War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy

by D. S. Halyard

  But orders is orders, and what men can do we will do, and rah rah rah. Still, he would have rather been deployed with the second troop of spears for this one, but not the first troop. Seven Hells, not the first troop. It was going to get bloody hot where O’Hiam’s swords were, but that first troop of spearmen was well and truly fucked.

  Aurix the High Cavalier was nervous, for he’d seen what pikes could do to armored knights, and his lancers weren’t half as well trained as the knights had been, as much as he encouraged them to think so. This battle plan had a strong chance of him making a direct attack at pike formations, against all he’d seen and learned, and the Privy Lord’s assurances that the result would be very different this time was no assurance at all. In his tent the night before they moved out he prayed, and he penned a letter to his sister, not that he believed there would be anyone left to send it. Aurix was no fool, no matter what they said about him. He saw a red day coming, and he was right.

  Tuchek placed his scouts carefully, regretting that he didn’t have another thousand of them, just to keep an eye on Kerrick’s movements. Aelfric had predicted that cutting the Earthspeaker’s supply lines would force Kerrick to move his forces back to the Cthochi side of the Redwater in an effort to reestablish them, and once the mangonels broke the siege of Redwater Town, the Cthochi were free to do so. All night the distant sounds of drumspeakers had told their story, and from the bits and pieces Tuchek had heard, the war canoes of the Cthochi had been busy ferrying men from sunset to dawn. The Earthspeaker was sending reinforcements as well, but the avenue between Aelfric’s chosen battlefield and the Expanded Fort remained open, and the army of the Silver Run was in position.

  He did not want to think of how many things could go wrong. “You will hear fighting behind you, Moss.” He told his best scout. “You will want to come running back, but don’t. Whatever reaction is coming from the south, we are going to be the only ones to stop it or announce it. Hopefully it won’t come today, but it might.”

  Kerrick the Sword drove his men hard, for although many of them had slept little, he knew where the stonecutter army was setting up, and he aimed to catch them before they could get established. A big storm was coming from the west, and he hoped to settle things here before it landed, but even if it did, it would be good for the Cthochi. They were used to the weather and the snow, and they had thick furs and boots. Areido’s Faith Island band were still trying to find themselves in the early morning darkness, and they would probably want to sleep before marching. Truth be told, Kerrick didn’t mind. They might not make it to the hill before the afternoon, and by then Kerrick might need some reserves.

  Gathering news of the movements of his enemy had been difficult, especially since the stonecutters had thought to kill the drumspeakers on this side of the river, but he’d sent many spies out almost immediately, and he had an excellent idea of the placement of his enemy’s forces. He very well knew the hill on which they camped, for he had hunted it many times, and he already had an idea of what kind of trap the stonecutters had put in place for him.

  He also knew exactly how to counter it and turn the terrain to his advantage. He smiled grimly as he told his chieftains where he wanted the pikes. Stalksdeer approached him as the sun was rising. “They are building fortifications again, chieftain.” The man sounded surprised. “Two of them.”

  Kerrick nodded and smiled again. “On the two northern ridges that come down from Ugly Woman Hill, yes?”

  “How did you know that, chieftain?” Stalksdeer’s face was wide-eyed with surprise. “Have other scouts already told you?”

  “No. I remember now the battle that the stonecutters wish to fight.”

  “You remember it?”

  “Yes, although I was not there.” Kerrick had heard the story of a battle fought in the hundred kingdoms once, and if ever he heard of a battle, he asked after it, for he was interested in such things. A mighty army from the Emerald Peninsula had marched against Valkaz, and they had met between the arms of a great hill north of the city the Mortentians call Walcox now. The army from the Emerald Peninsula had been drawn between the two arms of the hill by a false camp, placed so as to appear that the entire force of their foes lay within it, and the Valkaz men had attacked them from above on both flanks, breaking their discipline and routing them. He knew that Ugly Woman Hill was formed much the same way, with two long arms extending northward, and most likely there would be a camp or some other kind of bait placed between those arms. He immediately began thinking of ways to turn that disposition to his favor.

