by Mark Barber
“Rear rank, reload! Front rank, take aim! Loose!” she called.
Hugging the tiller of her crossbow against her right shoulder, Constance squeezed the trigger and felt the string slide along the weapon’s table, propelling the bolt up into the air. Her shot met its mark and fell down into the armored bulk of the advancing enemy infantry, but whether it found a target or not, she could not tell at this range.
“Pick your targets!” she shouted as she put her foot into the crossbow’s stirrup and attached her pulley to draw the heavy string back. “Independent shooting!”
Well aware that rate of shot was nearly as important as accuracy, Constance pumped her toned arms and rapidly wound her pulley to reload the crossbow. Another volley of bolts fell down from the enemy shooters on the hill. This time, she heard two pained cries from the rear rank. Without a word, Hayden sprang from her side and dashed to the rear rank, dragging his medical bag around to open it as he did so. The rebel swordsmen were drawing nearer. Pulling her crossbow back to her shoulder, Constance let loose again.
***
“Come on! Come on!” Orion seethed, his armored fingers clenching and unclenching on the reins of his warhorse as the bulky animal mimicked the sentiments of the rider, grunting and shuffling in agitation.
Orion looked to his right, off to the east and along the lines of soldiers of the Dictator-Prefect’s force. Next along was the mercenary crossbowmen, pouring out an impressive rate of shooting as they pelted one of the advancing columns of enemy swordsmen with bolts. Next sat the Dictator-Prefect himself with his two aides and a trumpeter for signaling his orders, commanding the force from a central position. On the far side of their leader, the fifty men-at-arms under the command of Captain Georgis waited smartly in position. At the right flank, twenty paladin-knights waited in two ranks of ten, Lord Paladin Tancred a few paces in front.
Orion brought his gaze back to Hugh and his small entourage, looking for any sign that he might be ordered to charge. Ahead of them, the rebel crossbowmen continued a sporadic and ill disciplined volley of shots aimed at the mercenary crossbowmen – while it highlighted the poor level of skill when compared to the professional mercenaries, Orion could still see the big musician from the mercenary band quickly moving along the ranks, assisting with medical aid wherever he could to the wounded. Two of the crossbowmen were already beyond help. Some of Orion’s paladin knights were skilled enough with divinity magic that they could use their powers of healing on others, but Orion knew that dismounting and leaving his position would leave the entire left flank of the force completely exposed.
Swearing under his breath, he looked north again. Next to the rebel crossbowmen were thirty or so poorly equipped peasants; Orion’s opposite number in guarding the west flank. A lance charge against them would have them scattered, and then he could sweep around and take on the crossbowmen. That being said, the peasants were just ordinary people who had been duped by Dionne’s lies – they did not deserve to be remorselessly put down like the traitors who had knowingly followed Dionne into exile – but that was easily solved by attacking with the flat of a sword blade until the farmers panicked and ran. However, such a charge would leave the professional swordsmen free to sweep through the center of the Basilean force. Orion looked right again and saw another volley of bolts cut through the mercenary crossbowmen, sending another three falling to the dusty ground.
“Troop!” he shouted to the nine horsemen who accompanied him. “Form up!”
The knights nudged their horses forward to take position to either side of him, forming two ranks of five.
“Couch lances!” Orion bellowed.
Each knight brought their lance up into position under the arm, aiming the deadly tips at the enemy. Immediately a horn blasted from the center position of the enemy ranks. Orion smiled grimly. They had seen his posturing. Following the command, the twenty enemy crossbowmen pivoted slightly to face Orion’s paladin knights. He might not be able to charge the enemy until ordered, but he could at least offer himself as a more resilient target to allow the mercenaries a better chance of doing their job.
***
Sweat stinging her eyes, Constance fought through the cramp in her arms as she hurriedly wound the pulley of her crossbow, bringing the string back to the nut in preparation for another shot. The drums of the enemy swordsmen grew louder with each passing moment; the veteran warriors now close enough for her to hear their shouts and taunts. The unit on the right, those who had weathered the storm of her mercenaries’ shooting, continued to limp on despite their steadily growing casualties. However, the closer unit on the left marched forward boldly, still at full strength and only moments away from being within charging distance of her mercenaries.
