Soldiers' Redemption (First Cohort Book 1)

by M. R. Anthony

  Below us, the horseman had crossed the bottom of the shallow valley and spread themselves into a line, five deep. I saw their leader, in a bright red leather breastplate, with a tassel hanging from his fine helmet. At a raising of his hand, all four hundred drew their swords, almost languidly, as if they feared us not at all. In reality they were not in a great rush to engage us. The First Cohort carried spears in one of the carts. There were not enough for every man, but there were sufficient for each man at the edge of the square to hold one and point it outwards. A horseman might be brave or stupid enough to charge at a spear-lined infantry square, but his horse was not and the beasts would invariably balk when they were pushed into charging at something they could not jump over.

  When we reached the top of the hill, I saw the reason why the horsemen were in no rush to fight. Almost a mile away, a line of infantry appeared on the opposite hill top. They marched purposefully over and down the slope, heading to where we had taken up our positions. After the first line came another, then another and their heads kept on sprouting over the distant hilltop like a never-ending field of weeds.

  “Looks like Bonecruncher had an army with him after all,” I said to Lieutenant Craddock.

  “Most of Warmont’s bastards, from the looks of things,” he replied as the lines of men continued towards us. There was a larger figure, clearly visible and walking behind the men: Bonecruncher.

  “I make it eight thousand, plus the horsemen,” I said. “That’s a big chunk of what the Duke can muster. What the hell are they doing out here?”

  We were holding our position as I spoke. Emboldened by the arrival of the infantry, the horsemen had cantered further up the hill and strutted along in front of us. Every now and then, the captain in charge turned his horse’s backside towards us and smacked it on the rump, which caused it to flick its tail upwards and reveal its anus.

  “Cheeky bastards, aren’t they?” I said to Lieutenant Craddock wryly.

  “I’ve never met a horseman who wasn’t,” he told me.

  We needed to act quickly, but I liked to give the men a token boost of morale. The soldier I was looking for was close enough by for me to speak to him without the chance of my voice carrying to the horsemen.

  “Shooter?” I called – he was one of our grand total of two archers.

  “Captain?”

  “Think you can see well enough to put an arrow in their captain’s eye? Do it quickly.”

  “I reckon I can have a go, Captain,” he said, unslinging his black wood bow. I didn’t know where he’d got it from – it had always been with him – but I swear I’d seen him land an arrow in a man’s chest from three hundred paces before.

  The men close to him were silent, holding their breaths as they willed Shooter’s arrow to put an end to the enemy captain’s posturing. A few of them shuffled aside so that he might get a better sight of his target. I watched as Shooter pushed his tongue out of his mouth in concentration and drew his bow in one smooth motion. It was as if this single arrow had become the most important object the First Cohort carried with us.

  And then it was away, an impossibly fast, dark blur, accompanied by a faint twang from the bow. The arrow didn’t take the man in the eye, since he had turned his horse’s backside towards us, but it took him in the neck, slicing through the thin leather guard of his helmet. We’d hoped he would be pitched from the saddle, but instead he keeled over and spurred his horse into a gallop away down the hill, the feathered end of the arrow jutting from his neck. As we cheered, he righted himself, in order that he could cling onto the horse’s mane and keep himself more securely in the saddle.

  “Good one, Shooter,” said a soldier.

  “Think you got him?” asked another.

  As I ordered our shield square to move, the answer was provided, and we saw the injured captain fall from his horse, though his foot remained in the stirrup. The beast did not slow its gallop and it headed off along the valley with its former master in tow. These small victories were what kept morale high in the face of adversity and I heard many a laugh at the expense of the fallen horseman.

  On the field of battle, speed is a vital tool in every commander’s arsenal. If you can position your troops efficiently and have them move to a new location quickly, you swing the odds in your favour when things are evenly balanced. Coupled with this speed there must also be an ability to retain formation, for a thousand men sprinting across a field in order to join the fray will easily be cut down if they meet organised resistance.

  Moving a shield square is one of the most difficult tasks for a commander. The more defensive a formation is, the slower in general it will move and the shield square is the epitome of a formation designed to repulse attacks. If we let our guard down, we would give the horsemen a chance to strike at us and whittle down our numbers, or split our formation completely. I was infinitely glad that these horsemen did not carry bows.

  “Lieutenants Craddock, Sinnar? We make maximum speed to the north-west. If we can get a distance from their infantry, we might get the opportunity to show those horsemen what real infantry steel tastes like!”

  “Aye, Captain,” they responded, both of them eager to turn the odds in our favour. We were good, but we were not foolish enough to think that we might easily win this fight against horsemen and infantry.

  It was something we had practised on many occasions. Firstly, on the training ground and secondly, in battle. Every man spun to face the same direction and the corporals and lieutenants kept them in formation, barking orders and maintaining control. Then, we broke into a semi-run, something more than a trot, but not quite a full sprint. The idea was that we could stop and re-form within a few seconds if the enemy decided to try and take advantage of our retreat.

  It was to our good fortune that the horsemen had fallen into disarray, as so often happens when the head is cut from the body. A few of them kept pace with us, but the others waited behind for Bonecruncher and his infantry to arrive and provide further orders. Warmont’s Fifth would not be happy at their indecision.

