"What think you, highness?" Gadero said, watching Michael. His dark face, weathered in a way that diminished his minor battle scars, was relaxed as he gazed westward. Michael handed him the spyglass and removed his helmet, letting the light rain cool his face.
“Mayhap we won’t need to do any fancy strategizing,” the old soldier said, focusing on one of his closer infantry units, which was holding its own against a solid shield wall and harassment from a group of enemy horse archers. “I reckon could just hammer these fools home anyhow.”
“I’m concerned with their mage company.”
“If that’s what you want to call it. They’re not doing much.”
"That's what concerns me. In the last skirmish, they were devastating. It took Towler and two more senior mages to counter them effectively, and it was exhausting for them. They’re holding back, maybe trying to save their energy or focus - whatever it is for mages - for something else.”
Gadero put down the spyglass and nodded. “They could be waiting for our reserves. Or they may have a few of theirs kept back.”
“That’s what I was thinking, but…” Michael grunted. “I have an uneasy feeling.”
“Ain’t no easy feeling on the battlefield, sire. Thirty years and I still feel the sickness in every swing.”
“It’s something other than that, Sargeant. But you’re right, it’s probably nothing.”
“Begging your pardon, my prince, but that is not what I said. I never said it was nothing. I said there ain’t no easy feeling on the battlefield.”
“Johan might prove otherwise.”
Gadero grunted softly, then said, "I've lived through some hells, sire. Those gut feelings sent me to plenty of places that made me live. I don't feel it today though, sire."
Michael nodded. "Well, we shall have to see what happens. Have the second dragoons and third heavy cavalry move to that empty spot over there. That maniple is misshaping their shield wall. I think we could punch through and do some damage if they won't do what we want. Then have them fall back. The Ferrallese will have to reform closer to our objectives and our other maniple there. We may yet get this plan on foot.”
“I’ll delay that order for a moment, sire. Here comes young Palsay.”
Michael saw the young man riding full steam from a break in the light wood, his horse foaming at the mouth. He was bleeding from scratches on his unhelmed face and streaked with dirt. He reigned in as he pulled up.
“Michael! Uh, Captain... your highness, sir!” he stammered as his horse tossed its head.
“Enough with the titles, get on telling us how you lost your helmet, soldier,” Gadero said. “And where you got a horse.”
The young man wiped his face and took a breath. “Yeah. Sir! I’ve just been over the Northern rise, sir. Scouting, sir, my orders, sir. My helmet fell off. This was a dragoon’s horse, sir. I hated to take it, but, sir-”
"Come off and just tell us, man!" Michael said, seeing the shock in Palsay’s eyes.
Palsay nodded. “The Farallese have assembled and are marching down the northern ravine.”
“How many?” Michael said.
“I would say… Fifteen-hundred men. Most of their reserves.”
“Shit,” Gadero said, then looked to Michael. “Pardon, sire.”
“They aim to flank us, sire,” Palsay said.
“They won’t be flanking anything out there,” Gadero said. “They’ll come out miles north and east of the army.”
Michael shook his head. “They’re looking to press our forward camp, where the rest of the legion is waiting in reserve, along with a good deal of our supplies, or what’s left of them. And our entrenchments are weak on the northern side.”
“What about our companies?” Gadero said. “Our men were supposed to be running that ravine to harry the back fold of their army.”
“Don’t know, sir,” Palsay said. “Like I said, I just saw them assembling and heading out. You think our two companies can stop them?”
“No,” Michael said.
“Even with Angelico leading them?” Gadero said.
Michael shook his head. “It’s a numbers game. Angelico is good, but not that good. What types of units were assembled?”
“All sorts. Cavalry and heavy infantry. A group of old-looking men and women,” Palsay said.
“Women? Must be Sorcerers,” Gadero said.
Palsay shrugged.
“Relay that information to Butler and the king,” Michael said. “Get a fresh horse on the way if you can, on my orders. Go!”
