[Empire Army 01] - Reiksguard

by Richard Williams - (ebook by Undead)

  “Put a thought in your head before you put words in my mouth, Falkenhayn,” Delmar replied, his voice calm and measured with that same tone of command that had come to him at Edenburg. “And should you question my loyalty again, you had best be ready to draw your sword and have your second ready to return your body home.”

  Delmar held Falkenhayn’s stare until a short trumpet note alerted the squadron. The standards were raised; the battle was about to begin.

  Had the Reiksmarshal overheard Delmar’s concerns, he would not have disagreed. The floor of the valley was covered by the fast-flowing Reik, swelled with rain; the narrow banks were too steep for cavalry, and any man who climbed the slope would be easy pickings for any archers upon the cliffs. The Dragon’s Jaw was no place for an army of the Empire to fight. Yet fight they must.

  War was ever the reconciliation of the ideal to the real, with the difference paid in soldiers’ lives. The key for any general, at least for any general who wished to command an army more than once, was to ensure that difference was as slight as victory would allow. Sometimes that required caution, sometimes that required courage, and sometimes the gods provided a weary general with a boon for his service. The gods… though today the dwarfs were ample substitute.

  A cry went up from the bergjaegers, a shout picked up by the knights, then the militia and carried all the way back to the Reiksmarshal, but Helborg had already seen it. King Gramrik had provided his miracle.

  The Reik had stopped flowing.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DRAGON’S JAW

  “It is done, my king,” the dwarfen engineer reported. “The lower tunnels are flooding and the level of the lake has dropped enough that it is too low to flow out of the basin. The river is halted.”

  “For how long?” King Gramrik asked.

  “I cannot say for certain, my king. But I would judge a few hours, maybe a little more, before the tunnels fill and the river flows again.”

  A few hours, Gramrik brooded; it had taken them ten years to clear those mines. Given a few more years the machinery might have been in place to make it simple to pump them clear, but now that effort had been lost and who knew if they would ever have a chance to try again.

  And, as much as the manlings of the Empire had begged for his help, when word got back to their masters there would be some amongst them who would decide that they could not trust their oldest allies with such control over the river they considered their own. It was ever thus, dealing with the manlings, the memory of their fears lasted far longer than that of the favours they owed.

  The Reik had drained away, but only upstream of the pass. Behind the Empire army, the Unkenfluss continued to flow into the Reik’s channel, and the other, lower, tributaries merged with it downstream. As the waters had receded in the valley, the riverbed was exposed. Helborg had inspected the ground himself the day before: the Reik ran fast through the narrow pass, and any loose soil was carried further downstream. The riverbed was not mud but rather rock smoothed by the river’s passage. It was not ideal, Helborg knew, but it should be enough.

  As the waters dropped, Osterna’s knights urged their horses from the walk to the trot and splashed down the bank into the remains of the Reik with as little trouble as they would cross a stream. Had the Snaggle Tooths made a stand upon the far bank, then they might have had a chance. They were still hundreds against only sixty. But the goblins of the wretched Snaggle Tooth tribe only stared, their red eyes wide in horror, as the barrier they had thought to protect them from harm poured away. They were transfixed by the sight of the knights approaching, the sharp swords, their iron skin, their giant warhorses with heavy hooves that would crush their bones. Only a few had the presence of mind to fire their bows, and those few shots were aimed in such fear that they spiralled harmlessly away.

  Osterna’s knights had not even reached the other bank before the Snaggle Tooths broke, fighting and clawing at each other in the flight to their warrens in the mountain. Then the knights climbed the bank, spurred their horses hard and raced forwards into the green panicking mass, roaring with bloodlust, as they cut down and avenged the brothers they had lost.

  Delmar and his squadron cheered at the sight of Osterna’s victory, but already the rest of the army was moving. Helborg had used the distraction of Osterna’s charge to cover his new deployment. The Averland drummers had taken up the beat, and the militias were traversing the riverbed and were forming up in a column on the other side.

