Fires of Memory

by Washburn, Scott;

  Finally, the order to load was given. Each musketeer reached back to his right hip and opened the flap on his leather cartridge pouch. The rear and middle rank men each had six of the precious rounds; the front rank men only had two. The men took a round, brought it up to their mouths, and bit off the part of the paper-wrapped cartridge that contained the bullet. Then they brought their musket up to the ‘prime’ position, opened the pan cover, and sprinkled a little of the very special gunpowder in and then closed the cover again. From there, they set the butt of the musket between their feet. The troops poured the rest of the powder down the barrel and stuffed the paper in afterward. They leaned forward and spat out the round, lead bullets they had been holding in their mouths into the muzzles of the weapons. Then it was out with the ramrods, ram the bullets firmly down the barrels and put the ramrods back into their holders. The muskets came back up to the shoulder and they were loaded and ready to fire. A good man could do it all in twenty seconds. One of those machine-like Zollerhans could do it in fifteen. This time, all took far longer than that to load these first, special rounds; no rushing, no mistakes—not today! One more command was barked out along the line and the musket butts came back down to the ground, and the men stood at ease in their ranks. The artillery crews were busy, too. They loaded a round of solid shot on top of a charge of untreated gunpowder and then stood aside.

  Matt watched it all from horseback, at the front of his brigade, a hundred yards behind the center of the line. The army had been waiting uneasily all morning for the Kaifs to attack. Hours had dragged by and nothing much happened. The men lounged by their weapons and talked. From time to time, men would get permission to run back to the sinks to answer the call of nature. That had happened a lot this morning. Nerves.

  But now the enemy was massing. Seemingly endless lines of horsemen were pouring out of the camps and forming ragged lines about a mile away. Matt was relieved to see that the enemy line was just as long as their own. Seven miles from end to end. He could not even see the far portions of the enemy line from where he was, but he knew they were there. His biggest fear had been that they would all mass against one portion of the line and leave half the men with nothing to shoot at. The extremely extended nature of the deployment would not allow any rapid changes to meet the unexpected. He knew they were counting heavily on the enemy acting exactly as they wanted him to, and that was dangerous.

  But they simply had no choice.

  He looked back over his own troopers. They were arranged in columns of companies, the regiments standing side by side. They were going to need a narrow front to pass through the infantry lines to get at the enemy. Matt hoped that it would be a case of them going after the enemy, rather than vice-versa. If the Kaifs broke through the infantry and caught him like this, it would not be good.

  A small group of chaplains marched past, chanting their prayers. They seemed very subdued, and Matt did not doubt that their ‘escort’ had something to do with that. After the treachery with the powder, the priests had all been put under a close watch. Matt knew that only a small group of fanatics had been responsible and that most had known nothing about it and would have opposed it if they had, but they were all now paying for the insanity of their fellows. And considering how easily the guards on the powder tents had been drawn away by men in priests’ robes, a close watch was essential. They had not liked it, but no one had been any mood to take further chances. They could live with the restrictions—or leave. Some had.

  But now everything looked to be ready. As soon as the fireflies were spotted, the cavalry would dismount so as to better control their horses. Things were going to get very noisy around here.

  Matt looked at Lieutenant Prinz and nodded. He’d become rather fond of the young man, but he was no replacement for Sergeant Chenik. He found himself missing the big, gruff sergeant terribly. He would have really liked to see what was about to happen. It would have appealed to his rather warped sense of humor. Well, maybe he was watching from somewhere.

  “It’s payback time, Sergeant,” he whispered.

  * * * * *

  Atark came down off his little platform when he saw Re-Ka Zarruk and his escort approaching. “Hail, Mighty Zarruk!” he said and bowed. “All is ready here. Give the command to proceed and I shall obey!”

  “Save the flowery talk, my old friend,” said Zarruk with a grin. “Today we shall finish this at a blow.”

