by Hugh Cook
'Go out now and give the evening orders,' said Hearst, i want listening posts set up forward of our lines, and patrols to go out even further to the west. I don't want to take any chance of our being caught by a night attack.'
iil see that gets done,' said Watashi.
'There's also an order every officer is to give the men at dawn,' said Hearst. 'Not before, mind, in case we lose a patrol or a few sentries to a raiding party from Androlmarphos. I don't want Alish to get advance warning of what I'm going to do.'
'The order will be given at dawn,' said Watashi. 'What is it?'
'When blue smoke rises from the burial mound, fall back on the pyramid,' said Hearst. 'When red smoke rises, attack. Blue to retreat, red to attack.'
'Ten thousand men falling back on the pyramid!' said Watashi, outraged. 'We'd crush each other to death. There's not nearly enough room.'
'The effect of that order will be to have the army move south when I want,' said Hearst. 'They can all see the pyramid wherever they are, so that will give them the direction to move in.'
'What's the purpose of these orders?' said Watashi. 'To baffle the moon and confuse the sun,' said Hearst.
T hope you know what you're doing,' said Watashi. 'He knows,' said Farfalla.
'Does he?' said Watashi. T know more about tactics than your - '
'He's good,' said Farfalla. 'Good at everything he does.'
'But no cavalry! The greatest strength of our army, just thrown away! Unless there's horses hidden in one of those magic bottles.'
'There aren't,' said Hearst.
Experiments had shown that only fifty men or ten horses could be taken into one of the bottles as a group; furthermore, horses could not negotiate the stairwells inside the bottle, and a dozen at most could fit inside the bottleneck.
'What have you got in the bottle then?'
'Provisions to supply our army for a month or more,' said Hearst, 'In case we have to lay siege to Androlmarphos.'
'So we've no cavalry.'
'Oh, we could always ride each other to war, at a pinch,' said Hearst easily. 'This is no joke!'
'So what do you want me to do about it?'
'There's nothing we can do now,' said Watashi. it would be a nightmare trying to bring a large force of cavalry across that river under cover of darkness. Your friend Alish will know that. Somebody will tell him if he doesn't realise it himself
i had thought of that,' said Hearst, it will encourage him to attack at dawn, before we have another day in which to bolster our force here.'
'You sound enthusiastic,' said Watashi.
'Of course,' said Hearst, i now know of a certainty when my enemy will be launching his attack. That's a
substantial advantage in a battle like that. Now: the orders.'
Watashi recited Hearst's orders, word perfect, then went to distribute them.
And Hearst was left standing on the mound, gazing to the west where the blood-red sun was sinking. The sunset made the plains a field of blood; the distant battlements of Androlmarphos were black against the blood-red sun, and the waters of the Central Ocean were a sea of fire.
* * *
In the darkness, Hearst and Farfalla sat together on the burial mound outside the marquee. Hearst named the stars, and told Farfalla long stories about their loves and hatreds, their politics and alliances, and the roles they had played in the battle of the sun and the moon.
Through the quiet night came the undertones of the voices of many men sitting talking round camp fires. Some had grumbled at the loads of firewood Hearst had ordered brought to their positions: it had meant a lot of hard work for everyone. But they would be glad of that wood now: glad of their small fires and the talk that went on around the fire.
Hearst had issued orders forbidding anyone to burn bamboo, for he did not want explosions keeping people awake. However, he knew that for some, there would be little sleep - and, for a few, none. Meanwhile, there would be long, lazy conversations, ranging over everything under the heavens; far better to sit talking by fireside than to lie alone in the dark, wrapped in a blanket against the cold, trying to sleep but only occasionally managing a few moments of dreamtime, which inevitably end in nightmare.
For a moment, looking out at the campfires, Hearst wished he was once more an ordinary fighting man, without the responsibilities of command.
"What's that star?' said Farfalla. 'Which one?'
'The green one to the south of the Centipede.'
'That is Elamazure. She is a very tall lady, very beautiful, but terrible to behold, for she is one of the great judges. A jade sword rides at her side. Above all else, she judges battle: the shades of incompetent commanders have reason to fear her.'
'Why?'
'She does not judge the rights or wrongs of the wars of the world, but she passes judgment on their conduct. To her, incompetence in battle is the greatest sin, for it extends the agony, so that a conflict that could be settled with a single battle ends up lasting five years or fifty.'
'What are you afraid of?'
'I do not say that I fear anything, but. . . well, it is a heavy responsibility.'
Falling silent, Hearst heard a creaking begin in the night: that was an irrigation pump. It would drudge away till dawn, at his orders. Then he heard voices, then a sentry approached:
'Commander Hearst?'
'Here.'
'My lord, the cavalry commander presents himself 'Good,' said Hearst.
The sentry led him through the darkness to the cavalry commander, a big man smelling of horses and sweat.
'How is it going?' said Hearst. 'Like silk,' said the commander. 'As smooth as a dream.'
'I hope you have better dreams than me,' said Hearst, it's going very well. We should all be here long before dawn.'
