by Chris Bunch
"Deraine needs lucky officers, Kailas," Canista went on. "The gods know we haven't had many leading us thus far."
Hal looked blankly unopinionated at that.
"Well, I assume you have an opinion?"
"Sir, I'm a commoner."
"Everyone knows that," Canista said. "Where do you think all these damned knights' and barons' and dukes' and whatalls' fathers came from?
"Damned few of us were born to the purple. Time past, time enough for us to get snotty about things, one of our ancestors was good at sticking people with his sword, and lucky enough to do it mostly within the law, or not get caught, plus live through the experience.
"And their descendants are the ones who've ridden out in this war. And are getting themselves killed, like everyone else.
"Deraine will need a whole new generation of nobility, and where the hells do you think it'll come from? From commoners like you.
"It might interest you that my grandsire, ten, no eleven generations gone, was a blacksmith."
"Yessir," Hal said.
"Mmmph," Canista said. "At any rate, that's something for you to think on, if you want the responsibility. Actually, I'm speaking like a damned fool, for you already have the responsibility. Being knighted would just get you more.
"We've a battle afore us, so think on it. Afterwards, if we all live, you can give me your decision."
"Yessir." Hal clapped his right hand against his breastplate in salute, turned to leave.
"Wait, lad," Canista said. Hal turned back.
"Something I'm required to show you," he said, pulling a rumpled piece of paper from his small field desk, handing it to Hal.
Dragon Men!
Deraine Needs You!
Men … and Women
Who Wish to Fly
Mighty Dragons
As the Eyes
Of the Army
Are Bidden
By His Most Holy Majesty
To Volunteer
For the Newly-Forming
Dragon Flights!
Experienced Dragon Handlers
Will Do Deraine
The Greatest Service
By Volunteering
Fly High Above the Fray!
Defy Roche's Evil Monsters!
Extra Pay
Extra Privileges
Bask in the Adulation
Of the Nation!
Join Now!!
Experienced Men and Women Only!!
"I call this damned nonsense," Canista grumbled. "But someone said you'd been around the horrid monsters back before you joined up.
"And doing the king's duty, I decided to show it to you, and give you the chance.
"Even though there's a war, a real war, to be fought down here on the ground, not zooming around peering at the foe and, often as not, making up lies to confuse poor honest lords such as myself!"
Hal barely heard the lord, looking at the sheet of paper, thinking, dreaming.
To be out of the muck, away from the front lines and shouting officers, to be clean. Inadvertently, Hal scratched at a louse bite on his elbow, caught himself.
Gods, how he wanted that… to be above the clouds, above this endless cutting and killing, free, alone.
Then he caught himself.
"Thank you, sir," he said, handing the paper back.
"Good man! Not interested at all, I can see, like a proper soldier."
No. It was hardly lack of interest.
It was Hal's mind, suddenly reminding him of the twenty-five cavalrymen he was given charge of, plus another ten supporting troopers.
If he left, who would take care of them?
He thought of other sections, whose warrants had been killed or transferred, and their new commanders, who had caused more than their share of deaths learning the ways of war.
Could Hal give over men, who'd entrusted him with their lives, to some fool, fresh from Deraine's horse academies?
Never.
As long as they lived, Hal Kailas had to be there to lead and, if necessary, die with them.
Chapter Eight
"Water," the soldier gasped, reaching a clawed hand up for Hal's stirrup. "For the mercy of the gods, water!"
Hal saw the gaping wound across the man's stomach, his spilled guts, knew he could do no good, even if orders permitted him to halt.
The Roche soldier's hand fell away.
"Then grant peace," he croaked. "Please, for the sake of your mother's soul."
Hal couldn't bring himself to kill the wounded man, no matter what he wanted. But someone behind him in the column had no qualms. Hal heard the dull thud of a lance going home, the soldier's gasp, and then silence except for the clatter of horses' hooves and the creak of their harness.
