into the defence but failed to wound. Over and over the Kyzantine archers fired as the infantry moved closer with their ladders and battering ram. Pollux judged within moments they would be within firing range.

  ‘Archers fire!’ he screamed and as one all of the Fists’ archers sidestepped from behind their defenders, took aim, and fired. Shaft after shaft bit into flesh and dropped the heavily armoured enemy. The Murukan barrage ended with bodies scattered on the battlefield beneath the walls.

  ‘Archers pull back,’ he ordered above the clamour. ‘Reload.’

  Men frantically loaded bolts as arrows rained into the tower shields protecting them. Pollux smiled with grim satisfaction when he realised he still hadn’t lost a man. The enemy were basically on top of them now, ladders scant metres from the wall, yet still no dead.

  ‘Fire,’ Pollux screamed, and again the archers sidestepped and unleashed their load into the enemy. They targeted the soldiers climbing the ladders and sent them screaming through the air. Pollux looked over at the dead, bolts protruding from chest plates, eyes, shields and legs.

  Still the Kyzantines kept coming.

  ‘Draw swords.’

  As one the Fists pulled weapons and waited for the oncoming Kyzantines. The first ladder hit the wall and with a slight tap went sailing into the one next to it. Soldiers screamed as they toppled over, falling into the blades of those below. The ladders that managed to get a secure purchase on the wall soon found it difficult to get a man over. The first Kyzantine up a ladder put one foot on the wall and slipped, he flew forward cracking his jaw and snapping his neck. Ladders and men alike were repelled from the walls as the Fists held their line.

  ‘Bring up the hose,’ Pollux yelled to the men stationed below. Two soldiers ran up the stairs dragging the hose attached to the pump. As they reached the top, another two soldiers below started pumping. The soldiers braced themselves as the oil moved slowly up the hose and started to spray on the enemy pressed against the wall below. As the pressure escalated, the oil jettisoned into the sky covering those between the mountainside and the tower. Pollux signalled for them to stop and those below ceased pumping. Once the oil had stopped spraying from the hose, he indicated for the soldiers step back.

  Pollux’s face was hard as he struck a match and flicked it over the wall. It sailed down, threatening to ignite the air and landed on a waiting soldier. The reaction was spontaneous. Flames ignited and incinerated those soaked. They screamed as they burned. Pollux turned away from the stench of burnt flesh and black smoke.

  The Kyzantines untouched by the flames ran back down the pass. The entire right side was left deserted, all that remained were scorched remains and ash. The panic spread to the left flank, forcing the Kyzantine general to quit the battle.

  The black smoke filled the night sky as the oil still smouldered, the flames still taking the bodies. The fire would buy them some time, at least long enough for some reinforcements to arrive, and it would certainly force the enemy to attack to the left side of Black Claw. Knowing was half the battle and Pollux could allocate troops to better defend the next attack.

  He stalked along the rampart as the enemy fled to Cerebus Valley. As he reached the stairs near the tower, Cronos, Byrn, and the magi appeared. They were all smiles and congratulated each other with pats on the back.

  Ara placed a hand on his arm as if to stop him, bring him in on the conversation and congratulatory talk but Pollux brushed her off and kept walking down the stairs.

  ‘Show some respect,’ Ara snapped, her hand clenched in anger as flames formed around her fist.

  ‘Careful now, you aren’t the only one who can burn things,’ he warned.

  Ara looked like she was going to say something but thought better of it, closing her mouth as the spell fizzled out.

  Pollux kept walking down the stairs and past the barracks. When he was out of sight of the wall, he ducked behind the kitchen and doubled over, the vomit coming from the pit of his stomach. He heaved until there was nothing coming up bar bile. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked for the black smoke of the roasting bodies.

  Pollux headed around the corner and caught sight of Ara walking toward him. He knew this wasn’t going to go well before she even opened her mouth.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ she spat out.

  ‘My problem?’

  ‘I try to be nice …’

  ‘Nice? You’ve got some strange notions about nice.’

  ‘Excuse me? I was offering some congratulations.’

  ‘After all the threats over the last two days I just didn’t think it was coming from the right place, you know? Actually, I thought you were just being a patronising bitch.’

  Flames burst forth from her clenched fist and she slapped him hard across the face. It took all the restraint he had not to hit her back then and there. This girl got under his nerves and the last couple of days had frazzled him more than he thought they had.

  ‘Not so tough without a sword in your hand,’ Ara gloated. ‘Guess—’

  Before she could finish the sentence, his hand was pressed against her shoulder, his foot hooked behind her knee and Pollux had dropped and pinned her to the ground.

  ‘Let’s get some things straight okay? A week ago I was competing to go to Sarkridge with hopes of becoming a sword master. Now, we’re at war and not only have I been promoted twice in the last three days but I’ve also got to look over my shoulder to make sure you don’t end up dead.’

  Ara held his gaze.

  ‘Yesterday I was promoted to sergeant and told to lead men into battle who are looking to me to keep them alive. Earlier this afternoon, the man that I looked to for the better part of my adolescence as someone I wanted to be, died before my eyes. For the sole reason that I was left alive at the end of the day, meant that I was the one promoted in his place.’

