Avaera saluted, and Tuorel rode off again with a curt gesture at the standard-bearer. The Iron Guards peeled off from the Ghoeran line, and followed him as he galloped north to confront Gaelin Mhoried’s attack. He didn’t even bother to spare a glance over his shoulder to see how she handled the massive shock of the first Dieman and Haelynite charge.
*****
“ They’re waiting behind the ramparts,” said Boeric, squinting at the Ghoeran earthworks. The sturdy sergeant was serving as Gaelin’s standard-bearer; although his leg still pained him, he refused to sit out the battle.
Gaelin frowned, studying the maze of earthworks that confronted his column. “Well, I didn’t expect Tuorel would just line up his troops for us to shoot down with a few volleys of arrows.”
Lord Anduine, the commander of the Knights Guardian, trotted close to Gaelin. “This could be a damned hard fight, my lord Mhor. Our lads have courage, but I’m not sure if I would ask the best-seasoned troops you could find to attack the siege lines without cover or heavy engines of some kind.”
“We don’t have the luxury of preparing a deliberate attack,” Gaelin replied. “It’s right now, or not at all.”
“I hope you have some kind of plan?”
Gaelin took off his helm for a better view and rode a few steps ahead. His army was lined up four hundred yards shy of the Ghoeran defenses, just outside crossbow range. He could see the Ghoeran soldiers standing on top of their wall, jeering and hooting as they tried to taunt the Mhoriens into a rash attack. The dark walls of Caer Winoene were visible just beyond.
What are our advantages? Gaelin asked himself. We’ve got nearly two thousand archers right here; we’ve got a thousand spearmen; we must outnumber the fellows in those ramparts by a long margin, if Tuorel is facing the Diemans. Now he just had to figure out how to cross the open ground and storm the ramparts without getting his men slaughtered. Gaelin realized he should have thought more about this part of the plan – in retrospect, he should have known it would come down to this.
He glanced up and down the lines at his own men. Many of the farmers and herdsmen were leaning on their bows, or checking the flights on their arrows, and not a few were gazing idly in his direction to see what he would do.
Erin followed him. In a low voice, she asked, “I have some illusions at my command, but I’m not sure what I could do to affect so many.”
“Let’s save your spells for now. I think I know what we can do here.” Abruptly, Gaelin turned back to his officers.
“Gather all our spearmen in the center, and send them to the attack. The archers on either flank will concentrate their fire on the positions the spearmen are going to attack. That’ll keep the Ghoerans down under cover, while our spearmen advance. Then, when our fellows hit the ramparts, we hold our fire. Once the spearmen are in the Ghoeran lines, they’ll keep them busy enough for our archers to advance in turn.”
Lord Anduine weighed Gaelin’s plan. “If I were the Ghoeran commander, I’d hold back a heavy force of some kind as a reserve, a little ways off the dike.”
“We’ll use the Knights Guardian to hit any reserve they have nearby, while the spearmen secure the dike,” Gaelin said. “I’ll lead that contingent myself.”
“My lord Mhor, that will be very dangerous,” Erin said.
“You have no way of knowing what the Ghoerans may have hiding behind those ramparts.”
“Your concerns are noted, Erin,” Gaelin said. “But I’ll not linger in the rear while men are fighting in my name. Herald, pass the orders, if you please.”
The Mhoriens shifted so the Knights Guardian held the center, just behind a broad wedge of militiamen with spears and shields. When everyone was in place, Gaelin gave the orders:
“Spearmen, take the wall. Archers, advance and cover them.”
With a ragged yell, the Mhorien levy surged forward in a disorganized, screaming mass, bunching and thinning as each man made his way forward as best he could. To any military commander’s eye, it must have looked like a disaster – but Gaelin knew that even a line of disciplined troops would break on the earthworks, so the lack of order wasn’t the disadvantage that it seemed. On either side, the archers trotted forward to get into bowshot of the walls.
A hail of arrows and bolts greeted the oncoming tide of spearmen, but as the Mhorien archers came into range, they replied with a barrage of arrows that darkened the sky above the Ghoeran position. Spearmen stumbled and fell, as Ghoeran bolts found them in the surging ranks of the charge, but before the Ghoeran crossbowmen could prepare for a second volley, they were driven from the top of the wall by the storm of Mhorien arrows. Gaelin let the spearmen get within a hundred yards of the wall and then nodded to Anduine. “Lord Knight, let’s get to the walls on the heels of the spearmen.”
