A PALE IMITATION

Time ceased.

Weapons leaped ahead in slow, extended motion. The shouts of soldiers droned, and the march of the armies lagged to a standstill. Arrows hovered in the air. Karigan’s pulse throbbed in her ears in ponderous measure, her breaths harsh and drawn out. She saw the eagerness in Zachary’s face, the joy in his eyes, the glint of light on his sword. The wet air carried to her the tang of first blood.

Time resumed.

The lines of Sacoridians and Second Empire collided. The earth seemed to quake with the crash of steel and thud of bodies. The hiss of arrows in flight; the screams of the mortally wounded.

The Weapons kept a cohesive formation around her and Zachary, which meant she had yet to engage the enemy. She could tell Zachary very much wanted to charge between his guards and fight. He was known to go berserk, and the need to attack must call to him. The king, of course, was a target, so he would no doubt get a chance to ply his skill as a warrior soon, though not many could stand before the deadly expertise of the Weapons.

They pushed forward, and at times were pushed back by the enemy. It was impossible to know how the battle was proceeding elsewhere because of the poor visibility. She wondered about her fellow Riders and where they were located, and what their part in the battle was to be.

They pushed forward again, stepping over fresh corpses of both their own soldiers and Second Empire’s, and onto new, wetter ground churned to mud. It sucked at her boots. It would compromise their footing, make everything harder. It was all like a dream with the billow and wisp of fog around and between them, soldiers appearing and disappearing in it. It closed around them like a suffocating blanket. She lost all sense of time, felt like they’d been at this for hours, but it had probably been only minutes.

A line of enemy crossbowmen stepped out of the mist directly in front of them, and Donal barely shouted, “Shields!” before crossbow bolts hurtled at them. One thunked with such force into Karigan’s shield that she was knocked back a step and the wood was split in half. Several Weapons fell, including Joshua next to her. Zachary sprinted through a sudden opening between his defenders in front of him.

Hells! Karigan thought.

She threw her broken shield aside and rushed after him with the Weapons. He bore into the crossbowmen even as they attempted to reload with fresh bolts. Many, in the face of the onrush of so many angry, black-clad Weapons and their berserker king, dropped their crossbows and ran. Any who remained or tried to fight were quickly cut down.

What had been a solid fighting formation among the Weapons had turned into a mad dash to keep up with Zachary as he slashed his way through the next wave of enemies, one after another. She had not been present when he’d gone berserk during the Battle of the Lone Forest, but now it was something amazing and terrible to behold as he left a trail of bodies in his wake. She slipped and slid in the mud as she tried to keep up with him.

Flogger—Clarence! she reminded herself—huffed and puffed behind him with the standard. She raced to his aid when several of the enemy took him on at once. Capturing the royal standard would be a great prize. She splashed through the mud and ran one of his assailants through, and when another turned to her, a quick exchange of blows ended his life with a good solid thrust through his gambeson. Flogger used the butt of the standard to knock a third down, and the Weapons took care of the rest.

“Thanks,” he said as he rushed on after Zachary.

Karigan gave him a nod. So often they had been opponents in swordmaster training that he’d become something of a nemesis, but not today.

She scrambled on the mucky ground in an effort to reach Zachary. By now, the fighting had turned into a messy all-out brawl.

“For Arcosia!” a soldier howled, and he swung at her.

She intercepted his blow and pushed back. He slipped in the sludge. Before he could recover, she slashed his throat.

As the fighting wore on, the ground became a mire of blood and entrails mixed with the mud. Karigan no longer had time to think, just to thrust and parry and survive, until, suddenly, no other attackers came at them. They breathed hard in the relative silence. The cloying stench of ruptured bowels and churned, wet earth was thick in the air. Somehow they’d been cut off from the rest of the army, enclosed by the wafting mist. Even Zachary had stilled to catch his breath. The battle fever was still in his eyes, but he seemed to retain some control of himself.

Around them were the sounds of clashes, the fog too dense for them to see. Horns rang out in the distance.

“Regroup,” Donal ordered.

Fastion grabbed Karigan’s arm and led her to Zachary’s side, and the Weapons once more closed around them. She tried to wipe mud off her face, but only smeared it around. It was like she had rolled in the stuff. Somehow Zachary and the Weapons appeared only mildly splattered.

“How many have we lost?” Zachary asked.

“Eight, in the volley with the crossbowmen,” Donal replied.

“Injuries?” Zachary asked.

The Weapon reported only minor cuts and bruises.

“Sir Karigan?” Zachary asked.

“No injuries,” she replied.

“Good.”

“Your Majesty?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“Injuries?”

There was a quick flash of amusement on his face. “None, but surely you can tell as I am not caked in mud. Any injury would be apparent. With you, it is decidedly difficult to tell.” He then grew serious again. “From the sounds of it, our troops to the north and south have pushed on. The fact Second Empire hasn’t tried to send any horse units against us leads me to believe that breaking the dam worked, and the ground is too wet for them to be effective. In fact, I’ve found their resistance to be on the light side.”