  “As you say, Lord, but I am still uneasy about the enemy’s seeming stupidity. They stand there with their guns just as before. Surely they realize what we shall do.”

  “Yes, it does seem strange, but perhaps they really are stupid. In any case, we shall wait for your magic to explode their powder before we start forward. If there is some trickery, we can wait and then approach more carefully.”

  Atark nodded. What Zarruk said was true. There were really only two possible outcomes that he could see: either the enemy had powder, in which case the magic would explode it and leave them helpless and stunned, or they did not have powder, in which case the army would approach more cautiously. There was no third choice that he could see. He was tempted to send out a few of the Seekers as a test to see what would happen, but it was too late for that. The warriors were in position and ready to attack. There was far too much danger that even a few explosions up on the ridge would send the eager men galloping forward before all was ready. No, they would have to go as they had planned. The sacrifices were ready, and so were the other shamans. Twenty of them stood to the sides, and each would add as many Seekers to the swarm

  as they could. It would not be many, since none of them could yet call upon the sacrifices for strength, but their presence and contributions would be important for reasons of pride. Atark was rather proud, himself, of the job he had done teaching them.

  “You can begin when you are ready, Atark,” said Zarruk. He held out his hand and Atark took it. “Good luck, my friend.”

  “Good luck to you, Zarruk—not that you shall need any. I am very relieved that you are with the reserves this time.”

  “Ha! You sound like one of my wives! But enough of this! We shall stand ready for your magic.” Zarruk turned and galloped off.

  “I shall see you at the top, my friend,” said Atark.

  * * * * *

  “Something’s happening,” said Lyni. “I can feel a magicker at work.” Jarren was standing next to her on a small platform that had been built so she could see over the ranks of troops who were standing about fifty yards in front of them. It was high enough that they could see all the way to the ends of the long, long battle line. Jarren waved to an officer who was holding a large signal flag. He started waving it frantically, and there was a stir among the troops as they made their final preparations.

  “Yes,” said Lyni, “he’s over there, starting to cast the spell.” Jarren looked at Lyni. The previous night had held delights more…delightful…than he’d ever imagined. He was tired, and he knew she must be exhausted after the long weeks of work—plus the exertions of a few hours ago. But she looked ready to do what she had to. Jarren knew what he had to do: protect Lyni, no matter what. He glanced at Gez. The boy had found a sword of his own and looked at the enemy horde with goggling eyes.

  “I’m gonna expect a bonus for this,” he squeaked.

  “Here it comes,” said Lyni. She sounded confident, but Jarren saw her eyes get larger and larger and her face go pale.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “By all the gods!” she hissed. “What power! I’ve never felt anything like this—and no, I’m not talking about you from last night, you lunk!” In spite of the dire situation, Jarren snorted. “There! Look!” shouted Lyni.

  Jarren looked across the valley to the other little platform that looked rather like their own. They had spotted it early in the morning, and they were certain that was where the Kaifeng necromancer would do his work. Telescopes had revealed the line of forked stakes stuck into the ground behind the platform. There was no d
oubt what they were for, either. Now, Jarren could see a ball of golden light appear over the platform. It looked like what Lyni and Idira and Hess had been able to make—only a hundred times larger. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a number of smaller balls to either side.

  “There is more than one magicker,” said Lyni, “but the others are of no concern. Get ready!” As he watched, the large ball exploded into a huge swarm of Seekers, which immediately came toward them.

  “I’m ready,” said Jarren, who could do absolutely nothing, “Are you?”

  “Yes. Now don’t distract me.”

  Jarren shut up and watched the Seekers come. They spread out into a vast cloud across the front of the army. If they all traveled at the same speed, they would reach the center of the line—right where they were—before anywhere else. Closer and closer. Was this really going to work? He was holding his breath. The infantry in front of them held their breath, too—but they also held their ground.

