The enemy held the far bank and had outposted both bridges on our side. The bridges were piled with flammables, and the moment we attacked, the outposts would pull back, spreading flame as they went. For additional security, they’d also stationed men on the islets that split the river.
The Maisirian forces were drawn up in three lines in an arc around the village of Sidor, and behind them were massed reserves.
Our army was a mess. Units had become mingled on the march; no one knew who was at point and who was supporting, and every officer was bickering about it at the top of his lungs.
Yonge’s skirmishers held positions between the road head and the bridges, and arrows flickered back and forth.
The Emperor Tenedos stood on a tiny hillcrest, a tight, confident smile on his face. His staff surrounded him, waiting for orders.
“We have them now, Tribune,” he said in greeting to me.
“So it appears.”
“You’ve crossed here, correct?”
“Yes, sir. On my journey to Jarrah.”
“How deep is it? Is it fordable?”
“Not really. A horseman could swim it, and we could span it with ropes in the summer or fall. But not now.” I pointed at the racing water, and the occasional ice floes bobbing past. “If it’d only freeze …”
“Or if we grew wings,” the emperor said. “Very well. There’s no use in subtlety. We’ll spend the rest of the day sorting out this mishmash, and attack at first light. We’ll have to assume they’ll burn the bridges before we can take them.
“Put the skirmishers across first, swimming, with light cavalry, then pioneers behind them. Have them run ropes, and we’ll have strong swimmers posted. They’ll have to gain a foothold immediately, or we’ll be doomed. Send for Yonge.” An aide scurried away.
“Other pioneer units should start cutting logs for a floating bridge, for the main force. I’ll bring the Guard on line, and we’ll make a frontal crossing and attack. Perhaps a diversion up- or downstream.
“We’ll hit them as hard as we can in their center, and watch them fold up on themselves.” It was a simple plan, and it might work, although the cost would be terrible.
“Comments, General of the Armies á Cimabue?”
I studied the village and the bridges. “It’s a good plan,” I said, being politic since there were aides within hearing. “But perhaps I could make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead.” Tenedos’s voice was as frosty as the air.
“Perhaps, my Emperor, we could move over here, so I could show you a few salient points I noticed?”
Tenedos looked skeptical, but came down from his knoll. Domina Othman tried to accompany him, but I sent him reeling back with a hard stare. “All right, Damastes,” the emperor said. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing, sir. But perhaps there’s, well, a way that might increase the odds in our favor.”
“Go ahead.”
My ideas were brief and made only a few changes in the emperor’s tactics. Tenedos’s face went from doubtful, to interested, to enthusiastic. When I finished, he was nodding excitedly. “Good. Good. And I’m an utter dolt for not devising a similar plan. But I can’t believe the Maisirians don’t have more guards posted. How many men will you need?”
“Ten men, the absolute best, for each attack group. Twenty others behind them. Ten of your Brethren with those, then another fifty, and fifty more to remain on each bridge and deal with those below. They should be archers. We’ll need skirmishers for the first thirty, Guardsmen for the rest. Volunteers by squad, to keep unit discipline.”
“That hardly seems enough.”
“It isn’t — but six hundred wouldn’t be any better,” I said, “and would be a hundred times as noisy.”
“While this is going on …?” the emperor asked.
“The pioneers will be hacking away, the units will be scuffling back and forth showing lights every now and then, and the Maisirians will be waiting for daybreak and our attack. I hope.”
Tenedos smiled slyly. “I notice you’ve included yourself in the party.”
“Of course.” I could hardly ask someone to do what I drew back from.
Tenedos’s grin grew broader. “So, of course, you know what follows.”
“No … oh, shit. Sir, you simply cannot — ”
“But I shall. And haven’t we gone through this before? Remember what happened the last time?”
I realized the impossibility of argument. “And if things go wrong?” I tried.
“Then neither of us will know about them, will we? Now, let’s put the others moving. I have spells to prepare.”
• • •
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to serve in an army where tribunes and emperors knew their place. A bit saner than being a Numantian warrior, I’d wager. Yonge said, just as flatly as the emperor, that he’d be with the first ten. I argued halfheartedly, not because I knew I’d lose, which I would, but rather because I wanted his skill with a knife.
