Tyger, Tyger

TYGER, TYGER (part 4/5)

When they entered the arena, Angelus looked towards the Royal Box. He saw a number of faces that he recognised. Smug faces, pointing and gesturing. He was unaware of the deep growl that rumbled through his chest. More demons with a reckoning to settle. He walked stiffly, deliberately feigning discomfort and pain. No point giving away their advantage too soon. He saw Haraeth and the rest of House Orbath. They looked concerned, afraid that their efforts on his behalf had been fruitless. Never mind. They’d find the truth soon enough.

Their opponents, as representatives of the reigning champions, were last out; two demons, with dragon’s scales. The scales were armour that was light enough not to slow them down, but strong enough to protect against an edged weapon such as a sword. The two performed some showy warm-up exercises, demonstrating that they were fast and agile. This was going to be interesting.

The four gladiators were already armed with broadswords and long, slim daggers, almost swords in themselves. With these two pairs, there was no need to spice the event with an initial period of unarmed combat. The crowd would have its entertainment. And they did.

The dragon demons were possibly the stronger pair. There was little to choose otherwise, except that they were naturally armoured, Angelus and Buffy were not. Vampire and Slayer landed many blows on those glittering silver scales, but they simply glanced off. Angelus knew that the earthly knights of old, with their plate armour, unable to land a single killing blow, had simply used their broadswords to beach ach other to death. He desperately hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He didn’t think that he and Buffy would last long enough. Already they had taken a few superficial wounds, and too much of their energy was spent in dodging their opponents’ weapons.

As soon as battle was joined, he had given up any pretence at infirmity, and regained his true feline agility. He was too hard pressed to notice the looks of relief that members of House Orbath wore, and the looks of hatred from House Vermald.

In the end, it was pbly bly decided by the word that neither vampire nor slayer were yet willing to consciously acknowledge. Love. Not lust, not affection, need or worship. Not even obsession. Love. Although they would have denied it if asked, neither was willing to allow the other to die, and both were willing to spend every drop of their own blood to ensure that the other survived. It made the difference. The dragon demons did not have that level of devotion.

There was a long period of desperate sparring, accompanied by shouts and cheers from the crowd. When the first opening came, it was tiny, a small movement in the wrong direction from one of the dragon demons. Angelus saw it, and leapt. He took the sword in his midriff, making sure that it was trapped there. His own dagger found its way underneath one of the silver scales where the scale overlay the one beneath, thrusting upwards towards the heart. His fangs found the softer skin at the creature’s throat and tore. The rest was simple. Comparatively.

The demon did not die easily, but it did die. With his opponent dispatched, he could help Buffy, even weakened as he was by the sword thrust he had taken. With his help to distract the second demon, she managed to angle her sword into its groin, where the scales were softer. As it sank to its knees, her dagger thrust up under its chin into its brain.

It was over.

And then it wasn’t. The crowd went wild. With the level of mayhem, it took a few moments before they realised that all was not as it should be. Armed Hylekians – and others – were pouring into the seating area. In no time at all, the area would be r mar martial law. Already, soldiers had surrounded the boxes where the Houses sat. They sprinted to the arena wall. Angelus boosted Buffy up to reach the top, but as soon as she did, she dropped back down again, clutching her arm in pain. The shield barrier was still in place. They heard a piercing whistle. It came from the area of their cage. The Keeper was crouched there, gesturing to them.

He showed them a way out. Armed demons – mercenaries, by the look of them – commanded the surrounding streets, but somehow they managed to avoid them all. When they came to a sewer entrance, they slid gratefully down.

**************

They waited untilhtfahtfall. Angelus, ignoring the pain from his half-healed wound, and the hunger caused by the need to heal, slithered out. He brought back two dead mercenaries. The clothes of the smallest were still much too large for Buffy, but they were the closest he had been able to find. They were wearing good, strong leather, though, which was as good armour as they were going to find in a hurry. The softer leather of the loincloths they used to bind up their wounds from the contest.

