Much Fall of Blood-ARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  But by the end of the tale they were in no mood to laugh.

  And Erik was being referred to as Orkhan tortoise. It was appropriate, in some ways. The armor. The determination. And the vicious bite. But they would learn he was faster than most tortoises, she thought, laughing a little to herself.

  * * *

  David had watched the two Golden Horde Nobles career off to join their people. Kildai's abrupt action in mounting and departing had taken him by surprise. He'd scrambled to find another horse, and then just stopped. He'd thought . . . well. He was wrong. He took out the wheel-lock pistol from his boot and marveled at the mechanism of it. In Jerusalem he would have been executed for even being in possession of such a thing. Well . . . He must get more ball and powder, learn to reload. And to actually shoot at something. Sometime. The way things had gone on this expedition he would.

  Then one of the two knights that had been assigned to guide and escort them to escape came riding back. "The boy says you are to come. But to wear your cloak with a hood. At least that's what I understood from Tulkun." The knight looked at the pistol in his hands. "What are you doing with that thing? It's dangerous."

  "Kari gave it to me. He said I'd chop my ears off with a sword."

  "As likely to blow your foot off with that gun." The knight rubbed his eyes. He was a big solid man. "I nearly cut my own head off with my first sword, let alone my ears," he said seriously.

  "Will you teach me?" David nearly bit his own tongue off. But that burial and the honor shown . . . it had stirred something he had not known existed inside him.

  The knight looked equally startled. "Why? I mean, boy, a sword is a knight's tool. Not the first choice . . ."

  "Of a thief," said David, shocking himself with his own honesty. "But no thief would choose to be here . . . I saw my first real fighting yesterday, Ritter." He bit his lip. "I was there when Ritter Kalb died. It was horrible. I had never seen a man die before. Then . . . they put his sword on his chest. And the Prince himself saluted him. And said that he was with God. "

  "I was Kalb's squire when I entered the order," said the knight, his voice rough with emotion. "And if any man . . ." He stopped. "Wait here."

  It was an order. David had never been much good at obeying orders. This time he stood. The knight rode down onto the field of combat, dismounted and picked up a Mongol sword. David had seen just how hard it was for an armored knight to get into the saddle. He could only marvel at the athletic strength of this man, who got back up without help or a block.

  The knight rode back. "Here," he said, handing the blade to David. "This will have to do until we can get you a decent straight Christian sword. Bear it with honor. Now mount up, and see that you take good care of my gear. Squire."

  "But . . . I am not nobly born."

  The Knight shrugged. "There have been a few commoners accepted into the order over the years, boy, in cases of heroism, or exceptional peity. We swear an oath of poverty and equality before God. Mind you. Abbot Störer will probably have my guts out and chase me round a tree. I'll make you no promises, boy. But while we're here, away from the Chapter House, you can serve as my squire."

  * * *

  Erik rode beside Manfred as they splashed across the Iret. "Well, this is a more friendly reception," said Manfred. "What do you think, Eberhart?"

  The old diplomat looked surprised at being addressed. "I think we are lucky to be alive, Prince Manfred. And I have been utterly wrong about the Mongol treatment of diplomats and envoys. So I am reluctant to say what I think until we see a little more. But they are smiling at us."

  "They were laughing like madmen earlier," said Erik. "Bortai had them in stitches. I thought some of them were going to fall off their horses."

  "Probably telling them how well you speak the language," said Manfred. "And how you make her laugh. Next thing you'll have her big brother and an axe, asking you what your intentions are."

  "Don't be silly, Manfred. I can see you are overdue some fencing practice. Or a bit of wrestling."

  Manfred grinned. "Why don't you go and wrestle with her? I'm not the one making them laugh."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Manfred," said Erik, blushing.

  * * *

  The problem with the Iret was that it was no barrier. The Hawk clan had men and horses as a barrier, not a deep river.

  The only detail was right now they did not have many men. Riders had been dispatched. The clan had managed to field nearly fifteen hundred men . . . a far cry from the thousands that made up the Tumens of yesteryear. Looking back to the south, Bortai could see dust.

