Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 (66 page)

Alythia flailed away, lost her balance, and fell heavily on a pile of bodies that thudded and wheezed beneath her. One of them moved, a bloody hand reaching, pleading. Stumps of limbs protruded from the pile, some still pulsing blood, bone stark and white amidst the flesh. She stumbled frantically to her feet, nearly tripping on her spear, then again on more bodies, these felled by archers, and some still groaning. The entire lane beyond the barricade was a carpet of horrors, many shrieking and sobbing. This was what happened when highland warriors were challenged to a fight by those unworthy of the privilege.

The banner dragged at her arms, and she held the spear aloft, so that the banner flew out behind as she ran. She turned right and went up the crumbling alley. Her breath came hard, her wet dress clung awkwardly to her legs and the spear ruined her balance. It occurred to her, rather oddly, that she could not recall the last time she'd actually run. Ladies and princesses did not run, nor even stride. Only serrin and crazy tomboys like Sasha. She half
twisted her ankle in a dark hole in the pavings and, for the first time in her life, wished to the gods she was wearing pants. Worse, her breasts bounced, and that was uncomfortable almost to the point of pain.

Alythia emerged into the alley mouth, and onto Rani Lane. Rani was wider than Fisherman's. Left and right, highlanders had made a defensive wall. Beyond those walls were masses of Riversiders, flailing weapons and fists and banners decorated with holy symbols, hacking away at the barrier of highland tattoos, wild hair and steel. To the right, dockward, the highlanders were pushing the larger numbers backward. To the left, slopeward, the highlanders’ line slowly gave ground, screaming and hacking and leaving tangled knots of bloody corpses in their wake for the next line of attackers to stumble upon.

Even Alythia could see what had happened—a huge surge of men had rushed down this lane, until the highlanders had stepped into the middle, like a gate into an irrigation trench. Now, some of those who had gone past the highlanders had stopped and come back to try and clear the blockage. Beyond them, the lane was increasingly empty, save for the bodies, the flames that poured from the windows of several buildings, and the remnants of the barricade, now strewn across the lane.

To the left, slopeward, the pressure bearing down on the highland line was huge. If they kept giving ground, in just a few moments they would be forced back past Alythia's alley mouth…and then the mob would be on her. Her legs were jelly, she could not outrun them. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the middle of Rani Lane, her banner held high. She stood in the clear space between the two moving highland lines as men screamed and fought to either side. A gust of cold, misting wind caught at the wet banner, unfurling it enough to show the wolf's head, its teeth grinning in the firelight.

Not all of the highland men were fighting. The slopeward line was three deep—men would fight hard, then fall back and allow the next in line to take his place, whilst those behind took some deep breaths. The dockward line was only one deep, with several reserves darting behind in case a gap would open. Some of the back ranks noticed her, and the banner, and gave a huge cheer. Others looked, and the cheer grew to a roar. Those fighting had no time to look, but they heard the roar, and seemed to take it for encouragement, for the Riversiders died at an even more furious pace after that.

Alythia spun back and forth, walking as the lines moved, careful not to trip on the bodies the dockward line were leaving behind as they advanced. One of the dockward line fell to a spearthrust, and Alythia pointed frantically with her spear, but the next reserve was already moving to fill the gap. Alythia grabbed the fallen man as she reached him and tried to pull him up—if he were left to lie there, the moving lines would roll over him and
leave him to the mob. He staggered upright, slowly, clutching his bleeding stomach. Alythia tried to support him.

Something strange was happening, she noticed. Dockward, the distance between the highlanders and the Riversiders seemed wider, and strikes more sporadic. The Riversiders’ lines seemed thinner too, as though some had peeled off the back of the formation and run elsewhere. It was fear, Alythia realised. Perhaps the mob was not quite so fanatical after all, she thought, with a rush of hope. Perhaps the most fanatical ones had charged first and died. Perhaps these were the followers, who now wondered at the wisdom of certain death beneath the swinging blades of battle-crazed, snarling pagans.

