The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress (51 page)

"It’s nothing our young lord can’t handle," a grizzled soldier grinned, coming up behind them and taking a sip from a flask.

"Tuok!" Miro gripped the man’s hand, smiling broadly.

"Listen well to Captain Miro Torresante, men," Tuok called loudly. "If anyone can beat this scum, it’s him."

A man came out to stand in front of the forward elements of the Black Army. He threw his head back and his jaws opened. Miro didn’t need to be able to hear to tell the man was laughing.

It was Moragon. He pointed up at the hills, directly at where Miro stood. He made a sweeping gesture across the line of his throat.

A horn sounded — three powerful blasts.

The first wave of attackers surged forward.

Lights flared along the line of defenders as runes were activated. There was a hissing sound as weapons were drawn from scabbards. Bartolo and Miro both stayed silent, they would save their song for the battle itself.

"
Tulak-mahour
," Lord Rorelan murmured. His scaled armour began to glow. He activated his sword.

Miro looked down at the running attackers. It was a testing push, a thin line of men meant to draw out any surprises the defenders had in store. Many of the running soldiers carried long wooden planks. Miro waited until they reached the spiked trenches, halfway to the ridge.

"Mortars!" he cried.

The air crackled as the mortars released their charges. The orbs vanished into the night sky. There was a moment of silence, and then the explosions began. Gouts of flame and earth poured into the air, followed by pieces of men. Many still managed to get their planks down before the second round of orbs took its toll. Then the attackers were no more.

Moragon ran out in front of the army again. He shouted something and pointed his arm in the air.

The horn sounded again, a long drawn out blast, followed by a short note.

Ten-thousand legionnaires stepped forward. At their front were two of the imperial avengers.

"Here it comes," Miro heard Tuok mutter.

Miro signalled the two enchanters he had managed to request. They stepped forward. "The devastators. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Captain. The gaps in the line of trenches?"

"The gaps are there. Just release them at the places I’ve indicated and they’ll get through."

The enchanters nodded and withdrew.

Moragon dropped his arm and the legionnaires surged forward. Miro watched one of the avengers. It ran like some kind of grotesque puppet, lurching first one way, then another. The tendrils of its flail made it seem like some kind of many-armed creature.

The mass of men swamped up the hill, covering its surface.

"Release!" Miro cried.

He looked back along the line. It was taking too long. What was happening? There was some kind of commotion along the line. He watched as the mortars took their toll on the attackers. These were legionnaires though — their glowing armour prevented much of the orbs’ devastating effect. They added more planks as they crossed.

Finally, evenly spaced along the ridge, five great metal balls began to roll down the hill, their runes glowing fiery red. Each was twice the circle of a man’s arms in size. They gathered momentum as they rolled, and Miro prayed they would find the correct gaps in the trenches.

He had measured it carefully. They had left gaps between the trenches, only two or three paces, so that the spheres would be able to roll through the trenches and into the mass of men crossing.

He held his breath as they approached. Some had worried that seeing them approaching, many of the enemy would panic, reducing the devastators’ effect. But these were imperial legionnaires. They wouldn’t panic.

One of the spheres fell into a trench. Another found a gradient in the hill and started to drift to the side, missing the line of trenches completely. A groan went up from the defenders.

The other three devastators went through the trenches and into the mass of legionnaires who had yet to cross.

The devastator in the trench exploded first, just as a score of men were crossing. They saw it an instant before they heard it. The hillside simply exploded. Earth and rock went in all directions, flying into the air in a huge cloud, obscuring Miro’s view. The boom as it exploded was deafening. The sound rolled around the hills like thunder.

Miro watched as the wayward sphere followed the line of the hill, rolling steadily towards the main army encampment below. His heart racing, he willed it to roll closer to the main body of men. First rolling away from the men, the sphere hit a bump and turned back towards the enemy. Sensing its approach, they began to scatter. It touched the edge of the enemy force, where a group of artificers operated the Black Army’s dirigibles and mortars.

