Blood in the Water by Juliet E. McKenna Page A

slacker than a drunkard’s purse, they do for each other so often!”
    As the taunts became still more obscene, Tathrin slipped off a glove and licked a finger to test the wind. How could he possibly hear individual voices all the way up here? There was barely any breeze. So how could gusts keep flaunting that captured flag in the Red Hounds’ faces?
    “You think that’s bloodstains?”
    “Nah, we used it to wipe our arses!”
    Suspicion hollowed Tathrin’s stomach. Where was Reher? He’d thought the smith was still safely far to the rear, with the rest of those supporting the army and waiting to tend the wounded.
    “Here we go.” The Tallyman’s fists clenched on his loose reins.
    The Longshanks moved forward, clashing their swords on their shields. The rest of the regiment followed. Arrows arced through the air, lethal volleys loosed by the Carluse archers safely drawn up behind their black-and-white-liveried militiamen.
    Tathrin winced. How could the mercenaries keep walking onwards, when an arrow might skewer them at any moment? How could they ignore friends on either hand, yelping and clutching at a piercing shaft, or worse, falling silent and still, remorseless boots stepping over them?
    He saw the advancing men and women raising their shields. No, not shields, but the panels of crudely woven laths that Tathrin had seen them making a few nights ago. He’d thought they were in case of rain. Now they were sheltering the foot soldiers from a very different storm, soon bristling with arrows they’d foiled.
    Evord’s army had archers too and they had marched forward with the mercenaries. Protected by those panels, they sent their own murderous arrows into Carluse’s ranks. Tathrin saw men falling, dragged backwards by urgent hands. As gaps opened up, he could see the Carluse archers exposed.
    Keen-eyed crossbowmen from Evord’s line advanced, each with a companion sheltering him. Men were knocked clean off their feet across the Carluse ranks. Tathrin caught his breath as the duke’s own crossbowmen pushed forward amid the militia and levelled their weapons. But their bolts didn’t fly nearly as far or as fast as Evord’s did.
    “Please make sure Aremil conveys my thanks to Master Gruit. Those steel crossbows are worth every gold crown.”
    Captain-General Evord’s words startled Tathrin. He hadn’t noticed the Soluran approaching to get a clearer view of the battle.
    Before he could say anything, the Tallyman stood in his stirrups with a muted cheer. “See? Longshanks are drawing the Red Hounds out!”
    “Captain Siskin has always struggled with his temper.” Evord smiled with discreet satisfaction. “The Red Hounds have faced the Longshanks twice in recent years,” he explained to Tathrin. “Both times they’ve been soundly beaten. The last time, Longshanks captured the Hounds’ captain and ransomed him back.”
    “They sent Dandy Siskin back stripped naked and shaved bare as a baby boy.” The Tallyman chuckled. “He’d better not trip over his feet today. His sergeants won’t buy him back a second time.”
    The Red Hounds were racing forwards, screaming with fury. The Moonrakers had no choice but to follow. Left exposed, they’d be at the mercy of the rebellion’s mounted forces on that flank. Mercenary companies all along the line of Duke Garnot’s army began to move, their banners flying.
    Below Tathrin, Evord’s second and third regiments began moving forward; more slowly than the one led by the Longshanks but no less belligerent, yelling their scorn and defiance.
    “Watch the Carluse militia,” Evord said quietly.
    The companies in black and white livery drawn up between the mercenary regiment on the duke’s right flank and the hired companies in the centre were edging forwards. A flurry of irate horn calls slowed them. Their standards wavered, irresolute. Some began to return to their places, only to halt in confusion. The mounted forces drawn up at the duke’s right hand had