9. Old Tricks
Chapter 9
Old Tricks
6 th Day of the Blood Moon
Lost Hills, northwest of the Rolling Mountains – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Dayne stood at the top of the rise, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked down into the open valley. This was the highest point of the Lost Hills, just before they joined the Rolling Mountains, thousands of feet above the level of the sea. The march was an exhausting one, particularly for an army moving quickly with heavy armour and weapons.
Which was why Dayne had marched his five thousand warriors there two days beforehand. There would still be many aching muscles between them, but they would be far fresher than the host of seven thousand Thebalans hurrying to join the new head of their house, Aldon, at Achyron’s Keep.
Aldon’s father Miron, whom Dayne had killed in the siege of Myrefall, had commanded a force twice as large. Many had died in the siege, the survivors splitting in the aftermath. Some three thousand had joined Aldon and the rebellion, the rest scattering to the wind. Once word had spread that Aldon had followed his father’s wishes and betrayed the rebellion, the other banners had gathered and marched to meet him at Achyron’s Keep.
“I still think you should have taken the ten thousand your sister offered.” Belina stepped up beside Dayne, sucking in her cheeks as she surveyed the land. The valley cut through the hills and forked, dense woodland bearing down on all sides. Something about having her there made the weight on Dayne’s shoulders that little bit lighter.
“Five will do. With the ten thousand sent with Joros to retake Myrefall, Alina needs as many spears as she can muster to hold her position, lest Loren try to overwhelm her.” It had been Dayne’s plan. With the remnants of House Thebal’s forces leaving Myrefall to join Aldon, the city would be vulnerable. A two-pronged attack, with Alina and the bulk of the free Valtaran forces holding position three days’ march from Achyron’s Keep. They needed to secure their rear before moving forward. But just because it had been his plan didn’t mean he liked the idea of being so far from his sister, especially after what had happened the night of the betrayal.
“I like the sound of ten thousand a lot more than I do five. Oh, also, I have to admit, that armour looks good on you. Though I’m not sure how I feel about the skirts and those white crests.” She nodded at the bronzed helmet Dayne held in the crook of his arm, the white horsehair crest of the Andurii running from front to back. “They do kind of break the first rule of ambushes.”
“The first rule of ambushes?” one of Dayne’s captains, Iloen, asked, raising his eyebrow curiously.
“Ignore her.” Dayne shook his head.
The smile that spread across Belina’s face was one which Dayne had grown far too accustomed to across the years. “Be a bush.”
Iloen narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Dayne pressed his face into his palm. There would be no stopping her now.
“Where do you find these people, Dayne?” Belina looked at Iloen as though he were an idiot. “The first rule of ambushes, Ilan?—”
“Iloen.”
“Yes, Ilopen, like I said. Anyway, the word ambush comes from being able to say ‘I am a bush’, as in to blend in with your natural surroundings. So the first rule of ambushes is to be a bush. What bush wears white and orange skirts with a crest of white horsehair? That sounds a lot more like a flower to me. Damn attention seekers.”
Iloen opened his mouth as though he were about to say something but thought better of it and pursed his lips.
“Sometimes it’s best just to pretend she isn’t there, Iloen.”
“That’s a lie,” Belina whispered in Dayne’s ear. “You missed me.”
“Like a horse misses a flea.”
“You’re calling yourself a horse,” Belina said with a shrug.
Dayne ran his free hand through his hair and let out a long, exasperated sigh.
“She’s not entirely wrong.” Dayne hadn’t heard Mera approach. Alina had given her the command of twelve Wyndarii to assist in the ambush. She moved to Dayne’s right, running her hand along the small of his back, giving him a soft smile. Her blue eyes stared into his for a moment before she looked out at the valley. “Once they enter the valley and we break through the trees, every second will count. The skirts and the helmets should stay behind.”
“I told you.” Belina shrugged again, holding her open palms out. “I can’t help but be right. It’s a curse.”
Dayne just grunted, biting at the inside of his lip. As much as he appreciated the brief moment of levity around him, he could not share in it. He had no doubts that with the Andurii and the wyverns, his five thousand would carve through the Thebalans’ numerical advantage. But still, many would die.
He hunkered down, running his fingers through the dry grass and pressing into the cracked earth beneath. It hadn’t rained in weeks. He narrowed his eyes, surveying the valley, all the while rubbing dry dirt between his fingertips. “Mera, your scouts reported that the Thebalan ranks comprised vast numbers of cavalry, yes?”
“They did.”
“How many?”
“Three thousand heavy horse with lances and shields, another six hundred light cavalry. Enough to turn the tide of any battle.”