Then within moments of each other, all of the remaining glowing spheres detonated. Even Miro had to put his hands to his ears. Nothing could be seen through the smoke and dust. He peered anxiously as it cleared.

Miro could see now that half of the hillside had been blown away. Perhaps two thirds of the wave of legionnaires had been wiped out. It meant the loss of their trenches. He hoped it had been worth it. Looking at the main body of the enemy, he saw they had lost scores of Louan artificers along with many of their mortars and dirigibles.

But forty-thousand of the enemy still remained, held in reserve. Forty, to their five.

With a roar, the remaining legionnaires came pouring out of the smoke, rushing towards the defenders. One of the imperial avengers came on, at the head of their wedge formation, like the point of a spear. It was missing an arm, the thin slit of its eyes glaring with menace.

The initial testing over, the battle began in earnest.

~

T
HE
legion smashed into the front of the line, like a wave breaking on the shore. It was instant chaos, all sense of order lost.

Miro and Bartolo were in the middle of the fray, the flying reserve unexpectedly embroiled when the legionnaires hit the middle of the line. If anything Miro was glad they had hit him where he was strongest, but he hoped the reserve would save some of its strength.

The song of the two bladesingers held the men together; the glaring of their armoursilk and sparking zenblades was a beacon to guide them. To Miro’s surprise Lord Rorelan was in the thick of the fighting, parrying and lunging with a formal style that gave away his training.

"Hold for me!" Bartolo cried. Miro braced himself.

Bartolo leapt into the air, his feet hitting Miro’s shoulders and using Miro to propel himself an incredible height above the fighting soldiers. He landed next to the avenger.

"Altura!" Bartolo cried. He was echoed by the soldiers.

The men began to surge forward.

"Hold!" Miro called. "Hold the line!"

Looking over the heads of the enemy he could see another wave coming behind.

Most of the men pulled back, those who didn’t soon found themselves alone. They didn’t last long.

Miro ducked the swing of a legionnaire and thrust his fiery zenblade at the man’s stomach. Blood and gore sprayed out into his face. He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his left hand then blocked a vicious overhand cut from a half-moon axe blade. He kicked out at the man, lunging into the space he created. His song reached a crescendo. He spun on his heel, the length of the sword arcing through the air. It cut through two spears and a shield. Three men went down.

Panting, Miro regained the height of the crest and looked along the line. They were holding, just.

Then the next wave of the enemy hit, and Miro concentrated on staying alive.

~

T
HE
day became a blur of swinging swords and grunting men. The corpses piled high all along the front of the ridge, impairing the efforts of attackers and defenders alike. Sticky red gore formed piles and pools on the ground, combining with the mud. As many men died from the treacherous ground as from being genuinely bested. The rain continued.

There was a brief respite during the middle of the day. Suddenly all Miro could hear were the wheezing gasps of the men. He looked down onto the plain. Moragon stood alone, in front of the army, his head back, his body rocking with laughter.

Miro looked back along the line. It was patchy now. He could see where the men had closed up, inadvertently creating weaknesses in the line.

He looked down at the enemy. Their numbers seemed as vast as ever.

"Water the men, Captain," the panting voice of Lord Rorelan came from somewhere nearby.

"Water!" Miro called.

He walked up the ridge as young boys and girls came up with buckets of water. The men drank thirstily. Miro spoke softly to the men as he walked, patting an arm here, congratulating a soldier there. They stood taller as he approached. Their resolve was as firm as ever.

He bent down and sat with a young Alturan for a moment. The boy was perhaps five or six years younger than Miro. His face was grey, blood frothed at his lips.

"You did well, son of Raj Altura," Miro said softly as he knelt.

"Miro… Torresante… I did well?"

He took the boy’s hand. "We fight to protect our people, your family. They are safe because we are here."

"My mother… She is safe?"

"Yes, she is safe."

