Haggart's Dawn Page 15

  “I could see that.”

  She looked around at the carnage and sighed. “They were killed so easily.”

  “Aye, love. Marcus sends cheap mercenaries after us because he hasn't realised who he's dealing with. He will now, once he realises these ten aren't coming back. Then he'll hire real soldiers. They won't die so easily.”

  “Aren't you scared?”

  “Yes. Always. Fear is good if it's harnessed and made to work for you instead of against you. But don't be mistaken - our skill has limits. These men fought well - and bravely, but they had little or no training. We shan't be so lucky again.”

  The Captain returned with his arms loaded with trinkets and other bits of loot. Talbert wasn't far behind. They dropped it all by Lorrie's feet and went back for more.

  “What will they do with the bodies?” she asked. Haggart kicked at the pile, looking to see if there was anything useful.

  “We will burn them. It's more respectful than leaving them for the birds,” he replied. At the bottom of the pile he saw something glittering in the sun. Kneeling down, he untangled it from a rusted shoulder plate and held it up.

  “What is it?” asked Lorrie. “It's very pretty.”

  “A locket I think,” he said, taking off his gloves and working the fastening. It split open suddenly, revealing a lock of hair and a small portrait of a young woman with chestnut coloured hair and bright green eyes. He passed it to Lorrie who held it up to the sunlight.

  “His wife?” she asked.

  “Perhaps. Or a daughter. I don't know. Could be his mother for all I know.”

  “They all have stories. They're people like us. They didn't wake up this morning believing they were going to die today. They had families and friends and a hundred things they wanted to do.” She let the locket fall back into the pile with a clang. “Now gone. Never to be again.”

  “They made their choice when they took up a weapon and rode out to find us,” he said. Either she didn't hear or she chose not to, but Lorrie said, “What do you think it's like?”

  “Think what is like?”

  “Death.”

  “I don't know. I’ve never died before.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “Do we just stop, or is there more?”

  Haggart sighed and knelt down, picking through the pile. “I've no reason to believe there is anything beyond this existence. No one has come back to tell me any different. But perhaps it's like a dream and when we die we wake up, stretch out the pain and the misery and get back to the life we were meant to live. One with much less horror and heart ache.”

  “You really think this life is that bad?”

  “Yes, I do. I have back ache. I sleep badly. People I love have died yet I still live. I’ve done things that I shouldn't have done, not done what I should have. I wish there was some way to change it all, to do it differently, but I still think I'd get it wrong. We're broken, Lorrie. A world full of broken people smashing into each other like boats in a storm. And for what? To be forgotten once the legend dies. To slip into history and disappear from all memory having made no difference worth remembering.”

  “We can make a difference - look at that boy you helped,” she said.

  “I could have help a thousand others too if I'd just...”

  “Just what?”

  Haggart shook his head and remained silent.

  “Just what?” she said again. “What matters is what you did, what you've done for me, for others. You're not a bad person.”

  “I killed your mother, Lorrie,” he said, standing and facing her. “I killed her and took you from her.”

  Silence. The Captain and Talbert had returned; the bodies were piled up in the middle of the field and ready for burning. Lorrie didn't take her eyes off him. They were red and tears were already forming around the edges. Haggart thought his heart might break one final time and kill him.

  “Show me,” she said and it sounded to him like a plea.

  “No,” he replied.

  “Show me. You owe me that much,”

  “It might...”

  “Kill you? Is that what you're worried about?” she spat.

  “Yes.”

  “Stop being a coward and show me how she died. How you killed her.”

  “It wasn't like that, Lorrie,” said the Captain.

  “Then he won't mind showing me, will he?” she said to him.

  Then it was quiet. The world slipped into a thick black ooze and Haggart could feel her sweat forming at his fingertips as he gently touched her temple. A crack of lightning. Screams. Metal on metal.

  “You will not like this,” he spoke to her mind.

  “I must know,” she thought in response. Then the world came alive once more and in her inner most thoughts she screamed like she'd never done before.

  'It's1290, the Frozen Tribes - my people - have invaded. They've swept down across the mountains and are approaching the Wall.'

  'The Wall?'

  'Eight miles long. Every man and woman capable of holding a weapon. From the river Sarg to the coast - the choke point. The King commands that the Cavalry be the first to attack and the Captain to join us. We ride out, north, from the beginning of the river, gathering at a town called Sargsdale.'

  “Form up on me!” yelled the Captain. The air was filled with the sound of horse and metal, the stench of animal and man and palpable fear.

  'Is that the Captain?'

  'Yes. He's just received word from our scouts that they're about to cross over the bridge at Yirk. The bridge was too valuable to burn so he planned to hit them on this side - fast, cutting them down before they can form ranks.'

  “Haggart, why are you smiling? We're about to die and you're smiling.”

  'Who's that woman?'

  'That's your mother, Lorrie. That's Diane.'

  “This will be the first time I’ve seen my own people since we settled here,” he said.

  “Aren't you bothered?”

  “This is my home. They're the invaders. They may as well be Gorm to me.”