Palsay whipped the horse with the reigns and sped off.
Turning to Gadero, Michael put his helm back on. “Scratch my last orders, sergeant. I want that cavalry unit and the dragoons to meet me over yonder, near the wood.”
“Sir?” Gadero said, raising an eyebrow. “What about the general’s plan?”
“No wise man follows a plan beyond hope of victory. Besides, those are our men out there, and I’ll be damned if I let them die without reason or hope of salvation.”
“Fine,” Gadero said. “But let me lead the sortie, sire. Your place on the battlefield is in command.”
“Not today, sergeant. You aren’t a cavalry officer. I am. If I know how to do anything, it is lead a mounted force.”
“That ravine is too narrow for cavalry maneuvers, or so you said, sire.”
“If the enemy is bringing horse, we can too. And that’s our strength, Gadero. Always play to your strengths. You know the infantry better than any man on this battlefield, myself included. You’re in charge while I run this sortie, understand?”
“Understood, sir. Give the bastards my best. And by that I mean crush a few skulls.”
“As you wish!” Michael said as he bounded down the hill. In his ears he could already hear the harsh voice of Gadero gathering messengers and relaying orders.
The wind dried his face, and he felt a rush of fear and excitement. Hold on but a little while, Angelico, he thought to himself. Just a while, and I know we can hold victory together!
Michael’s lance, held upright by a brass fitting on the rear of his saddle, knocked against the tree limbs of the drooping oaks. The knights surrounding him, as well as the light cavalry behind him, suffered the same annoyance, and his force, pushing through the wood at a trot sounded like a massive wave of rolling thunder.
Michael pulled to the side to let a few men go past, then fell back in line, wanting to get a better view of his dragoons, off to the left with their shorter, lighter lances.
"Maybe they'll confuse this ridiculous racket with thunder," said a light airy voice to his right. "Or think it's magic. Either way, I doubt the prince considered it."
Michael lifted his visor to and locked eyes with a young round-faced woman, holding a staff and armored in light mail and a helm that was slightly too large for her.
“Oh, your highness,” said the woman, give a hasty salute with her free, left hand. “I mistook you for someone else.”
“Obviously. What’s your name, mage?”
“Sharona,” she said, bowing her head slightly. “I was called up from the Calasora corps last month. Sorry for not knowing your armor, sire.”
“I had it built for function, not so I could be easily identified as commander of an Artallan legion. Tell me, Sharona, how are you?”
The woman sighed and scratched at the padding under her helm.“I’m well enough, considering I’m in a battle, haven’t had a bath in three weeks, and am likely riding to my doom.” She gave him a closed-mouth smile. “I am talking to a prince, so that’s a positive point.”
“I mean, how are you with magic?”
The woman cocked her head. “Magic?”
“That’s your purpose here, is it not?”
“Well, yes, but I’ve never had anyone just ask me. It’s more like, ‘You’re doing that wrong.’ ‘This isn’t like lighting a fire, you know.’ ‘That’s too much!’ ‘How did you manage to get in here?’ That sort of thing.”
<
br /> “So your sergeant was surprised you made it into training?" Michael said with a sigh.
“No, he was surprised I got into his office without unlocking it.”
“Sir.”
“I’m a woman.”
“You are to address me as ‘sir.’ And you salute with your right hand. Grim’s bones, didn’t they teach you anything about military discipline in basic?”
“Not really, no,” Sharana said. “I was called up only a week in, and I tend to forget things like that rather easily. Sorry. Sir. Sire.”
“Forget it,” Michael said.
“Yes, I do that.”
“I see.” Michael grumbled in exasperation, then took another breath and said slowly, “How are your skills with magic?”
Sharona looked away and sighed. “Um… pretty good, I suppose. I know a fair number of offensive spells. I can crack a man’s femur bone using a chicken bone and a type of linking enchantment. That’s quite interesting to watch.”