The boy struggled to breathe. Miro hung his head, and then closed his eyes for a moment, praying. He thought about his sister. He prayed for her safety. He prayed he would see her again. He thought of Amber, her warm smile, her infectious laughter, her fascination with everything new.

It seemed so far away, that world of love and sunlight. He wondered if he would ever see Sarostar again, if he would ever again ride one of the pleasure boats on the Sarsen on a warm summer’s day.

He opened his eyes. The boy was dead, his eyes glazing over. The rain fell on the boy’s grimy face, forming rivulets like tears.

Miro stood. He could see the men around him, looking at him, wondering. Without knowing what came over him, he jumped down from the crest and started to pace the front of the line.

"Soldiers of Altura, fighting men of Halaran. Some of you know me, I am your captain."

There was a cheer from the men.

"My name is Miro Torresante. If you know that name, then you know the name of my father. His name was Serosa Torresante, and he was the Lord Marshal of the combined forces of our two houses during the Rebellion, during that great war when we faced the same enemy we face here today."

Miro’s expression blackened. He spoke with a force that came from somewhere within him. He was fighting with these men — they were putting their lives in his hands. He wanted them to understand. "Some in Altura say my father was a warmonger. That he gave up the lives of our children for some petty political gain. I challenge anyone, anyone, to stand here and say that to me today. Today, when our two houses stand against the same foe. When we give our hearts and minds to this cause, to protect those who cannot protect themselves, to fight tyranny. I am proud to be here. I would be nowhere else."

Miro paused for emphasis. "When I was just a little child, my father led Alturan and Halrana against this dark enemy because I needed protection. Now I am a man, a warrior, and I am here to give that same protection. To anyone. Anyone! Any man, woman, or child who needs it. And I call on you to join me!"

The men roared — a mighty sound of defiance.

Miro rejoined Lord Rorelan, who gave him an enigmatic look, but said nothing.

Bartolo simply pointed and said, "Here they come."

~

T
WO
hours into the fighting the enemy broke through the line.

Miro had never believed such continuous fighting was possible. His face and hands were covered in blood. He had a wound on his left ankle where a lucky spear had found part of his body unprotected. He had to concentrate on his song now, it no longer came unthinkingly. He was no longer able to use shadow — the complexity was just too great for his tired mind.

He heard a despairing cry followed by a bellowing and, dispatching an opponent, he looked up. The attackers were pouring through a gap in the line, countless numbers of them. At the point of their wedge formation, two imperial avengers lumbered ahead. As men along the line suddenly found they had an enemy at their back, they turned to defend themselves. In turn this put too much pressure on the front of the line. It wavered. They were being overrun. In moments the battle would be lost.

Miro frantically looked around. He could see green, somewhere in the distance. "Bartolo!" he cried. "Breach! Breach!"

Without seeing if he’d been heard he looked around him. "To me!" he gathered the men to him and ran to attack the horde of insurgents.

Sensing their opportunity the enemy threw everything they had at the defenders, the final wave coming surging up the hill. Miro called on reserves of strength he hadn’t known he possessed. He ran, calling the men to him as he approached the break.

Then suddenly he was in it. The avengers were tossing men around like leaves before a wind. Miro knew he had to stop them before anything could be done about the legionnaires.

He signalled to a group of Alturan heavy infantry, their armour slick with blood but still glowing silver. "Go for the legs, get it on the upswing."

The man in front nodded. Miro could see the fear in his eyes.

"I will lead the way," a voice came from behind Miro. Bartolo swept forward, his armoursilk a bright star amongst the chaos. Heartened, the infantry followed him in.

This left the other avenger for Miro.

Miro’s zenblade flared yellow. The avenger turned to watch him, malevolent, its flail twitching one-way, then another. Freed from its rampages the soldiers swarmed into the assaulting legionnaires, leaving Miro alone with the creature.

Miro entered that state he had only found once before, during his testing. He now tried to go further, to add the same strength of purpose to his armoursilk. Fatigue made the effort more than twice as difficult. The song faltered. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, pushing through the fatigue.