They managed to find a quiet place to exit the sewers. The Keeper led them into an area of grand mansions and estates. There was a low level hubbub from each one. Angelus could smell the panic of the beta males left leaderless. He told Buffy and Ezrafel what he could sense.

“If House Vermald has slaughtered all the main members of the Great Houses, who is there to fight them?”

The Keeper shook his head in despair.

At the next mansion, there was a different scent. It was an alpha male, clearly in charge. They decided to take a closer look at House Demeral. The Keeper recognised the alpha male as the Head of the House. They approached him with weapons sheathed. Well, belted, at least – they’d taken as many weapons from the dead mercenaries as they could.

He greeted them warmly when he recognised who they were. His courtesy came as a surprise, in the midst of the s.
s.

“I’m sorry that you should see our society descend into such lawlessness. If you are patient, I am sure I can find someone who can return you to your own dimension.” Angelus looked at the Keeper, who produced his own little gadget. He could send them, if necessary. Angelus then looked at Buffy. She was adamant.

“Not without the information on the Hellmouth! And I seem to recall that we’ve got a pay cheque coming.” He gave a shout of laughter, then turned to Demeral.

“I think we’ll stay around and help. Just to safeguard our interests, you understand.”

“You are more than welcome! We had some intelligence that a coup was planned. House Orbath had to appear in full at the Games, of course. Most of the other Houses sent their Heirs and men at arms to a rendezvous. I think we’re the last to leave – we’ve done a few sweeps to pick up useful stragglers, but we must go. A siege will do us no good at all.”

Horses were found for them, and the whole party, masters, servants, household guards and guests headed for the mountains. Angelus and Buffy rode side by side. At their first resting place, where the band stopped to water their horses and give them a breather, he took her to one side.

“You should allow the Keeper to send you back. If anything happens to him, I’ll still have Mr Pointy.”

She shook her head. “Angel, I’m in so much trouble now, I really don’t think it could get worse. When I get back, I’m going to have to come clean with my Mom about who I am. What I am. She needs to understand what’s what. But I’m staying.”

He held her close, troubled by his feelings. Part of him was roaring in anger, wanting to beat her until she called him by his true name, not the name of that loser soul. The other part was determined that, when she faced her mother, he would be by her side to help her. And allhim him wanted to howl in triumph that she chose to stay with him, here. But all of him also wanted to get her out of danger, send her to safety back home. Dammit, he thought he’d left schizophrenia behind when the soul had gone! It was worse than ever, now. In any event, she stayed.

A few hours later, they reached a fortified country estate. A well-disciplined guard challenged them, only admitting them when they were recognised as the Demeral party.

A surprising number of Hylekians had converged on this estate. It became clear that there were others, men at arms mainly, on nearby estates, waiting to be called. With Demeral’s arrival, the Families went into conclave. Angelus went outside to find a likely looking horse and sate his hunger.

The conclave took hours. Angelus and Buffy lounged outside, in the warm afternoon sun, taking what rest they could. She was sitting in his loose embrace, her back leaning against his chest, when Demeral came to find them. He seemed uncomfortable.

“The Houses need to co-operate to defy this coup. This is not something they have ever had to do, and we are sure that House Vermald is relying on this. We are essentially a peaceable society. We have few battle skills – for hundreds of years, our battles have been fought in the arena. Household guards are primarily for show. They are trained and can fight bandits and such, but they are not experienced in actual warfare, and they are few, compared to this army of House Vermald. We believe they have brought in a large number of mercenaries, men more accustomed to fighting. So, we have to acknowledge that we have a problem there – not enough soldiers and not enough skill.

“But there is another problem. The Houses would unite behind House Orbath, since thre nre now our rightful ruling House. They will not unite behind any one else. But Orbath is not here. Only you. You are warriors and you represent House Orbath. We are agreed. One or both of you must lead us.”

What!

