Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  He nodded to the three. The woman pleasantly returned his greeting, making a small gesture of blessing. He found her handsome, though with a mannishly square jaw and sharp features. Her eyes, though not as soft as liked, were warm and friendly, and her generous mouth seemed more given to smiles than frowns.

  The Black-robes, by contrast, looked stonily forward, their expressions set in harsh disapproval. Tregaron kept his face expressionless. In small things could big things be judged. The provincial had been arguing with her counterparts. Again. Great, he thought dryly, and I thought the army would keep me OUT of politics. Fool. He felt like the man in the proverb who, when caught between fire and flood, ran back and forth, unable to decide whether to burn or drown.

  "I still don't see how all of this skulking and sneaking benefits Karse," the woman said waspishly, continuing what Tregaron was certain was a long-running argument. "Ancar's troops raid us at will, and we do nothing!"

  The Fighting Twenty-First isn't "nothing," lady, Tregaron thought, even though generally he agreed with her. Hardorn had been testing them, and their response so far had been tepid. It seemed a bit inconsistent that a raid from Rethwellan merited a six-month campaign by a dozen regiments while Hardorn earned—one footsore command.

  The older Black-robe made a rude face. "His Holiness predicted peace, Solaris," he said to her, as though addressing a small child. "So peace there shall be!"

  "You know as well as I that Lastern couldn't scry for a sunny day, much less Ancar's intent," Solaris replied, her voice dripping scorn. "It's a meaningless augury and a meaningless peace. Ancar's eventually going to conclude we're too timid to fight—and then you'll have a full scale war. Try to hide that under a proclamation!"

  "You go too far!" Havern hissed. "Continue your blasphemy and I'll have you before an Ecumenical Court."

  Tregaron, overhearing more of the exchange than he wanted, blanched. She had spoken treason, and his life might very well stand forfeit for it. She could have him killed to cover her lapse, or Havern might order him executed to snuff the chance he'd repeat what he'd heard. Fire and flood indeed, he thought grimly, flaying and the rack is nearer the mark. Cogern turned away, mumbling something about adjusting the trumpeters. Tregaron followed, but wasn't quite quick enough to miss Solaris' quiet laugh.

  "I'm sorry, Havern," she said, her voice quiet in what might charitably be called contrition had her voice not dripped scorn. "I overstepped myself." Her speech changed, becoming singsong as she recited the liturgy of the Word and Will of Vkandis. "His Holiness is His Holiness, anointed by the hand of Vkandis, and is the Son of the Sun, and His avatar on earth." Tregaron guessed her retreat to the liturgy had more to do with survival than religion. Still, the very effusiveness of her recitation argued that even in this, she was poking fun.

  Havern appeared unconvinced. He peered at her a long moment, as though trying to see inside her soul. "You country priests have had it too much your own way for too long. I see that certain, ah... distortions and baseless rumors have taken root in the provinces. Come to my tent this evening and I will instruct you in the methods by which you might return to orthodoxy."

  Solaris shook her head ruefully. "I'm sorry, Havern. I've already promised to minister to the Third Battle this night. I gave my word to the Colonel."

  Tregaron wasn't happy she had brought up his name, especially as she had promised to do no such thing. He sighed to himself. No matter how hard he tried to remain neutral, it seemed they were determined to draw him into their feud.

  Havern shrugged. "Well," he said easily, as if the matter were of no importance, "I'd like to be reassured of your orthodoxy before I make my report to His Holiness. Perhaps we can work something out." Tregaron backed away, trying to put distance between himself and the three priests. Vkandis' servants were under no obligation of celibacy, but hearing what amounted to extortion embarrassed him.

  Solaris flushed, two spots of color forming high on her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak when a distant shout and pounding hooves drew their attention.

  Tregaron, relieved at the distraction, trotted toward the regiment's standards. The mounted scout galloped down the line and reined in his horse with such savagery that stones and grit sprayed from beneath its hooves and flecks of foam flew from its lathered sides.

  "Report!" Tregaron snapped, pleased to turn his attention to a problem he could handle.

  "Cavalry, soir!" the scout replied, his upcountry accent emphasized by his stress. "Two full regiments, soir, less'n half an hour north of here, 'an movin' toward us."

