“Zhank oo!” the Lalla Mkouma on Haft’s shoulder chimed.
The troll hopped off the dog’s back; they both twisted about and sped westward.
“Where are they going?” Haft asked.
The Lalla Mkouma shrugged eloquently. “Goam’aay,” was all she said.
Haft took a moment to compose himself before ordering his patrol on to the observation post. The four sentries lay mangled at the bottom of the trench. They were quite dead.
“Let’s get them,” Haft said.
Two of the Bloody Axes took off toward where Spinner waited with the assault force. Haft and the third went to join the blocking force.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
The plan was simple. Spinner, with Company B, moved into place two hundred yards west of the beach encampment. Captain Phard led the Skraglanders and others of Company A into position a couple hundred yards east of the prison camp. As soon as he got word the observation posts were taken out, Spinner would lead the Zobran horse platoons of Company A in a cavalry charge through the Jokapcul camp. They wouldn’t stop to engage any enemy who wanted to stand and fight, just hew their way through and try to set the Jokapcul to flight. At the west end of the camp they would spin about and head back east, engaging any enemy soldiers who hadn’t run. While the horsemen were racing the length of the camp, the foot soldiers of Company B would charge into the camp and kill any Jokapcul they reached before they met the returning cavalry. The Jokapcul who ran west from the initial charge would disastrously encounter the infantry of Company A, which lay in wait for them to the west.
And just in case some Jokapcul fled north, Captain Mearh had Company C stretched out just south of the road. The reconstituted Company D was left to guard the caravan.
Simple plans have a better chance of success than complex plans do—there are fewer things that can go wrong.
That doesn’t mean nothing can go wrong with a simple plan.
The knight left in command of the single troop guarding the prisoners had been much chagrined when the Kamazai Commanding ordered him to stay behind with his troop. He became even more unhappy when he learned the Kamazai Commanding had promised his fighters their surfeit of women from the caravan. Those common fighters were being given all the women they wanted while he—a knight! —was left behind guarding prisoners, and without even one woman for himself!
That was almost as bad as being a knight without a horse.
The Kamazai Commanding had taken the main force out well before dawn the previous day, and they hadn’t yet returned. The knight knew his fighters were nervous, concerned that the main force had been defeated and an unknown force was about to descend on them. But, of course, that was nonsense! He knew the reason they hadn’t yet returned: the Kamazai Commanding was giving his fighters time to sate their appetites with the captured women before coming down from the plateau.
And he didn’t even have one woman to enjoy himself with!
Well, he’d see about that!
He carried his sheathed sword like a baton, the small demon spitter forgotten in its pouch on his belt, as he stomped from his tent in the center of the long, narrow camp toward the sun that was just peeking over the watery horizon. He barked sharp orders at his fighters as he went, whacking with his sheathed sword at any who didn’t move quickly enough. He paused once to thrust the weapon through the bars of a cage at a prisoner who dared look at him, causing the man to scream out in pain when the metal-toed sheath jabbed hard into his ribs. It was only when he withdrew his sword that the knight remembered it was sheathed and did no more than bruise the ribs of the man he’d struck. He spat through the bars of the cage.
Snarling, he stomped on.
Most of the prisoners were captured soldiers. But the western end of the camp held other prisoners—three hundred women and children. The knight slowed down when he reached them and paced along the rows of cages, running the tip of his sword scabbard along the bars, making a rhythmic clacking. The women drew to the far sides of their cages and looked away from him. Children cowered behind the adults. He looked fiercely at the women, disgusted with how filthy they all were—how was he supposed to see if any of them were beautiful through all that dirt? He swore at them, as though it was their fault they couldn’t keep themselves clean.
At length he stopped pacing and stared at a yellow-haired woman who huddled away from him. At least, he thought her hair was yellow under the dirt and oil that befouled it. He stomped to the side of the cage and jabbed his sword into it, slapped the woman’s face with the tip of the scabbard to turn her face toward him. Her features were regular and he thought she might be comely.