  'She's beautiful.'

  'Yes, she was.'

  'And she was a soldier? Could she Summon?'

  'No. That power comes from your Father.'

  The Captain dug his heels into his war horse and sped away, some six hundred horse behind him followed.

  'So many...'

  'This is small and the most the King could afford to send. He didn't expect success.'

  Within a few minutes the bridge came into view and those who were the last to cross began to panic once they'd seen the Cavalry charge appear. The Captain, raising his axe into the air, roared and broke into a gallop. The cry was answered by the rest and the ground thundered. It was like a wave crashing down on a cliff face and within moments they'd smashed into the disorganised front lines of the enemy, cutting a swathe through their numbers and breaking right to cut off those already on the bridge.

  'I'm scared...'

  'It's only a memory. Be thankful you weren't there.'

  'How can you do this? How can you face so many?'

  'Our homes were at stake, our way of life. This was no trivial thing, this rallied every person in the country to the King's banner. We were fighting for our lives.'

  “Haggart!” yelled the Captain, “Take your company left!”

  Without answering, Haggart charged three pikemen trying to gather enough people to defend the mouth of the bridge. His horse trampled them and he called out to his men to follow.

  'What now?'

  'The Captain wanted us to split our forces after the initial strike to try and keep them from digging in at the bridge. We had to make them think there were more of us than there were.'

  'Where's my Mother?'

  'Behind me, always on my right. That was her role.'

  The initial charge was losing momentum and Haggart struggled to force his way through their now gathering forces. The invaders were split, but it wouldn't be long before they were able to reform.


  “On your left!” yelled Diane, driving her trident into the chest of a footsoldier. Haggart blocked the axe head with his shield but failed to deflect it. Instead the axe was now buried in it and too heavy to hold. He threw it away and turned his horse, bringing his sword arm to bear on his opponent.

  'You fight together?'

  'Always. She was an excellent rider and that trident saved my life more than once.'

  'Why a trident?'

  'She came from coastal town. It's their family standard.'

  Haggart, unable to move now that the invaders were pressed around them, jumped down from his horse and continued fighting. The smell of sweat and blood was overpowering on the ground.

  “Kill them all!” he yelled as his company gathered around him in a tight circle. “Keep your backs to your brothers!”

  He began to chant and the others quickly joined in.

  'What are you doing?'

  'It's a drinking song. By now we're getting tired and we need to keep our spirits up. It helps.'

  'You're winning, they're trying to run back across the bridge.'

  'They can't now, the Captain has taken it. They're stuck between us and him.'

  'Who's that?'

  Carving a space for himself with an enormous war hammer was the tribal chief. Haggart saw him as the bodies piled at his feet and space was now clearing.

  “Well?” cried Diane over his shoulder.

  “I think we can reach him,” said Haggart.

  “Then let's do it,” she replied and after slaying the last of the pikemen, leapt over the corpse and ran towards him. Haggart followed.

  'You're going to try and kill him?'

  'It was either that or let the Captain claim the glory. Your mother wanted her chance.'

  'Chance to do what?'

  'Prove herself. Not that she needed to - the entire Cavalry unit respected her a great deal. No, she wanted to prove something to herself.'

  'Why?'

  'That I do not know.'

  Diane was upon him, barely missing the swing of that terrifying hammer. Haggart joined her and the spirits of their men were revived. They cheered and clapped as the two fighters made their stand atop a great mound of the invader's dead.

  “You are not them,” boomed the chief. “You are my people. Why do you fight for them and not with us?”

  “These are my people and you should not have come,” replied Haggart.

  “Traitor blood, that's what I smell running in your veins. Come and face a real warrior, coward.”

  “Gladly.”

  But Diane was first off the mark and charging him head on before Haggart could get there. The chief saw her and swung, but not to hit her, to catch her. The hammer's shaft hit her in her side, smashing her ribcage and bringing her within arms reach of him. With his spade-like hands he grabbed her hair and pulled her towards him.

  “Let her go!” yelled Haggart, still running. Whilst holding Diane, the chief didn't have the strength in one arm to swing the hammer. He let it fall, grasping her to his chest like a shield.

  “Come, little traitor. Prove yourself,” said the Chief and proceeded to snap Diane's arm below the elbow. She screamed in agony as he tore her arm from her body and cast it aside.

  'MAKE IT STOP!!'

  Haggart looked into her eyes and she stared right back at him, her face twisted in pain. Then he heard her. Somehow he'd slipped into her mind and he heard her speak to him. Haggart was running again, his sword in both hands. He leapt onto the dead at the Chief's feet, jumped as hard as he could, Summoning himself forward with as much force as he could imagine, and drove the point of the sword straight through Diane's chest plate and into the Chief. The three of them were thrown backwards onto the ground and only Haggart got back up.

  His sword was buried to the hilt inside her. The Chief was dead. Diane looked to Haggart and smiled once before sighing out her final breath.

  The vision faded quickly. The memory became an inky blur and Haggart felt himself slipping out of consciousness.

  7.