  Tregaron took a single deep breath, calming himself and giving him a moment to order his thoughts. "Do they know we're here?"

  The scout looked chagrined. "Aye, more likely than not. We tripped over three o' their outriders while we was on our way back. We got two. The third gave us the slip."

  Tregaron sucked air though his teeth, a southlands expression of disapproval. "Well," he said, "what's done is done." He ignored the excited chatter as word of the approaching enemy made its way along infantry column. His staff clustered close, eager to hear the report. "Did you see who they were?"

  "One regiment had a boar's head mounted on a pole, soir, with ribbons hanging from its tushes. I din't see the second."

  "That would be Reglauf's lot," Cogern said. "He led a regiment under Ancar when they made their try against Valdemar. Word has it he didn't do much except plunder farms."

  It didn't occur to Tregaron to question Cogern. The sergeant was supposed to know such things. "Word also has it," the old man lisped, "that he cut out early, before they'd properly lost."

  "How many troops?" Tregaron asked the scout.

  The man pulled a string out of his tunic and counted the knots. "Five battles, soir, about three hundred riders each. I'd guess about the same in the t'other regiment."

  "Three thousand cavalry," Cogern spat, "two-to-one, or thereabouts."

  "Just like Selenay in Valdemar," Dormion chirped, earning a black look from Cogern. "From the Battle of Border, in the Chronicles. Ancar had them two-to-one as well, and they whipped him."

  Cogern sighed, the air of man beset by fools.

  The brat doesn't know when to shut up, Tregaron thought.

  Cogern growled something obscene and crooked his finger at Dormion. "Come here, child. It's high time I took a personal interest in your education."

  Dormion swallowed heavily, his mobile features still. "Um, Pikemaster..." he began. He looked at Tregaron.

  "You tickled the bear, Ensign," Tregaron laughed. "Now you dance with him."

  "Selenay," Cogern said with heavy dignity as he ticked off points on his fingers, "had the advantages of Mindspeaking Demon horses, superior terrain, time to pick her battlefield, better-trained troops, and Ancar for an opponent. Not to mention her troops were defending their homes and were backed by a substantial number of defectors, including Hardorn's best Guardsmen."

  He paused to switch hands, having long since run out of fingers. "Ancar only had numbers. He needed at least three to one to beat her on open ground, and probably six to one to best them on that turf. He had, maybe, three to two, and most of them were rabble, not real soldiers a'tall. Hell, only about half his force even had the gumption to attack."

  He closed his fist an stuck it in Dormion's face. "Ancar," he finished, "didn't have a prayer. So don't draw false comparisons, especially ones gleaned from books written by the winning side." He exhaled heavily. "Here endeth the sermon. Now get back to your units. All of you."

  The cadets scattered.

  Tregaron looked at Cogern. "Do you think he heard you?"

  "Damn that Bard-written tripe," the Pikemaster replied, "Selenay could have held that hilltop with a company of recruits and a detachment of washerwomen. Demon horses, magic, and good writing don't make up for sound tactics and superior strategy."

  "I don't know," Tregaron said, "Selenay's done all right for herself, by all accounts."

  "Not you, too!" Cogern snapp
ed, his expression torn between shock and betrayal. He crossed his arms across his chest, muttering about tyros who read more books than was good for them. Tregaron, laughing, mounted his horse and scanned the field for a good place to make his stand.

  "There's a shallow stream up ahead, soir," the scout said, pointing. He had wisely kept his mouth shut while Cogern ranted. "It's about five-hundred paces from here."

  "Do you want to form behind the water course?" Cogern asked, his voice and manner now all business.

  Tregaron considered a moment before answering. "No, I don't want to give them any excuse to go toward our flanks. A nice long feature like that might encourage them to get creative."

  "You're expecting them to come right for us?" Cogern asked in a neutral voice.

  "Yes," Tregaron answered. "When Ancar assassinated his father, he put Alessander's generals to the sword as well. He lost anybody he had with troop-handling skills, and the rabble he recruits aren't much for the discipline that goes with good tactics." He smiled sourly. "Not that they've needed it. They've been riding right over the local militia for a while now. I'm betting it's been a while since they've faced regulars. They'll go straight for our throats."