Without looking around, he barked out an order. A fighter trotted up to him and saluted. He growled, and the fighter quickly drew a key ring from his belt and unlocked the cage. He reached in, grabbed the yellow-haired woman’s ankle and dragged her out. She whimpered but didn’t resist. She rose to her feet when the fighter grabbed her upper arm. She stood as she had been taught—head bowed, hands clasped behind her.
The knight stepped in front of her and stared for a moment. Her clothes were frayed in a place or two, but weren’t torn anywhere. They weren’t the best quality, but they were far better than homespun. At one time her dirty gray blouse had been lavender and her dirty gray skirt green; perhaps they would be again if they were properly cleaned. Likely this woman was from the family of a merchant, or perhaps that of a skilled craftsman. He took her chin roughly in his hand and forced her face upward, the better to see it. He spat on his fingers and rubbed dirt off her cheek. Yes, he thought, her skin is smooth. He brusquely poked her here, prodded her there, testing her softness, and was satisfied with what he felt.
He barked, and the fighter relocked the cage then stepped away. Then he took the woman’s upper arm and led her away, toward the rising sun.
Once out of sight of the cages, the knight stopped. Using gestures, he ordered her to strip off her clothes and bathe in the surf. Just because he had to take what he hadn’t been given didn’t mean he had to settle for rutting in filth!
As the quietly sobbing woman reached for the hem of her blouse, the knight spun to his left and whipped his sword out of its scabbard. He’d heard the whicker of a horse. No one in the guard battalion had a horse! He darted to the treeline and, bent over, scuttled farther east and was shocked by what he saw through the trees.
Horsemen! Zobran Light Horse! Where had they come from? How had they gotten to the east of the prison camp?
It didn’t matter, they were there. He spun about and dashed back to the camp. When he neared it he began roaring out commands to defend.
The woman, hands still on the hem of her blouse, stood frozen when the Jokapcul officer dashed away from her into the trees, moving only her eyes. She saw him speed back to the camp without even a glance in her direction. If whatever was to the east made him run, that was where she wanted to go. She let her blouse fall back in place and raced along the beach.
Spinner saw a flash of movement through the trees and wondered what it was—it could have been Jokapcul armor. “Did you see that?” he asked Company B’s commander, Captain Geatwe.
“See what?” Geatwe asked. His angle was wrong, a fan tree had blocked his view.
Both men turned their heads toward a commotion in the direction of the beach. Neither made a move in that direction; it didn’t sound like fighting, and they knew if it was anything they needed to know about, Lieutenant Haes of the Light Horse would inform them. They continued to wait for the two Bloody Axes to arrive and report that they’d taken out the observation posts. They turned their heads shoreward again at another, closer sound and saw a bedraggled woman riding in the arms of a Light Horseman.
“Lord Spinner,” the man reported when he reached them, “Lieutenant Haes sends this woman to you. She came from the Jokapcul camp.”
The woman was crying and not totally coherent, but Spinner could understand her Zobran without much difficulty. The i
mportant thing that came clear through her babbling was, “The Jokapcul commander saw you!”
“Put her down,” Spinner ordered the horseman. “Go back, pass the word to wait for my signal to attack.”
“Yes, Lord Spinner!” The horseman lowered the woman to the ground and turned his horse about. As he trotted back to his platoon he told everyone he passed to be ready for the signal. Geatwe sent a runner in the opposite direction with the same instruction.
“You stay here,” Spinner told the woman. “You’ll be safe until we come back for you.”
She wailed in fear and clutched at his leg. “Don’t leave me alone! Lord, I beg you, don’t leave me alone.”
With a great effort of will Spinner hardened his heart. He didn’t want to leave the woman alone and frightened, but he’d need all of his fighters when they hit the camp, where he heard the sounds of men yelling. “You must stay here. We’ll be back for you.” He looked to both sides; everyone he could see looked back at him expectantly. He raised his right arm with his quarterstaff held erect and brought it forward sharply.
“At a walk!” he shouted.
“Walk!” Geatwe echoed.
