Siege of Tarr-Hostigos k-4

by John F. Carr

  Phidestros watched through the farseer in amazement as one troop of silver-scaled cavalry advanced obliquely on one of Kalvan's mobile field pieces. Ignoring heavy musket fire, the Kataphracti (as Zarphu called them) threw javelins at the gunners who were trying desperately to slew the gun around. The Kataphracti were the Ros-Zarthani light cavalry and each one carried a sword and four javelins. He watched as the forward regiment threw flight after flight of javelins at the Hostigi gunners, finally killing most of them and forcing the rest to retreat under a hail of spears. Moments later the Kataphracti dismounted and, despite heavy musket fire, destroyed the wheels of the artillery carriages with sledgehammers and set the carriages on fire with turpentine.

  Phidestros hooted with amazement as he watched Kalvan's gunners turn tail and run!

  A guard unit of halberdiers countercharged the Kataphracti and were sent scattering by a squadron of the Ros-Zarthani heavy cavalry, the Klibanophoru. The Klibanophoru wore scaled armor, as did their horses, and fought with bows as well as lances. A nearby gun took out half-a-dozen Klibanophoru, but they quickly regrouped and charged the firing gun. This artillery piece was much closer to the Hostigi forward line and the charging Ros-Zarthani disappeared into a churning sea of muskets and halberds never to reappear.

  By Styphon's Beard, maybe we can win this battle!

  "How fares Styphon's Battle, Captain-General?" a familiar rasping voice asked.

  He turned to face Archpriest Roxthar with three of his white-robed Investigators and a score of red-caped Temple Guardsmen.

  "Grand Master Soton told me you would not be interfering in this battle, Your Holiness."

  Phidestros could hear the sound of Roxthar's grinding teeth over the battle clamor.

  "I am not here in an advisory position, Captain-General, but only to witness Styphon's great triumph." His eyes told a different story.

  Keeping his temper under tight rein-after all, it did not pay to antagonize the most powerful priest in Styphon's House-Phidestros bit his tongue. "As Styphon Wills. We here are but his tools against the Usurper Kalvan and his minions." Took he thought to himself, who will fight much better and more effectively if they don't have to deal with fools in white bedsheets.

  The Investigator gave him a look as though he could see behind Phidestros' eyes and read his thoughts. "Captain-General we will stay here to watch the battle's progress while you deal with the unbelievers. We wish you great success in Our endeavor."

  Phidestros nodded.

  "What is happening to the Holy Squares?"

  Phidestros saw the Holy Squares, the Royal troops of Great King Cleitharses, of the left wing begin to buckle as a mass of Hostigi pikemen pushed them aside. Where did these pikemen come from? Didn't Kalvan disband his pike units for musketeers'? That's what Baron Sthentros and Lysandros' intelligencers claimed.

  Then he caught sight of the infantry flags; these were Kalvan's Princely levy, not his Royal regiments. The cavalry who were supposed to support the flanks of the Holy Squares were being chased from the battlefield by Kalvan's heavy horse, leaving behind the unprotected infantry. He would have Marshal Zythannes' head on a pike before this day was over!

  "You must do something!"

  "This is High Marshal Zythannes' doing. See his flag there? He's turned his tail to the Hostigi!"

  Roxthar let forth with a string of curses that would have been the glory of any veteran petty-captain. "Are you going to let this coward give Kalvan the field of battle?"

  For a moment Phidestros toyed with the idea of ordering the Royal Lancers to charge over this mass of human excrement but squelched it. "No. Nor am I going to commit my reserve when they may be needed elsewhere. Look over there!"

  Phidestros pointed to where three of Kalvan's guns were being overrun by the Ros-Zarthani Klibanophoru. A big band of Hostigi cavalry rode up to protest and the two units disappeared in a swirl of smoke and dust.

  IV

  Rylla watched with growing anxiety as the scaled horsemen overran three more field guns. Now their heavy infantry was approaching the Hostigi lines. She was more than tempted to run the reserve down the hill to plug the line, but would Kalvan approve? What was it he had told her this morning:

  "If one side or the other doesn't blow it during the first few candles, then whoever can hold their reserve the longest will probably take the field."