“If they’re thrown back, it will go badly for them,” Anduine cautioned. “We’ll trample them under our own hooves.”
“I know. I’m gambling that they won’t be repelled,” Gaelin said. “Let’s go.”
Anduine sounded the charge, and Gaelin joined Blackbrand with the line of Knights Guardian thundering forward toward the lines. He had nothing left in reserve; every man was committed to the attack. Ahead of him, the spearmen waded through the ditch in front of the low earth mound, kicking and knocking down the sharpened stakes on the dike’s face so that the cavalry could follow. As the spearmen struggled up the hillside, the Mhorien archers ceased firing and rushed forward themselves, sprinting toward the battlements with hand axes, knives, and short swords to join the fray.
The first ranks of spearmen made it to the top of the wall before they met any serious resistance. To avoid the deadly sweep of the Mhorien arrows, the Ghoeran troops had retreated to the reverse slope of the dike, and as the fire lifted, the Ghoerans surged back to reclaim the wall. But Gaelin’s stratagem worked. Instead of catching the Mhoriens as they floundered in the staked ditch and soft earth of the dike’s face, the Ghoerans missed their best chance to halt the Mhorien charge and had to meet them on equal footing. As ordered, Gaelin’s spearmen made no attempt to push in from the wall, but instead turned left and right to push sideways and get out of the way of the Knights Guardian.
His trusted sword raised above his head, Gaelin raced Blackbrand down, through, and up the other side of the ditch, swimming through the loose dirt until he struggled up on to the wall top and dropped down the other side. Roaring a challenge, Gaelin led the charge as they crashed into the heavy Ghoeran infantry who were streaming forward to hold the line. In a matter of seconds, Gaelin’s vision of who was where on the field of battle vanished, and he hewed wildly on either side of his saddle.
Blackbrand plowed through dozens of men, trampling them to the ground as Gaelin parried and slashed his way through the press. All around him, the Knights Guardian made short work of the Ghoeran infantry – in a close-quarters fight, there were very few infantry who could stand up to the weight and power of a line of horsemen.
Finding himself in the clear, Gaelin stood and twisted in his saddle to see what was happening. He turned back again just in time to catch the fall of a halberd with his shield and knock it aside, leaning forward to spit the Ghoeran before the fellow could recover from his mighty blow. Gaelin glanced around again, and found several knights were clustered around him, screening him from the fight. The reverse side of the dike was a gigantic, muddy brawl as the Ghoeran defenders found themselves in hand-to-hand combat with the Mhorien archers, who now streamed up and over the wall to join the fray. While the Ghoerans were better troops, the unexpected attack on their reserve had prevented an effective counterattack, and now weight of numbers and sheer hard fighting would decide the issue.
“Anduine!” Gaelin shouted. “Take half the knights and ride left. I’ll go right, and we’ll help out with the melee!”
Anduine’s helmet bobbed up and down, and the old commander drove his men along the base of the dike, riding down the knots of Ghoerans who waited to join the fray.
&
nbsp; Gaelin took his own knights and did the same, riding in the other direction. Embattled on three sides, the Ghoerans were pushed off the ramparts and into the no-man’s-land between their two lines of defense. Here, on the flat and open ground between the earthworks, they closed ranks and began to hold their ground with more discipline, while Gaelin’s disorganized levy suddenly found themselves facing troops experienced in close-order fighting. The attack began to stall, and Gaelin growled in frustration. They were so close!
“My lord Mhor! Look!” Boeric was leaning over to point at Caer Winoene. Even as Gaelin watched, the green and white emblem of Mhoried was run proudly up the highest flagpole, announcing his return. With a great peal of trumpets and a thunderous shout, a thousand pikemen surged up and out of the Mhorien defenses to attack the Ghoerans from the re a r. The inward-facing trenches had been nearly abandoned in order to meet the attack of Gaelin’s militiamen, and Baesil’s infantry swept over the Ghoeran lines without breaking stride.
