coming in order to draw its defenders out into the open in one spot so you knew where they all were. Of course, in either approach the idea was to kill as many of them with bows or crossbows as you possibly could before you ever got to the hand-to-hand part of the business, which wasn’t going to happen this time, but the principle remained the same even for those stupid enough to take ghouls on without archery support. Over the last couple of years, Vaijon had had the opportunity to see both approaches tried, and he’d decided that-given steady troops who could be expected to hold their formation-drawing them out was better than the sorts of ambushes and nasty little fights which were likely to accompany a surprise attack that went charging in among a village’s crude stone and notched- log buildings.
Now he heard the yelping voices of ghouls, calling to one another, sounding the alarm from the other side of the dim, misty fog. Their intelligence on exactly how many ghouls they were about to confront was less complete than he would have liked-intelligence was usually less complete than one might like where ghouls were concerned- but it was unlikely there were more than a few hundred of them. This was one of the villages they’d cleaned out (and burned) last year, and not even ghouls would have had time to repopulate it with an entire new generation. On the other hand, it was an ideal location for a village, with reliable water and plenty of pasture land near at hand, which made it exactly the sort of place which would attract any roving band looking for a place to settle. From the number and volume of the yelps coming out of the fog, it sounded like the band in question might well have been larger than they’d anticipated.
“Watch your front!” Yurgazh’s voice bellowed. There was something different about its timbre-something Vaijon recognized instantly after all these years. It was the voice of a hradani who’d given himself to the Rage, deliberately summoned the ancient curse of his people to serve his will.
Vaijon still didn’t know whether he more envied or pitied the hradani for the Rage. He’d seen it in action too many times not to recognize the strength and focus and absolute clarity it bestowed upon someone who had knowingly summoned it, and no fighting man could possibly fail to understand what an enormous advantage it was in combat. But by now he’d seen too many instances of the old Rage, the Rage which had come without summons-often even without warning-and reduced its victim to a berserk, blood-maddened killer who could be stopped only by killing him, instead. It happened far less often than it had since Tomanak and Bahzell had told the hradani they could master it rather than be mastered by it, but it was still far too common. Much as he might envy the power and absolute, unstoppable determination of the new Rage, the price the hradani had paid for it had been terrible almost beyond belief, and they were not yet done paying it.
His thoughts broke off as the first wave of ghouls came loping out of the fog towards them. Most of them yelped louder, waving their war clubs and their spears, when they saw the hradani. A handful-smarter, or perhaps simply more cautious-turned and fled back the way they’d come, but the ones who didn’t flee hurled themselves towards their enemies with all the blinding speed of their kind.
“Axes! Axes! ”
The bull throated warcry of clan Iron Axe went up from the lead battalion, but no one rushed to meet the ghouls. Once upon a time, they would have, but that had been when the Rage was their master, not their servant…and before Bahnak had taught their warriors to be soldiers, men who understood discipline was far more valuable than simple individual skill and strength. Now they drew the Rage’s focus, that ice-cold, distilled purpose, about them, holding their ranks, advancing at a steady walk rather than charging furiously as so many individuals.
The ghouls attacked with less concern about formations than even pre-Bahnak hradani would have shown. They were smart enough to recognize the advantages in working and fighting together, yet the notion of actually thinking through their tactics seemed to elude them…which was just as well, given their sheer size, speed, and strength. There were very few foes who could match hradani for size and strength; ghouls over matched them. A foot and more taller than all but the tallest Horse Stealer, they towered over the shorter Bloody Swords, with an enormous advantage in reach and sheer physical power. And they were faster, faster even than a hradani riding the Rage. They hit the front line of Yurgazh’s infantry as individuals, but only in the sense that an avalanche was built of individual boulders.
“ Axes! Axes! ”
Howls of pure ghoulish fury answered the warcry, and then the outriders of that avalanche were upon the hradani. Stone-tipped javelins-javelins longer and heavier than many humans’ two-handed thrusting spears-soared over the front rank, seeking targets beyond, and one of the Order’s horses screamed in agony and went down. But only a handful of them were thrown; the others came thrusting for flesh with deadly speed.