  "Look at that!" Sarrask of Sask cried out.

  Rylla looked down to see that Phrames-at long last!-had sent the Royal horse out front to deal with the heavy barbarian cavalry. She watched as the Third Regiment of Horse smashed into several squadrons of very heavy Ros-Zarthani cavalry. At close range the Hostigi horsepistols decimated the barbarian heavy cavalry. For a while it looked as if the Ros-Zarthani cavalry were about to break, then the Hostigi troopers expended their guns.

  On foot the long horsepistols could be primed and loaded in a fortieth of a candle. But in the midst of a melee on horseback that time could be multiplied by ten or twenty, which was why most troopers carried all the pistols they could beg, buy, or steal and stuck them into saddle holsters, sashes, and boots. In the rear ranks some would have time to re-load and shoot again, but in the front ranks, pressed horse to horse with friend and foe, a saber or pistol butt were the only weapons they could use.

  With the ranks closed, the barbarian heavy armor became an important factor, where a man sometimes couldn't find room to lift his sword arm. Suddenly it was the Hostigi cavalry that appeared to be giving way.

  Rylla was about to send down a regiment of dragoons to reinforce them when she heard the sound of gunfire from behind Hostigi lines. She turned from her vantage point at the top of the hill to see fighting around the baggage train. Camp followers, men, women and children, were scurrying every which way.

  "It's Harmakros' Sastragathi!" Sarrask shouted, pointing at the attacking horsemen. "The Styphon-spawned buggers are attacking our baggage train!"

  "Dralm damn them!" she said, when she saw they were wearing Hostigi colors. Without Duke Harmakros here to lead them, his Sastragathi light cavalry had been restive, some had deserted and more than a few had been hung for horse stealing or disobeying orders. To turn allegiance in the midst of battle was the kind of tactic these barbarians cut their teeth on.

  She should have anticipated something like this! Kalvan hadn't lived here long enough to really understand barbarian ways.

  Rylla soundly cursed herself and Sastragathi nomads in general until she realized she was wasting precious time. Form ranks? "Sound, the trumpets. Charge!"

  Rylla followed the charge from the rear surrounded by her bodyguard as she had promised Kalvan. Prince Sarrask led from the front, with a score of his Princely Bodyguard, followed by the Hostigos Horse. The dragoons were in the rear and dismounted as soon as they reached the baggage train and began to shoot their arquebuses and rifles.

  The traitorous Sastragathi scattered like seeds in the wind before the heavier Hostigi cavalry, but those burdened down by food, blankets, and coins were quickly run to the ground. The dragoons took a fearful toll of the Sastragathi until the raiders were out of gun range.

  Rylla was busy trying to reform the dragoons and to assess the damage to the camp when Prince Sarrask rode up like a madman with his horse blown and all lathered up. "Queen Rylla! It was a ruse! These are not our Sastragathi."

  "What do you mean, ruse?"

  "Petty-captain Zarnos, a former Blethan mercenary, was examining some of the Sastragathi prisoners when he heard them talk in the Sastragathi tongue of the Blethan border! He checked their saddlebags and found other items of Blethan origin."

  "Blethan? You mean we were tricked!"

  "Yes, these Sastragathi are Blethan auxiliaries draped in our colors. By Styphon's Brass Balls, I fell for it too!"

  "Don't blame yourself, we all share the guilt. How long will it take you to reform the Hostigi horse?"

  "About half of them are well on their way to Hostigos Town, the rest I can call in about a candle
. Curse and blast it!"

  "Recall everyone you can and meet me on the other side of the hill. I'll take the dragoons and the Queen's Lifeguard. I have to know what's been going on in our absence."

  Sarrask ground his teeth, then dismounted, jumped on a fresh horse, and took off with the nearest trumpeter, his Bodyguard galloping behind.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Stratego Dono wheeled up to Arch-Stratego Zarphu and saluted. He paused to remove his silver facemask. "Arch-Stratego, I believe we have now crippled enough firetubes to call for a general advance."