Svalbard and Curti also volunteered. I hesitated, for I wanted to keep Curti with the second twenty, given his keen eye, but I relented.
I spent the last two hours before sundown crouched behind an ice-hung bush, watching those two bridges and the islets through the snow flurries, memorizing landmarks I’d recognize in the dark.
Behind me, the army prepared for a grand crossing. Pioneers could be seen here and there, cutting trees and dragging them to the river’s edge, preparing for battle on the morrow or the day after. About two hundred and fifty men — all that remained of the Varan Guard, Myrus Le Balafre’s old command, which had marched across the border with three thousand — moved east, about a mile downstream, not quite able to conceal their movement from the Maisirians.
I saw a small fishing boat overturned beside the river, and had pioneers drag it up from the water’s edge.
When it grew dark, I returned to the emperor’s headquarters. A large tent had been put up, with wood heaters inside, and tables were set with smoked hams, preserved fish, freshly cooked bacon, freshly baked white bread, even oysters and cheese — foods I hadn’t seen since Jarrah.
I grew angry, then realized they weren’t for the staff officers, but for the soldiers inside, my first thirty, plus another ten magicians. Farther back, the two hundred Guardsmen were being fed, if not as sumptuously as we were, better rations than they’d seen for many leagues. All had their feces, hands, and necks darkened with mud, and any shiny medals, buttons, or frogs removed. They carried knives, in addition to their swords or sabers, and some had lead-weighted sandbags as well.
I laid a slab of ham on a piece of bread, cut a wedge of cheese atop that, slathered the cheese with bitterroot relish, and gnawed it while I turned myself from a dashing tribune into a gob of invisible earth.
The emperor joined us as I was giving my orders, which only took a few seconds. He, too, was mud-daubed and wore black. It took a moment for the men to recognize him, and some of the Guardsmen instinctively went to their knees.
“Up,” he said brusquely. “Tonight I’m but one of you. Tomorrow will be time for ceremony. Tonight is for silence — and death. Death for the Maisirians.”
He pulled me aside. “There were wards, as I thought,” he said. “Notice I said ‘were.’ But they’ll never realize I countered them, not even if their gods-damned azaz is hanging over their shoulders.”
All the men were experienced fighters, so there was no need for a rousing speech, and we waited as patiently as we could, some pretending mirth, some sleep, until the emperor ordered us up. The snow flurries had become a full storm, which was all to the good. I said a brief prayer to Isa and Tanis, wished I’d had time to kiss Alegria, whom I’d left at the rear of the march with Domina Bikaner and the Seventeenth, and we slipped into the night.
• • •
“Halt! Who comes?” The challenge was in a hoarse whisper.
“Calstor Nevia, with a ten-man patrol,” I answered in Maisirian, using one of the country dialects I’d learned centuries ago at Irrigon.
“Advance one to be recognized.”
Yonge moved past, and two shadows came toward him. The first Maisirian jerked backward as Yonge’s knife went in under his chin. The second, too close to use his spear, jumped away, twisting, and my sword took him in the side. He died a bit more noisily, gurgling, but it didn’t matter, as eight Numantians rushed the outpost, boots silenced with cut-up sheepskin laced to their soles. We waited tensely, then a black-faced soldier came from behind. He held his palm up. The outpost at the other bridge had been silenced. A moment later, that team joined us.
“All right,” I said in a low voice. “Remember, march like you own the damned bridge. You do. But don’t sound too smart, eh? You are Maisirians, after all.” In tight formation, we went into the heart of the enemy, boot heels smashing against wet wood as if we were on parade. I saw teeth flash, saw Tenedos in the dimness. I wonder if our thoughts were the same: Long years ago, we’d attempted something as daring, and carried it off.
Isa — or, hells, why not pray to the emperor’s own goddess, Saionji — be with us this night as well, I prayed.
Behind us came the rest of our raiders, half-crouched, walking softly, and keeping to the middle of the bridge. Six carried what I hoped would be the center of my deception — that abandoned boat. I counted paces, recognized landmarks, and knew we were over the Anker’s islets. At each, I motioned and squads fell out.