  The Seekers were here. The whole front of the army erupted in flame and smoke as the hidden packages of untreated cartridges exploded. An instant later, the cannons discharged in a long salvo that ran down the line in each direction, following the powder train of cartridges. Immediately behind the batteries, larger explosions blasted upward out of the holes where the untreated limber ammunition had been placed. Bits of wood from the limber chests flew skyward. Finally, massive detonations from the ‘ammunition wagons’ shook the ground to the rear as geysers of red flame and white smoke billowed into the air. A few of the Seekers continued to circle about, but Idira and Hess, a mile north and south of here, were sending out the waterbugs as fast as they could make them. Shortly, Jarren could not see any more Seekers.

  The instant the powder ignited, the men began to scream and shriek at the top of their lungs—just as they had been instructed to. For they were all completely unharmed. The special powder in their pouches and in their muskets had not gone off. It had worked! The untreated powder had safely flashed in front of them, or exploded behind them in deep holes where the blasts could hurt no one. Jarren saw the artillery crews dash to their guns, roll them back into firing position, and start to reload.

  Jarren’s ears were ringing, but he could still hear Lyni chanting something from beside him. He looked and saw her intense expression of concentration. Now it was time for her magic! Lyni was a student of winds and waves. There were no waves here to control, but today she needed only the wind. Jarren could not feel it, but the wind was collecting the smoke from the explosions. All the clouds from the limber chests and ammunition wagons she sent floating upward, out of the way and clearly—and spectacularly—visible from where the Kaifeng were massed. The rest—all the smoke from the planted cartridges and discharged cannon—she gathered into a long thin cloud that stayed close to the ground and moved out until it was fifty yards away from the front rank of the infantry. A curtain of smoke, a hundred feet high and twenty yards thick and seven miles long, hung in front of the army—and waited.

  The men continued to scream, but with less conviction. The strange white wall stilled their voices. They had been told what was going to happen, but being told about a miracle and actually seeing one were two, very different, things. And above their waning cries came a new sound; two new sounds: the high pitched yells of the Kaifeng warriors…

  …and there was the sound of hooves.

  Lots of hooves. Lots and lots of hooves. Nearly a million of them. All pounding the ground at once. It was like the roar of the ocean in a terrible storm. It was coming closer and closer. The men could hear it and some took a step back. Sergeants and officers swatted them back into line.

  “Stand fast, you dogs!” shouted a hundred sergeants in a dozen different languages up and down the line. “If you run, you’re a dead man. If the Kaifs don’t kill you, I will!” Jarren watched from the platform and clutched the railing with white-knuckled hands.

  The officers called the men to attention. “Front rank, kneel!” came the command. The leading rank of men went to one knee. “Battalion, make ready!” The men made a half turn to the right and brought their muskets across their bodies, pointing the muzzles ahead at a forty-five degree angle. They brought the hammers back to half-cock.

  Still the noise grew. The thunder of the hooves drowned out the cries of the Kaifs. Jarren could not believe it. The ground was actually shaking. The vibrations traveled up through the supports of the platform, through his own legs, and seemed to collect inside his chest. But nothing could be seen through the curtain of smoke, nothing at all.

  “Wait for it! I’ll have the balls of any man who fires without an order!” snarled an officer close to them.

  Louder, closer. Jarren’s heart was in his throat as he tried to see through the smoke. He wanted to shout, to scream. Every instinct in his body was telling him to run; find a hole and cower down in it until this terrible storm passed him by. Instead, he stood next to the woman he loved and stared into the smoke.

  There! A horseman emerged from the cloud, almost directly in front of him! Then another. Dozens, hundreds, more appeared almost immediately, scattered all along the line of smoke. The men with the fastest horses burst through the smoke at a full gallop…

  …and saw what was waiting for them.

  Even from over a hundred yards away, Jarren could see the shock on their faces. They had galloped wildly forward expecting to find what they had found before: a stunned and disordered mass of men, helpless and ready to be slaughtered. Instead, they found solid ranks of steady infantry.

