58

They did not advance far.

At first.

The Rai’s line was made up of two trunks, one hundred and sixty troops in armour of rough bark. Trunk leaders, in smoother bark armour, stood before them, holding fluttering streamers of small triangular flags that showed their allegiance to the blue and their home county. Behind each trunk commander stood two branch leaders, all flew the blue flags of the new Cowl-Rai, two the yellow of Mantus, one the purple of Stor and the fourth branch showed the blue star on red of Jinneng. For a moment Cahan was shocked to see Jinneng’s flag, thinking that the most powerful of the southern counties must have fallen. Until he realised he was meant to be shocked. It was a ruse. If Jinnereng had fallen they would have heard, even as far north as Harn as the war would be over and the whole of Crua would be preparing for the tilt and the great celebrations to follow.

Behind each branch company stood two Rai. Cahan was surprised so many had come, felt sure there would be others he did not see, readying to attack the Forestgate.

It was strange to stand atop a fortified wall, even a makeshift one, and look out at an army set against him. It was frightening, worrying, the weight of responsibility heavy. But at the same time it was exhilarating. As if he were meant to do this.

The platform felt sturdy beneath his feet, the wall provided cover up to his hips. He touched the rough wood, running his gauntleted hand along it. The whorls and grain of wood were familiar things to him. He had known wood almost all his life, worked with wood, lived among it. Half the length of his arm away was the second wall, slightly taller, a gap between the two. Wind whistled around him and in the distance the flags of the Rai army cracked in the breeze. He heard the gentle tinkling of porcelain charms on the flagstreamers. A trunk commander shouted and the Rai soldiers brought their spears up. Behind them the trees, bare in the cold of Harsh, lines of darkness against the sky, skeletal shapes framing the army.

Directly in front of the walls was the circle pit, flooded with filth and filled with spikes. In front of the Tiltgate a bridge. Further out the second pit, with a poor show at spikes before it, barely worth mention and no doubt the invaders would think it proof of the shoddy work of the villagers.

But it was not there to stop them, only as a marker.

Cahan had let his armour grow more elaborate, points at elbow and shoulder, a set of small horns, a face on the visor. All of this felt strangely familiar, as if the world was unfocused, two lives overlapping. One he was and the one that he could have been meeting here. He gripped the wall more tightly and wondered if Udinny was right. Was he led here by Ranya?

“Why have they stopped?” Furin was staring out at them, and the Forestal Ania joined them.

“Posturing,” said the Forestal, and spat between the walls. The wind fell, and the smell of the tanners’ pits from below made Cahan want to retch.

“They want us to see them,” he said.

“Weapons!” the shout of a trunk commander echoed around the forest clearing, bounced off the walls of Harn. Followed by the clap of a hundred spears coming down in unison.

“Lunge!” the soldiers did. With a massed shout of “Anha!” that hit Harn in a wave of sound. Furin flinched, the Forestal only stared with a half-smile on her face.

“Rest!” A shout of “Uhl!” and the soldiers stood straight, spears once more pointing into the sky so they became a forest, one as leafless as Woodedge.

“What are they doing now?” said Furin.

“Showing us how professional they are,” he said. “They want us to think about how they are an army and we are not.”

“That is what I am thinking about,” said Furin.

“They still die,” said Ania, and she slipped off her quiver of arrows, standing it against the wooden wall. “They will come to try and talk again.” Furin looked confused.

“No one ever wants to fight, Leoric,” said Cahan. “Even the Rai, they enjoy cruelty, but war is dangerous and unpredictable.”

“More so for them,” Ania tapped her bowstaff against the wall. “They want us to give up so they can play with us on their own terms without any danger. But that is not a game I wish to join in with; the Rai like to break their toys.” She looked away when she said that, some shadow on her face she hid within her hood.

“Look,” Furin pointed. One of the Rai coming forward. As they moved through the troops five broke away to follow them, one bearing a standard showing a gasmaw, tentacles spread to each side of the flag, holding a spear out to each side. They walked slowly, purposefully, stopped fifty paces from the wall. The light above gleamed from their armour, highlighting the sigils painted in glowing fungal juices, a history of violence scrawled across gleaming, shining wood. Their visor was carved into a smiling face with a sharp nose.

