Not that he was willing to gently lie down and go to his reward. There would always be beasts such as this lot to kill. But he looked forward to a time when he would be too infirm to wield a sword. Then he would sit on a bench at an inn and people would ask him to once again tell the story of this great battle. And he would pretend to be weary of the tale but reluctantly let himself be convinced. It would be a good time. A just reward.
Then Gallan saw a man frantically waving his arms over his head. He stood on tiptoes and could make him out to be Geord. The man was upset and motioning for Gallan to come to his location which was about twelve cannon down the line. When Gallan arrived he was at once concerned for Geord. The old engineer was bright red in the face. His skin, which should have been wet with perspiration was completely dry. The man’s eyes drooped and his hands shook like a palsied beggar.
“Empty,” Geord said, pointing to the wagon’s walled bed. “We’ve run out. Iron, wood, everything is gone. If it is like that here it is the same on every station.”
Gallan, who was not much younger than Geord, reached out to catch the builder when he teetered and fell backward. Gallan and one of the cannon crew helped him to a sitting position on the bare earth. Geord was not yet finished. He grabbed at the breastplate of Gallan’s armor.
“One more volley. That’s all that is left. That and what is in the quivers of the archers. I’m sorry, Good Warrior. We brought all that we had. It was not enough.”
Gallan tried to calm him. He gave him a sip of water and bade him to lie flat on his back. The warrior had seen heat stroke many times in his life. Fighting all day in a metal shell under the hot sun served to produce many examples. Gallan ordered two civilian volunteers to take him back into the city. But the concern showed by the older man was valid. The steady barrage of arrows and bolts was the only reason the enemy had taken so many casualties. When those ran out it would fall back to the few tricks remaining in Ruguer’s arsenal. Then it would be shield-to-shield.
Gallan jumped back up on the wagon and searched for Vynn. He could see him some fifty wagons down. But his fellow Commander was bent forward and deeply into a discussion with one of the captains of the crossbow cannon teams. Gallan could guess the subject being discussed.
***
I wrenched apart the leather flaps of the darkened black tent and walked out into the bright sunshine. My eyes watered and stung but I forced them to stay fully open. Outside of the tent I smelled dust, blood and the horrible stench of open bodies and voided bowels. I’d smelled the odor before on this world but not to this extreme. This was the unavoidable horror of large-scale war and the stench was overpowering. Heretofore I had only smelled battles. This was war. I took my mace in my left hand. My dagger was in my right. I surveyed the death and ruin about me.
Before I left the tent I had gathered up my little friend, my Tinker, and wrapped her in cloth as gently as I could manage. The blood flow appeared to be waning but she’d lost plenty. I put a cup of tepid water to her lips and she had lapped it gently then laid back, exhausted from the effort. I had then carried her into the little anteroom in which I had found the silver animal, the one she had apparently fought and defeated. I was amazed when I saw the two of them closely together on the little cot. The silver one was at least twice her size. My mind briefly flashed back to the night when myself, Dwan and Vynn were journeying to the outpost. It seemed like a year ago that the serpent attacked Tinker and I had been certain she was lost. But she’d showed then that she was not nearly as defenseless as she appeared.
I pulled a pelt over her. Then I took the body of the dead silver animal and stomped it a good four or five times just to be sure. Then I left.
Thirty seconds after leaving the tent I saw four Greys running in my direction. Having snuck up to the tent of the Grey King I was now actually behind the enemy’s lines. The sudden appearance of a human there was cause for some real anger by these four. I looked at them then down at my weapons. I replaced my dagger and took hold of my war mace with both hands. On Earth this simple weapon would probably have weighed over twenty pounds with most of that weight being in the thick lower section. Here in the lighter gravity of Olvion it felt about like ten or twelve. I gave it a few practice swings as I waited for them to close with my position. I smiled as the muscles in my back stretched and I felt the pops in my spine. Let them come. I had a lot of payback coming for Tinker and I was anxious to collect. Survival was not even in my mind now. Just death and destruction.
I started walking toward the four. They began to look wary of my size and the fact that I wasn’t running from them. All four carried the double-headed battle axe that was the most favored weapon of the Greys. When I got within a yard of them I put my left leg forward and started half-stepping, keeping my club hand back so as not to give one of them a chance to seize it.
They all charged at the same time, growling and shouting their rage. I waited until they reached me then bolted to my left and swung my weapon like Willie Mays. The Grey on the left side caught the blow fully on his forehead and did a backward somersault before landing unmoving in the dust. Before the others could react I executed a double backhand swing and connected with the beast next to him. The club hit him in the center of the back right about where the spine would be. He died before he knew he’d been hit. Two down. Grey number three backed up five paces, threw his axe at me and abandoned his last ally, running back in the direction of the bluffs. I easily ducked the thrown weapon and let the beast flee. The last of the four took a strong swing at me with his axe and almost connected. My Earth-conditioned reflexes allowed me to just barely sidestep the slash and I pivoted up behind him. I wrapped my left forearm around his neck and lifted him off of the ground. I then jumped straight up and came down hard on the packed dirt of the valley floor. It was a move that I had seen executed almost every Sunday afternoon in my teenage years on the Wrestling Channel. Of course when the oversized professional wrestlers did it they relaxed the pressure on the neck before they hit the ground. I did not. So much for number four.