“Excellent.” Michael thought for a moment. “You thought to bring some chicken bones, yes?”
“Um, no. Sir.”
“Well, we’re going up against Ferralla’s senior mages. Can you do anything to mitigate the threat of magic?”
“Oh, lots. But the best thing to do with mages is just kill them, I think.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Michael said flatly. He spurred his horse forward to the front of the column.
Within a mile, the canopy of trees opened up and lifted a little. The river that cut through the ravine slowed and the trees thinned out, replaced by wet grasses, and the soldiers could move with much greater speed. The annoying knocking of spears on tree limbs also stopped. Soon, Michael could hear, however faintly, shouts from up ahead.
Angelico leapt free of his horse, which collapsed, full of arrows and half burned.
“To the south! To the south!” he shouted. “Get to high ground and away from that river!”
It was no use, amid the sounds of clashing shields and magic pushing through the ranks, nobody could hear his orders. Two infantry platoons were desperately trying to form up a shieldwall and maniple, but without clear command were leaving a massive gap between them.
Angelico ran for them, feeling pain in his left leg where a poleax had hit him, crushing in part of cuisses.
“No! No! Fall back!” he shouted.
Into the gap ran five or six heavily armored Ferrallese knights, bearing long-bladed lances. They had the flank of the infantry unit quickly and jabbed into the gaps of the poorly arrayed shields. Several men went down. Angelico reached the gap and ducked under a lance strike. On the ground he found a broken spear and dove for it, rolling just past another strike from a lance. He quickly tossed the broken spear at the horse in front of him. It cut along its flank below its armor, and the beast whinnied in pain.
Angelico rushed forward and grabbed at the stirrup of the rider. With a great heave, the saddle slid over the rain-slick barding and the knight toppled, striking Angelico on the breast with a warhammer even as he fell. The shield wall formed around him as Angelico drew his dagger from his belt and slammed it down onto the knight's gorget, where it stuck in the overlapping plates. The warhammer was pummeling Angelico’s left side, but he barely felt the blows.
Angelico slammed his fist onto the wide, flat pommel of his dagger, driving it into the enemy’s neck. He did not have time to consider the kill, for even then he felt a lance strike his left pauldron and slide, scraping along the back of his breastplate, knocking him forward and into the mud.
He felt a hand pulling at his torn cape.
“You alright Lieutenant?” It was Doboro, an infantry sergeant and (he remembered suddenly clearly) a mean card player.
“I’ll live,” Angelico said as he staggered to his feet.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.” Doboro pointed at the enemy infantry lines, forming up under the trees. The heavy cavalry was retreating, and they heard the unmistakable sound of dozens of bows being loosed.
“Shields up!” Doboro shouted. He pulled the lieutenant toward him, into the small shelter of his great scutum, which he held aloft. Several arrows struck the reinforced wood.
After the sound dissipated, Angelico heard something else: the unmistakable sound of a cavalry charge.
"They're behind us!" Angelico shouted, looking back along the wide river plain between the woody shoulders of the ravine. He drew his sword.
“How did they do it?” Doboro said, then shouted. “Rear attack! Form up!”
Angelico laughed aloud and nearly dropped his blade as he saw a banner of a pot on a field of blue waving among two throngs of horsemen, one on each side of the river.
Chapter 2: The Means of Victory
Michael rode to Angelico, relief flooding him as his friend, dirty and mud-caked, opened his visor to smile. Michael opened his in return.
“What are you doing here, sir?” Angelico said as Michael reined in Calot beside him.
“Coming to the real battle. How are losses?”
“Not so bad so far,” Angelico said. “Or should I say, they could be worse. They didn’t catch us totally unawares. Our squad mage sensed some magic upstream, as it were. But sir, those dragoons aren’t going to do much on that side of the river.”
“Just wait, my friend,” Michael said.