  In the few minutes of Osterna’s charge, the Reiksmarshal’s army had gone from rest to full march. Now, Delmar saw the sense of the Reiksmarshal’s plan and shook his head in wonder.

  On the cliffs of the Stadelhorn Heights, Thorntoad saw it too. His scouts had kept a beady eye on the Empire army the whole day and night before, just in case they made an attempt to cross onto the eastern bank. They had not, and so Thorntoad had brought the bulk of his warriors; the Black Ears, the Splinters and his own Death Caps, onto the west side leaving only Nardy and his Snaggle Tooths there to harass from a distance. Together they would have swarmed their foe and forced them back into the river. But now the river was gone. The Snaggle Tooths had run, and the enemy had crossed to the other bank and were out of range of his archers on the western cliffs.

  A column of their soldiers was already marching into the pass. It was not the armoured men, but the lesser ones, the militias. They were marching quickly down the eastern bank. The human general obviously hoped that Thorntoad had been so stunned by the attack on the Snaggle Tooths, that the militias might pass unhindered. Well, that general had much to learn of Thorntoad, if it thought that he would even blink at their loss. They were the lowest fraction of his tribes.

  “Gigit!” He called to the tribe he had placed at the northern end of the pass. Warboss Gigit of the Splinters acknowledged the order and strapped the ill-fitting dwarfen helm to his head. With a cry, he ordered his warriors down the slope.

  The Splinters poured down the mountainside towards the riverbed and the militia column beyond. Those in the lead chewed the fungi that made them feel fearless and strong, and the rest followed their example, emboldened by the power of the mob.

  Behind them came their bosses with their whips and their prods. Thorntoad understood that, so long as a goblin feared what was behind him more than what was before him, it gave him that same kind of madness that nobler creatures called bravery, and the thousand Splinters ran down the slope, slipping, skidding, falling, whooping and shrieking in their excitement.

  Helborg watched them come. The enemy’s first charge, it was a sight he had seen many times before. It told him much about the opponent. For instance, here, it told him that Thorntoad had never faced an army of the Empire before, and did not know how fast his knights could ride.

  He gave the order, and Wallenrode’s knights raised their standards with the orc-head badge.

  “Charge!”

  The Splinters’ attack was reduced to tatters and, their horses wearied, Wallenrode’s knights reformed behind the safety of the marching militia column before trotting back, triumphantly holding their bloody blades aloft. Those goblins who had survived the charge by Wallenrode’s banner milled about in confusion, some were already turning their backs, sensing the opportunity to slip away. Gigit stormed down to them, smashing heads together as he went. He loomed over them all and bellowed for order. His goblins stared, waiting for his command. Gigit opened his mouth to speak and an arrow ripped through the back of his throat.

  From across the riverbed, Jaeger Voll strung another arrow to his bow. The rest of the bergjaegers fired and showed the goblin archers the true power of the bow when used at close range in the hands of men whose lives daily depended upon their ability. The bergjaegers fired and sixty goblins fell, some with two or more shafts embedded within them.

  Burakk watched the remnants of the Splinters scrabble their way back up the slope. More had survived than they deserved. The knights on their horses, who had broken them so easily, co
uld not climb the slope in pursuit. The militias, once the Splinters had fled, had blithely continued their march. Even their bowmen did not fire after them, preferring to conserve their arrows for the long battle ahead.

  “Herd those together, I shall have use for them later,” Thorntoad ordered of the returning Splinters. “Do not look so concerned, Burakk Craw.”

  “It was a thousand of your creatures.”

  “And I have ten thousand more.”

  Delmar watched as another tribe of goblins was sent down into pass. This time, the honour went to Trier’s banner. The knights charged down the riverbed, but this time the goblins were more wary. They did not strive so hard to reach the militia column on the other side; instead they braced for the knights’ impact.