  Pollux slowly got off her, releasing his grip and collapsed backwards, resting his back against the wall of the building and cupping his face in his hands. Ara sat up, rubbing her shoulder and waited for him to continue.

  ‘I don’t know if you know this but Kryst was a legend around these parts, the finest swordsman in Buckthorne, but lost the chance to become a sword master. I trained with that man everyday for the last three years and he could still wipe the floor with me. That skill didn’t save his life, the arrow still hit him in the neck, his blood poured out of the wound.’

  ‘I was right next to him when he got hit. I keep running the moment through my head over and over again. What if I did this, what if I did that. Ara, I should have done something.’

  The silence hung in the air as the two sat there, each staring beyond the other.

  ‘There was nothing you could have done Pollux. It hurts the most when you lose someone close to you, but you have to keep going. Use that emotion to propel you forward. This war has just begun, there will be many more battles before it’s done; many more deaths. All you can do is keep these men alive as best you can. You obviously have the talent for it or else the baron wouldn’t have given you the position. That trick with the oil ended what would have been a bloody night before it even began.’

  Pollux caught her eyes, sought the truth in her words.

  ‘I’m sorry about before,’ he muttered.

  ‘It’s alrigh
t, I can be a bitch sometimes,’ Ara replied.

  ‘Only sometimes?’ Pollux said.

  A faint smile crept onto her face as the smirk spread across his.

  ‘You can pick someone else to take my place if you like, I won’t be offended.’ Pollux shrugged.

  ‘And break someone else in? No, I’ll think I’ll put up with you and your baggage. With all the training you’ve had with that sword of yours and now that you’re a captain and have all that influence … I think I’ve got a good deal.’

  ‘Just one thing?’ Pollux asked.

  ‘Name it?’

  ‘Don’t tell Octans I cracked. I won’t hear the end of it and he already wants my job. Unless you have a thing for blondes …’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Arryn Dunn, Earl of Gravid’s Drift, pulled on the reins of his destrier to stop on the embankment beside the Dyrest River. He pulled off his helmet and handed it to his aide, Juan, as he looked down upon the line of Kyzantine soldiers assembling at the entrance to the Musea Pass. A sea of red and black covered the landscape. The earl judged that ten thousand infantry had already come through the gate and more would be marching soon.

  He held out his hand and Juan placed an eye scope in it. Putting it to his eye, the earl scanned over the massing troops and then to the gate in the distance. The Kyzantine cavalry hasn’t passed into the Murukan side of the pass so he could still strike and send them fleeing back to the godforsaken Empire. There was no sign of any Murukans fleeing from the battle; if any had escaped they would have discovered them by now. He scanned the ramparts of the bastion and saw nothing but blood, and the Kyzantines standing along it. Moving his gaze slightly to the centre tower, he saw what he was dreading. Three bodies hung from the tower top, ropes wrapped around their necks, their bodies cut, broken and bloody. Covered with dried red stains, armour in tatters, their flesh pale from the loss of blood. Carrion birds hovered above and on the deceased, ripping and tearing furiously at the flesh.

  He recognised two of the three. The first was older and Arryn could never mistake the captain of the gate. Zeke’s familiar face looked sad, his features distorted after the battle and the crows’ feast. The unknown second man was younger but looked much like Aspring beside him. The third was a young man in armour bearing the insignia of the wolf that could still be made out despite the damage. His sandy brown hair still blew in the wind half-covering his mutilated face. Arryn’s stomach turned at the sight of his son’s body desecrated by the Kyzantine bastards.

  Throwing the eye scope to the ground, he turned his destrier around and rode the short distance to his waiting troops. Juan rode beside him, always where he was needed. The earl spat on the ground in disgust before talking to his men.

  ‘Those bastards have my son’s body hanging from the tower,’ he choked the words out. ‘I will not stand by and let this atrocity continue. We will strike now and claim the bodies of the fallen and send those bastards back to hell.’

  The solemn faces of those before him felt for the earl as he spoke those words. Figur’s unit had waited here since the signal smoke had first been spotted and the outpost had already been overrun. Their scout had already found them on the road and offered to join the forces of Gravid’s Drift to retake the gate. They would follow the earl to retrieve his beloved youngest son Thol. He was the child of Gravid’s Drift. His mother had died giving birth to him and every woman of Gravid’s Drift had adopted him instantly When it was known Kyzantium attacked, the women had ordered their husbands and sons to come and bring him home.

  ‘The cavalry will charge first, pick off the front line while the infantry move into position to coordinate attacks. We drive hard and straight and today will be ours.’

  He reached out for his helmet from Juan and pulled it over his head, casting his face in shadow. The black plume stuck high in the air, signalling his authority. He looked over the sea of armoured knights, the late afternoon sun glinting off their metal helmets and shields. The commanders’ green plumes and the standards shifted in the breeze. It was a good day to spill blood.

