Now the dockward line were pressing forward faster and the Riversiders backing up. Some stumbled, and the highlanders were onto them in a flash, hacking the fallen, then driving into the gaps created in the Riversiders’ line. Spaces opened in the highland line as those men charged forward and, for a heart-stopping moment, Alythia feared some Riversiders might take advantage and spring through the holes. But the whole momentum had shifted, and suddenly, the Riversiders, still eight-to-one greater in numbers at least, tried to turn and flee toward the docks. Those at the front collided with those behind, men fell in tangles and panic spread. The highlanders howled in delight and sprang into their midst, hacking and slashing with wild abandon. Entire ranks of unarmoured men dissolved in bloody, screaming ruin and the rest fled for their lives.
Some of the older heads yelled for order, holding men back from pursuit. Some highlanders ran back to the slopeward line, past where Alythia stood with the wounded man clutching her shoulder for support, and formed a fourth rank behind the others. The remainder began picking up weapons the defeated Riversiders had dropped and began hurling them into the mob upslope. Several spears flew low and flat, doubtless impaling someone further back, then a scythe was hurled with a vicious flat spin, raising more screams and mayhem. Some swords followed, also with a flat spin, then a sickle, a club and a number of knives. Into an unarmoured mob, packed too tight to dodge, they couldn't miss. With no weapons to spare, and their own being their only means of defence, the mob threw nothing back.
Suddenly there were arrows whistling about and Alythia ducked in horror, but they were falling into Riversiders. She stared up and saw Nasi-Keth archers perched atop the walls above-at least ten, with more arriving now above the south wall. Arrows flew thick and fast. With no protection, the Riversiders began dying in scores.
It was too much, and the survivors broke and ran. With a roar, the highland ranks charged, and scores more Riversiders who could not run fast enough, or were blocked by those behind, or tripped on fallen bodies, also died. Through the press of running bodies, Alythia thought she saw several Riversiders fall to their knees and beg mercy. And were decapitated where they knelt, to Alythia's hot satisfaction. They had to be joking. Mercy? After what they'd done?
A dozen men did not charge, but held their ground and formed a new line, watching both ways along the lane. Mostly older men, Alythia saw, and some others with wounds. Instinctively, they seemed to understand the tactics that their situation required and deployed themselves to achieve it, without needing to be ordered. But of course they would. Highland men drilled for war all their lives. These men, especially the older ones, understood warfare like Dockside fishermen understood sailing.
“All clear?” called a voice from the wall above. Against the deep red sky, Alythia saw the unmistakable dark grey hair and handsome build of Sasha's friend, the serrin Errollyn. He held that strange serrin bow, with elbow joints in its arms, that just looked dangerous. Even at this range, his eyes were visible, two penetrating green spots in the shadow of his face.
“Aye!” shouted up one of the men, above the groans and screams of the wounded and dying who now made a ghastly, writhing carpet along the lane. “Good timing!”
“Sasha told us they'd come this way.” His eyes scanned the lane. “And so the highland legend grows,” he remarked.
“We're just getting started!” came the retort.
“Good. There's plenty that broke through. If you move back fast, you could get some more.” And he vanished, as did the others.
“Highness,” said another man in Lenay. His long, matted hair and thick beard were spattered with blood, some of it his own from a forehead gash, but just as much not. His eyes burned, the left one within a maze of intricate tattoos, and he fell to one knee. “You were magnificent. It was an honour to fight beneath your banner.”
Alythia blinked at him. “It…I was?”
Another repeated the gesture as the first man rose and kissed the banner fiercely. Others repeated the gesture. Alythia stared at them and…wondered. She was a widow. She'd thought she had nothing left. But this…this was something. Despite the fear, the blood, the wet and the cold, her shoulders straightened, just a little.
“Highness,” said another man, upon kissing the flag. “You were glorious.”
Alythia managed a small smile. “Of course I was,” she said.
Kessligh had given up trying to command from the tower as the messengers had ceased getting through and the view below showed him nothing but chaos. Sasha ran at his side as he pointed and yelled to small groups of disorganised defenders, directing them to cover the major approach lanes to where the breakthrough had been thickest. Within that zone, behind Rani Lane, many Riversiders had broken through. Now, they looted, burned and killed, but so far they had not spread much beyond. Most of the other barricades had held and another large attempted breakthrough to the north had been thwarted. Sasha did not dare feel too optimistic given the chaos before her, but surely, if the other barricades were holding, this should be little more than a matter of mopping up.
