was shouting at her and the others. “Stay behind the line. Archers, fire!” Flags waved; cornets blasted the air, and all along the line flights of arrows rose to meet the war-storm. Varina could see the shields of the warriors flick up, saw the arrows fall mostly to embed themselves in the shields. Swords hacked at the arrows stuck on the shields, shearing them off, and an answering hail of arrows came from the Tehuantin. Varina heard Mason cry out near her and go down, an arrow fletched with gray feathers in his chest. Another arrow thudded into the ground at her feet. “Back!” ca’Talin shouted again, and this time they obeyed, Johannes and Niels dragging Mason with them.
Varina could see little of the battle other than the bodies jostling around her, but she could hear it: the clash of steel against steel, the cries from the soldiers on both sides, the shrill calls of the horns. She could smell it as well: the smoke from the spell-fires, the scent of blood, the nosewrinkling stench of brimstone. But ahead of her there was only a writhing mass of soldiers. Ca’Talin, on his horse, surrounded by chevarittai, went hurtling into that chaos, and for a moment Varina and the others were alone. They sent fire-spells arcing over their gardai into the Tehuantin lines beyond; they used counter-spells to blast away the fire hurled at them by the Westlander spellcasters. Black sand exploded to Varina’s right, sending dirt and body parts hurtling through the air and half- deafening her.
Varina could feel the terrible exhaustion of using the Scath Cumhacht this way. All the spells she’d stored the night before were gone, and her mind was too tired and confused to create new spells easily. She was done; she was empty.
If you live…
She was less certain of that now than ever.
The cornets had altered their call. Varina saw the Commandant and chevarittai emerge from the smoke and confusion of the battle. Behind them, gardai were turning and fleeing eastward. “To the bridges!” ca’Talin shouted as he passed them. “To the bridges!”
Varina was swept up with them, helpless. The retreat was a rout, a confusion. She found herself pushed, stumbling and nearly falling. All around her, people were shoving and she couldn’t stand. It would be easy, she thought, to just lay down here, to let it end. She felt herself starting to fall once again.
A hand went around her waist. “Here, pull yourself up.” Ca’Talin had returned, and he pulled her up onto his warhorse, her arms and shoulders aching. She could see the bridges ahead, clotted with gardai fleeing toward the earthern ramparts on the far side.
“We’ve lost here,” ca’Talin half-shouted to her as they plunged into the press of men. “The Westlanders have this side of the river, all the way north. May Cenzi preserve us for tomorrow.”
Seeing the Tehuantin advancing up the far side of the hill toward them, Brie turned her steed and rode hard down to the sparkwheelers, the horse sending rocks and pebbles cascading down ahead of them.
“Talbot! This way,” she cried. “Bring your people and follow me!” Once she saw Talbot’s acknowledgment, saw him begin to shout orders and shove at the sparkwheelers nearest him, she headed up the slope again until she was on the ridge. The Tehuantin were still ascending the hill, with the obvious intention of flanking the main battle and coming on the Garde Kralji from the side and rear while they were intent on the main assault from along the road. The hill’s summit was flat and mostly treeless; the Westlanders were advancing through a meadow. She’d been seen by them, also; she heard an arrow hiss past her head, and she moved downslope slightly.
Talbot and the sparkwheelers were nearly to the top; she quickly told Talbot what she’d seen. They arranged the lines just below the summit, the sparkwheelers checking their weapons again to make certain they were loaded, and opening the leather pouches they wore that held, Brie had been told, the tiny packets of black sand to reload the weapons. She’d seen the packets; they were hardly impressive-they’d only added to her doubts as to the efficiency of the sparkwheel as a weapon.
But she had no other choice. She had to hope that what Talbot had told her wasn’t an elaborate lie. “All right,” she said. “On my command, we’ll move up to the ridge. Talbot, be ready to fire as soon as you’re there-they have archers, so you’re going to be under attack yourselves.” She saw some of the men blanch at that. “You have the high ground and the advantage. Hit them hard, and the archers will be useless,” she told them, though she didn’t believe that at all. She thought their archers would make a wall of bodies on the summit from the sparkwheelers. “Now-forward!”
