Chapter 19: A Day Will Come
After word had spread about the little healing camp Kumzu had set up, a half-dozen other Haehînbór with talents in the healing arts had found their way to it. There were also a few around its edges; those who felt capable of protecting the camp, but not of going to war. Leading them was an older man who used to be a pit-fighter, scrabbling with other slaves to entertain a now-dead mistress, and thus knew a bit about bare-knuckles fighting. The years had not been kind to him, and he didn't feel like he could move quickly enough to join the fighting, but he could gather other men and women around to defend the camp, should the Ortheri reach this far.
It didn't seem likely, though, as they were at the rear end of what passed for the Haehînbór army. Standing atop a fallen log, Kumzu could barely make out what was going on. Another day she might climb onto Ulgî's shoulders, and if she asked, he'd stand and heft her up there, but he was too injured to sustain this, and needed to rest. She craned her neck toward the Spire of Last Days, barely visible from here, but there was still no movement. Still no Sixth Spear.
She could hear a raucous sound from the Ortheri, starting from the spear-point where the Ortheri Baugcaun now was plainly visible, as his horse kept him well above the others. With no injuries to treat, and growing sick with worry for her friends, she scrambled around to find a tree she could climb up into.
The Ortheri were beating their weapons against their chests, making an echoing boom, strident and threatening, drowning out everything else. Many of the Haehînbór were moving, unthinkingly, backwards from the Ortheri warriors. At the edges of the horde, she saw some moving as if to leave, to return to Caras Lithgweth, or wherever else they'd come from. Their morale was being tattered and might break at any moment.
Then a movement caught her eye. At the fringe of the Ortheri wedge, just a few dozen strides behind the Otheri Baugcaun himself, a small group of Haehînbór rushed the mounted Ortheri. At first she thought they were attacking the horses, and her heart lurched at the idea of these poor, noble beasts being harmed by her own kind. Even at the precipice of war, when men and women would soon be spilling one another's blood, she couldn't bear the idea of an innocent horse, which had not chosen to be here, being harmed.
But while the feint and attack were directed at the horses, it was not to harm them, just to spook them. Qemik had found a slave who had served, as Yîgeke had, in the horse-fields of his master. These war-horses were well-trained, but most of the training was done by the slaves, not the warriors that rode them. If he got close enough, the slave that trained the horses could give them directions that the riders could not prevent, and indeed, this was the thrust of their gambit. One, then two, then several more horses were now cavorting in careening circles, jostling their riders and casting their formation into chaos. There was a flurry of limbs and movement, sand and dust kicked into the air. And then, riding out of it, was Qemik, perched triumphantly atop a horse of roan hide, a proud beast prancing as if on parade. Dust was settling on the horse's unseated rider, lying face-down, then rising slowly under the weight of her armor.
Qemik urged the horse back into the Haehînbór ranks and let out a long holler, then a shout she could hear from here: "A day will come!" The call was, as it had been a few minutes earlier, taken up and repeated by thousands of Haehînbór, along with ragged cheers at the success of his audacious raid. He turned in circles, his horse prancing and flicking its tail, shouting. Kumzu could see would-be deserters returning and taking up the chant. Soon, the sound of the Ortheri weapons being beaten against their chests was drowned out by the chant. Even iron axe-hafts beaten on steel breastplates couldn't drown out voices when they were outnumbered more than five-fold.
Taking advantage of this distraction, Oyana repeated the same gambit on the other flank, and soon she was also astride a stallion, a great beast of chestnut brown that was nearly as tall at the shoulders as was the steed of the Ortheri Baugcaun. The roaring of the Haehînbór became even more deafening.
As Kumzu feared, this was too much provocation; the Ortheri Baugcaun waved his scepter, and all at once, the battle was engaged.
She had become a healer because she could do nothing else; the pain of others washed over her and she could only try to ease it, or be overwhelmed by it. But the sudden gust of fear and agony that struck her nearly made her fall from the tree. For a few long moments she could do nothing but watch, horror-struck, as axes hewed Haehînbór flesh, spears were thrust through olive-skinned bodies, and arrows were cast into the air to rain both terror and death on those who didn't chance to be on the front lines. Through the ranks, hundreds were so consumed by terror they were turning to flee, sometimes stampeding over one another. The Ortheri bellowed their battle-rage so loudly Kumzu imagined the Westerlings might be able to hear it and quake with fear at the promise of blood.
But on each side, Oyana and Qemik were shouting orders, their horses never standing still, and groups of slaves were moving to pull Ortheri down. Without weapons, they could do little. But if four Haehînbór swarmed an Ortheri, moving together, they could knock the warrior to the ground. Several would be injured, but the Ortheri would be disarmed and trapped. As she watched this, Kumzu realized, with a combination of horror and admiration, that this same tactic was being used over and over, up and down both flanks. Two or three Haehînbór would be killed, or at least injured enough to retire the battlefield, for each Ortheri, but this caused a flow of weapons and armor to be seized and put to use. This was clearly Oyana's scheme, though Qemik, to his credit, wasn't second-guessing her but directing his lieutenants to use the same tactic, while keeping up a steady stream of chants and jeers to keep up spirits. And little by little, the Haehînbór were being whittled away, but becoming better armed. Like cutting away the wood at the end of a shaft to make a sharp spear-tip.
The injured were now beginning to flow into her camp, threatening to outpace the number of healers. Someone would need to select those in most need, a hard choice for any healer, and doubly so for her. After all, one might have to pass over someone in great agony to focus on one who could be saved, but that didn't stop the pain from thrusting itself into her senses. She was just about to jump down from the tree branch to begin sorting the injured, as she caught a glimpse of Qemik, leading a dozen Haehînbór in a wild strike against the Ortheri Baugcaun himself.
But the warriors around him kept a tight circle, and Qemik was pushed back, nearly losing his horse. Several slaves were injured or killed, but she could feel, even from this far, that the Ortheri Baugcaun's arrogant confidence had been struck, even if he had not himself. He hadn't expected to be threatened at all, not even a threat so easily brushed aside. His personal guard started to work their way back into the thick of the Ortheri forces, to better protect him.
And on the flanks, the Ortheri were starting to wise up to Oyana's tactic. They paired up, one with a spear keeping the Haehînbór at bay from another with an axe. While the slaves might be willing to sacrifice themselves in a desperate gambit to steal some weapons, they were less so, when the gambit didn't stand much chance of success. The chanting was fading; more and more eyes were cast to the Spire of Last Days, where still, there was no movement, no signs of hope. And the Ortheri, having regrouped, were now carving away at the Haehînbór numbers, like a sandstorm slowly but inexorably peeling flesh from bone, one tiny piece at a time.
She turned one last time to peer up to the hillside. The Spire of Last Days was silent and motionless.