by RW Krpoun
The Ket had been in place for some time now, but the wizened Shuket sat motionless in his well-worn saddle studying the scene before him. It was a nice fat target such as they had hit many times over the last few months, but that was what bothered him: by now, the Realmsmen knew what the Eyade were capable of and had gotten fairly good at scouting themselves. By rights the inhabitants and livestock ought to have been dispersed by now. Thus he could only deduce that the ruler of Good Dirt was either a hopeless incompetent, an idiot, or planning a trap.
The first two could not be ruled out, especially since the war had not reached this area during the summer, while the third was a bit implausible unless the enemy was vastly underestimating the size of the force being sent against them. True, the tall hedges made the narrow lanes between the fields extremely poor terrain for horsemen, and footmen entrenched in buildings were difficult to root out with light cavalry, but Kirpinar and his officers had learned early on in the campaign how to deal with the problems. For the house-forts, sealed double-walled fire pots filled with coal and liquid resin such as the war engines threw were hurled by rope to set the buildings on fire, and as for the hedge lanes, well, the southerners had very few real archers, just crossbowmen with their deadly but slow-reloading weapons, while every Eyade was a bowman to some degree. Without the ability to send volleys of missiles into the Eyade ranks even the hedges weren’t sufficient protection for the Realmsmen unless they were willing to spend lives freely.
Still the scene nagged at his battle instincts, looking far too peaceful and calm for a nation months into a very bloody war, and the fact that once his sub-units were committed and off the ridge the hedges would ensure that they would not be able to see their flanking units or the village itself until they were at the pathetic surrounding ditch. While it was impossible for the guerrillas to take on an entire Ket Kirpinar was concerned that they might catch one of his Kias between the long green rows of hedges and chew it up before help could arrive.
He could hear his troops shifting restlessly around him and scowled inwardly; the Hand way of warfare with ranks granted by one’s superiors was alien to the Eyade, but over the last few months Kirpinar had come to see some wisdom in it; far too many of his people were dead because a commander had to order a reckless action rather than face open rebellion from young hotheads. A gesture brought Lenshu-Ket Edirne to his side, the Shuket’s second in command being a burly, ruddy-skinned man whose half-Realmsman blood showed in his size, being nearly five feet eight inches tall. Some Eyade distrusted half-breeds but Kirpinar held no grudges against them, knowing that any warrior raised from birth in Eyade camps would be an Eyade in his or her heart no matter what they looked like. Certainly Edirne had shown himself to as vicious towards his slave-mother’s people as any pure-blooded Eyade.
“We will take the village. Summon the leaders.” When the six Shukani and thirty-one Shukia had assembled around him, he pointed out the salient features of the scene below. “Remember, leave the goats, sheep, and pull-beasts alone, and start no fires unless the enemy is dug into the buildings; the Hand needs the boards to get their box-carts across the trenches. First Kani will ride in from the east, along with myself and my guard. Second Kani will circle around and come in from the north, Third Kani from the west, and Fourth Kani from the south.” Kirpinar had adopted the Hand practice of numbering units rather than using the commander’s name as two of his Shukani had the same primary name. “Lenshu-Ket Edirne will remain on this ridge with the Fifth and Sixth Kani in reserve, ready to move to where the action is the thickest. Kias will move by separate paths to the village to avoid becoming too densely packed in any given lane.”
Shukani Zour of the Second Kani snorted. “These are grubbers, not fighting men, Shuket. Send a couple Kia to the west to catch any who flee, and lead the rest in off the ridge. Kill the men and children, and parcel out the rest for fun.”
Kirpinar eyed Zour, who had ambitions far in excess of his abilities; the squat ex-Star Lance had led a Kia across the Wall, being raised to command a Kani after all the original Shukani and most of the Shukia had headed home laden with loot. “I think it is odd that this village appears to have taken no precautions at all; there is the possibility that these southerners expect us to blunder into the hedge-roads like a pack of novices on their first raid and have planned a trap. In any case, it will be good practice for our young warriors and recently-promoted leaders.”
