Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

A few arrows launched from the knoll landed among the Quman attacking the left. A band of ten Lions charged off the knoll to prevent that line of their comrades from being outflanked. On the right the Quman horse rode up to the line but balked at the hedge of spears and shields retreating evenly before them.

“Gotfrid!” cried Thiadbold from the knoll. “Close up!”

As Lewenhardt and other archers shot rapidly, and accurately, the line still out in the clearing moved backward at double step. Leaving a dozen of their men dead on the field, the Lions closed up the gap. A ragged cheer rose from the Lions waiting for them on the knoll. It was a small, bitter victory, probably short-lived. The rear guard was gone, obliterated, except for them.

Far away, Anna heard the ring of battle breaking out as the Quman hit the Saony legion from behind.

“They’re going to wrap up the line of march one legion at a time, from the rear.” Heribert was white in the face, breathing hard, as he grabbed Blessing’s arm and tugged her up to the top of the knoll.

“Won’t go!” cried Blessing, waving her wooden sword, which she had managed to salvage from the overturned wagon. “I have to fight, too!”

Anna slapped her on the rump. That got her going.

All across the clearing, Quman continued to upset and loot the captured baggage. The leader, now on a new mount, began organizing the attack against the knoll. Riders spread out in a circle around the knoll and moved in. Near the top Heribert found an old oak with a bit of a hollow burned out, where some traveler had once hidden out from a storm. Anna shoved Blessing in against her protests and stood with her own body blocking the opening.

The eight slaves had brought Bayan’s mother, discreetly concealed in her litter, to the top of the knoll. Now they crouched around her.

Anna smelled rain, approaching fast.

Quman riders closed. Because their arrows came from all directions, it was impossible to find a tree that could protect on all sides. Some lord’s concubine, a woman with beautiful blonde hair now fallen free over her shoulders, began to curse and throw stones at them—until she was shot dead through the chest.

Lewenhardt and the other archers made them pay dearly. Every arrow Lewenhardt loosed struck human, or horse flesh. The Quman were no fools. Every person on the knoll who picked up a bow was quickly dropped by a hail of arrows. Many of them aimed specifically for the young archer, but he had a way of shifting, almost like a twitch, that moved whatever part of his body was endangered out of the path of the incoming arrow. Still, he bled from a dozen scratches on his thighs and arms. A young boy, a carter’s son, wounded in the leg, scrabbled about gathering spent arrows and placing them at Lewenhardt’s feet.

But even with the wagon redoubt, gaps loomed. Even with a strong cohort of Lions and various stragglers, the Quman outnumbered them, and as far as Anna could tell, their enemies had no shortage of arrows.

Five Quman riders made a sortie for one of the gaps, where Thiadbold himself with a brace of Lions held the opening with shields raised. The enemy fired at the men’s feet, all they could see except the tips of their helms.

“At them!” shouted Captain Thiadbold, leaping forward with an arrow quivering in the sole of his boot. He hurled his spear, taking one of the Quman in the throat as his men surged forward with him. Well-placed ax blows caught arms or legs, and Lions dragged three of the riders down to the ground, where they died in a flurry of blows. The last one fought his horse round, thinking to flee, but old Gotfrid had readied his throwing ax, and he threw it with all his might. The rider slumped forward with the handle of the ax sticking out from between the wings and the blade embedded through split plates of lamellar armor.

To the right, another group of Lions tried a similar sally, but as they lurched forward, their leader was caught in the eye by an arrow. Dismayed, his companions scrambled back for cover.

The arrows kept coming. It seemed like between one breath and the next, fully a third of the Lions lay dead or dying and most of the others were wounded several times over. But they would never surrender. They endured the storms of arrows, waiting for that moment when their spears and axes could bite. But there were so many gaps now, too many to hold.

“Look,” said Heribert, but Anna had already seen it.

Rain swept toward them over the treetops.

“Let me see!” shrieked Blessing, her voice muffled within the oak hollow. Her small fists pummeled the back of Anna’s legs as she fought to get out.

The Quman riders pressed in. Some grabbed the carts and dragged them back while others attacked. Old Gotfrid dropped his shield so that he could concentrate solely on his spear work. His spear point snapped Quman faceplates and caught men in their vulnerable throats. He did not hesitate to strike horse or rider. He was a veteran who did not waste his energy. He did not throw half the blows of the younger Lions, but each one counted. Gotfrid’s companions defended him with their shields, well aware of the damage he would do if they could keep him alive.

The eagle rider bore down on Thiadbold’s group, which held a gap between a wagon and a cart. The ox which had once filled much of that space lay dying from numerous arrow wounds. The horse had been cut free and had bolted away. As the Quman leaped the ox carcass, the eagle rider struck at Thiadbold. Thiadbold caught the blow on his shield and pressed in, driving his sword deep into the horse’s belly. The rider kicked him in the head as the horse collapsed. Another Quman thrust, striking Thiadbold in the side. Thiemo struck the spear haft down with his sword, splintering it, as Matto, Surly, and Everwin waded in with their swords. They traded a fierce exchange of blows, but Everwin staggered back, his face covered in blood. Den, who still had an arrow protruding from his side, joined the fight, as did Johannes, and Chustaffus with his one good arm.

Then it was hard to see, or maybe that was only tears in her eyes. Was it starting to rain?

The remaining Lions gave ground step by hard fought step. Captain Thiadbold was back up, accounting himself well; his mail had saved him. Anna whispered a prayer, brushing her hand in the remembered gesture, a circle drawn around her Circle of Unity.

Remembering that day long ago in the cathedral in Gent, when the Eika prince had let them go. Remembering the way her voice had choked in her throat when, in Steleshame, she had heard Count Lavastine’s heir tell her that he had once given a wooden Circle, such as hers, such as the one the Eika prince had worn at his throat, to an Eika prince. But she had not spoken; she had not asked, to see if it were the same prince. She had not closed the Circle.

That was why God had punished her.

In ten more steps, the remaining Lions would close in on her position, and then they would have no farther to retreat. Heribert raised his staff, making ready to fight, with the most desolate look on his face that Anna could imagine. He looked brave enough, but it was obvious from his stance that he would be no threat to his attackers. He glanced at her. “Try if you can to be taken prisoner, with the princess,” he said in a low voice. “If you ever see him again, tell the prince I died fighting.”

Raindrops spit on her face. Out in the clearing it had begun to rain harder, but Quman riders continued their looting undisturbed.

So far away, as in a dream, she heard the ring of Wendish horns calling a retreat.

The Quman were going to kill them all.