While Baesil’s men engaged the Ghoerans, Ulmaeric sounded the withdrawal to break his archers free of the hand-to-hand combat and managed to form up several companies of bowmen to menace the Ghoeran position. Now embattled on all sides, with archers in easy range to rake the center of their formation, the Ghoerans broke and retreated to the east, circling Caer Winoene as they were channeled away by their own ramparts. Gaelin’s exuberant forces pursued them closely, and as they swept around the castle, they rolled up the Ghoeran siege lines.
“Your timing is perfect, my lord Mhor!” Count Baesil rode up, surrounded by a small guard of cavalrymen. “I’m glad to see you again, that’s for certain.”
“Baesil!” Gaelin leaned over to embrace the old count, thumping his gauntleted fist on the other man’s back.
“Thanks for the help. I don’t know if we could have finished them without your sortie.”
“It’s not over yet. There’s one hell of a fight about a mile south of here. The better part of Ghoere’s army is down that way, engaging the Diemans and the Haelynites. Good timing for your allies, too, by the way.”
Gaelin looked off toward the south, but the castle and its attendant fortifications prevented him from catching even a glimpse of Vandiel’s fray. “Baesil, the Diemans are just trying to hold on until they get some help. How many men can you sortie toward the Ghoeran camp, and how soon?”
“I can throw fifteen hundred cavalry at him right now, followed by a thousand mixed troops. That’ll only leave me five hundred to hold the castle, if things go poorly.”
“If things go poorly, it won’t matter how long we hold Caer Winoene. Get them ready, and bring every man you can spare.” Gaelin looked around at the streaming mass of his militiamen and shook his head. “It’ll be a miracle if I can get these lads back into fighting order before sundown. Ulmaeric, pass the word. Tell your officers to lead the militiamen to the south side of the castle and assemble them on the open field. I want them ready to march on the Ghoeran camp in half an hour.”
Ulmaeric’s jaw dropped. “Half an hour? It can’t be done.”
“We’ll do it anyway,” Gaelin declared. “Now pass the orders, and follow me.” With Boeric holding his standard high, Gaelin spurred Blackbrand in a rapid canter, circling the castle’s defenses. “Men of Mhoried! Follow me!”
Although they were little more than a mob, the Mhorien levy slowly began to surge after Gaelin, following in his wake. A number pursued the broken remnants of the Ghoerans, but everywhere Gaelin passed, the Mhoriens raised a cheer and ran after him, by twos and threes and dozens. On the southern side of Caer Winoene, Gaelin led them out over the Ghoeran dike and halted, giving his officers a chance to rally the shouting mob. Ahead of him, a half-mile across the trampled nomads land before the castle, he could see the tents, palisades, and siege engines of the Ghoeran camp. And beyond the camp, he could see the flash of steel in the distance, and he felt the thunderous shock of the armies clashing. Impatiently, he danced Blackbrand across the line, shouting orders and encouragement to the militiamen, directing them to one standard or the other to rebuild their organization.
“What next, Gaelin?” asked Erin, riding close. Her eyes burned with a fierce flame, and her long rapier was red with blood.
“We’ll let the spearmen pillage the camp, while I’ll lead the archers past the camp to come on Tuorel’s army from the rear.
We’ve got to draw some of the pressure away from the Diemans.”
He struck his fist against his armored thigh. “Damn! We need more time!”
“The militiamen are recovering as fast as they can. You’re almost ready to advance again.”
“Haelyn help us if Tuorel’s had time to break the Diemans,” Gaelin said. He pulled his gaze away from the battle and met her eyes. A chill of apprehension seized his heart – there was so much that could still go wrong. He moved closer and lowered his voice. “Erin, I beg you: Stay here, in the castle.
The battle ahead of us is going to make the last fight look like a friendly tavern scrap. I want to know you’re safe.”
To his surprise, she nodded soberly. “All right. I don’t want to distract you. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll try,” he said, hoping that his visored helm would conceal the lie. Somehow, he doubted Tuorel would allow him the luxury of caution.
Chapter Twenty
Tuorel brought his Iron Guard to the edge of his camp, and peered toward Caer Winoene. Amazingly, his scouts reported that Gaelin’s rabble of yeomen and farmers had stormed the lines and broken the forces he’d left behind to maintain the siege. Now the Mhor was reassembling his army to continue the advance, into the Ghoeran camp and on to the southern battle beyond.
