"But Merona answered not our embassy!" Kaila said.
"Aye," Marek said. "Little love had they for we of Aerioch. Yet with the fall of Shendar, they saw the danger of Schah's unchecked advance they saw we had common cause. The archers had but joined us the day of your return from Schah."
Kreg picked up a short length of charred vine and began to sketch, holding it like a pencil. "Here, along the southern part of the ridge, we'll put a line of your armored warriors. Can they fight dismounted?"
"Aye," Marek said, "although they like it not."
Kreg snorted. "I expected that. They'll have to though. The idea is to stand and receive the enemy's charge and, from what I've read, that's difficult to do on horseback." Kreg tried to put conviction behind his words, difficult since he had never fought a pitched battle, certainly not from the back of a horse.
"'Tis true." Kaila crowded in to look at the map. "The knight's destrier is trained to meet the enemy at the charge. They like not standing still when attacks come upon them."
"But can they not charge to meet the enemy?" Marek asked.
"Sure," Kreg said. "If you're absolutely sure they will come back when ordered. Otherwise, they'll just get scattered and the Schahi will swarm back and around them and..." Kreg spread his hands with a shrug, tilting his head to one side.
Marek sighed and nodded. "Dismounted they shall fight."
"Okay," Kreg said. "Edward put about eight hundred on this wing and I see no reason to change it; I don't suppose the exact numbers are all that important anyway." He drew a line on the map. "On the flanks of this line you put, oh, call it two thousand archers. Let these lines angle forward slightly. He drew two more lines. "This way they can strike at the flanks of an attacking force."
"But will they not themselves be vulnerable?" Marek asked.
"Not too badly," Kreg said. "Two reasons: If the Schahi charge up the hill, their armor will weigh them down, slowing them, and we'll have the archers dig holes--" He held up his hands, about a foot apart. "--about this big and the same deep in front of their position. Cavalry won't be able to advance through that at faster than a walk."
"It seems me good, Majesty," Kaila said.
"Aye," Marek said. "Continue, Kreg."
"Behind the archers put about a third of the peasant levies." Kreg drew more lines. "They have two important functions. If any enemy forces do get through to the archers, they come forward to defend them. And if, for any reason, the archers can't shoot, they become the flank attacking force."
"Truly you are a man inspired, Kreg." Marek clouted him on the shoulder. "Who else would think to prepare for such happenstance?"
"Not me, Majesty," Kreg said. "Edward's grandfather. He's the one that developed the tactics Edward put to good effect at Crécy."
"I will not hear you disparage yourself, Kreg." Kaila's voice was stern, but her eyes shone with pride.
Kreg shrugged and continued. "On the other wing, Edward put about five hundred armored men with twelve hundred archers and another third of the peasant levies arranged as before. If they are as good as you say, I think this would be the place to put the Meronan archers so make it three thousand archers, five hundred armored men, and about 500 peasants."
Marek nodded. "And the remainder?"
Kreg drew a circle, well behind the other lines. "Here, as a reserve. If either line weakens or if the Schahi forces try to encircle, they will be ready."
Marek stared at the map. "Would it not be better to put those forces at the front?"
"Maybe," Kreg said, "if everything goes as planned. But how often does everything go as planned? From what I've read, it's always better to have a reserve."
Marek nodded slowly. "Many times I have seen plans go awry and 'tis certain that fighting as we have is a road to ruin. It shall be as you say."
"A couple of other things," Kreg said. "If you have the men set up the lines now and camp in position, or close to it, we won't have to worry about anybody coming on us by surprise. Also, you'll need messengers whose orders will be obeyed and place yourself where you can see the whole battle in order to direct it properly."
"That likes me not," Marek said. "Ever has it been my wont to lead my knights into battle."
Kreg shrugged. "If you wish, but then you are just another knight and the army is just a mob with no head to guide it."
"Kreg speaks wisdom, Majesty," Kaila said.
"Aye, I know." Marek bowed his head. "It likes me not, but we each do as we must."
