“They’ve shifted their artillery to the flanks,” said Teriyan at his side. “It won’t come down so hard on us then.”
“Just get ready to run,” Byorn said grimly, hefting his shield on one muscular arm. “When they get within artillery range, we’re going to need to run like the wind to close on their infantry. The closer we get, the less the artillery can hit us.”
They could not go now, Andreyis knew; they had to wait, hoping that the cavalry could turn a flank. About him, men practically bounced on the spot, armour and all, as tense as cats. They were a mixture, these Valhanans—some from Baerlyn, others from surrounding townships, others still from places Andreyis had not heard of. He could only see several other Baerlyners besides Teriyan and Byorn, as all had decided that, in the face of the reputed effects of Enoran artillery, it would not do to have entire villages standing clustered together.
“Ready!” came a yell from the distant front. “Ready!” echoed headmen, and appointed militia officers deeper through the ranks. A war chant started, the location uncertain, but Andreyis had never heard its like before.
“HEEL-Chun, GOER-Rhun! HEEL-Chun, GOER-Rhun!” As with most old Lenay war chants, the tongue was forgotten and largely extinct…but the words sounded like glory, blood and ancient spirits. Andreyis realised it was a tsalryn, a battle cry only to be uttered in war, and unknown by any who had not fought in one. Andreyis’s skin flushed hot and cold all over. This was the first time he’d heard a tsalryn. Soon they were all yelling, and the noise was like nothing else in the world. It drowned out all the battle, all the world. Warriors beat shields with swords for accompaniment, roaring like men possessed. Andreyis felt his fear fade, swept aside by an intoxication of rage and power.
He did not hear the ballista fire, but he could see it, dark streaks against the clouds. It rained down across the Lenay formation, but none struck near. Men broke off their chants to howl their derision. If that was the famed Enoran artillery, it would have to become a lot worse to frighten the Army of Lenayin. The front ranks began to move, space rippling through the formation until Andreyis himself was moving, no more than a walk. It accelerated to a jog, and then to a run, warriors still chanting, gripping their shields, eyes on the sky for more ballista fire. The force of their momentum seemed unstoppable. Ballista bolts rained about, to little effect. This was the Army of Lenayin, the most formidable warriors in all Rhodia, charging en masse, fearless and devastating. Andreyis felt invincible, and had to fight the urge to sprint madly ahead of his position, so desperately did he lust for an enemy to swing at, to hack, to maim and slaughter.
Something flashed to his left, bright and hot. Another roar from the warrior horde, and the run increased to a mad sprint. Another flash, then another…. Andreyis saw objects soaring across the sky, flames rippling, leaving trails of black smoke like stars falling to earth. One soared straight overhead, and impacted some distance behind him, but close enough that he could feel heat. He ran now in a jostling crush, sword arm held close to his side so that he did not involuntarily cut his neighbours. His shield arm felt heavy, his breath beginning to labour. The artillery range of the Enoran Steel was no inconsiderable distance to run in full armour…surely it could not be much further?
Ballista fire increased, like a light rain shower suddenly erupting into a cloudburst of hailstones. Men fell, in front and to the side…. Andreyis ducked in sudden fear as one whistled just overhead. The thud of bolts hitting the turf resonated like a drumbeat. Andreyis hurdled a fallen man, his wooden shield pinned to his chest by a bolt that was protruding from his back.
A burning ball streaked to ground not thirty paces to the right, followed by an impossible, eye-burningly bright flash. In that mesmerised moment, time seemed to slow, and Andreyis saw the billowing orange flames actually double, then triple and quadruple their size and intensity, rather than fading. They thrust out greedily, an avalanche of fire, roaring through clustered, running men, engulfing them.
He did not see the next catapult shot coming until the entire world before him transformed to molten fire. He fell, to see the wall of flame coming right at him, blotting out the world. Heat seared his skin, singed his eyebrows, filled his ears with a ghastly sound like a fire demon on eagles’ wings. And then it was gone, and the world was full of ash and cinders, black smoke and the screams of men. He stumbled to his feet, and saw men on fire, rolling on the ground, thrashing in agony. A Goeren-yai’s long hair and beard had gone up like a torch, a ball of flame now engulfing his head.