Beside him, War Chieftain Kraith sat on his black-armored hellsteed, a massive battle-axe slung over one shoulder. The goblin watched the Mhoriens rallying, and leaned over to spit into the mud. “We should take them while they’re mustering,” he growled. “They’re not ready to fight anyone yet.”
“We’ll wait,” Tuorel grunted. “If we show ourselves too soon, they’ll retreat back to the cover of the castle defenses, and you don’t want to chase that many archers into the siege lines.” He nodded behind him at the titanic struggle that still continued on the dusty plain south of the camp. “Gaelin knows his allies are overmatched, and he’ll be desperate to bring his army into that fray. He’ll come to us.”
Kraith waited impatiently. “Well, they’ll be in for the Gorgon’s own surprise when they attack your camp, Tuorel. I’ve got four thousand fighters hidden back here.” He smiled grimly. “Although it’s awful tempting not to sack your camp ourselves, as long as we’re here.”
Tuorel smiled cheerlessly. “I don’t think your master would like that.”
The goblin warlord narrowed his eyes. He settled for a mean-spirited gibe in reply: “He’s your master, too, Anuirean.
Why else would my warriors be at your command?
And how would your loyal soldiers feel if they knew the name of the power you serve, heh?”
“I suspect I stand high in his favor, Kraith.”
“Aye, but we’ve served Raesene for five centuries. When your kingdom’s blown away in the wind, we’ll still be his servants.”
The goblin straightened in his saddle, and pointed at the distant band of Mhoriens. “They’re moving.”
“That was quick,” Tuorel said, surprised. “It can’t be a levy.
Could Gaelin have disguised regular troops?”
“Why would he do that?”
Tuorel chose not to answer, although his mind was working furiously to unravel the puzzle. Gaelin’s head for strategy was extraordinary. Tuorel had heard of blooded scions who manifested uncanny gifts of strategy and battle-wits. The Mhoried line was descended from Anduiras, the ancient god of war.
“Where did he learn his skill at command?” Tuorel wondered aloud. “Gaelin’s proved to be a much more able leader than I ever thought he would be.”
Kraith sm
iled. “We have a saying in Markazor, Tuorel. ‘It takes fire to make steel.’ You’ve taught him everything you know about warfare, and he’s survived and learned. Why are you surprised he’s learned your lessons so well?”
Tuorel snorted. “Spare me your goblin platitudes, Kraith.”
He turned to one of the knight commanders nearby and asked, “How does the southern engagement go?”
“At last report, the issue is still in doubt, my lord. Captain Avaera feels that she can wear down the Diemans, given time.”
“Baehemon would have routed them by now,” Tuorel snapped. “Very well. Kraith, we must prevent Gaelin from reinforcing Vandiel’s army. Between your warriors and my own Iron Guard, I believe we have sufficient force to slaughter Gaelin’s sortie, and we’ll attack when we know they can’t retreat back to the castle.”
“Fine,” Kraith replied. “Just let me know when you want to unleash my fighters.”
“One more thing. You will instruct your commanders to leave the Mhorien standard alone. Above all, you must not engage Gaelin’s escort, not unless he tries to flee the field. I and my Iron Guard will attack the Mhor’s standard.”
“That may be difficult for my warriors,” Kraith grated.
“I don’t care.” Tuorel drew his sword from its sheath, and laid the gleaming blade across his saddle. “Gaelin Mhoried must fall by my hand and no other.”
*****
It wasn’t pretty, but Gaelin assembled the levied bowmen and spearmen in something resembling their original formations.
The Haelynite soldiers were indispensable; with at least one or two of the Knights Templar in each band of Mhorien militia, they were able to position themselves roughly where Gaelin wanted them. The Knights Guardian of Gaelin’s bodyguard were now surrounded by nearly a thousand of Baesil’s cavalry, and the spearmen were led by hundreds of trained and armed Mhorien infantry. Despite the heavy fighting around the Ghoeran siege lines, Gaelin was able to build a column of nearly three thousand men to continue his attack.
The Falcon and The Wolf Page 35