#
That night, by the light of the twin moons, Marek ordered the lines as Kreg had outlined. He placed Kaila in command of the south wing; Duke Bryon had the north. The King himself took command of the reserve forces, which doubled as a bodyguard. Marek had decided, and Kreg had agreed, that once he committed the reserves he would be able to do little to direct the battle.
"'Twould be good, Majesty," Kaila said when they had finished ordering the army, "for you to go among the troops. They are weary and heart sore at losing battles and you could cheer them much."
"Aye, Kaila." Marek stood.
"Speak to me truly, Kreg," Kaila said once the King had left. "May we carry the day on the morrow or not?"
"I don't know." Kreg poked a stick into the fire. "Morale is low and that counts for a lot in battle. Also, I'm no general. Edward won his Crécy, but his troops had better morale. They also had Edward leading them."
"And we have Marek Caelverrem!" Kaila's eyes flashed.
"True." Kreg smiled. "I've come to respect him a lot " He looked up at Kaila. "--mostly because of the effect he has on you. However, you have both said that this is a new type of fighting for you."
"But you will be with the King to advise him," Kaila said.
"Like I said, I'm no general." Kreg put another branch on the campfire. "I think we can win, but if any surprises come up, I have no idea what to do."
"Sure am I-–“ Kaila placed a hand on Kreg's shoulder. She squeezed slightly. "--that you will acquit yourself with all honor."
"I'll try, I guess." Kreg placed a hand on hers. "It's still going to be a battle and people, maybe a lot of people, are going to die. We may not see each other again, you know--after tomorrow."
"Aye," Kaila said. "Even if Aerioch carry the day, nowhere is it writ that you or I may remain alive at battle's end."
She slid closer. Shoulder to shoulder, they sat staring out into the night.
#
When Kreg woke the next morning Kaila had already risen. She wore a mail shirt, longer than the one she normally wore for travel. This one hung to her calves. A knee-high, leather boot encased one leg and she tugged at the other.
"Kaila," Kreg said.
"Come, Kreg," Kaila said, stamping to settle her foot into the boot. "I will need assistance with my helm."
The helm sat on the ground next to her. It was conical in shape with a hinged visor that would protect her face. From the rim of the helmet hung a fringe of mail. Next to the helm lay a thick, quilted cloth cap and an iron skullcap.
Kaila placed the cloth cap on her head and tucked her hair under it. The iron skullcap went on over the cloth. Kreg picked up the helm, holding the mail fringe up and out of the way while Kaila knelt to let him set it on her head. Finally, he adjusted the mail fringe so it spread out over her shoulders and down her chest and back. That fringe would protect her neck in battle and Kreg made certain there were no gaps.
"Kaila," Kreg said again.
"Now you must be armed," Kaila said.
Kreg saw that someone had brought another mail shirt and helmet. He would have to do without the protection of the high leather boots as they had to fit precisely and there was no time to take Kreg's measure. Badly fitted boots would interfere with his ability to control a horse in battle or to fight on foot. He would have to make do with the lighter boots he had been wearing.
Kaila helped Kreg into padded undertunic and mail shirt. Then she held the helm for him and adjusted the mail fringe, the coi
f.
Next, she showed Kreg how to fasten the steel breastplates. Leather straps and buckles secured them at the sides and shoulders. Kreg had to lift the coif of her helmet to fasten the breastplate under it and wondered why she had put the helmet on before the breastplate. He felt a brief stab of irritation when he realized that she had done so to silence his attempt to talk to her.
Finally, he helped her pull on a linen surcoat emblazoned with her coat of arms: red with a white chevron between three gold stars. He wore no surcoat.
"Kaila," he tried again.
"I must to my troops," she said.
"Kaila, listen to me!"
Kaila sighed. "Aye, Kreg."
As Kaila turned to face Kreg, what he wanted to say fled from his mind. “Be careful,” he said at last. “Hold the line. That’s all you have to do, just hold the line.”
“And you, Kreg,” she said. “Take care as well.”
#
Bowed under the unfamiliar weight of the armor, Kreg trudged off in the direction of the reserve force.
"Halt!" A knight barred his way.
Kreg flipped up his visor. "I need to find the King."