  “Assemble the chieftains.” He said. “We march to Ugly Woman Hill. First tell me, Stalksdeer. What kind of camp have the Stonecutters placed between the north facing arms of that hill?”

  Stalksdeer was astounded by his chieftain’s powers of deduction, and he wondered if perhaps the man had some arcane way of knowing things. “I do not know how you learned of it, chieftain, but they have indeed placed a campsite there. They have three large tents, and in one of them …”

  “In one of them what?”

  “They have made whores of our women, my chieftain. They have dressed them in the clothes of whores and they send them into one of the tents with the men.”

  Kerrick nodded and smiled in appreciation of the wiles of his enemy. “Listen to me, Stalksdeer, most likely they are not treating them as whores. It is a provocation. They want us to lose our heads and attack them in the valley, under the shadow of their fortifications and machines. Go and tell your men what I have said. Most likely they do not dishonor our women, they only mean them as bait. There is one place we will not go during this battle, Stalksdeer. We will not walk into their trap.”

  Aelfric stood on the top of Ugly Woman Hill and looked down the north side. Ugly Woman Hill was not terrifically tall, but it did have many places where it rose steeply from the forest below. Trees covered it, but Anbarius’ axemen had cut wide spaces and avenues around the two structures –he hesitated to call them fortifications- that the engineers had thrown up in the middle of the night. Each downed tree had been trimmed and then dragged into predetermined positions, but not stripped of bark, for he wanted their disposition to appear random. Each of the structures, hastily built stretches of wall designed to look like sleeping forts without towers, stood near the northern end of the hill’s two northward reaching arms, and had they actually contained mangonels, the engines might have covered the entire area contained between them, had there not been so many trees in the way. As it was, they looked daunting, even though they were only for show.

  In the valley between the arms and facing north he had placed three large tents, and he was using the High Cavalier’s fine big white one for his mock whorehouse. Fallen trees placed horizontally on the sides of the hills marked excellent firing positions for archers or siege engines, and if he could actually convince Kerrick the Sword to march into that valley, he could trap and utterly destroy him with almost no losses, for the lower ends of the hills there were steep, and his fortified positions secure from attack from every direction but one.

  The west side of Ugly Woman Hill was a long and gentle seeming slope only sparsely covered by trees, well out of range of his mock fortifications, had they possessed engines. On their maps they had labelled that slope the Shallow Pass, and from all appearances a swift moving army could use that slope to take the high ground here without encountering too many obstacles. It was a perfect place from which his army could be flanked, and the Cthochi scouts would not see a single soldier there, for there were none. The logs that had been laid across the slope in seemingly random places should not appear to be much of an obstacle.

  Indeed, almost the entire strength of Aelfric’s army lay in hidden camps on the south side of the hill, above a seemingly impassable elevation, screened below by almost all of Tuchek’s scouts. The fifteen hundred spearmen in half-hidden ranks to the north side of the hill, poised as if to march down on any army in the valley of the whore tent, were also positioned in such
a way that they could move to the head of the Shallow Pass quickly, using a trail that they had cut themselves during the early morning hours, under the direction of some of Anbarius’ old men.

  If all went well, Ugly Woman Hill would see an end to the army of Kerrick the Sword. If all went only half-well, he would still defeat the man, destroying his trained pikemen and leaving him to train more before his phalanxes would be effective again. If things went badly it was a long way back to the Expanded Fort, and he would lose a lot of men, even if he could control his retreat.

  Bishop Bellis Weymort approached while he was overseeing the construction of a tower on the top of Ugly Woman hill that would command a good view in all directions. “Lord Aelfric, news from the king’s eye.” The man began. “You will need to hear this.”

  “Does it touch on the battle?”