Belina crouched beside Dayne, looking at the dirt between his fingers. “What are you thinking?” She lowered her voice. “And why are we crouching?”
Dayne frowned at her. “You remember south of Elkenrim, about six years back?”
The smile on Belina’s face vanished, replaced by a grim line. “Where I killed my father.”
Dayne drew a slow breath and nodded in return. “The armies that march here wear thick armour and carry heavy ordos and valynas. They’ve been marching double for days on end and through the Lost Hills for the past two nights. They’re completely exhausted. Add three thousand heavy cavalry to that…” Dayne pulled on threads of Earth and Water, feeling the elemental strands pulsate in his mind. He pressed his hand to the earth and pushed the threads into the ground, loosening the clay and pulling the moisture from the depths. Within seconds, the soil was thick and gloopy.
“It will be chaos,” Belina said, her lips twisting into a grin. “My favourite.”
“What are we doing?” Mera asked, staring down at Dayne and Belina.
“We’re going to trap them like rats in a bucket,” Dayne said, rising. He turned to Iloen. “Bring me the other captains and my bow. And Iloen?”
“Yes, Andurios?”
Dayne looked to Belina for a moment, still not quite believing what he was about to say. “I need every man and woman to cut off as much foliage as they can and lash it to their ordos.”
Belina’s face lit up. “ Be the bush!”
Some hours later, Dayne knelt about three quarters of the way down the slope towards the flat of the valley, looking out at a column of torches marching in the ever-present twilight of the Blood Moon. His ordo – or more so, his father’s ordo – was driven into the earth before him, branches and leaves lashed to its front. Dayne gripped his bow in his left hand, two quivers of arrows waiting where the shield connected with the ground.
Half his forces were spread out along the hill beside him, stretching off for hundreds of feet, masked by the same foliage strapped to their shields. The other half were positioned across the hill on the opposite side of the valley, with Mera’s Wyndarii waiting in the rear.
Ileeri and Dinekes knelt to Dayne’s right and left, half the Andurii around them. Several valynas were laid out at each warrior’s feet. The spears weren’t typically used as missiles, but they would punch through plate as though it were dry wood.
Dayne almost leapt out of his skin as Belina whispered in his ear. “Why don’t I get a shield?”
The woman had an unrivalled ability to move without making the slightest of sounds.
“Do you want a shield?”
“No, but that’s not the point.”
“Belina.”
“It’s just nice to be asked.”
Dayne allowed himself a half-smile, staring down at the grass beneath him. He lifted his gaze, meeting Belina’s. “Thank you for coming.”
Belina’s expression hardened, the perpetual note of levity abandoning her voice. “Always.” She leaned forwards and grasped Dayne’s arm. “I told you I would be here, and I am.” Belina shook her head as though trying to stop a tear, then let out a short laugh. “Look at me. I think I’ve grass in my eye.”
Dayne grasped the back of Belina’s head and pulled their foreheads tighter together. “By blade and by blood.”
“You Valtarans are so dramatic. Has anyone ever told you that?” Belina pulled away, wiping the back of her hand against her eye, then met Dayne’s gaze once more. “I’ll help you free Valtara, Dayne… or I’ll die horribly.”
“I’d rather you didn’t die at all.”
“No promises.”
Dayne turned his head at the sound of shuffling feet to find Tarine Valanis dropping to one knee beside him. “Andurios. The Thebalans are entering the valley. Our forces are in position.”
Dayne turned to Ileeri and Dinekes, who both gave him short nods.
“By blade and by blood, Andurios. They won’t leave this place,” the pair chorused.
Reaching for the Spark, Dayne pulled on threads of Air and Spirit, weaving them through his voice and mimicking an owl’s hoot. The sound carried through the valley, amplified by the threads. Within seconds, shuffling feet and heavy breaths sounded around him. He wove the thread of Spirit through his eyes, adding Fire and granting himself moonsight. Across the valley, he could see the rest of the forces readying, the foliage strapped to their shields helping them blend seamlessly with the hillside.
He glanced towards the encroaching column of Thebalans at the mouth of the valley, the light of the torches like a river of blurred fire to Dayne’s moonsight-enhanced eyes.
Dayne drew his breaths slowly, cold air filling his nostrils, warm air rolling over his lips. His pulse was steady, his heart well used to the anticipation of battle.