The Maisirians couldn’t have had that much faith in their magic, and only had one set of guards on either bridge. I was right. They didn’t. A man came out of the darkness, spear thrusting. But Curti had seen him, and an arrow thunked into the man’s face. He tore at it, his spear clattering away. I flung myself on him, one hand clawing at wetness, clamping his mouth closed while my dagger drove again and again into his chest. When I picked myself up, four other bodies sprawled — but one was Numantian.
We went on and on, across that endless bridge. Eventually we saw greater blackness looming, and the long causeway came to an end. Here was another post, manned by at least thirty men. Our bravado let us get within ten yards, and then someone scented danger and shouted an alarm. We swarmed over them, cutting, thrusting, and most were down, but some were screaking and running.
I called for the six men carrying the boat, had them drop it on the beach, and drop a Maisirian corpse nearby, as if he’d been killed when the raiders put ashore.
“At the run,” I ordered, seeing torches flare in the stone village, and the men were running after me, east toward the other bridge. Midway between the two was the three-story, six-sided stone granary. The door was closed, but it smashed open to my boot heel, and three Maisirian officers stood, befuddled, and Svalbard, Curti, and I slashed them down. Numantians poured into the room.
“Brethren to the stairs,” the emperor shouted. “All the way to the top floor.”
“Balkh,” I ordered. “Take charge of this floor, and block the door.”
“Sir.”
I went up the broad stairs to the second floor, a tall-ceilinged single room, sweet-smelling of grains and summer. There were only four windows here, so I sent half my men downstairs to reinforce Captain Balkh, and took the rest up to the top story. It was like the first, and two magicians teetered on a ladder, trying to push open a trapdoor.
“Get down,” Svalbard growled, and they obeyed hastily. Curti and I braced the ladder, and the big man shot up the rungs, curving his head as his shoulders thudded into the weather-jammed hatch. It banged open, and we were on the roof, the emperor and his magicians behind us.
Sidor was a-clamor — their defenses had been sprung! I heard nothing from the bridges, though, and hoped the Maisirians would convince themselves the tiny boat I’d brought along carried all of the murderers. That might give my raiders time enough to kill the outposts on the islets.
The magicians took out their gear. The first two spells had been prepared before we set out. One was a conventional spell of blindness, so hopefully the Maisirians wouldn’t be able to see the granary’s doors. Timbers thudded from below as the Guardsmen barricaded them.
The second spell was one of binding, of strength. Bits of wood were cut from the timbers blocking the door, and piled atop a tiny iron rod that had symbols cut into the surface. Around it was piled, I learned later, dried herbs such as pepper plant seeds, lavender, fenugreek, quassia chips, and others. These were burned, with a purple flame that never flickered when snowflakes fell into it, while two sorcerers muttered a spell in unison. This was intended to — and did — give those timbers the strength of iron bars. I remembered the tower at Irrigon, and wished my seer, Sinait, had been with me. If she had been … perhaps … perhaps …
I forced the thought away, and peered over the edge of the balcony and saw hordes of Maisirians crowding into the square around. But no one showed himself at the windows, so the Maisirians didn’t know what to do.
“I sense their magicians awakening,” Tenedos said. “Be wary.”
One of the Chare Brethren began a counterspell.
I saw three officers organizing an assault team below. “Archers,” I shouted, and those three dropped. We had, I estimated, about two hours until daylight, when Tenedos had ordered the main attack.
Men lugged a long stone column into the square, while other soldiers held shields over their heads against the arrow storm.
I suddenly felt sick, my head swimming, and saw others sway and curse. Our magicians drew symbols on the roof, sprinkled foul-smelling potions about, and the War Magicians’ spell was broken. “That was a new one,” the emperor said. “Usually it’s just various sorts of fear and confusion. I’ll enjoy learning that from their azaz when I’m pulling him apart after the war.” He sounded as if staying alive for a few hours in the middle of the Maisirian army were less than a problem. He and the other wizards began casting small, harassing spells as the Maisirians below readied their attack.