“I am Rai Condorin of Tasspire,” they shouted.

“Where is Rai Galderin?” Cahan shouted back.

“Rai Galderin is planning our attack. He does not have time for you.” They looked back at their troops before turning back to Harn. “But I was raised in a small village in Mantus, much like yours. The High Leoric has asked me to help you.”

“He said we had until the light is fully above,” Cahan shouted back.

“And that has passed,” shouted Rai Condorin, though it hardly had. “Do your people know how the Rai work?” they raised their visor. They had that strange, stretched look the Rai got as they aged, like they were no longer quite people. Rai Condorin’s eyes were very pale.

“They know enough,” Cahan shouted back.

“The war in the south needs Rai,” shouted Condorin, “the Rai need lives. One life, it can be kept guttering like a candle for almost half a season.” Condorin stared up at them, pushing their voice so it carried into the village. “It is not a good way to die, it hurts as much as your friend hurts, the one who is burning, maybe even more.”

“You give us a good reason to fight,” Cahan shouted back.

“No, if you open the gates, we will only punish you, Cahan Du-Nahere, and the Leoric, and no one else.” He wondered why the Rai did not simply lie and tell the Leoric she was free also. “Now, will you open your gates? Save the rest of your people?”

Ania moved so quickly he could not stop her. She grabbed an arrow, nocked it. Pulled the bow to tension and aimed. The arrow cut through the air with a hiss. It hit the Rai in the forehead. Knocking them backwards into the icy mud. They were dead instantly. For a moment the soldiers did not realise what had happened. Then they turned and ran back to their army.

“Does that answer your question?” shouted Ania as the soldiers ran.

“I wanted to keep my archers secret,” the forester said.

“And I told you,” said Ania, crouching down by her quiver and taking out another arrow, “I came here to kill Rai.” Below them, the body of the Rai Condorin lay with their arms outstretched in the mud. Furin was unable to take her eyes from it.

“I have never seen one dead,” she said. “I did not think they could die.”

“You’ll see more dead before the day is through,” said Ania, and she stood, then whistled to bring her four archers up onto the wall.

“No way back now,” said Furin.

“There never was,” said Cahan.

A horn blew, cracking the quiet of a day shocked by death. Then a shout, a harsh, dark, angry voice.

“Ready!” A drummer started to beat their drum. Spears were lowered, soldiers lowered weapons and marched on the spot, filling the air with the percussion of their steps. Cahan felt ice within him. This was it. From now on this village and every life in it would depend on his decisions.

“Overconfidence.” The voice of the Trainer of War, as clear as if the monk stood beside him, his lash tapping against his hand in readiness to punish mistakes. “Overconfidence is a flaw, Cahan, but your lack of confidence is worse.”

The Rai are so sure of themselves. The thought jumped into his mind and he turned.

“Furin,” he said, an urgency in his voice though he tried not to show it in his body. “Bring all our archers to before the gate. And the Forestals from the other wall.”

“But you said they would attack from the other side while we were distracted.” There was no alarm on Furin’s face, only confusion. Behind her Ania watched him, that mocking smile on her face.

“And they will,” he said. “They will. But not this time. Not in the first attack. The Rai are confident, too confident. We are just a forest village to them, they will think they can walk over us. They will expect their first attack to beat us and see no need for fancy tactics.” He stared out at the troops. “So we defend this wall with all we have, and we bloody their nose.”

“And if you’re wrong? If they attack the Forestgate wall?” said Furin.

“They will not.” Spoken with a confidence he did not have, but he had committed now and knew a commander who was indecisive was worse than none. “But we shall leave one lookout on the Forestgate wall, someone with a loud voice.” He was unduly gruff, and knew it from the look of hurt in Furin’s face, but it was too late to undo it. She nodded and climbed down, running over to the other side of the village.