  The three units of cavalry took off behind the earl, falling into three separate arrow formations and hurtled across the short distance toward the waiting Kyzantine force. Hooves thudded into the dirt. Armour jingled. Knights bounced in the saddle. Knuckles whitened. Fists clenched. Teeth grinded.

  Kyzantine soldiers hid behind shields and spears to keep the cavalry at bay, holding their lines and waiting for the crunch of impact. The spear tips glistened in the afternoon light as men and women of the Empire held them steady in the face of the charge. Eyes darted left and right as orders told them to hold the line. The Murukan cavalry released their grip of their reins and drew their blades, directing their mounts with the pressure of their thighs. The earl screamed as his heels dug into his horse’s sides, triggering the entire cavalry to scream blood-curdling battle cries as they charged in and were met with a volley of arrows that bounced harmlessly off their armour.

  Following the high-flying green standards of Gravid’s Drift into the Musea Pass, the cavalry sped forth to wet their blades with Kyzantine blood. The forces met with a sickening crunch, Kyzantine bodies smashed under the weight of horse muscle and Murukan blades. Screams of the dying, both animal and human echoed into the pass. Spears punctured flesh and armour as the Murukans pushed deep into the first line of the Kyzantine assault force.

  Earl Dunn drove in his heels and pushed his mount faster. He swung his sword at a woman’s face, slicing it in half. His horse shouldered into another as he blocked blows with his shield. His blade smashed in a soldier’s helmet then pierced another’s shoulder. He looked beyond the front line and saw the Kyzantines react by pressing against the knights in the three formations. Soon they would be surrounded and the momentum and advantage gone.

  ‘Fall back,’ he ordered, slashing out and swinging his horse into the open gap. His men did the same, following the green standard and the black plume as they raced back across the open ground behind the waiting infantry. As the last of the cavalry passed the infantry the commanders were given the go, who screamed orders to charge and surged into the gap left by the earl’s knights.

  Wez gripped the haft of his spear in a near death-like hold as he waited for the last of the cavalry to pass. He blinked as the horses charged through the gaps and the infantry spread into formation. He lifted his shield and took three deep breaths before moving into position amongst his company.

  The sergeant and the standard bearer stood at the front of the unit, capturing Wez’s attention as the green flag whipped from side to side above them. Orders were shouted, ‘Double time, stay in line.’

  The infantry charged into the created gap, over the dead bodies and into the remnants of the retreating Kyzantine front line who were colliding with the second wave trying to move forward. Two Kyzantine reserve units ran to bolster the line but wouldn’t get there first. The men of Gravid’s Drift hit the line together across the width of the Musea Pass. Shields were raised to defend the barrage of arrows fired over Kyzantine heads. They hailed down and felled men when they found small holes in the defence. Blades swung as they clashed, blood ricocheted into the air as the Murukans drove forward under the command of the generals. Steel tore into limbs and torsos alike. Blood drenched the ground. The Kyzantine conscripts stood no chance against the trained Murukan warriors who ravaged their way through the two thousand men.

  Wez thrust his spear into the chest of one woman, whipped it out and smacked the butt into the side of a man’s head. He stood his ground as the last of the conscripts ran forward, holding his shield forward beside the rest of the unit. The Kyzantines charged into their ranks, their blades striking off the metal. His back foot passed forward as his arm shot out, impaling the man on his spear.

  The standard fluttered and the unit marched forward over the piles of the Empire’s dead. Enemy reserves ran forward to help the failing line. Moments before the Kyzantines were upon them, the Murukan infantry halt
ed, found their balance, secured their footing, swung their shields around and pulled their spears back to their sides, points toward the enemy.

  The enemy threw their bodies against them, barrelled into the shields of the Kingdom line. It failed to budge under the pressure, the Murukans managing to hold under the onslaught of the screams and stabs.

  ‘Forward!’ echoed across the line, originating from the middle of the unit.

  Wez put his shoulder into it and pushed into his shield. The move was taken up by the entire front line, with those behind adding their weight. One foot in front of the other, the Murukans pushed back.

  The troops of the Empire faulted as spears were thrust repeatedly into their flesh. Screams of death and agony erupted into the air as the first fell, and then those that stepped forward to replace them.

  The battle shifted.

  The Kyzantines rushed forward between those that were dying or dead, that remained upright impaled on spears. They dived between bodies, lashed out, using their long blades to thrust and cut. The soldiers on either side of Wez went down under a flurry of blows of glimmering steel, catching the light as it sliced through the air and into flesh. Blood dripped down Wez’s face as others stepped into the front line beside him. He pulled his arm back, his spear pulling free of the dead man as the blows rained down on his shield. He looked around. There was no room to move, or even make an attack. He stood there behind the safety of his shield and waited for something to happen.

  The earl watched as his infantry eliminated the first wave of the invading force. The Kyzantine conscripts were decimated and the regulars had now waded into the fight. The infantry did well but they needed a break against the fresh troops. Reports had come in. They had lost only two hundred on the first charge. That left thirteen hundred. ‘Split into two columns for this charge. Left and right of their centre. Relieve the infantry. I want Thol’s body.’