‘The Guard?’ Haraj asked, from Gregar’s side. ‘Really?’
Leah looked surprised. ‘Of course. Duke Courian of the Avorean line. They were kings of the north of these lands, long ago.’
‘Quiet in the ranks!’ Teigan bellowed. ‘Form line, dammit!’
Gregar returned his attention to the field; he alternately blew on his hands to warm them and stamped his feet. Far across the churned field the scrum of mounted combatants still surged about, parting sometimes as one portion pursued the other. Wounded knights wandered out, or sagged on aimless mounts, while fresh ones charged in from far quarters. To Gregar it looked like little more than a glorified bar-brawl of chaos and blind flailing about.
Eventually, numbers told as the far smaller contingent of the Grisians and their allied city states gave ground, then broke off entirely, separating into individual groups and withdrawing. Gregar’s Fourth sent up a great cheer at that but quickly choked it off as one of the troops, some twenty knights, came storming up the gentle slope directly for them.
‘Contain them!’ Teigan yelled. ‘Don’t let them through!’
Gregar didn’t know how a thin line of Lights could possibly throw back a determined charge, but levelled his pike in any case.
The knights charged straight for the Fourth. Gregar firmed up his grip on the pike and sent a prayer to Fener. But at the last instant the cavalry veered aside, knocking spearheads aslant as they passed along the line. Then, near the centre – and Gregar – they yanked their mounts inward, stamping and kicking into the ranks to break the line and flailing to either side with their axes and war-picks. The Yellows infantry, completely unarmoured, flinched like an animal from these assailants.
Gregar, however, charged in. He took a horse in the neck with his pike. It threw its head in agony, ripping the weapon from his grip. Its rider kicked free of the falling animal, rolling, then drawing a longsword. Gregar met the knight with drawn twinned fighting sticks.
He parried a flurry of blows, giving ground, then struck, numbing an arm and backhanding the man across his neck, bringing him down. A mounted knight attempted to trample him but he shifted aside, giving the woman a solid blow to her kidney and unhorsing her in passing.
The Yellows infantry surged in around him then and he saw Haraj in the middle of the churning chaos, dodging and weaving, as yet unarmed. He wanted to take the fellow by the neck and shake some sense into him, but even as he watched the lad flicked out a hand and did something to a passing knight and the man flew off his mount, his saddle having somehow become completely uncinched.
Another knight attempted to push past Gregar but he took hold of the man’s arm as he threw an awkward mace swing and yanked him from his horse. As he fell, however, the knight returned the favour and gripped Gregar’s arm to drag him in a tumbling roll. The knight rose first and drew a killing dagger, a misericord, which he raised over Gregar’s chest.
Something impacted the man’s head with a meaty crack and he slumped. Gregar pushed the heavy dead-weight aside to see Sergeant Teigan standing over him, a war-hammer in each hand.
‘Raise the company colours, soldier,’ Teigan told him.
Lying flat, almost in a daze, Gregar saluted. ‘Aye, aye, sergeant.’
He found the pike and raised the bloodied colours to wave it back and forth. The surviving Fourth, having pushed back the charge, set up a great cheer, shaking their spears and taunting the remaining Grisians, who were quitting the field.
Teigan moved from trooper to trooper, alternately cuffing and squeezing shoulders, congratulating every single man and woman.
Leah came limping up to Gregar – she’d taken a blow to her left arm and cradled it as she offered him a rueful grin. ‘Well done. Our best showing yet. I think you took down three all by yourself.’
He just shrugged. ‘Bastards got my blood up.’
Haraj appeared then, nodding to Gregar, who looked the lad up and down – he hadn’t been touched in all that chaotic confusion of kicking warhorses and swinging weapons. ‘There’s not a mark on you, man,’ he observed, almost resentfully.
‘No one can hit me,’ the lad answered, and he offered a weak smile as if in apology.
Gregar gaped at him. ‘Did you say no one can hit you?’
The skinny youth nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Ever?’
‘Not if I don’t want them to.’
Gregar took a fist-hold of the lad’s shirt. ‘Do you mean that all this time I was worried sick that you were gonna be—’ Cutting himself off, he pushed the youth away. ‘I don’t fucking believe it. Burn take it, you’re safer out here than me!’
Leah looked between them both. ‘I don’t understand. What does he mean, Gregar?’
He waved a hand at Haraj. ‘He means he’s a mage.’
The woman’s eyes grew huge. ‘A mage?’ She studied Haraj. ‘In truth?’
The lad shrugged, embarrassed. ‘In a very narrow sort of way … yes.’
‘Baron Ordren will have to be told,’ she said. ‘He may want to hire you into his household.’
Gregar raised a hand for silence. ‘Please, this is just between us. Haraj here, well, he – he wants to …’ He looked to the bright noon sky. ‘Gods, how do I say this?’
‘I want to join the Crimson Guard,’ Haraj said, rescuing Gregar from his dilemma.
Leah’s mouth opened in stunned amazement and she blew out a long breath. ‘Hunh. Just what I used to imagine doing – long ago. But if you are a mage, then they should take you. They take all mages. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.’
Haraj nodded eagerly. ‘Exactly.’
Gregar looked to the sky again, then squinted across the field. ‘We’re too far away.’
‘Far from who?’ came a loud bark from Sergeant Teigan and Gregar jumped; they had failed to keep a careful watch.
‘Far from victory … as yet,’ Leah offered.
The sergeant gave the first open belly-laugh Gregar had heard from him, cuffing Leah. ‘Soon!’ he guffawed. ‘Soon, lass.’ He eyed Gregar. ‘And as for you! Well done, lad. Well done. There’s a promotion in the offing, I’m sure. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you. There’s a fighter, I’m sure, I said to myself. That’s why I gave you the colours!’
Exhausted and in a sudden cold sweat now, Gregar could only shake his head in disbelief. ‘Of course, sergeant.’
That evening Gris and its allies relinquished the field and the Bloorian League was one step closer to cutting off another allied barony from Gris. The Crimson Guard also decamped, shadowing the movements of the Grisian forces.
As to chasing after the Guard, Gregar realized it was a forlorn hope. Best to wait until the campaign threw them together once again, then he could deliver Haraj. Until such time, he had to admit the soldier’s life was becoming far less bothersome – or he was adapting to it. The Fourth was even enjoying something of a reputation for its repulse of that cavalry charge, and Sergeant Teigan was glad to take full credit for the performance.
* * *
On board his flagship, the Insufferable, off the Itko Kanese coast at night, Cartheron Crust sat in Mock’s old quarters and in the light of a swinging lamp read the reports from the captains sent by their fastest and lightest message-boats.
None of the missives, even the slimmest, was encouraging. Shipping had fallen to its lowest point in years. The towns and forts of the coast had shifted to a war footing. Garrisons had been bolstered, harbour defences mended. Suddenly Itko Kan was ready for a build-up in attacks. Meanwhile, the many cities of the Bloor–Grisian coast were already at war, and prepared to repulse any questionable vessel that approached.
He set down the sheaf of pages and reached for his wine. Surly was not going to like this. They were expending too many resources for too little gain. He would have to give the recall. He tossed back the drink and shrugged. Well, it was winter anyway, not the traditional raiding season.