We were left to our own devices after that. Tem, Anlai and the Iyrak held a war council in front of the army. They included everyone who wanted a say — only northerners, as it turned out. Kiare and Ronan were among them, but I wasn't in the mood to greet either of them.
I listened from a distance, but most of it was either in Cambrian or switched back and forth so fluidly that it was impossible to comprehend. They weren't trying to be exclusive, naturally, but they used Cambrian in war to hide commands from their enemies, so most of the battle-related terms had no Anglian equivalent.
Tom came to stand beside me. Not to listen, obviously, or to talk, but rather just to keep me company. He stayed there even after the meeting dispersed and after the northerners re-joined me, still arguing about something in Cambrian. I was disinclined to join in.
Someone pushed through the crowd to reach our little group. It was the smith, six and a half feet of pure muscle, his hammer resting on one huge shoulder, and he was staring at us with one of the most discontented expressions I had ever seen.
"This will end badly, northerner," he told Temris.
"It will end all the worse if you don't help us," Tem retorted. "I suggest you find your courage, because there are several thousand chains to break this afternoon. You can start with mine."
And with that, he sat himself upon the ground, legs spread apart to stretch the chain over a rock, and he waited expectantly. The blacksmith glowered in an unhappy, unwilling sort of way, but he did oblige — sending his hammer swinging downwards. It was a deliberately careless blow. It struck the chain, yes, but it also landed within two inches of a rather delicate part of his anatomy.
There was a moment of tense silence. Colloe and Fendur bristled, unhappy with such a blatant threat, but a shake of the warlord's head kept them still. And then Tem started laughing, and he didn't stop. It was spontaneous, innocent amusement, and it felt out of place on a battlefield. But he just kept laughing, and the tiniest of smiles tugged at my own lips.
"My apologies, if I have offended you," Tem offered, but the smith simply lifted an eyebrow. "Or ... annoyed you? Whichever. It wasn't my intention."
That was the end of his attempt at bridge-building. With an infectious grin, he walked back to his Iyrak, stretching his legs out now that he didn't have to measure his steps.
"Would you mind...?" I put in, gesturing at the chain which dangled from my wrist. I found shields heavy enough already, let alone with that added weight.
"I didn't put manacles on your wrists, girl," the smith muttered, visibly confused.
"No," I agreed and sighed.
He frowned, but he obliged and broke the chain off closer to my wrist so I wouldn't have to drag it around. Then, at my coaxing, he struck off the manacles from both my wrists. Tom was next to be liberated, then the smith began doing the rounds of the northern slaves. Doubtless there were others who plied his trade in Canton, and they would be doing the same amongst the rest of the army, and where there were no smiths there were men with pickaxes who could chip away the metal links.
Someone must have sent runners for the other hills and perhaps men to kill the soldiers who guarded them, because I could see other massive crowds moving towards us. Not soldiers — I knew because they milled and trembled like overturned anthills. We had a while before they reached us and longer still before the soldiers could march on our growing army.
So it was time to prepare. The scant layer of food in the wagons was discarded without a second thought, although a group of children were soon squabbling over the nicer apples. Eirac and another northerner then removed the canvas coverings to expose the fresh-forged weapons beneath.
And soon the northerners from hill three fell on the wagon like vultures on a fresh kill. Ronan and Kiare were among them. I saw him emerge with a slim pig-sticker and her with a vicious looking leaf-bladed spear. Both carried one of the pine wood, iron-rimmed shields that the Anglians favoured for their shield walls. Once they had armed themselves, they helped pass weapons and shields to the nervous southerners.
Anlai nodded to the front of the cart, where there was a pair of leather satchels which looked out of place. They could have contained a driver's lunch and possessions, I supposed, but since our drivers had not really been drivers at all, that seemed like a step too far towards selling their story.
And I had been right. Inside was my armour, which I had carried so painstakingly all the way from the Pass. The weight, the backache, the tiredness — suddenly, it was all so very worthwhile. I untangled the mess, sorting buckles and leather straps and pieces of plate. A padded shirt went over my tunic and over that went the fine chainmail. Then I strapped on everything that I could — bracers and greaves mostly.
