Great King_s war k-2

by Roland Green

  At some point, Hestophes ordered the surviving halberdiers of the King's Lifeguard into the press. Those mercenaries who could surrendered, but many couldn't make themselves heard through the screams of dying men and horses. What remained of the Lancers and Pistoleers refused to surrender; some cut down any mercenary within reach who dared take Galzar's Oath; since they wouldn't surrender and couldn't attack, they did the only thing they could do-they died in droves.

  Hestophes rode up to Kalvan as the battle was grinding down to a close. He was no longer grinning, in fact, his face looked as if a grin would crack it. He shook his head slowly. "I feel like a boy drowning kittens." Then he added, "We do have a few prisoners. Two of them said they saw Prince Philesteus go down after a halberd struck his head and split his skull."

  "We'll want to make a search for his body," Kalvan said. He was thinking of Charles the Bold of Burgundy, who died in a similar fashion from a Swiss halberd at the Battle of Nancy. Kalvan didn't want a generation of pretenders, as had happened in Burgundy, claiming to be the 'dead' Prince and heir to the Iron Throne of Hos-Harphax, then raising armies, or at the least making trouble.

  "If we find his body, I want it sent back to King Kaiphranos with all due honor."

  No need to remind a veteran like Hestophes that Prince Philesteus might be a little hard to recognize after being hacked down and trampled. At least the Prince had died an 'honorable' death; he certainly wouldn't have wanted to live to mull over what an idiot he'd been.

  III

  Except for the search party, Kalvan and Hestophes kept their men in formation. This provoked some grumbling, since even the Hostigi veterans were tempted by the awe-inspiring amount of loot the dead Lancers and Pistoleers represented-to say nothing of possible ransoms for the wounded and captive noblemen. The grumbling ceased when a cloud of dust from the north signaled the approach of another large mounted force. Everyone was tired and thirsty, and the musketeers were down to about five rounds apiece. So if this was a fresh enemy force…

  It turned to be Prince Armanes with his Nyklosi heavy cavalry and a thousand mercenary horse. Phrames was with him; he'd had his horse shot out from under him early in the counterattack and sprained a wrist as well, making it hard for him to catch another one.

  Phrames' arrival also supplied the problem of what to do with Prince Armanes. The Prince had advanced to join Kalvan without waiting for orders from Harmakros, or even bothering to find out if Harmakros needed his help more than Kalvan. Apparently, Armanes thought that once Hestophes no longer needed his rear protected and Harmakros had attacked, he could go the most "honorable" part of the battlefield…under the eye of his Great King.

  What Kalvan had here was a problem not of tactics but of diplomacy. It was a problem that he would have rather have put off until the shooting stopped. But there was no way to do that-and no easy solution, either. Sending Prince Armanes back in disgrace without his cavalry would be an impossible insult. Sending his cavalry with him would simply keep them marching for another hour, wearing out their horses without meeting an enemy. Keeping them here would leave Harmakros with no one guarding his back except for the reserves, which didn't have a first class commander. However, Kalvan now had one to spare.

  "Count Phrames, you will ride back north and take command of the reserves, under Harmakros. He will be facing the Zarthani Knights before long, if he isn't already, so keep your men together and take them all."

  "Except for enough to guard the baggage?"

  "Of course." Kalvan said. Great Dralm, I must be getting tired to forget that! Sarrask of Sask had never stopped complaining about the looting of his baggage by mercenary company at the Battle of Fyk.

  "Spare mercenaries, but take their Oath to Galzar. Regular Harphaxi troops are to be guarded closely. The Harphaxi levies-I believe the best thing to do is to strip them of arms and armor and send them home."

  Phrames grimaced as if he smelled something bad. "That will be turning them loose on their own people, Sire."

  "Not without weapons, it won't be. Besides, better them looting Harphaxi farms than eating our rations." He doubted that many would ever see their homes again; those that weren't shot by farmers would either die of starvation or at the hands of bandits and thieves. There would be little peace in Hos-Harphax this fall.

