Harald-ARC

by David Friedman

  Two miles south Caralla was holding her own council. In the fading light she could still see the horses of her scouts, tethered just below the top of the next ridge north.

  "Ladies, captain. Nobody killed on either side today, far as we know. Empire spent a day getting from the north shore of the river to the first ridge south. That pace, they get to Markholt by midsummer.

  "Killing people isn't our job, not this week, odds ten to one against. Buy time for Stephen to get his people safe, the King to call up levies, reinforce his holds. Buy it cheap. Look dangerous, stay out of trouble. Lots of almost battles. Questions?"

  Stephen's captain was the first to speak:

  "Your archers can set up on a ridge top, harass the enemy, outrange their archers at the bottom, run when the legions get close. What you did today. We're lancers—province archers are heading for the holds. We hit them, they can hit us. What are we good for?"

  "Part you did today, riding around the far slope of that ridge over there making tracks. They'll know we have heavies, maybe a lot. Make them cautious.

  "One of these days their commander might get impatient, call our bluff. We run, they want to catch us, have to use light cavalry. Get far enough from the legions and their Belkhani heavies, we smash them. Commander slows down again. Drill it tomorrow morning, waiting for Imperials to show up."

  She looked around the circle. Kara, by invitation, was sitting on a stone between two of the captains.

  "Kara. Some here came in after your report. Tell us again what you saw north of the river."

  "Two legions, sixth and seventh, looked like full strength. Belkhani heavies, maybe a thousand. Leatherbacks, more, two thousand at a guess. I don't know where from, not Westkin. Lots of transport—I counted twenty wagons. Mules. More still coming in, wagons and men. The commander's flag looks like a gameboard, blue and gold."

  "Archers? Lights?" That was Stephen's captain.

  "Not in camp."

  One of the Order captains cut in. "The archers are camped by the river. A thousand easy, maybe twice that."

  Caralla spoke slowly: "Not enough."

  "Speaking for myself, rather fewer than more." That was Stephen's man.

  "Last time, eight or nine thousand—and they thought they were coming into a civil war, Andrew's people on their side. This time six or seven. They know we don't have cats—wish to hell I did. Still seems light."

  Kara spoke:

  "The day I watched, two or three cacades came in, two wagons."

  One of the Ladies looked up.

  "The flag is Gavin. He's the First Prince's man. Sixth used to be his."

  Downslope, voices. She recognized one of them, was on her feet when Egil arrived. He stopped, looked at Caralla, sketched the Imperial salute:

  "Egil Haraldsson reporting in, Commander."

  "Idiot. I don't suppose you brought any friends?"

  "Every cat in Eston—two decades. Made enemies of a lot of tavern keepers."

  "Just what I needed. Consider yourself scout commander for Hrolf's army."

  "Uncle's here with an army?"

  "You're it. Two decades. Enough for Father to siege a castle with. Scouts do their job, nobody has to see the rest of the army. Or not. Borrow an octave or two if you need them."

  The next morning Elaina watched, hidden behind brush, as the Imperial army moved out. First the legions, forming up outside their camp, moving most of the way down the slope south, holding. Behind on either side, massed cavalry. A dozen riders moved forward ahead of the legions, rode at a gallop for the ridge where she was hidden. Elaina put the whistle to her mouth, waited.

  They were more than half way up the slope, a hundred yards or so from the ridge, when she blew, dropped the whistle, put arrow to string. Beside her Kara loosed. Along the ridge the rest of three octaves were shooting steadily. Two of the cavalrymen fell, a third was thrown by his wounded horse. The rest wheeled, rode back out of range, back to their army.

  Now the legions were moving again, down the slope, up towards the ridge. Behind them archers were forming up. Kara shot high, over the heads of the advancing heavies. The archers below were shooting back, mostly short. Cavalry moved to the bottom of the slope, formed up, more waited above, just below the ridge the legions had camped on. Elaina blew again, two short blasts, repeated. The two Ladies slithered backwards, came to their feet, ran down to where their horses waited, mounted. Just downslope the rest of their tatave and all of another were waiting, mounted, lances in hand. Elaina rode over to the senior captain.

  "Heavies are formed up at the bottom, legions half way, archers behind them. More heavies still by the camp."

  More whistles blew. The two tataves rode south down the slope, up the next, to where the rest of their sisters were setting up pavises. Behind them two thousand heavy infantry moved slowly uphill towards an empty ridge.

  * * *

  Gavin, watching, turned to Kyro:

  "Twenty to one it's a bluff. If they're going to make a fight, they'll wait until we're deeper in. We can use the practice."

  As the legions approached the ridge, trumpets sounded. In the front rank, shields and javelins. In the second, the long spears came down. At a half run they hit the ridge, stopped there. A rider came back to the command group, sitting its horses downhill from the legionary camp.