Even slopeward, the highland line was spread out, giving each man room to swing. She'd seen the Royal Guards practising shield drills in Baen-Tar, packed like fruit in a barrel, each line pushing on the other in a giant contest of strength…but here, few men on either side had shields. If the mob would just rush them, the line would be overwhelmed, the highland swordsmen deprived of their superior technique and driven back by sheer weight of numbers…but now, the mob was not pressing, and the crowd behind was not pushing as hard as they might. It had been a long day; many had died. Perhaps the righteous fury was fading. Now they hung back, finding poor footing on the bodies of their fallen, and tried to exchange blows or defend with what weapons they had. Most took a terrible wound in short order, and the next-in-line appeared distinctly less enthusiastic in turn.

Now the dockward line were pressing forward faster and the Riversiders backing up. Some stumbled, and the highlanders were onto them in a flash, hacking the fallen, then driving into the gaps created in the Riversiders’ line. Spaces opened in the highland line as those men charged forward and, for a heart-stopping moment, Alythia feared some Riversiders might take advantage and spring through the holes. But the whole momentum had shifted, and suddenly, the Riversiders, still eight-to-one greater in numbers at least, tried to turn and flee toward the docks. Those at the front collided with those behind, men fell in tangles and panic spread. The highlanders howled in delight and sprang into their midst, hacking and slashing with wild abandon. Entire ranks of unarmoured men dissolved in bloody, screaming ruin and the rest fled for their lives.

Some of the older heads yelled for order, holding men back from pursuit. Some highlanders ran back to the slopeward line, past where Alythia stood with the wounded man clutching her shoulder for support, and formed a fourth rank behind the others. The remainder began picking up weapons the defeated Riversiders had dropped and began hurling them into the mob upslope. Several spears flew low and flat, doubtless impaling someone further
back, then a scythe was hurled with a vicious flat spin, raising more screams and mayhem. Some swords followed, also with a flat spin, then a sickle, a club and a number of knives. Into an unarmoured mob, packed too tight to dodge, they couldn't miss. With no weapons to spare, and their own being their only means of defence, the mob threw nothing back.

Suddenly there were arrows whistling about and Alythia ducked in horror, but they were falling into Riversiders. She stared up and saw Nasi-Keth archers perched atop the walls above—at least ten, with more arriving now above the south wall. Arrows flew thick and fast. With no protection, the Riversiders began dying in scores.

It was too much, and the survivors broke and ran. With a roar, the highland ranks charged, and scores more Riversiders who could not run fast enough, or were blocked by those behind, or tripped on fallen bodies, also died. Through the press of running bodies, Alythia thought she saw several Riversiders fall to their knees and beg mercy. And were decapitated where they knelt, to Alythia's hot satisfaction. They had to be joking. Mercy? After what they'd done?

A dozen men did not charge, but held their ground and formed a new line, watching both ways along the lane. Mostly older men, Alythia saw, and some others with wounds. Instinctively, they seemed to understand the tactics that their situation required and deployed themselves to achieve it, without needing to be ordered. But of course they would. Highland men drilled for war all their lives. These men, especially the older ones, understood warfare like Dockside fishermen understood sailing.

“All clear?” called a voice from the wall above. Against the deep red sky, Alythia saw the unmistakable dark grey hair and handsome build of Sasha's friend, the serrin Errollyn. He held that strange serrin bow, with elbow joints in its arms, that just
looked
dangerous. Even at this range, his eyes were visible, two penetrating green spots in the shadow of his face.

“Aye!” shouted up one of the men, above the groans and screams of the wounded and dying who now made a ghastly, writhing carpet along the lane. “Good timing!”

“Sasha told us they'd come this way.” His eyes scanned the lane. “And so the highland legend grows,” he remarked.

“We're just getting started!” came the retort.

“Good. There's plenty that broke through. If you move back fast, you could get some more.” And he vanished, as did the others.

