CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

NATHAIR

Nathair sat and stared at the mangled carnage that had been the front rows of his shield wall. Shock had frozen him for too long as the deadly genius of Veradis’ Shield-Breakers had unleashed their fury upon his Draig’s Teeth.

Now, though, he was back in control of his wits.

Over a hundred men dead, in less time than it would take to count them, but I have a thousand of my eagle-guard about me still, give or take. This is not defeat, Veradis, merely a blooded lip.

“Let us deal with them,” one of the Kadoshim close by said to Nathair.

“Soon,” Nathair replied.

He held his draig back as the shield wall marched forwards, allowing more men from the surrounding flanks that stretched all the way back to encompass Lothar’s warriors to hurry forwards and fill the gaps of the fallen, thickening the wall upon the track until it was fifteen, twenty rows deep, and more joining it all the time.

The iron-covered giants with their axes had fallen back, disappearing into the gloom of the forest, and now blocking the way on the path ahead was the original shield wall that had stood behind Veradis.

He felt a rush of anger, that his old friend would betray him like this. Would stand against him.

He has chosen his death. They are men, and they are not my Draig’s Teeth.

Even as Nathair watched, the front row of his shield wall slammed into Veradis’ line. There was a concussive crash that seemed to ripple outwards, shaking leaves from branches, and Veradis’ shield wall bent at the edges, like a pulled bow. Nathair held his breath, thinking with every heartbeat to see the enemy line shatter and break apart. A cloud of smoke rolled across the path, for a few moments obscuring the locked shield walls. Nathair heard the screams of men, heard the dull thud of iron on wood, the pushing and heaving of hundreds of men.

Veradis’ line held but the sheer weight of Nathair’s eagle-guard began to tell. It was twice as many rows deep, and more men were joining it, at least four or five hundred men packed into the track before Nathair. Then men from the flanks began to scream.

They were being dragged from the wall, the giants in the forest had returned to strike from the shadows, tugging men out of formation and hacking them to pieces.

I need to scour those giants from the trees, else my men on the track will be like rats in a barrel to them. Perhaps that is a task best suited to the Kadoshim.

Another billow of smoke rolled across his vision.

That is not from campfires.

Nathair looked to his left, and for a moment did not believe what he was seeing.

The forest gloom was thicker all along their western flank, a wall of roiling darkness. But within it flickered orange light, blooming and spreading.

Fire and smoke.

Even as he saw it, there were shouts along the flank, and then from the front a wall of flame suddenly arose, searing across the track and carrying on into the forest, carving a line through his eagle-guard, cutting the track in two, separating his shield wall from the main body of Lothar’s warband and the remaining eagle-guard that were protecting it. Hundreds were on the far side, fighting on against Veradis’ wall, oblivious to the flames.

That will not stop us. A brave man may jump those flames, if he has room. I remember a young eagle-guard doing just that in defence of his prince.

More shouts of warning rose up from the left flank as clouds of smoke began to billow over them, the flames behind the rolling smoke growing clearer, the whole forest to the west seeming awash with them.

Do they hope to trap us here against Veradis’ bottle-neck and burn the rest of us to death?

Then Nathair heard something else, a scuttling sound that grew louder, and as he looked the very forest floor appeared to…move.

He peered harder, trying to pierce the gloom of the forest, saw undergrowth swaying, collapsing under the weight of some invisible force, a wave like a great slick of oil spreading over the forest, black and scuttling. Getting closer and closer.

Nathair felt a fist of fear clench around his heart. He did not know what it was, but instinctively he knew that it wasn’t anything good. Beneath him his draig rumbled uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.

And then the first row of his eagle-guard that edged the western flank just…disappeared.

They collapsed beneath a black tide that surged towards the main bulk of Lothar’s warband, engulfing hundreds of men in a few heartbeats, arms flailing, feet kicking as they fell to the floor, screams rising and cutting off, wails, bodies twitching. The next row behind them turned and ran, back into the row behind them, and then the whole western perimeter of Nathair’s defensive line was gone, either swallowed by the black tide or running frantically from it, up the embankment and into Lothar’s massed warband.

The eagle-guard fighting Veradis were oblivious, cut off from this new threat by the wall of flames that dissected the road.

“What the hell?” Nathair cursed, and the Kadoshim about him drew their swords, three of them stalking through the crowd that was pressing towards them. Blood spurted as one of them hacked at men, and then a space was parting before them and they were standing alone at the base of the embankment, the black tide swirling towards them.

The first Kadoshim slashed at it with his sword, then the darkness was at his boots. It spread over his feet, up the boots, onto his breeches, the Kadoshim swatting at his legs, knocking clumps of whatever it was off of him, but the darkness continued climbing, and then Nathair saw shreds appearing in the Kadoshim’s clothing, blood welling from its legs.

Then Nathair realized what it was he was seeing.

Ants. Like the ones near Jerolin, all those years ago. They were unstoppable, and shredded the flesh from anything that got in their way. They were my inspiration for the shield wall.

For a few terrifying moments he just sat in his saddle and stared, frozen with fear.

The first Kadoshim turned, took a few staggering steps up the embankment, then dropped to its knees, looking confused as to why its body was not working properly. It reached out to the two behind it, who were already stamping on the never-ending wave of insects, one of them dark to the knees. The first one fell face-first to the ground, rolling and thrashing as the ants swarmed over its torso, up its neck, filling its mouth, crawling out of its nose, shredding and ripping its flesh, its body spasming for a few moments, before it shuddered and was still, black vapour gushing from a score of wounds, forming into a mist-wraith in the air, screeching its rage before it evaporated into the gloom.

So taking their heads is not the only way to kill them.

Then the ants were sweeping up the embankment, a tide of them as far along the road as Nathair could see, smoke and flame behind them, engulfing eagle-guard, labourers and warriors from Lothar’s warband, everyone scrambling away from them in a panicked frenzy, bodies crushed, pushed flying, trampled as close to four thousand men tried to run south, down the road’s embankment and into the forest.

The first ants reached his draig’s feet and it lifted one foot, squashing many with a crackling splat, but hundreds more were already there, swirling up the draig’s talons and onto its foot, mandibles ripping at the flesh beyond the curved claws.

The draig bellowed.

Nathair yanked on his reins, shouting in the draig’s ear, the command to turn, to run, and it was happy to obey, lumbering into a shambling gait, turning right, down the embankment, crushing any eagle-guard before it as it headed eastwards into the forest.

“With me,” Nathair cried. “With me.” He tried to gather eagle-guard behind him, desperate to lead as many as he could through the forest and to safety. Warriors fell in behind the draig, following the path it made through the undergrowth, and soon they had outdistanced the flow of ants, though behind him Nathair still heard the screams of men being eaten alive.

Glancing back, he saw at least a few hundred of his men running in his wake, some of Lothar’s warriors in their white cloaks amongst them, more gathering to him as his draig ploughed into the forest.

I’m going to need every last man, because even if we make it to the plain before Drassil, I’m betting there will still be a fight ahead of us to make it to the gates.

He cursed Corban and Veradis, and guided his draig looping east and then north into the forest.