  Zarphu turned as a firetube exploded in a burst of light, rocking the front lines. It was useful to know the Hostigi would blow their own tubes if they could take enough enemies with them. Zarphu appreciated such acts of heroic folly. This battle would already be over were the Hostigi as worthless as much of this so-called Grand Host. The insults his soldiers had been subjected to ever since they'd entered this cold land had almost been beyond endurance, even from barbarians. Were it not for duty…

  The Hostigi firetubes had inflicted heavy casualties, far more than the fire-tubes they had encountered at the Iron City. King Kalvan had several times the firetubes of the Grand Host. Truly, Kalvan was a great Stratego-even though he was a barbarian.

  The firetubes were deadly, as this army had learned on the Iron Trail. Still his iron-hearted soldiers had proven that the firetubes could be silenced if the men who fed them their fireseed were killed. It was easier to silence the firetubes since Stratego Phidestros had taught his soldiers to destroy their wheels and burn their wooden frames, which kept the enemy from recapturing them and turning them back on his troops.

  Less than a dozen of the Hostigi firetubes were still firing upon his men. Even so, a direct charge into the Hostigi front would result in thousands of casualties. To wait would also be a disaster. The Hostigi were bringing up more and more of their firesticks to replace the lost firetubes. While the firesticks were not as deadly as the bigger tubes, en masse they were as dangerous as arrow flights. The time had come to take the fight to the enemy.

  "It is time to move, Dono. Sound the horns!" The great battle horns sounded and the entire army began beating spears and lances against shields and body armor. The noise was deafening to him and even more terrifying to those hearing it for the first time. He would not have been surprised if the entire Hostigi flank had collapsed. That it did not, showed that his men's steel was being whetted on worthy foes.

  II

  "Fire!"

  Syllon pulled the trigger and felt his arquebus buck. He didn't hear it fire, not with hundreds of smoothbores firing to either side. All he heard was an ear-pounding roar. Then everything was obscured in a fog of gray-streaked white smoke.

  "First rank, fall back! Fourth rank, forward!"

  The wind lifted the smoke for a moment as he turned to fall back through the files, and Syllon saw scores of writhing horses and men in iron scales being ridden over by their own men. He shuddered despite the intense heat that left rivers of sweat to run beneath his boiled leather jack.

  Syllon was no coward; no man who had survived the Battles of Fyk, Chothros Heights, and Phyrax could be called such. Yet, in those battles he had fought with his pike, a pole of ash, six rods long, topped with a frog's-mouth of sharp steel, not a stubby musket with a knife at the end! Some pike.

  As he walked back through the ranks, he passed by the Second Regiment's banner: Styphon's head impaled on a red ax on a blue field. He reached the rear rank and took his position, while his petty-captain began the familiar litany. "Up flint!"

  Syllon raised the striker. The rest of the drill was so familiar he did not even have to listen to the commands, just the cadence of his petty-captain's voice. He removed one of the new paper cartridges from his bandolier, tore it open with his teeth, and put a pinch of fireseed in the pan. He then lowered the striker. Next, Syllon set the musket butt on the ground with the gun barrel angled so he could quickly pour the fire-seed down the muzzle.

  "Pour charges!"

  He then poured the remaining fireseed from the paper cartridge down the barrel, followed by the lead ball and the wadded up paper cartridge. He used his ramrod to ram the ball and paper well down into the breech.

  "Raise muskets!"

  Syllon took a quick look at the battle again; for an instant he saw a moving wall of Ros-Zarthani, then another cloud of gray smoke obscured everything but the rank of soldiers directly in front of him. He watched as they advanced to the front. There was another roar and then he heard the order, "First rank, forward!"

  He noticed the files and ranks of the Regiment were growing ragged; bodies stitched with arrows and javelins, made walking difficult. There was a bone-jarring clang as an arrow bounced off his morion helmet; he stopped to shake his head and was almost pushed aside by the man behind him.

  "You Dralm-damned fool! Keep moving."

  Syllon stumbled forward, somehow keeping his balance. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that if he lost his footing and fell he would never get up again. Pushing through the smoke and over fallen bodies, he reached the front. He lifted his musket and pulled down the striker, set the flint down and squeezed the trigger. He was shocked to discover that the Ros-Zarthani had advanced to within a few rods of the Hostigi line. One of the lancers was coming straight for him, so instead of waiting for the command to "fire" he shot the rider's horse in the chest. The horse stumbled, catapulting the lancer out of his saddle. The lancer rolled to the ground and bounced up, to Syllon's great surprise.

