by Garon Whited
It’s not paranoia…
“Yes, it is, even if they are out to get you. It’s just that paranoia can be a perfectly logical and reasonable response to circumstances, thank you.”
We headed back through the countryside, trailed by horses that seemed willing to follow Bronze anywhere she led them. A pair of riders came our way, seeming quite worried about something, so I killed them and took their horses, too. Bronze dropped me off outside our own camp and I tested our defenses.
I did not get through unnoticed. I was both pleased by this and strangely concerned.
Wednesday, August 25th
We originally planned to spend, at most, a few hours bivouacked on the road between Bildar and Kilda. Those few hours would be sufficient for Tort to determine the route of march for the Byrne forces. For some reason, they did not get moving with their usual snap and speed. They stayed camped all of yesterday and last night, actually, while we enjoyed a good rest from our hasty march.
My guess is that they had to reorganize. Maybe they had to send word back to Byrne for instructions, too.
This morning, the enemy forces started out along the road to Kilda. We moved up to the place Kelvin decided on, the village of Cerilla. We set up shop on the eastern side of the village. People from the village viewed our preparations with considerable alarm; we sent a couple of knights to warn them about the upcoming conflict. Very shortly, the village was busy with its own preparations, ranging from packing up to simply running away.
Some of the men volunteered to join us; they were very helpful with their knowledge of the local terrain. After some discussion with them, Kelvin had us relocate farther east, along the road, just outside the farmed area. If the Byrne forces continued down the road, they would come through a wide, grassy area between two stretches of woods, up a long, gentle slope, and then down a somewhat-steeper grade into the farmland around Cerilla.
Kelvin thought this was a perfect spot for us to meet them.
Byrne’s army rolled onward. Tort kept us constantly informed. They had to know where we were; at this range there was nothing either side could do to prevent basic divination. They came anyway. I think they knew they couldn’t avoid us, so they were going to go through us.
It was early that afternoon when a mounted scout came into view over that low rise. He looked at us, obviously did some counting, turned around, and headed straight back.
Tort reported on the change in the troops. Instead of a line of march, they formed up and started pulling themselves into a fighting configuration.
Kelvin did the heavy lifting. He moved the markers around on the local map, quizzed Tort about what she could see, and had an orderly relay his orders through the mini-mirrors. I watched as he laid out our battle line. I didn’t have anything to criticize; he knew what the cannon could do and what we needed to do about them.
He looked tired. No, I take that back. He wasn’t tired. He moved with energy and purpose. He seemed… weary. This war involved a lot of planning, a lot of adapting to changing circumstances, a lot of dealing with people. It wore him down, weighed heavily on him. But he held on and kept slugging, and now the end—of the major military portion, anyway—was finally in sight. Kelvin was weary, yes, but he was also cheerful.
“Sire,” he asked, “I need only know your wishes.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have everything a commander could want,” he said, gesturing at the map. “I know the enemy’s strength and dispositions. I have the ground I want. I can convey orders almost instantly. I have troops that are enthusiastic, skilled, and determined—some of them are all three. You tell me that the enemy have a secret weapon upon which their confidence rests, and that we can counter it. Their original commanders are dead, leaving only their seconds and subcommanders. Much of the enemy is a militia or conscripts.” He shrugged.
“Sire, if you order me to annihilate the enemy, I will. If you want prisoners, I will get them. We await only your word.”
“Now I understand,” I agreed. “Okay. My overall objective is to break the power of Byrne’s military.”
“I remember.”
“Second to that, I’d like to have a minimum loss of life.”
“Sire,” he said, slowly, “this is a war. We are about to have a battle. You do know that men will die?”
“I get that,” I agreed, “but I don’t care for victory at any cost; I care about victory at minimum cost. If we have an all-or-nothing, fate-of-the-world battle, we’ll consider tactics that will result in certain death to achieve victory. This ain’t it. You’re confident; I trust you. Do your best to keep our guys alive.”
“Our guys? Ah! I understand, Sire. I will.”
And he did. He also went to some lengths to keep me alive.
Kelvin arranged about a third of our forces on the field. When I insisted on participating, he detailed three of the volunteers from the Wizards’ Corps to accompany me, along with Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar. I wondered who was going to carry the standard into the fight. Seldar set me straight on that; the standard was behind us, where it belonged, marking Our Side of the field. If anyone needed to retreat, the banner marked the direction of safety.
Well, I should have expected something like that. I was thinking that when the King goes into a fight, someone carries his personal standard. But kings don’t go into battle, I’m told.
We took our places with forty knights, front and center. Another forty or so chafed under orders to stay out of the battle and act as part of the reserves. They didn’t like it, but I put my foot down, backing the Warlord, and explained that if anything went wrong, they were our only hope. And even if things went very right, they might be vital as the unexpected hammerblow that finally broke the enemy.
Besides, the Queen was going to be with them.
(Lissette had some unladylike remarks for me. I whispered in her ear and she settled down.)
The knights in reserve didn’t seem to mind so much after that. Admittedly, they were still disappointed to not be in the thick of the fight, but there’s some pride to be had in knowing that you’re trusted to pull the King’s chestnuts out of the fire if things go wrong.