  He straightened his shoulders. "We'll put the stream hard by our right and use it to anchor our flank on that side. We'll assume an open field defense and meet them in that high grass over there." He pointed to the open area beside the streambed.

  "All right," Cogern said, turning to the cluster of runners and trumpeters, "what are you waiting for?"

  The staff members scattered to execute the orders. Horns blared. Under officers shouted as the lead battle, company by company, shifted their pikes and picked up a clumsy trot. The regiment's company of mounted skirmishers thundered past, their riders adjusting bows, quivers and heavy sacks. They disappeared in a trice over a low brow to contest the Hardornans' passage.

  Tregaron knew a hundred archers weren't enough to stop the invaders by themselves, but he hoped they'd be enough of an irritant to make Reglauf deploy his forces prematurely.

  The vanguard had just drawn even with the streamlet when a single horn blew in the distance. Tregaron followed the sound and saw a thin dust plume rising above the bluffs. "That would be our guests," Cogern said, his flat voice calm. Tregaron studied the thin brown column. Infantry dust tended to spread as it rose, making a ground-hugging haze rather than a rising tail. Yes, definitely cavalry.

  He turned in his saddle to address the trumpeters. "Play: Form line of battle—left."

  The horns skirled. Trumpeters farther down the line answered the calls, acknowledging the orders.

  "Front Northwest!" Cogern shouted, his bass voice cutting the din. In such moments all hint of his lisp vanished. "Debouch by companies!"

  The battles' officers and sergeants amplified the commands as the regiment dropped its packs and began to smoothly deploy into the serge alongside the dusty road. Tregaron heard the crack of a whip and snapped his head around to see one sergeant coiling his badge of office back into his hand. He rode over as the man raised it for another blow. "You are a fine sergeant, Gren," Tregaron said through clenched teeth, "but you are no longer in the Seventeenth. If you raise that starter to another one of my lambs without good cause, I'll have you flogged back to your old regiment. Is that clear!"

  The sergeant, his face pale, nodded silently. Tregaron jerked his horse's head around and rode to take his position with the standards, by then positioned on the left-center of the line. The battles' guidons had long since returned to their units.

  Front-rankers aligned the regiment into four neat rows, using pikestaves as guideposts. The pikemen in the first two ranks took their intervals, setting their shields between them to provide cover if the cavalry stormed them with arrows. The rear ranks, composed of swords-men each equipped with two heavy javelins, marked off their running distances and prepared their gear.

  The javelins were cunning weapons. The swordsmen wrapped lanyards around the middles, which, when held between the casters' fingers when throwing, imparted a spin on the spear. Spinning spears flew farther and more accurately than straight-thrown, though no one knew why.

  The javelins' heads were attached to the shafts with weak glue or brittle pins. When the weapon hit, the glue usually failed or the pin broke, making the thing useless for a return throw.

  The regiment's longbow company moved quickly out in front, ready to act as skirmishers and contest the ground in front of the regiment with long range fire. Two scouts galloped across the field, plunging whitewashed stakes into the ground at hundred-pace intervals to mark the bowers' ranges.

  The farthest scout turned, and using his last stick as a goad, pounded back toward the readied regiment.

  Cogern cantered up beside him. "As for tactics, sir," he asked, "butterfly wings?"

  Tregaron nodded. "If they let us. Have Luhann double her leftmost companies. If they try to turn our flank, her side'll be the most likely place they'll try."

  Cogern passed the instruction to a runner. Most battlefield situations were too complex for trumpets. Runners gave more precise messages, but were slow and often got lost or were lost.

  Cogern smiled the easy grin of man with a secret. Tregaron rarely saw the Pikemaster as happy as he was before a fight. Vkandis knew his guts always knotted up beforehand.

  "Your horse, sir," Cogern said. Tregaron dipped his head and dismounted. Mounted officers made easy targets.

  They gave their animals to an orderly to take behind the line.

  "Where's the damned Oriflamme?" Tregaron snapped. "It should be here."

  "Here, Colonel," Solaris said, stepping through the ranks to join them. Tregaron saw she wore no mail and carried no weapon.

  "Where are your cohorts?" he said, a little more harshly than he'd intended, but only a little.