There were more Nasi-Keth on the roads now-climbing to the rooftops with bows was time-consuming and, with the targets more dispersed, it was possible to do more damage on the ground with a blade. Some senior Dockside men had joined Kessligh's side, and they moved fast about the new perimeter, attempting to contain the breakthrough. Sasha took several Nasi-Keth with her and dashed to the docks to see if she could form a defence there.
Down several lanes and alleys to her right as she ran, she caught a glimpse of running figures, weapons, fires and fighting. The fighting would be all across Fisherman's Lane now. She hoped the children had been moved in time. She hoped that Mariesa and the Velos were out as well, and that Mari had not been a fool and tried to defend his home alone. And she hoped that the star had been moved safely.
She emerged onto the docks, and found hard fighting. Some houses were on fire, lighting the massed boats at their moors with a leaping, hellish glare. Before the fires, dark figures clashed and screamed, weapons waving. Women ran from doorways clutching children and, further along, someone jumped, or was thrown from a high window onto hard stones below. Sasha looked left toward the North Pier, and saw mostly shadow, lit by the occasional lamp, and no fighting.
“Get in there and kill all these maggots on the dock!” she yelled at the men with her. “Don't go into the houses to flush them out-make them come out, we'll trap the bastards! DOCKSIDE!”
With a yell, the men charged past her. They fell on those closest, killing two who foolishly stood to fight, saving a local man who wrestled with another to keep a knife from his throat, and then the confusion grew thicker and Sasha could no longer see where everyone was. In the firelit chaos, it became difficult to tell friend from foe-there were no uniforms, no rich raiments or armour, and makeshift weapons on both sides. Mostly, Sasha determined, the ones who were yelling and chanting were the enemy. And they usually saved her the trouble of guessing-one sight of a woman with a blade and they knew she was an infidel.
She killed several, a sidestep here, a feint there-the Riversiders were easy to fool and left themselves ridiculously exposed to her blade. Then she saw three Nasi-Keth ahead, blades out and backs together, warding off perhaps a dozen Riversiders who circled and lunged, many with longer weapons. Sasha did not even think, instinctively noting their positions, the mob's weak spots, and how it might all unfold in a rush if she hit it just like…
One man saw her coming, spun and lashed with his halberd, Sasha ducked beneath it with a spin that split him across the middle. Another did not turn in time-she lashed one-handed to extend her reach, taking his arm whilst holding ground to spin back the other way, and cut past the next man's defence before he could bring it to bear. Three men attacked her at once as their comrades fell, one was obstructed by his own companions, Sasha took a half-step back from a club swing that whistled past her nose, then held her arms vertical to deflect the big cleaver that swung down from above-a quarter turn, a quarter step back and a downward flick of the wrists, her blade sliced her attacker from shoulder to rib cage.
The club wielder tried to knock her skull into North Pier, but Sasha stepped inside it and took both his hands off at the forearm, then contemptuously knocked aside a sword blow to her head from the third man, and slashed. That man staggered, then sank, blood drenching his front. The other six-there were only six now-turned and ran, horrified at the carnage this new arrival had wrought. The three cornered Nasi-Keth had not even a chance to attack, one being wounded, the other two having been merely preoccupied with surviving. All blinked in disbelief, staring at Sasha amidst her six new victims. Sasha didn't really know what they were staring at-against such opponents as these, with surprise on her side, such martial feats were nothing special, certainly far easier than an average training session against Kessligh. That these three Nasi-Keth had allowed themselves into such difficulty said rather a lot more about their swordwork, however.
One of the Nasi-Keth, she realised, was Liam, exhausted and dripping sweat. Sasha walked straight up to him, knowing that she acted rashly, but she was Lenay, and Goeren-yai, and young, and her enemies lay dead at her feet. Rashness was made for such moments. Liam was staring at the bodies behind her. He was facing her. He'd seen it all.
She laid her blood-stained blade on his shoulder, the killing-edge toward the side of his neck. “Who's the greatest swordsman on this dock?” she demanded, her eyes blazing. His own blade was free beneath her guard. He could slash up and kill her if he chose…and risk that she would not have time to remove his head before she died. She could see the thoughts running through his darting eyes-the anger, the confusion, the disbelief…the fear.
“You are,” he said hoarsely.
“Louder!”