This battle wasn’t going to be fancy.
We waited while the enemy got themselves sorted out. They sent a couple of companies of infantry over the rise first, then brought them to a halt at the foot of the hill. The cannon wheeled up into view, already loaded and ready to fire; they just had to get a sight picture and take aim.
I did take a brief stab at trying to cast a spell on the cannon. At that range, the wizard on duty blocked it easily. Well, it wasn’t meant to accomplish anything, just see what sort of response it would get.
As the cannon came into view, Kelvin gave the signal. My unit charged and the infantry started their advance. Mounted archers also followed us to get into position on our flanks. Bronze was not amused to be held back to the speed of flesh-and-blood horses, but we already had that discussion. She promised to behave, and to make sure all the horses with us stayed with her.
I’m not sure how that works, but she says she can do it and I’ve seen the way horses behave around her. Maybe it has something to do with a herd mentality, or maybe she’s just a magical creature and I should learn to accept it.
The cannoneers understood the concept of volley fire. The battery commander gave a signal and they fired as one.
One of the reasons we formed up early was to let the Byrne scouts get a good look. Our idea was to let the cannoneers target us, the knights, because we would be the primary threat. If they reacted the way we expected them to, they would think they could shoot the knights, reload, and fire another volley into the advancing infantry. While their infantry screen at the foot of the hill held off anything else, the majority of their own forces could swarm over the rise and start downhill into whatever was left.
It was the obvious thing to do, and they certainly tried it. Their infantry screen crouched down at the foot of the rise
, hands over their ears as the cannoneers volleyed at us.
Cannonballs and grapeshot—the cannon-scale equivalent of buckshot—rode the fire, smoke, and thunder. Iron came toward us, hit us, and dropped harmlessly to the earth.
That’s why we were trying to be targets. We were wearing enough defensive magic that their opening salvo should be wasted. For the most part, we were right. Oh, a couple of men struck by actual cannonballs were unhorsed; you don’t have a momentum change of that magnitude and completely ignore it. Several horses were struck by shot and did ignore it—I think that was Bronze; the horses weren’t trained for that—and one horse struck by a cannonball stumbled and went down. But, aside from that, they may as well have been throwing footballs at us.
We plowed into the panicked infantry at a gallop and split; roughly fifteen men diverted left and right to roll up the infantry line, slicing and hacking the whole way. The remaining ten or so continued up the hill, flowed between and around the cannon, killed everyone, and went charging down the far side into the second wave troops still gaping in shock or cringing from the explosions.
Things were busy. Bronze didn’t need to stay in low gear for this; she plowed through everything and opened a hole for everyone else to widen. I had Firebrand out and swinging; it was gleefully cauterizing any wound it made. I kept a portion of my attention on the magical environment. If something unpleasant shot our way, I wanted to see it coming, maybe even do something about it!
I needn’t have worried. Most of their magic was with the cannon, guarding them, and every wizard in that group was dead. The two wizards I noticed in the rear of the enemy, at the command post, were trying to stay out of the fight and avoid attention. I pointed them out to Bronze and Firebrand, just to make sure they were forewarned, but the spells I saw were mainly things like deflection spells, ignore-me spells, and the like. The enemy wizards wanted nothing to do with the pitched battle this was shaping up to be.
The second wave—they guys on the far side of the hill, behind the cannon—were the conscript troops, which I regretted; they really didn’t want to be there. They fought out of desperation, slinging rocks at us, throwing spears, sometimes even remembering their training and setting their long spears to hold us off.
None of it helped. Sling stones and other projectiles always missed; spears tended to. Even those who remembered their lessons and held their spears to take a charge didn’t expect a couple of tons of metal horse to go through them. That further depleted the enemy morale.
Then, following the rout of the forward infantry screen—the survivors scrambled madly back over the hill—the rest of my knights thundered down the slope and started killing. It stopped being a fight and descended into slaughter.
We broke the conscripts. They threw down their weapons and ran, scattering, and we let them. I signaled and we all turned around and headed back up to the top of the rise. Our infantry was taking its time getting there; Kelvin and I wanted them feeling fairly fresh when they arrived. The timing was the important thing. We wanted them to arrive just as or a trifle before Byrne sent in its main thrust. There was no sign of that just yet. Confusion, disorder, and panic seemed dominant.
Well, that’s my fault. You eat enough of the leaders and the rest get a little twitchy.
To encourage an attack—it would be nice if they charged up the hill to get surprised by a wave of our own infantry—we dismounted and started to limber what the guns. That is, we unhooked them from the stakes they were using as recoil spades. They weren’t going anywhere quickly; it takes a six-horse team to haul each of the things.
On the other hand, we didn’t need to actually take them anywhere, just give the impression that we were about to. The enemy commanders, whoever they were now, realized that we were about to take their precious guns.
Useless guns, but they didn’t seem to realize that. Sometimes it’s hard to change your way of thinking, especially about something you’ve regarded as immensely valuable. Those guns were ineffective against our new spell. Maybe they didn’t realize that, thinking that dozens of dead men and horses littered the field on the other side of the hill. Maybe they just didn’t want them falling into enemy hands.