Tenedos said he had a Great Spell ready, but it couldn’t be cast until the time was right. Which would be when? I asked, and he gave me a dark look and said he would know the time full well, and all I should do was keep him healthy until then.
The Maisirians ran forward with their ram, twenty men on a side, and crashed it into the side of the granary. I sent Svalbard below, and he returned saying there was no damage. Again the ram smashed into the stone walls.
“This is beginning to annoy me,” Tenedos said. “But at least the confusion spell seems to be working, since they’re not attacking the doors. But still …” He drew his dagger and used its butt to chip a bit of stone from the parapet. “I don’t know if this will work …” and his voice trailed off as he chanted under his breath, frequently glancing over the side as the ram smashed again and again into the stone. “Hells!” he said, and cast the chip aside. “I was hoping they quarried all their rock from the same place, but I suppose not. No similarity, no damage. Damastes, would you care to attempt a more prosaic solution?”
The shield holders had grown careless; carefully aimed spears sailed down, and six men fell. The rammers lost their balance, and the column slammed to the cobbles of the square, trapping five more soldiers under it.
“Archers,” I ordered. “Kill me every man that tries to help the men who’re pinned. But don’t strike them, or I’ll have your asses.” Cruel to use wounded men, crueler to kill those who had the courage and bowels to try to help them? Of course. But what do you suppose war is?
A lookout shouted a warning, and I saw a party of men moving toward the bridges. “That can be dealt with,” Tenedos said, and motioned to three magicians. A brazier flared. One wizard uncorked a vial and sprinkled dark fluid over the flames, and I smelled the stink of human blood burning. Tenedos and one other began chanting:
“Take the fuel
Feed your strength
Grow and be fecund
Give birth
Give birth
Your children dance around you.”
There were smaller flames around the brazier.
“Scent your food
Scent your prey
Go forth
Go forth
As I bid you
Find water
Cross over water
Your prey awaits
Go and feed
Go and feed.”
Tenedos dropped into the brazier a bit of cloth from a Maisirian uniform, a shard of bone taken from a frozen corpse, a bit of hair from another body, and the tiny flames darted out. They hovered, seeking direction, and Tenedos put his hand into the fire and picked up a bit of flame, yet remained unburned. He stretched his hand, the fire dancing on it, toward the bridge.
“Go and feed
Go and feed
Go and feed,”
he chanted monotonously, and the flames sped away. As they moved, they grew larger and larger, to nearly the height of a man. They swirled and swept over the river, then swooped as one, as a swallow dives in the summer dusk. The Maisirians had reached the bridge when the flames caught them, and over the shouts from the square I heard screams. The flames grew as they fed, and Maisirians twisted, died, or leapt over the railings to end the agony.
“I wonder how they like the taste of their own magic,” Tenedos muttered. “Especially since I’ve added a touch.” As the men died, the flames lifted away, unlike the Maisirian fire, which had died with its victims. Stronger, larger, they came back toward the granary.
“Find others,” Tenedos cried. “Find others and feed, feed, my children,” and the flames obediently dropped toward the square.
I saw something against the driving snow, a huge cupped hand. It reached down from nowhere and, just as I pinch out a candle when I’m ready for sleep, this enormous, half-visible hand closed, and the flames were gone.
“A little late,” the emperor said. “But still effective. Let’s see what this azaz thinks of my next.”
He bent over his equipment. But the azaz cast first, and I heard a keening begin, and the wind buffeted us. We knelt and braced, and one sorcerer made the mistake of grabbing for a tripod the wind was pushing toward the parapet. As he stood, the wind screamed in triumph and sent him spinning over the edge. The gale whirled about us, and we were the center of a vortex.
The emperor dropped his potion and hurriedly scrawled symbols on the stone. The wind vanished, and snow fell straight in the stillness. “I’ll wager,” Tenedos said, “he’s never heard of that one, for it was taught me in far-off Jaferite. He should learn the virtues of travel.” Tenedos chuckled at his jest, then went back to his casting.
“Why aren’t they sending more men to the bridges?” someone asked. I didn’t — and don’t — know. Perhaps the officer who’d thought to reinforce his guards was burned by Tenedos’s fires. Or perhaps Maisir’s attention was held by the magicians’ battle. Perhaps they only forgot for half an hour, but that’s an eternity in battle.
