“My lady!” Antesh reached out to her but she curtly waved him away.
“I want to see how much they fear me,” she said.
The battalions kept marching, moving into position in accordance with a well-rehearsed scheme, seemingly oblivious to the hated witch staring down at them with bow in hand. It was the Free Swords who took the bait, as she expected. A small chink appearing in the shield roof of a battalion as it trooped off the causeway and wheeled to the left. Reva waited for the glint of metal to appear in the black triangle then stepped to the side, the arrow leaving a harsh whisper in her ear as it flew past. She drew and released in an instant, her shaft finding the chink. The Free Sword battalion convulsed like a wounded beast, the discord rippling through the ranks as sergeants shouted for order, but not before more gaps had appeared in the shield wall.
“Archers up!” Antesh barked and a hundred bowmen rushed to the wall, arrows descending in a furious iron-tipped rain. The battalion struggled on as the arrows continued to fly, trailing bodies and attempting to re-form ranks but the damage was done. A few more seconds and it convulsed again, flying apart as panic took the remaining men. Some ran for the causeway, others to neighbouring battalions seeking shelter. Most were cut down within seconds but perhaps a few of the more fleet-footed made it to safety.
Reva notched another arrow and continued to stand atop the battlement, eyes scanning the Volarian ranks below for another opportunity. She wondered if hatred was in fact a physical force because she could feel it now, rising towards her like a wave.
The last Volarian battalion trooped into place directly opposite the gatehouse. Smaller than the others, perhaps three hundred men, the ranks moving with greater precision than even the Varitai. Kuritai, Reva decided.
She raised her bow above her head, laughing and thinking about her dying uncle. It seems I finally did something right. “Well come on!” she called to the silent ranks below. “I’m waiting.”
Antesh sent out parties in the morning to retrieve arrows and gather weapons from the dead. Reva chose to go with them, not wanting to be thought of as shirking the more odious duties.
“Lord Arentes puts the count at well over a thousand Volarians killed,” Arken commented. He paused to tug an arrow from the corpse of a Varitai lying half-submerged on the bank, also taking his short sword and dagger.
“They kept us busy enough,” Reva agreed. The night had been a blur of successive crises, seeing her rush from one section of the wall to the other as the Volarians sought to gain a claw hold. They had come close only twice, once on the western section where Varitai had used grapples to scale the wall whilst the main force of Free Swords tried vainly to climb their ladders. Lord Arentes had already contained the assault by the time she got there, the old commander bleeding from a cut on his forehead as he shouted orders to the City Guard. A single charge with lowered halberds had been enough to dislodge the Volarians, heralding another arrow-lashed flight to the causeway.
The incursion on the southern section proved the most serious. Reva had dealt with the Kuritai assault on the gatehouse by the simple expedient of having them soaked in lamp oil when they abandoned their shields to sprint for the wall, grappling hooks whirling. Successive volleys of fire arrows saw most plummeting to the ground in flames but a few made it to the top of the wall, some still alight as they did their deadly two-sworded dance, killing many defenders before being cut down. She was ordering the bodies tipped over the battlements when a messenger came running with news more Kuritai were atop the southern wall.
She sent word ordering the House Guards to reinforce the sector and ran there with Arken in tow. The Kuritai had been hidden amongst the main force of Free Swords, an annoyingly clever tactic she would have to watch for in future. They had formed a tight defensive knot on the southern wall, bodies piled up on either side as the Realm Guard defenders rallied for another counterattack. Their commander was a young sergeant already showing numerous cuts on his bare arms and face.
“One more try, lads!” he called to his men. “We’ll get the bastards this time.”
“Hold,” Reva ordered, eyeing the close ranks of Kuritai, crouched with typically blank expressions as Free Swords struggled over the battlements behind.
“Stand ready,” she told the Realm Guard, stepping forward and unslinging the wych elm. She stood aiming with careful deliberation, barely twelve feet from the nearest enemy, killing one, then another, the Kuritai ranks closing the gaps with an unconscious lack of hesitancy. She killed two more before one of the Kuritai barked a command and they came for her. She tossed the wych elm aside and reached over her shoulder to draw her sword as the Realm Guard charged.
She had difficulty recalling the exact train of events after that. She remembered leaping and whirling, a Kuritai falling with a half-severed neck, but mostly it was all a red-tinged confusion of clashing blades and rending flesh. It ended with the arrival of the House Guards, charging in with halberds to finish the remaining Kuritai and push the Free Swords from the wall.
She found herself hailed once more, the Realm Guard pummelling her with slaps to the back. She was too tired to push them away and Arken had to pull her free from the press. She was gratified to see him unharmed, though his face had the pale aspect of one who has killed at close quarters for the first time.
She paused at the sight of the young Realm-Guard sergeant dragging a wounded Free Sword to his feet, the man clutching his forearm, the bone gleaming white from the gaping wound. “Where’s your whip now, you fucking filth?” He drew a dagger and jammed it into the wound, twisting the blade as the man screamed. “Where’s your whip now, eh?”
“Just kill him and have done!” Reva ordered. “Re-form your ranks. This night’s not over.”
They kept at it for nearly four hours until the first glimmer of dawn broke over the broad river, ever more battalions trooping over the causeway to try their luck, more and more bodies littering the ground as every assault failed. It was costly, Arentes reporting losses of over three hundred killed and another two hundred wounded, but they held. Finally the surviving Volarians pulled back, the Varitai re-forming ranks and reclaiming their shields, the Free Swords forgetting discipline and running as the arrow storm descended once more, burgeoning daylight increasing the toll exacted by the longbows.
Excited shouts brought her back to the present and she saw a live Volarian being dragged from the river. A Free Sword, judging by his evident fear, turning to abject terror when he saw her approach.
“Yes,” she said. “The elverah’s here.”
The man just stared at her in frozen horror, only the faintest glimmer of reason in his eyes. This one will never fight again.
“My lady?” one of the archers asked, his dagger already drawn.
“Does anyone here speak his language?”
Only Veliss had enough knowledge of Volarian to communicate with the man, and even then just in written form. She referred to her books to translate Reva’s message and had him recite it back. Sending a note may have been easier but she wanted his comrades to hear the fear in his voice as he related her words.
“The elverah has much power and will kill all who come against this city. But she is merciful. Your commanders waste your lives in fruitless attacks whilst they sit safe in their tents. Any who throw down their arms and depart this place will be spared the elverah’s vengeance. Only death awaits those who stay.”
“Is he saying it right?” she asked Veliss as the man stumbled through the words held in front of his eyes.
“As far as I can tell.”
Reva turned to Antesh. “Have him read it out ten times then let him go. I’ll be with my uncle.”