I looked around for an assistant. Fendur was helping Tem, whose armour was both heavier and more complex than my own, so I didn't want to interrupt them. I cast my eyes further and saw Tommas. His father had been a soldier, so he must know his way around plate armour. But as I opened my mouth to call him, someone snatched the piece of metal from my hand, a rough hand caught my shoulder, and I was jerked around to face Anlai.
"I'm told we'll be shield-mates, so I would rather that you don't die in the first charge."
He started helping me with my armour. Hurried and as far from gentle as he could get, because if he was going to do a nice thing he had be nasty about it. I reckoned I was beginning to understand him.
"You are told?" I repeated, one eyebrow crooked. "Who is so organised as to have the standing arrangements decided in advance?"
"Who do you think, Lyra?" Anlai drawled. He jerked a head in Tem and Fendur's direction. Two options, and I now realised there was only one man alive from whom Anlai would take orders.
"And who has he chosen for his shield-mates?" I asked coolly. In truth, I was slightly surprised that he would not put me at his flank, considering how insistent he had been about keeping me alive. In the chaos of the shield wall, that would fall into deeper jeopardy than it had ever been in Canton.
He eyed me sideways. "The Iyrak get that honour in battle. Always. Not even you can disrupt that, and I admit there is very little you cannot seem to disrupt."
Ah. Tradition. But I had been given the next best thing, I realised, looking at the towering wall of muscle that was the Ragnyr's cousin.
Anlai finished with the armour, thumped my arm in what might have been affection, and then disappeared to talk to Eirac. I was left to pull my boots on and realise that the greaves needed to be refastened over the leather. Several colourful words came to mind, and I let them leak into the air.
A flicker of movement in front of me, and I heard Tommas say aloud, "Your vocabulary has expanded, Lyra."
"I have been living among soldiers," I reminded him, adding a hand gesture which Bevan had been particularly fond of. His reply had to wait because I bent down to undo the buckles, pull my boots over my ankles and tighten the greaves again.
He was still waiting patiently when I popped my head back up, and I watched him mouth, "No, I think you have become one."
I felt myself still as the words bit. His eyes were catching on the armour I had donned so carelessly, as if I had forgotten that it was worth more than my entire farmhouse. On the skin which had actually begun to tan, corded with new muscles. On the sword hilt peeking over a shoulder.
"I didn't have much choice. Revenge is a bloody road to walk."
"So it is revenge that you are seeking...?" he asked carefully.
I chewed on a lip. "I would like to say justice, but there will be more than a life for a life, if I get my way."
"Fine. I understand that need, and if I were not so worn, I would be on your heels."
He paused then, and I wondered whether his mother — the most patient, gentle soul I had ever met — was sitting with my family in the garden of the gods. I wondered whether his father, campaigning for Ulric in the far south, had even heard that anything was amiss. Maybe he had come running home and found only bones. Maybe he was still looking forward to seeing his wife and son again.
"Just take care that you don't become another casualty of this war," Tommas mouthed slowly, softly, and I knew he was thinking those same thoughts.
"I don't intend to die, but it wouldn't be incredibly tragic, I don't think..." I mused.
He shook his head — I had missed his meaning. "If there's one thing I have learnt here, Lyra, it is that the body can keep living for a long time after the person inside is gone ... or damaged beyond repair."
"Ah," I exclaimed aloud in my excitement, "you think—"
A dismayed shout cut across my words. One of the southern women had spotted a tide of red uniforms flowing from the gate, and soon all the other southerners were turning to look, and they were panicking. The panic rippled through our misfit army, setting children to crying and women to shrieking and men to bellowing. And nothing the northerners shouted or did seemed to help.
I picked up my shield, tucked my helmet under an arm and chewed my tongue while I watched. It was difficult not to let the chaos seep through my skin and into my blood. There was so much noise — I could feel my ears throbbing and my head pounding. Tommas just stood beside me, utterly smug, and he smiled a little wider every time I winced. And suddenly an eerie calmness came over me. It became very easy to just stand and wait.
It was Temris who fixed the problem, eventually.
"If you run, they will cut you down from behind," he shouted over the racket, and that loud voice carried well. Only the hundred southerners around him would have heard, but they were the most important of all, because his next shout was two words which chilled my blood and send a shiver racing down my spine.
"SHIELD WALL!"
The northerners took up the chant. They were forming a line, loose and ragged to let the southerners slot in between them. And then, to punctuate it all, came the thud of shield on shield as the wall began to close.