His logic was sound, and in any case none of the Shukani had the stature to challenge his leadership, so there were no further comments on his plan. He outlined the timing of the raid, using the cunning lanterns fitted with slow-burning cord the Hand had given them before the war’s start, reviewed the signals they would make using whistle-arrows, and sent the leaders back to their units.
“Might it be a trap?” Edirne asked as the Second, Third, and Fourth Kani moved off the ridge to take up their positions.
“Perhaps.” Kirpinar watched the collection of houses; figures could be seen now scurrying about as the thin wail of an alarm horn was heard. “It looks too sweet to be fully trusted.”
“Still, they could only pack so many footmen in those buildings, and perhaps a score of men in those hedges without our seeing them,” the Lenshu-Ket shrugged. “Not nearly enough to stand up to an entire Ket.”
“Unless we ride into there like a pack of novices,” Kirpinar agreed. “With a reserve on this ridge and coming in from all sides we are assured a victory.”
The wait was not overly long, and the two sat in comradely silence as the flanking Kani moved to their positions. Both had ridden together for nearly thirty years, serving in the same Kia for twenty of them. A Eyade gives up his nokta, or warrior society, when he leaves the ranks of the Kia for command of a Kani or Ket, but both were deeply marked by their years spent in a Kia of Wind Bows, a nokta known for its cunning and careful plans; it was frequently bragged that the Wind Bows produced the best Shuket in the Eyade nation.
“Time to go,” Kirpinar observed, and gestured for the totem-bearer to signal the advance.
“Save us a few,” Edirne joked; the Shuket jerked his chin in acknowledgement and guided his mount to the waiting Kia which he had made his personal guard. Pausing by the Shukani of the First Kani, he indicated the path he would take with his bodyguard troop, and angled down the slope as his personal Kia caught up.
A command group was a matter of personal preference for each commander; Kirpinar had always kept it to a minimum, not wanting a lot of hangers-on and bootlickers around him. As a Shuket he had stayed with the same pattern each time: a Kia to act as bodyguards and messengers, whatever Healers and Shamans were available, an interpreter for dealing with the Hand priests, a slave-clerk, and bearers for the Ket totem and his personal banner. He was taking his banner and the Kia with him, leaving the rest on the ridge, which wasn’t much as their shaman had been killed some weeks back, as had two of the three Healers they had started the campaign with. They had received two more with the new recruits, but one had gotten drunk and drowned in her own vomit so they were down to two of somewhat dubious skill. Not that Kirpinar worried too much about Healers in any case, regarding them as something of a weak-sister convenience.
His personal Kia was a band of Moonsingers, a nokta restricted to females of either pure or mixed blood; the Moonsingers prided themselves in their voices and in their ability to operate at night. Kirpinar had taken no small amount of ribbing when he picked a all-female nokta as his personal guards rather than a Kia of his alma mater, and while it was true that he had bedded several members of the troop, his real reason was more pragmatic: the Moonsingers were specialists, unique in their night-combat orientation, and fairly rare, the only Kia of that nokta in his Ket. Had he put them in a Kani their talents would have been wasted, but by holding them separate they had done him no end of useful service in terms of night patrols and scouting. And besides, they sang softy as they rode, which was pleasing and restful.
They weren�
�t singing now, however; bows and lances were in hand, and all were keeping their eyes moving, which was another reason he had chosen an all-female troop: women warriors, tended to be calmer and less glory-oriented than their male counterparts. The Moonsingers saw Good Dirt and the surrounding terrain in the same light as he did, and were made nervous by the possibilities just as he was.