  That could only be a lot of horses. And the heavily armored knights and their steeds simply did not have the stamina that the Hawk riders did. Nor did they have several changes of those huge horses of theirs. Yes, they could ride smaller ones, borrowed from the Hawk clan, but they were big heavy men, in big heavy armor.

  They were going to have to stand and fight, again. And this time there would be a lot more troops coming against them, and not much in the way of natural help from the terrain. It was flat and open.

  If Gatu dared to cross the Iret, he must have some thousands of men at his disposal. He must also have an idea of just how weakened the Hawk clan and all their allies and sub-clans were. And, Bortai realized, an awareness of just how much he had to lose if Kildai's survival and the story of the treachery began to circulate.

  Chapter 59

  Vlad looked out from that fragile fortress of carts and wagons. It was clear now that there were at least three large groups of riders on the plains. One smaller group ahead. One very large group trailing them and, off on far flank to the east, another group. Probably the Hawk Clan regiments that had told them to get off their lands.

  "How long until they get here?" Vlad asked the Székeler Primore.

  The man shrugged. "The are riding hard. We have enough time to dig our own graves if we start now," he said, morosely. Yet his actions belied his tone. The Székely had a chance, if they fled. Most of Vlad's men did not. Yet they showed no signs of running. Vlad decided that he could come to like and depend on these men, despite their odd ideas about hereditary overlordship. It was worth putting up with it, for their support. "Let us dig graves then," he said. "We will dig them outside the wagon-square. We can decide on who is buried in them later."

  The Primore nodded. "They might fall in them. It'd slow the horse charge."

  So they dug a trench along the edge closest to the oncoming men. And when they still had time, on the second side too.

  * * *

  Erik had been scanning the horizon for a suitable piece of terrain to take advantage of and hold. He'd talked to Manfred about it. In theory Manfred was in command. And if it came to strategy of war he would command. But for the details of day to day tactics, Erik managed the men with Von Gherens and Falkenberg. This alluvial plain was flat and had been cleared of trees. They were riding again toward rising ground, but the mountains or even the woodland was far off. But what was that? He rode across to the fringe of the accompanying Mongol and asked, in his best attempt at the language.

  The man bowed respectfully, and smiled. He too squinted at the white structures ahead but off a little to the southern side. "I don't know, Orkhan Tortoise." He put his heels to his horse and rode forward. Erik could see him pointing, while he pondered on what the man had called him. That horseboy! Still, he though, his ears red, the man had seemed a lot more respectful and communicative than the ones who had escorted them from the edge of Iskander Beg's lands. He had noticed that Tulkun's friendship stemmed from the original incident. Perhaps being laughed at was worthwhile sometimes.

  The Mongol came back, accompanied by Bortai, Kildai, Tulkun, Banchu and another officer. Erik noticed how much taller young Kildai sat. Today no-one would have suggested that he needed someone to help to keep him in the saddle. Plainly being among his own people had done the boy a great deal of good.

  "We think it is some traders," said Bortai. "They come down from
the mountains sometimes. We will go that way. Gatu's troops may stop to loot. To the east are more men we think from the Hawk clan," she pointed. "The traders will perhaps buy us a little time."

  Erik hadn't noticed the dust plume—even in the wettest country hundreds of horses will raise dust. It was grim luck for the traders, but . . . "We'll need to rest our horses soon, Lady."

  "We will call a halt and mount your men on the spares we have," said Bortai, decisively. She was a forceful woman, Erik had to admit. She didn't even ask the officers. She had the makings of a great one herself, he had to admit. And the Mongol were very effective during the halt, and remounting the knights. Erik knew and understood the need. But he couldn't help feeling sorry for the Mongol ponies and also hoped that they would not find themselves having to fight from their backs. A Knight and his warhorse were a unit. That was why the knights of the Holy Trinity made the knights care for their own beasts.

  They rode on towards, what Erik could see now, was a small enclosure of wagons. Perhaps the poor traders had made a sheepfold out of it. Gatu's troops were plainly driving their horses hard, and had gained slightly while the the knights were being re-horsed. Now they were perhaps two miles back.

