Dark Tide: Book Five of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

  The Company, formed into a circle with the Lifeguards and a hundred or so Arturians, was retreating over the west wall of the Fallow not far from its southern end when Durek saw a gap appear briefly between Blue and Gold platoons to allow Henri and a half-dozen battered Arturians stagger through into the safety of the center, where the Company’s Healers, aided by two from the Duke’s staff and one from the Lifeguards tended the wounded. Stepping out of the line, the Dwarf hurried over to the wizard, who was bleeding from a dozen minor cuts and carrying a Hand guidon in his left hand. “We saw your stand, very impressive,” the Captain slapped Henri on the shoulder. “How’s it look to the north?”

  “They’re coming in force,” Henri muttered, staring at the guidon with some surprise, having just realized that he was still carrying it. “It’s the Hand’s killing stroke.”

  “And a good one,” Durek nodded, taking the guidon so Henri could dig out his flask and take a drink. “There’s Eyade and wolf-riders swarming along our flanks and rear, held in check for the moment by a cohort of Imperial troops Laffery positioned south of the Fallow, and by charges led by the Baron of Kordia, but we’re quitting the field, the day is lost. If Laffery had waited ten more minutes before ordering the retreat most of us would have been lost, too, but as it is we’ll have a fighting chance. Once we pull back a mile or so the Hand will have to halt and invest Apartia.” He waved away the flask Henri offered, an expensively decorated container that the wizard had looted off the body of an Arturian noble who had died charging an entire Darkhost with less than a hundred horsemen at his side. “Here, hang on to this flag, we’ll add it to the others back at Oramere. If you’ve no magic left, use your crossbow, we need all the help we can get.”

  The Heartland Army fell back in relatively good order, harried by Eyade cavalry and Goblin wolf riders who were partially held at bay by heroic charges by the Arturian horse and the Baron of Kordia’s ramshackle cavalry force. Such was the latter’s courage, despite his wounds, that Grand Marshal Laffery issued an order naming him as fourth in secession to command of the army, immediately after Duke Radet.

  With great difficulty the Heartland Army regrouped at its baggage train, only to discover that their withdrawal would be anything but easy: instead of peeling off the bulk of its forces to invest Apartia, the Bohca Tatbik pressed forward after the Heartland Army while a smaller Bohca poured out of the low hills further to the east and moved to encircle the walled city.

  Grand Marshal Laffery stood on his saddle, gripping the butt of a lance whose point had been driven into the ground to steady his balance, watching the Hand forces moving forward along both sides of the Royal Highway. Sliding back down into his saddle, he accepted a map from an aide and studied it intently. Finally he looked up at the dusty figures waiting before him: Lord General von der Strieb, Duke Radet, the wounded Baron of Kordia, and Duke Sorgen. “Sirs, we stand in desperate peril: the dragon and lesser winged beasts were not the only assets the Hand concealed from us; apparently the Hand has thrown its reserve force behind the central thrust, and it is this reserve that will lay siege to Apartia, leaving Bohca Tatbik free to pursue our army. We have been defeated today, but we are not beaten. We shall face them again, and with better results at ground immediately to the east of the village of Salcie, some forty-five miles to the west. As the Hand seems to prefer our company, we shall have to march in battle formation, with each unit guarding its baggage and dependents as best they can until such time as we can reform. “

  “That, sir, is unacceptable; my foot was shattered in the Great Fallow, leaving me with scant protection for my wagons and horse-lines,” Duke Radet said hotly.

  “Sir, I cannot change what is. Before this battle I issued orders that the baggage trains and dependents were to be cut to the bone in anticipation of just such a situation, and all present had assured me that my orders were followed. Still, this is no time for recriminations; who here has troops they can spare to aid our valiant Arturian allies?”

  “The Ilthanians will be hard-pressed to protect their own forces,” Baron Noury grinned tiredly, grunting as the Healer unstrapped the filthy and dented armor from his broken arm. “The new Lord Commander is off reforming his men, which is why he is not present. I’m afraid my forces are too scattered to be of assistance until I can likewise rally my troops.”

