Swords of the Horseclans

by Robert Adams

  Sergeant Crusos was very glad that, like his detail, he was still facing out into the dark, so broad was his grin. Someone had finally told off the supercilious swine! He was still grinning when the arrow buried itself in his chest.

  The pikemen and torch bearers never had a chance and their few gasps of surprise or agony could not have been heard in the camp a hundred yards distant. As for Staff-Lieutenant Foros, he was still red-faced and spluttering, too outraged even to speak, when Tomos’ hard-swung saber took off his ugly head.

  Two thousand horsemen swept into the sleeping camp. Sabers slashed tent ropes and arrows pin-cushioned the heaving canvases before torches were tossed onto them. The guards at the commander’s pavilion died messily, under lance and dripping sword blade. The Vahrohnos Martios, too besotted to even draw steel, was split from shoulder to breastbone by Chief Hohlt’s broadsword. Knots of two or three grim riders fanned out after the initial charge, ruthlessly shooting or lancing or slashing at any figure afoot, while select details put the torch to wagons or looted useful supplies and hastily packed them on captured horses and mules.

  When he had seen the pack train well on its way, Tomos tapped his bugler’s shoulder and the recall was sounded, while the Vawn mindcalled his Horseclansmen. The bugler had to repeat his notes three times, ere the raiders ceased of riding down screaming, weaponless foemen and reassembled. By that time, long columns of torches could be seen approaching from both south and east.

  As the last of the exhausted, blood-soaked, but exultant horsemen headed back toward the mountains, Tomos, Hohlt, and the Vawn surveyed the fiery, gory acres that had been camp to four thousand pikemen.

  “We’d better get back and prepare the main passes,” remarked Tomos conversationally. “Picking off scouts or stragglers is one thing, but for the morale of the rest of his army, Zastros is going to have to send retaliatory columns after us.”

  And they rode off in the wake of their men.

  * * *

  Milo’s huge castra was already too small for the heterogeneous forces that were still responding. Almost every principality in the Middle Kingdoms was represented, though only one other had been able to match in size the forces of Harzburk and Pitzburk. The Princes’ Council of Eeree had dispatched some thousand mounted axmen and sent word that five thousand heavy infantry were on the march. And Milo might have begun to entertain thoughts of meeting Zastros in open battle, were it not for that ambiguous prophecy.

  Sitting alone in his pavilion, the volume of his private journal that contained the list of prophecies open before him, Milo shook his head slowly. Old Harri had been amazingly accurate in predicting future events, but the High Lord would be far happier if the man of powers had worded his forewarnings less bardically and more specifically.

  The hosts of the south will come in due time,

  Led by two bodies that share but one mind.

  But hold well, God-Milo, cross not the river,

  And the tribe, from ancient evil, deliver.

  So he refused all blandishments of his captains and his allies to erect any sort of serious fortifications south of the bridge, though he did authorize a scattering of the more suicidally inclined troops to establish and occupy small strong points, with orders to retreat in the face of any really determined opposition . . . if they could.

  Captain Portos had proved a goldmine of information. First, in the matter of the elephants, Zastros had only eight of the beasts, two of which were being used for nothing more martial than to draw his huge headquarters wagon. Portos had served both against and with the big animals and he assured Milo that, while they had been trained to use their long, immensely strong noses to hurl stones and darts, and while their charge could crumple any formation of pikemen or other infantry, they were relatively useless against fortified positions. Nor, he went on, were they so large or so invulnerable as rumor had it; Zastros’ elephants, averaged between twenty-two and twenty-six hands at the withers, not all of them had tushes, and those that did seldom used the three- to four-foot protuberances in fighting, rather lifting men and hurling them to earth with their serpentine noses or trampling them. The menace of fire set them wild, as did sudden loud noises.