A hand grabbed his arm. “Move!” Teriyan bellowed. “If we stay here we’re dead!” He hauled Andreyis forward, through the circle of blackened, burning grass and flaming corpses. The smell was appalling, acrid, and burned his lungs. At the circle’s far side, men helped survivors to sit, pouring water on wounds…one was hit by a ballista bolt through the back, smashed into the turf and pinned like a bug.
Andreyis stumbled on after Teriyan, aware that the charge continued, Lenay men pouring forward like the tide. And now, ahead, there was an advancing, silver line of shields, helms and armour. Spears flew from behind the front line, and more Lenay men fell, or took entangling spikes through their shields. Andreyis ran at them, knowing only that the closer he came to the Steel infantry, the less the chance of being burned alive.
He dodged aside a flying spear, found a gap on the battle line and flung himself onto it, using the weight of his momentum to drive the Enoran soldier back a step. His neighbour pulled his shield aside to stab with the short Enoran sword, but Andreyis was ready, having drilled many times for precisely that event. He angled his shield sideways, driving down on the thrust, and slashed back for the man’s head. The Enoran ducked, and Andreyis’s strike smashed off his shield rim. The Enoran Andreyis had run into recovered his place in line, and the shield line attempted to advance. Andreyis backed off enough to gain space, and flashed a low blow to get under the shield. It was blocked, and he reversed immediately to a high overhead. Again the Enoran ducked his head away in time as Andreyis’s edge struck the shield’s high edge, but this time a space opened between him and his left-hand neighbour. Andreyis thrust his blade through it, catching that man’s arm. He faltered with a yell, the shield dropped a fraction, and Andreyis’s partner leaped high to drive a blade down over the shield rim, straight through the Enoran’s throat.
The next Enoran behind leapt over the fallen man to fill his space, but Andreyis’s partner stepped in, using his shield to protect him on one side, hacking at the next man in line to the other. That man went down, and the line faltered. A whistle blew shrilly above the roar and clashing, and the front rank turned abruptly sideways and melted into the gaps between the ranked soldiers behind. Andreyis found himself facing a new, fresh soldier.
“My turn lad!” yelled a warrior behind, pushing past.
“Find the gap!” Andreyis yelled at him as he attacked. “Make the shield move! Find the gap!”
Despite the chaos, a kind of order was developing, Lenay men unable to attack all at once, and awaiting their turn, lunging into space, leaving enough room for their neighbours to swing. This was better, Andreyis thought, fighting to retain his place against the jostle of fellow Lenays behind. The Enoran advantage in artillery was terrifying, but now they were to grips with fifteen thousand Lenay warriors on foot, they’d not find them like any opponent they’d yet encountered. Not merely brave, Lenay warriors studied warfare like scholars studied tongues. They had been puzzling over the Enoran problem for the entire march from Lenayin, and now that they were here, they would put their theories to the test, and force holes in the Enoran line where the Enorans were not accustomed to any holes appearing.
Now if the cavalry could only win out on a flank, and do something about that artillery, the day may yet be won.
Sasha’s reward for chasing talmaad about the rear of the army’s formation was an arrow shaft through her shield. It ended only when reinforcements arrived, whereupon the serrin simply faded back across the
fields, their task of forcing the Lenays to divert large forces away from the front largely complete.
Sasha returned to the stream that had become the right-flank cavalry’s rallying point, and allowed her mare to drink. Leaving the horse with some Isfayen men, she walked to a paddock wall and climbed up, to gain a slightly better vantage of the fight.