  “I can spare some of my men, several dozen first-rate mercenaries, to be specific; they’ve proved to be excellent fighters and well-experienced at wagon-guarding,” Duke Sorgen offered after Durek had passed him a hastily-scribbled note.

  “I can provide one cohort, perhaps two,” Lord General von der Strieb offered. “Perhaps a squadron of cavalry as well, once they’ve reformed, although I will not be sure of that for some time.”

  “Excellent; as for my troops, I’m sure a few hundred footmen can be spared,” the Grand Marshal smiled tiredly at the fuming Arturian nobleman. “Now, as to the order of march....”

  “I’m rather surprised at your offer, Captain,” Duke Sorgen observed. “Your people must be weary from the fighting in the Fallow, where they did as well as any.”

  “I’m afraid it is mercenary logic, sir,” Durek grinned. “There will be plenty of wrecked and abandoned wagons in the Arturian’s trail, and thus plenty of opportunity for loot. We’ve a living to earn, you see.”

  The battered nobleman nodded tiredly. “I see; I cannot fault you for seeking to better yourselves, Captain, all the more so because the Gold Army chose to ignore the Grand Marshal’s commands. My compliments upon the performance of your Company in the Great Fallow, sir, they fought magnificently. Were your losses severe in numbers?”

  “Two dead.” The Dwarf’s face was as hard as the stone of his home mountain. “Men of the ranks, but good Badgers all the same. The Healers saved all the rest, although several will have to ride upon the carts for a day or so to recover. And please accept my sympathies to your loss, sir. Your brother was a brave man and a fine warrior.” Marshal Rhys Sorgen had been killed in the fighting on the left flank

  “He was indeed.” The Duke removed his worn helm and pulled off the mail-covered leather coif he wore beneath it, his lean features drawn with fatigue. “I’ve named my heir, Heth the Younger, as Marshal, and assigned my younger son Neren the duty of commanding the guards assigned to his sister and my court to keep him safely out of future battles. Perhaps I erred in bringing my entire line out into the field, Captain, but how could I call up my militia into battle while my children remained safely behind Sagenhoft’s walls?”

  “It is a commendable action to take,” Durek observed loyally. He had developed a deep respect for the slender, graying nobleman over the last few weeks; the Duke had been quick to learn from both his and other’s mistakes, and, like his deceased brother, was not one to shirk a fight, having seen action in both battles to date, a record shared by only the Baron of Kordia. Both his sons (aged twenty-one and nineteen) had likewise seen action in both battles, although now it seemed unlikely the younger boy would wet his blade again.

  “I must see to the appointment of my son and the reorganization of our mounted troops and the Second Cohort,” the Duke unbuckled his gauntlets and removed them. “Again, my compliments to your Company, Captain.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Hebreth Descente stood on a low ridge to the north of the Royal Highway and west of Apartia, surrounded by aides, staff officers, and subordinate commanders. Behind him and to his left the Bohca Heri were moving in to invest the city, while the siege trains lumbered up from the east, expected within the week if things went well.

  Not that things were going all that well this day; the battle had been won, but the victory was small, he had done no more than he had at Mancin, that is, he had merely pushed the foe back. So long as the Heartland Army existed, victory was a hollow term. Descente watched the Heartland’s rearguard backing up the Highway and cursed Laffery with all the vehemence he could muster. His plan had been brilliant, the timing perfect, the res
ults seemly set in stone, but that mad dog of an enemy commander had stepped out of the noose at the last second. More than ever Descente regretted Pecheux’s death; that fool would have stayed on the field like a hero of old, fighting to the last man and the last drop of blood, making a battle of epic proportions.

  And losing utterly, leaving the Heartland Army destroyed and the path clear to Sagenhoft and victory. Instead, very little had changed. The foe had been weakened, true, but so had the Bohca Tatbik; Descente had had to order one Holding of Dayar to be disbanded in order to bring the other three up to useful strength, and his other losses had been serious. Worse, the dragon had been injured, and would be resting for at least ten days.

