Daeholf now grimaced.
“What?” Zedek asked.
“So you accept the magic swords are nonsense, but you believe the dragons?”
“Oh don’t start him off or I’ll go and join in the dying for some peace.”
“I think he’s right,” Jonas interjected.
“What?”
“There is a battle on.”
“Now imagine if we had a dragon…”
“You’ve started him!”
“Zedek, in the most polite way possible, please don’t mention them again today.”
“So what would you two do?” Alia asked.
“What?”
“You’re both military. What would you do now?”
“The backbone of the legions are the soldiers,” said Daeholf, just as you’d imagine an ex-soldier to say it, “and Garrow has all of his lined up and ready. He’ll advance them now and hope they’ll sweep through the rebel lines.”
“And will they?”
Daeholf looked at Trimas and back at Alia, but their faces said it all.
“So they will.”
“The rebels might hold, to start with. But if the grinding continues… Storn’s going to need more tricks. Or he’ll be pushed back and back until they don’t hold anymore.”
“If only we had a few units of our own,” Trimas sighed.
“Fingers getting twitchy?” Daeholf asked.
“Yes.”
“Mine too. Although I held a sword and you just pointed at people.”
“Ha de fucking ha.”
“Messengers. Messengers are moving.”
Everyone turned to the battle.
*****
Garrow had been looking at the lines of battle, now behind him, when he heard the horse come up at great speed.
“General, sir!”
“Yes,” he said, not turning round, wishing messengers would come from the opposite direction.
“I have a message sir, a request from…”
“I know who sent you. What does he want.”
“To advance sir!”
“I see.”
“He honourably requests that as his men have been stood under fire for some time now, the line should advance.”
Garrow turned his entire horse to give the messenger a practiced glare.
“He means to tell a general how to conduct a battle?”
“Er…” The messenger looked uncertain as it became clear there was no commanding officer between him and the man who could have him executed for all sorts of crimes. But Garrow didn’t execute messengers, did he? Time to stick to what he’d been told. “Of course not sir, but he does wonder why we’re all standing there.”
“Two things. Don’t use a group word like ‘we’ when you’ve just ridden away from the frontline and are on a horse, because all the other ‘wes’s in your unit are footsoldiers who’ll have to fight face to face, spear to spear, and don’t need people like you claiming to be part of them.”
The messenger’s mouth had fallen open.
“Never forget exactly what you’re doing, who you are, and the fact that the hard work is done by the dying.”
A fly could have flown inside the cavity.
“And secondly, tell your commander that we are dealing with some flank issues and he can advance soon enough. He’s not a stupid man, so I don’t expect he’ll be complaining again any time soon.”
“Yes sir.”
There was a pause. “Go.”
Garrow turned back to the rear of his force. When will someone come back and tell me what the gods is happening.
It was one thing being in command of thousands of men and women before a battle when you had some control over what was happening. He’d always say some, because he didn’t like to delude himself that perfect control was ever possible. Even the emperor didn’t have that, even one man didn’t have that over his own mind. The small and large, no one did. So, he had some control, but during a battle … what was happening? That was a problem, too many people over too large an area, so you had to rely on messengers to tell you, to ride there and back.
A lesser man than an imperial general might be flooded by the sensations of panic and confusion, but few rose to where Garrow was without being able to stand above them.
No, that wasn’t right. Garrow wasn’t above them.
He just had deep roots, keeping him propped up on the surface. Even now he felt the edges of his mind fraying from the pressure, and his heartbeat rising. But he knew how to fight them off like an army would fight the enemy. So he would remain in control, and he would hope the enemy lost its own battle…
He just had to ignore the fact the enemy were imperials too.
And now, at last, aides and messengers were returning.
They came at speed, looking nervous, as well they might. The aides would be scared of how he’d react, and his officers would be scared of what else this enemy would throw at them.
“General, sir,” a senior woman called out.
“What happened?”
He listened as they told him the best account they could muster in the time. Then he looked at the faces of his aides and decided a demonstration was needed.
“So, what just happened here?”
“They got lucky sir,” an aide suggested.
“You seem very sure of that.”
“Yes sir.”
“They weren’t lucky. What has just been described to me is a cunning and well planned manoeuvre designed to get behind us. No doubt they would have advanced had we experienced a charge into our backs.”
“Of course sir.”
“And what happened then?”
“We smashed them. Our cavalry proved themselves and smashed them.”
“No, we got lucky. Whoever this enemy commander is, he only has so many veterans. If he’d sent them we’d have had a problem. Instead he sent irregulars, civilians, who went for whatever they could rob and carry. They made a mistake and we were lucky. So what I really want to know is, who is that enemy commander?”
“Sir, I spoke to a captured rebel. I have a name.”
“Oh?”
“General Storn.”
“Well done…”
“Clearly a rebel affectation but… Sir?”
