The New World Read online

  Vroan demanded, and Pyrust agreed, to pull my half army of xidantzu and Virine troops back into a reserve position. Faulting his logic was difficult. The new positions had Naleni troops supporting each other on the right, and Desei troops supporting each other on the left. Where Naleni and Desei mixed in the center, Pyrust would be able to command directly. The regiments within the armies had been staggered so Naleni and Desei troops overlapped in the center.

  Nelesquin’s troops had come up in good order and arrayed themselves in a tighter formation than ours. We had forty-four thousand troops on our side—seven of those in reserve. The kwajiin numbered roughly half that. They brought with them a number of the monsters we’d seen at Tsatol Deraelkun. Their appearance shocked our troops, but the way their feet sank into the mud heartened us. While the hammer-headed apes—Dunos decided they should be called xonarchii, meaning “stick brains”—might be able to hurl stones into our lines, their missiles would likely get stuck instead of bouncing on through formations.

  On the eve of battle, Prince Pyrust invited me to his tent. We stood beneath an awning. Rain pattered heavily against the canvas and dripped through a couple of seams. Neither of us wore armor, but we did bear our swords. I took it as a sign of respect that he allowed me to retain mine.

  Pyrust studied the enemy lines. “They have no cavalry.”

  “In the mud they will not be terribly effective.”

  “That’s why I’ll keep mine out of the mud.”

  I nodded. “Good idea. Nelesquin cut his teeth fighting against bandits and pirates. He never developed a feel for the use of cavalry. When I was learning cavalry tactics, he was devoting himself to magic.”

  “But wouldn’t his commander see the value in cavalry?” Pyrust pointed to a large pavilion across the battlefield from us. “I am assuming he’s not there, your Nelesquin. He doesn’t fight under the tiger-tail banner.”

  “No.” I shrugged. “I imagine he’s returned to Kelewan. He’s already divined the battle’s outcome with his Viruk scrying stones.”

  The Prince arched an eyebrow. “Does he believe such oracles?”

  “It was an affectation he picked up later in life. He used to say the stones never led him astray, but the Turasynd invasion did not turn out well for him.”

  “Let us hope they fail him again here.” Pyrust’s chin came up. “Have you seen his general fight?”

  “No. The battle at Tsatol Deraelkun revealed little about how he will fight here.”

  “But you are still of the opinion we should pull back, disperse, and bleed them?”

  “Yes.” I narrowed my eyes. “Is that why you agreed with Vroan’s suggestion that my troops get pulled back into our reserve? Do you think I would pull my troops out too soon?”

  “If I thought that, I’d have sent you to Moriande days ago.” Pyrust clasped his hands behind his back. “I am confident we will fight as best we are able, but that does not guarantee victory. I do not know how this general will conduct this battle. While you and your people have provided me with some insight, it doesn’t mean we might not lose.”

  He looked up at the Imperial banner swaying in the breeze. “There’s not been a prince since the creation of the Nine who has not dreamed of fighting beneath an Imperial banner. Well, perhaps Cyron is an exception, but I certainly was not. When I came to Moriande, I was a step from killing Cyron, but he asked a curious thing of me. He asked me not to destroy so much that I could not build again. I saw empire as a political entity, but he saw it as the lives of the people.”

  Pyrust glanced down, the hint of a smile on his face, clearly remembering Cyron’s words clearly. “My mortal enemy gave me that vision, and now it is my responsibility. I will fight here because it is my duty to do so. I would fail in my responsibility if I did not think about what might happen if I fail.”

  I watched him closely. “Are you going to tell me to pull my people back and not fight them?”

  He turned and poked his half hand against my breastbone. “What I will ask you is to follow orders, my orders, no matter what they are. Count Vroan will not. He will obey until he sees a way to cover himself with glory, then my orders be damned. I will see to it he has his glory.”

  “Posthumously.”