This was the battle's fourth day, thus far a sweeping defeat for Roche.
Deraine, given the advance warning by Hal and, no doubt, other scouts, had time to find a strong position along a rocky ridgecrest. Then they'd waited for Roche.
Duke Yasin had taken position on a ridge a mile distant from Deraine's lines, a valley rich with grain between them. Deraine had made no offensive moves, and so Roche attacked first.
Yasin sent his infantry sweeping wide, trying to flank Deraine on the north. But the lines were firmly anchored with heavy cavalry, and Roche was driven back.
They attacked again, and were broken a second time.
Then it was time for the wizards. Roche sent sweeping winds against Deraine, but the spells were broken, and counterspells of dust devils sent back against Roche.
Yasin tried a night attack, with ghostly illuminations. But that barely penetrated the front line, before the Deraine second wave smashed into them.
The third day dawned hot, muggy, promising rain, but none came.
The drums started just before midday, all along the Roche line.
Hal's section had been assigned courier duty, since the light cavalry wasn't needed for scouting, so he was well forward, almost in the front lines, when Duke Yasin's army surged forward behind the drummers across the valley. Hal saw them coming, in wave after wave, and swallowed hard, very glad he wasn't one of the poor bastards in the forward line trying to keep his spearpoint from trembling, trying to gather strength from his equally frightened brothers.
Then sorcery came into play, and this no illusion. Red creatures surged into existence in the Roche line, creatures about the size of a small dog. They were fanged, and clawed, like enormous red ants, but each had the face of a leering man. They tore into the legs of the oncoming soldiers, and when they fell, others fastened their claws into the man's armor, and tore at his face and throat.
The screams rang loud above the drums, and the Deraine front line commanders ordered their troops forward.
The Deraine units obeyed, and the lines came together, and it was a knotted madness. Deraine pulled back, Hal thought beaten back, then realized they'd been ordered to withdraw, regroup, and come in again.
The ant-demons savaged the Roche soldiers but, having taken mortal form, could be killed, although their fangs still held to their final bite, heads dangling from men's arms, legs, bodies.
As suddenly as they came, they vanished, the Roche sorcerers having found the counterspell.
Deraine attacked again, and once more the lines smashed against each other. Deraine sent their reserves down into the valley, and that broke the Roche. They fell back, up the hill toward their own lines, pursued by Deraine infantry, killing as they went.
The heavy cavalry started forward, to finally break Roche and defeat them in detail. But Roche regained its positions, behind sharp-pointed abatis and piled brush, and the Deraine attack was called off.
The Roche, defeated, should have retreated, back within the safety of their own support lines. But they held on the ridgeline all that day and night.
Perhaps Duke Yasin was afraid to retreat, afraid to reveal his defeat to Queen Norcia. Or perhaps he had another plan in the works. Or perhaps he was simply too stubborn to know when
he was beaten.
Regardless, the Third Light Cavalry, augmented with half a regiment of Sagene light, was assembled before dawn, and told to scout the Roche flanks and determine what they were up to.
Hal attended Lord Canista's orders assembly, staying, as deserved a young warrant, well in the back, behind the lords, keeping his doubts to themselves.
One knight, a very slender, very long-haired and mustached man in gleaming armor, did not.
"Sir," he said. "This is no more'n the second time we've ridden together in this strength."
"Third, actually, Sir Kinnear," Lord Canista said. "The other was before you joined us."
"Which means we're not experienced at fighting together. Plus light cavalry," Kinnear went on, "isn't supposed to do more than scout and raid."
"We have our orders," Canista said. "But I believe the reason for us going forth in such strength is the lords of the army wouldn't mind if we ran into some nice fat supply wagons and wreaked a bit of havoc."
"S'posing, sir, that we go a little too far, and supposing their damned heavies charge us?"
"We withdraw in an orderly fashion."
There was a murmur of amusement.
"S'posing, once again, we don't have that luxury," Kinnear persisted.