  “Not exactly, Lord Aelfric. Well, not at all really.”

  “Can it wait?”

  “I think not. It is from the High Prelate himself, sent from the Lighthill. Apparently the king’s eye was instructed to find me and deliver it at all cost. First off, king Falante is dead.”

  Aelfric took a moment to absorb this. “Falante dead? How did that happen?”

  “It appears the Cthochi sent assassins into Mortentia City and they killed him while he was inspecting troops. This was on the fifteenth of Kastanus, over a month ago. Duke Maldiver of Elderest has assumed the throne, and the High Prelate has confirmed this.”

  “Sweet tears of Lio.” Aelfric half-whispered, thinking of the Duke of Elderest and how he had dealt with his father. “What has happened to the prince? Shouldn’t Queen Eleinel be holding the throne as regent? Maldiver as king will be a disaster.”

  “Queen Eleinel is missing and the prince is dead. Maldiver has ordered any powers given to you by Falante to be revoked, and he has ordered your arrest, milord.”

  Aelfric shook his head. “We’re nearly two hundred leagues from the King’s City on the eve of a great battle. How does he expect to arrest me?”

  “I am supposed to arrest you, although it does not appear the High Prelate is aware of who I am. The letter is addressed to the bishop or other commander of the godsknights, and it directs me to use them to arrest you for insurrection. Apparently the basis of the complaint is your unauthorized fortifications within the domain of the Duke of Northcraven.”

  “But you are bringing me the letter instead? Isn’t that against some kind of rule?”

  “I daresay it is.” The bishop replied. “But the letter also gives me authority to draft other military commanders to affect the High Prelate’s will, should the godsknights not prove sufficient to the task. Since there are perhaps only fifteen godsknights still alive, and since they have been absorbed into the lancer squads, I don’t see how they could arrest you. Aurix and all of the other high captains appear to be loyal to you, milord, so really approaching them is no different than approaching you. Therefore, in the name of the High Prelate, I am ordering you to arrest yourself and proceed to the King’s Town in your own custody forthwith.”

  Aelfric laughed and nodded. “All right, Bellis, you’ve done your duty. I’m arrested. I’ll sort that out once this battle is over. Thank you for coming to me first.”

  “I live because of the privy fort, milord. I haven’t forgotten.”

  “How are the king’s eye and the eagle?”

  “They will both survive their injuries, it appears, although it will be weeks at least before they can fly again.”

  “Well, that will give us time to reply to his letter, I suppose. Do me a favor and tell no one about this other than the other high captains. Especially keep it from Aurix. He fancied himself a godsknight I think.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  A thin man in scout’s leather came running up the narrow trail on the east side of Ugly Woman Hill, emerging from the trees after hastily shouting the passwords. “They’re coming, milord!” He shouted. “The Auligs are coming already!”

  Aelfric nodded. “Good.” He said grimly, looking to the westward sky, which had grown black. A cold wind was blowing. “Hopefully we can get this underway before that storm hits.”

  Soolit wasn’t a fyrdman, and probably never would be, and he was fine with that. He understood his own temperament well enough to know what he wasn’t suited for. The Second Swords stood in ranks behind their shields, along with nearly all of the other sword fyrdes, against the base of Ugly Woman Hill between two long and northward facing hills. It was a place that Soolit was more than happy to defend, for he could see the archers in their fortified positions above him and to the left, more than halfway up the ridge, and he could see the horizontal timbers that marked the archer positions to his right. Before any army could reach him here, it would have to come between those two ridges beneath a storm of arrows, and not even Cthochi could stand to that.

  To his front about a hundred paces were three tents, and the biggest one, a white canvas affair with a horseman’s pennant floating above it on the cold westerly wind, had a bunch of Aulig prisoners going in and out of it, and Soolit thought it was the damndest thing, although quite considerate, that the Privy Lord had set up a whorehouse in the middle of a battlefield. If the Auligs came through here the women would make fine hostages, although Soolit didn’t reckon that would make much difference to the Cthochi. The black-haired bastards didn’t seem to care much about that sort of thing.