“You are the greatest swordsman on this dock!”
Sasha lowered her blade, with an evil smile. “Good Torovan boy. You finally learn honour. Now fight with me, and I'll bring you some more.”
Soon, the dockside was cleared. Unarmoured and poorly skilled, the Riversiders were cut off and deprived of the overwhelming numbers that had won them through the breach. Some ran in panic as their circumstance began to dawn on them, while others tried to organise an orderly retreat, to little avail. More bodies piled on the bloody pavings, and the last resistance ran for the lanes and alleys, desperate to find a retreat back up the slope. A few tried to surrender, and begged mercy. Neither gods nor Docksiders heeded their pleas.
It became a great rout, and Sasha contented herself to walking at the rear of it as triumphant men rushed ahead, pursuing the last Riversiders through the narrow spaces, into doorways and up rickety staircases, where some tried to hide in the houses they'd previously looted. Soon, the greatest danger came from the falling bodies of Riversiders thrown screaming from rooftops and windows. The men of the Dockside thrust their weapons in the air and yelled, and rushed eagerly to fulfil her various instructions, the damp air vibrating with the excitement of victory.
Sasha felt relief, but no triumph, nor even satisfaction. Victories in combat against such poor swordwork as these would bring her no honour. This had been crazed and brutal, the hysterical against the desperate.
The yells and celebrations grew more raucous. Soon there were more celebrations than battles, man embracing man, exultant in the manner of men who had never truly thought to be warriors and were astonished to find themselves not only alive, but triumphant. It was honour of sorts, Sasha thought dully, wondering if she ought to quiet them and redirect efforts into putting out the various blazes that burned. It was Petrodor honour, the honour that one found simply by living while so many others lay dead. It might be enough for them, but it was not enough for her.
“Sashandra!” cried a Nasi-Keth man she did not recognise. No one was hugging her, perhaps from simple decorum, or perhaps the dark look on her face…she turned that dark expression on the new arrival. “Best come quick,” he said and ran back the way he'd come.
Sasha followed, wondering what was so urgent with the battle won. Perhaps there had been a breakthrough further north…spirits she hoped not.
He led her into Rani Lane and there was a small group of people gathered near one wall. Sasha felt her gut tighten and accelerated to a sprint past her escort. Skidding to a halt, she thrust past the outermost of the group…and found Kessligh, sitting with his back to the wall, one leg thrust awkwardly out before him. Protruding from the thigh was a crossbow bolt, and the pants leg was bloody.
Sasha swore in fright and scrambled to his side. His head leaned back against the bricks, his hair bedraggled, his face tight with pain. He looked at her now through slitted eyes and managed a faint, pained smile. Sasha stared down at the bolt…this was all wrong, this could not have happened. Not to Kessligh. Kessligh was invulnerable. “How?” she finally managed to ask, stupidly.
“Oh, hells…” Kessligh managed a weak, despairing wave, toward somewhere up the lane, “some fool with a crossbow. I didn't see him, I was giving instructions somewhere else. He got lucky.”
Crazy, was all Sasha could think. She knew it happened. She knew that battle was as much fortune as skill. But Kessligh had fought through more battles than nearly any man alive. He bore precious few scars for his troubles-indeed, the worst she'd seen was on his left arm, and that she'd given him herself whilst training.
“Sasha.” Kessligh clasped her hand and gave her a firm stare, whatever the pain. “I've been lucky, Sasha. So damn lucky. It had to end some time. In truth, I was due.”
“Oh horseshit!” Sasha exclaimed. “You've never believed in fate!”
He shrugged, not bothering to repress an agonised grimace. “It's my first rationalisation,” he hissed. “I'm due one of those, too.”
“It's not too bad,” Sasha tried to reassure him. “I mean…it looks like it'll heal fine. It's not…”
“Don't talk horseshit,” Kessligh replied, “it's straight through the main muscle. If I were twenty years younger, I might be all right. But after this comes out, I'll have a limp like a cripple.”
“No! With serrin medicines, I'm sure it'll-”
“Sasha, look around you. We won, Sasha, and there's a lot of people dead. Be pleased for everyone who's still alive. My leg is a very minor tragedy tonight.”
“Yuan Kessligh,” said one of the women, hovering near, “we've called for a healer, she should be here shortly.”
“Sasha.” Kessligh put a rough, callused hand to her cheek and gave her a wan smile. “You're my uma. Go and help the people. They need you.”