"According to my orders," Canista said, "the Sagene heavy cavalry will be in close support, and if they're outmanned, our own heavies will be committed."
"Sagene?" Kinnear said with a snort.
"I resent that," a Sagene knight, heavy, bearded, scowling said. "Are you accusing my people of cowardice?"
"No," Kinnear drawled, "just a certain… tardiness to respond."
"You have been given a chance to withdraw your words," the Sagene knight said. "Now I must demand satisfaction!"
"Now or at any other time," Kinnear said, one hand on his sword.
"Both of you stop!" Canista snapped. "We have an enemy to face, and if either of you persist in your foolishness, I'll have you chained in your tents. After the battle, you're welcome to satisfy your honor by any means you deem necessary.
"But not before! We have a task set before us, gentlemen. Return to your troops and get them ready to ride, for the glory of Deraine and your regiments, and I wish you battleluck!"
Hal was close enough to Sir Kinnear to hear him mutter, "This'll be damned disastrous. Too many troops to move with any sort of subtlety, not enough to stand firm if we're found out. Damned disastrous!"
Hal agreed, but there was, of course, nothing that could be done.
* * *
They went out at dawn, curving out from their lines, intending to skirt the enemy's right flank, and probe, very cautiously, for his intent.
The valley that had been yesterday's battleground was a welter of bodies. Some, thankfully, lay still, quite dead. Others writhed, screaming, or, energy almost gone, managing no more than animal moans.
There were healthy men from both sides afield—men looking for the wounded, dead, from their units, some to-be-blessed chiurgeons, some simply good hearted, trying to tend to the wounded, ease the pain of dying.
And there were others, skulking jackals, looting the dead and, not infrequently, making sure the wounded wouldn't object to being plundered, with a swift dagger.
Hal heard a bowstring twang, saw one such brigand screech, grab at his side, and go down. He turned, saw Jarth Ordinay reaching for another arrow.
"No," he ordered. "We may need them later."
Ordinay hesitated, then nodded, and put the arrow back in his saddle quiver.
Unconsciously Hal's section spread out as they closed on the edges of the ridge Roche supposedly still held, making themselves into less of a target.
Canista's cutting it a little close, Kailas thought. If I held the regiment, I would have taken us straight away from the lines until I was beyond the sight of the fighters, then come back on the Roche from the rear, trying to figure out their intentions from the deployment of their quartermaster wagons and other noncombatants who might not be able to kill you as readily as an infantryman or, worse, a heavy cavalry soldier.
Light cavalrymen wore no more armor than a breastplate and chainmail to mid-thigh and an open helmet. They were generally armed with no more than bow, sword and dagger, although when facing battle, as today, they would carry a light lance, not much more than a spear. They relied on their horses' speed, maneuverability and their own cunning to keep them alive.
Heavy cavalry was their nemesis—men in three-quarters armor to the knee with half-shields, riding great horses that looked suitable for pulling brewery wagons. They were armed with sword, dagger, lance, and frequently a mace or a hammer. They rode in close formation and if the light horsemen were brought to battle by the heavies and couldn't escape, they were almost certainly doomed.
These lumbering monsters were most highly regarded, their units draped with battle honors and their riders among the most noble of any kingdom.
Hal hoped to spend this day without seeing any of them, neither Roche nor on his own side, for that would portend disaster.
All he wanted was to obey orders, get in, get out and get back. Tomorrow, when the armies rumbled back on the move they could resume their patrolling and skirmishing duties.
Before he heard the first warning shout, he felt the earth begin shaking.
Riding out of the forest fringing the Roche lines, coming between the trees in close formation, came the Roche heavy cavalry. Hal was never sure if there were two or three regiments. Not that it mattered. Just one would have given the battle edge to Roche.
Lord Canista shouted to one of his aides to ride back for their promised support, the Sagene heavy cavalry. The young officer saluted, wheeled his horse, and galloped hard for the rear.