The Light Horse, Royal Lancers, and Prince’s Swords flicked their reins and moved out at a walk. The Zobran Pikers and Royal Foot followed.
“Trot” Spinner commanded, and the horsemen picked up their pace. “Canter!” and they speeded more. Then they broke into the clear. “Charge!”
Eighty horsemen, armed with lances and swords, broke into a gallop, charging the Jokapcul infantry, who stood in a thin line that bristled with pikes and spears. Beyond the thin line other Jokapcul were racing to join the formation. A few arrows flew at the charging horsemen, but most missed, and those that didn’t were casually knocked aside by lances or bucklers.
More Jokapcul joined the line before the horsemen arrived. More archers reached range and stopped to shoot at the charging mass.
The horses, crowded shoulder-to-shoulder, saw the hedgerow of pikes and spears facing them and drew up suddenly, short of getting impaled. Three riders were thrown over their mounts’ necks and quickly dispatched by the Jokapcul.
The archers found the range and began picking off more riders.
“Pull back!” Spinner roared. There was a mad melee as the horsemen tried to turn their tightly packed horses around, and a couple more fell to arrows.
The Jokapcul jeered their withdrawing attackers—they’d suffered no losses of their own while beating off the charge and downing eight Zobran horsemen. The Jokapcul may not have been regular combat troops, but they firmly believed in their invincibility, and that was half of the battle.
The horsemen withdrew in chaotic order. The infantry following them had to weave and dodge to avoid being knocked down and trampled by their own cavalry, and even then a few were sent sprawling and some were stepped on, suffering broken bones or other injuries.
“Bows!” Spinner shouted. Everyone who carried a bow readied it and nocked an arrow, waiting for the command to fire.
“Volley, fire!” A volley of arrows flew from the edge of the thin forest at the Jokapcul line, but the volley was so ragged most of the Jokapcul easily avoided the arrows.
“Demon spitters!” Two of the swordsmen of the Zobran Pikers sheathed their swords and unlimbered the demon spitter tubes they wore on their backs. They took position and began to aim, but before they could fire, a crack of thunder came from the Jokapcul line and one of them flipped backward, sending his demon spitter tube spinning away.
The Jokapcul knight commanding the defense had finally remembered the small demon spitter he carried on his belt. It was the first time he’d used a demon weapon in combat, and he was impressed that it had done what it was supposed to do. He looked for and took aim at the second piker aiming a tube.
“Someone get that tube!” Spinner shouted. He didn’t want to leave the demon spitter there, not knowing if the diminutive demon who lived in it might decide to leave if it was ignored. He saw one of the Prince’s Swords snatch the weapon up and yelled at him, “Feed the demon!”
The swordsman looked uncertainly at Spinner. He’d never handled a demon spitter and didn’t have any food for the demon, but Spinner was already directing the piker and archers to fire at the officer with the small demon spitter. So he darted to the downed piker and rifled through the pouches on his belt until he found the canister of demon food. He plucked a pellet from it and rapped his knuckles on the tube’s tiny door. The demon popped its head out and snapped, “Wazzu whanns?” then gleefully snatched the food pellet and ducked back inside.
Arrows flew from side to side, and both lines were punctuated by the thunder of demon spitters. The Jokapcul commander was overconfident and missed his second shot. But by then the piker had already fired into the Jokapcul line and the eruption of demon spit had thrown down five broken, bleeding men. Others fell on both sides with arrows protruding from them. When the Jokapcul saw they were outnumbered and losing men, their line began to waver.
Spinner saw the Jokapcul pikes and spears wavering and men looking like they were ready to run. He gathered himself to call for another charge, but Geatwe’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“Lord Spinner, we are too close, we can’t get up momentum before we hit them.”
“Why not?” The Jokapcul were only fifty yards away, but Spinner didn’t understand that for a cavalry charge to be effective, everyone in it had to reach the enemy at the same time. They needed to come to speed together, and fifty yards wasn’t enough distance for them to build the speed to gallop side by side.
“Send the foot, they can do it now,” Geatwe said. “Have the horse cover them with arrows.”
