As if this were his cue, Feltock gave the signal and the horn player next to him seamlessly added a series of blasts into the music, and suddenly, from inside thick pockets of the nightmist, arrows flew out into the Avarean troops. We’d not only sent spearmen into those patches of fog, but archers too.
I could barely make out Morn, let alone see his face, but I fancied he wasn’t pleased at all.
‘Cannon,’ Kest warned.
In the distance we could see eight of them being rolled forward, their barrels aiming at our rear lines. Eight cannon might not be a lot, but they’re enough to create no small amount of havoc.
‘We’ve got to take those out,’ I told Feltock. ‘Let me and the rest of the Greatcoats—’
‘You’ll never get through their lines,’ he interrupted.
‘We have to try!’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t waste your time,’ Darriana said, and I turned to see her and Gwyn coming up behind me. They looked pale and were shivering as they brushed snow off their coats.
‘Where have you two been?’ I asked.
Darri smiled. ‘Visiting our neighbours.’
I turned back to see the Avarean cannon-master raise his fist, then bring it swiftly down, and a moment later torches were held to the wicks. For a moment nothing happened.
‘You wet down their powder? How did the two of you even—?’
‘We’re the fucking Dashini and Rangieri,’ Darri answered, grinning. ‘Sneaking in and out of places is what we do. Now shush. I’ve always enjoyed fireworks.’
‘I thought you—’
Suddenly the sound of thunder rolled over the drumming, overpowering the warsongs, the noise of battle. Fire and sparks exploded dramatically from one of the cannon, followed by another great crack of thunder, then another cannon exploded. Avareans were fleeing the flames, trying to dodge the bits of metal flying at them as the barrels broken apart in fast-moving lethally sharp shards – the noise became so loud I could hear nothing at all save a great ringing in my ears. I might not be able to listen to what was happening, but my eyes were fixed on the chaos raging among our enemies as we all struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
The Magdan’s mighty warbands had finally met Tristia’s paltry army on the battlefield.
They were not enjoying the experience.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
The Hundred Names
It was a good first day, or so they told me. We lost nearly four hundred soldiers in those opening exchanges across the snow-covered field. The enemy had lost many more. I had no idea how Feltock could look across the carnage spread out before us and make such calculations, but he estimated that a thousand Avareans had met their ancestors at the hands of a people they’d believed wouldn’t last an hour.
That night music rang throughout our camp. The Bardatti went among our troops, leading them in tunes and tales, some of which I recognised, others which I strongly suspected they were making up on the spot. I couldn’t bring myself to go along to share in the momentary joy of death denied for one more night, instead choosing to visit a less jovial part of our camp. Oddly, Brasti joined me.
‘Is there nothing more we can do?’ he asked, as we walked along the rows of the wounded and dying. Most were shivering despite the fires set to warm them.
Ethalia was directing physicians and assistants, comforting those who broke down as patient after patient died from injuries too severe to treat, then, sometimes forcefully, sending them back to work. Every spare moment found her sitting with the wounded, using her Saintly presence to give them comfort, the Gods of any country that might disapprove be damned.
Sometimes a soldier would call me, ask me to hold their hands for a moment, as if that might do some good, and as I hadn’t the heart to tell them otherwise, I smiled and told the lies you tell the dying, because sometimes that’s all that’s left.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked a young man whose leg was being bound tightly in preparation for amputation.
‘Idoren, sir,’ he replied, then suddenly broke into tears. At first I assumed it was at the prospect of losing his leg, but then he said, ‘I failed, sir. I failed him.’
‘Failed who?’
‘My son. I failed my son.’
I squeezed Idoren’s hand harder. ‘You failed no one, soldier. There’s no—’
‘You don’t understand, sir! I . . . I didn’t even fight!’ He raised his other hand to his eyes. ‘I went out with my squad into a patch of nightmist where I was supposed to shoot arrows at the enemy. My hands were shaking so bad I dropped my quiver. I reached down to get it but tripped on a rock and fell. Two of my own arrows pierced my leg.’
I looked down at the bandaged wounds. How could that lead to amputation?
Idoren saw me staring. ‘I couldn’t move – I spent hours there lying on the ground in the snow and the nightmist. I couldn’t move and the cold – well, it got into the wound and now they say I have to lose the leg or it’ll spread.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said uselessly, remembering Trin’s self-mutilated fingers.
He gripped my hand harder. ‘I never even met the enemy, sir. I never got to say my boy’s name.’ A great racking sob broke from him. ‘He’s a good lad, sir. His name ought to be remembered.’
‘Tell me his name.’
‘Myken, sir. It’s Myken.’
I nodded. ‘Tomorrow, Idoren, I’m going to go out on that field and I’ll carry Myken’s name with me. I’ll speak his name when next we meet the enemy.’
The soldier brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you.’
A physician carrying a bone saw discreetly hidden under a cloth signalled it was time for me to leave him to his work. I let go of Idoren’s hand and moved on, only to have another soldier stop me – a thickset woman with a soaked bandage across her head covering a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. ‘My name’s Marsi, my man’s name is Felsan,’ she said, ‘like the Saint. He has a wasting disease in his legs so he can’t walk – I came to fight for him, and for our two daughters, Lida and Iphissa. Will you carry their names for me, First Cantor?’
‘And my boy’s,’ another of the wounded called out. ‘His name is Terrick.’
A sick feeling crept inside me. I had been the one to convince these soldiers that somehow carrying the name of someone they loved would make some difference to the world. One by one those who had tried to fight but been taken down before they could even face the enemy begged me to carry the names of their loved ones, to make sure the enemy heard them, and knew whose lives they were destroying. ‘I . . . I can’t,’ I said helplessly. ‘I’m sorry, there’s just too m—’