  "Very true, Your Majesty."

  Phrames turned away; Kalvan almost called him back to remind him to leave some men holding the West Gap to maintain communication between the two now widely separated wings of the Army of the Harph. Then he sighed and tried to spit in an unsuccessful effort to get the dust out of his mouth. A quick pull from his jack of wine helped more. If Harmakros and Phrames didn't know enough by now to do that without being ordered, then he was completely wrong about both of them.

  Right now, what he wanted to do was sit down in some shade in soft grass and drink water until he could hear it slosh inside. He looked past the acres of Harphaxi corpses to the hillside beyond. The grass looked nice and green, and there were trees around an abandoned farmhouse that would surely have a well…

  EIGHTEEN

  I

  "The ford is picketed, Captain."

  "Styphoni?"

  "None that I can see on either bank, sir. In fact, there's nobody at all on the far bank; on our side there's just a half company of Harphax City Militia."

  Captain Phidestros felt he had cause to sigh with relief. With nothing but fifty or so apprentices and stableboys to bar the passage of the Iron Company and no sign of rain, the way across the Harph was as sure as a captain could hope.

  Phidestros spurred Snowdrift down the road toward the riverbank, Geblon and his six guards falling in behind. He made no effort at silence or concealment; against these bunglers either would be likely to get him taken for an enemy. A clash of arms would do the Iron Company little damage, but might result in the wholesale slaughter of the Militia, and that might prove embarrassing when he returned to Harphax City. Besides, there was little sport in spearing fish in a barrel.

  "Ho! Who-who is it?" came from the cluster of figures on the riverbank. Several of them were wearing surcoats with the Harphax City coat of arms, a black portcullis on a yellow field, but most of them were dressed in worn leather jacks or peasant's garb. They looked like a flimsy collection of scarecrows that'd have a hard time not being blown away by the first stiff breeze.

  "The Iron Company of Captain Phidestros in the service of Great King Kaiphranos. Let us pass."

  This exchange took Phidestros over the best part of the remaining distance to the riverbank, where two men stepped out into the road. One carried an antique arquebus, the other worse a rusty back-and-breast and carried a drawn sword.

  "I am Captain Habros of the Cordwainers Guild Arquebusiers. What is your business here?" He was looking beyond Phidestros as he spoke, at the head of the Iron Company now in sight on the road.

  "To cross the Harph."

  Habros took a deep breath. "I have orders to let no one pass without permission."

  "Whose permission?" If Habros took too many deep breaths, Phidestros was going to demonstrate how meaningless permission was by shooting him dead where he stood. "Nobody is giving or withholding permission for anything. At least, I haven't heard that anybody who could is still alive and free."

  It began to dawn on Phidestros that the Militia stationed here, far away from the fighting, might not have heard the full tale of the day's fighting and the utter destruction of the Harphaxi Army. So he told it briefly, without going into detail or venting his rage at the follies he'd seen, such as the advance through the Middle Gap and the mad charge of the Royal Lancers. He did not even mention that Prince Philesteus was known to be dead and Duke Aesthes, his tail tucked underneath like a cur, was riding flat-out back to Harphax City, merely saying that he had not been easy in his mind about the safety and location of either for some time.

  By the time he had finished, Captain Habros was noticeably paler, even in the fading light. "I-we had not hear
d such…" He swallowed. "We had heard that the battle was not going well from some of the City Militia Bands retreating over the ford, about four candles ago. They said they'd gone far enough to see Styphon's Own Guard retreating or falling back before the False Hostigi, but no other friendly troops. We also heard tales of peasants being up in arms against us."

  The "City Bands" must be part of the five thousand or so Harphaxi rearguard who'd turned around and started back toward the safety of the City without firing a shot, even in support of the Styphoni. They certainly wouldn't have seen enough of the battle to describe it clearly. Those Harphaxi who'd not only survived but also escaped from the north could tell the whole tale, but they'd be moving farther inland rather than toward the Harph where they risked being swept up by Hostigi cavalry.

