Told In Stone Chapter 2: Poor Odds

Riot thundered down the hill and as he jumped off of the horse it tossed its head around and tried to bite at him. He cursed at the animal and hurried forward to find Major Doyle in the centre of the large square.

“Orders?” Doyle shouted over the sound of cracking Leybound charges.

“We move back to the foot of the hill,” Riot replied.

Doyle hesitated, then gave a tight lipped nod. He was a stout, sensible officer and he hadn’t gotten to where he was by questioning orders.

“We can’t follow that order Major, the Erudoran’s are completely exposed,” Riot exclaimed.

Doyle lowered his voice. “It’s not the right order, I know it and you know it, but we follow a chain of command. The Erudoran’s are a good regiment with their own Leybound, they’ll manage without us. At least if we have to get the men out of here, we will be closer to the woods. Call the order to get us moving.”

Riot hesitated for a moment, then dove in, his words coming in a rush. “Sir, I wanted to know if you’d had any word about the vacant captaincy in the regiment?”

Doyle glanced up at the officers grouped on the hill behind them before laying a hand on Riot’s shoulder and giving him a grim smile. “I didn’t know yesterday, or the day before, or every other day you’ve asked me. If you keep fighting well, I’ll put in a word for you with Colonel Worthy. But you have to be realistic, son. Clarkson’s his nephew, and he has the money for the commission.”

Riot opened his mouth to reply, but Doyle stopped him. “You deserve the captaincy, Riot, the gods know the men will follow you into the Echo if you led them. But this is Worthy’s regiment. It might help if you were a little more polite to him.”

“I am polite,” Riot argued.

Doyle wore a rueful smile. “The men call him Billygoat. You wouldn’t happen to know who coined the phrase would you?”

Riot’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, sir. I can find out for you though, if you like.”

Doyle shook his head slowly. “What I wouldn’t give to be ten years younger and have your sword arm, but for all the gold in the Echo I wouldn’t take your bloody mindedness. Fight well, Riot, and I’ll put in a word for you.”

Riot called the order and the lumbering square completed its backward manoeuvre, moving them further from the battle and within fifty yards of Colonel Worthy and the Princes gilded golden carriage. Then he made his way to a small group of Leybound in dark blue uniforms who held the centre of the line facing the enemy cavalry. These twelve were the last of those who had survived the journey over the frozen Castemere hills last winter and fought to break the Covenant blockade at Morbian.

“Having fun, lads?” Riot asked as he pushed through to them.

“Nothing like a morning spent scratching our asses. When are we off to join the fun?” Loic asked.

The young northman had tried to kill Riot, twice, but for the best part of a year they had fought side by side, and there was no-one he would rather have next to him against any enemy. Loic was a few inches taller than Riot’s six feet, with solid muscle stacked on his broad frame, added to that, Riot had seen him launch a charge of ley power that could batter down side of a barn.

“We’re not going anywhere, Billygoat’s holding us back again.”

“Plenty of work right here, sir,” Fletcher called, “We all want that ha’guilder for bringing down a score of long-ears.” The wrinkled old smuggler, drew the dirty grey leypower into his cupped hands and crushed it with practiced movements. The runes cut into the backs of his hands flared as they formed the light into a tight sphere and with a rapid glance up at a rider that had strayed too close, he let the charge fly with a sharp crack and the Faelen was slammed back in the saddle, bumping on the back of the horse until the animal stopped and he fell to the ground, unmoving.

The Leybound cheered and slapped Fletcher on the back and the older man looked as surprised as any of them.

“Fletchers in the lead?” Riot murmured, his eyebrows raised.

“It’s the damndest thing. Normally he couldn’t hit the side of a barn if he was standing inside, but that’s nine he’s hit now by my count, next closest is Rimmer with four,” Loic replied.

“Send them both to fill canteens.”

“Feeling a bit short? I told you the officers life was too rich for you.”

A half guilder was worth ten silver dukes and as a Lieutenant in an infantry regiment, Riot was paid four silver dukes and eight copper Splits per day. Half of that went to the officers mess, a place he’d never been, while the rest was spent on stables and feed for a sour tempered horse he hated.