'Have your officers received their orders?' 'Everything has been done as you wanted it to be done,' said the cavalry commander.
'Good,' said Hearst. 'Good.'
Under Ohio's command, ships had been anchored next to each other and planks laid across their decks to form a bridge across the river. Under cover of darkness, cavalry was being brought dry-shod to Hearst's army. By morning, he would have two thousand horses at his disposal.
After a conversation with the cavalry commander, Hearst rejoined Farfalla. They sat together, saying nothing now, and listened to the night. Some of the camp fires had gone out: at least some men found themselves able to sleep. For many, it would be their first battle. The creaking of an irrigation pump went on and on; the water was soaking the ground in front of the burial mound, turning it to a quagmire.
Reports came in from some of the patrols. Troops were moving forward from Androlmarphos to take up positions on the plain. Alish was moving his army onto the field of battle under cover of darkness.
'These are my orders,' said Hearst. 'Just before dawn, our trumpets will sound the attack. However, nobody is to move forward. When the trumpets sound the attack, everyone is to shout, to scream, to hammer weapons against shields. But nobody is to attack, nobody is to attack. Make that very clear.'
Men dispersed into the night to see that the orders were given, and Hearst and Farfalla were alone again.
'You should rest,' said Farfalla.
T can't rest,' said Hearst.
T can help you rest.'
'Not tonight,' said Hearst.
'I'll be waiting for you if you change your mind,' said Farfalla.
She retired to the marquee. Morgan Hearst sat alone, watching the stars, the campfires, and listening to the creak of the irrigation pump. He heard sounds of cavalry moving into position, heard distant curses, distant laughter. It was hard to wait, alone: hard to wait
for the dawn, knowing that if his judgment was wrong, thousands of his troops would be slaughtered on the field of battle, his army broken and his name shamed.
But he had a chance: and if he succeeded, he would have saved the Harvest Plains from the marauders from the north. If Hearst won this battle, he would have a
t least one worthy success to his name. Yet again he reviewed his failures.
Somewhere out in the darkness, Elkor Alish, once his friend, was waiting to lead an army against him. Hearst counted that as his biggest failure: but despite all his thinking about it, he could not see what he had done wrong.
* * *
Morning approached. The last camp fires burnt down to ashes. Men waited in the darkness, shivering. Then trumpets blared, announcing the attack. There was a storm-sea clamour of shouting and banging as Hearst's men chorused their rage. In the darkness, it sounded as if an attack was being launched in earnest, but Hearst knew - hoped! - that every man was holding his position.
From the lines of Alish's army, battle-horns sounded, calling men to action. There was the roar of hundreds of voices chanting defiance. The noise quietened slowly as Alish's men began to realise there was no attack, that it was a false alarm.
Hearst knew how Alish would see things. His army had been roused to battle: his men were on their feet, armed and ready, blood racing still from the shock of thinking they were being attacked. What now? He could tell them to stand down, then try to mobilise them for battle again when the sun rose. Or: he could order the advance, knowing that by the time they reached Hearst's lines there would be enough light for battle to commence.
Morgan Hearst stood on the burial mound, waiting. There was a movement in the darkness: there was just enough light for him to see that it was Farfalla.
'What's happening?' said Farfalla.
'Wait,' said Hearst.
Out to the west, the rumbling thunder of battle-drums began to boom. It was joined by the blast of battle-horns, then by thousands of voices screaming a battle-chant, then by the clash of spears beating against shields. It sounded as if all the armies of the deepest hell were advancing through the night.
'They are coming,' said Hearst.
His voice was flat, dull, dead. There was no point in worrying now. He had thought through his battle-plan, he had briefed his officers, he had given his orders. If he had made any mistakes, it was too late to correct them now.
'They sound so . .. so . . .'
'Hush,' said Hearst. 'Hush . .."
She was standing on his right side. He wished he could have reached out and taken her hand, but he had no hand on his right side, only a cold steel hook. And in his left hand was a sword. Why had he drawn that sword? This was no battle that he could win by the dare of nerve and sinew. This was no battle where he could surrender himself to a berserker battle-trance. This was a battle that required that he stand and watch, waiting for the right moment.
Hearst knew that in the darkness, his cavalry troopers were leading their horses forward through the defensive lines of stakes and potholes, and assembling on the flat land to the west.
'The sky's lighter,' said Farfalla.
It was true. There was light enough for one to begin to make out shadowy figures: wraiths, ghosts, shapings of smoke. The heart-hammering uproar of the onslaught of Alish's forces was closer, louder, and for a moment it seemed to Hearst that he had only an army of ghosts to confront an army of raging flesh and blood.
Out to the west, lights suddenly glowed as the men of a listening post whipped away cloaks which had covered lanterns which had been kept burning through the night. The signal told Hearst the enemy were now only four hundred paces away.
'Sound attack!' shouted Hearst.