The scale of it defied belief. From horizon to far horizon, formations were engaging. Smoke made a haze about the interlocked lines of infantry, but flashes of flame were relatively few—the Lenay infantry had pressed itself thin against the Enoran lines, making it difficult for the Enoran artillery to shoot without hitting their own men. Even from this limited vantage, Sasha could see the strategic risk—one big push from the Enorans could break a hole through the thin Lenay lines, and split their formation. But for now, the Enorans were struggling, simply unable to inflict the level of casualties upon Lenay infantry that they were accustomed to doing. Tactical ingenuity, Kessligh had told her often, was more truly a matter of knowing your own forces’ relative strengths and weaknesses, and deploying them accordingly, than a matter of brilliant commanders winning battles single-handedly with inspired manoeuvres. Lenay infantry simply did not die in face-to-face combat as quickly as the Steel were accustomed. Sasha wondered if the heavily armoured Enorans would tire more quickly, and wished that the cloud would break up further, and the day would warm as the sun rose higher.
She bit from a fruit she’d stowed in her saddlebag. It felt odd to be eating in the middle of a war, but if she didn’t keep her strength up, she wouldn’t be much use to anyone. Over a vast sweep of rolling green fields to her right, cavalry charged and wheeled like great flocks of starlings above a wheatfield. The talmaad, with their swift horses, had succeeded in spreading the massed Lenay and Torovan cavalry far out to the right flank, and far back behind the Lenay lines. She suspected the talmaad may have brought fresh horses, and were hiding them somewhere beyond the immediate battlefield, so that they could cover the extra ground without exhausting their mounts.
An Isfayen village headman leaped to the wall beside her in a rattle of mail, and handed her some bread. Sasha gave him her second fruit. She had no idea where anyone she knew was—most of the morning she’d fought by the side of strangers. She thought she liked this better. If she survived, she expected to find many friends dead at the end of the day, and did not know that she could continue fighting if she saw them fall in person.
“We’re not breaking through on this side,” the Isfayen growled, chewing on the fruit. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like these serrin. They’ve got heavy cavalry protecting their damn artillery, and anyone who attacks is immediately outflanked and hit from the side by serrin archers.”
Sasha had expected some bitterness, Lenays never having had much admiration for archery, regarding it a coward’s art. But the talmaad’s horseback archery was breathtaking, and when one was on its receiving end, terrifying. Sasha heard nothing but respect in the bloodwarrior’s voice.
The fact that much of the right-flank Lenay cavalry were riding smaller dussieh wasn’t helping, Sasha reflected. This right flank was superior in numbers to the Lenay left, but the left was northern, and huge, and somewhat more skilled as cavalry, rider for rider. Against the Enoran cavalry, most Lenay riders were outmatched, and the Torovans, while riding bigger horses and more well armoured, were failing to press home their attacks with the ferocity required. Perhaps the left was where the breakthrough would come.
“Come,” said Sasha. “We’ve had our rest.” She jumped from the wall and strode back toward the horses. Riders galloped past, and Sasha spared them a wary look, to be certain they weren’t serrin sneaking through the lines once more to cause havoc in the rear. “I think we might be wasting time trying to make a wide flanking move about the far side. I think there might be a way through closer to the middle.”
“Against the infantry flank, aye,” the Isfayen agreed. “Then there’s the artillery.”
“We can’t become so paralysed with concern for the artillery that we don’t dare venture near it. Our infantry are right under it, we have to take some pressure off them.”
She didn’t dare use the word “fear,” or else the Isfayen might have charged straight into the teeth of the worst artillery fire, just to prove they weren’t frightened.
On the way in, she found Damon and the royal vanguard, partially hidden behind a cluster of barn and trees. Sasha indicated to her riders, who now numbered perhaps a hundred and fifty, to wait aside while she rode to converse with her brother. Royal Guards pulled aside, and she found Damon and Jaryd pointing at the unfolding confusion ahead of them, seeking an opportunity. Both looked relieved to see her as she halted alongside.
“Hell of a fight, yes?” Jaryd remarked to her. Though it was now midmorning, and they had been fighting since dawn, he seemed yet to overcome his awe.
Damon seemed as grim as ever, yet less anxious than she’d seen him, as though warfare was preferable to waiting. His left shoulder guard was torn, yet from the angle of the cut, it seemed that the mail beneath had deflected it, and his face betrayed no pain.
Sasha explained her trials in the rear with the talmaad.