  Trier’s knights were ready and stayed in close order so as to bring the full weight of their charge upon the goblin tribe. But as they closed, breaks appeared in the goblin ranks. The prodders were shoving some of their kin to the front. These goblins laughed and bawled in delirium, their eyes rolling, their mouths frothing as they chewed their maddening mushrooms. Each one dragged behind them on a long chain an iron ball, bigger than cannon-shot.

  To the charging knights’ horror, these mad greenskins began to twirl and dance. Their muscles bulged with unnatural strength, and they lifted their chains and whirled them about like morning stars, as their fellow goblins unleashed them in the knights’ direction and retreated away cackling with laughter.

  The bergjaegers near the militia sprinted forwards, nocking arrows to their bows. They stood and fired. The nearest of these fanatics fell, shot through like pincushions, but not all.

  The fanatics were still shrieking and spinning as the charge hit. With no room to manoeuvre, Trier’s knights could only pray as the whirling balls flew at them.

  Holes appeared in the knights’ first line as the bone-crushing weights smacked into the flanks of horses and their riders, smashing legs, chests and heads. The first men of the battle died, and a band of sergeants and went to try and recover them. The stricken knights though, bore forwards. Even in death, they collapsed upon their foe, and the remaining fanatics were buried beneath the bodies of the horses and men that they had killed.

  The rest of the charge hit home, knocking the greenskins aside once more, leaving untouched only those goblin warbands who had sheltered directly behind the fanatics. These goblins, though, had only a few seconds to count their blessings, before the second wave, guiding their horses around the carnage, struck and cut them apart.

  The goblin warlord appeared unconcerned and ordered even more down from the heights.

  Delmar heard his banner’s trumpeter call them to form up. It was their turn at last.

  “We charge in two lines,” Jungingen commanded. “Charge. Cut free by the squadron. Reform around my standard.”

  At the trumpeter’s note, the knights nudged their horses to the trot. Jungingen led them down the bank onto the riverbed. Delmar and the others were in the second line, unable to see their foe clearly past the first line, and so Delmar watched the knights ahead of him, to gain forewarning of obstacles ahead.

  The trumpeter blew again and the knights urged their mounts to the gallop. The danger of the uneven ground was aggravated by the slumped greenskin bodies that impeded their path; however, the experienced knights of the first line maintained their formation.

  Then, at last, Jungingen raised his lance and the trumpeter blew the charge. The knights spurred their horses as one. Delmar could hear the cries of alarm from the goblins ahead. In the last few seconds, the first line lowered their lances. The charge struck and Delmar saw the lance arms of the knights ahead jolt back as the lances plunged and the knights impaled the closest goblins.

  The knights dropped their spent lances and drew their swords; the line slowed, but it did not stop, and the knights held together. The greenskins in the centre were running, but those to either side were not. Delmar saw the goblins clearly for the first time, hooded in their dark cloaks against the sun, desperation in their eyes, spears and blades clutched tight.

  “Second line, to the flanks!” Jungingen ordered.

  “To the right!” Falkenhayn shouted to the squadron, and the knights turned to strike beside the first line, their own formation loosening. Delmar readied his lance and picked his target, one of the few goblins that stood its ground. The goblin had braced itself with a short spear, but too short, for Delmar’s lance had the range. Delmar let his lance tip drop, aimed it square at the goblin’s belly, braced against his stirrups and let the weight of his charge run the goblin through. With the impact, he knocked the spearhead aside with his shield, then dropped the broken lance and drew his sword.

  All about him, his brothers were charging home, some equalling Delmar’s success, others having less effect as their targets ran or dived to the ground between the horses’ hooves.

  “Cut free!” Falkenhayn ordered. The greenskins were running well now, easy kills for the knights’ swords. But as the greenskins broke, a second tribe appeared behind them, carrying standards of a diseased toadstool. Their spears were ready, and pointed at Jungingen’s knights whose charge was spent. In there as well, Delmar saw, were goblins carrying heavy nets, ready to launch them on the knights as soon as they ploughed through.

