And Taniel, he decided suddenly, was going to help him.
“Where the pit is he going?” Bertreau asked.
“He’s going to charge the enemy.”
“He’s going to…” Bertreau trailed off, her attention on soldiers down at the other end of the street, before her head whipped around to face Taniel. “Kresimir above, he’s going to what? Three hundred lancers against fifteen times their number in infantry? Is he a bloody idiot?”
Taniel ran down the belfry steps and into the street, after Styke. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he already knew what they had to do before he spoke it. “Pole!” he called over his shoulder. “Check on the Ghost Irregulars. Make sure the canoes are ready.”
“Ready for what?” Bertreau demanded, running to keep up with him. “The Ghost Irregulars aren’t taking the canoes until the Kez have committed to the city. To do otherwise would leave them sitting ducks.”
“Oh, I know,” Taniel said. “I’ll be with them. Styke! Styke!” He found Styke two streets down, heading toward the city center. “You’re going in?” he asked once Styke had wheeled to face him.
“I am,” Styke said.
“Major,” Taniel said, turning as Bertreau caught up again. “You have to follow him.”
“You’re as mad as he is!” Bertreau said.
“Maybe,” Taniel answered. “But we’re never going to have the advantage in this fight. Styke’s going to charge no matter what we say, and if you take the garrison in after him we might catch them by surprise.”
“Tell me, Two-shot, have you ever surprised anyone to death?” Bertreau demanded.
Taniel grimaced. This was suicide. He knew it, Styke knew it, and he could see in her eyes that Bertreau knew it too. Still, he pressed with a confidence he didn’t feel, “If we hit them hard, right up the middle, they might break. If they break, we win—outnumbered or not.”
“The Kez infantry are conscripts,” he continued. “They’re not that much different from us, except they really don’t want to be here. Their officers are nobility. The infantry know that no matter how hard they fight, they’ll never advance the ranks. This makes them particularly susceptible to a rout. Hit them hard enough and they do not bend. They break.”
Bertreau’s eyes narrowed, and she glanced between Taniel and Styke. “You sound dangerously like your father,” she said.
I bet he never did anything quite this stupid, Taniel thought. “Styke will lead through the center. He’s the wedge. You and the garrison will drive the wedge home. I’ll take the Ghost Irregulars along the far side of the river and come around behind them to cause panic, killing officers as I go. It’ll work.” It has to, or we’re dead.
Bertreau eyed Taniel for several moments, then gave a tired nod. “All right, Two-shot. We’ll do it your way. You,” she said, pointing at Styke, “had better damn well account for yourself before they take you down.”
“I’ll do my work,” Styke said. “Just do yours. And Two-shot, don’t kill Jiffou.”
“Why not?” Taniel asked. The moment he got a bead on the Kez general, he intended to pull the trigger.
“Because you’ve made them familiar with the murder of their officers,” Styke said. “It’s no longer shocking. If you want them to break, truly, you can’t just shoot the head. You’ve got to cut it off, remove the eyes and tongue, and hang it by the hair from the highest branches.”
“And how,” Taniel asked, “do you intend to do that?”
Styke put his visor back down, and his voice echoed from within. “I’m going to slaughter him and his whole officer corp.”
Taniel found Ka-poel waiting at the keelboat docks not far from Fort Planth, along with almost two hundred and fifty men—a mix of the Ghost Irregulars and their Palo allies. He paused to take stock of the soldiers, worn out from skirmishing with the Kez these last two days, but didn’t find a coward among them. There was hesitation in some of their eyes, even fear, but it was accompanied by the stubborn set of the jaw.
The Ghost Irregulars wouldn’t run until he gave the order.
Taniel slapped Sergeant Mapel on the back, jumping up on a crate to see the whole group and grabbing Mapel’s shoulder for balance. He suddenly felt very young and small, as many of these men were old enough to be his father, but knew that it was more important to show confidence now than ever.