Bringing her crossbow up to her shoulder, Constance took aim at a soldier on the front rank – close enough now to begin to make out his facial features – and pulled the trigger. The string twanged and the bolt flew out, slicing through the hot air and impacting into the soldier’s neck, sending him screaming to his knees. Her breathing labored, Constance lowered her crossbow, placed her foot in the stirrup, and then stopped as she realized that blood was dripping down into her eyes. Confused, she wearily raised a hand to her head and found it sticky with blood. She did not remember being hit. It made no difference. Gritting her teeth, she reattached the pulley and set about preparing for another shot as a steady stream of projectiles continued to pour from the ranks of her soldiers.
Looking up, she saw bolts falling down from the blue skies toward her unit. The enemy crossbowmen had clearly tired of targeting the paladins to her left – a respite she was thankful for – and had now returned to their original target. Her focus a little blurred, Constance looked up and watched with weary curiosity as the bolts arced down toward her. She knew effective shooting when she saw it, and these peasants had finally got their eyes in. Nonetheless, it still came as a surprise when a bolt struck her, burying itself into her thigh and sending pain shooting along her entire leg.
Suppressing the steadily intensifying agony with a cry that narrowly escaped through her gritted teeth, Constance labored on. It made no difference. Hauling her heavy crossbow up again, she let lose another accurate shot that only succeeded in burying itself in the shield of a swordsman in the second rank of advancing soldiers.
“Constance!” Jaque shouted from next to her. “They’re close! They’re damn close!”
“Don’t run!” Constance yelled, limping around on the spot to face her soldiers. “If you run, they’ll cut you down! Stand your ground and finish the job!”
Wiping blood from her eyes again, Constance turned back to face the enemy. To her right, the beating of drums became frantic and a combined roar emanated from the legion men-at-arms as they charged out to attack the rebel swordsmen ahead of them. That left the fresh unit directly ahead of Constance and her soldiers, but it was too late to whittle them down now and too late to run. Constance dropped her crossbow and drew her sword.
“Keep shooting!” she screamed. “As fast as you can!”
The rebel soldiers, better trained and equipped and outnumbering her own men and women two-to-one, broke into a charge. Her shaking hands holding onto her sword, Constance stood her ground with determination as the yelling horde of soldiers ran at her mercenaries. For a brief moment, she thought of her mother and her siblings, and she regretted the fact that she would die so needlessly for a cause she had no belief in, in a battle with no consequence. Ignoring the pain in her wounded leg, she limped forward to meet the enemy soldiers.
***
The impatient whining and spluttering of warhorses behind him was still audible as Tancred watched the square of rebel soldiers break into a charge against the mercenary crossbowmen on the far side of the battlefield. Closer to him, the legion men-at-arms under the command of Captain Georgis were now engaged in bitter fighting against the second square of rebel soldiers who had been mauled by the continuous shooting from Constance’s mercenaries. Even wi
thout any assistance from cavalry, the loyalist legion men would soon overpower them. Oblivious to this, the peasant infantry directly opposite Tancred’s twenty paladin knights were now boldly advancing toward him and their doom.
To the left, in the center of the line, Tancred heard the blast of a horn, three times to signify the right flank, followed by the two tone order to charge. The signal he had been waiting for. He looked across and saw Dictator-Prefect Hugh pointing his sword toward the unit of enemy swordsmen engaged in fighting with the legion spearmen – Tancred’s paladins were to ignore the advancing peasants and charge the flanks of the near decimated unit of professional soldiers. Tancred looked to his right and nodded to Brother Paladin Kharius, his unit’s own musician. The slim paladin raised his horn to his lips and repeated the order. Tancred dug his spurs into Desiree’s flanks and the majestic animal sprung forward at the order, accelerating to a quick canter as to either side his paladins advanced in two neat lines. To his left, Brother Paladin Xavier held the unit’s blue banner aloft, fluttering in the wind created by the accelerating mass of armored horses and riders, the Order’s white phoenix flying proudly.