"So." The knight flipped up his own visor in response. "The coward from another world, is it?" Kreg recognized the face behind the visor, Dahren, the knight Kaila had challenged in the council meeting. Kreg found it hard to believe that it had been less than two months ago.
"Let me pass," Kreg said. "The King has asked me to be with him."
"Phaugh!" Dahren roared. "No more shall you fill the King's ears with cowardly words and poison his mind with cowardly thoughts!" He ripped his sword out of its sheath.
Kreg leaped back to gain time to draw his own sword and flip down his visor. Dahren charged, swinging his sword. Metal rang against metal.
After the first exchange, Kreg held his ground, meeting each of Dahren's attacks with a solid parry.
Behind his visor, Kreg smiled grimly. Dahren was nowhere near Kaila's caliber. Kreg felt his own confidence rising.
As that thought crossed Kreg's mind, Dahren aimed a chop at Kreg's neck that seemed likely to separate head from shoulders--mail or no mail. Kreg parried. As the blades met, Dahren twisted his hands in an odd fashion, his blade circling under Kreg's, then diving straight into Kreg's chest. The point glanced off the breastplate deflecting upward, but staying in line. Dahren continued the thrust with Kreg's throat as the new target.
The mail saved him. The point of the sword caught in one of the links and deflected upward so that Kreg received a blow on the chin with the flat. That was almost enough. Skyrockets went off in Kreg's head, blinding him and he felt himself falling backward.
With a reserve of will that Kreg had not known he possessed, Kreg curled into a tight ball, turning the fall into a roll. Despite the way the edge of the breastplate cut into his midsection, bruising his hipbones, he kicked backwards and into another roll, gaining more distance.
"Nice try," Kreg said, his voice ice. With a portion of his mind not involved in the fight he noticed others--knights, squires, and other men-at-arms--forming a ragged circle around him and Dahren. He remained in his crouch.
"Bah!" Dahren charged.
Kreg waited until Dahren was committed to his attack then sprang to the side, pivoting and snapping the sword out as he had learned. The sword caught Dahren in the back of the knee, its tip biting through Dahren's leather boots. Blood spurted.
When Kreg turned, he saw Dahren lying on the ground.
"Somebody take care of him." Kreg wiped his sword on the grass before returning it to its sheath. "We still have a battle to win today."
"You will find the King there," a page who had watched the fight said in answer to Kreg's unspoken question. He pointed to a two-story farm building, a skyscraper in these parts.
Kreg slogged the rest of the way to the building. On approach it proved to be a barn, although it had a slanted roof rather than the more traditional style from Kreg's own world.
Around the doorway of the barn stood about a dozen pages. Each wore a large, lacquered, wooden brooch, blazoned with the King's coat of arms: white with a black lion rampant. All of the pages wore short swords, scarcely more than long daggers.
"Halt!" one of the pages said. "Who approaches?"
"Not again," Kreg mumbled under his breath, then louder, "Kreg."
The boy who had spoken beamed. "Kaila's squire?"
"I suppose you could say that."
"When you are advanced to knight--" The boy almost fell over himself in his enthusiasm. "--would you speak to her for me? I hope to be her next squire."
"Aw, give it up, Bertan," one of the others said.
The first page scowled at the heckler and looked back at Kreg expectantly.
"Who says I'll be advanced to knight?" Kreg rubbed his chin. Now that the fight was over it had begun to ache.
"All of Kaila's squires become knights," the boy called Bertan said. "Except those that died, but the King made them knights too."
The other pages laughed at the young man's statement. One of them jabbed the young man in the shoulder. "And you'd be one that died."
Kreg felt a chill at those words. He could not help but wonder how many of Kaila's squires had died in service, and how young. To the young man, he said, "It may be some time yet."
"But you slew a krayt!" The boy's eyes grew round. "And if your plan wins this battle today..."
"But it's not my plan," Kreg said. "And as for the krayt, I was lucky."
The boy grinned slyly. "As may be. Will you speak to her for me?"
"All right," Kreg said. "Why not? What's your name?"
"Bertan," he said. "Bertan the Valiant."