“Slight change of plans,” he said. “The Kez won’t advance. They think they can hide behind their artillery and blast away all day and that we’ll sit on our thumbs and take it. Well, if they won’t come to us then we’ll go to them.” Sergeant Mapel made a sound in the back of his throat. Taniel squeezed his shoulder, silently willing him to keep his peace. He continued, “Colonel Styke’s Mad Lancers are heading straight down the center. Major Bertreau will lead the garrison in after him. We’re going to take the canoes downriver and hit them from the flank as planned, but we’re going to have to row a little harder.”
It occurred to Taniel that Bertreau had been given the deadliest job. Styke might be able to ride through and escape if he found an opening, and the Ghost Irregulars could withdraw from the flanks at any time—but there was no escaping for Bertreau. His hackles raised as he realized that he’d probably seen her for the last time, and in his excitement to follow Styke he’d urged her on to her own death.
“Keep it simple, boys,” Taniel finished, hearing his voice crack. “And we’ll get out of this alive.” He got down from crate and said to Mapel in a low voice, “We hug the far bank of the river. We do what we can to draw off a few companies, but if things go south, we disappear into the swamp. Make sure everyone is carrying their full kits.”
“What about Bertreau?” Mapel asked.
Taniel considered telling Mapel the truth, but paused, hating himself for it. “She wanted it this way. Final orders.” If Bertreau lived through the engagement, Taniel would deal with the lie then. But for now, he didn’t need anyone distracted. He felt sick to his stomach.
Mapel nodded and began directing everyone toward their canoes. Taniel joined Ka-poel in the lead canoe and they soon set off, paddling to the opposite riverbank and then holding steady while the rest of the tiny flotilla caught up, then slowly working their way downstream.
Once they were outside the city, visibility improved significantly. A gentle breeze carried powder smoke away from the Kez artillery, allowing Taniel to see the enemy spread out across a slight incline. It gave him a startlingly good view of the battle that caused a brief spike of satisfaction—followed by the realization he’d have a front-row seat to witness Bertreau, the garrison, and the Mad Lancers all die.
Taniel sniffed a pinch of black powder to improve his sight and was quickly able to tell that the Kez had, indeed, already seen him and his Ghost Irregulars. There was waving and shouting, but their attention was quickly drawn away to Planth as the garrison took up position on the outskirts of the city.
The garrison was a motley group, only about half wearing the yellow jackets of the Fatrastan army, but they were well-armed and holding firm. Taniel could see Bertreau leading from the front, shouting orders and curses as she got them all into line. They looked so outnumbered that Taniel almost ordered the Ghost Irregulars to withdraw immediately.
“I don’t want to watch this,” he muttered.
Ka-poel turned around in her seat and studied his face. She touched two fingers to her eyes and pointed at Planth.
“Yes,” Taniel said. “I can see it fine.”
She repeated the gesture.
“I’m going to watch, even if I don’t want to,” he said, his voice rising in anger.
Ka-poel shook her head emphatically and repeated the gesture a third time. Taniel finally decided to ignore her, fixing his eyes on the battlefield while she steered them through the reeds. As he did, he saw the garrison’s formation suddenly flex, and then split. What happened next took his breath away.
The Mad Lancers rode through the new gap, four abreast, their steel plate armor g
linting in the sun. Their lances were up, streaming yellow banners, and their hooves thundered so loudly across the fields that Taniel could hear them from a distance. They stayed in formation, shoulder-to-shoulder, nose-to-tail with the precision of a crack Adran cavalry unit. Each rider looked like a miniature fortress moving across the battlefield and the whole unit together was simply stunning. He’d never seen anything like this and knew he never would again in a thousand years, wondering briefly how anyone had managed to hold the line against a charge like that in the old days.
But the Kez were a modern military, not medieval yokels with spears. Their artillery crews scrambled to reload, captains no doubt demanding canister shot.
The Mad Lancers took to the field between the Kez and Planth. Their progress seemed impossibly slow as they spread out into a V formation with Styke and his immense warhorse comprising the tip of the spear. Behind them, the garrison fell into step, advancing in their wake at double time.
