and the quality of his weapons indicated his rank.
‘Why?’ he asked at last.
Doranei scowled. The last thing he wanted to do was admit their fate had been decided days ago. He settled on part of the truth. ‘This legion needs to be held up, and we’re on the best defensive ground.’
‘How long do you think we can hold?’ he asked in disbelief.
‘We hold as long as we can.’
‘Alone?’
Doranei shrugged and looked to the west, towards the village and the remaining garrison regiments. ‘You gave the others their orders; you know how they’ll react.’
‘We’re outnumbered and facing heavy infantry!’
Doranei craned around the count to check on the progress of the men ascending the hill. A band of sunshine drifted over them, sweeping the slope with momentary brightness before moving on towards the hump of road that went around the hill. It wasn’t an easy climb and they were taking their time, picking their way along a winding path to avoid the steepest parts. They were obviously not normal troops: they weren’t in livery but red-robes, longer than anything a soldier would wear.
Great, some sort of élite, Doranei thought sourly. He looked back at his own men: a score of archers of varying ability, the same again of green recruits, two score regular infantry, Mage Ebarn and Veil of the Brotherhood. There had been one more of the king’s élite agents, but Horle had died in their first raid on Menin lines.
‘Outnumbered on high ground,’ Doranei said at last, ‘it’s as good a place as any to be outnumbered. They’ll think twice about trying to take us, and they can’t leave us here.’
‘They can detach two regiments to guard their backs and still roll right over the garrison troops!’ Count Reshar’s voice was anxious now as he also looked down the slope. ‘Ah damn, we’ll never get out of sight in time now!’
‘Then we fight,’ Doranei said plainly. ‘Get the archers here and start picking off some of those red robes. If the main troop moves past we’ll snipe at their rear, and if they assault the hill we’ll hold our ground.’
‘We don’t stand a chance,’ snapped the count, even as he gestured for the archers to move up.
‘If you can’t take a joke . . .’ Doranei muttered under his breath.
Count Reshar spat on the dusty ground. ‘You’ve killed us all,’ he said, not meeting Doranei’s eyes.
The King’s Man reached out and grabbed him by the throat, and the count gave a croak of shock. Doranei hauled the man bodily towards him, swatting away his hands as he attempted to free himself of Doranei’s grip. ‘Now you listen to me,’ he growled, dragging Count Reshar’s face to within inches of his own, ‘this ain’t some border skirmish! Thousands are dead already, and if we’re to win, it’ll be off the back o’ sacrifice. Get that into your thick skull and deal with it. There’s no room for anything else.’
‘Doranei,’ Veil called from behind him, ‘archers ready.’
The King’s Man released the nobleman and looked back at his friend. Veil matched the look. His blank expression would be enough of a reminder to his Brother to curb his temper.
Veil’s dark hair poked out from under a small helm and spilled onto his curved pauldrons. In fire-blackened greaves and vambraces he was as heavily armoured as Doranei had ever seen him. Veil looked as unperturbed as ever, but Doranei didn’t like it: the slim King’s Man looked out of place on a battlefield, however good a street fighter he was. This was even less Veil’s domain than it was Doranei’s.
‘Archers, aye,’ Doranei said, ducking his head in acknowledgement. ‘Time to make our presence felt.’
At Veil’s order the twenty-odd archers edged over the crest of the hill and took up position. Doranei, crouched just behind them, watched the first of the attackers fall - they were barely forty yards downslope, and sitting targets whether they advanced or retreated. Two men fell in the first volley, and three more as the attackers struggled on up the slope. Doranei guessed they were warrior-monks of Karkarn, in which case it was a safe bet they could put those halberds to good use, but their ascent would be slow.
‘Ebarn,’ Doranei called, beckoning the stocky woman over. ‘Give them something to make the rest of ’em think twice, Veil, signal the troops.’
As Veil went to signal the garrison soldiers Ebarn joined Doranei. She let her dirty green cape fall from her shoulders, revealing a rust-coloured tunic adorned with thin silver