Lights flashed across the river, about a mile downstream, and the Varan Guard began their diversionary attack. The emperor stared into the blackness as if he could see what was happening, and I realized, from his words, that he could. “They’ve taken one of the islands. Brave men,” he said. “There’s ice in the damned river, and they’re pushing through it like it’s not even there. Shit. The Maisirians had soldiers on that island — as many as the Varans.” He was silent, then nodded approvingly. “Good. Now the Varans have re-formed and are attacking again.” Tenedos returned to his spell.
Archers in perfect formation marched into the square, opened ranks, and volleyed up arrows. Two men on the parapet went down. One was a wizard, the other a spearman. One writhed in pain, the other lay motionless. “You,” Tenedos said to another archer. “Give me one of your arrows.” The man obeyed. The emperor considered it for a second. “Now, if I only had a bit more of their blood,” he said. “But this will have to do.” He closed his eyes, touched the point to the lids, and then to the ground, while chanting in a language I didn’t know.
“Get down,” someone shouted. “They’re firing again!” We went flat, which was nonsensical, for we would’ve been better off standing up, presenting a smaller target to the arrows as they plunged down from the peak of their arc. But none of the arrows landed on the roof; they wavered, as if a wind had taken them, then dropped back.
Tenedos called over a wizard. “You know how to do that?”
“I think so, Your Majesty.”
“Recast the spell every time they start to shoot at us. They’ll tire before we will.”
He looked across the river. “They’ve sent cavalry downriver against the Varans,” he said. “Two, no three regiments.”
“Don’t you have a spell to stop them?” I said. The Varan Guard would be outnumbered at least eight to one.
“I have a spell in the making already,” Tenedos said. “I cannot chance it. Besides …” He let his voice trail off and said no more.
I remember these events as if they were happening in a quiet room, and there were no distractions. In reality there were screams, shouts, the keening of the wounded and the dying, and the blare of the Maisirian bugles.
“Now the cavalry is on them,” Tenedos announced. He bowed his head, and everyone on the parapet was silent. I swallowed hard. Tenedos grimaced, looked up. “They died well,” he announced. “They’ll be remembered.” Then he added, “The Great Spell may now be cast.”
That should have been my final clue, but I barely heard him, for false dawn was at hand.
Across the river our main attack began. Guardsmen in close formation trotted over the hillcrest and down onto the bridges. Our army was completely vulnerable, and the Maisirians closed their lines into and through Sidor. Arrows lofted in sheets against the men on the bridges. Other Numantians fell, but I’d seen no weapon take their lives. The War Magicians were doing their part.
Our front ranks went down to the man, and the next wave had to step over their bodies. They, too, died, and there was a parapet of corpses to shelter behind. But pitiless officers ordered the Guardsmen on, and bodies were pitched over the railings as the Guard advanced. This was when the pretty uniforms, the young girls’ fluttering eyebrows, and the parade honors were paid for. The Guardsmen knew it, and forged on, heads bowed as if pushing into a strong wind.
The Maisirians were whooping in glee — this would be the deathblow to the usurpers. All of us, from the emperor to the lowest soldier, would die in this village.
I’d hoped the enemy would forget about the granary, but men ran into the square with scaling ladders. Other soldiers held shields over their heads and set the ladders against the walls. My soldiers tried to kick the ladders away, but the ends must’ve been treated with something sorcerously sticky, and they refused to move. Maisirians swarmed up. Arrows, spears went down, and climbers fell. But others, baying for blood, replaced them.
Maisirian bowmen volleyed arrows, and the blocking spell must have been gone, for the shafts sped accurately through the granary’s windows. Two Maisirians reached the top of one ladder, bounded into the upper story, and killed a man before Yonge cut them down. There was a small battle at the ladder head before we drove them back and an ax-man smashed the rungs of their ladder. More climbers were at another window, and the battle raged on.
Unless our forces crossed the river, we were doomed. And they were being driven back, hesitating, then reluctantly pushed forward by the officers they feared more than the enemy. Bodies littered the bridge and the islets, and corpses floated in the river between small floes of ice.
