They were standing close to the barred gates of the feast-hall with Gerda’s warriors, all armed and ready for battle. As soon as the signal was given they planned to burst from the tower and join the banner-men, so that Jael would be fighting on two fronts.
‘Yes, that’s the plan,’ Orgull said. ‘Or part of it. If things go bad we head back here, to Haelan, take the boy and flee.’
‘Aye,’ Maquin said. He had taken the oath, said the words, but the weight of them sat in his gut now like a lead ball. Why did I do it? He didn’t need to ask himself that question. He knew why. For Kastell. For himself – a chance to prove he could fulfil his oath, keep a child alive. A chance to not fail.
A wild clanging rang down from the tower, filling the hall. The gates were heaved open and then they were charging, pouring into the courtyard, blinking in the daylight.
They slammed into a line of warriors, the combat quickly disintegrating into individual battles. Maquin ducked behind his shield and felt a heavy blow shiver through the wood and up his arm. He chopped low and heard a crack as he broke his enemy’s ankle. Another man jabbed a spear at his ribs but he swept it away with his sword, stepped in close and smashed his shield into the man’s face, sending him staggering back.
Orgull was up ahead, his axe a blur swirling around his head, tracing an arc of blood. Tahir fought beside him, and Maquin stepped in next to his sword-brothers. Together they carved their way forwards, Jael’s warriors giving before them.
Surrounded by Dun Kellen’s defenders, they fought through the courtyard, out into a wide street, and then finally the fortress’ gates were visible ahead. There was only the stone arch still standing, the wooden gates twisted and charred.
Maquin could hear the frantic blowing of horns in the distance, the sound of hooves on stone streets, men screaming, the clash of arms. All about them was a swirling mass of combat, the blood and stench of men dying. Maquin blinked sweat from his eyes, a sword hilt punched into his face and he felt a tooth go. He spat it out, along with a mouthful of blood, grinned wildly and ploughed on.
Gerda’s reinforcements were slowly reclaiming the town; Jael’s men were breaking, retreating through the streets towards the river. Maquin saw Gerda and her guards pursuing them.
‘Come on,’ Maquin said to Orgull and Tahir, ‘or else she’ll find Jael before us and have his head.’
‘Think you’re right,’ Orgull said, watching Gerda disappearing through the gates. ‘Where is Jael most likely to be?’
‘Now? Preparing to run. Maybe their paddocks?’
‘Worth a look,’ said Orgull. Some sections of the town were almost empty now, other than the many corpses littering the ground, elsewhere the streets were packed with fighting men. Maquin and his companions cut themselves a way through; there were not many standing to give the three of them any real resistance. They were Gadrai, sword-brothers who had come through the battle of Haldis, had faced giants, fought the Jehar, survived Forn Forest, and together they were death on wings.
The paddocks were in chaos; Jael’s routed warriors were scrambling into saddles, desperately seeking a way of retreat. ‘There.’ Maquin pointed as he saw Jael’s banner, then Jael himself, the white horsehair plume of his helmet marking him out. ‘Quick, he intends to flee,’ Maquin yelled.
The three of them charged across the plain, Maquin leading the way, slipping on the treacherous ground and chopping or battering anyone in his way with sword and shield. A thin line of defenders was soon scattered by Orgull’s terrifying axe. Maquin strode through the paddock, slapping horses’ flanks with the flat of his sword, making his way closer to Jael, who was surrounded by a handful of his shieldmen. Reaching them, Maquin swung his sword overhead, crushing a man’s skull before he was even seen, then Jael’s shieldmen realized the threat in their midst and were coming at him. It was impossible in the confined space to swing a blade properly, so he drew a knife, pushed in close to his next opponent and stabbed quickly into the man’s neck and chest, shoved him out of the way, deflected a weak blow on his shield from another attacker, then moved inside his guard and slit the warrior’s belly. And there, finally, he came face to face with his quarry. Jael was mounted, his horse rearing and kicking its hooves at Maquin. Before he got any closer, Jael turned the beast and was riding away. Maquin swore, determined not to let him go this time. He lunged at a man with his foot in a stirrup, dragged him off his horse, climbed into the saddle and kicked his mount into a gallop.
Jael was heading south, towards the bridge that crossed the river.
The warriors of Dun Kellen, under the command of Thoris and Gerda, were moving across the plain, routing out any enemies who had taken shelter in any of the smokehouses and tanners’ yards that lined the river.