Rint glanced over to see his sister staring at him. Her eyes glistened and he saw once more in her face the little girl she had once been. Before things broke, before the hands trembled before all that was suddenly out of reach. Climb a tree, sister. High above all of this. You had it right back then. I know now why you fought me so, every time I dragged you back down, every time I carried you up the street and people smiled at your temper or laughed at your wretched moans.
Not all of us wanted to grow up. I should have followed your lead. I should have stayed a child with you, clinging to a high branch while everyone else aged below, aged and fell so helplessly into their futures.
Every child born sent mother and father back to their own childhoods. Like symbols of nostalgia, they were set down and watched as they made their journey away from simplicity, from the bliss of unknowing. And if, in the witnessing of this, tears came, then those tears were warm, and the sadness that joined them somehow comforted the soul, even as it reawakened old pains and old losses. To lose a child was to feel unbearable grief, as if some vital thread had been severed. Nostalgia was a bitter curse, with every memory of that journey ending in sudden loss, yielding emptiness beyond all solace.
Rint understood her now. And wished with all his heart that he didn’t.
She turned away then, gathering her reins in her left hand and drawing her sword with her right. She shifted in her saddle, firming the grip of her feet in the stirrups.
When Feren looked for that witch, her eyes lifted to the trees. And hidden up there, as my sister had known, Olar Ethil looked down with unreadable eyes. A child eager to watch.
Until I gave her fire.
Women are right to fear us. Oh, Feren…
Traj gave the command, and then they were riding down the slope.
Ivis watched the Borderswords begin moving down the slope. ‘Yalad! Signal wedge formation!’
He remained in front of his troops, listening to them assume the new presentation. Horse hoofs thumped to make a rumble of thunder through the hard-packed ground of the killing field. Dust roiled past Ivis in thin clouds, a fortunate direction for the wind, at least to begin with. ‘Centre line count right left!’
He heard voices barking the word ‘right’ and then ‘left’ in an alternating pattern down the heartline of the wedge formation. This command alone gave the Houseblades all that they needed to know for this initial engagement.
The Borderswords poured over the first stone wall, slowing up to give time to their skirmishers to do the same. Ivis saw how the foot-soldiers lagged and nodded slightly to himself. They would serve little function until all momentum was lost. Unfortunately for them, he intended no loss of momentum from battle’s beginning to battle’s end.
Under his breath, he cursed Lord Draconus. The man should be here, commanding this first bloodletting for his Houseblades. Instead, every order — upon which so many lives depended — would be coming from a lowly captain who had grown sick of war decades ago. The only thing going for me is that I’ve seen all this before, dozens of times. And the only thing going against me is the same fucking thing. He tightened the strap of his helm and then wheeled his mount.
The wedge was arrayed before him: a point of three elite soldiers directly opposite, the leading line swept back sharply, twenty to each side, to form the chevron.
‘Houseblades! We didn’t ask for this argument. We have no cause to hate our enemy. Do not fight your grief in what’s to come, but set it aside with an honest vow to return to it in the days, months and years ahead. This is the soldier’s burden. Now, I trust you’ve all pissed before mounting up — if I see a single soldier slick in the saddle it’ll be the public lash!’ Hearing a few laughs, he scowled. ‘You think I am jesting? I have told you before but it seems you need to hear it again. In the Houseblades of Dracons, you will be told when to eat, when to drink, when to sleep, when to rise, when to shit, when to piss, when to fuck and when to kill. Now, you’ve done them all by our orders, except for the last, and that last has now arrived. It is time to kill.’
He rode closer a step, then two. ‘I’d like to be with you for this. If our lord was here I would be, at the point of this wedge, and you all know that. But he’s not, so command falls to me. Left flank, strip your shields!’
The soldiers on the left flank of the wedge rested their weapons and tore at the thin layer of dyed felt covering their shields, revealing lacquered white beneath.
‘Troop sergeants and corporals, keep an eye out for flags on the keep slope! And if you can’t see those, look higher, to the gate towers. At all times, you will see two flags upon each pole. Two flags on the white pole, two flags on the black pole-’
Someone’s shout cut him off. ‘Begging pardon, captain! But if we don’t know all that already we deserve to be cut down!’
Ivis subsided, feeling foolish. ‘Fine. I’m an old man and I want to dither, Abyss help us all.’
Laughter answered that comment.
‘Sir! Kindly get out of the way!’
Grimacing, Ivis collected up his reins and kicked his horse into motion, swinging left and riding down that wing, his gaze fixed forward.
Voices reached out for him as he passed.
‘Sir, I missed that order to fuck!’
‘You lie, Shanter! You never miss an order to fuck!’
‘I’ll see you after, Shanter!’
‘That’ll take an order, Brusk, at sword’s point.’
‘Wait! Did I hear Shanter’s taking orders?’
And then he was past, nodding to himself. He had heard it all before, a thousand flavours but ever the same taste. It broke his heart to hear such life pushing through the gathering, suffocating fugue that came in the moments before battle. Each jest, each voice raised in rough banter, shone like a gold flag in a black forest, making all that was to come that much harder to bear.
Reaching the slope, and the flag station, he reined in and swung round to face the field once more.
The Borderswords were assembling at the far side of the field. They formed up in a rough, uneven line, some readying lances and others drawing their long stabbing swords. The dust that had travelled across the field was now mostly gone, and the clear air between the two armies wavered like water in the day’s heat.
This latter detail was unpleasant, as it invited dehydration and heat prostration from his heavily armoured men and women. Then again, if the battle went on too long, all was lost anyway.
‘Signaller!’
‘Sir!’
‘Commit the advance.’
‘Yes sir!’
Moments later, the wedge lurched into motion, a walk rising to a trot.
The enemy was now as committed as were his own Houseblades. With the field walls behind them, retreat was impossible. He saw them move forward.
Off to the left of both forces stood the two standards. One had loosened its grip on the soil and tilted to rest against the shaft of the other. He could not tell which was which, as dust now covered both banners. And, as the ground began to shake, when the Houseblades rose into a canter, both standards fell to the ground. Ivis frowned at that, but distant shouts from the Borderswords drew him round.
Sandalath watched, wide-eyed, as the two armies surged in a final rush to close. Venth was swearing under his breath at her side. He had said earlier that the enemy was an army of Borderswords, and the reason for battle was unknown.
The cantering Houseblades lifted into a charge, but as they did so the wedge formation unravelled, the centre slowing as the wings swept out, spreading wide. Opposite them, half obscured through the ever-thickening dust, the enemy line seemed to waver.
When the Houseblades reached them, the line of heavy cavalry was virtually level, the riders only three deep in ranks, and they smashed against a broad swath of the enemy forces. Sandalath gasped to see horses flung into the air, legs kicking, while in places the Bordersword riders seemed to vanish beneath the hoofs of the warhorses. The roiling dust turned pink above the line of impact. Moments later, the entire engagement disappeared into the