The entire skirmish with the four had taken only thirty seconds. With no more enemy near me now I was able to take a moment and find a high point. It happened to be on the carcass of a dead burden beast. I used my new perch to get a feel for how the battle was going. I was astonished to see tens of thousands of dead and dying Greys littering the ground between my location and the point where the battle lines began. The enemy formation appeared to be stalled about a hundred yards short of our position. As I watched a volley of arrows flew forth from our archers cutting down scores of Grey attackers. My heart swelled with pride for my fellow Olvionis. They were taking it to the enemy and making them pay big.
I took off sprinting in the direction of our battle formation. I had no sneaky plans for getting through the enemy to join our lines, I was just winging it now, throwing caution to the wind. As I ran I noticed that, even though our archers were still engaging the Greys, the crossbow cannon were almost still. I could see two or three machines still launching wooden arrows here and there but by and large they were now silent. Could we be out of bolts already? I turned to see the terrain I had just crossed and noted the sheer number of enemy corpses. Yes, it was certainly possible. I increased my speed, desperate to reach our lines. If I were to die today I wanted it to be among my friends.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
The Iron Rain
Vynn watched as the last full volley of arrows streaked toward the enemy. The iron bolts had been exhausted and the cannon crews were now using ordinary wooden arrows. Not that those were ineffective. They shot out of the crossbow cannon with three times the speed as they did from a recurve bow. But they were disappearing quickly. With ten thousand archers sharing them with the crews of two hundred war machines the stockpiles dwindled quickly. Now the last of them were gone. There was no more ammunition for the crossbow cannon and the archers were conserving whatever was left in their quivers, making certain that each shaft counted. Vynn Le
apt up onto the wagon next to him. He did a quick check to make certain that the situation was the same throughout the lines. Then he whistled to a signal rider and made a hand gesture.
Purple flags rose from the mounted signalmen. Behind the last line, bugles blew a specific set of notes. The cannon crews all sprang into action. When the weapon and ammunition wagons had been delivered to the correct spots for deployment the crews had unhitched the animals and brought them from the front of the wagons around to the rear. There they had been re-attached to identical hitches affixed to the opposite side. Now, having seen the signal of the purple flags, the teams urged the animals into motion and away from the front lines, back toward the bridges. This was done to prevent the other lines of warriors from getting pushed back and trapped between the enemy and the large wagons.
As the wagons and cannon were removed from the battlefield our front two lines remained motionless while the warriors behind them now marched forward in lockstep until they were in position to support the front lines. Archers who had arrows remaining continued picking off enemy fighters but those who were out tossed their bows and quivers aside and drew shortswords in their strong hands, daggers for the weak.
Another series of notes blared behind the lines and the two wings of the blunt arrowhead shape of our formation began to reposition themselves, swinging out until they were even with the other parts of the formation. The Olvioni battle formation was now a single solid rectangle.
KARR
Karr felt his spirits rise. The wicked and cowardly war machines had done all they were capable of doing and were now fleeing the field of battle. The Grey King searched the expressions of the raiders around him and saw that they, too, seemed buoyed by this turn. He started shouting instructions, urging his officers to spur them forward. This, now, was their chance. With no more constant rain of deadly iron spikes the battle would now revert to one where the Greys had the advantage. Their numbers and physical strength could prevail in such a war. But they must not give the humans a chance to breathe. They had to close the distance between the lines and strike hard.
All around him Karr saw his fighters surge forward. Cowards who had earlier dropped to the ground feigning death were now rising, grasping weapons and joining the battle. They, like he, could feel that victory was finally achievable. The hundred yards of distance between the lines dropped to seventy five. No arrows reached out at them. Now fifty yards, still no surprises, no cowardly flying weapons. Twenty five yards. Karr began to run behind them, now that it was safer, shouting, urging them on, promising riches and feasting and glory. He could feel it now, so close.
Those in the vanguard of his army’s attack were now raising their swords and axes. A deafening cacophony enveloped the valley as they screamed and shouted their intention for the humans. Karr smelled blood and sweat and the ever-present dust being raised by thousands of feet.
Now only ten yards separated the two armies. Finally the humans would spurt blood. Karr would ensure that there was enough of it shed to erase the humiliation and the loss of so many of his kind. The mud of this valley would be red for many seasons.
***
Vynn and Gallan both signaled with hand signs and the purple flags that were being waved by the signalmen now were replaced by banners of black and white stripes. The buglers at the rear did their job of making certain that none of the Olvioni troops missed the new instructions.
Just as the fleetest of the Greys were reaching the Olvioni front lines the signals were heeded.