He'd gone no more than a quarter of a mile when a cross-bowman rose from behind a bush, and shot him off his horse.
Other crossbowmen came up on line, ran toward Hal's unit, closing the jaws of the trap.
Canista shouted for the regiment to turn away from the attackers, and make for a knoll, dismount and fight on foot until their support arrived.
They never made it.
Half a company of Roche were charging Hal's section. He shouted for his men to turn into the attack, comb the lancers, then try for the knoll.
They obeyed, but the heavy cavalrymen held formation, and Hal's section couldn't break through. A knight was coming hard at Hal, and Kailas ducked under his lance, spitted him in the throat, above his gorget, with his sword. Another rider cut at him, missed, and Hal slashed, also going wide.
Then he was behind the first wave, saw another stream of riders thundering toward him.
He pulled at his horse's reins, as the animal screamed and reared. Hal slid off the back as his mount fell back, thrashing, a crossbow bolt in its throat, another between its ribs.
A Roche crossbowman was coming at him, long double-edged dagger held low. Hal parried, ran him through, felt another bolt whip past his face.
A dismounted cavalryman was coming at him, two-handed sword up. Hal went to his knees, drove his sword under the man's breastplate, into his guts.
Then something smashed into the back of his head, and he went flat, world spinning.
He didn't know how long he was out, seconds or minutes, but then he was back on his feet, sword bloody, staggering toward that knoll. Someone was stabbing at him with a spear, and he cut the spearhead away, killed that man.
There were three corpses in front of him, all three members of his section.
A man was standing over them in Roche uniform. Hal killed him, stumbled on.
There was a ditch, and he went down, sprawled face-first, hearing the whine of bolts above him.
A man jumped down, breathing hard, started to stab Hal, saw he wore the same uniform, clambered out and a spear took him in the shoulder. He spun, and another spear went into the back of his neck.
A Roche soldier ran up, not seeing Hal, and Hal's sword took him in the armpit.
The
re was blood, there was screaming, loud, dying away, and Hal was down in the dust, seeing the Roche heavy cavalry ride past him, back toward their lines, the crossbowmen who'd closed the trap trotting beside them, prodding a few prisoners ahead of them.
Then there was nothing but the sound of men dying.
Hal got back up, waiting to be killed. But there was no one on the field except the dead, dying and desperately wounded.
There was no sign of the promised Sagene heavy cavalry.
Hal considered his injuries. A slash across the back, no more than painful, but bloody enough to have made him look dead, lying in the ditch. An arrow stub stuck out of his upper thigh, and he pushed it through, snapped the arrowhead off. He almost fainted, then pulled the shaft free and tied up the bloody wound with his torn tunic. He was bruised here and there, but felt no broken bones.
He should have gone back to his own lines before the vultures and thieves came.
But he stopped, seeing a man who'd followed his orders, down in death.
A strange fascination came, and he wandered the battlefield, finding one, another, others of his section, all dead.
He saw the body of Lord Canista, half a dozen armored Roche sprawled around him.
A dozen yards away was the body of Sir Kinnear, lying back to back with the Sagene knight who'd challenged him. They, too, had taken their share and more with them.
Time blurred, and it was late afternoon, almost twilight.
He was kneeling beside the body of Jarth Ordinay, who was sprawled on his back, his dagger in the chest of one of the three men who'd died killing him.
Ordinay's face had a quiet, peaceful smile. The lines of premature aging were gone, and he looked the boy he'd been when the army took him.
Hal nodded solemnly, as if Ordinay had told him something, got up, and started back the way he'd come.
Somewhere he found a horse, a bloody slash along its neck, pulled himself into the saddle, and rode slowly back toward safety.
All dead, he mourned. All gone. All dead.
His mind wryly told him, now you can go ride the king's damned dragons if you want, can't you?
The hulk's sails caught the southerly wind, fair for Deraine, a dim line on the horizon. The ship plunged in the swell, yards clattering and sailors scurrying about.