  * * *

  Vlad shaded his eyes and peered again. "Tell me my eyes deceive me," he said. "Those are not Mongol. They're western Knights."

  "Some are Mongol. The same banner—the Hawk as the men we encountered this morning. They're being pursued." The Székely Primore looked professionally at the scene. "A few hundred men, being chased by several thousand. The men chasing are starting to deploy flanking companies."

  "What is the device on the shields of the knights?" demanded Vlad. He could see it well enough. He just wanted some else to confirm it.

  "Three crosses, Sire."

  The Knights of the Holy Trinity. It fitted with their archaic-looking spiky armor. But what were they doing here, in the lands of the Golden Horde? Well, whatever they were doing, they were the enemy of Hungary. Vlad spoke fluent Frankish. And he was seized by one of those impulses he had at first tried to ignore, but had learned not to. "I need my horse," he said. "And a lance with, if we have one, the flag for truce."

  "You're not going out there, Sire? They'll have to turn and fight soon."

  "Yes. And we're going to be over-run. And so are they," said Vlad, swinging himself into the saddle. "So let us see if we can stand together."

  He rode out of the small sally port gap they'd made, alone, towards the oncoming horsemen. Somehow it felt right, even if he was about to get killed. He had always been alone . . .

  * * *

  "One of the traders is coming riding out to us. Good horse," commented Falkenberg. "Now if the Mongols had nice fresh steeds that size, we'd have real mounts to give the chasers a run for their money."

  That was, Erik knew, the basic problem they faced. The two companies that had come to their rescue had ridden long and hard to do so. Even their spares were tired horses. The knights were too big and heavy for them, really. And their pursuit plainly hadn't ridden as far or as hard."

  "I can't see that the Mongol are going to want to talk to him."

  The man pulled the magnificent black horse to a halt. He did not, Erik admitted to himself, look in the least like a trader. Tall and dark haired with very pale skin, he was dressed entirely in unadorned simple black, except for his cloak, which had a rich purple lining. "Hail, Knights of the Holy Trinity," he called out, in slightly accented but clear Frankish. There was no trace of fear in his voice, and he sat as straight backed as a lance on his fine horse.

  "You are in the middle of a battle, sir," called Erik.

  "I know. I am Vlad, Duke of Valahia. I have two hundred arquebusiers and twenty cannon there," he pointed at the square of wagons and carts. "And a handful of cavalry. I propose an alliance of convenience."

  "You've got TWENTY cannon?" That was the bombardier.

  The man on the black horse nodded. "Small cannon. Four pounders. But loaded with grape-shot."

  The bombardier beamed. "Worth twenty men each, I would think."

  The column of Knights and Hawk Mongols had come to a halt. "What does he say?" demanded Bortai.

  "He has cannon. He wants an alliance of convenience." Erik explained. She translated and elaborated. "Cannon" plainly made some impact among the Hawk clans. "The Székely fortresses have them, on the border. They can do much damage."

  "Those will be larger cannon, but yes," said Erik. "What do you want from us, Duke?" he called out. Was Valahia not part of Hungary?

  "Draw them onto us, and counter-attack once they have felt the the cannons." The pale man seemed very sure of that strategy.

  "I think we are doing the first part anyway," said Manfred, looking back. "I say yes. We should do this. We have very little choice."

  Bortai turned to Erik. "You are a great Orkhan. Well versed in this kind of war. Banchu and Feyzin they are leaders of Jahgun. One hundred men. They are good fighters. But this is not what they know, Orkhan."

  "Orkhan tortoise says yes," said Erik. Bortai looked enormously embarrassed. He turned his attention to the two Mongol commanders and addressed them in his best attempt at the language. "They catch us. We can run, but they catch us. We have to fight. Why not here? It will win us some time." He pointed. "More Hawk clan come." He pointed at the black-haired pale skinned man: "He asks to do what we must do anyway."

  The two Mongol officers looked at the duke and then at Erik. And nodded.

  "We have a deal, Prince Vlad," shouted Erik. The man rode closer, smiling. There was a magnetism about him, for all his odd looks.