  “The Company should always reform immediately after any battle that divided them from their fellows. The next in rank, however senior, should be a rallying point to his brothers in case the enemy gather before you do.”

  - The Cavalryman's Primer

  It was sleep without dreaming. He could remember little as he floated in darkness. His mind leapt from thought to thought without connection. Voices were distant. Words. Steel against steel. Cold and far away. Was this death? he thought.

  At some point in the nothingness, he felt something. It was like sliding into a warm bath, slowly at first, until he began to feel the tips of his fingers. His toes. His legs. The last to come alive were his eyes. He opened them to a shadowy world of misty figures and orbs of light.

  “Haggart?” said a voice, closer to him than any of the others. “Can you hear me?”

  He groaned as he felt the dry rasp of his own vocal chords. Something touched him, grasping his hand.

  “Is he alive?” Another voice.

  “I believe so. The worst has passed.” Crying. Tears.

  “It will be okay.” Another.

  He tried to open his eyes again but they felt glued shut. Then he surrendered to it and fell back into his slumber.

  He dreamed this time. He was floating above a city. Tall towers of black stone. Walls for as far as the eye could see, thick, wide, tall. They bristled with catapults and treachery, archers and spear men. Inside there were endless narrow streets, snaking around buildings old and new like a maze. People were coming and going, buying and selling, living, eating and breathing. People were coming in through the four gates at either compass point, leaving with carts full of lumber, metal and food.

  He seemed to fall, dropping down to the northern gate, stopping by the enormous stone sentinels that stood either side - Guardians from a different time, now only decoration.

  Someone waited for him. He looked up at him, waving to him. A man in a crimson tunic with a mane of grey hair, leaning on a walking stick. Before he knew it, Haggart found himself stood in front of him - the two stone giants staring down at him.

  “Haggart, I believe?” the man said.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Is this a dream?”

  “You already know the answer to that one. Allow me to introduce myself - I am Robert Dagna - chief Summoner to the Council.” They shook hands. “Please, walk with me.”

  Dagna began walking towards the gate. It was unmanned and they passed straight through and into the street. It, too, was empty.

  “Your friends brought you here after you collapsed. You've been in an almost death-sleep state for three weeks now. That was a very foolish thing to do,” said Dagna. “Who was your teacher?”

  “A man called Sturgis.”

  “Ah yes, Sturgis. He was a good Summoner, I remember him well.”

  “I don't understand,” said Haggart as they reached a corner. The buildings were tall and the streets narrow and Haggart felt penned in on all sides.

  “Before the Council overthrew King Aaron, I was a teacher of Summoners also. When the war was over I was offered a pardon, like yourselves. This pardon came with a string attached - in order to avoid the block I would have to use my skills in service of the Council. Thus, here I am. Sturgis refused to bend the knee and his head was removed from his shoulders. Pity. I admired his work.” Dagna gestured to the door of an Inn and Haggart nodded. “Thirsty?”

  “I could murder a mug of ale,” Haggart replied.

  Dagna led him inside the dark tavern and he stooped to avoid hitting his head on the lintel. The moment he'd crossed the threshold, he gasped.

  “I have never seen a Summoner with this much power before,” he said as he took in every detail of the Sundered Helm. Even Harry waved to him from behind the bar. Dagna took a seat next to the fire, indicating Haggart should sit in his usual chair.

  “Years of training. Summoning is like a muscle - it needs to be worked over
and over again to make it able to lift more weight, run faster or strike harder. With all due respect - your own skills are admirable, but only that of an Initiate.”

  Harry came over with a pint-pot of ale for him and a tall glass of red wine for Dagna.

  “We will have some luncheon as well, my good barkeep,” he said to Harry.

  “No worries, Mr. Dagna,” he replied. “I'll have the maid bring over two plates of beef.”

  Haggart looked around the pub, warmed by the memory of it. Then he noticed something was missing. He stared at the wall above the mantle for a moment before realising what it was.

  “Ah,” said Dagna. “You've noticed.”

  “It's not here - the helmet.”

  “That's intentional,” he replied. “For in the real world, or perhaps I should say, the world we believe to be real, the helmet is in fact gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yes. A lot has happened since you left the Sundered Helm - a lot that you are unaware of. Exactly how much I can tell you is not yet known to me - the Council are still trying to decide how best to use the information given to us by Captain Dern.”

  “You've spoken to the Captain?”

  “Of course I have. He was arrested the moment you arrived.”

  “Arrested? What for?”

  “One does not simply walk into the City wearing the colours of the previous King without arousing suspicion.”

  “I told him it wasn't the best idea he'd had.”

  “Actually, it probably saved many lives. If the guards hadn't taken him into custody as quickly as they did, we may never have met.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Harry returned with two plates and set them on the table. It was hot beef in gravy with roasted vegetables fresh from the farm. Haggart began eating immediately, not realising the depth of his hunger until now. Then he paused, looking at Dagna.

  “It's real, don't worry. When was the last time Harry served you such a meal?”

  “That's a good point - we haven't had beef for years.”