The emperor quietly watched all of this. I almost said something, but stopped myself. He was the seer king; he would know the time. “Very well,” he said, and whispered a single phrase. I heard a great roaring, like the wind, like a fire, and my palms dampened, and I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the icy wind.
I saw something. Some things. They came from our side of the river, moving steadily across the water, needing no bridge, no land. They were mostly stark white, and I peered closely, trying to see what they were. Someone with better eyes than mine screamed, and I could see what the emperor’s spell had brought forth: A hundred, five hundred, perhaps a thousand horses, of the palest white, with a black-cloaked rider on each, swept toward us. Every rider held a curved sword in each hand, swords that glittered, though there was no sunlight to reflect; they shone not silver, but blood red. I couldn’t see into the cloaks’ hoods, but knew the riders’ faces would be naught but skulls.
This, finally, was the Great Spell. Tenedos, in his arrogance, his supreme confidence, had dared summon Death, or her minions, the final manifestation of Saionji, to fight with us. Some Maisirians had the bravery to shoot at the riders, some cast spears. The weapons sometimes hit the cloaks, but fell away as if they’d struck plate armor, and the riders came on. Then they were amid the warriors on the waterfront, swords flashing and red gouts spraying high.
Now I heard laughter, hard maniacal laughter filling my mind, filling the universe, and the Death demons killed on. It was the Maisirians’ turn to waver, then turn to run. But their own lines blocked retreat, and panic struck, and men tossed their weapons away and ran, running in utter fear, looking back, knowing they must not look at Death closing, but afraid not to.
Death — many Deaths — rode on, for this blood-soaked place in no way was their home. Their swords scythed and Saionji laughed harder.
Our soldiers, nearly as frightened as the Maisirians, attacked, pushing across the bridge and cutting out a foothold on either side of the granary, and we were safe.
The first squadron of cavalry trotted onto one of the bridges. Another sound boomed across the skies, the roar of a man’s rage. The air became solid, and a huge Maisirian warrior bestrode the village, five hundred feet or more tall. It swung a hand, and half the Death demons vanished, and the rage became a war cry. The demon’s hand closed about a rider, and a high, womanly scream came from him. Again the warrior killed, and our soldiers keened in fear as loudly as the Maisirians had.
The demon saw the cavalry, reached out, and as its hand came near, horses screamed, and the hand swept the squadron — horses, officers, men — into the Anker River. The warrior looked for more prey, but then its eyes widened as if it had been struck, and it stumbled back, crushing Maisirian soldiers as he did. Its mouth gaped, but no sound came, and it flailed at the air, as if choking.
Its hands grasped its throat, and it staggered. Its voice changed, flowed, and it became something awful, not man, not ape, as its cheekbones widened and great fangs grew from its mouth. Its jawline dropped and elongated, the face stretching like putty. Its body warped as well, became misshapen. Its hands became pinchers, and its arms grew and grew, almost brushing the ground. The demon’s eyes were green fire, and it turned against its own, and slashed at the Maisirians. One blow smashed down a village street, and stone buildings shattered like rotten wood. Again the panic shifted as the azaz’s demon killed and killed — always its own men. I heard the emperor shouting in triumph at his counterspell.
Then the demon howled and dropped to its knees, holding its head in agony, and my bones shook. Quite suddenly, it vanished, and there was nothing but a broken village, and warriors trying to fight, trying to flee, and all confusion.
Numantian units poured across the bridges, and the Maisirian rear line broke, and their army was shattered, falling back, away, into the suebi.
We had won a great victory, perhaps the greatest in Numantian history.
The Emperor Tenedos’s face was utter, unholy glee. Yonge stood beside him, completely expressionless.
The price was terrible. The river was dark red as far downstream as I could see, and the bridge, the islets were choked with our dead. The streets of the village were blocked with dead Maisirians, and there were more beyond. Cavalry pushed through them after the fleeing Maisirians, and more blood soaked the land.
We lost nearly forty thousand, and the Maisirians twice that, although no Numantian counted their bodies.
We had won a great victory. But ahead lay the wasteland, the endless suebi.