  As for the peasant uprising, there at least Phidestros could do these poor wretches a good turn. "We took two of those 'peasants' ourselves and questioned them-then hanged them. They're not even Harphaxi! They were Ulthori fishermen, little more than bandits, that King Kalvan sent downriver to make as much mischief as they could. Guard your horses and weapons, but don't fear the peasants."

  At least, not until word of this day's disaster spreads. Even Great Kings have been overthrown by peasant uprisings after cock-ups like this.

  "Thank you. But-how am I to let you pass, when my orders…? The Captain's voice trailed off as Phidestros drew his pistol and cocked it, along with his guard.

  "By standing aside, and letting us do so."

  Even a blind man could have counted the odds against the picket by listening to the stamping of horses and cocking of pistols all around the post.

  "Pass, friend. May Galzar and Tranth be with you," Habros said with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances, then waved his men away from the crossing with his sword. A dozen Iron Company troopers rode down to the bank and dismounted. Those not told off for horse-holders began uncoiling ropes from their saddlebags and tying them into a single long line to be stretched across the Harph as a guide.

  Phidestros would have given a good deal to be one of the line-stretchers. Not only would it be a good example for the Company, it would give him the closest thing to a bath he could expect for a moon-quarter. However, his knee would not let him do heavy work in the chest-deep water of the swift-flowing Harph, and that was the end of it.

  Thank Galzar, there was also an end in sight to the Iron Company's ordeal. By the time night was halfway through they would be on the west bank of the river, free to ride anywhere their horses would take them-and with no Hostigi following behind.

  That had been Phidestros' only goal since they'd ridden away from the crossroads where the Royal Lancers had died almost to a man. His company had been among the mercenaries who had followed the Royal Pistoleers over the ruins of the Lancers in their futile attack against the Hostigi pike line. Kalvan's ruse had been perfect; the Hostigi line gave way until the Harphaxi were almost surrounded, then he drew the noose tight. If the Iron Company hadn't been to the left of Kalvan's charge, they would be feeding the carrion birds right now. Instead he'd seen what was about to happen and escaped with about two hundred of his men, but he'd still left thirty good men behind, and some of Lamochares' men had deserted.

  He'd made up for all the losses and then some, with a whole new company and fifty-odd men who'd ridden in by twos and threes, all looking for a captain who would take them to safety and was not disposed to ask too many questions. He'd had them all give oaths to Galzar and added them to the Iron Company's Muster List. The few that refused to swear to the Iron Company were sent packing with the flat of his sword against their horse's flanks.

  Phidestros had entered the battle with three hundred men and one guns; he'd be leaving it with no guns, but four hundred men, reasonably well armed and well mounted. Above all, they were ready to follow him anywhere. The question now was-where?

  The only friendly army within reach was Grand Master Soton's Army of the Pirsystros, and they were a five-day's ride across doubtfully friendly country. Yet Phidestros was not ready to turn bandit and see his command fall apart. He saw no hope of safety or employment in Hos-Harphax itself. It would be a notable gift from the gods if the Harphaxi got back from today's battle a single gun or more than one man in three. It was enough to make even a non-believer begin to believe in demons!

  There was nothing and nobody left in Hos-Harphax to stop Kalvan from marching up to the walls of Harphax City and summoning Kaiphranos the Timid (probably after today destined to be known as Kaiphranos the Witless) to give him terms of surrender. Nor would there be a thing Kaiphranos could do but hide under his wife's bed.

  Before that happened, Phidestros wanted to be well away from anyplace to be covered by Kalvan's terms. He hadn't heard that Prince Sarrask of Sask rode with the Great King's host, but he knew that the Prince had a long memory and an unforgiving temper. The Great King was known for rewarding his friends, and if Sarrask asked as a reward the head of one Captain Phidestros, the man who'd looted his baggage train at the Battle of Fyk…well, so be it.

  "Captain! The first man's across!"