“All right,” Spinner said, though he still didn’t understand.
Geatwe began shouting commands, and the infantrymen with bows handed their bows and quivers to horsemen without. Then Geatwe gave the command and the swordsmen charged under an arc of arrows flying at the Jokapcul.
The Skraglander Borderer named Takacs shimmied down the bumber tree so fast he almost lost his grip on its ridged trunk and fell.
“Captain,” Takacs said excitedly, “they are fighting at the far end of the camp!”
“What?” Phard looked to the west, but he didn’t expect to see anything. He looked north of west, wondering where Sir Haft was, worried that something must have happened to him. The attack on the west end of the camp shouldn’t have started yet; the Bloody Axes who carried the message to Lord Spinner should not have reached him before Sir Haft joined Company A—unless something had happened to Haft.
“Did you see any sign of—”
“Sir Haft comes!” Takacs interrupted, looking past his company commander.
Phard turned and blew his breath out in relief.
“Is everybody ready?” Haft asked without waiting for Phard to report.
“Yes, Sir Haft. And the fighting has already started.”
“What?”
Phard gestured to Takacs, who said, “Sir Haft, I was up that tree. The Jokapcul have formed on the far end of the camp and are fighting Lord Spinner’s force.”
“They formed up?” Haft asked in surprise, to give himself a few seconds to think. “Have they broken?”
“They looked like they were holding.”
Haft’s mind spun. The Jokapcul should not have been able to get into formation; they should have been taken completely by surprise. Then he realized the two Bloody Axes who went to tell Spinner hadn’t had enough time to reach him yet—somehow, the Jokapcul had discovered them.
“Are all of them there?”
“It looked like the entire troop, I didn’t see any guards among the prisoner cages.”
Haft took a deep breath. “Infantry stay here in the blocking position,” he told Phard. “Cavalry charge west.”
“Immediately, Sir Haft,” Phard replied, and began giving orders to his platoon commanders.
“Get my horse,” Haft ordered Takacs before he had time to dwe
ll on it. The battle was several hundred yards away. As much as he disliked horses, he could reach the fight a lot faster on horseback than on foot.
The knight commanding the guard troop exalted when the Zobran foot soldiers began their charge. It was exactly what he wanted them to do. He roared out a sharp command and his troop countercharged. The shield of arrows from the Zobran horsemen passed harmlessly over the Jokapcul.
The Jokapcul were in fairly good order; they ran on a good line, the archers dropping their bows in favor of swords and spacing themselves to alternate with the pikemen and spearmen in the line. Just before the points of the extended pikes and spears met the charging Zobrans, the Jokapcul stopped, planted the butts of the long weapons on the ground, and aimed their points at the onrushing bodies. The swordsmen stopped as well and readied themselves to cut down anyone who made it through the wall of points. Not every pike or spear met its target, but enough did to seriously weaken the charging Zobran infantry. The Zobran line broke up as soldiers swerved to avoid the pikes and spears, their solid line fragmented into a series of short columns that attempted to squeeze between the long handles.
The pikemen and spearmen dropped their long arms and drew swords to strike at the sides of their attackers. Company B’s horsemen had to stop shooting arrows for fear of hitting their own men when the Jokapcul charged. Now they raised their bows again, but were able to loose only a few shafts before the infantry spread out and blocked their fire once more.
“Around behind them!” Spinner shouted, and heeled his gelding to race to the right and circle behind the Jokapcul. Then the world jerked and he flew from the saddle. The earth rushed up and slammed into him. Then blackness.
The Jokapcul knight saw the young man shouting orders and fired his demon spitter at him. He watched the young man’s horse flip forward with blood flowing copiously from its shoulder, and saw its rider fly forward to land hard on the ground. The young man bounced once, then lay still and broken. The Zobran horsemen near enough to see froze at the sight of their fallen commander. The knight cried out in jubilation as awareness of the loss spread through the Zobran horsemen. He barked out more orders to his fighters, and they redoubled their efforts to drive back the swordsmen they were engaged with.
Demontech: Gulf Run Page 30