As the column marched forwards, Dayne closed his eyes, picturing twisting elemental strands in his mind, their light pulsing. He allowed his chest to swell with air, the slow thump of his heart sounding in his ears. In the darkness of his mind, he plucked heavy threads of Earth and Water. The hairs on his arms pricked at Water’s cool touch, the weight of Earth filling him. He pushed the threads outwards, down the hill, and into the valley floor.
He could feel the touch of the dried, cracked clay, the grass brittle and dying. After a few moments, he found what he’d been looking for: a wealth of water gently flowing through the layers of deep rock and dirt hundreds of feet below.
“Wait for it,” Belina whispered in his ear. “Waaait.”
“Belina.”
“Sorry. Old habits.”
Dayne blocked Belina out. He needed to focus. Letting out a breath, he wove his threads into the water and drew it upwards, careful to follow the paths of least resistance through the rock. The Spark was a delicate thing. If he drew the water up too quickly or through a channel of dense rock, he would find the energy sapped from his bones in a few beats of his heart.
He drew the water up slowly, allowing it to soak the earth, turning it to mud so dense it would pull at boots and sap the energy from already tired legs. The speed of the Thebalan horses would suffer tenfold.
Below, the Thebalan forces slowed as they trudged through the dense mud, shouts and commands echoing in the natural acoustics of the valley. For a moment, Dayne feared they might turn back in favour of a better route. It’s what he would have done. But their march was too urgent, and so they pushed forwards into the valley that would be their tomb, under a crimson-touched sky that was to be the last sky they would witness.
Dayne cast another cursory glance at the opposite slope. Even though he was looking for them, the other half of his forces were all but impossible to see. Masked by the foliage and aided by the night, they truly blended with the hillside.
Dayne hooted twice more, amplifying the sounds with threads of Air and Spirit. Around him, the sounds of shuffling signalled the others reaching for arrows or pulling valyna spears into their grasps.
Dayne slipped an arrow from the closest quiver, his fingers brushing the wild turkey feather fletching, black and grey striped. The wood was cedar, the sweet fresh scent lingering. He’d had the arrows made only a week prior by Tula Vakira’s best fletcher. For some reason, knowing the heart of something, the core of what comprised it, gave Dayne a soothing sense of calm. Particularly if it was a weapon with which he was to take a life. And he would take many lives that night.
He nocked the arrow, and Marlin’s words echoed in his head. The words the man had spoken the day Dayne had lost everything. No, the day Loren Koraklon and the empire had taken everything. Words that reminded him of his purpose.
“War is no different to peace. It is simply more honest. Do not hesitate, do not contemplate mercy. Remember everything I have taught you.”
“Valtara will be free,” Dayne whispered. “Even if I have to wade through a river of their blood. Valtara will be free. May the gods forgive me.”
Dayne peered over the rim of his shield, watching as the column of torches continued their march.
Just a few more paces .
They needed to wait until the Thebalans had slogged far enough into the valley they would be entrenched in the mud, unable to flee while Dayne’s warriors fell upon them. Dayne had never liked fights like this. A man should know how and why he died; that was a belief Dayne held close. But if doing it this way saved more lives in his charge, then so be it. Besides, the Thebalans had known why they would die the moment they’d betrayed their people. They’d sealed their own fates long ago.
Dayne twisted a little, pressing his boot into the ground to make sure he had solid purchase. He lifted himself more upright, angling his arrow above his shield’s rim. Once more drawing in threads of Air and Spirit, Dayne let out a sharp whistle, drew his bowstring, picked his target, and loosed.
The snap of bowstrings sounded all about him, the soft whistle of arrows gliding on the air. Grunts followed as men and women heaved valynas, angling them upwards so they would fall like steel-tipped rain. Across the way, thousands of arrows and spears plummeted into the valley, glinting in the crimson glow of the moon.
A moment passed where all was still, where the Lost Hills were peaceful and silent. Then came the screams.
Dayne nocked another. Draw. Loose.
His hands fell into a rhythm. Nock. Draw. Loose. Nock. Draw. Loose. He lost himself in the repetition, his arrows vanishing amidst the swarm of steel and wood that fell upon the Thebalans.
He gave two more sharp whistles, one after another, signalling for the warriors on the flanks to pull their shields from the ground and fall into position on both sides of the Thebalans, blocking off any escape, trapping them in the valley of mud and death.
As more arrows and spears fell, Belina touched Dayne’s arm. “If we press them now, they’ll surrender. They’re broken.”
Dayne laid his bow in the grass, then slid his arm through the strap in his shield and ripped it from the earth. He snatched his valyna from beside the quivers. “Surrender is not an option for them, Belina. They turned their backs on us twice already. We can’t give them a third opportunity. Today they die.”
