by Wilson Harp
“It’s nothing. I just woke early,” Tal said. “Sleep a bit more if you can.”
“You sound shaken. Did you have a dream?”
“Yes. But I’m fine.”
“Was it of the battle? Did you have a foretelling?”
“No, Meleus. The dream was not of the battle, and for good or ill, it was not a foretelling.”
Tal could tell Meleus wasn’t convinced, so he lay back down himself and feigned sleep until he heard the steady breathing of his most trusted friend.
The words of the man played back over and over. The images of the trees, even the image of the man himself, evaporated like a mist to his mind, the sense of peace and belonging gave way to the tension of the upcoming battle, but the words remained clear.
To reject glory, to turn down accolades was something that made no sense to him. But raising others up and praising them for their work was an honorable thing. His father gave out many awards at the feasts and festivals every spring and harvest. The happiness of those who received those accolades never lessened his own joy and stature. In fact, he felt better when he saw others receive well deserved praise.
He shuddered when he heard the man say he was being given lessons. The first dream was the night before his last day with Tumat. He had sought out the old sage for advice or knowledge from time to time, but he believed all of his lessons were being taught at the practice yard. He didn’t realize he had been under tutelage every day for the last eight years. Now he had been given a second lesson, and more besides; he now understood he was being watched at all times.
Tal resolved to find a way to share glory, although the thought left him bitter. Today would be one of his greatest days of glory. The first time he would be celebrated out of the shadow of his father. All of the glory should be his. He devised the battle plan. He convinced the nobles to join the battle. He selected the men who would lead the units. It was all his plan.
And General Praset. The general had not only trained him in combat, but had taught him tactics and strategy. The general had ridden into battle, both at the front and as escort, countless times. And yet Praset, the man who all of Mestor leaned on to provide a long string of victories in the field of battle, the man who had expanded the holdings of the king by thousands of stadia of land, had not had a parade for himself since before Tal was born.
Meleus rose and left the tent as Tal thought about Praset. The glory and adoration Praset was entitled to would have been enormous if he had been born with royal blood. His abilities of command and his skill with the spear had already made him a legend, but he still was a pale star in the sky compared to those who the gods had blessed to be born to a king.
When his servant came in with his breakfast, Tal ate quickly and then left the tent to find the general. He spotted him at the watch tower on the closest hill. The sun had not yet lit the earth enough to see the far camp, and Praset already overlooked the field. He was a marvel of a military commander.
“Good morning, Prince Commander,” Praset said. “You look well rested and energetic. I’m sure you can’t wait to secure your victory and ride back in triumph.”
“I am ready for that, indeed, General. But I’m not to ride back alone.”
Praset’s eyes narrowed and he glanced behind Tal. “What do you mean, my prince?”
“I mean we shall ride back together. We will win this day side by side, and father will acknowledge Mestor’s great debt to you. I wish you to ride next to me in the initial charge.”
“The order of battle has already been set, Prince Taldirun.”
“Yes, and I’m changing this one item. In the charge, your chariot will not follow mine, but will be to my right. In this way, you will have a share of this glory and the victory feast will be recorded with your name as well.”
“Lortum has been promised your right as reward for his service.”
“Lortum will ride at my right many times in the future. Today you will ride to my right. Your reward for your long years of service.”
“I would not take glory from you, my prince.”
“Nor shall you. It’s no shame to give you rightful honor. And this is my order as it pleases me, general.”
Praset set his jaw in the same way Tal had seen him many times in the presence of the king. He knew the general had strong feelings, but he also knew the general would obey when given an order.
“As you will it, my prince. I shall instruct my driver to set my chariot up on your right side. Together we will meet the enemy and crush them beneath our wheels.”
Tal left the watchtower and made his way back to his tent. There his servants helped him strap on his shining armor and he said his final prayers to the gods. When he left the tent, he was met with the cheers of his men. Their commander was in full armor and ready to lead them to victory.
He lifted his spear so the point towered over him, and all of his men fell quiet.
“Men of Mestor, today we take back the land stolen from us. Today we spill the blood of those who dare defy the edicts of the gods. Our arms are strong, our spears are sharp, and our cause is just. Form your ranks and meet me on the field. I will lead you to a great victory today.”
Cheers roared up as Tal lowered his spear and marched to the chariots. Behind him he could hear the spearmen putting on their leather armors and gathering their weapons of war. At twelve-foot long, the spears of his men were unwieldy in one on one combat, but brutally effective against other groups of spearmen. As long as his men marched in tight form, they could push away the enemy’s spears and then charge into the massed group.
Often, though, the spearmen never got the chance to engage. A heavy charge by the chariots would often scatter the lines and the men would throw down their heavy weapons and flee the field. The bowmen, those who were not run down by the chariots as they burst through the spearmen, and the other chariots which still had control, would join in the general retreat.
Sometimes, though, the initial charge would be contested. Chariots would become entangled with each other, or the lines of spearmen would hold steady and stop any progress. In those battles, the chariots would force their way from the field and attempt to regroup for a second charge. The lines of spearmen would clash and try to force the enemy to less favorable ground.
