The explosions and screams could be heard throughout the day, from all quarters of Ralanast, from the dusty masons' quarter to the deserted market district. The Halrana who had stayed in their capital and not attempted the frantic flight to Altura gathered in front of the Terra Cathedral, old men and women with small children peacefully demonstrating their wish for their occupiers to leave. The legionnaires dispersed the crowd with pikes and blood-drenched swords.
Legasa Telmarran, High Lord of Halaran, and Prince Leopold of Altura fought bravely. Then, in the afternoon word arrived that the army of Alturans and Halrana was surrounded. High Lord Legasa asked for quarter, but none was given. The encirclement grew tighter, and the butchery began.
Tapel's mother had cried, and Tapel had held her hand, not sure what else to do. By nightfall, the battle was over. Some soldiers had escaped, bursting out of the enemy's net in leaderless groups, but Ralanast's last chance at freedom was over. High Lord Legasa was dead, killed in battle. Prince Leopold had fled the field.
The Black Army were here to stay.
Tapel's mother was starving, her arms growing thin and the skin of her cheeks tight like a drum. Tapel could now encircle her waist with one arm when he hugged her, and her golden hair, usually the colour of wheat in the summer, was showing more than a third grey. Tapel hadn't eaten a proper meal in as long as he could remember, and the gnawing in his stomach had become truly painful. He and his mother had long ago sold every item of jewellery, traded every last winter coat and pair of boots. Tapel knew Amelia was feeding him more than she took herself, but he couldn't help eating the food she put in front of him, and he felt guilt every time his stomach rumbled.
So,the day after the battle, Tapel did what all the other boys were doing: he went to the battlefield to search the corpses of the dead.
It was worse than he could ever have imagined. Much, much worse.
Corpses littered the field, interspersed with the familiar shapes of constructs, from charred woodmen to a shattered colossus, dwarfing the hill it had made its final resting place.
Tingaran legionnaires in black lay entangled with brown-clad Halrana pikemen. The green of the Alturan dead spotted the landscape like withered plants. The colour red was shared by all, although exposure to the air had oxidised the blood to a dark, evil shade.
The field stank, the worst smell Tapel had ever encountered. Men had voided their bowels, and had their guts ripped open by swords, their heads smashed and bodies broken. The carrion birds had started to feast, and as Tapel picked his way through the carnage, he disturbed a crow as it feasted on the matter in a Halrana soldier's skull.
Tapel wondered if the young man had left a family behind, and suddenly he was sick, falling to the earth and heaving up the contents of his stomach violently and painfully. He closed his eyes as his throat constricted, trying to use the darkness to blot out the visions of death and macabre destruction.
When the retching ceased and his body again came under his control, Tapel climbed back to his feet. He put his hand to his forehead, momentarily light-headed. He breathed slowly in, then out. He fixed his mind on his mother, and, his face set with determination, deliberately walked towards the next dead soldier he saw.
The dead legionnaire stared at Tapel with glazed eyes. The soldier's head was shaved and his face was flat and round. A tattoo decorated his cheek: the sun and star raj hada of Tingara.
Tapel squatted by the soldier's side and examined him in more detail. He had been killed by a pike; it wasn't a question, the long haft still jutted from the centre of the legionnaire's chest. The body of the Halrana pikeman who had killed him was nearby, still clutching the weapon with both hands, a red slash across his throat and an expression of surprise on his face.
Tapel tried not to think of the priests at the earth temple and their sermons about respect for the dead. This man was the enemy, he reminded himself. Somehow it felt better to search the enemy dead.
The legionnaire was a big man in life, and wore a padded vest of scaled armour. The battle had taken its toll, and several of the scales were missing. If they hadn't been, he probably would have survived the thrust that ended his life.
Breathing slowly and evenly to suppress his revulsion, Tapel began to feel inside the armour where two of the metal scales had opened up a hole. The legionnaire wore a simple jerkin underneath the armour; Tapel felt up and down, using his thin arms and small hands to advantage. Finally he gave up; there was nothing there. Where would he keep his gilden, were he to head into battle? He probably wouldn't take it with him in the first place.
Jewellery. He should look for jewellery. He decided to quickly and speedily search for rings, necklaces, earrings, fancy scabbards, anything that looked valuable. This strategy had the added benefit that Tapel wouldn't have to spend too much time touching the dead.
Scanning swiftly, Tapel immediately found a bronze ring on the longest finger of the legionnaire's left hand, and a small gold hoop around the lobe of his left ear.