  She made a wry face. "They've decided to support your fight from back there." She pointed toward the area behind the regiment, where the horses, gear, and a few noncombatants waited.

  "That'll do 'em no good a'tall if n they get behind us," Cogern said. He looked at Solaris. "Do you have a weapon?"

  She held up the Oriflamme. "I have this."

  Cogern looked closely at her a long moment. "Then what are you waitin' on, girl?" He pointed to the Stainless Banner. "Show 'em what we're fightin' for."

  She grinned and hefted the pole, raising the 'Flamme high above their heads. She waved it about, swirling its swallowtail in a gentle arc. The center battle cheered. The shouting built as each battle fought to outdo the others.

  The skirmishers' reappearance quieted the noise. The horsemen paused at the hill crest to fire one final volley at their pursuers, then fled across the open ground. They opened the sacks tied to their saddles and tossed handful after handful of small black objects into the grass behind them.

  "What are those?" Solaris asked, lowering the 'Flamme and grounding the haft.

  "Caltrops," Cogern said with malicious glee, "four sharpened pieces of iron welded together. No matter how they fall, one prong always points up—a little dainty for a horse's hoof."

  The first mass of Hardornan cavalry crested the hill, a black tide that quickly covered the facing slope. Tregaron heard the thin voice of the archers' commander. "Take your aim—four hundred paces. Loose!" A thin iron sleet rose and fell. Some arrows struck home, here and there felling a horse or rider. The range was a bit long for accurate fire, but Tregaron hoped the harassment would goad the Hardornans into leaving.

  The mass reacted by spurring their horses and charging.

  "They've got no order at all!" Cogern sniffed, sounding offended. Tregaron knew he hated inefficiency, even when displayed by an enemy.

  "Three hundred paces!" the archer leader yelled, timing his fire so the riders would cross the stake just as the arrows arrived. "Loose!"

  The toll grew heavier as arrows found their marks or pierced armor. Horses pulled up and fell, screaming and thrashing, as the cruel iron caltrops pierced their
hooves. Most riders scrambled to their feet, but here and there one lay still, either knocked witless or themselves victims of the spikes hidden in the grass.

  "Two hundred!" More riders fell. The Karsite horse archers added to their toll with their shorter-ranged bows as they moved to the flanks to cover the ends of the formation. Here and there a Karsite fell, arrowstruck, but the Hardornens' volleys were erratic and largely ineffective. The cavalry's thunder grew louder as they galloped down onto the waiting Karsite line.

  "One hundred!"

  Cogern turned, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed. "Set to receive cavalry!"

  With a wordless shout, six hundred pikes came down in a single glittering arc, their bitter edges bright in the noonday sun. The rear ranks gave way a pace, ready to hurl their javelins on command. The archers scampered for the rear.

  Cogern grabbed the regimental standard and raised it over his head. At the instant he dropped it, the battles' commanders dropped their swords and six hundred javelins smashed into the onrushing horses. The cavalry slowed, their charge blunted by the heavy spears. A second volley crashed home an instant later, cutting down the lead ranks like a scythe through wheat. The rear ranks piled over the dead and dying and pressed home the attack.

  The crash of the horsemen hitting the readied pikes roared over Tregaron like a tide of sound, a breaking wave of iron-shod hooves and slashing, cursing soldiers. His world retreated to a circle five yards across. A Hardornen, her horse gutted by a pikeblade, bowled over the front ranks and plowed into the command party. One orderly slashed the animal across the knees, bringing it down and throwing the rider. Two officers plunged their blades into her before she could rise, the second twisting his weapon to gore her before withdrawing it She collapsed, dead, blood fountaining from her mouth and nose.

  The lead Hardornen was dead, but the gap she'd forced in the line filled quickly with other horsemen, slashing and stabbing as they tried to widen the breach. Horns blew in alarm on either side of the command party as squads detached from the flanking units to help seal the break in the line. Tregaron, looking for more troops to throw at the Hardornens, whipped his head around and saw Solaris using the Oriflamme's staff to fend off one horseman while Cogern moved to his flank. The Pikemaster stabbed deep, driving his sword deep into the horse's barrel, dropping it in its tracks. He then brained the rider with his sword pommel and ran him through with a quick thrust as he tried to rise.