The very first line of Olvioni warriors were composed of the largest, heaviest and strongest of all of the warriors of the kingdom. The odd-looking long, flat shields which had not moved since they had been planted in the dirt were now pulled up and revealed their true purpose. While other events were transpiring on the battlefield the warriors of the first line were busy engaging a cam and lock mechanism which was attached to the top and bottom of each shield. Held directly next to each other the cams securely locked each shield to the ones on either side. Once this had been accomplished the result was ten thousand attached shields each one being eight feet high, too high even for the first rank to see over. When the bugles sounded again the warriors of the first line simply pushed the shield wall forward with all of their strength and let them fall toward the approaching enemy. Too late to stop, the Grey attackers now saw that the back side of the shields, now on the ground and facing up, were covered in wickedly sharp barbed spikes that were each eight inches high.
After dropping their shields, the first line warriors took three steps backward. The second defense line, this one being populated by the tallest of the Olvioni warriors, had created openings through which their brothers in the first line retreated. Once those warriors were in place the shields of the second battle line closed up again.
The first of the Greys to reach the Olvioni lines vainly tried to stop their forward progress but their comrades behind them pushed them forward. The unfortunate beasts either stepped directly on the spiked shields with bare feet or light leather sandals or they were pushed over on their stomachs by their fellows behind them to be impaled.
The immediate effect of this tactic, besides the screams and curses, was another abrupt delay of the forward progress of the Grey’s charge. But the attackers in the rear of the formation were unaware of the misfortune that was befalling their brethren ahead of them. They pushed onward, fearing recriminations from their officers if they should slow down. The Grey formation eventually slogged forward again, slower this time owing to the fact that most of them had to step on and over their unfortunate comrades in arms. The spiked shield tactic had not stopped them for long but it had succeeded in maiming thousands more of the invaders.
In the meantime the Olvioni forces had all obeyed another flag signal and taken five steps backward so that the flailing and falling Greys did not encroach upon their now even stronger shield wall. The warriors that had originally started off in the first rank had now joined forces with the fighters in the second battle row. Now each shield had not one but two warriors holding up and supporting the barrier.
As the Grey attackers stumbled and stomped their way past their crippled brethren they surged forward with uncertain footing. Many of these were still being pressed forward by the weight of those behind them. They were quickly and unceremoniously impaled by long spears known as pikes. These vicious weapons were used for centuries on Earth as a means for infantry to counteract cavalry charges. They had an equally devastating effect on the enemy ground forces. Once again we had stopped their forward advance and inflicted meaningful losses upon our attackers.
Vynn watched the battle progress with mixed emotions. He was elated that their tactics were scoring sizeable casualties on the Greys. But he also knew that the tide of battle could turn swiftly. The battle plan, which had been almost amazingly successful so far, called for the attrition of enemy forces to a point where more conventional tactics could be employed. Tricks were fine as far they went but everyone knew it would eventually come down to warrior versus beast on the battlefield. It was critical that the imbalance of numbers be evened out before that happened.
Vynn examined the flanks, so far no real attempt had been made to swamp them from the sides of their formation. The archers had decimated those who had tried earlier. Soon they would figure out that the arrows had been expended. How had that happened? Thousands upon thousands of the shafts had been crafted throughout the years for exactly this purpose. They were gone before the sun had traveled a quarter of the sky. Yes, they had exacted a terrible toll, but the job was larger than had been expected. This was the first time that our planning had not been adequate. Many more arrows should have been crafted with less care taken with polishing and aesthetics and more emphasis on turning out crude but effective shafts. They wouldn’t look as pretty in a quiver but they would have been made in greater numbers.
Still, he should be happier but Vynn was a warrior with many battles under his belt. Instinct told him
that the new tactics, as successful as they had already been, were not going to reduce the enemy forces quickly enough before it came down to a one-on-one battle. When that happened the Olvioni forces had to have a significant advantage in numbers or all would almost certainly be lost. He looked up to note the position of the sun.
***
Ruguer had one more trick to use against the enemy. The wily commander of Olvion forces sat just inside the walls of the city. Beneath him the muscular stallion still pawed and blew, anxious to do what he was trained to do. The King of Olvion sat next to him. There were twenty mounted warriors in the front row of cavalry lined up at one of the two larger city gates. A like number was arrayed at the other large gate. The two smaller gates hosted a front row of fifteen, each followed by a column of hundreds. A total of two thousand armored and mounted cavalry sat at the ready, waiting for Ruguer to give the signal to attack. The sun was higher in the sky now and the temperature inside the armor was stifling. But this was a well-trained army and no one complained.
Ruguer raised in his stirrups and peered out across the bridges and over into the battle lines. Every fiber of his being begged to spring forward and join his men and women in combat. Combat was what he was born for. In his early years he fought that awareness, aching for a life that held no killing or war. But such was not to be the case. As a young man he had entered military service to do his part to defend his king and kingdom. His plan was to serve for the standard six years then pursue more artistic aims. Reality has a way of dashing dreams and it does it in many different ways. For Ruguer reality was taking notice of his natural affinity for military tactics. While still in his first year his ability to read a battlefield had been noticed and exploited. Rapid promotions followed. Before his third year he knew he was duty-bound to make the military his lifelong profession. He could have left but his absence would have resulted in the deaths of so many who would have been saved by his particular, albeit undesired, form of genius.
The Olvion Reality (The Chronicles of Olvion Book 1) Page 45
