by P. S. Power
Those words got the General to smile, like he was a wolf about to eat the whole flock of chickens.
“Really? Very good then, Master Brolly. Stand ready. Rest first though. You need food? Drink? We could call for that woman for you, I’m certain.” The strange thing was that the fellow wasn’t playing in the offer, for any of it.
Sir Clemence snorted though, hiding a laugh. That was mainly in response to the face that Wizard Senek was making. When she spoke, it wasn’t to scold the man about arranging intimate company for an obvious child.
“Wizards, and other mages of note, seldom drink anything stronger than tea. That food then... As for women... Perhaps I shouldn’t give my opinion on that?” Her expression was dry and seemed a bit bitter, for some reason.
Corporal Derry waved at the woman, seeming pleasant enough about it. Really, he seemed to be teasing her, ever so slightly, about the way she was reacting.
“Don’t stop him from having a bit of fun now, mother. Still, I don’t know as to how that kind of carrying on would be resting, proper like. Get him a chair and some music, mayhap?” Then the man gulped, realizing he’d just suggested that in front of the General. A man who, most days, he didn’t properly have a reason to speak about, much less to.
The man simply nodded.
“Very good, Corporal. We’ll see about that. We have two of the Princes in as well, so putting on some kind of entertainment seems correct. We also have some planning to do, which you may be of aid with, Master Brolly. It hinges on your abilities, so it makes sense to have your input. Yes. We’ll do that. If you would arrange for that entertainment, Corporal? Perhaps... Mary was it? Perhaps she could carry a message to the camp master, asking after such for us? Or... that’s using magic.”
Wizard Senek made an exasperated noise then.
“It is, but that’s not going to cripple the boy, energy wise. Wizard arts and such don’t at least. How is that message passing for you?” She half glared, as if expecting him to insist on being called Master, instead of boy. Part of him secretly wanted to. The rest didn’t care much about that at all.
“It’s not bad, to be honest. It would wear on me, if I had to pass a hundred messages per day that way, but half a dozen is fine, even while I mainly rest.” That was true. He was also going to use his fire starting and cleaning skills, if the need arose. None of those were easy, but they weren’t digging ten-foot-deep trenches, or even keeping a dozen people alive at one time, either.
Of course, asking Mary to deliver the magical message from General Coelder to the camp commander on the other side was different than simply suggesting that a message might be coming to her occasionally. He did it anyway, then checked on the woman again, finding her reluctant to do the work, but finally giving in, since it seemed official enough.
The man in charge of the rear camp, a sergeant that had seen action in the last three wars, if they included the current one, didn’t really believe Mary, when he was approached. He was polite about it however and allowed that he could find someone that might put on a small show, if not one fit for the Heir and his brother. Then, they were at the front. Having any entertainment except fighting was a rare treat, at the best of times. History had spoken of that, over and again.
Chapter eleven
Part of Anders felt sorry for the Yansians who were arrayed across the wide-open field from his position. They looked tired, even from hundreds of paces away. He couldn’t make out faces, but the men and in some cases women, in armor were covered in mud and filth. Their camp was behind them and it was certainly no better off than the one the Istlans had come from that morning, if Anders hadn’t done that bit of work to fix it. On the whole, the dampness was still a problem, but the men who had bothered to bathe in the last days looked to be in clothing, not a covering of dark brown muck.
The yellow of Yanse was currently a tan color, with only bits of red and silver showing through.
They also were outnumbered, a little over two to one. Worse for them, even if they didn’t know it yet, the field in front of them was a mud pit, on their side. All of the water from where his army was standing had been placed just in front of where the soldiers of Yanse were at the moment. They were about to be forced to walk into it as well. Probably with the horse being followed by charging foot. They had enough bowmen ready to fight, but their bows weren’t as powerful as the Istlan war bow in general.
Not that Anders would have been able to hit anyone where they were at the moment, even if he was using a bow that was better for the job. It simply took longer, about three or four years, for an Istlan archer to gain enough strength to send into battle. He was both young and small, as well as only a few months, about four, into his training that way.
Which didn’t mean he wasn’t standing by, with his bow strung, a spear in his hand and a long knife by his side. He was also at the back of the army, on a low hill, looking over the arrayed forces. General Coelder had requested he do that, instead of bothering to go and stand with the levies, even if they were mainly archers. His task was to make certain they could leave, if something went wrong. That or use magic, if the opportunity arose in a safe fashion.
He wasn’t going to complain about people wanting him to be safe, so had simply nodded and followed instructions. That meant he was treated to a very different type of situation than he’d been in the last time fighting had broken out. Instead of standing alone, in front of a hundred advancing fighters armed with bows similar in range to his own, this time he was listening to real tacticians make plans.
“Captain, we need forces on the left. They almost have to try and come at us through the trees there. I don’t want to leave the levies alone on that side, either. It’s too obvious they aren’t professional soldiers.” The man was correct on that score. Most of the archers had cobbled together armor and were in tan clothing that seemed better suited to working in a field than fighting. They also danced around uneasily, looking half ready to run already.
