Authors: Kim Hunter
That was some display, said Soldier, as they walked back towards their pavilion. Youve seen it before? Velion nodded. On another campaign. So tell me, whats a wixard? Velion laughed. Oh, yes. Well, once in a while a tree grows in such a place. Like the flowers the tree eventually produces a living being a creature of human appearance out of its fruit. The head grows first, like a large nut or plum, then the twiggy limbs and torso twist out of the branch on which the fruit hangs. This is the wixard? Yes, a wizard born of a magical plant, with braided limbs and skewed body. It grows upside down and eventually corks off its hands and feet from the mother tree and drops to the ground on its head. When it recovers from its fall, it sets off, going where it pleases, doing as it must, like any other creature with mobility and a walnut-sized brain to help it. Theres a kind of waxy dullness about a wixard. It never attains the full intellect of a human being. They never touch solid food, relying on osmosis through the soles of their feet to provide them with any sustenance and of course rely upon the sunlight on their barky skin. A wixard never gets rid of that greeny complexion and fibrous appearance. You can spot one from a hundred yards, even ignoring the corkscrew arms and legs. Theyre not hostile creatures though. Quite the opposite. Theyre willing to help anyone in distress and will spend time teaching a white witch the best uses for herbs and healing plants. A wixard might live ten, a hundred years, but there comes a time when it uses its powers to create one more magical oasis out of a desert place like this, then it dies, like a salmon which has fought its way upriver from the sea to breed. Fascinating, said Soldier. You think well meet one here? Oh, I doubt it. Theyre as rare as dragons. Soldier pointed out that they had already met at least one dragon on their travels to the country of the beast-people. Well, there you are, replied Velion, smiling. Who knows? Perhaps well meet a whole clutch of wixards.
Chapter Eleven
The day finally came when the Carthagan pavilions were approaching the mountain range which separated Guthrum from Falyum. There in front of them was the Kermer Pass, through which the beast-people raiders came. Soldier had a visit from the raven, who told him he was off his head. You havent seen these tribes, these terrible clans, said the raven. Theyre enough to frighten a blackbird out of his feathers. If I were you Id turn round and go back to the castle, before you lose one of your limbs. I cant go back now. Id be looked on as a coward. Better a live coward than a crippled hero but I suppose youre right. They would hang you as a deserter now that youre so close to battle. Look, here they come! The beast-people! Good luck, Soldier. Youre going to need it. Almost at once the trumpets and bullroarers sounded all along the Carthagan column. The baggage train, taking up the rear, halted. The line broke and the warriors began to muster up their pavilions. Drum rolls were sounding now, as rallying calls for the Eagles, the Wolves, the Snakes, the Dragons, the Hawks, the Barracudas sounded over the field. Warriors of these pavilions gathered at their own particular marshalling points, supervised by sergeants-at-arms. Once they were there, they settled into their own personal battle positions, and the officers took their place in the line, captains and above on horseback, lieutenants on foot with the rest of the warriors. There was cavalry out on the flanks, and archers just to the rear, ready to fire over the heads of their own warriors. Soldier, as he had requested, was in the front and centre, forming part of the vanguard which would be the first to hit the enemy. The Forlorn Hope was formed from members of all pavilions who volunteered to stand in its ranks. Shaped like an arrowhead, this group of warriors was at least a hundred yards in front of the main line. It looked lonely. It felt lonely. Their job was to try to pierce the front ranks of the enemy, using their shape like a wedge, and drive through to create a gap-Most of these men and women would die. Soldier felt someone at his shoulder. He turned to find Velion there, grinning down at him. Pe, another warrior from his pavilion, was also there. Unlike Velion he was not smiling. What are you doing here? cried Soldier. The pair of you? Dont you know this is suicide? If its so dangerous, whats a fancy-face like you doing here then, tell me that? said Pe. Im here because its dangerous. I need the promotion. You two seemed quite happy as common warriors. Well, we just got unhappy, replied Velion. Pe, who had been persuaded to join the Forlorn Hope by Velion, suddenly changed his mind. Im going back to join my pavilion, he told them. Youre right, Soldier. This is just inviting death. Go back with him, Velion, ordered Soldier. Velion sneered. Save your breath. Dont you know my soul is waiting for its release? What do you mean? We believe our spirits sit on our shoulders, their legs crossed around our throats, the whole of our lives. Only at the point of death can they unlock their limbs and leave us. Only then can they drift up to the tops of the mountains, to spend eternity in bliss. My soul will thank my killer. Thats outrageous. Your soul is you. No, Pe confirmed what his comrade was saying. You see all these Carthagan warriors? They all have their spirits sitting on their shoulders. We are the jails and jailers of our own souls. They sit there, separate entities, waiting patiently for our deaths. We can see them, but unbelievers like yourself cant. Im told by Guthrumites that they can be heard