They all saw how Garrow had turned to the frontline and was staring out.
“Storn. That’s not an affectation. Storn is one of us. A real general. Retired, annoyed, commanding the rebels. Storn. He’s out there. One of the good people.”
Why wasn’t I warned of this in the letter? Garrow wondered.
“Sir?”
“Yes of course,” and Garrow shook his head. “Is our rear now secure?”
“The rebels will not be charging the main body in the rear sir, the train is a mess.”
“Let’s win this battle then and… Ah. Erland was in the rear. What happened to the governor?”
“We are trying to assess that sir. There is plenty of confusion.”
“Understandably so. I want whatever light infantry you can muster to spread out and make sure no other surprises are waiting in our flanks.” Now wasn’t the time to publicly admit you could have done with some more, but he certainly thought it.
“Yes sir.”
“And if Erland is alive, leave him there.”
“Sir.”
“And you, muster me every messenger you can find. I have an order almost ready to go out.”
A big order.
*****
Garrow had dictated his orders to an aide, and copies had been passed to the messengers. These had then ridden down to the officers, and the messages passed on.
There was no need to refer to the written command. A general advance of the first wave couldn’t have been clearer, or more welcome.
Well, to some.
In the front rank of the front units, located in the middle of the field, two men stood. They were far from alone, being compacted on both sides and behind by fellow soldiers, men and women al
ike. But one felt alone, for all the ways the legion had worked to build him up, and as he stood his body reacted.
A short moment later, the man next to him sniffed the air. This man was built like a cube, shorter and squatter than the first man, with no neck nor hair beneath his helmet. All his armour could have been better cared for, doing just enough to pass the requirements of his superiors rather than producing anything you could parade pass the emperor in.
“You shat yourself?” the bull asked, turning to the taller, thinner man next to him.
“No.”
“Nowt wrong with shitting yourself when you’re new. Nowt wrong with shitting yourself when you’ve been around. Lots of vets shit themselves. So have you?”
“Yes, yes I have fouled myself.”
“Dirty shitter. Look, here’s a tip. You got me to your left. So your left is safe. I don’t run and I don’t buckle. But do I know my right’s safe? Because I got you.”
“I don’t run.”
“Yeah, I’d believe you if you shouted it a bit more.”
“I don’t run!”
“Good. Good. We have one side protected. The stink of shit’ll pass soon too. Be more of it when guts are torn open, so much more you can’t smell it no more.”
“That’s not good.”
“It is. Make sure it’s rebel guts. Rebel guts are what we want. What do you think we all are? We’re imperial soldiers and we eat farmers for fucking breakfast.”
“Why didn’t they put you with the veterans?”
“Personal question.”
“Well if we’re standing together…”
“I been told I’m a ‘good influence’, their words, on the younger recruits.”
“But you’re not a sergeant.”
“Might have punched a sergeant once. Got the scars on my back for it. Things follow you about in the army. Stand firm and don’t punch sergeants. Even if they did deserve it.”
“What did he do?”
“Long time ago. Water under the, er, bridge is it? Besides, shouldn’t hold grudges. Not when that person might be next to you one day and your life is theirs.” He paused, refocussed on the field ahead, and added, “You shitter.”
“Ready!” came a call from an officer riding up and down the rear line.
“Ready!” came calls from the junior officers in the line.
The soldiers tightened their grips on their shields, and began to tilt their spears, which had been pointing to the sky and its gods, and now dropped them ninety degrees until they faced the enemy.
“Move!”
The command was repeated several times, but only needed once to make the mass of trained flesh and metal obey. Almost as one the soldiers stepped forward, once then twice, then they moved at a steady rhythm across the ground.
As they advanced, the front rows looked at the shields and spears ahead of them and allowed the adrenaline in their bodies to surge, the fight aspect from flight or fight very much coming to the head. This was why God had made human bodies and red mists, this was advancing under fire and cutting the enemy down.
“Shields!”
At the command the infantry raised their large wooden defences, raised them to protect themselves but kept on marching. Officially shields were raised like this to defend against the damage from an arrow, but canny commanders knew it was to block out the sight of the cloud, wood and metal death about to rain down on them. The rebel archers had moved forward when the cavalry had retired, and were now ready.
At one moment there was nothing, then shields started to be punched down as if an animal was in the sky above. Some arrows bounced, some stuck a small way, some knocked several inches through, and in places a man screamed as the shield had been too close to bare flesh. The arrows punched onto the wood and the soldiers had to force themselves to keep walking, marching forward, as the sky wanted to make them stop or fall back.
Now their feet began to stick as they accumulated mud. With their minds on the arrows it took time for their feet to get a message through, and as arms ached so legs followed, as they had to slog through.
But the legion didn’t slow.
Bodies worked harder, but speed never lessened.