  "Sir. Ladies, a hundred or so, riding for the next ridge. Looks like shields on top, a fair number. Sixth wants to know what next."

  "Tell him to do it again."

  While the messenger rode back, the rest of the army started forward; by the time the legions had taken the second ridge, cavalry and supply wagons were on the first.

  "Commander wants to know if we take the next one?"

  "No. Wait for the rest of us, throw up field fortifications. Eat."

  The rider saluted, rode back.

  It took more than an hour to shift the army, including the supply wagons, one ridge south to where the legions had been busily throwing up a rectangular earthwork. Once arrived, Gavin stationed half his archers inside the fortification with orders to keep their heads down, sent the legions south against the Order's archers. The cavalry remained in reserve on the southern slope of the ridge. When the legions reached the bottom they stopped to let the remaining archers take up position behind them.

  Caralla, on the southern ridge, signaled; the Ladies started shooting, aiming over the legions for the Imperial archers. The legions started forward; they shifted their target. On the northern ridge, Gavin spoke to the commander of the light cavalry:

  "Half a dozen scouts north to the ridge we just came from; tell them to send back word if they see anything. Two more squads east and west."

  Ivor got the commander's attention.

  "Sir, turtles can take the ridge, but soon as they get close, off the archers go. Turn me loose, over that ridge in a few minutes, ride them down if they try to run. Aren't more than a few hundred of them."

  "A sensible plan if all we are facing are a few hundred Ladies. Risky if they have backup. The Karls field eight times your force in heavy lancers. I can't see over that ridge; can you?"

  "A lot of those lancers are at the other end of the kingdom."

  "It doesn't take all of them. You'll get your chance. Today, tomorrow, maybe next day. Just now, you're here in case those scouts find something that isn't grass."

  Ivor looked skeptical, said nothing.

  Kyro responded.

  "What can they find? The enemy's south of us."

  "That's what we thought last time I came this way. This time, scouts."

  "Last time it was an army of cats. There shouldn't be any cats this side of the mountain, not till the pass opens."

  "Shouldn't be."

  He walked his horse up to the top of the ridge, looked north, pointed.

  "Then again..."

  Six scouts had ridden north; five were coming back at a gallop. Straining his eyes, Kyro could just make out mounted figures on the top of the far ridge.
<
br />   "Ivor."

  "Sir?"

  "I want your men in line facing uphill, far enough back from the ridge so they can't be seen from the far side. Lances ready. If we get very lucky I may have a use for them."

  Gavin dismounted, walked over to the gateway of the earthworks, called in:

  "Gavros! Keep your men down. If you see enemy riders don't shoot till I give the order. Anyone shoots early, I'll hang him."

  The first of the scouts was back, reporting to his officer; Gavin joined them.

  "Tell the Commander."

  "Cats, sir. Top of the ridge. Took out Tomos, rest of us ran for it."

  "How many?"

  "Didn't have time to count, sir. Twenty or thirty, maybe more."

  "What was behind them?"

  "Don't know, sir. Top of the ridge, didn't seem friendly to visitors."

  More scouts rode up, dismounted; one had an arrow in him. None had seen over the ridge. Gavin turned to their commander:

  "Form up behind Ivor. Wait my signal."

  Both cavalry commanders went off, the scouts helped their wounded comrade into the fortification. Kyro looked down at his commander.

  "You're setting a trap. They get close, archers open up on them from cover, heavies break them, lights catch what's left."

  Gavin smiled.

  An hour later, southern ridge taken, trap unsprung, cats invisible save for three or four watching from the far ridge, a single rider came into camp from the west.

  "All of the others, sir; I'm it. Don't know how many there were. We figured five of us could handle one cat. Must have been more in ambush."

  "How far west of here did you run into them?"

  The scout turned, saw the commander, saluted.

  "Three, four miles, sir. We were chasing one of their scouts, trying to see what was behind. He stopped running, started shooting, so we charged. Must have been more in cover."

  Gavin turned to Kyro.

  "Still think I'm being too careful?"

  "No, sir."

  Another hour. Gavin, mounted, unmoving. A rider came over the far ridge, stopped, rode west. The enemy scouts on the ridge followed him.

  "Damn."

  Kyro looked at Gavin; Gavin watched the ridge, said nothing more. A long wait.

  "Gods. They're coming."

  Gavin shook his head.

  Kyro looked again at the ridge to the north. The men pouring over it were on foot. Block formation in the center, irregular masses on each side.

  "Ours?"

  "Tenth legion and friends. The other jaw of my trap. Maybe next time. At least they're bringing the rest of the supplies."

  * * *

  Caralla woke up to voices in the distance, rolled out of her hammock, was on her feet by the time Egil rode up.

  "Evening. Your Ladies are awake."

  "How far off did they spot you?"

  "Over the first ridge all right, two miles west of here, avoiding our friends. This ridge, half a mile west, got challenged."

  "Your half of the battle?"