The fields began as soon as the ridge-slope flattened to the point where the farmer-grooves could be cut into the soil, and with them the elevated hedges. It was shadowy in the narrow lane they entered; the morning sun had not climbed high enough to fully illuminate between the silent dun-colored rows that loomed to either side. Kirpinar stayed at the head of the column, watching the hedges to either side with distrustful eyes. While it was true that he commanded well over six hundred fifty warriors, he only had thirty here with him and the rest were far enough away as to offer him little support should an ambush be sprung. He consoled himself that winter had thinned the hedge’s leaves by more than two-thirds, the remainder being browned by the change in season leaving scant cover, although they retained their capability as a barrier.
He slid his shield onto his arm and loosened his lance in its saddle-socket, catching glimpses of the Kias of the First Kani as they passed through crossroads; it appeared that the line of advance was being maintained. Their horses’ hooves were quiet upon the damp surface of the rutted track that passed between the fields; up ahead Kirpinar could see the edge of the ditch that surrounded the town and a crude plank walkway that had been constructed to allow carts and men across it, bringing a sneer to his lips: fools that built a ditch too shallow to halt cavalry and then bridged it for convenience’s sake.
He could see the animal pens and hear the bleating of the sheep when the sound of screams and horses’ death-cries reached him, coming from the west. Nodding grimly to himself, he urged his horse into a trot to get clear of the confining hedge-flanked path and out into the village, where he and his troop could maneuver.
The noise of battle spread to include the north as he guided his mount through the shallow, reedy ditch and into the open areas surrounding the animal pens at the outskirts of Good Dirt, or whatever they called it, gratified to see the First Kani emerging from the narrow tracks and crossing as well, with the Fourth spilling into view at the south. He waited until he saw the Shukani hold up their weapons, signaling for orders, and he waved his lance in the gesture for the attack. They would take the village while the Second and Third Kanis dealt with what ambush they had fallen into; after all, the scant shelter of the frost-browned hedges could only conceal a half-dozen southern Realmsmen at best, no real problem for the Kias.
They entered the town at a canter, weapons ready; the enemy had defended villages against the nomads before and they knew to expect knee-breaker holes, chains strung across the roadway, stones and log-sections hurled from rooftops, crossbowmen firing through narrow slits or from spider-holes cunningly concealed beneath straw-littered dirt, and packs of dogs sent to panic the ponies. Clearing such a village was bloody work, as the Realmsmen would have nowhere to run once the fight started and being brave or desperate men would sell their lives dearly.
But no missile fire met them, no tripping-lines had been strung, no barricades built, nothing at all that spoke of defense. They burst into the town square, an acre of bare dirt, without the slightest impediment to their movement. As the Shukani directed their troops in storming the houses and outbuildings Kirpinar led his personal Kia across the square toward s the west to learn of the scope of the ambush the Third had met, noticing as he rode that besides no signs of the village’s occupants, there were no dogs, cats, or fowl in the street, just pigeons roosting on the eaves and thin smoke rising from the chimneys.
Reining in at the west edge of the village, he saw a scattering of horses emerging from the hedge-lanes, some rider-less, and far too few in any case. The Kani must be fully engaged, with the emerging riders being wounded and messengers; the Shuket glanced back at the ridge to ensure that the reserve was still in position, and urged his horse forward between the waist-high walls of field stone that penned in the goats and sheep to receive the messengers.
With a shock he realized that the nearest rider was Shukia Xanch, a tested veteran and Star Lance who had declined a promotion to command a Kani in order to stay with his Kia when the Ket was reformed. For Xanch to leave his troop while engaged was unthinkable, wounded or not. Seeing that the man was slumped forward in his saddle, face towards the ground, Kirpinar reined in his horse and whistled sharply; immediately the Shukia’s horse turned to the summons-whistle and trotted up, the reins hanging slack.
An arrow stood out from Xanch’s side, the fletching scant inches from the warrior’s mail, and frothy blood was dripping from between the man’s gray lips, but the Shukia still lived. Supporting the sagging warrior with his shield arm, the Shuket unstrapped the man’s helmet and tossed it aside. “What happened, Xanch? How many are there?”