Taniel barely remembered to lift his rifle to pick off a Kez gunner, reloading it himself as he watched the Mad Lancers. It was a brave charge, a glorious charge. A doomed charge.
They closed within three hundred yards and the Kez cannons belched flame and canister shot like enormous blunderbusses. Taniel turned his eyes on Styke, ready to watch the Mad Lancers fall like wheat before a scythe.
The enchanted armor shrugged off the canister shot like it was nothing more than rain. Taniel heard himself let out a loud cheer as the Mad Lancers charged through the cloud, not a single horse tripping or man falling from his saddle. The Kez gunners panicked, reloading, as their infantry tried to move forward in time to protect them.
It wasn’t quick enough. Lances lowered, and the gunners were mowed down, disappearing beneath the armored chests of the horses. A cloud of smoke went up from the front line of infantry as they opened fire. Taniel thought he saw a single rider go down, and then a wall of bayonets presented itself to the Mad Lancers. The armored warhorses smashed through it like it was a garden hedge.
Taniel found his mouth hanging open, and turned to find a smug smile on Ka-poel’s face. “How did you know?” he asked.
She tapped one eye, then traced her breast and thumped the middle of her chest—a breastplate. She’d taken a long, hard look at the Mad Lancers’ armor, it seemed, and found it more robust than Taniel had guessed. The damned girl hadn’t even bothered to tell him.
The Lancers were now entirely encircled, the Kez lines desperately attempting to bring their bayonets to bear. Enchanted armor or no, they were all mortal men and horses. Taniel saw one lancer fall, and then another, and another. Their advance slowed from the weight of the Kez infantry and they soon disappeared in a swirl of bodies and powder smoke.
Certain that no one would emerge from that melee alive, Taniel picked off a Kez major, stopping to reload with two bullets, killing a sergeant and a captain with the next shot, and then watched as the garrison approached the hole Styke had made in the Kez middle.
The garrison stopped, opened fire once, and then charged with bayonets fixed. Their charge was less stylish than Styke’s and far less powerful. They slammed into the Kez lines like demons from the pit but were held up almost immediately as Kez officers organized their forces to face them.
The Kez middle bowed, then pulled back as a company broke and ran before the fury of the Planth garrison. The rout caught on in the flanking companies, but went no further as the Kez shored up their defenses and sought to encircle the garrison. Taniel’s heart fell. This wasn’t going to go well. Not at all.
He watched them fight and watched them fall, firing and reloading as quickly as he could. The barrel of his rifle was hot to the touch, the smell of powder stinging his nostrils, when suddenly his canoe was past the Kez lines. It was the moment he’d been dreading. Would he order the Ghost Irregulars to withdraw or would they commit and hit the Kez from behind?
It hardly seemed like any decision at all after witnessing a charge like that. “Cross the river,” he barked, setting down his rifle to help Ka-poel row.
They were on the opposite bank within moments, Ghost Irregulars and Palo leaping from their canoes in the shallow waters and taking to the bank, where they waited until everyone had disembarked. Taniel stood up, rifle raised above his head. They were less than a hundred yards from the Kez rear, and all the Kez focus was on the Mad Lancers and garrison now in their midst.
“Fire!”
They reloaded and fired five more times, Taniel killing any officer that he saw trying to give orders, before the Kez rear lines managed to turn themselves around. It was a chaotic mess, men falling by the score, but Taniel feared it wasn’t enough. Three full companies of infantry faced his Ghost Irregulars now, marching toward the riverbank, and he had nowhere to go. They could throw themselves into their canoes and hope to draw those companies further down river.
Or they could stay and be slaughtered with the rest of their allies.
A saying his father had once told him sprang to mind: A glorious death only comes to two types of people: desperate men with no options, and fools. The canoes were his option, and Taniel opened his mouth to give the order to withdraw.
His words were swallowed by a cry from further down the bank. He turned his head to see what was happening, only to witness a small group of horsemen emerge from the Kez lines. A sniff of powder and the group came into focus—it was General Jiffou and his bodyguard and they were riding away from the battlefield.