  Phidestros strained his eyes into the gathering darkness and saw a dim figure on the far bank shaking himself like a dog as he waved his arms. The Iron Company sent up a cheer until he and the petty-captains shouted them into silence for fear of attracting unwanted attention.

  II

  "That's all of them?" Kalvan asked. He'd counted no more than a thousand men in the line of bedraggled and mud-smeared Harphaxi prisoners standing in the torchlight.

  "All the ones we fished out, Your Majesty," the mercenary captain said. "I think the Mobile Force picked up more somewhere over there." A callused hand pointed off into the darkness. "There's a lot more out in the swamp, but Regwarn's Caverns have them now." Which was a polite way of saying that even Great King Kalvan would be wasting his breath if he ordered the mercenaries any farther into the swamp.

  Kalvan wasn't going to order anything of the kind; it must be nearly midnight, and from the way he felt himself, he was surprised that anyone in the Army of Hos-Hostigos was still on his feet or even awake. The heavy fighting had ended about three o'clock in the afternoon, except against the Zarthani Knights in the north; the mopping-up and pursuit had gone on until well after dark.

  At least it had gone on in the south, against the left flank of the Harphaxi. In the north, the Zarthani Knights and Temple Guardsmen, surrounded and out-manned, had nearly died to the last man, but in the process they'd fought Harmakros and Phrames to a standstill. Most of the Harphaxi right who hadn't been bagged already had escaped through the Middle Gap, at least five thousand men. Not a single gun, though, and Harmakros' messenger reported that the Gap was choked with abandoned wagons as well as discarded weapons and armor. It was a rabble, not an army that was fleeing toward Harphax City from the Heights.

  The one part of the Harphaxi left that got away did so in better order. Four or five thousand of the rearguard had been sighted on the Great Harph Road shortly after Phrames rode north. Before Kalvan could deploy to receive them, he'd had to finish the slaughter at Ryklos Farm. The only survivors of that engagement were a band of mercenaries led by a big man on a white charger who appeared to enjoy a charmed life.

  By the time the massacre was complete, the Harphaxi rearguard had been warned of the danger. They'd turned and departed with more haste than dignity, although they didn't disintegrate into a rabble, thanks to a Temple Band of Styphon's Own Guard who stood fast and died to a man. By the time they'd finished dying, Kalvan's cavalry were too blown for rapid pursuit, his infantry nearly out of ammunition and there were too many miscellaneous groups of fugitives roaming about who needed rounding up.

  With no commanders, half their number killed or taken prisoner, the Harphaxi Army was an army in name only.

  One of the largest bands of Harphaxi survivors had decided that the dry weather of the past week had made it safe to try wading the swamp on either side of Hogwallo
w Creek. The ones who'd lived to learn they were wrong were now being fished out by the Hostigi and packed off to an improvised POW compound where Kalvan had captured the four big bombards.

  Many of the mercenaries were oath-bound now and under light guard. He'd give them an opportunity to take Hostigi colors after things settled down. He needed to talk with Uncle Wolf Tharses to learn whether or not they would be allowed under here-and-now union rules to fight against the Styphoni on their way from Hos-Ktemnos. The Harphaxi mercenaries weren't directly under Styphon's House's authority since Kaiphranos and his nobles were paying their salary; however, the money was indirectly coming from the Temple. He just wasn't sure how Galzar's stewards would see it.

  He looked around for someone to send for the Uncle Wolf and spotted Phrames. He hated to send a General to do a Lieutenant's job, but-with Nicomoth on his way to Tarr-Hostigos with a dispatch to Rylla chronicling their victory over the Harphaxi-the Count was his acting aide-de-camp. He gave Phrames his order and in less than a few minutes he returned with Uncle Wolf Tharses, whose mail shirt and surcoat were so blood splattered he feared the priest was wounded.

  "I'm fine, Sire. I was tending to the wounded; no end to them this day. A great victory for Hostigos and a bad defeat for the vile priesthood of Styphon's House." The highpriest spat a wad of tobacco on the ground.