************

Angelus had never fought in a pitched battle. Oh, he’d been around plenty of battlefields, back in the day, but usually making free with the officers’ women whilst their men bled and died. But he’d read many works by military commanders through the ages. He drew now on every bit of knowledge he’d ever learned.

He sent out scouts. The first one to return came back at a flat gallop. An army was on its way. He estimated that around 10,000 soldiers were marching, of which only about 2,000 seemed to be from Hylek. The remainder looked like paid mercenaries, demons of many species. A tally of House troops had given a number around 3,000. They were outnumbered more than 3 to 1, by experienced troops. He reviewed his options.

He could fight a guerrilla war, during which time he was certain half his troops at least would take fright and desert. That was nraterategy at all with untried green warriors. Even worse, if he did that, it was certain that the captured Heads of Houses, or at least House Orbath, would be executed. Every sensible tyrant in history had learned that removing the focus of a rebellion would cause that rebellion to fizzle out – why fight, when there is nothing left to fight for?

He could stay here and endure a siege. That was not an attractive option. The Houses had had little time to prepare a stronghold. The fortifications could be described as fair, at best. An army of 10,000 would make short work of them. And there weren’t enough supplies.

Or he could join battle, outnumbered 3 to 1.

They were dead in the water. Nevertheless, he was not prepared to do nothing, to tamely surrender. That was the only remaining option, and the worst of all.

He went with his instincts. Taking Buffy to one side, out of earshot of the others, he gave her his analysis. She agreed. He gave her his preferred option. She agreed. Battle it was.

The army was estimated to be about thirty miles away. There were no maps available, but Demeral described the terrain over that distance. There was a great deal of forest, large stretches of open grassland and a large lake lying underneath the shoulders of a mountain range. There was only one area that seemed to offer hope. It was a place where the road passed close to the mountains, by a summer-dry riverbed, with the lake behind it. Here, the larger army would have less opportunity to manoeuvre, and would lose some of the advantages of size. And it would fence in his own army, reducing the opportunity for frightened troops to run. It was about 10 miles away. They would have to move swiftly, or the attacking army would be past it.

He pressed into military service every demon who could wield a weapon or fire an arrow. He had mounted soldiers, foot soldiers, archers and some who were good with a slingshot, and he appointed his lieutenants on that basis. They set off at a forced march.

They reached what he had decided would be the battlefield less thwo hwo hours before dusk. It was as good as could be expected. The opposing army was in sight. Its general was no slouch; on sighting the army deploying before him, he summoned an aide and sent a large detachment of soldiers up the flanks of the mountain where, once Angelus attacked, they could rain arrows down upon Angelus’ men, no matter how he deployed. The general then settled in with his back to the mountains, behind the dried out riverbed, daring Angelus to come forward. His spearmen formed the front line of defence, with mounted soldiers and swordsmen behind. More mounted soldiers were starting to deploy away from the centre.

So far so good.

Angelus called first for Demeral, his chief lieutenant.

“Can you find a couple of hundred archers and slingers who are good in mountains. I need someone with them who can speak English.” Demeral galloped away.

“Slayer.” Formality was required here, within earshot of his commanders. “Will you take the men that Demeral selects, and guard our flanks? I need you to take out all those men up on the mountain side.”

Buffy almost protested. She could see immediately that he was sending her to one of the safer places in the coming battle. Then her warrior’s instinct saw something else. She was the only one that he could trust. If those archers on the mountaereneren’t removed, he and the army were dead. Everything depended on that.

“Angelus,” she acknowledged, and wheeled her horse round to follow Demeral.

“Wait!”

She stopped, and he galloped over to her. He pulled her from the saddle and clasped her to him. In sight of both armies, they kissed with desperation. Then she was back in the saddle, and gone.

The opposing army was deploying its horsemen onto the right wing, along the lakeshore, where the terrain was flatter, and better suited to the use of horses. A phalanx of foot soldiers, mainly inexperienced Hylekians, by the look of it, were deployed on the left wing, covered by archers and slingers. That was the weak link, then. No general uses archers and slingers to cover troops he can trust.