thanking those who set them free with sword or mace. Listen carefully during the battle. The air will be full of grateful souls, voicing their appreciation of the actions of the foe. Pe ran back to his comrades, joining them in the main line. Soldier, seeing he was not going to change Velions mind, turned to face the enemy. He received a great shock. He felt the blood drain from his face, and his skin tingled as if charged with electricity as he saw the foe just coming up over the crest of a rise in front. At first he thought they were two-headed horses. Then he saw the subtle lines where horse and rider separated and became two entities. The chargers themselves were just ordinary mounts, though a lot stronger-looking and slower than the sleek warhorses ridden by Carthagans. On their backs were creatures covered only in short hair who had the bodies of humans but the heads of horses. These horse-headed warriors carried weapons of various kinds, including swords, axes and warhammers, which they swung around their heads as they screamed obscenities in human language, though with high, whinnying voices which sometimes reached the pitch of a squeal. Great gods! whispered Soldier, his legs going weak. What are they? Beast-people. The stallion clans are always first into the fight. You didnt expect them? I dont know. I suppose I should have. But theyre monstrous. Look at the size of their heads! The muscled horse-heads of the shrieking warriors were indeed large, bearing long snapping jaws that gleamed along the bone with natural oils and wayward flecks of white saliva. Each head owned a pair of red, fiery eyes large as a mans fists. These monsters looked as if they could bite Soldiers own head from his shoulders as their mouths opened wide to reveal rows of large yellow teeth which clashed together like stones. They snorted and tossed their long manes, shaking the hair from side to side in real or feigned anger: some fair and silky, others dark and coarse. They flattened their ears against their skulls, peeled their lips back over their gums, and screamed into the wind, Eat their children! Rape their dead! Destroy their godheads! Then dilated their nostrils to spout steam. The cavalry parted and moved to the flanks to reveal the foot-warriors who marched up behind them, each looking charged with fury. There was warpaint on their long noses, and warfeathers were flying from their manes. They shook their heavy heads in like fashion to the riders and drummed their weapons against their bark shields. Behind the Horse-people came the Dog-people, with the heads of hounds, followed by the Fox-people and then the Stag-people bearing huge branches of wicked-looking antlers. It was a formidable force, even Velion had to admit. The foe massed on the rise on the other side of the valley, milling around, hooting, barking, shrieking, yelling, stamping their feet and spitting their disdain. I dont think our warlords expected the beast-people clans to join with each other. Theyre usually so busy fighting amongst themselves they cant create a united front. There .are more than four clans, of course, but I would say theres upward of fifteen thousand warriors facing us today. How many are we? asked Soldier. Two thousand? But of course, were more disciplined and better fighters than those we face. Of course, repeated Soldier, but his sarcasm was lost on Velion, whose flushed face was an indication of the nervous excitement she was feeling. She was armed with a sword and shield, while Soldier still had only his warhammer. It was a formidable weapon, but he wondered what would happen if it somehow left his grasp during the battle. He made up his mind to grab a weapon from the nearest dead warrior if that should happen. Invocations to the gods were now going up from both armies, whose war priests chanted the names of favourite deities, the names being picked up by the general rank and file. The Carthagans appealed to the seven gods for victory in the coming fight, while the beast-people droned the names of more sinister divinities: cave gods, and goddesses of the foul marshlands beyond the civilized world. These were divinities whose interest was in terrorising humankind from beneath the ground, deities whose domain was under the roots of trees and the foundations of cities, who controlled and destroyed from below. The chanting grew louder and louder. The trumpets and bullroarers grew in volume, and the log and skin drums. The screaming of the Carthagan war priests spiralled into hysteria. Horses grew wild-eyed and pawed the ground with their hooves. The beast-people on the other side of the shallow valley were ascending into madness with their cries for blood and death. In spite of himself Soldier felt his blood heat rising. He found himself chanting along with the rest, screaming obscenities at the enemy, his mind rolling with thought of violence. Kill! Kill! Kill! rose the shrieks. There is a point at which the engendered fury is counterproductive, when berserkers are at the peak of their insanity and in danger of falling on the ground in a useless fit. Soldier was aware that the cavalry of both sides were milling restlessly around the flanks of the two armies, ready to break. One or two undisciplined riders actually did, riding straight at the enemy, hoping for individual glory. Carthagan commanders, sensing a general breakdown into unrestrained chaos, gave the order to charge. Soldier found himself flying down the slope, yelling and screeching, swinging his warhammer first at air, then at flesh, when the two sides came together as two shock waves along the whole ridge, smashing into each other with a clash