Kreg smiled at that. "Well, Bertan the Valiant, I will tell Kaila that you are an outspoken young man who delays people who have business with the King."
"Oh!" Bertan gasped, chagrined. "I'm sorry. He's on the roof, so he can see the battle. Just go inside. There's a ladder."
Kreg patted Bertan on the shoulder as he entered the building. Behind him, he heard the other pages teasing Bertan. Kreg grinned.
The odor of old manure, rotting hay, and worm-eaten wood assaulted Kreg's nose. He waited the few moments necessary for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.
A ladder leaned against the far wall where a rough-chopped hole gaped in the roof. The ladder appeared unlikely to support his weight, but if the King, with his larger frame, had come this way, then Kreg could manage.
Marek spoke as Kreg poked his head up through the hole. "Kreg," his voice was stern, "we have enemies at our gates. Now is not the time to quarrel among ourselves."
Pushing himself to his feet on the rooftop, Kreg could see that the King had a commanding view of the place where he and Dahren had fought.
"Sorry, Your Majesty."
"Aye, Kreg." Marek's voice softened. "'Twas not your fault. Dahren has always been hot of temper and o'erzealous in defending his honor." He paused then pointed toward the east where a dust cloud grew on the horizon. "I am much concerned. My scouts report that yon army is far larger than I had hoped."
"How large?"
"There are three for every one of my men."
Kreg pursed his lips and thought. Three to one odds? Not good at all.
Marek looked back at Kreg. "Should be retreat and save the chivalry of Aerioch for another day?"
Kreg shook his head. Why was Marek asking him? He said, "I don't think so. Even at three to one, with their tactics and our position, we've still got a good chance. If we retreat now, I think we'll crush any spirit your army has left."
"Aye," Marek said. "It is as I thought."
Kreg shaded his eyes with his hands as he looked to the east. The dust cloud was still distant. "Doesn't look like they'll be here for a while."
"Not until well into the afternoon," Marek said. "So my scouts tell me."
Kreg nodded. "Any guesses on whether they'll attack or wait for morning? For that matter, will they attack at all? Th
ey could pass us. It's not like they have, or need, any supply lines to worry about with us in their rear."
"Methinks they will attack," Marek said. "It has ever been their way when we have met to come immediately to blows."
"Better and better." Kreg allowed himself a spark of hope. "The sun will be in their eyes."
"Aye, Kreg." Marek turned to survey the army. "You have the makings of a great general. You turn our enemy's greatest strengths against him and make our weaknesses into strength. You even show us how to make the very land and sun our ally."
"General? Me?" Kreg took an involuntary step back. "Your Majesty, I'm no leader. Good heavens, if this situation weren't practically tailor-made I'd be at a complete loss."
"As you will." Marek shrugged. "Kaila tells me of similar words from your mouth about your skill with a sword but I just beheld you stand against a peer of the realm and win. But that is for another time, we have yet a wait before the battle."
He shouted at the boys waiting by the entrance to the barn turned command post. "Ho! Have food sent up."
"At once, Majesty." One of the boys, not Bertan, saluted and dashed off.
CHAPTER TEN
Kreg nibbled at the cheese and bread that the page had brought. He was too nervous to be hungry. The sun had passed zenith and begun its descent before the Schahi army first came into view as more than a dust cloud.
Kreg could tell at a glance that the approaching army was far larger than Aerioch's. No surprises there. Worse, discounting the bowmen for the moment, Marek's army was almost half peasant levies, untrained and probably unreliable in combat. Or perhaps not so unreliable. These men were fighting for their farms, their homes, and their families. The Schahi were fighting for...whatever it is that demons fight for.
To the north and somewhat in advance of the oncoming army’s main body marched the Schahi archers, half again as many as Marek's own archers.
Marek shouted to the pages below, "Have ten of the swiftest men-at-arms mount. Send them to spy upon yon army. Warn them that they must not come to blows, but are to watch and bring us word should the Schahi try any trickery."
"Aye, Majesty." Bertan dashed off.
The Hordes of Chanakra (Knights of Aerioch) Page 16