Angelus had wondered whether to leave the situation as a standoff until morning, but having found the weakness, he didn’t want to give their general time to reconsider, to stiffen the inexperienced Hylekian wing with tougher mercenary troops. Nor did he want to give his own troops time to melt away, having seen the size of the opposition. It was now or never.

His own mounted horsemen he divided into two groups. The larger group would face the horsemen by the lake. The smaller group would follow him to take on the weak left wing. His foot soldiers would meet the enemy centre. The rest was up tom. m. A small number of fast, lightly armed troops were kept back, in reserve, under Demeral himself. They were to go wherever they were most needed once the fighting started. Demeral had discretion, but his instructions were that if there were any danof eof either wing being turned, he must at all costs prevent that. Seeing them all deployed to their assigned positions, he rode along the battle line, making a final check. It was as good as it could be. Time to say a few words.

His voice carried on the still evening air. Demeral roared out the translation.

“Men of Hylek! This may be our only chance to restore freedom to your land, to restore the traditions by which Rulers are selected. All I ask is that you kill three men. When you have done that, you will be free! Kill three men for freedom!”

The cry was taken up by every throat there. “Kill three! Kill three!”

Satisfied, he rode back to his right wing, drew his sword and waited. The battle cry behind him roared to a crescendo, and he charged. He desperately hoped that the army was following him, although there was no time to look, and he prayed to any god that would listen that the Slayer had her job well in hand.

The archers and slingers facing him loosed a volley of arrows and stones, but clearly had not expected any real oitioition. They were inexperienced and afraid, as were the troops they were supposed to protect. They were taken aback by the speed of Angelus’ charge, and after the second volley, they broke and fled. Angelus and his mounted wing were among the infantry like a fox in a henhouse.

The slaughter was bloody, and even with his vampiric strength, his arm was growing tired of wielding the sword and delivering death with each swingeing blow. In minutes, he was covered in gore, most of it not his own. The men with him were just as blood spattered, their faces masks of determination.

He risked a glance at the other troops. The enemy centre was holding his infantry attack, but at least his troops were still trying to press forward. His left wing, the stronger of the two mounted groups, was hard pressed by the much more numerous enemy, and in danger of being pushed back. It would be disaster if that left wing were turned, allowing the enemy’s mounted soldiers to circle behind him and attack from the rear. Demeral had seen the danger. He and the reserves were sprinting to the wing, to prop it up. Good man!

And then his own opposition started to melt away as soldiers tried to flee the battlefield. Some ran to the shelter of their own centre, to be followed and slaughtered by his men. Others tried to run from the battlefield altogether, back the way they had come. He wanted to howl for joy – he thought that he probably did – when he saw the Slayer and her archers block the road and pick them off one by one. He had no intention of allowing news of the battle to reach House Vermald. Not until he was ready.

And then he was behind the enemy centre. His centre, seeing that the enemy were now surrounded, pressed forward with greacourcourage, whilst Angelus, accompanied by a few willing and courageous troops, drove into the melee. His intention was to find the opposing general. When he did, the contest was short. The general, and his head, were lying on the battlefield, and the enemy were laying down their arms. It had all taken much less than an hour.

He had survived. His horse had survived with him. Both of them were almost on their knees with exhaustion, his horse’s head hanging almost to the ground. Exhausted, too, were the remnants of both armies. It was difficult to determine how many had survived, but he thought that the majority of his had. That was a miracle. He pulled up the horse, and started to pick his way over the bodies. It really had been carnage. His troops, seeing him, started to follow. Demeral rode across to him, covered in blood but smiling and happy.

“You have won a great victory Angelus! Against the odds, you have won!”