  Second, Portos knew he was not the only noble reduced to destitution by the long period of war. Those who still owned their lands would much rather be trying to bring them back to a state of productivity; instead, they were tramping across bare, burned fields and worrying about the welfare of any family they had left. Zastros’ “regular“ army was minuscule — perhaps a thousand men, perhaps less — and most of his huge, unwieldy host were privately raised and financed warbands. Few were armed or uniformed alike, they differed widely in habits and customs, and, though Zastros had had his staff group them into ten-thousand-man divisions having the proper proportions of cavalry and light infantry and pikemen, these arbitrary units seldom marched together, and if Zastros expected them to form battle lines together, he was the only one.

  And, when Milo wondered aloud one day how he could prevent the hotheaded and mutually hostile noblemen of Pitzburk and Harzburk from each others’ throats until the battle was joined, Portos laughed until he was gasping.

  “My High Lord, you have but two warbands at each others’ throats. King Zastros is afflicted constantly with actual scores. That is how he became King, you know; it was not that the great Thoheeksee hated Zastros less, but that they hated one another more!”

  * * *

  When first he heard of the massacre of Martios and most of his pikemen, Strahteegos Thoheeks Glafkos went about his duties wearing a wide smile and few could recall ever having seen him so congenial. Then the accursed order had arrived from the High King, commanding him and what was left of his ten thousand to pursue the raiders and “avenge the murder of your brother, Martios.”

  Now, Glafkos had nothing against those raiders. He could only have wished that they had slain that sneak-thief bastard, Martios, considerbly more slowly and painfully; further, had he ever even suspected that any degree of kinship existed betwixt him and the late Vahrohnos, he would have been strongly tempted to fall on his sword.

  Nonetheless, since he had sworn his oaths to High King Zastros, he sent his squadron of cavalry out on a wide front to scout the raiders’ trails, then broke camp and marched most of his light infantry and all of his archers toward the mountains. That night, at his marching-camp headquarters, the cavalry captain, his cousin, gave him the bad news: the three main passes, into which had led the trails of the raider columns, were blocked by rockslides. Weeks of work would be required to clear them and the workers would be constantly in danger from the cliffs on either side; however, certain of his scouts had found a couple of smaller passes that seemed to lead in the general direction, as well as a dry stream bed that was rough going for horses, but might serve for the passage of infantry.

  Captain Vikos thrust out his dusty, booted legs, leaned back in his camp chair, and took a deep pull of his wine cup before continuing. “But, esteemed cousin, do not expect any advance to be cheap or easy, please. The scouts noted some cave mouths and a number of points that could be easily defended by a few good men. So if you do succeed in running the enemy to earth, you may well discover you have a treecat by the tail.”

  The chunky, graying Strahteegos cradled his cup in his big, square hands and nodded sagely. “Oh, I never dreamed that this little campaign would be a picnic, cousin. Personally, I think it’s an asinine waste of time and men, but we settled on Zastros to replace King Chaos. If we thoheeksee don’t obey him, who will?”

  Vikos emptied his cup and sat up to refill it, then leaned back again, shrugging. “Well, cousin, this is as good a place to die as any, I suppose. If you decide to try all three ways at once, you’ll have to proceed without cavalry on that stream bed.”

  “I’ll be proceeding without cavalry, period,” Glafkos bluntly informed him. “I know a little bit about fighting in mountains, as you may recall, cousin. Every warm body in my force will be go
ing in afoot, officers, too. I’ll be establishing a base camp midway between the two passes; your squadron will guard it. You’ll also be responsible for keeping us supplied and for relaying any orders the High King sends. And keep a tight security on the camp, cousin. Komees Portos was no puling babe, yet his squadron was apparently wiped out, and you saw what passed with that devil-spawn, Martios.”

  “Never fear.” The handsome Vikos smiled. “I’ll have a care for my neck; but you have a care for yours, cousin. Don’t forget, we’re the last two men of our house.”

  “Yes, there’s that, too.” Glafkos slid a sealed oilskin pouch across to Vikos. “Should I not come out of those mountains, in the body, open that. It contains documents — all properly signed, witnessed, and sealed — assigning you my legal heir, with full claim to all my lands, cities, mines, and titles. As Thoheeks, you will of course take command of whatever these mountain-men leave of our warband. Should our High King refuse to confirm your military status, simply take the men and go back home; you swore oaths only to me, not him.