Another blast of the horn from Hugh’s command group caused Orion to lead his ten paladins into a charge from the left flank, rapidly wheeling around to face the exposed side of the unit of swordsmen who charged at Constance and her crossbowmen. Through the narrow slits in his helmet, Tancred watched as the ten mounted paladins lined up for the attack, their lances lowered for the charge. Even thundering into the flanks, ten paladins would only slow the professional soldiers rather than stop them dead. Conversely, Tancred’s twenty knights were all but wasted against their half beaten target. He leaned over in his saddle and bellowed a command to Kharius over the thundering of hooves on the dry earth.
“Brother Kharius! Sound my orders!”
***
An ineffectual volley of crossbow bolts whistled off somewhere behind Orion and his knights as the ten horsemen charged from their position out to face the charging swordsmen rapidly bearing down on the scattered mercenaries. Gritting his teeth and leaning forward in his saddle, Orion lowered his lance and tucked the haft of the weapon firmly beneath his right arm, settling into the couched position and ready for attack. Taking his lead, the horsemen to either side took his signal and lowered their own weapons.
To their right, a handful of the mercenaries had already broken and were fleeing the battlefield in disarray, while at the front and center of the unit, Orion made out the hazy figure of Constance in the dusty confusion, shouting out commands to her troops as she limped forward to face the charging swordsmen. The rebel swordsmen had seen Orion and his knights wheeling around for attack and had now stopped, quickly turning in place and closing up tight as their leader shouted out commands to form a shield wall, ready for the lance charge.
From further right, Orion heard the unmistakable blast of a cavalry horn followed by a familiar, descending pitch command. Looking right, he saw Tancred leading his knights in a charge, perpendicular to the line of battle and straight toward the two units of enemy swordsmen. The order had come from Tancred, not the Dictator-Prefect. The order was to break off his attack. Orion hauled in his reins and raised his lance again, slowing his horse and feeling a sickening remorse as he recognized Jaque standing on the front line of mercenaries. The thin man turned to face him, his ecstatic smile of relief turning into a mask of bewilderment and betrayal as their salvation peeled away from the fight.
***
Constance allowed herself the briefest of smiles as the exchange of horn blasts echoed from the center of the force, the right flank and then the left. The thunder of heavy cavalry rumbled from the east as twenty knights, their polished armor shining and twinkling in the early morning sun, rode rapidly but with grace and poise toward the enemy. To the left she saw Orion, conspicuous by his height and immense, lumbering warhorse lead his group of ten heavily armored warriors across to line up their blue lances at the very rebel swordsmen who threatened her life and that of her comrades.
Aware of the horsemen lining up to smash into their exposed flanks, the rebel swordsmen charging at her were called to a rapid halt and their captain quickly barked out orders to bring them around to face the threat from the mounted paladins. The swordsmen rapidly reformed, locking their shields together to form a protective shell against the deadly lances of the Basilean paladins. Now their flank faced Constance.
“Shoot!” she yelled hoarsely as she unslung her crossbow from her back. “Quickly! Shoot the bastards!”
Her blurred vision swimming in and out of focus, she forced a numb foot into the stirrup of her crossbow and clumsily attached her pulley to the back of the weapon. Blood and sweat dripped down from her head in equal measure as she blinked dirt out of her eyes; the sun’s rays shone through the dust in the air around her.
“Come on! Come on!” she urged herself as her tired arms pumped the pulley to draw the heavy string back.
Swaying on her feet, Constance raised the weapon to her shoulder and took the extra few vital seconds to compose herself before squeezing the trigger and sending a deadly bolt straight into the ribs of an enemy swordsman in the tightly packed block of men ahead of her. More bolts shot out from her comrades, hacking into the side of the unit as Orion led his horsemen down to face them.