“Advance!” A voice ringing across the clearing.

Now was the time. Now he must hold, must stand here strong and proud while the enemy advanced. Pretend he did not feel any fear or doubt or worry.

The beat of their drum loud in his ears.

The percussion of their steps disturbed his breathing, making it ragged with apprehension. The fear he would fail Harn almost overwhelming. Their slow advance piling on pressure meant to crush him. Crush them all.

“That was well done,” said Ania, pulling his gaze away from the troops. “First time you have sounded like you should be wearing that armour.” She turned and looked out at the soldiers as they came forward, moving in time to the drum. “Let’s hope you were right, though, or it’s a short fight.” His mouth too dry to reply. Villagers streaming over to the Tiltgate wall. The soldiers coming on. “The cowards are staying out of range,” Ania spat over the wall.

The Forestal was right, the Rai remained behind their lines, each with four soldiers standing in front of them. No sign of Sorha either, fools not to use her. She knew the land and the layout of the village. Another sign of overconfidence. Behind him the villagers were milling about. Nervous energy manifesting as chatter.

“How long before you think they are in range,” he whispered to the Forestal. He had his markers set but he needed distraction. It was hard just to stand and watch.

“My range? Not long.” She looked down at the villagers. “Their range? A while yet, but you know that.”

A scream. Dyon, slowly burning alive. The villagers flinched every time the man was overwhelmed by pain. Cahan worried it would break their morale before they even loosed an arrow. He needed to act.

“I will return quickly,” he jumped from the wall.

“Quiet!” he shouted, moving among the villagers. “Form lines like we learned.” They stared at him. Their faces drawn and worried. “This will be our chance,” he said from among them. “They do not think we have any strength. They think you are weak.” He lifted his bow “With these. Today. You will show them we are strong.”

“They’re going to kill us,” it was said so quietly he could not tell who had spoken.

“No,” he said, “they are not. We are going to kill them. We kill enough, they will withdraw, and in the night we escape to the forest.”

But there was no denying the fear in the air.

As real as the beat of the drum.

The percussion of their steps.

The slow advance.

The screaming of a man slowly burning alive.

Nearly three hundred professional soldiers. Eight or more Rai, with all the power that brought. All outside the walls. Here to end these people.

“Organise yourselves as I have shown you.” He pushed through them, heading towards the longhouse where the screaming came from. Furin behind him. ”I will be back in moments.” Inside he found Udinny and Venn, holding Dyon down while they tried to get a mash of herbs into his mouth.

“What are you doing?” said Furin and she rushed over to them. Dyon let out another scream.

“The fire climbs his body,” said Udinny, “we are trying to get some Sleepwragg into him, to control the pain, but he grits his teeth so tightly we cannot.”

“His screams,” said Cahan, “they are frightening the villagers. Sucking the spirit from them,” and him, he knew it but could not say it.

“You would scream if you were burning alive, Cahan,” said Furin. He knelt by the man, Udinny and Venn were still fighting Dyon, his body twisted by agony, muscles spasming.

“Sometimes,” he said, and reached for the knife on his belt, “it is kinder to stop the pain, especially when pain is all Dyon has left.” He drew the knife. Aware of the way all eyes had focused on him. “It is one life, but it may save many. Morale is—”

“No,” said Venn. “We cannot.”

“You would let him burn by fingerbreadths?” hissed Cahan.

“Venn,” said Udinny, “what you did for Darmant, what you said you could do for those who will be hurt, can you help ease Dyon’s pain?” The trion stared at the monk.

“I do not know…”

“You must try, or you must let Cahan free him,” said Udinny.

“It nearly killed Venn last time,” said Cahan.

“We only need to get the Sleepwragg into him,” said Udinny. “That will quieten him. Help us settle the village.” Venn looked about the room. Cahan took a breath.

“Very well. Like a tree, Venn,” he said. “Touch the bark and see what you can feel beneath.” Cahan knelt, taking the trion’s place holding down Dyon’s arm as he struggled, gasped and whimpered. Venn nodded, closed their eyes and put their hands on Dyon’s torso. As soon as they made contact Venn pulled their hand away and let out a shriek of pain.