  “Honestly, cousin, were it not for my oaths, I’d have been on the march south long since. I’ve a feeling that this entire venture is ill-starred. The army is far too large and the High King is draining the kingdom white to keep it supplied. Nor am I alone in my feelings, cousin. Many of my peers are of such mind, and if the High King meets with any major reverses or gets bogged down some way, there’ll be more warbands marching south than north. Mark you my words.”

  The third day after their conversation, the first column returned, bearing with them the body of Thoheeks Glafkos, who — nearly fifty, and climbing a steep grade under a pitiless sun in half-armor — had suddenly dropped in his tracks, dead. Having no means of preserving the already decomposing body, nor wishing to inter his cousin’s husk in foreign soil, Vikos had a pyre constructed and formally cremated the former commander.

  Then he gathered the noble officers in his late cousin’s pavilion and unsealed the pouch. With no hesitation, every officer took oaths to him, both civil and military. As these men were representative of the leading citizens of the duchy, this made Vikos thokeeks, in fact, requiring only the High King’s approval of his military rank.

  This, Zastros refused to do; citing Vikos’ “youth“ and “inexperience.” He designated a soft-handed, foppish staff-officer the new commander of the division. It was at that moment that Thoheeks Vikos made his decision.

  On the way back to the base camp, he stopped long enough to collect all of the men and animals Glafkos had left with the main army. At the base camp, where the badly mauled second column had at last returned, he called another officers’ meeting and explained his intentions, offering to release the oaths of any who wished to remain in Karaleenos. There were no takers, so Thoheeks Vikos, his officers, and his men marched south the next morning.

  * * *

  At last, nearly three months after it crossed into Karaleenos, the vast hosts of the Southern Kingdom reached the south bank of the Luhmbuh River. Harassment, disease, and desertion had cost them almost forty thousand warriors, but, including the camp followers, there were still nearly two hundred thousand souls in the string of encampments that soon were erected.

  Milo ordered the Horseclansmen and Tomos Gonsalos’ cavalry back to the castra, though he left the Maklaud, a few picked mindspeakers, and all the cats in the mountains, where the great felines would be of far more service. The mountaineers and swampers were to maintain a steady pressure upon the vital supply lines, pick off scouts, small patrols, sentries, and stragglers, and conduct raids on Zastros’ flanks and rear areas, if conditions seemed favorable.

  Ten feet south of the north bank, the bridge had been solidly blocked with a granite wall twelve feet high, and tapering in the rear from a six-foot base to a three-foot top. Just off the bridge, on either side of the road, were huge siege-engines, each capable of throwing an eighty-pound boulder the length of the bridge; and, atop the wall, were three engines casting six-foot spears with sufficient force to split the biggest horse, end to end.

  The High Lord had made good use of his time and resources. From above the western ford to the fringes of the eastern fens, along the northern bank of the river, small strong points of rammed earth and timber marked every half mile and each sheltered a handful of Horse-clansmen and maiden-archers; additionally, the track above the floodline saw regular, heavily armed patrols. Well hidden in the secret waterways of the Luhmbuh’s delta were thirty-seven biremes and nearly four thousand of Lord Alexandros’ pirates.

  * * *

  Strahteegos Thoheeks Grahvos of Mehseepolis keh Eepseelospolis, Vahrohnos Mahvros of Lohfospolis, and Vahrohnos Neekos of Kehnooryospolis were spotted when their mounts first put hooves to the pinelog roadbed Milo had had constructed over the old stones of the bridge. By the time they had completed their slow progess to the north, the High Lord and King Zenos were atop the wall to greet them.

  They had come, announced Grahvos, to discuss the terms of Lord Milo’s surrender. Milo courteously suggested that his pavilion might be a more comfortable setting for any discussions and, upon Grahvos’ assent, several brawny troopers lowered a bosun chair and drew the three noblemen onto the wall.

  Fresh mounts awaited them on the north bank. Then, Milo and his guards led the emissaries on a wide swing, giving them a good look at the camps of well-armed, well-disciplined troops, at a horizon-long wagon train of supplies and at the bristling defenses of the castra.