Angelus gave him a tired smile. “No. The Hylekians have won it. You did well, all of you.” He looked around for Buffy, but couldn’t see her yet. Her band had been a little way away.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes – we haven’t finished the day’s work yet. Can you get some parties out hunting for the wounded. They’ll need some attention.” Already the black scavenger birds were flapping amongst the fallen. Demeral nodded and set about the task. Angelus turned his tired mount to where he had last seen his Slayer.

The light was fading now, but that wasn’t a problem for him. He saw the remaining archers in a group, not moving towards the main army. As he drew closer, he felt his heart lurch. They were bent around something on the floor, and he couldn’t see Buffy. His chosen mate. Where was she? He kicked the horse on. The men parted silently, to let him through.

The Slayer lay on the ground. A long arrow stood from her breast. It was as if he were moving through spun glass. Everything was slowed, nothing seemed to be within reach. His mind was screaming, and he was sure that he was making whimpering, keening sounds. And then he was kneeling by her side.

She was still alive, barely. She was losing blood fast, her face paler than his. Her lips were becoming blue from lack of oxygen. But she was still just conscious. She tried to reach for him, and he saw her mouth the words, “My love…” At least, that was what he thought she said. She must be hallucinating then and believe that he was Angel. He tried not to let that hurt him – it didn’t matter. Only she mattered. He knelt beside her, careful not to move her and make things even worse. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips and held her hand.

She rallied a little and fixed her gaze on him. “Hurts…”

“Please, don’t leave me. I need you. I love you.” It was true. But it it too late?

She hadn’t heard him though; she had faded into unconsciousness before the words were out. Later, he thought that he should be grateful for that. He had never wanted to lie to her, and demons could not feel love.

Now, if he did nothing, she would be gone in minutes. There was only one thing to be done, but he must be careful. He didn’t even need to think about it – he didn’t want to turn her. He wanted her warm and human – or as nearly human as a slayer could be. He morphed and made a small bite mark on his wrist. Then he gave her a few drops of his blood. Just a few, to strengthen her, to try to close her wound, not to turn her. It could be done, with the human mate of a vampire, but it needed care. He’d never done it, and hoped he had it right. The flow of blood from the arrow wound seemed to falter a little and her fluttering heartbeat steadied. She needed a hospital. He looked around for hefor for anyone who might have the means to send her back home, but there was no one nearby other than men-at-arms. Then he saw the moon, standing on the horizon in the gathering gloom, huge and pale. The full moon.

He took the stake from around his neck and pressed her fist around the claddagh ring. Then he recited the incantation. As he did so, she rallied, and he felt her claw at his hand, trying to get him to grasp the stake too. But he still had something to do. The war wasn’t over. If House Orbath were slaughtered, he might never get to know about the new Hellmouth. He had a feeling that, alive or dead, she would never forgive him if he allowed that to open. He couldn’t take that chance. It wasn’t him she clung to anyway. He understood that. It was Angel. In her delirium, she thought he was Angel. That hurt, more than he thought that he could bear. And then it was done, and she was gone. But in clawing at his hand, she had taken with her Angel’s claddagh ring. His hand felt naked and his heart empty.

His face was bleak, his eyes devoid of anything but an all-consuming rage as he stood in the spot where his mate had lain and started to issue his orders. Those fit to ride fast would accompany him to rescue House Orbath. House Vermald would not survive this night.

***************

Giles and the teenagers were taking shifts in the Library, in case Buffy and Angelus came back in the same condition as last time. Giles was on shift tonight. He had a blanket and a pillow, and made himself as comfortable in his office chair as possible. The chair was placed so that he could see the main library floor, where the shadow Mr Pointy had been last time. Willow had told them what she had done for Angelus. She was sure that Mr Pointy would return them to the same spot. It did. There was a flash of white light, and Buffy lay bleeding on the floor, pierced close to the heart by a long arrow. Her right hand was tightly clenched. There was no sign of Angelus.

Without thought, acting purely on instinct, Giles scooped her up and raced out to the car. Sunnydale Hospital was his next stop.

*************
On to chapter 5
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