Even if the Yanse forces were still lining up and trying to work out how they were supposed to fight the battle in front of them. Anders knew what they should do, of course. Withdraw. It was an obvious trap, set by a superior force. One that they wouldn’t beat even one time out of ten, even if they were the ones with the superior position. The problem was twofold, of course. The first being that they couldn’t tell from where they were that the other side was standing on firm ground and knew not to move into the soup in the middle of the field. The other was that soldiers too often confused stupidity with courage.
Prince Erold, who was in full armor, if with his helm off, sidled up to Anders, on his war horse. The look he gave was a bit wistful, as he looked out at the field.
“I should be in the charge down there, not sitting in safety, up on a hill like this. I didn’t come to look like a coward.” The command staff heard him and several of the men were clearly insulted by the words. As if staying back to lead was the same as simply being safe while others were at risk, which was what the Prince clearly meant.
The wise words of Depak Sona came to him then. About how it was a poor plan to keep anyone too safe in life. People, especially men, needed to face dangers and risks, if they were to become good people who were worth having at the table.
So he nodded.
“They don’t need you in the charge. Really, that charge isn’t going to be coming at all. The horse down there are for show, unless anyone makes it across the field there. What we need right now is for someone to go and make certain the levies on the forest side stand fast. Sending a Prince in might get them to do that?” He didn’t know and was actually asking that as a question. One of the Majors stared at Anders, then, after a long moment, nodded.
“There’s a real point in that. I know that I wouldn’t let my courage fold if a young boy was standing fast beside me like that. We should send both of you, given that. What do you say, General?” The older man was clearly a bit distracted, but after a repeat of the question took a very deep brea
th.
“That could work. Master Brolly, we need you to stand ready, in case we have to leave. Both of you stay back and out of too much danger. Give a rousing speech or something? It will be a bit before the other side is ready to move. We need to encourage them, using the war bow. We can’t do that if they all run away.”
Erold nodded, as if it were a serious task and not something to merely keep him and possibly Anders, out of the way. To that end, they rode down the hill, going slowly, until they reached the Captain who was in charge of the bedraggled levies. He looked annoyed and tired already.
“What? I didn’t hear any orders called yet.” He seemed to think they were there to chastise him for some reason. Probably for his men being a bit raw and unused to battle.
Anders waved at the boy next to him.
“The General asked Prince Erold to give the men a pretty speech, to help their courage. I think the idea is to shame them to holding their ground, at least until the little boys run away from the danger?” He patted his own chest then, which got the Captain to shake his head.
“Do it, then. We’re already about to lose this lot. They aren’t all cowards, but if a few men start to run, all of them will.” He closed his eyes then. “Now, one of you is a Prince? I heard we had a couple of those around, this time. Which one of you is that, so I know who to blame when I’m hanged later for being so disrespectful.”
Anders laughed a bit, not meaning it.
“This other one. So if you have to yell at one of us, clearly do that toward me. I’m no one important, so there won’t be any trouble over it.”
The man, rather nervously, nodded. No bow came, since no one sane would mark another on a battlefield by doing that toward them.
“Got it. I’m Captain Rigley. We have the Prince and...”
Erold spoke then, finally, looking grim.
“This is Master Anders Brolly. It was his magic that let us walk here today.”
That got a snort. It seemed nearly pleased.
“Wait, we’re being backed by an actual mage, for once? That... I’d claim it’s rare, but the levies have never had that before. Not even standing next to us, cheering a bit to improve the mood. Let me announce you both. That should sooth some nerves. If they don’t run from the two of you, I mean.”
The man rode forward, his horse smaller than either Brownie or the gray that the Prince was on. When he called out, his voice held good cheer. It was forced, but the nervous men only half turned around to listen to him. Their main focus was, appropriately, toward where the enemies were. They had heavy horse on their side, with men who were probably knights, in full plate, with long shields, mounted and ready to charge at the rather humble seeming bowmen. The military bow, lined up in the middle, were more impressive seeming, but that wouldn’t really slow a knight, too much.
The thing there was that heavy horse wouldn’t go down easily to something like simple arrows. Even heavy foot soldiers were possible to take with bow, with luck, skill or poor armor on the targets part, where the hard-armored men in front of them probably wouldn’t be at all.
“Listen up! General Coelder heard a few of you were feeling a bit prickly, being new and all, so he sent over Prince Erold to cheer you up! I want to hear a cheer for him!”
It was a bit weak, at first, but the men did it, calling out loudly by the third time they did it.
“Huzah!” It was picked up by the other men on their side, even if they couldn’t possibly understand why there was cheering going on already. Anders did it as well, since it made him feel better, too.
When they quieted down, the Prince was waved at. Erold rode forward a bit and shouted, his voice deeper than it normally was by a good bit.
“Do not give in to fear this day! The poor men across from us will shake seeing us here, the mighty war bow of Istlan! More than that, the King and General Coelder have seen fit to have Master Brolly, the mighty war mage, come to stand with you! Keep that in mind and remember, no one here runs away, until the little boy does!” He waved at Anders then, as if to illustrate that he, the youngest Prince, didn’t count for that.