The charioteers, if possible, would attempt to swing behind the enemy lines and ransack their opponent’s camps and devastate the bowmen and others who would be exposed as the spears moved forward. Once that goal was met, they would turn and charge into the back of the enemy’s spearmen.
Tal knew the spearmen’s resolve was key. A man would only hold a spear and kill the enemy if he trusted his commander could break the other army before he heard chariots behind him. Tal had shown his great skill with the chariot and his great courage in several battles and he had picked leaders for his spearmen who trusted him without question.
“You look ready for battle,” Meleus said as Tal approached his chariot.
“I am.”
“My prince,” Antin said.
The older man didn’t say much, but when he did, Tal had learned to listen. He was the best bowman in Mestor, next to Brotin, one of Praset’s slaves. Praset had bought Brotin from a barbarian tribe in the Inner Sea for a large sum of money as a young man. He was already a magnificent bowman, trained by the Sais barbarians, and had instructed the bowmen of Mestor for over twenty years. But Antin was close to him in ability and Tal was pleased to have him by his side.
“We’ll move into position now. The spearmen will follow and as the Azaes commander gets his lines set, I’ll blow the horn for the bowmen to move forward.”
“What if they charge before our bowmen are set?”
“Then we’ll charge as well, but I don’t think they’ll move until they see where our bowmen are positioned. Antin, you will watch for the bowmen. When they are ready, I will blow the horn again, and we will charge.”
“General Praset will be able to see the bowmen better than we. Shouldn’
t he blow the charge?” Antin asked.
“The general will be beside us. We will both lead the charge.”
“But you’re the commander,” Meleus said. “The glory of the charge is yours.”
“There will be glory for all today, Meleus. I have learned well under the general and I wish him to be celebrated with me. For too long he has dwelt in the shadows of those he has raised up.”
“You’re a good man,” Antin said. “Not many would share their moment of glory.”
Tal smiled and stepped up on the platform. A servant handed up his spear and Tal lifted it high. Meleus pushed the horses forward, and the chariot rumbled from behind the hill to face the field of battle. Meleus drove to the edge of the field and stopped the horses. On the other side of the valley, chariots appeared. Tal counted them as they revealed themselves from behind a copse of trees where they had encamped.
Other chariots of Mestor approached from behind and soon a chariot pulled alongside of Tal’s. He looked over at the imposing figure of General Praset standing on the high platform of his chariot. The general’s bronze breastplate and helmet shined in the early morning light. His leather vambraces and greaves were worn, but thick. He wore his armor with the casualness other men would wear a cloth tunic. His jaw was still set with disapproval, but he scanned the far field after a brief look at Tal.
Eight chariots arrayed themselves on the other side of the valley. One moved forward to lead the charge. Soon the spearmen formed ranks beyond and Tal could hear the movement as the spears behind him fell into place.
“The bowmen are set, Prince Taldirun,” Antin said.
Tal lifted the horn which hung at his waist to his mouth and gave two sharp blows, the signal for the spear men to part and let the bowmen advance.
“We’ll charge when I give the long sound,” Tal told Meleus.
The horses snorted and pawed the ground. They were anxious for battle. On the far side of the field, Tal could see the chariots of Azaes prepare to charge. He raised the horn to his lips and took a quick glance behind him. The bowmen were almost ready.
The enemy commander signaled their charge and Tal jerked as he needed a few more seconds to let the bowmen get set. He said a quick prayer and when he reached the end, he blew a long, loud note. Meleus whipped the horses and loosened the reins. The chariot shot forward as Tal leaned forward to keep his balance. His spear point held high, he would only lower it as he drew near to an enemy chariot.
The ground shook as the heavy chariots sped toward the enemy. The large horses snorted and threw their heads wildly as they churned the soil of the valley with their copper shod hooves. Tal kept his knees soft, the same as if he were on the deck of a ship in rough waves. He focused on the chariot which led the charge for Azaes.
Tal glanced to his right and saw Praset’s chariot had fallen back a bit, so he would take the lead chariot himself. He also heard the snort and whinny of horses right behind him and knew if he missed, the other charioteers would surely kill their commander.
The thought of losing glory to another flashed through his mind, but he set it aside. It was his duty as commander to ensure a successful charge, so he would make certain his spear found its mark.
Dozens of yards separated the chariots when Tal lowered his spear. He braced his right leg against the low rail at the back of the high platform and readied himself to step forward into the thrust. Presat had made him practice this move hundreds of times over the last several years and Tal knew if his aim was true, the battle would be won in the next few moments.
He took a deep breath and held it as he prepared himself. The horses which pulled their doomed commander were wild eyed and foam dripped from their mouths. He saw their nostrils flare as they hurtled into the line of chariots which thundered toward them.
Tal looked at the man who crouched on the chariot. He focused on the center point of the breastplate where he knew the armor was thickest. That was his target. He lunged forward and shoved as hard as he could just as the enemy horses galloped even with his horses. The spear of the other commander went wide and high, slashing through the air. Tal felt the point of his spear strike the solid bronze and then effortlessly slide up where it took the commander of Azaes in the throat. Blood sprayed everywhere as the spear was ripped out of Tal’s hands and he staggered to stay on the chariot.