  “It is for the best.” Pyrust held his maimed hand up. “I know war well. If there is a point where things are hopeless, I will need you to organize a fighting retreat. If we fail here, the kwajiin will reach Moriande unopposed. If they can break our force, then the defense of Moriande will require wise leadership.”

  “Perhaps, then, we should change places, Highness.”

  “No. My people will fight for you, but they will never stop fighting for me. It is a difference that will mean much tomorrow.”

  I bowed deeply to him. “I shall abide by your orders, Highness.”

  “Thank you. And soon we shall laugh about my caution in the Empress’ court.”

  “Better we do it in the Illustrated City. We’ll share wine from a cup fashioned of Nelesquin’s skull.”

  Pyrust smiled. “This we shall do, Master Soshir, this we shall do.”

  No one in my command appreciated the bargain I’d struck, but I understood their feelings. Captain Lumel and the Virine wanted revenge for their nation. My xidantzu lived to protect others through their skill at arms. Being held back grated on their souls. I reminded them that reserves would win the battle and this mollified them somewhat.

  Morning dawned dim and cold. The rain had slackened into a chill drizzle. The clouds remained low, so the leather-wings did not venture high in the sky. The archers mounted on them did little damage, though our archers were not terribly effective either, save one. Penxir Aerant, a xidantzu archer and giant of a man who used a bow longer than I was tall, shot an arrow at a retreating leather-wing. The shaft hit its target on the downside of an arc. It passed through the driver’s back and into the beast’s neck. The broadhead must have severed a nerve. The right wing spasmed and folded in. The hellbat splashed down, spilling the dozen kwajiin archers riding it. The Desei militia sent several volleys after the survivors, killing half of them.

  Our side took this to be a great victory. I thought their celebration premature. Though stuck through with arrows, the other half of the kwajiin made their way out of the swamp by themselves. At least one man yanked an arrow from his leg and took his place in the ranks again.

  In war, the object is to destroy those you face. An enemy that does not die easily is to be feared. The kwajiin formations were full of such men, all of whom carried swords and long spears and woven wicker shields that had been covered with cloth. Clan badges covered the shields. The warriors had gathered tightly together, so that their formation became a wall bristling with spears.

  The kwajiin leader had split his force into three, each corresponding to the three wings in our force. He allowed gaps between his wings, but filled those with his beasts. The xonarchii hauled stones forward and tossed them out into the marsh. We laughed at first, then realized the creatures could wade out to them and throw them again.

  I didn’t see any of the woolspiders or wall-climbers, but their use in such an open field was questionable. I likewise saw none of the flying, poison-spitting toads that had been used with some success during the siege of Kelewan. Nor did I see any of the vhangxi, and that was just as well. Those toad-men had a mouthful of teeth that would make a shark flee.

  Pyrust’s strategy was simple enough: make the kwajiin pay for every inch of ground with blood. Forcing them to march over muddy ground and attack uphill would be costly. If Pyrust could bring his cavalry into play, to encircle the enemy and flank him on the right, the whole formation might collapse. That seemed like the most viable strategy, and I would have expected it to work save for one small detail.

  Ranai Ameryne saw it and pointed. “This is not how the kwajiin arrayed themselves at Kelewan or when they killed the Iron Bears.”

  “They’ve shifted strategy. Concentrated like that, they are more li
kely to punch through our infantry. We have a looser formation so we can use swords.”

  “And that tight formation will make it tougher for horses to charge.” She nodded at the marsh. “That will be a lake of blood before noon.”

  Below us, Pyrust emerged from his tent. He raised his right hand and snapped a white fan open. Down within the troop formations, drums began to pound. Archers ran forward through the infantry position, nocked arrows, and let fly. Though none of them had the skill of Penxir Aerant, the arrows arced into the enemy formation. The rear ranks raised their shields, forming a roof. Arrows hit, quivering in the shields. In a couple of places men fell, but the ranks closed quickly enough.