Almost grudgingly, the men trudged up to the ridgeline, Brie and Talbot alongside them. She heard the calls in the strange Westlander tongue as they appeared, but Talbot was already shouting out the cadence before the first arrows came. “First line, kneel! First line, fire!”
The racket that ensured made Brie’s horse rear up in terror. White, acrid smoke bloomed along the line, and down the hill… Brie could scarcely believe what she saw: Westlanders went down as if a divine blade had scythed through their ranks. She gave a cry of surprise, almost a laugh. “Second line kneel! Second line, fire!”
Again, the reports from the sparkwheels echoed; again, more Westlanders fell, their bodies tumbling back down the hill or crumpling where they stood. A few arrows were slicing into the sparkwheelers now as well, and she saw three or four of the men go down. “Damn it, stand, you bastardos!” Talbot shouted as the lines wavered and started to dissolve. Brie rode behind them as the line in the rear faltered and tried to break rather than reload their weapons.
“No!” she told them. “Stay and fight, or you’ll face my blade! Stay!”
“Third line, kneel. Third line, fire!” Talbot cried, and this time the volley was a stutter rather than a concerted explosion, but still more Tehuantin were falling. Brie could see the enemy wavering. “Again!” she shouted to Talbot. “Hurry!”
“First line, kneel! First line, fire!” Another stuttering, and some of the men could not fire at all, still clumsily trying to load their pieces with trembling hands. But yet more of the Tehuantin were down and the arrow fire had stopped entirely. Down the hill, injured and dying warriors were screaming in their language, and other painted warriors were shouting in return. “Second line, kneel. Second line, fire!”
Again the sparkwheels gave their roar, and as more warriors fell, the Tehuantin finally broke. The warriors turned and began running back down the hill despite the efforts of their offiziers to hold them, and it was suddenly a panicked retreat. The sparkwheeler corps gave a shout of triumph, and a few, without orders from Talbot, fired their sparkwheels at the retreating backs. At the top of the hill, fists punched the air in triumph.
Brie shouted a huzzah with them, but then she looked behind and the joy died in her throat. Well below, on the road, the Garde Kralji was in full flight. She could see Allesandra’s banner waving and hear the cornets calling retreat. Behind them, the Tehuantin warriors were pursuing: a black wave of them that overspread the road along both hills, a wave that would overwhelm their cadre of sparkwheelers if they stayed. “Talbot!” Brie shouted. “To the Kraljica! We can’t stay here.”
They may have won a small victory in their skirmish, but there would be no greater victory here. She led Talbot and the sparkwheelers down the hill to join the Kraljica in her flight.
Niente had thought that Tototl would chase the Easterners straight back into their city, or even overrun their retreat and slay them here. He might have done exactly that, except one of the High Warriors came gasping back to them raving of a massacre: the group that had been sent to the western flank had been nearly destroyed. Tototl called a halt to the advance, sending only a few squadrons to to pursue the fleeing Easterners. Tototl and Niente had followed the High Warrior around to the far side of the hill. Now Niente was looking up on a terrible carnage on the hillside before him-though he’d seen worse in his long deades of warfare, certainly. He’d witnessed men hacked to pieces, had viewed corpses piled on corpses. But this: there was an eerie quiet here, and the bodies were strangely whole. There was too little blood.
Tototl had leaped down from his horse, going from body to body strewn over the grassy slope. “What magic did this?” he demanded of Niente.
Niente shook his head. “A magic I haven’t seen before,” he said to Tototl.
“Why didn’t you see this?” Tototl raged, and Niente could only continue to shake his head. His hands were trembling. He could smell black sand in the air.
Black sand.
This was no magic… The thought kept coming back to him with the scent. The fact that black sand was not created from the X’in Ka was something Niente had kept from the Tecuhtli and the warriors. He wanted the warriors to believe that black sand was something magical. He hadn’t wanted them to know that anyone could make it if they knew the ingredients, the measures of the formula, and the method of preparation. He and the few nahualli he’d entrusted with the secret kept it so-they all suspected that if the warriors could make black sand themselves, they might decide they had no need of nahualli at all.