  “Nine nine west!” Someone shouted, and Soolit wished he understood today’s battle code. “Nine nine west, four hours!”

  “Second Swords!” His fyrdman was shouting orders now. “About face! Proceed in columns, double time where you can.”

  Soolit turned around and looked up the side of Ugly Woman Hill. “You want us to climb that fooking thing?” He demanded.

  “They’ve cut in a pass, swordsman.” The fyrdman said, although Soolit could see little evidence of it. “Now get to it.”

  Here they were, all safely standing in ranks behind a screen of archers and a long protected zone, and now the orders were to abandon the position? Soolit began cursing as he marched, attacking the slope along with the rest of his fyrde, moving in ranks of five abreast. “They call this a bleeding pass?” He complained. He could see where a few trees had been cut to clear the way, but the footing was treacherous and several men had already tripped or fallen. “We’ll all have busted legs!”

  “Orders is orders.” His fyrdman said, appearing beside him with his sword already drawn. “And this is a battle, Soolit. This ain’t camp, and I won’t stand for your mouth. You’ve three lashes coming for insubordination.”

  “Be glad to have them if I survive.” Soolit muttered, but only the man next to him, one of the new blues who was already panting after only a hundred paces, could hear. His eyes were wide with fear. What was the man’s name? Soolit couldn’t remember and he reckoned it wasn’t going to matter long.

  “I’m not going to lie to you. The first part of this thing is going to be hard.” Tolric had said to Haim and the other fyrdmen, and the big fyrdman was watching his captain’s prediction come true. He was standing at the top of the wide and gently sloping hill they had come to call the Shallow Pass, watching the Cthochi form up into hedgehog boxes a quarter of a league to the west, while the skies turned black above them. It was barely the fourth hour of the day, but the late Leath clouds made it appear that night was coming on. He could smell snow on the wind.

  Following Tolric’s orders, the Hedgehog Fyrde, along with fifteen hundred other spearmen, began their triple time march to form a hasty shield wall in the middle of the wide hill. It was a single rank they were forming, wide, thin and showing many gaps, made to look like a desperate attempt to protect a vulnerable flank.

  Throughout the morning, if you could call anything morning in this cold gloom, the Cthochi had marched, rapidly bypassing the northern front of Aelfric’s army between the two long arms of the hill and rounding it on the western side. What lay before the Cthochi was a gent
le hill that was almost barren of standing trees, although the ground was liberally decorated with fallen ones that the western storms had ripped from their roots and flung down. Mixed among these were newer fallen trees painstakingly placed by Anbarius’ engineers.

  From below the slope looked easy enough, and Haim knew the Auligs would want to attack it swiftly, to prevent Aelfric from getting troops in position to defend it. Haim’s job, and that of the other hundred and fifty spear fyrdes who were to first engage the enemy, was to ‘brush the phalanxes’ and retreat. It was a job that would mean losses, and there was no way around that, for even the covering fire from their own archers had to appear weak.

  He held his shield carefully at his front, marching his shield wall with deliberate slowness, both to make the ground appear easier than it was and to make his own men look reluctant to engage the pikes coming up the slope. Arrows began to fall among his men. “Keep your shields in front and your helmet tight!” He yelled. “Spearpoints up!”

  A new blue from Redwater two spaces to his left took an arrow in his spear arm, and he dropped the weapon. He held his shield to the side as he bent to retrieve it, and two more arrows punched through his newly dyed blue jerkin and the thin chainmail beneath it. He fell to the ground with a grunt, staring at the fletchings of the arrows sticking out of his gut and chest. “If you fall, get under your shield!” Haim commanded, but it was too late for the new blue. An arrow took him in the neck while he sat there, and he died gasping for breath.