  "Another legion, lots of Bashkai, wagons, came in early afternoon. Uncle's army is north and west of them. Killed four scouts, drove one back. Your half?"

  "As usual. Last I saw, before we ran, their cavalry was formed up just this side of the ridge facing your way. Archers at the bottom—but I don't think they were all there."

  "Two legions march out of the camp, archers march in, stay down. Uncle attacks. Archers shoot, cavalry charges, third legion comes in from behind. Nice fellow. Good thing Uncle didn't fall for it. Next?"

  "Something new. Be careful; you're all the cats I have. Not that many brothers either. One more day, maybe two, before he calls our bluff. I'm for bed."

  The next day the Ladies again formed up on the ridge south of the Imperial camp. Again two legions came down the ridge, up, archers behind. Again Gavin was disappointed; the cavalry army that might or might not be hiding behind a screen of cats failed to appear in his rear. Nobody got close enough to his field fortifications for the hidden archers—or the hidden legion—to deal with.

  Early the next morning Egil rode into camp, this time from the east, accompanied by most of his force.

  "Cavalry coming. Sweeping east to get behind you."

  "Araina, Kila, sisters off the ridge, back. Everyone mounted, ready to move. 'Laina, Kara, tell Stephen's people, Brand's, break camp fast, we're moving out."

  She turned back to Egil.

  "How many, how soon?"

  "Less than an hour if they use the backside of the next ridge. A thousand Belkhani, two thousand odd leatherbacks somewhere."

  * * *

  Ivor brought his column to a halt on the far side of the ridge, waited for his captains to come up.

  "Enemy should be a mile ahead, two ridges north—maybe some on the ridge between. At a gallop, back side so they can't see us. On my signal wheel, charge north. The turtle boys are coming south. Karls between us. Leatherbacks behind to chase what we miss. Clean up and the damn army can stop crawling.

  "The Karls might have heavies with the archers. A few, we ignore. Lots, we hit them. Watch my signal. Questions?"

  "Cats? Fast as we are and have bows."

  "Last three days we've seen maybe thirty cats. My guess, the rest are on the other side of the mountains keeping Artos awake. The Commander isn't so sure. If the Karls magic two thousand cats out of the grass, run for the legions. No more questions? We move."

  They moved. Ten minutes later he looked right—a plume of smoke a mile or two to the north marked the legion camp. He signaled the troops, wheeled right, started up the slope. Someone yelled "Behind us." For a moment he thought it was the enemy—but they wouldn't be yelling in Belkhani. He turned.

  On the ridge behind, a scattering of mounted men. One of his own was down. An arrow missed. Cats. Ivor fought for calm, won, counted. Fifteen men. A diversion. He signaled again, yelled. The Belkhani charged north, over the ridge and down.

  Below him empty grass, down and up. With luck, the enemy were one ridge further north, about to run from the legions. He signaled again. A thousand lancers plunged down the slope.

  They were halfway there when troops started coming over the ridge— Bashkai lights, then the solid formation of the legions. The trap was empty. Ivor signaled, called to his trumpeter. The line came to a stop. Another call and they were moving again, back the way they had come. The cats might still be there.

  They were. The Belkhani charged. An arrow glanced off Ivor' breast plate. Another past his cheek. Fifteen men—were they all shooting at him? He came over the ridge. Streaming down the other side were hundreds of riders.

  Again calm won over panic—the fleeing riders were light cavalry, not cats. Hard to catch, easy to kill. He yelled to his men, plunged after them. Down the slope, up the next, over the ridge, down, the enemy opening the distance.

  Coming up the next ridge, arrows again—a lot of arrows. Horses and archers at the top of the ridge. He looked left and right—line getting ragged. But this was the finish.

  When he got to the ridge, there was nobody there—the enemy archers, again mounted, were in full flight down the slope. He slowed, stopped, yelled at the men streaming past. Where was his second? A few of his Belkhani saw him, slowed, stopped. Most did not. He turned, looked back down the slope they had come up. Dotted with bodies of men and horses.

  "Anyone have a horn? Blow the damn recall, loud."

  The call rang out. Some of the figures moving up the far slope slowed, turned. Some did not.

  Noise behind him—horns, hooves. Leatherbacks—his own light cavalry—surged up around the clump of heavies.

  "Where the hell are the Karls—killed them all already?"

  Ivor pointed.

  "Running south, half my men after them. They open the range, stop on a ridge top, shoot us, run again. Fast."

  "So are we. How many?"

  "Maybe five hundred."

  The two officers looked at each other. Ivor shook h
is head.

  "Commander won't be happy if you get cut up too."

  "Damn happy if the enemy get smashed. Odds of four to one."

  Ivor hesitated, looked back where the smoke plume still marked the location of the legion's camp, forward at where the track of trampled grass left by the retreating archers and their pursuers slanted up the opposite slope.