  There was hope in that the fools who ruled these petty states might sack Laffery for the twin defeats, not realizing that the man had saved his army from the jaws of a deadly trap, but how much good that would accomplish with von der Strieb waiting in the wings Descente could not guess. He longed to face a hot-headed fool like Duke Radet who would play into his hands, but instead all he faced were wily old war-dogs with cold blood and chilly hearts, men who looked at battles with a calculating eye and steady hands.

  “Pursue,” he announced abruptly. “Bohca Heri can see to Apartia. We shall stay on the enemy’s heels, wearing him down until he turns to fight, then destroy him.”

  Silence enveloped his officers for long seconds. Finally the commander of the Direbreed spoke up. “Sir, we could use a Seeding before we strike again, our ranks were badly depleted.”

  “The Orcs were thrown into complete disarray by the Arturian charges,” the commander of the Orcish allies spoke up. “We need time to reorganize.”

  Descente shook his head; Laffery was hardly his only problem. “We will pursue; the enemy is likewise tired, disorganized, and shaken in morale. Moreover, he guards an over-large baggage train with tired cavalry which is suited for charges, not quick response. We harry them into a corner, and then destroy them. All wolf-riders and Eyade are to prowl the flanks, while our foot keeps the pressure on their rear. Rotate the Dayar and Direbreed in this duty until the Orcs and our own Holdings have reorganized.”

  “Will the Sacred Bands be committed, sir?” The fighting at Apartia had been heavier than he had expected, and in the end only the five Sacred Bands had been held back in reserve.

  “No. The Sacred Bands are irreplaceable; this deep into enemy territory it is folly to commit your best reserve on a single draw of the cards. They will remain in reserve until they can mount a decisive stroke.”

  “But they are fresh, and heavily armored, both horse and foot,” the officer persisted. “They could smash the enemy’s rearguard and turn his retreat into a rout.”

  Resistance irritated him, but Descente was too old a soldier to ignore differing opinions; a staff of yes-men was the mark of a foolish and inept commander. He studied the retreating army below, then shook his head. “Today is hardly the end of our trials; we must hold our best in reserve until the issue is clear. Even after the Heartland Army is no more, there still lay many a hostile mile between ourselves and Sagenhoft’s walls, which will be a campaign in and of themselves.”

  The Heartland Army’s retreat over the next three days was sheer agony; the army was strung out for miles along the Royal Highway, the wagons, carts, and horse-herds moving on the road, with the cavalry and infantry moving on either side. Clouds of wolf-riders and Eyade nomads prowled the length of the miles-long column, attacking wherever a weakness appeared, aiming mainly for the wagons and strings of spare mounts. Hand infantry pressed hard upon the army’s rear, forcing the last unit in the order of march, the Imperial Fifth Legion, to fight dozens of skirmishes and delaying actions each day to hold them at bay, while any straggler who dropped back becoming easy prey, and any wagon which suffered damage had to be abandoned.

  The march for those not in the rear guard meant moving in battle formation in full war gear, trying to keep the wagons and horse-strings safe while Eyade and Goblins sniped and the sun beat down. After weeks of heavy travel by supply caravans, the Highway was in poor shape, with the surrounding land stripped bare of grass for grazing. Water was in short supply as well, as the heavy traffic and light rains had badly diminished the wells and ponds along the way, and the Eyade prevented water-details from going far from the road. By the time the middle elements of the army reached any given pond or stream the water would be churned to mud and badly fouled by the droppings of the hundreds of oxen and horses which had already passed by.

  Night camps were settled in as fighting lines, with half the troops under arms and ready at all times, which meant only a couple hours uneasy sleep for the average soldier. The confusion of the march also meant that units which had not issued rations before the battle (only the Imperial Army and the Lasharians had done so) generally received nothing to eat as well.

  By the second night camp desertions were becoming common as men slipped away, using the darkness to put distance between themselves and the retreating army.