  “Rear rank, present!” the order ran down the line. The third rank of infantry brought their muskets up to their shoulders and pointed them straight at the oncoming horsemen. They pulled the hammers back to full-cock.

  The Kaifs hauled back on their reins, trying to stop or turn before they ran into the unwavering wall of flesh and steel in front of them, but more riders were emerging from the smoke. More and more and more. Men shouted and horses protested as they tried to stop their headlong rush toward death. The infantry officers waited a few more heartbeats, carefully judging the narrowing distance. Waiting for just the right moment to…

  “Rear rank—FIRE!”

  Along the vast, seven-mile front of the army, a rippling, roaring, tearing volley crashed out. Since the timing and distances varied enormously, it was not a single, precise detonation; instead it lasted for fifteen or twenty seconds from start to finish as regiment after regiment let loose its fire. Sixteen thousand fingers squeezed sixteen thousand triggers. Hammers fell and flints struck steel. Priming flashed and sixteen thousand one-ounce lead musket balls were flung out to slam into the flesh of horses and men. White smoke obscured the target for an instant, but it could not blot out the sound. The battle cries of Kaifeng warriors and the thunder of hooves were drowned out by the screams of stricken men and animals.

  Lyni shouted something at Jarren’s side, and the smoke from the volleys was whisked away, straight up.

  “Rear rank, load! Center rank, present!”

  “Fire!”

  Another impossibly long volley rippled along the line. It started before the first had even finished, and another hail of lead death lashed out. At this range, against a target like this, it was literally impossible to miss. Every ball was bound to hit a target. Some of the horses and some of the men were probably hit many times, while others escaped for the moment, but the whole front of the Kaifeng charge came crashing down in a tangle of dying men and dying horses.

  “Battery—Fire!”

  The reloaded cannons now added to the incredible din. Loads of canister on top of a solid round shot tore through the packed enemy. The canister shattered into hundreds of musket balls, taking down dozens of men at a single shot, while the solid iron cannon balls tore through rank after rank, mangling the animals and their riders in the most horrible fashion.

  “Center rank, load! Front rank, present!”

  “Fire!”

  More death leapt from the li
nes, but more and more Kaifeng continued to emerge from the wall of smoke. The front of their charge was now just a mass of dead and dying flesh. Those who had come behind could neither go forward through the kicking and screaming horses who were down, nor could they go back against the press of their unsuspecting fellows.

  “Rear rank, ready! Present!”

  “Fire!”

  The rear rank was reloaded now and fired again. They had four shots left. Still the winds whisked away the smoke from the guns, giving a clear view of the targets; still the deadly wall concealed what was happening from the oncoming Kaifs; still the muskets and cannons roared out to claim more victims. Horses fell and riders struggled free, only to be felled by the next merciless blast. No one had gotten to within twenty paces of the battle line. In a narrow space, thirty yards wide and seven miles long, Death reigned.

  A hand clutched at him, and Jarren turned to see Lyni there. She was shouting at him, shouting as loudly as she could, but he could hear nothing at all above the roar of the guns. He put his ear right by her mouth and she screamed again. “I can’t hold it any longer!” Her face was streaked with sweat, and she nearly collapsed in his arms. He looked at her and then looked back to the slaughter. The smoke from the guns was no longer flying upward as it had been, and the wall of smoke suddenly began to drift away. At first, it stayed in an almost solid mass, and it was like the greatest curtain on the greatest stage in the world going up.

  Jarren held Lyni and watched the spectacle. The fire was slower now. The kneeling front rank could not reload easily from that position and had fired only once, then they set the butts of their muskets on the ground and presented a solid hedge of bayonets to the enemy. With only two ranks firing, a few of the Kaifs somehow fought their way through the carnage and came forward, but their horses could not be forced through the wall of bayonets, and the warriors waved their swords in frustration until the next volley brought them down.