“Just keep them moving about, alright?” Riot scanned the area before them. To the east, the sky was torn open and the red light of the Faelen echo bled through into the mortal world. He would hardly have believed it had he not been here to see it. The Faelen queen herself had led over a hundred of her long-eared followers and together their working had created the gateway that the enemy were now marching through. If they could push them back from here, then the Echo could be secured, and the route through to the sprawling city of Fallow-Neck would be open.

In front of the gateway, the battle raged with the whistles of Faelen darts, and the cracks of Leybound spells from the Erudoran ranks. Arrows thrummed over heads and the great workings of the Arcanists and the Faelen shook the earth. And they were here, hiding on the edge of the battlefield.

“So, did you ask him?’ Loic said in an undertone.

“Doyle said Clarkson would get the commission. Did you know he was Worthy’s nephew?” Riot asked, seeing immediately from the Northman’s expression that he did.

“Sorry, I thought you knew. They’re two cheeks from the same ass, that’s for sure.”

Riot shook his head. “I couldn’t have afforded it anyway.”

“How much did they want?”

“Twelve hundred gilders.”

Loic whistled through his teeth. “A pretty sum.”

It was an impossible sum. For Riot it was twenty-five years pay, but it still wouldn’t be enough. Captains needed a dress uniform for formal occasions and a curved ceremonial sabre. They were supposed to have a valet, which meant paying for another damned horse. Riot thought that the rank and file had it bad being forced to by their own boot polish and chip in to keep the communal cook pots filled, but being an officer was a grift on a whole other level.

“Moran will be back soon, he’ll put you right,” Loic said.

Loic had been saying the same thing for a month, but the Arcanist who had supported Riot’s lieutenants post was long gone. Off in the wilds on some mission for the Arcanum. Riot had no patron and no money. His career was dead.

“Rider! It’s a stone-eye,” someone shouted.  

The Erudoran officer whipped his horse furiously, forcing the beast to thunder toward them. The reason for his haste was clear enough. Behind him were at least fifty Faelen cavalry.

Major Doyle pushed his way to the front of the line close to Riot and stared wide eyed at the advancing cavalry. “Make a hole, make a hole, let him in!” He shouted.

The Leybound made a small opening in the side of the square and their shouts rang out, urging the Erudoran on.

The Faelen riders continued to charge toward them but Riot knew they would swerve away. It made no sense to attack here. The square was too strong, and the undefended flank of the Erudoran battalion was just two hundred meters away.

“It’s a feint, it must be,” Doyle said, reading Riot’s thoughts.

But Riot had seen more reckless charges than he would like to remember and he felt the thunder of their hooves in the soles of his stolen boots. “Get ready!” He bellowed.

Riot flooded the scars on his forearms with the ley power, feeling it drawn down into his cupped hands, the dirty light settling like liquid. Then he crushed the power in his hands, feeling the runes sting as they fought to control and condense it into a dense, solid mass. This would be almost his last leypower charge of the day. The channels in his body were stinging and he knew if he opened the barrier that connected him to the leylines and tried to take in more of the burning power it would melt his bones.

The Erudoran officer surged into the square and the Leybound quickly closed ranks.

At seventy yards out the riders raised their hands palm out, forming the three inch long darts that burned with an angry, deep red. With a sinister whistle, the darts flickered into the packed ranks and a man next to Riot collapsed to the ground clutching his thigh.

The Leybound responded. Many missing or winking out before they reached the enemy.

“Hold damn you!” Riot shouted.

Riot held his own charge in his trembling hands, keeping his eyes locked on the lead rider. At forty paces he released the ley power with a sharp crack but the charge flew wide, shooting into the blue sky where it disappeared and Riot cursed loudly, knowing he wouldn’t be fast enough for another charge and instead drew his sword. “Cast!” He shouted.

“That’s a score!” Fletcher shouted, the old man wearing a look of astonishment as his target was plucked from the saddle.

There were fifty Leybound on their side of the square and the sound of their charges going off pulsed Riot’s eardrums. Two more of the riders and horses were hit and the rest came onward, too many of them.

“Swords, swords!” Riot shouted as beside him Loic pulled a heavy axe from the loop on his belt. The weapon was unadorned and shaped more like a lumber axe than something made for battle, with a heavy wedge shaped head. It shouldn’t have been allowed on an infantry man but Riot allowed it after seeing Loic cut through the enemy like he was was felling saplings.

At the last moment, the riders parted neatly and thundered past the square. They would reform and charge again, slowly waring them down, hoping they would break.