“A trap, sire?” one of the Weapons queried.

“I am guessing there is more resistance where our forces are more concentrated, but it wouldn’t be unlike Birch to have a surprise in store for us. Let us move ahead with caution, and keep close together, shields ready. Where is yours?” he asked Karigan.

“Broken.”

Flogger removed the one he had worn slung over his back and handed it to her.

“My hands are full with my sword and the standard,” he said, “so you might as well have mine.”

“Thank you.”

They moved forward, keeping together as Zachary told them to. A tall object loomed out of the mist.

“One of the catapults,” Fastion said.

Bodies of Second Empire’s soldiers lay about it, bristling with Sacoridian arrows, with no one left alive to operate it. It stood with two of its wheels buried to the hubs in mud. One of the rear wheels had broken. It was useless.

“Hah!” Zachary said. “No wonder they stopped lobbing debris at us.”

As they continued slogging across the churned ground, about a hundred members of the Penburn provincial militia found them and advanced with them.

“We lost our bearings in this fog,” their sergeant said. He explained that Lord Penburn was with another unit.

They overpowered groups of enemy soldiers as they marched forth, but otherwise continued to meet with little resistance.

Zachary paused, and they all halted. The odors of horses and woodsmoke drifted in the air, indicating Second Empire’s camp was near. Also not far off, the sounds of rushing water could be heard.

“It would appear we are close to Second Empire’s camp,” Zachary said, “but it is impossible to know the situation down there.”

Karigan summoned her nerve. Mostly, she was proud of how well she was doing. She had not broken down and run off, but kept focused on the job at hand. Still, despite the absence of Nyssa the torturer, the long-lasting effects of her presence remained nibbling at Karigan’s confidence. It would take a long time for her to get over it, if she ever could.

“I can go take a look,” she said.

“No.” Zachary’s answer was a little too quick.

“But you know how good I am at this sort of scouting.” She had no wish to reveal to the soldiers of Penburn just what kind of scouting she meant.

“That is not in dispute, Rider,” he replied, “but we stick together.”

“Sticking together won’t help if we walk into a trap,” she replied.

The Weapons watched their exchange stoically, which was the way of Weapons, but the Penburnians who were close enough to hear appeared agog that a mere common messenger would contradict the king to his face, and so soundly. She took note and bowed.

“Your Majesty,” she said, “forgive me. I simply wished to offer an alternative.”

“Sire, if I may,” Donal said, “it is a sound idea.”

As they debated, the curtain of fog thinned ever so slightly.

“Sire,” Fastion said softly.

Zachary looked up, and Karigan followed his gaze. Hazy figures surrounded them, curved swords at the ready.

“Lions,” she whispered.

“Birch’s surprise,” Zachary muttered.

“Form up!” Donal ordered, and the Weapons tightened up around Karigan and Zachary.

One of the Lions stepped forward, and Karigan recognized him as their leader, Brother Pascal.

“The last king of Sacoridia, I presume,” he said. “On behalf of General Birch, I offer you the opportunity to surrender. Your death will be swift and dignified, and as painless as possible, and we will allow the ordinary folk in your army to walk free and return to their farms, shops, and families. I am afraid that all officers and these Black Shields, however, must also be executed.”

Karigan guessed there were seventy-five or so Lions. It was hard to get an accurate count with the ever-shifting mists. They clearly outnumbered the Weapons, and she suspected they would not find the Penburn contingent much of a threat. Still, the Penburnians combined with the Weapons outnumbered the Lions, and it might be enough to even up the odds a little.

“Why should I surrender?” Zachary asked. “My forces are winning.”

“Are you so sure?” Brother Pascal replied. “You can see so much through this fog? The field is littered with dead Sacoridians.”

“There are casualties on both sides.”

“But where is this grand army of yours?” Brother Pascal demanded. “Certainly not victoriously marching into our camp.”

Zachary laughed. “Your camp is by now a flooded mud pit. I daresay many of you woke up this morning with sopping-wet blankets.”

“I make the offer one more time,” Brother Pascal said, “and one more time only. If you surrender, we will spare those of your soldiers who are otherwise ordinary citizens. Before you answer, you should know that we, the Lions of Arcosia, have been training since childhood for this moment. We outnumber your Black Shields, and are more skilled.”

Fastion issued an uncharacteristic and derisive snort.

“Well,” Zachary said, “my Black Shields will simply take that as a challenge. As for myself, I like to recall how my ancestors valiantly held off, and eventually defeated, the aggressors from Arcosia who encroached on this land and its sovereignty. The Sacor Clans had not the mechanicals or concussive weapons that the Arcosians possessed, but they had spirit, and the passion to defend their homeland. Second Empire, and its so-called Lions, are but a pale imitation of that adversary my ancestors faced and defeated a thousand years ago.”

Brother Pascal scowled particularly at the words “pale imitation.” “You will regret your inso—”

“Attack!” Zachary shouted before the Lion could complete his sentence.

The Weapons exploded into action, dragging Karigan along with them.