As he gained his balance, he stepped off of the high platform and into the well of the chariot. Antin shot arrows ahead of them where the line of spearmen had formed ranks. Tal saw a flight of arrows fall upon them and several of the spearmen fell wounded from the deadly darts. Two spearmen tried to stab at the horses, but their thrusts were ineffective and the horses trampled them into the soil. The wheels of the chariot crushed them less than a second later.
Tal looked behind him as he took his quiver of javelins. He smiled as he saw only one of Azaes’s chariots was still manned. The spearmen had broken ranks and thrown down their spears, the Azaes bowmen didn’t even fire a shot, the first charge had won the day.
“It’s over,” Tal said to Meleus. “Let’s retire to the camp.”
Meleus turned the horses and Tal set his javelins back in their place. One of his men would bring his spear from the field. They would retrieve the body of the commander he killed, strip him of his helmet as a trophy of the victory, and return the body to Azaes for an honorable burial.
Tal relaxed for the day was over. His spearmen marched forward to claim the baggage and spoils of the enemy camp, but they had no one left to fight.
“My prince!”
Tal was shoved to the side by Meleus. He stumbled and grabbed the edge of the chariot wall. Antin grabbed hold of his arm and swung him onto the floor.
“Meleus!” Antin cried.
Tal rolled onto his side and saw Antin lean over Meleus who screamed in pain. Tal pulled himself up and saw an arrow lodged deep into the shoulder of his friend. The chariot bounced violently as the horses had no guidance. Tal pushed himself to his feet and stepped over to the front of the chariot.
“It was Brotin,” Meleus cried. “He shot at you, Tal!”
Tal grabbed the reins and pulled hard to slow the horses. He swung his head back and forth until he saw Praset’s chariot. He spotted it at some distance headed in another direction.
“How bad is it?” Tal asked as he fought to control the horses.
“He’ll live as long as we can stop the chariot,” Antin said. “He needs a priest.”
It took Tal several minutes to regain command of the horses. They sensed that there was no one on the reins and the smell and sounds of battle had driven them mad.
When Tal brought them back to the camp, the other chariots had already arrived and their horses were unbridled.
“My Prince,” Praset said as Tal pulled his chariot to a stop. “Thank the gods you are safe.”
“Bring Daelcor,” Tal shouted to the servants in the camp.
He threw his helmet to the ground and jumped down from the chariot.
“Brotin tried to kill me!”
“It was terrifying, my prince. I saw it with my own eyes. He had been a loyal servant for years and I am humiliated at his betrayal.”
“Bring him to me, I’ll put him to the question before I turn him over to the fires of Balket.”
“Alas, my commander. When I saw him fire at you, I drew my blade and ended his life, lest he make another attempt before I could stop him.”
“Let me see his body.”
Praset led Tal to his chariot. The body of Brotin lay crumpled on the ground behind it, his throat slashed open.
“I will attend to my driver. Choose the sacrifices that you will, I have no stomach for it at this time. Brotin will be fed to the fires as well. He will not sleep in even a barbarian’s grave, he deserves more than the fire for this betrayal.”
“As you command, Prince Taldirun.”
General Praset looked back at the body of his trusted bowman and shook his head as Tal stormed off to find where th
ey had taken Meleus.
Chapter 7
The sounds of the camp assailed Tal as he made his way through the tents. The priests had their tents set aside from the soldiers on the far end from the corral. The cries of the wounded met Tal as he approached, but he could not distinguish if any were made by Meleus.
“My prince,” Antin said. “This way, Daelcor tends to him now.”
The old bowman led Tal to the tent where Daelcor and another priest leaned over Meleus. A long blood-encrusted arrow lay on the ground near the low bed. The sharp point looked broken.
“How is he?” Tal asked.
“He will recover, though he’ll be weak. He’ll keep the arm and will drive again,” said Daelcor.
“We could not remove the point of the arrow,” the other priest said. “But if it were poison, he would be in his death throes by now.”
“It’s enough that he lives and will recover,” said Tal. “Tend to him well and bring him safely to the city when he can travel.”
“We will, my prince,” Daelcor said.
“Come, Antin, I must find a driver and you are to accompany me and General Praset to the city. You deserve to be seen as we enter.”
Tal stripped off his armor and washed the blood from himself as he prepared for the trip back to Mestor. A driver was found for him by the time he reached his chariot and Praset had chosen the sacrifices from among the prisoners who had been captured.
“General, when we reach the way-camp and dress for the entry, you’ll accompany me. We’ll ride in together and present the news of the victory to my father.”
“Prince Taldirun, you offer me great honor, but you have already given me the glory of the charge, I cannot accept the glory of presenting the victory as well.”
“You spared me when my life was in peril, and at great cost to yourself. You will accept my offer and feel the blush of glory as the city gives you their great praise and thanks.”
“As you order, my prince.” Praset smiled with his lips pressed together as he turned back to prepare for the return.