“Lieutenant, sir?” Fletcher called.

“I heard you Fletch, you’ll get your half gilder,” Riot replied.

“No, sir, it’s Major Doyle.”

Major Bernard Doyle’s face was a pale death mask against the vivid blood spatters. The Faelen dart had caught him in the neck, burning through skin and bone. The man had taken Riot on when Moran had left, given him freedom most Lieutenants could only dream of. He’d followed orders he knew were bad and now he was dead, and Riot was left with snivelling soon-to-be Captain Doyle.

Riot could feel the square shifting around him, men milling like nervous sheep. Doyles death had taken the fight right out of them, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d loose them.

“Who is the officer in charge here?” Came an imperious voice.

The Erudoran officer who had sought refuge in their square glared down at Riot. His grey eyes were hard and his uniform was immaculate. His riding boots supple black leather and his silver captains pennant hung from a fine chain. A pin on his breast marked him as an Arcanist.

Riot passed a hand over Doyles eyes, drawing them closed. “I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered to the dead man.

The Erudoran continued to shout, glowering down from his horse. “Where is your officer damn you? My regiment are exposed, while you cower here in square. I demand that you form up and march to cover our flank.”

Riot stood and glared up at the man. “I’m in charge here.” Riot tapped the lieutenants pennant that hung from his neck. It was made of leather, and had cost him his last silver duke. “If you’ve got a problem, take it up with Colonel Worthy, he’s fifty yards up there on the hill next to a golden carriage.”

The Erudoran Arcanist drew himself up. “I am Captain Vincent Leguard. Your name, sir?”

“Riot, Lieutenant Riot.”

A strange look passed over the Leguard’s face. “Riotus?” he spat.

Riotus. The name Riot’s grandfather had used before he cut the head off of the king and fled the island empire of Erudor. Many noble Erudoran families had lost everything. But Riot was broke, so the only restitution they would find was at the point of his blade. Perhaps it would be best to just run him through now and say he died in the battle, Riot thought. The lads would likely look the other way. But he was an officer now, and there were rules, and one of them was that murder was considered extremely poor taste.

“That’s right,” Riot said evenly.

Leguard moved to draw his sword but Riot was faster, seizing the horse by the reins and hauled it around. With his free hand he grabbed a handful of Leguards uniform and pulled him sharply down so they were face to face.

“The only reason I don’t gut you right now, is that there’s a good man dead at my feet and I don’t want to get your blood all over him,” Riot snarled. “Now get out of my square.” Riot pushed the man roughly and shouted for a gap to open up at the rear of the square.

“You will be seeing me again,” Leguard spat, straightening his uniform.

Riot drew his sword, enjoying the look of panic that flashed on the Captains face, then he slapped the horses rump with the flat of the blade, causing it to rear up and bolt out of the square.  

“Who in the hells was that?” Loic asked.

“Who cares? Let him tear a piece out of Worthy.”

Leguard wasn’t the first Erudoran officer to come for him, and he would doubtless be the last.

“They’re coming back!” Came the shout from the front ranks.

Riot made his way back to the front of the line and felt his heart skip a beat. Where before there had been a platoon of fifty cavalry, there were now at least a hundred. The newcomers wore curious flat brimmed hats nondescript, rust colored robes. “What uniforms are those?”

“No idea, mercenaries?” Loin suggested. “They look like they’re spoiling for a fight.”

The young northman was right. The huge cavalry force were forming a line, the boots of each rider touching the one next to them.

“The others are back!” A voice shouted.

Riot saw them, the Mazral riders who had harried them all afternoon approached the newcomers and after some moments, the two groups joined together their numbers swelling to one hundred and fifty.

“If they commit,” Loic said, leaving the dangerous thought unfinished.

“Yes I bloody know,” Riot snapped. Cavalry were notorious cowards, rich nobles on both sides of the war who preferred to take shots to weaken squares, waiting until the odds were in their favour to break them. Well the odds were in their favour now.

But something wasn’t right. With those numbers they could have collapsed the Erudoran regiment to the left and won the battle for the gateway. So why were they here, charging at a square of Leybound?

Riot’s gaze swept around just as the golden rays of afternoon alighted on the golden carriage of the Prince of the Faelen.

“Back!” Riot bellowed. “Back up the hill!”