“Highness,” said another man in Lenay. His long, matted hair and thick beard were spattered with blood, some of it his own from a forehead gash, but just as much not. His eyes burned, the left one within a maze of intricate tattoos,
and he fell to one knee. “You were magnificent. It was an honour to fight beneath your banner.”

Alythia blinked at him. “It…I was?”

Another repeated the gesture as the first man rose and kissed the banner fiercely. Others repeated the gesture. Alythia stared at them and…wondered. She was a widow. She'd thought she had nothing left. But
this
…this was something. Despite the fear, the blood, the wet and the cold, her shoulders straightened, just a little.

“Highness,” said another man, upon kissing the flag. “You were glorious.”

Alythia managed a small smile. “Of course I was,” she said.

Kessligh had given up trying to command from the tower as the messengers had ceased getting through and the view below showed him nothing but chaos. Sasha ran at his side as he pointed and yelled to small groups of disorganised defenders, directing them to cover the major approach lanes to where the breakthrough had been thickest. Within that zone, behind Rani Lane, many Riversiders had broken through. Now, they looted, burned and killed, but so far they had not spread much beyond. Most of the other barricades had held and another large attempted breakthrough to the north had been thwarted. Sasha did not dare feel too optimistic given the chaos before her, but surely, if the other barricades were holding, this should be little more than a matter of mopping up.

There were more Nasi-Keth on the roads now—climbing to the rooftops with bows was time-consuming and, with the targets more dispersed, it was possible to do more damage on the ground with a blade. Some senior Dockside men had joined Kessligh's side, and they moved fast about the new perimeter, attempting to contain the breakthrough. Sasha took several Nasi-Keth with her and dashed to the docks to see if she could form a defence there.

Down several lanes and alleys to her right as she ran, she caught a glimpse of running figures, weapons, fires and fighting. The fighting would be all across Fisherman's Lane now. She hoped the children had been moved in time. She hoped that Mariesa and the Velos were out as well, and that Mari had not been a fool and tried to defend his home alone. And she hoped that the star had been moved safely.

She emerged onto the docks, and found hard fighting. Some houses were on fire, lighting the massed boats at their moors with a leaping, hellish glare. Before the fires, dark figures clashed and screamed, weapons waving. Women
ran from doorways clutching children and, further along, someone jumped, or was thrown from a high window onto hard stones below. Sasha looked left toward the North Pier, and saw mostly shadow, lit by the occasional lamp, and no fighting.

“Get in there and kill all these maggots on the dock!” she yelled at the men with her. “Don't go into the houses to flush them out—make them come out, we'll trap the bastards! DOCKSIDE!”

With a yell, the men charged past her. They fell on those closest, killing two who foolishly stood to fight, saving a local man who wrestled with another to keep a knife from his throat, and then the confusion grew thicker and Sasha could no longer see where everyone was. In the firelit chaos, it became difficult to tell friend from foe—there were no uniforms, no rich raiments or armour, and makeshift weapons on both sides. Mostly, Sasha determined, the ones who were yelling and chanting were the enemy. And they usually saved her the trouble of guessing—one sight of a woman with a blade and they knew she was an infidel.

She killed several, a sidestep here, a feint there—the Riversiders were easy to fool and left themselves ridiculously exposed to her blade. Then she saw three Nasi-Keth ahead, blades out and backs together, warding off perhaps a dozen Riversiders who circled and lunged, many with longer weapons. Sasha did not even think, instinctively noting their positions, the mob's weak spots, and how it might all unfold in a rush if she hit it just like…

One man saw her coming, spun and lashed with his halberd, Sasha ducked beneath it with a spin that split him across the middle. Another did not turn in time—she lashed one-handed to extend her reach, taking his arm whilst holding ground to spin back the other way, and cut past the next man's defence before he could bring it to bear. Three men attacked her at once as their comrades fell, one was obstructed by his own companions, Sasha took a half-step back from a club swing that whistled past her nose, then held her arms vertical to deflect the big cleaver that swung down from above—a quarter turn, a quarter step back and a downward flick of the wrists, her blade sliced her attacker from shoulder to rib cage.