“None,” the Star Lance gurgled, spitting clotted blood. “Like wind-driven hail, like a grass fire, none. All gone, every saddle, all...” Wracking coughs twisted the nomad officer; having seen this many times before, Kirpinar pulled a dagger from the Shukia’s boot and drove it into the base of the man’s neck, ending his pain. He let the twitching corpse fall as one of the Moonsingers led a horse up, its dead rider still clinging to the saddle. More riders and horses were emerging from the field-lanes, but as individuals, not as units.
The dead Eyade, a Star Lance from Xanch’s troop, had an arrow in his side and another in his back, the latter apparently striking him as he had fled the ambush. Leaning close, the Shuket studied the arrows, or at least that portion still visible, and cursed bitterly. The shafts were slender, visibly thinner than those used by the Eyade, the fletching were long, low-profile, and had an extra tie-down point two-thirds of the way up the feather. Tiny silk ‘wings’ sprang from the marking bands called cresting that were inscribed in front of the fetching, and Kirpinar knew beyond a doubt that the arrow’s head would be iron-hard wood, wickedly carved.
He had never faced them in battle but he had heard of them, and had purchased a couple captured arrows from a Hand intelligence-priest who had encountered them years earlier: Lanthrell, the greatest archers and ambushers in the world, their only weakness being their few numbers and that their bows were relatively short-ranged.
A gust of wind engulfed them in the stink of wood-smoke, jerking the Shuket back from his surprise. Looking back, he was amazed to see every house and most of the outbuildings ablaze. Cursing, he wheeled his horse and galloped back into the square, which was filled with the horsemen of the two kani and surrounded by burning buildings. He found a soot-blackened Shukani, a slender woman named Hiza who commanded the First Kani, near the center of the square.
“I said there was to be no fires,” he snarled at the coughing woman.
“We didn’t light them,” she gasped and took a long drink from a leather flask. “We broke into the houses and found the floors strewn with oil-soaked straw; they were lit even as we came through the doors. No furniture, no loot, just straw and oil splashed everywhere. The villagers must have gone out tunnels or hidden doors.”
“There were no villagers,” Kirpinar informed her. “This was a trap, designed to lure us into confined quarters in small groups. There are Lanthrell to the north and west cutting up the Second and Third Kani as we speak.”
“Should we move to their aid?”
“No point, I doubt very many are left alive. No, we will have to look after ourselves for now. They let us into the village only to set it aflame, planning to drive us back out into the hedge-lanes where we’ll be easy meat.” He glared around him. “But we’re never easy meat. Officers to me!”
It took only a few minutes to complete the preparations for Kirpinar’s simple plan and to communicate with the reserve force on the ridge via mirror flashes, which was a good thing as the buildings were engulfed in flames, the fire an
d smoke panicking the steppe ponies. The First and Fourth Kani broke out of the village and arrowed down cart lanes, one Kani to each lane, while the Fifth and Sixth advanced on line halfway down the shallow slope and peppered the hedges with clouds of arrows.
Each Kani had a third of its warriors clinging to a fellow’s saddle while their mounts were led in strings of four by the rearmost nomads. As the Eyade thundered down their respective lanes, snapping arrows at any likely hiding place, shafts whipped out of the hedges to meet them; instantly the men and women riding double leapt from the horses and rushed the hedges, stabbing into every crevice and shadow with lances cut to half length for easy handling. This foot detachment flailed at the leafy borders until their mounts came alongside, whereupon they mounted and followed their comrades out of the confining quarters.
That was the plan and at first it helped because the Lanthrell had not expected the Eyade to voluntarily dismount, and while these bandy-legged spearmen did them little harm, they did divert the archers’ attention from their mounted brethren to themselves. But while they had waited for the Eyade to return the Lanthrell had scattered iron caltrops across the rutted, narrow cart trails, vicious, rusted spikes that lamed horses and panicked mounts; trails of oil had been poured across drifts of sun-dried leaves and lit as the horsemen approached, and while these barriers of flame were less than a foot deep or tall, they did stretch from one road side to the other, and unnerved the horses.