“It burns.” They stared at Dyon, then looked at Cahan. “Surely you can do this?”

“Cause it? Yes, I can probably do that. Stop it, no. Not within my power.” The trion licked their lips. Nodded. Took a breath and placed their hands once more on Dyon. Flinched. And despite that the longhouse was barely warm their brow broke out in sweat. They clenched their teeth. Made a sound unlike anything Cahan had heard before, part pain, part fear. Every muscle in the trion tensed. Eyes opened wide. Staring up into the rafters of the house. Mouth a thin, determined line. For a moment he thought they might have some sort of fit. Then both Venn and Dyon let out a sigh. Dyon’s mouth fell open and Udinny spooned in the Sleepwragg. More than Cahan had seen any person given. The monk looked at him.

“He is in a lot of pain,” she said.

“That much may kill him.”

“A moment ago you were going to cut his throat, so you are a fine one to give medical advice, Cahan.” He looked away, felt Dyon’s muscles relaxing beneath his grip.

“The Rai are coming,” Cahan said, “I have to get back.”

“Go then,” said Venn, “I will stay with him. Do what I can.”

Out into the cold air once more. The frigid atmosphere of a people slowly sinking into a terror that could freeze even seasoned soldiers.

The beat of the drum.

The percussion of their steps.

The slow advance.

On the walls Ania had been joined by her Forestals. They watched the advance. Confusion among the villagers. They had still not formed into their lines properly. They were lost. He opened his mouth but did not know what words would help.

“Branch leaders!” shouted Furin, “proud trunks of Harn! Are you beaten before you start? Your children hide in our roundhouses, if the Rai overrun us what do you think will happen? You think poor Dyon will be the only one that burns?” She sounded angry. What she had seen in the longhouse had filled her with a righteous fury and she grabbed the nearest villager. “Form a line,” she said, pushing them into line. “String your bow. And if you cannot string a bow take up a spear, for that is what I will do.”

“Ranya brought us here,” shouted Udinny, following Furin and taking up a bow of her own. “She has given us all we need to survive. We have Venn, who will heal us. We have Cahan, who will lead us. We have these,” she brandished the bow, “which we have been trained to use!”

“If you would live. Then you must fight!” Furin sounded fierce, spear in hand she appeared to him as some feral woman of war. “Follow Cahan Du-Nahere. Obey his words and we will prevail. Do this for your children, as I do it, for Issofur.” The crowd, as Udinny and Furin spoke, began to form their lines. Ragged and unkempt, not like the lines of the Rai’s soldiers which were perfect and disciplined.

“Thank you,” he said to Furin as they climbed onto the wall.

“You just have to know what they need to hear,” she said. He nodded and looked back at the villagers. He saw something in their raggedness, in their many colours. He saw the joy of their past, oh gone now, no joy there, only fear. But those bright colours had been done in celebration of life, and created by them coming together. The energy of the village given form. So unlike the uniform lines that marched towards Harn, the men and women who fought, at least in part, for fear of the Rai who ruled them.

“Ready your bows, people of Harn,” he said from his place on the walls. Every one of them heard his voice for he pushed it out among them. “And I will get you through this.” He held his head straight. “I once told Venn, that given a hundred with forestbows I could break any army sent against me.” He lifted his bow. Took a breath. “So, raise your bows, and let us break this one.”

It was not true, of course, they were not trained, they were not experts and many of them would die before this was over. But as Furin had said, it was what they needed to hear. He turned. Somehow more at ease.

The beat of the drum. Matched the beat of his heart.

The percussion of their steps. Matched the measured breaths he took as he watched.

The slow advance. That he would turn.

“Nearly time,” said the Forestal. She looked out at the advancing line and took an arrow from her quiver. Licked the fletching of dried leaves.

“This will be a long day,” said Cahan.

“For you,” said the Forestal, “for us it is ten arrows.”