  On the other side, the kwajiin general exited his tent and climbed up onto the back of one of the long-necked draft beasts. Its back was broad enough to have held the man’s command tent, but he stood there alone on a small platform. The driver moved the creature forward. Even as far away as we were, we could easily hear the sucking sound of its feet being pulled from the mud.

  As his beast came forward, the kwajiin executed a complex maneuver. Both wings contracted, closing the gaps. The wings then faced the rear and marched back in unison. Their formation went from a curved line, to a three-sided box open at the far side, gathering the larger creatures in the center. Once they’d gotten into position, they faced outward again, setting their spears and shields.

  For Pyrust’s militia to attack, they’d have to move forward into the swamp. Vroan’s troops had an easier approach over more solid ground, but they’d still have to ford the swollen stream.

  Once the kwajiin had reordered their position, they marched at us. I marveled at their precision. Spearpoints did not waver. The flanking units kept pace even though they were marching laterally. Plunging into the edges of the marsh did slow them; they came on as a unit with the xonarchii and draft beasts in their midst.

  Pyrust exchanged his white fan for a red one. The drum cadence changed. Our arrows filled the air. Kwajiin fell, and their blood ran into the swamp—though not nearly enough for my taste. Within our lines, the cavalry began to maneuver, with three regiments pulling out of the center and starting around the right flank.

  The cavalry would sweep around and get behind the kwajiin force. They would strike from behind, forcing them to flee into the swamp or onto our swords. Given our superior numbers and position, it was a flawless piece of strategy. Had I been in Pyrust’s place, I might well have given the same orders.

  As the cavalry thundered around in their flanking maneuver, Vroan pushed his wing forward. They moved out of pace with the other Naleni troops, who were still awaiting an order to advance. This created a gap. Pyrust flashed a signal with a fan and half his militia reserve trotted over to reinforce the breach.

  On the left, his other militia unit heard the drums and mirrored Vroan’s advance. They came on a bit more raggedly, but not disastrously so. But Pyrust saw their error, and signaled to them to halt. Their leaders shouted orders and the troops straightened out their lines.

  Archers shot again, this time aiming. The kwajiin front rank went down as if scythed grass. Their spears fell, but the next rank replaced them. The kwajiin kept coming, spears thrusting, and finally hit our front line.

  The xonarchii hurled stones, which struck with incredible force. One moment a man would be standing in place, and in the next his legs would be thrashing from beneath a blood-washed rock. Others would reel away, spattered with blood, arms broken, ribs crushed. Had the ground been dry, the stones would have careened further, but this was horrible enough.

  The cavalry gathered on the other side of the stream, lowered spears, and prepared to charge. The creature ferrying the kwajiin general let out a bellow. At first, I thought it might have signaled panic because of the immediate kwajiin reaction. Chaos reigned for a moment, then the enemy executed a maneuver of such precision and elegance that I never would have thought possible on parade, much less in the midst of battle.

  With troops like these, the world might well be yours, Nelesquin.

  The back three ranks of each wing sprinted south to the formation’s rear, effectively closing the box. They set themselves immediately, spears outward. Even before the cavalry began its charge, it faced a square formation that provided no opening for attack.

  Pyrust signaled again and the drums boomed. His Hawks pressed forward and the Naleni wing came around. Vroan’s people rushed forward, so our formation wrapped the kwajiin square’s north and west sides. The press of soldiers stopped the enemy advance. Spears did kill some of our men, but we got into their lines and began hewing through shields.

  The weight of our forces proved too great. Because it had sacrificed a third of its depth to reinforce the rear, the kwajiin west wing started to buckle. The cavalry waited for that wing to break or for the kwajiin to reinforce from the east wing. In anticipation, Pyrust waved his fan and the militia on the left flank surged forward.

  That’s when the kwajiin plan revealed itself. The swamp boiled with activity. Heads and shoulders emerged from the watery depths, rising like bubbles. Hundreds of vhangxi—thousands—waded from the shallow water and attacked.