  The fleeing goblins were halted and, for a moment, the tide flowed back against the knights. They were suddenly engulfed by panicking goblins, screeching, tearing and biting at anything in their way. The knights in the centre were boxed in, the goblins before and their brothers to either side. Out on the right, Delmar saw the chance to break out. He glanced at Falkenhayn, but the Reiklander was too busy stabbing down at the goblins cowering beneath his horse.

  “Break right!” Delmar bellowed, cutting the way through. “Break right, go around!”

  Falkenhayn looked up, “What? No! On! On!” he shouted, but the rest of the squadron was already following Delmar. First the squadron, then as the knights in the centre got space, the whole banner followed Delmar out and around the trap Thorntoad had lain for them.

  This Thorntoad had never fought the Empire before, Helborg reflected, but it learned quickly, and it had no compunction in sacrificing a score of more of its own kind to bring down a single knight, herding its weaker kin to act as buffers, to slow each banner’s charge, then counter with its own. And the knights were beginning to fall; no longer when the banners returned did they do so eagerly, with only their swords bloodied. The sheer numbers of Thorntoad’s tribes were beginning to tell, and he had still not unleashed his ogres yet.

  Siebrecht reined his horse in around the squadron’s standard and tried not to let his exhaustion show. His thighs ached from controlling his mount, and his sword arm burned with the strain of constantly hacking; down at these low targets. That’s all that was required, hacking; no thrusts, no parries, no finesse, just chopping down with all his might. The stains of goblin blood upon his sword and his horse’s flanks were evidence of his success.

  They had a moment’s respite and he shakily raised his visor. He was the last of the squadron to reform again, but at least the margin was getting smaller as the other knights and horses wore out as well. Siebrecht had always considered himself a good horseman, not the best, but good enough to ride for a day without complaint. But this was something else entirely: the short bursts, the quick turns, to be watching your horse’s step, watching your enemy, watching all about you as to where your brothers were going. More than once he had heard the order to cut free, only to look about and realise his brothers had already wheeled away. It was thanks only to his horse’s herd instincts that he stayed with them.

  He did not know how the others were doing it. Delmar and his horse, especially, moved as though they had been born together. Their squadron had charged half a dozen times in the last hour. Each time Delmar had been the first to strike, the first to the turn, the first to reform. He might as well be a bloody centaur in disguise.

  The goblins were all alon
g the riverbed now, the dead and the living. There were nearly two thousand of the creatures together, too many for the cavalry to clear away in a simple charge. A courageous squadron from Osterna’s banner that had tried was swiftly bogged down amongst the mass, their horses hamstrung and the knights toppled onto the floor and swarmed.

  The militia still advanced steadily, but they were still only halfway through the Dragon’s Jaw, and Siebrecht could feel the momentum of the battle shifting in the goblins’ favour. Few of the Empire had fallen, but if the column stalled and wavered those losses would quickly multiply.

  The Reiksguard were fighting by the squadron now, each band of knights trying to contain the goblins as best they could, without getting caught in their horde.

  Falkenhayn was still calling their squadron’s orders, but it was Delmar’s lead that the knights now followed. There had been a moment two charges before; their squadron had just reformed. “Beware right!” Delmar had shouted: a goblin warband with nets and spears had broken from the horde, looking to snare the knights while they were resting. Falkenhayn, already irritated by Delmar pre-empting his orders, had seen the danger as well and had snapped, “To the right!”

  Some knights in the squadron had listened to Delmar and wheeled left, the others had listened to Falkenhayn and thought his words were a command and wheeled right. The moment of confusion that resulted gave the goblins their chance and they had rushed forwards, hurling their nets to entangle the horses’ heads and legs.

  The Reiksmarshal’s own guard had been close by and had cut them free, but it had been a damned near thing.