With the arrival of the cavalry, morale turned quickly. The infantry was able to form proper lines and advance toward the enemy. The light cavalry units intercepted the Ferrallese knights and disrupted three charges, allowing some Artallan infantry armed with crow’s beaks to pull two of them down and dispatch them. With each break the Artallan cavalry would run back to the lines, pulling in a hasty knight to the front lines, where his horse would be cut down or otherwise injured.
The dragoons, stationed on the other side of the river, dismounted and planted their oversized scutums in the dirt, where they were able to fire crossbows from cover, disrupting the enemy infantry. The Ferrallese were now having to defend on two sides.
Before the two lines could meet in earnest, an enemy mage squad, composed of clearly older men and women, most of them greyed, moved out with a group of knights and began casting spells at the Artallan front lines. Fire rippled over shields and over armor, scalding and burning men as their armor continued to burn through their jacks even after the fire subsided. The earth exploded, sending men flying. Confusion set in as men went inexplicably blind.
Angelico was desperately trying to command the disheveled heavy infantrymen, but it was difficult amid the chaos. The dragoons focused on the mages, but their bolts were burning in air before the cadre of experienced mages.
Michael formed up the heavy cavalry for a charge, intending to disrupt the magic attack when, with a shocking suddenness, the magic ceased. Michael saw that one of the trees, a tall pine, had fallen where the cadre had been a moment before. Two more trees were leaning and on their way to the earth, and he could see that at least one horse and rider had been caught by the first one. The mages scattered as these fell, and one more of their number was caught beneath a tree trunk. Trees continued to fall all around the enemy lines.
Michael looked to his right to see, dismounted and standing under an oak tree, Sharona, who looked like she was playing with a line of sticks stuck into the mud. She was kneeling down, eyes glassy. As she pushed one over, and Michael saw another tree begin to totter.
“I’ll give you a damn commendation if you keep that up!” Michael shouted to Sharona, but she seemed not to notice.
Angelico was already ordering a charge, looking to take advantage of the chaos of the falling trees. Several infantry squads, armed with smaller round shields on their backs and great long spears, moved around the wall of scutums.
“I’ll bring my squads around the flank!” Michael shouted. Angelico caught his eye and nodded.
Michael led his mixed cavalry under a low canopy oak and over a soft, turf-covered hill. Arrows flew at them at random, whic
h Michael knew from experience to be an indicator of a strategic breakdown of the enemy. He urged Calot onward, kicking up mud and water. The horses behind him were equally unsure of their footing, but the command of the Artallan knights of their beasts was superb, and the force crested the hill and flew down the embankment into the enemy lines, which had utterly failed to either turtle with their wall or bear pikes properly to stop the flanking charge. Screams filled Michael’s rushing ears as lances pierced armor and men fell underfoot around him.
“Second squad, pursue their mages!” he shouted. He didn’t turn to see if the light cavalry obeyed him, but he knew they would. He turned his attention to the men under Calot’s hooves, banging against the horse’s armor. He thrust his lance downward, once, twice… on the third stab, he caught a man and Calot’s massive bulk and forward momentum made him drop the lance, lest he test the oak shaft against his arm. He drew his longsword and began hacking downward. The knights on either side of him were doing the same, most of their lances broken on the enemy.
A quick glance to his left let him know the tactic had succeeded. The Ferrallese infantry was in a panic and the rear lines were no longer trying to prevent a route from the front. Michael looked across the river to the dragoons, who were already remounting to head upriver, preventing escape across the water and moving to harass any attempt to reform after the route.
“Knights!” Michael shouted. “Withdraw and move upfield!”
Pulling away from the mass of infantry, Michael could see through the trees a retreating mass of horsemen, including several armed with staves and short sticks, who he assumed to be mages. His second squad was actively brawling with the enemy cavalry, obscuring the mages’ view and ability to put their destructive magic to work without harming their allies. Trees were falling down once again, the source of which Michael now understood, though he could not see Sharona.
Needle Ash Book 1: Knives of Darkness Page 2