He gave one more sharp whistle to halt the barrage of projectiles, then let out a roar and charged down the hillside.
Vibrations jarred Dayne’s legs, his steps heavy as he sprinted downhill. The footfalls behind him thundered, warriors bellowing war cries. The Thebalan forces ahead were shattered. Arrow shafts and thick spears jutted from the broken bodies that littered the valley floor. Torches burned in the mud, their light glimmering in the pools of water. The groans of the dying and the wails of horses were like a nightsong, sad and slow. And those who yet lived were exhausted.
As Dayne reached the bottom of the hill, a group of Thebalans emerged from behind an arrow-studded cart, one of the horses squealing in the mud, a spear pinning a man to its side.
Dayne dropped his left shoulder, allowing a thrown spear to glide past and lodge into the earth. He swung himself back, hefting his valyna and launching it. The weapon caught a charging Thebalan in the chest, punching through his cuirass and knocking him off his feet.
Ripping his sword from its scabbard, Dayne hurled himself forwards. He twisted, deflecting a spear with his shield, then drove his blade up through the woman’s neck. Her eyes rolled, blood sluicing down the steel. Dayne pulled the blade free and in the same motion swung his shield arm and rammed the steel rim into a man’s mouth, teeth snapping like brittle wood.
Three more times he swung his blade, and three more times blood sprayed. His own forces fell in around him, the Andurii holding tight to his flanks, moving as a solid unit despite the saturated earth.
A sharp whistle sounded to Dayne’s left and a glint of steel punched through a Thebalan’s neck, bloodmist pluming as the man fell into the mud. Two more flashes of steel, two more Thebalans fell. Dayne knew Belina’s throwing knives anywhere.
“Sorry I’m late,” Belina called, weaving through the Valtaran spears around her, her footsteps somehow light even in the mud. She had a mud-smeared ordo strapped to her left arm, a valyna in the same fist. She grabbed the spear with her other hand, freeing her left to hold the ordo’s grip properly, then nodded towards the shield. “I changed my mind about the shield. These things are fucking heavy.”
Dayne only grunted in response, taking a moment to survey the carnage. The waterlogged valley was nothing but blood and death. Clutches of Thebalans fought tooth and nail, backing against broken carts and stacks of bodies. They wouldn’t last long. It was a massacre, but that was precisely what Dayne wanted. He needed Loren Koraklon and the other traitors to know the cost of their choices. He needed to put fear in their bellies.
“Andurios!”
Dayne twisted at the call, seeing three mounted lances charging from the left.
Dinekes surged forwards, hurling his valyna through the chest of the first rider, then hefting his shield across his body as several Andurii swarmed around him, spears levied. The horses were cumbersome in the dense mud, their hooves sticking and sucking, then sliding as they tried desperately to find traction. Dayne grimaced as the beautiful creatures slammed into the wall of Andurii spears, steel punching through flesh. The horses and their riders fell, blood flowing into the puddles.
The battle, if it could truly be called that, didn’t last much longer. The Thebalans who tried to flee were caught by the spears at both ends of the passage or shredded by Mera’s Wyndarii, who wrought death from above.
Those who fought to the bitter end were given that end.
“The battle is won, Andurios. They never stood a chance. Stories will be told of this night.” Barak was covered from head to toe in mud, a number of gashes along his left shoulder. Dayne felt guilt at whatever Thebalans had stared down the beast of a man in this voidpit. “I’ve sent detachments to round up the surviving horses and recover any gear that can be salvaged.”
Dayne nodded to Barak before yanking a valyna free of a Thebalan corpse, blood pumping from the open wound. He turned and drove the spear down through a twitching body. The woman cried out, reaching for her sword as she lay dying in the mud. Dayne twisted the spear and pushed it deeper. She went limp. He turned to Barak and the other captains who stood about him, calling out. “Make sure the dead stay dead. We will burn the bodies and let them enter Achyron’s halls, but they will not walk from this place.”
Dayne turned and picked his way through the blood-sodden battlefield, driving his spear through anything that moved.
“Dayne.” Sweat and mud slicked Belina’s face. She grasped his shoulder, moving her head to meet his gaze. She didn’t need to speak. He knew the question her eyes asked.
“It must be this way,” he said, pulling his spear free from the body at his feet. “The lines have been drawn, Belina.”
“When I said ‘who are we killing now’ and you said ‘all of them’, I didn’t know you actually meant all of them.”
“This is it. This is where the future of Valtara is decided. I want Loren and every soul under his command to see me in their nightmares. I want them to fear us like they feared the night as children. I am ready to be their demon.”