A horn sounded at the command post; flags went up and waved. The veterans, professional soldiers, and any non-panicked conscripts they could grab quickly advanced on our position. Just for the amusement value, I had the guys turn all the cannon around to point at the troops. It didn’t slow them down, but it sure made a lot of people even more frightened to have their own Mysterious Magical Weapons pointed at them.
Sir Beltar and Sir Terrel had their mini-mirrors out; they signaled and called out ranges. Our archers, parked on the eastern side of the hill to flank our infantry, started to rain sharp things on the advancing enemy. Arrows sailed up over us and down into the advancing mass. They weren’t aimed, just launched into the right general area. The enemy still kept coming. The ones with shields—the professionals—raised them and started driving the conscripts ahead like sheep, hurrying them faster through the light hail of arrows.
I decided to retreat, or make it look that way. My knights held the hilltop and both lines of infantry were closing in us; the main battle would start in another minute or less.
Bronze and I raced down through our own lines, leaving six bodyguards—three knights and three wizards—swearing and cursing. We circled northward and I got Kelvin on the mini-mirror; he agreed that sending the cavalry reserve after me would be a good idea. They galloped eagerly in my direction and I grinned. Lissette wanted to be in the fight, and the timing ought to work out…
Bronze and I circled northward around the more heavily-wooded end of the rise while the reserve desperately tried to catch up. Meanwhile, opposite me, to the south, the body of Huler’s troops were already around the other end of the rise, hidden fairly well back in those trees, preparatory to a flanking attack on the enemy advance.
While Bronze and I were too far away from the enemy for a spell of unnoticeability to be useful, I could easily silence us and put that mottled camouflage over everything. We made good time through the woods, dodging trees while I stayed low and hung on.
The battle was in full swing when we came back into sight. Our side held the hilltop but was giving ground; as the enemy advanced, his coordination and organization continued to fall apart. Once they got over the rise, they couldn’t see the signals from their command outpost in the rear; the signals had to be relayed back and forth by men on the hilltop.
When we came to the edge of the woods, I gave Huler the signal to charge. Without waiting, Bronze and I immediately tried to attract attention away from that movement.
I dropped the silencing and camouflaging spells; there’s more shock value in seeing us coming. Bronze screamed like an angry steam engine. Together, we went through the back third of the army—mostly the professionals, hanging back until the conscripts were expended—like a tank through a chicken coop. She simply ignored the fact that there were fleshy obstacles in the way, running through them and trampling them down with no more concern than a grown man walking across an overgrown lawn. With both swords out, I was hard-pressed to cut at all the people she merely passed by. It was like playing mailbox baseball on a runaway motorcycle, just bloodier.
Anything I missed, Bronze got with her tail. It was like cracking a dozen wire whips. She didn’t just cut people with her tail, she sliced them like cheese. Being stepped on was cleaner and quicker; people she cut with her tail-lash generally didn’t die quickly.
We finished carving a bloody swathe through the enemy and ran into Huler’s troops. Bronze did a rearing about-face and we charged back with them, into the flank of Byrne’s reeling forces.
Things became even more chaotic as the Byrne soldiers realized they were scattered and out of position to meet the assault from the south. Huler’s men included two-thirds of the archers; they did serious damage in a matter of seconds, then continued to rain arrows into the back ranks as the south
ern infantry lines started to clash.
Bronze and I pulled ahead of the infantry; we opened a nice hole for them to exploit. We were doubly effective in that role: We killed anything we came close to, for one thing; anything still alive tried to avoid getting close to us.
Shortly after that, the knights circling in from the north made it through the trees and attacked. Beltar was up front, riding on Lissette’s right with Torvil; Kammen rode on her left. I swear I could just about hear them screaming as they rode hell-for-leather into the northern rear/flank of the enemy. Byrne soldiers were confronting adversaries on the west and south, with only a thin skirmish line guarding the north.
Gruesome. Messy.
More to my interest, however, was Seldar. He must have followed me almost as soon as I started to circle around. He emerged a little behind the northern charge, then swung east and avoided the melee. Instead of plunging into the fight, he made straight for the command post. Clever kid. He saw his opening and went for it.
Bronze and I cut and trampled our way through screaming troops on our way to the enemy command center. Seldar had a magnificent idea; I was just worried he wouldn’t be able to pull it off on his own. Bronze and I did our best to attract attention while Seldar closed in on the high command.
I shouldn’t have worried. He’s the best wizard of my three. I’m sure Bronze and I helped by being a terrifying distraction; they didn’t notice him until he was practically on top of them. His deflection spell took care of the few arrows and sling stones launched in his direction. The enemy wizards, still trying to hide from the fighting, threw a few spells at him. I never found out what they were because Seldar had his Daeron’s Shield up and running. Nothing touched him or his horse, and then he was carving into the command post’s elite guard.
To give them credit, they attacked his horse to dismount him. On Seldar’s side, he expected it and leaped from the saddle when his horse went down. He rolled to his feet and found himself surrounded.