The reason for their retreat was almost immediately apparent. A small group of lancers sprang from the melee to give chase. Styke was at their head, his armor smeared with gore, his horse seemingly no more the weary from its charge. At some point Styke had lost his helmet and his lance, and as he galloped after Jiffou he drew his carbine from the saddle and neatly picked off the bodyguard closest to Jiffou.
“By Kresimir,” Taniel heard someone say, “The Mad Lancers are still alive.”
Taniel looked toward the Kez infantry advancing toward his Ghost Irregulars. “Into the canoes!” he bellowed. “A hundred yards down stream then we’re out to fight again. The rear paddles, the front reloads.” He scrambled into his canoe, handing his rifle to Ka-poel, and they were off with a shot. He barely watched the water in front of him, his eyes glued to the small drama playing out behind the enemy lines as he paddled hard.
Despite being weighed down with their armor and having just charged through an entire brigade, Styke’s lancers closed the gap to Jiffou’s bodyguard until Jiffou was forced to turn and fight. The two sets of cavalry smashed into each other with an audible crack, the lancers outnumbered three-to-one.
Taniel threw down his paddle and took his rifle from Ka-poel, leveling it at Jiffou. He picked off a bodyguard and continued to reload, only pausing when he noticed another disturbance in the Kez rear line.
Two figures burst into sight, sprinting across the fields after Styke’s lancers. They ran hunched over, sometimes on two legs and sometimes on all fours, as swift as horses with long black hair streaming from ugly, misshapen faces. It was the two remaining Wardens that Lindet had warned him about. They would tear Styke apart before he could take down Jiffou.
“Ground us!” Taniel shouted, almost capsizing them as he leapt from the canoe. He waded to shore, climbing up on the bank, and brought his rifle to bear on the first of the running Wardens. The bullet ripped through the creature’s jaw, blood spraying its black coat, but it barely seemed to notice the wound as it continued forward.
Taniel swore and began to run, the strength of his powder trance letting him quickly outstrip the Ghost Irregulars that followed him to the bank. He was the only person here—probably the only person in this army—that could go toe-to-toe with a Warden. He wasn’t going to allow Styke to do it alone.
He reloaded as he ran, ramming two bullets down the barrel and letting himself pause, taking a deep breath to still his beating heart. Two of Styke’s lancers had fallen and most of Jiffou’s bodyguards, the last few men d
esperately trying to protect their general. All Styke needed was a little longer...
Taniel pulled the trigger. He aimed both bullets at the wounded Warden, muttering what his father had told him about shooting the foul creatures: “One for the head, one for the heart.”
The bullets struck true. The Warden tripped, stumbled several more feet and then collapsed, its body twitching several times before growing still. Its companion paused briefly, shooting a glance at Taniel, before charging ahead at Styke.
Taniel desperately tried to reload, but he could already see his fastest wasn’t good enough.
The Warden cleared the distance to the lancers and leapt up behind one in the saddle. It jammed a knife through a slit in the lancer’s armor, crimson spilling out across the polished steel, and the lancer tumbled from his horse. The Warden made a similar jump, dispatching a second lancer in the same manner in a matter of moments before full-on tackling Styke off his horse.
The pair landed in a jumble, rolling through the mud. The Warden ended up on top, straddling Styke, and its big fist rose and fell, slamming across Styke’s unprotected face with the force of a mule’s kick.
Taniel finished loading his rifle and lifted it, ready to take the shot, only to see Styke’s gauntlet slam into the Warden’s chin hard enough to lift it into the air. The Warden wheeled away, stunned, and Styke gained his feet. His face was a bloody mess, lip and brow streaming blood, but he looked nothing like someone who’d just been punched by a Warden.
He just looked angry.
The Warden charged Styke’s stomach, driving him back, but Styke did not fall. He wrapped one arm around the Warden’s neck and drove the other into the Warden’s side again, and again, and again. They grappled for several moments, slipping and sliding through the dew-damp grass before Styke let out a shout and lifted the Warden into the air, twisting the creature’s body.
Ghosts of the Tristan Basin: A Powder Mage Novella Page 8