A commander, judging that the enemy knew they were too close to risk another sky full of arrows, shouted, and the shields were lowered, arrow shafts wrenched off. The rebel archers once more retreated, once more in annoyingly good order.
“Set!”
You couldn’t shout ‘lower shields’ because it could confuse, repetition was fine but similarity was not, so ‘set’ told them to get into the right stance and lower the shields. The danger now came from the rebels in front of them.
“Spears!
The legion hunched over, shields slightly overlapping, spears thrust forward, the unstoppable force which had won an empire so old all they knew of the origins were legends and stories. They were in the position they’d been beaten to master: advancing over a field, their weapons pointing at an enemy they would soon destroy.
*****
“That’s a bit early,” Daeholf said, shifting slightly on the roof, trying to get more comfortable.
“Especially since he’s already been outmanoeuvred once,” Trimas said.
“What are you two seeing that we’re not?” Alia said.
“Garrow is committing his reserves along with his main body,” Daeholf said.
“Ah,” Alia said.
“Again for those of us that don’t speak soldier?” Zedek said.
“You need to work on that if you’re going to keep pretending to be one,” Jonas said.
“Rather than keeping some of his men back to cover him against the unexpected he seems to be throwing everyone forward in one big push,” Trimas said.
“And uphill into a hail of arrows,” Daeholf said.
“Not that he has any choice about the arrows,” Trimas said.
“Maybe it’s because he has already been surprised once,” Daeholf said, musing.
“Bull through? Risky play,” Trimas said.
“Now you’ll need to explain it to me too,” Alia said.
“Garrow has to believe his troops are superior to the rebels,” Daeholf said. “He’s backing his soldiers to smash the rebels through main force.”
“Despite what we saw on the left flank,” Trimas interjected.
“Yes, despite that. Though the cavalry did redeem themselves at bit there.”
“He might not hang the captain then?” Jonas said.
“Might not,” Trimas said. “I’d rather not be him though.”
“The captain or Garrow?” Zedek said.
“Either actually,” Trimas said. “Condemning your own men to death is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
“That’s barbaric,” Zedek said.
“One bad apple to save the barrel,” Trimas said. “Lesser of two evils really.”
“I can understand why you’d not want to do it,” Jonas said.
“So, about the reserves,” Alia said.
“Yeah. He seems to be throwing everything in. The battle equivalent of the attempted haymaker. If he misses he’s going to have his trousers down and get a proper seeing to.”
“What a colourful if somewhat confused analogy,” Alia said.
“Ah, sorry,” Trimas said.
“I think he just wants to get his good troops into the fight,” Daeholf said. “So far we’ve just seen idiots and cowards. He’s unlikely to win with them.”
“That is probably the greenest legion I’ve seen for a long time,” Trimas agreed.
“So is he going to lose?” Jonas said.
“We’re not saying that,” Daeholf said. “Ground is muddy but probably not as soggy as Storn was hoping. The heavies will reach his lines with enough energy to fight. Then it’ll get ugly unless he has anything else in store.”
“Farmers won’t hold? They’ve been doing pretty well so far,” Jonas said.
“Surprise attack against green troops. I’d
expect a very different result against the more experienced soldiers,” Daeholf said.
“Storn still has his veterans though,” Trimas said.
“This is true,” Daeholf said. “It’ll be interesting.”
“Interesting?” Alia said, a hint of disgust in her tone.
“Professional interest I mean. I was a soldier and have seen a lot of this sort of thing. This battle is a bit unpredictable.”
“Remember when I said this was ghoulish earlier?” Alia said.
“We do,” Trimas said.
“That,” Alia said.
“Seen a lot of people die. Killed quite a few of them. It affects you and not for the better,” Daeholf said. “To survive any length of time in war you have to develop a certain level of detachment. It’s sort of hard to unwind that.”
Alia looked at him closely. “You really are damaged aren’t you?”
“We all are in our own ways though we don’t all admit it to ourselves,” Daeholf said. “Certain situations just bring mine out more than others.”
“I think I understand my father a little better now,” Alia said, tone sad.
They all turned to look at her.
“Oh, don’t do that,” she said. “This is clearly neither the time nor the place.” Daeholf, and Trimas shrugged and looked back to the battle. Zedek’s eyes lingered slightly longer but he too looked away.
“Don’t start,” Alia said to Jonas.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jonas said.
“Let’s just leave it,” she said. “And whilst I don’t enjoy it, you were right,” she added more loudly. “We can do the most good by knowing how this turns out early.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Trimas said.
“Cavalry is circling round behind the infantry,” Zedek said.
“You’re right. Where’s he going with them? Horses must be close to played out by now,” Daeholf said.
“Heading for this flank again,” Trimas said.
“Let’s hope they don’t see us this time either then,” Jonas said.
*****
Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1) Page 58