“I’m tempted to try the artillery just to get away from those damn serrin,” Damon agreed, eyes searching the way ahead. “I think we erred to suppose that the artillery would be Enora’s greatest advantage.”
“Sasha, what do you think?” Jaryd pressed. “Perhaps like Ymoth? A two-force feint?”
“Perhaps,” said Sasha. “How many are you?”
“Immediately, perhaps two hundred,” Damon replied. “If we rally properly, we could collect thousands….”
“But we’ll afford the Enorans the same opportunity,” Sasha finished for him. “I think that’s our next option, if this doesn’t look like it’s working. We’ve maybe three hundred and fifty between us, any more may be more hindrance than help. You go first, spring the trap, I’ll get in behind and get straight into their infantry. See if we can turn one of their formations, get our infantry an edge.”
It worked superbly, but not how she’d thought. Riding out in front, Damon and Jaryd’s two hundred cavalry were countered by a similar-sized formation of defensive Enoran heavy cavalry. Thus committed, those cavalry were in no position to stop Sasha’s hundred and fifty Isfayen, who tore down on the exposed flank of Enoran infantry. Ballista fire adjusted too late, raining mostly behind the Isfayen charge, and a single catapult shot erupted close enough to singe the leftmost Isfayen rider, but no more.
The redeploying formation of Enoran infantry was caught squarely in the face of the charge, soldiers running madly to lengthen their square into a wide wall as the horses bore down on them. Then, just before impact, the Enorans did the utterly unexpected, and ducked. Soldiers curled up on the ground, shields overhead, and charging Isfayen horses simply jumped, unwilling to risk that metal underfoot. Isfayen riders swung at the Enorans, yet those that could reach hit only steel. Once the charge had passed over and around, the Enorans jumped back to their feet, and completed their previous manoeuvre of widening the flank. Sasha could only be impressed with the discipline.
But now, she could see the Enoran artillery for the first time: rows of wide-armed ballistas on cartback, guarded behind a wall of yet more infantry—the reserve, Sasha realised, doubling as artillery guards in case of a cavalry breakthrough like this one. Men on those ballistas were winding them frantically downward to meet the onrushing threat, and as Sasha looked left and right, she saw no immediate cavalry support rushing to assist. She lowered her sword, and yelled.
The Isfayen roared, and were onto the ballistas before they could winch low enough to fire. Sasha slashed at the Steel defensive wall, again and again, more in hope of a lucky strike than assurance. A few spears soared past, but the Isfayen were too numerous, flanking the defences, spreading them, then driving horses into their midst and hacking about them with huge, curved swords. Steel infantry fell as powerf
ul strokes found gaps in their armour, trying to re-form, clustering back-to-back for protection, shields above their heads to ward the blows that fell on them from all sides.
Other Isfayen jumped from their horses and onto the carts, as mostly unarmoured ballista men abandoned posts to grab defensive weapons, only to be hacked down in fives and tens by furious, howling bloodwarriors. Long-haired warriors then clambered over the ballistas, hacking the taut ropes, stabbing the mechanisms, disabling the weapons, killing the cart oxen along with any remaining men who resisted. No Enorans ran. A group of perhaps twenty Steel, managing to regroup at one side of the carnage, formed a wedge and counterattacked, taking down several unprepared Isfayen in the process. But more surrounded them, attacking from above on horse while those on the ground dropped to a knee to cut under their shields, amputating legs in great scything sweeps. The rest folded quickly, but fought until all were dead.
Sasha did not join in, but circled with the four warriors who had assigned themselves her protectors, watching for a counterattack. Barely two hundred paces to the side, more Steel clustered about the great, swinging arms of the dreaded catapults, oxen teams to the fore, ammunition teams to aft. Not one of those infantry abandoned position to come running to their comrades’ assistance. On the forward infantry line, Sasha could see the rear ranks glancing back to monitor the slaughter of the ballista team, but again, none broke their formation. The Enoran cavalry was the artillery’s protector in such events, she knew, but the cavalry was vastly stretched, with little or no reserve.
Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three Page 45