Stone shattered on stout shield faces as the infantry closed up the way Bahnak-and Vaijon-had taught them. Their huge, rectangular shields-boiled leather over heavy multi-ply layers of seasoned wood and rimmed in iron, modeled on the tower shields of the Axeman army but even larger-were a moving fortress wall, covering them from shoulder to knee. They were big enough to help cover the man to their left, as well, leaving an opening between adjacent shields just wide enough for them to wield their own weapons. The ghouls flung themselves against that shield wall, snarling and slavering in their rage, and yelps of fury became howls of anguish as steel blades licked out from the wall’s battlements, driving into flesh and bone with ghastly, wet crunching sounds.
Some of the ghouls went down, snapping and twisting, clutching at their own wounds and yet still lashing out at any hradani they could reach. Others hewed at the shields, scoring their surfaces, splintering the stone heads of their spears or the stone teeth of their war clubs. They were so strong, so powerful-and struck so quickly-that even Horse Stealer hradani riding the Rage were staggered by the raw impact of their blows, and here and there, a hradani went down, as well. There were no screams of pain from them-not from hradani in the Rage-and even as they went down, they struck back. Vaijon saw one of them on his back, covering himself under his shield, as he drove a sword blade up and completely through the body of the ghoul leaping on top of the shield to claw and tear. The ghoul twisted and raised its snout to howl in agony just in time for one of the downed hradani’s shieldmates to lop its head from its shoulders. It pitched over, and someone in the second rank grabbed the fallen man’s harness and heaved him to his feet.
The stink of blood and riven bowels rose in the distinctive stench of battle, but the hradani drove onward, moving forward with steady, merciless precision. Many of those who’d gone down came back to their feet, like the one Vaijon had watched, as their companions advanced. Some had been merely stunned, bowled over or lightly wounded, and they moved forward to regain their places in the formation. Others, with more serious injuries, were turned back by sergeants and corporals when they tried to do the same thing. Not all of them were able to rise, even with the Rage pulsing in their veins, and parties of designated and trained corpsmen (another innovation of Prince Bahnak’s) followed the front line, checking for signs of life and moving the more seriously wounded back from the fighting.
Part of Vaijon wanted desperately to fling himself from the saddle and minister to those wounded warriors himself, but he couldn’t do that yet. The battle was still to be fought, and he couldn’t turn away from that.
Many of the ghouls had shattered and broken their weapons against the shield wall. Most of those who had went loping back towards the village, perhaps in retreat but more probably to find fresh spears and clubs. Others, though, flung themselves bodily on the hradani’s shields, seizing them in razor-sharp, curved talons, trying to wrench them aside, batter them down so that they could lunge across them with their fangs. Some of them were so strong they actually managed to drag even Horse Stealer hradani forward, out of formation, shaking them by their shields the way a terrier might shake a rat. A handful of other ghouls turned on the exposed hradani, ripping at them from behind, yet the rest of the infantry line drove forward, taking the ghouls from the side or behind in turn. Another handful of ghouls hurled themselves into the openings where hradani had been pulled out of position, but only to meet the unshaken shield wall of Yurgazh’s second line and the avenging swords driving in from either flank as the first line cut them down.
Specially detailed squads followed behind the second line, decapitating downed ghouls. Quite a few of those theoretically dead ghouls showed a dangerous degree of fight when the cleanup squads closed in on them, but they were no match for their disciplined, organized, and uninjured enemies. The foggy morning was hideous with grunts, gasps, screams, blows, the thud of clubs on shields and flesh, the sounds of steel driving through sinew and bone, and a fresh wave of ghouls-this one more organized than the first-came sweeping out of the mist.
“ Axes! ”
The warcry went up to meet them, and now a fresh shout of “ Bone Fists! ” roared up from the second line, to join it. Screams of pure, wordless fury answered, and a new, better organized torrent of ghouls crashed into the shield wall.