  When the three guests had been seated and wine had been served, Grahvos cleared his throat and asked bluntly, “How many men do Your Majesties command here?”

  Milo chuckled. “You’re a direct man, aren’t you, Lord Grahvos? I’ll be equally candid. I don’t know, not exactly . . . though I can get the answer from my staff. In the camps you’ve seen and in some you haven’t, I’d estimate a total fighting force in the neighborhood of one hundred thousand, perhaps a few thousand more.”

  “Then why,” demanded the Thoheeks, “are Your Majesties’ forces cowering behind walls and rivers? Why not meet us in open combat? True, we have a few more troops than you, overall, but you’ve the edge on us in cavalry.”

  Milo shrugged. “My reasons are my own, Lord Grahvos. Suffice it to say that I have no intention of meeting in an open combat . . . not until I’ve bled you here for a while. You see, I have more troops arriving daily. How many reinforcements can your lord call up?”

  Grahvos avoided the question. “Your Majesties, the High King has no desire for a battle himself. He has empowered me to speak for him in saying this: if Your Majesties will join forces with him, you may retain both your lands and your titles . . .”

  “Be Zastros’ lickspittle in my own kingdom?” interjected Zenos. “No, thank you, my lord!”

  “Then we’ll crush you.” Grahvos sounded confident, but a brief scan of the man’s surface thoughts showed Milo much confusion.

  “Brave words,” said the High Lord gravely. “Spoken by a man of proven bravery; but your position is untenable for long, Lord Grahvos . . . and I’m sure you know it.

  “Your army has no boats, and you saw how solid is the wall blocking the bridge. We got those stones by destroying the only ford between here and the mountains. Of course, you could fell trees and try rafting. My catapult crews would be most gratified to see such an attempt . . . they’d also like to see an attempt to build a floating bridge, if you had that in mind.

  “No, Lord Grahvos, your king sits at the end of a very long and most tenuous supply line, deep into hostile territory. His army has already suffered the loss of thousands by the activities of our partisans. Entire units have deserted and marched back to your homeland and, I understand, camp fever has incapacitated more thousands. It might occur to your king to send for his navy.”

  Grahvos started. That very thought had been on his mind.

  Milo grated. “Forget that thought and persuade your king to do likewise. I had hulks towed from Kehnooryos Atheenahs and scuttled in the
channel just west of the Lumbuh delta. There is but the one channel and your dromonds could never negotiate it . . . now.

  “The longer you sit on the south bank, Lord Grahvos, the higher will be your losses — more men and units will desert, more will be ambushed or killed in raids, more and more will die of disease. Any attempt to cross the river, by any of your available means, will be fatal to the troops employed.”

  And it was, to almost all of them.

  The first . . . and last . . . assault was launched just after the next day’s dawning. First onto the bridge came two elephants, sheathed from head to foot in huge plates of thick armor that turned the six-foot darts as though they had been blunt children’s arrows. A sixty-pound boulder struck a massive headplate with a clang heard the length of the bridge, but the beast halted only long enough to trumpet his pain and displeasure, then came slowly on. It was then that Milo gave the order to fire the bridge.

  The undersides of the logs making up the new roadbed had been thickly smeared with pitch and the interstices packed with tarred oakum and other inflammable substances and the first firearrow began a conflagration which, aided by a fortunate wind, was soon sweeping south, preceded by smoke from the green wood.

  The elephants, scenting the oncoming danger, first tried to turn, then to back away, only to be met by countless spear points. Finally, with the fire a bare five feet distant, the eastward elephant splintered the heavy rail and plunged into the river, sinking like a stone. Given room, the other spun about and plowed through the close-packed troops, leaving a wake of mangled flesh and crushed bone.

  Miraculously, the other elephant came plodding out of the river onto the north bank, just downstream of the siege-engine emplacement. Milo tried to mindspeak the animal . . . and was surprised when he succeeded.

  After a short period of wordless mental soothing, he asked, “What are you called, sister?”