The adrenaline that surged through her suddenly dissipated as another series of horn blasts was exchanged between the two converging units of mounted paladins, and she watched in horror as Orion and his knights raised their lances again and peeled off to the north and away from the enemy swordsmen. Shouts of anguish were issued from the mercenaries as the realization hit them that the paladins were not riding to their aid. Constance had seen it a dozen times before – low value units sometimes had to be sacrificed on the battlefield. She was being left to die. Her energy seemingly leaking out of her sweat covered, bleeding limbs, she forced her arms to cock her crossbow for one last time. Shaking her head in despair and frustration, she watched with bitter anguish as the swordsmen again turned in place to face her as the paladins continued off behind them.
That was the moment that Tancred’s twenty paladins of the main force smashed into the side of the swordsmen. With an almost inhuman roar, the paladins struck; their lances shattered on impact, sending splinters of broken wood twirling up into the dusty, sun-streaked air as sprinkles of blood fountained up from the first rank to stand against their onslaught. The tidal wave of armored horses cut a great swath into the midst of the armored swordsmen, trampling men to death under their hooves and splitting the unit in two.
Constance watched, fixated. The elegant, sky blue clad warriors of the stories of her youth were transformed before her very eyes into yelling, snarling, blood covered butchers who hacked and maimed with brutal fury at the panic stricken enemies at their feet. The veteran swordsmen turned to run but stood no chance against the speed and ferocity of the heavy cavalry, chasing them down and executing them with well-drilled, brutal precision.
***
Shifting his weight in his saddle, Orion leaned into the turn as he guided his knights away from Tancred’s headlong charge ahead of him. The two units of knights flashed by each other, close enough to feel the disturbed flow of air from the twenty paladins who hurtled past in the opposite direction, impacting into the enemy infantry behind Orion with a deafening clatter. Orion continued heedless, lowering his lance again and sinking into his saddle to prepare for the impact of the charge.
Ahead of him, the easterly of the two units of rebel swordsmen were locked in a swirling melee with Captain Georgis’ men-at-arms; the legion men advanced steadily against their foes, their shields still locked and their spears jabbing out viciously ahead as the two units moved back and forth over a growing carpet of dead and dying soldiers from both sides. Orion fixed his glare on an enemy soldier on the edge of the unit, lined up his lance, and let out a yell.
“Charge!”
The cry was taken up by th
e knights to either side as Orion dug his spurs into his warhorse with renewed vigor, urging the frenzied animal into a full gallop. All surrounding sounds replaced with the thunder of hooves and the cries of his comrades, Orion gritted his teeth and leaned forward with his couched lance, lining the deadly tip up as the enemy soldiers juddered closer and closer with every passing moment. An enemy swordsman looked up and saw Orion at the last instant, a bitter moment frozen in time as the panic-stricken man fixed his eyes on those of his killer in his last second of life. The lance tip plunged through the man’s torso with ease, penetrating the armor before the lance shattered, sending slivers of wood flying up into the air. The mortally wounded swordsman disappeared in an instant, trampled beneath the hooves of the charging horses as Orion continued into the midst of the rebel unit.
Throwing aside his shattered lance and unsheathing his longsword, Orion raised his shield of gold and blue up to protect his left side as he hacked down at an enemy soldier trapped in between his own horse and that of a second paladin. The man had lost his helmet in the fight, allowing Orion to hack off half of his head with one precise swipe. A heavy blow clanged against the metal of his shield, shifting him in his saddle as the mass of bodies surged back and forth in a tide of blood and the agonized cries of the dying. Struggling to move his sword arm in the tightly packed swarm of soldiers, Orion pushed back with his shield against a second enemy soldier before capitalizing on the brief opening to lean over in his saddle and plunge the tip of his sword through the man’s chest, sending him disappearing down into the sea of struggling bodies.
Orion looked around frantically, his blood covered blade held high and ready to strike, but he could see only mounted paladins and legion men-at-arms. To the north, on the other side of a rank of spearmen, perhaps a dozen enemy soldiers ran desperately for the woods at the edge of the battlefield, their swords and shields abandoned in their panic. On both flanks, the peasant soldiers employed by the rebels had already turned and run. The battle was won. Cheering had already started from the legion men. But Orion knew from bitter experience that a fleeing enemy could come back in force, and quickly.
