"Furies," she breathed. "They're not much more than children."
Bernard stepped up beside her, his face pale, grim, eyes hidden in shadows beneath his helmet. "Young warriors," Bernard said. "Their first chance to prove themselves in battle. That was Wolf Clan. One more to go."
Amara glanced at him. "They send their youngest to fight?"
"To fight first. Then, if they survive, they can join the adult warriors in the main battle."
She looked back at the field and swallowed. "This is only a preliminary to them. It isn't over."
"Not without getting the leader," Bernard said. "Get some water in you. You don't know how much you need it. Next one won't be so easy."
And indeed, a legionare came around carrying a bucket, and a thong threaded through the handles of tin cups, passing water to each man on the walls. More legionares, younger troops from the reserves in the courtyard below, came onto the walls to help carry down the wounded and bear them back to the watercrafters working at the tubs in the courtyard. As usual, those with functional and light injuries were treated first, a round of swift crafting that bound closed bleeding wounds, mended over simple broken bones, and restored a whole, if weary, fighting man to the defense of the garrison. The more seriously injured were remanded to the care of surgeons, men and women skilled in more pedantic medicinal practices, who labored to keep them alive and stable until one of the watercrafters had the time to attend to their injuries.
"Pretty much like we expected," Pirellus was saying, on the wall somewhere nearby. She focused on the conversation, listening. "Though the ram was a new technique for them. They learn fast."
Giraldi grunted. "Children. Crows, but I don't like this kind of bloodletting."
"How are the men?"
"Well enough, for not having slept a full night. Light casualties on the northern side of the wall. Only injuries on the south."
"Good," Pirellus said. "Get water to everyone and arrows to the archers. Make sure those new firepots get up here in one piece, and get some food to my firecrafters. They don't do as well on an empty belly."
"You want something for that?" Giraldi asked.
"For what?"
"You're bleeding."
"Edge of my helmet," Pirellus said. "Arrow drove it into my skin. Looks worse than it is."
"You don't want it bleeding in your eye at the wrong time. Let me get a surgeon up here."
"Let the surgeons see to the men that are hurt," Pirellus said, his tone firm. "Get yourself some water, too, centurion."
"Aye, sir."
Amara frowned, pensive, and stood up, walking a bit farther down the wall. Bernard sat there, his back against the battlements, frowning down at his hands.
"Something's occurred to me," Amara said. "This doesn't make any sense."
Bernard squinted up at her. "It's like that, your first battle."
She shook her head impatiently. "No, not like that. It doesn't make sense for the Marat to do this. To send a fraction of their force against us- and the one least experienced and capable at that. Why should they fight us piecemeal when they could bring everyone against us at once?"
"Marat don't think like we do," Bernard said. "You always get their raw recruits out in front. Sometimes they're out like velites, skirmishing in front of the larger masses of troops, and sometimes they're raiding parties that go out the night before, but they're always in front. This is just another example."
"They aren't stupid," Amara said stubbornly. "How many of their young men died just now? Hundreds? A thousand? For what? They killed half a dozen legionares and wounded more that will be back up on the walls in an hour at most."
Pirellus stepped down the wall, abruptly standing before Amara, arms akimbo. "You would have preferred it if they had killed more, perhaps?"
"Don't be stupid," Amara snapped. "I just think that there must be something else to what they're doing." She looked at Bernard. "Where are the Knights we saw before?"
The Steadholder frowned at her, but Pirellus spoke before he could say anything. "Indeed, Countess, where are they? I acknowledge that the Marat are on the move, but we have seen only one warband, thus far, with no hordemaster in evidence. You will be quite the laughingstock if Riva brings both his Legions here only to find no Marat to face."
Amara's temper flashed, and she faced Pirellus, ready to bring the man to task Bernard stood up, as though to get between them
Down the wall, one of the brass horns sounded a call to arms, a clarion note that clove through the cold furyht air and brought the veteran troops on the wall to their feet, shields and weapons ready, before its notes had died away
"Sir," snapped Giraldi, from the wall over the gates "They're coming again "
Pirellus turned his back on Amara and leapt up to his position over the gate
Out at the edge of the light, the Marat appeared again, rushing forward m a howling mob-but this time, their screams were punctuated not by the howling of the great, dark wolves, but by the metallic, whistling shrieks of the giant predator birds that raced beside them as the pale tide charged toward the walls
"Archers," Pirellus called again, and once more, in three humming, whistling waves, Marat dropped to the ground, the life driven from them by Aleran shafts "Spears'' Pirellus called, and once again, the Legions squared up to face the Marat
But that was where the similarity to the charge of Clan Wolf ended
There were no scaling poles this time, no ram to assault the gates Instead, the first rank of the Marat, howling their defiance, simply hurled itself at the walls and, running at a furious pace, leapt up to the top
If Amara had not seen it happen, she would never have believed it possible-but the Marat, without aid of any kind, simply hurtled into the air, grasped at the top of the fifteen-foot wall with one hand, and hauled themselves up to fight The great birds stalking beside them leapt up, too, even higher, furiously beating at the air with their stubby wings and holding themselves aloft just long enough to rake at the defenders atop the walls with their vicious talons, driving Aleran men back long enough for the young Herdbane warriors to haul themselves onto the battlements and throw themselves forward into battle with a fearless, even mindless abandon
Amara stared in startled horror as a Marat hauled himself onto the wall not ten feet from her, and his great bird landed beside him with a scream, its beak slashing wildly at an upraised shield The Marat lifted his knife and leapt at her, shrieking, while behind him another scrambled atop the wall in his place
Amara tried to dodge to one side, only to realize that there was nothing but the empty air of the courtyard beneath her. She sent out a frantic call to Cirrus, and, as the Marat rushed her, took two steps out onto the empty air, then sprang back to the stones of the wall behind him. He stared at her, stunned for a moment, even as he spun to pursue her. She thrust with the guardsman's blade, flat of the weapon parallel to the ground, and it sank home at one side of his chest, sliding between ribs and coming out again smoothly.
Something shrieked behind her, and hot pain flashed across her back. She threw herself forward and down, over the fallen Marat, and turned her head to see the great herdbane lunge toward her, dark eyes glassy and empty of anything like fear, its beak flashing toward her eyes.
She threw up her hands, willing Cirrus out before her, and the fury rushed out, sweeping up the great bird and hurling it into a merlon. It stumbled and spun to reorient on her, but even as it did, a heavyset legionare swept his sword at it in a powerful stroke and, with earth-born strength, swept the herdbane's head from its neck. The legionare flashed her a smile, then turned and hurled himself toward the newest arrival at the top of the walls.