  I wanted to believe the vhangxi had been waiting in the depths of the marsh the whole time and we had somehow missed them. I needed to believe that we could have prevented the disaster that resulted. I wanted to believe there was a chance, however slender, that we could have been victorious that day. But with each passing moment, the terrible reality of the battle set in.

  I think Ranai’s words had been prophetic. I imagine the vhangxi had been sown in the water as eggs or tadpoles. They remained there until blood tainted the water. They grew quickly—with a speed somehow augmented by Nelesquin’s sorceries—and it was this newly spawned horde that emerged to feast on the militiamen.

  The vhangxi erupted in the midst of our militia. They burst up out of the water, taking off legs and arms. They slashed with claws, raking off faces, then appropriated weapons from the fallen. They never paused in the attack that crushed our left flank.

  Only idiots and tavern-bench generals would fault the militia for breaking. They were merely conscripts who had marched nearly four hundred and fifty miles in under a month’s time. They’d had no real training. Their rations were barely enough to keep them alive. Some in the rearmost ranks did not even have weapons, and the vhangxi were far better at scavenging than they were.

  The militia broke. While the vhangxi hit them in the flank, the xonarchii hurled stones toward where the militia linked up with the Hawks. Death lurked at either side of their formation, so their only escape was to the rear. Those too slow were trampled or cut down. Fleeing men churned the swamp into a muddy froth.

  Far too many died there.

  The kwajiin surged forward into the gap and hammered the Desei Hawks’ flank. Pyrust’s warriors fell back, but set themselves and repulsed the first drive. The kwajiin pressed hard, forcing the Hawks to give ground. The Desei held the line, every one of them knowing that once the vhangxi left the swamp, they would be overwhelmed.

  Their only chance at survival came with reinforcements. Unfortunately, the fleeing militia headed straight for the militia reserve. The retreating troops infected the others with panic. The reserves’ ranks evaporated. They flung down their arms and raced north toward Moriande. The way they were going, I expected some would not stop until they’d reached Felarati again.

  Had the cavalry been back on our side of the stream, they could have stopped the kwajiin advance. But out of position as they were on the far side of things, they could do nothing. The advantage they hoped to exploit never materialized.

  Fans flashed and I waited to read orders to advance. None came. Drums called for retreat. The Hawks and the Naleni Dragons withdrew, but Vroan’s Ixunites never managed to disengage. The kwajiin punched into that gap. The cavalry had come around and tried to plug it, but neither they nor the handful of militia regiments on that wing could stem the kwajiin advance.

/>   The Naleni troops, hard-pressed, broke next and ran. The kwajiin overwhelmed the westrons. With the Ixunites laying their arms down, the kwajiin pressed on and slowly surrounded the Desei Hawks.

  The last I saw of Pyrust, he had drawn his sword. He waved it at me—my signal to go—then he saddled up and rode down to be with his troops.

  Ranai had been right. Before noon the swamp had become a lake of blood.

  Too much of it belonged to the troops who might have been able to save Moriande.

  Chapter Twenty

  2nd day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat

  Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

  163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

  737th Year since the Cataclysm

  Zyarat Hills, Helosunde

  Keles hunched forward and coughed as quietly as he could. His stint in the damp Vallitsi dungeon had done him no good. In the two days since his rescue, his bruises had gone from a livid purple to a slightly softer brown, with a curdled yellow at the edges. The burns had scabbed over, but the wounds remained red despite the variety of poultices he applied to them. Worst of all, his lungs had become congested and his ribs ached from coughing.

  It didn’t matter that he was surrounded by plants that could produce a tea that would soothe him; the refugees had little time to rest and no chance of making a fire to boil water. He did manage to chew up some leaves and roots and pack them inside his cheek. The bitter taste sent shivers through him. He managed to keep water down, but even thinking about food turned his stomach.