Trumpets flared. Loud and clear they rang, challenging the fading stars. Hearst's cavalry started moving at a walk, then a trot, then a canter, a gallop. As the horses thundered forward, a battle cry was raised by the thousands of lancers:
'Wa - wa - Watashi! Wa - wa - Watashi!
Watashi. Blood. Fear. Death.
Advancing in darkness, Alish's forces had become disordered as the more eager adventurers had surged ahead far in advance of the others. They had not expected to face cavalry. They had no chance to organise themselves into a wall of spears and swords which would have deterred the horses.
Out of the shadows swept shadows, thunder bearing steel, spear-blades driving home, scimitars following through, and ever the cry was raised:
'Wa - wa - Watashi! Wa - wa - Watashi!'
There were screams of pain, fear, panic. Those closest to the horses began to run; their panic spread; soon all of Alish's army was in retreat.
A sudden outbreak of shouting from Hearst's army signalled a spontaneous infantry charge. Sensing victory, they were mounting an assault. Hearst swore. This was no part of his plan! The battle had just started, and already he was losing control.
'Sound retreat!' he shouted.
The trumpets sounded retreat, but to no avail. If any men bothered to listen, none bothered to obey.
Hearst strained to see. The darkness was easing away; he began to make out parts of a confused grappling-groping battle on the plains, a hideous, brawling gang-fight from which came the screams of murder, the clash
of weapons, the monstrous noise of badly injured horses.
Then the enemy trumpets sounded retreat.
"Sound retreat!' shouted Hearst.
'But the enemy's running away!' yelled a trumpeter.
Hearst cursed him; belatedly, retreat was sounded. But nobody obeyed. As light began to conjure colours on the plain, Hearst, from his vantage point, saw, all too clearly, exactly what was happening.
Alish had kept his cavalry in the rear. The cavalry was holding firm as the infantry retreated through their ranks. Very shortly, Hearst's disorganised infantry, attacking as a formless, anarchic rabble intermixed with cavalry, would be confronted by the massed, "waiting discipline of Alish's horse.
It happened.
As Hearst watched, the last of Alish's infantry retreated to safety behind the cavalry screen. The attack wavered, faltered, broke. Alish's cavalry charged. Dismayed, Hearst saw his own horse and footsoldiers flung back. Alish's infantry, without any orders, began to charge.
As the battlefield disintegrated into a chaotic free-for-all, Hearst abandoned his original battle-plan: to brunt the enemy's attack, then break through on the flanks, encircle the enemy and crush them. He was a fool to have thought he could try anything so complicated with this mostly raw and virgin army. His only consolation was that Alish seemed to have no more control than he did.
But, inexorably, weight of numbers was beginning to tell; Hearst's army was - he thought - slowly being forced back into the 'V made by two diverging rivers.
It was time to try the hind legs. He would try and lure Alish's army in between the pyramid and the burial mound, then crush it between those two strongpoints. He had massed archers lurking out of sight behind the burial mound which would give him a fist to use against
infantry; wet ground in front of the mound would protect against a cavalry charge.
'Smoke!' yelled Hearst, to the men manning blazing bonfires. 'Blue - '
But someone had already thrown a bag of chemicals onto a fire. Red smoke billowed up.
'Blue smoke!' yelled Hearst. 'And - trumpets! -sound the retreat!'
A bag of chemicals was thrown onto the fire - this time for blue smoke. A pillar of green and yellow flames shot up into the sky as chemicals mixed. Some of the trumpets sounded the advance, and some the retreat. Wind blew the smoke this way and that, obscuring the battlefield completely.
Then someone threw on black smoke.
'Who threw black smoke!' screamed Hearst. 'I'll kill the man responsible!'
Black smoke was the signal which would summon ships Hearst had waiting upriver. The ships were his reserve force, and this, to his mind, was hardly the time to employ them. He was well aware of the fact that the general who wins a battle is often the one who has the last reserves to commit to the fight; the black smoke, calling in the ships prematurely, might have cost him victory.
Still, it would be a little while yet before the ships got here.
As the smoke cleared, Hearst was able to see that his men were retreating. A few came scrambling up t
he burial mound; most fell back toward the pyramid, or went mobbing back through the gap between the pyramid and the mound. They were retreating, obviously, not because of the totally incoherent signals, but because they were losing.
Alish managed to stop his men from following.
Hearst saw Alish's battle-standard, the blood-red banner of Rovac, moving to the northern flank.-Alish's cavalry began to mass on that flank. Hearst's plan, to
lure Alish's men in between two strongpoints then crush them, had failed. Alish was obviously going to attack the burial mound, the strongpoint guarding Hearst's right flank, hoping, by seizing it, to win the battle.
"Well then,' muttered Hearst, 'Come on!'
Then, in a loud clear voice, he shouted orders. On his command, a scattering of soldiers down in front of the burial mound retreated to its heights, their legs boggy with mud.
There were dead bodies on the ground between the two armies - dead men, dead horses, broken spears, fallen banners. As dust settled through sunlight, both sweating, panting armies were silent but for the screams and groans of the wounded.