Chapter Thirty-Eight

Men died on the slope up to the pass. A thousand men had started the climb. They fell by the dozen as they marched up the gruelling rock-strewn climb to the top. Jezail fire rained down upon them. Hundreds were dead by the time they neared the top, a trail of Vastrum dead leading to the pass. But hundreds remained. Fury built up in Dryden as he rode, to see so many men senselessly shot down. The helplessness turned to rage as they came nearer to the enemy. Dryden looked to his right and saw that the men there were still moving up the slope. He looked to his left trying to see if Pugh was still alive and found him still on his horse, riding to and fro encouraging his men as they climbed the hard rocky hill. Ahead the rangers and grenadiers were mostly gone, only a few still climbed up ahead of the main force. Dryden didn’t see Koen there anymore, but neither had he seen the big man fall. Gorst’s horse took a bullet, and the old Colonel had been given a horse by one of his lieutenants. Then that horse had fallen to a bullet too. Rosie had taken a bullet in her rump as well, but she still climbed the hill as strong and sturdy as ever, with only a slight limp as she walked.

Private Harper still carried the banner of the 13th in his left hand and furled up and balanced on his shoulder. There seemed almost no sense in his using it to lead men. The 13th that had been stationed in Vurun was nearly all dead, but the young man had kept the regimental colours with him, despite that, and even though he was missing half his arm.

Dryden could feel the fury building in the men around him. The anticipation of finally being able to put a bayonet into the men who had been raining down shots through the whole army. As they got close he heard a cry of distress from some men who looked back over their shoulders. He looked back too. Though he had not seen the Guludan soldiers fall or break, he saw now that the enemy had gotten through or past them. The cavalry was much behind them, but they were catching up quickly, coming up the slope with speed.

“Courage men! Courage!” He shouted. Gorst turned back and looked, “We got better than I could have hoped for from Captain Khathan and those Guludans. Damned fine work they did for us.” Then he turned and shouted to the men, “Almost at the top lads! Almost at the top!”

The line of stone with soldiers firing from it was almost in range now. The wall was not high. It was only a small ditch with a long pile of stones. It seemed such a small thing as they came up to it. The enemy with jezail still fired at them, but it seemed less as they didn’t want to shoot their own approaching cavalry. They were so close, but it seemed the cavalry would catch them before they made the wall.

“Mar, can you introduce yourself to the cavalry approaching the rear?” Dryden asked the wizard.

“Aye. I can do that.”

“Don’t be gentle, Mar.” Dryden jested.

“When am I ever?” Mar inhaled a long puff from his aethium cigarette. Indigo smoke swirled up across his face, whipped away by the cold breeze. Wind kicked up powdery snow that had fallen in the night. Then the wizard grinned wickedly and began to weave his spell.

Stolen story; please report.

Dryden smelled the smell of horse and heard a whinnying on the breeze. Rosie stamped her feet and tried to turn, wanting to join her kin. Dryden reined her in. They heard the faint sound of a man shouting in the heat of battle followed by the thunder of hooves. The ground shook. He saw for a moment the ghostly image of the old 13th given form in the blowing snow. The ghostly cavalry crashed headlong down the mountain and slammed into the oncoming horsemen. The spectral horsemen ploughed down into them, crushing and knocking them down and trampling them into the rocks and snow. Those Vuruni cavalry not trampled turned back and rode away from the spectre of The Bloody 13th in fear. They remembered what those men had done and they wanted no part of it. Even those at the top of the slope stopped firing as they watched the ghostly sight in awe.

“What is that spell called?” Dryden asked as he watched in wonder.

“It has no name, it is a spell of my own design,” Mar said, with a faraway look in his eyes as he watched his own handiwork. He looked weary at the working of the sorcery.

The Vastrum army had continued forward and upward. They were close enough now to charge. In the pause created by Mar’s ghostly 13th, Gorst raised his sword and brought it down. Bugles sounded. Men roared. Together the remnants of the army charged the last bit up the hill. All men had their bayonets fixed. Dryden spurred Rosie along with them. Private Harper and Sergeant Locke rode together at the enemy. The stone wall was low enough for their horses to jump. As they rode, Harper let the banner unfurl, the banner of the 13th flying strong above them. The soldiers behind the wall hesitated as they saw it, fear in their eyes. The enemy on their small section of wall broke and ran just before they leapt the wall. Harper pointed the banner down like a lance, tucked it under his arm, and skewered a man with it. Dryden stabbed a man, leaving the sword in the enemy. Then the infantry caught up to them and swarmed the barrier. Men fought and died atop the heights of the Settru Pass. Dryden saw a Vastrum infantry sergeant run a Vuruni man through with his bayonet, turn and shoot a second enemy, and then follow it up by killing a third man with the bayonet again before the sergeant himself was shot and killed. It was not long until the Vuruni men had been put to the bayonet or had fled. There was no time to celebrate. Dryden sat on his horse next to the wall. The enemy cavalry had reformed after Mar’s sorcery and were coming again.

“Reform! To the wall you bastards!” Gorst was riding back and forth shouting, “To the wall! Load your muskets lads!”

Dryden looked about and took stock of what men they had left. They had begun the hill with a thousand. Two hundred and fifty had been left to guard the rear. They were now perhaps two hundred men still standing and able to fight. Not near enough. They were also low on ammunition. The men formed up along the wall, muskets pointed down at the foe. The fearsome enemy cavalry screamed up at them as they rode. Their horses rode up the slope as if it were little more than a flat plain, their wicked curved swords held aloft. He could see the whites of their eyes, their screaming mouths. His pulse quickened. They were charging hard.

Gorst shouted the order to fire. One final blast of powder and fire and smoke and hot lead thundered down at the cavalry. Enemy horsemen fell, but not enough. It was then that the courage of Vastrum failed. With the enemy in front and a clear road to Andaban behind them, the men broke and ran all across the line. Dryden saw Gorst shouting for order. The king’s banner, the last banner of the army, a blue field with a rampant dragon, waved in the morning sun. Men ran for their lives beneath it. Gorst’s white horse reared up, his raised sabre caught in the light. Then the enemy charge hit home and all was madness.