of metal on metal. The sudden impact of bodies sent a ripple down both lines. The arrowhead column known as the Forlorn Hope penetrated the front ranks of the beast-warriors and into the heart of the enemy army. There they were meant to cause internal havoc, to disrupt the enemy, confuse it, make it falter from within. Their job was to worry the enemy front-line warriors, cause them to wonder what was going on behind it and so look over their shoulders. Thus they would lose concentration and fail in their task to break through the Carthagan lines. A small force inside the ranks of the foe could create immeasurable confusion. Soldier found himself ringed by coarse-haired warriors with the heads of horses. Frantically, he swung this way and that with his warhammer, striking bone and flesh with almost every blow. Swords skimmed his body, spears went by him from several directions. Somehow he remained on his feet. His wounds were not fatal, nor immobilising. The points had penetrated his skin but no vital muscles, tendons or sinews had been severed. His bones were intact. Hideous horse heads with rows of clashing teeth snapped at him. One bit him in the shoulder. Another on the left forearm. Each time he was approached from the rear his singing scabbard warned him of a sneak attack. Soldier now knew its song. The warnings were timely. He could swing round and strike his unseen opponent without glancing first. Velion, noticing Soldiers extra help, stuck by his side, also taking advantage of the benefits of his magical sword sheath. Around these two their Carthagan comrades were going down under welters of blows from the more numerous enemy. Carthagan spirits drifted heavenward from the shoulders of their hosts. They floated upwards now that they were free. Thank you, Thank you. Thank you. Soon their numbers were down to just three: Soldier, Velion and a warrior from the Wolf Pavilion. This trio of resolute warriors stood with their backs to each other, fending off attack after attack, until suddenly there was a break in the ring of Horse-people and they were able to dash through a hole in the ranks of their foes to be back in their own lines. Well done! shouted Captain Montecute, on seeing his two Eagles return to the fold. Rally to me! Rally to me! The battle was bloody and awful, but lasted only just over an hour. At the end of this time the Carthagans had marshalled their forces and had formed into disciplined columns once again. The beast-people had retreated to the top of their slope and were gathering breath. There were corpses lying all over the battlefield. Wounded men and beast-people were sitting up or crawling or simply lying twitching, waiting for assistance. Some were without a limb, or set of limbs. Others had been pierced through the body, neck or head. Their moans and groans were pitiful to hear. A severed horse head lay near Soldiers feet, but whether from a real horse or a beast-person he had no idea. By mutual consent, unarmed warriors from both sides went down in small groups to help the wounded and to dispatch injured horses, brushing shoulders with the enemy in this gory task. Up on the ridge those warriors who remained from the Horse-people had retired. Dog-people had come forward, to form the second wave of the beast-peoples attack. They were supported by the red-headed Fox-people. The Stag-people were held in the rear, presumably for use as reinforcements should the second wave falter or fall into difficulties. These fresh troops looked across at a weary, tattered army of Carthagans. It was true the red pavilions had lost only one warrior for every three of the enemy, but the disparity in numbers was against them. What now? asked Soldier, of Velion. She shrugged. A second attack. But the Dogs are not such formidable opponents as the Horses. They make good gladiators, but poor soldiers. Were in bad shape, but they know weve come back from such a position before and won the battle. Theyll be very wary. However, the Carthagan commanders decided their troops needed a longer rest between attacks. Men were still straightening inferior swords which had been bent or twisted in the battle. They were yet counting their hands and feet. They were continuing to suck in oxygen. So the commanders played an old card. They asked for a volunteer to step out and issue a challenge to the beast-people. Single combat. Two warriors, one from either side, battling it out on the ground between the opposing armies. A big man from the Barracuda Pavilion big for a Carthagan at least stepped forward. Carrying a sword and shield he marched down into the valley. There he called up to the Dogs to send a warrior down, if they dare. The Carthagan commanders had guessed the Dogs would not be able to resist a single-combat call. They considered themselves the best individual fighters on the face of the planet. They also enjoyed the spectacle and entertainment of gladiatorial combat. A Dog-warrior duly came forth, a fierce-looking canine with a face full of teeth. His hackles were up and his eyes glinted with wicked glee. He strode down the slope while his comrades behind him yelled his name. VAU! SLAYER OF MEN! VAU, KILLER OF THE WEAK AND STRONG! VAU, DEALER OF DEATH! came the cries from the hill. What did they call him? Soldier asked Velion. Vau his name is Vau. Hes their best single combat warrior. Ive seen him fight before. He is the one who savaged Princess Layana. Velion nodded. So they say. Soldiers eyes narrowed as he studied the figure striding down to meet its Carthagan adversary. Vaus muscles stood proud underneath the dog-hair which covered his body. Truly he was a magnificent specimen.