  "Good," he said. "There are no women and children among those who pursue you, are there?"

  "It . . . seems unlikely," answered Erik, taken aback by the question.

  "Excellent," said the duke of Valahia. "I would want it remembered by the Hawk Clan. If you have any wounded . . . or women and children, we will give them shelter. Position your people behind the wagons, so they will have to ride around two sides of the guns. Be careful—It's very boggy down to the east of us." He waved and turned his horse and rode away.

  "What he say about the clan?" demanded Bortai.

  "Something about there not being women and children among the enemy. And giving shelter to the wounded, and women and children."

  "Oh."

  Kildai shook his head. "NO!" he said, firmly.

  Erik got the idea that the boy was just as strong-willed as his sister.

  Gatu's forces were sacrificing formation for speed. They'd be in bow-shot soon. Erik drew a deep breath. Time to marshal the troops. He knew the right attitude would be to send some of them on, with Manfred, but Gatu's troops were already moving to flank them. Instead he trotted them around to the back of the encampment. The knights returned to their own slightly rested mounts. And Erik sent two of the knights, both too wounded to have been riding, had there been any choice, and Ion, and the bombardier Ritter Von Thiel to the wagon and cart stockade. David, however, refused. The boy was looking terrified, and stuck close to Ritter Von Stael, one of the two men he'd ordered to accompany Bortai and the escape party. The big taciturn man pointed a gauntleted hand at the boy. "He is learning to be my squire, Ritter Hakkonsen. His place is behind me."

  Well, Kari and latterly Falkenberg and Von Gherens had informed him the boy had the devil in him and a grave reluctance to learn anything but devilry . . . Von Stael was welcome to try. Erik had more on his mind. Bortai was not going either. But the Mongol hated to be penned. And even resting their horses a little . . . well, they had some chance of escape during the chaos of a battle.

  There was not a great deal of strategy to explain to anyone, which given his grasp of Mongol, let alone of battle term, Erik was grateful for. It amounted to getting Mongol companies to form up behind the knights. Shoot at will. Charge when given the order. Erik did not add 'and hope like hell the rest of the Hawk Clan military show up soon.'

  "The sun is already past the noon-m
ark," said Manfred. "We have a handful of little cannons and unknown allies in that fragile little fort, the hope of relief, and nightfall. I am not sure which to pin my hopes on."

  "That's a lot of cannons, if they can use them. And Gatu's men are not expecting it," said Erik.

  The enemy, seeing that their prey had stopped, stopped themselves and marshaled their own men. Sending companies out to form a neat flanking on both sides. Erik had the satisfaction of seeing the riders sent east return to the main mass of men, which was beginning to move slowly forward. Good. The bog to the east must be such that the horsemen thought it was broken-leg-for-horses country to charge across. The plain back on the other side was black with riders, riders vying for position to get at them first.

  A war drum and it began. First at a trot, and then accelerating.

  They intended to roll right over—or at least close around the little wagon and cart square. They had the entire plain to circle around the obstacle—with the exception of the bog to the east, and they chose to charge straight towards it under, it was to be admitted, the cover of archery.

  They did not expect the defenders of the wagon-and-cart square to not even fire an arrow back at them . . . . until they were less than seventy yards off and beginning to sweep around the sides, with some riders even heading for the narrow eastern flank.

  And then, in near unison, the cannons were fired.

  * * *

  Ritter Von Thiel, the bombardier, had wasted no time in asserting his skill. He'd immediately gone to the cannon. He carried the kind of authority—as well as having unlimbered a small cannon from his pack horse, that said 'I know guns.' Despite having no words of Valahian, and only four of Hungarian, two of which were unfit for a soldier of Christ, Vlad saw that he was getting the men to adjust things slightly. Vlad left him to it, and went about bracing his men. Their survival would depend on cool heads. They were outnumbered . . . Vlad judged by something like five to one, even including the knights and the few hundred Hawk Clan Mongol. But his men were still remarkably calm. He realized, with terrible responsibility, that they believed in him. That they had somehow deluded themselves that he was a great military leader. The only nervous ones were the Székelers, which his men seemed to find very funny.