  A ragged volley followed the command to 'fire,' but it only dropped a few handfuls of the enemy.

  Meanwhile, the barbarian lancer had dropped his lance, so he drew a wicked hand-axe from a loop on his belt and ran straight at Syllon! Syllon dropped his useless smoothbore and from his blue sash pulled the pistol he'd taken from a dead cavalry officer at Phyrax Field. He shot the lancer at point-blank range.

  The lancer staggered backwards and dropped to the ground. The polished iron scales over his breast were bent and splayed, but not penetrated. Syllon said a short prayer to Galzar as he stuck the unloaded pistol back in his sash and pulled out his sword. He stuck the lancer, who was starting to rise, in the face-unleashing a fountain of blood. The lancer fell back to the ground, twitched a few times and lay still.

  "To Regwarn with you!" he cried, hoping this time the lancer was truly dead.

  A quick look to either side showed that the entire Hostigi line was collapsing, some of the musketeers were dropping their weapons and running. Syllon felt his own heart leap. It took all his will power to keep himself from turning to join the runners; instead, he remembered Captain-General Harmakros' words, "Most of the dead and dying on any battlefield are shot or stabbed in the back while fleeing." It was as if Harmakros were speaking into his ear and he felt his pulse grow calm. Syllon would not go to Hadron's Realm so easily!

  He heard a petty-captain shout. "Mount bayonets!"

  Syllon would have obeyed, but he'd dropped his musket and was too busy using his sword to fend off a charging lancer to search for it. He managed to knock aside the lance, but when the horse reared he fell under its slashing hooves and the world went black-

  Suddenly Syllon was in a white tunnel, seeing friends and family long dead. "Where am I?" he asked. They smiled, patted him on the back, then took him before a huge hearth, made of rich marble with gold veins; it was grander than any hearth he had ever seen-even greater than Prince Ptosphes' great hearth at Tarr-Hostigos. A giant with a wolfshead turned away from the fire, haloed by the light, and toasted him with a huge flagon of ale. His eyes burned like embers. Then soldiers came from everywhere, some in armor unlike any he had ever seen, some who had fought at his side. So this is Galzar's Great Hall, he told himself. He took an offered flask and began to drink…

  III

  Phidestros watched with an exhilaration bordering on glee as the Hostigi left wing began to waver and then fall back. Arch-Strategos Zarphu had used his he
avy cavalry to batter and pin the flank of the Hostigi left wing, while his light cavalry and heavy infantry mounted a determined frontal assault. The result was that the entire left wing of the Hostigi army was falling back. If Kalvan didn't counterattack immediately, he might find himself out-maneuvered as the Ros-Zarthani swept through the ranks of the Hostigi left flank, wheeled and hit his center from behind! Most of the Hostigi right wing was off the battlefield, chasing the collapsed left wing of the Grand Host. He hoped they stayed in full pursuit.

  The Blethan ruse must have worked since he had seen nothing of the Hostigi reserve for over half a candle. He suspected it was now too late for them to make any difference to this battle. As to his own left wing, Phidestros had to assume the worst. After the horse had gone into retreat, the Hostigi foot had pressed his left wing so strongly they had been out of visual sight for over a candle and a half. The last scout report had been that other than the Harphaxi Royal Foot Guard, the entire left wing was in full rout and Marshal Zythannes, who had reportedly run from the battlefield, was mortally wounded.

  Zythannes had better be dead before this battle ends or otherwise he will be the subject of an 'investigation' by his own Grand Captain-General!

  Phidestros left four companies of dragoons to protect the baggage train and sent the rest of his reserve downhill to a place where there was a natural ridge that he could use to his advantage should the Hostigi right turn and try to outflank his own center.

  Now, if only he could break through the logjam in the center of Kalvan's battle-line! Most of Kalvan's guns were still firing and the Sacred Squares were stymied between them and the forward musketeers. It was time to send Mythross and the Red Hand into the gap left by the advancing Ros-Zarthani.