  Things might have gone better had the Heartland Army possessed light cavalry with which to oppose the Hand mounted troops, but with the exception of the five Imperial squadrons (three of whom had been scattered in the battle and were still not fully reformed) all the horse troops were in the three Arturian modes: Comitar, fully armored men in plate or heavy chain hauberks on massive war horses; Cuirassiers, who wore light chain mail and whose horses were a bit smaller, but who still were organized for shock actions; and Chasseurs, which where men in half-plate or lighter mail who were trained to fight either in shock charges or on foot, the Sagenhoftian Lifeguards being typical of the latter type. None of the three types were trained to fight in small units, to use missile weapons, and in any case were far too slow to compete with the fast horse-archers they faced. In truth, except for the Chasseurs, who were primarily used as escorts and guards, the only difference between the types was the cost of their equipping, Cuirassiers being somewhat less expensive than Comitar.

  Many forces would have disintegrated under the pressure and harsh conditions, and the Heartland Army might well have gone that route but for the courage and devotion of its leaders. Grand Marshal Laffery was in his saddle from dawn to dusk, riding up and down the length of the army exhorting, praising, and urging, reminding his men that they had checked the Hand at Mancin, and had defied the foe’s trap at Apartia. Land that had been lost, the commander assured them, would be retaken in the future. Lord General von der Strieb, Baron Noury of Kordia, and Duke Sorgen followed his example; the Kings of Lashar and Ilthan were no longer with the army, the latter choosing to remain in his besieged city while the former escaped across the lake with his court and returned home.

  Neither worthy’s absence were much felt.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Royal Highway was deeply rutted from the pounding effect of hundreds of iron-shod wheels and thousands of hooves that had crossed it over the last half-year, leaving it little more than a double-lane country track. The jolting passage over the ruts and pot holes took a heavy toll of the wagons and carts and exacted a steep price upon the beasts that drew the wagons. The ditches were littered with broken wheels, dead horses and oxen, and ruined harnesses; after the depredations of the Eyade and wolf-riders began, the ditches became littered with corpses of men and abandoned wagons as well.

  It was the eighth day of Gleichteil, a cloudy summer’s day now two days past the battle of Apartia; the Heartland Army struggled down the Highway heading east, harried at every step by the Hand. Lieutenant Axel Uldo sat on the bench of an Arturian fodder-wagon, the first of six such wains, each heavily loaded with sacks of grain for Gold Army’s war horses. A seventh wagon was in the center of the little formation, a battered four-wheeled cart that the Badger detail had salvaged out of the ditch, furnished with improvised tack and two plow horses found wandering loose; the cart was the mercenaries’ conveyance for the loot they had accumulated while guarding the Arturians’ wagons.

  Two hun
dred yards to their rear a demi-brigade of Lasharian foot marched in battle order, the dusty troops looking much the worse for wear as they slogged along; fifty yards ahead six more wagons carried more of Gold Army’s goods, guarded by a dozen dispirited footmen. Axel had been chosen to command the detail assigned to help the Arturians, having Blue platoon, the Scout Section, Henri, and Bridget. They had been with these wagons for two days, scrounging loot from the abandoned goods in the ditches, fighting off wolf-riders, and loading sacks of grain into the Arturian wagons when wrecked or abandoned fodder-wains were passed. The wizard calculated that they had already issued out grain equal to twice the capacity of the wagons since they had begun the retreat, feeding the war mounts of the three divisions of Gold Army, continually restocking from the wrecks along the way and the minor stockpiles established along the highway against just such a contingency.

  His Badgers were tired from two day’s march after a hard battle, but they were in better shape than most; Durek had seen to it that their carts had had full water barrels, along with four day’s rations. Water was rationed, but still enough to keep the mercenaries in good fighting form. Things would improve when they reached Salcie, and the vanguard ought to reach there by tonight, with the rearguard arriving tomorrow afternoon, the Badgers arrival being mid-day, most likely.

  Movement to his left caught the officer’s eye, and he leaned forward to look around the taciturn driver to get a better look. Gathered on a low hillock a hundred yards to his left was a band of Eyade nomads, a group of twenty warriors plus a Shukia, guidon-bearer, and two bodyguards, the wizard guessed as he whistled sharply to let his people know trouble was afoot. Beside him, the wagon driver drew back on the reins and set his brake, bring the wain to a creaking halt.