Holding up his hand, he waved to the men there, who probably didn’t get that the supposed great mage was the boy they were laughing at. The jovial tone carried and some of the soldiers, the real ones, to the right, pointed at the bowmen.
One called out loudly to them.
“You heard the Prince. Hold fast, until the tiny child flees. No one will break before then!”
The voice was familiar, being Sergeant Bennet. Anders waved in his direction then, since the soldier hadn’t indicated who the boy they were mocking was.
Rather than whine about the lack of respect he was getting that day, Anders called out, chanting.
“Ist-lan. Ist-lan!” That was picked up by the entire army on their side, to the discordant jeers on the other side.
After a while, nearly two hours, in which they mainly stood around, nervously, the other side tried a few chants of their own. They were in Yansian, so almost no one on their side understood what was being said about the easy virtue of their mothers and daughters. Really it was a bit rude of them, but the men on the other side had to know that many of them were about to die that day. If they didn’t, then they were fools.
Finally, a call came down the line.
“Bow at the ready!”
Anders got his own around, even if he wasn’t going to be firing at anyone just yet. Being armed when the fighting started was simply a good plan. Erold got his lance ready, even if that would be of little more aid to them than Anders weak arrows. At least as long as the enemy was out of reach.
The men shifted, getting ready to finally fight.
The Captain bellowed then.
“Arrow at the ready! Prepare for continuous volleys!”
The men at the head of the line stuck arrows into the ground then, ready to grab them up to shoot. It was faster than getting such things out of a canvas sack, after all. Anders did the same, but only for three arrows. He had twenty with him, which wasn’t nearly enough, if he were fighting at all.
After a bit, repeating the call that went out for all of the army, the order was given. The one that started the combat that day.
“Set and fire!”
The men did it, pushing out arrow after arrow for nearly a minute. Then another call came, as the enemy hid under their shields, if they had them. The Yanse forces tried to return fire, but were a good hundred paces short of the front line. It was then, as they failed to affect anything at all, that something interesting and unexpected happened.
A black cloud came up, out of the ground, swirling and ominous, with a thunderous noise coming at them, which he had to admit was terrifying to behold. Then a creature, a vast thing with a thousand teeth, blood stained horns, two arms and two legs, which ended in cloven hooves, stepped onto the grass covered mud. It stood there, not marking the soil at all, when it should have sunk at least several feet deep, given its obvious weight. It was odd enough that he closed his eyes and checked on what was really there. The answer was, of course, nothing much at all.
He snorted and called out, as loud as he could.
“They seek to trick us! That’s a mere seeming, nothing more. Well done, true, but it can no more harm you than sunlight could!” Then, thinking, he grinned at the Captain. The man stared back at him, as if the tiny person next to him had lost his mind at the sight of the incredible and fearsome monster in front of them.
“Let’s start a new chant? Here...” He stopped, then bellowed loudly enough that his throat felt suddenly raw and abused.
“Ba-ru-da! Ba-ru-da!” No one else did it, naturally, until Erold started and then the Captain. After that, even if they didn’t know what they were saying, it carried to the whole army. After a minute of this, the beast vanished, to the cheers of the men on their side.
Erold leaned in to him, his voice was soft, and slightly awed sounding.
“A spell of banishment?”
&nbs
p; Tilting his head from side to side, he rolled his eyes a bit.
“Um... not really. We all just stood there, yelling illusion at them. Their illusionist is clearly rather accomplished, but it was simply that. Now... We should answer them, I think. That’s up to the General though, of course.”
They replied to the magic being used against them, with a hail of arrows. Another one. That was, when it ended, enough to get the Yansies to finally attempt a charge. The problem there was that they only sent half their forces in, before they realized the trap in the center of the battlefield. Men and even horses, were suddenly trying to fight through knee deep and then hip deep muck. Water flowed around them, leaving them trapped in short order. With about half the men and women behind them cleverly stopping before they were stuck as well.
After that, the Yanse side had sudden and horrible losses for about a quarter of an hour. Probably in desperation, the illusionist bravely made it seem as if fire were raining down from the sky above them all. Most of the men on their side pulled back in fear. Anders actually got off his horse, tied her to a handy stump and then walked off, toward the front line. Heading out onto the firm ground ahead of the bowmen on his own side. Then he yelled.
“More illusion! Well, we can answer them, in kind and more!”
He took a moment or two to create the spell he wanted, but when he loosed the arrow that was carrying it, almost no one was paying attention to him. Which was a shame, since his little speech was decent. He thought so at least.
The world exploded, near the back of the field on the other side. The troops had moved forward by two hundred paces, meaning his arrows could just reach the men who weren’t trapped in the mud. He aimed toward the line in the center, since the riders on his side were still too far away. When the smoke cleared, it seemed that at least half the men in the center, easily over a thousand of them, were down. Some of them stirred a bit, so they weren’t dead. Not yet.
Anders would have felt poorly for them, but his own legs buckled, the size and power of the spell having been too much for him. Only for a moment, thankfully. He caught himself before going all the way to the ground. He couldn’t see for a moment, the blood rushing from his head as it was. He gasped, but hid it, as well as he could.