  The enemy’s lack of discipline allowed us to make fast progress in our retreat. Behind us I heard the bellowing of Bonecruncher’s voice, carried on the wind, as he drove his infantry ahead of him. He’d seen us use this defensive retreat in the past and didn’t want us to get away from him. It was his mistake, though, and of the sort that he was prone to. In his bloodlust and his anger, he exhausted his infantry by having them run up the hill behind us. Even the fittest of his soldiers would not be immediately ready for combat after a hard sprint uphill wearing armour and with a sword in his hand.

  Luckily for these soldiers they did not have to face the First Cohort so soon, as we were already some distance ahead of them, with our escort of fifty horsemen keeping pace to our flank. We had descended into another valley and kept up a good pace over the long grass. I glanced at our lady and noticed with some pride that she was lacking in fear, sitting straight in her saddle as though she were no more concerned than if she had been out for an afternoon ride. She watched and listened, taking everything in. This was the first time she’d been involved in an engagement and she needed to learn fast. Even the Saviour would find it hard to lead an army of rebels if she showed herself to be weak and indecisive.

  Bonecruncher was a hard and effective shock commander, but I knew his weaknesses. He would not be able to stand and watch helplessly as we outmanoeuvred him and completed our escape. Sure enough, he used the only tool available to him.

  “Captain Charing,” said our lady. “I believe the enemy commander is ordering his horsemen to attack.” She had the best vantage point amongst us all.

  “Lieutenants Craddock, Sinnar.” I shouted to them. “The horse are coming.”

  We didn’t slow down. Even when the sound of thundering hooves reached us, we continued without pause. As the sound of the approaching horsemen reached a crescendo, Lieutenant Craddock gave the order. We stopped and reformed our square, shields raised and spears poin
ting outwards. The timing was crucial – there had to be the opportunity for the horsemen to break around us. If we stopped too late, they would have little choice but to smash into our ranks.

  We pulled it off – just. As our shield wall formed, the lead horses shied and bucked as they tried to stop their headlong rush. Two of the beasts were too close and spears found their chests, toppling them over, screaming and throwing their riders.

  The rest of the horsemen split around us, as though we were a rock protruding from a fast-flowing river. The riders’ momentum carried them on and past us as we remained still, daring them to come close enough for us to drive our blades into them. Back where we’d come from, I saw that Bonecruncher had drawn his men into a wide column and marched them towards us at the double.

  Without their captain, the horsemen struggled to regain their line after they had split around our square. Some of them regrouped to our left, some to our right, whilst another eighty or so remained ahead of us, the horses pawing uncertainly at the ground. To one side, I saw one of the enemy railing at his comrades, chopping with his sword and pointing at us. I could make out his voice as he urged them to come back at us again. They had little hope of breaking us, but every moment they harried brought the bulk of the enemy infantry closer to us.

  “Ploster, kill that fucker,” I said calmly.

  Without warning, the horseman ceased his exhortations and burst into a bright, blue flame. He was almost sixty paces away but I could clearly see the skin of his face melting beneath his helmet. If he’d tried to scream we didn’t hear it as the intense heat of Ploster’s flame sucked greedily at the air in his lungs. The man’s horse shrieked as its burning rider become fused to its flesh, and the beast took off at a gallop. The sight of the flames and the sounds of agony stirred a number of the other horses into their own blind panic and a number of them reared, tipping their riders.

  “Go!” I shouted. My lieutenants and corporals took over, using the power of their wills and their voices to twist the First Cohort into marching as a unit. We continued along the shallow valley, our feet striking a steady cadence over the soft ground.

  The horsemen continued to harry us, but they lacked direction and coordination. It didn’t appear that any of them were willing to risk the agony of being burned alive, so they remained divided and ineffective. Occasionally a group of fifty or so would pluck up the courage to sally towards us, but it was all for show and they fluttered at our flanks as harmlessly as a summer butterfly. The largest of armies can crumble if they are deprived of direction, but these horsemen were poorly-motivated even by the usual standards of Warmont’s regulars. The Duke had other, more dedicated, units in his armies and I was glad that they were not serving under Bonecruncher on this day.

  With our changing, we of the First Cohort had become more than men. In my quieter moments, I had reflected that we had also become lessened. However, I was always grateful that our stamina seemed to know few limits. This, in particular, had served us well, and preserved our unit where others may have perished. And thus, we continued without respite, eating up the miles until Warmont’s infantry was left far in our wake.

  Morning went and afternoon came. The day wore on but our pace did not abate. Those men who desired the ritual of eating and drinking did so as we travelled, pushing lumps of dried, chewy flesh into their mouths and passing around skins of warm, stale water to share. With us came our unwanted escort of horsemen. They had formed a group and cantered along two hundred paces to our left. They seemed sullen and afraid, as well they might. Bonecruncher did not enjoy failure and would take great delight in punishing them later.

  The land made for easy foot travel – rolling hills of rich grass, occasionally broken by wide, shallow streams or rocky outcrops. My men showed little concern for the horsemen, now that the eight thousand infantry they’d had with them were several miles to our rear.

  “Is it always a stalemate between men and horse?” our lady asked me.

  “Only rarely,” I replied. “A well-deployed cavalry can be devastating against infantry. That’s why infantryman and horsemen are never friendly, even when they fight for the same side.”

  “It seems odd that one soldier would hate another,” she said.

  “In the end, many soldiers are just there for the comfort of a life where their choices are made for them. Usually, they get to sleep in a warm bed, are well fed and paid regularly. Most of the Emperor’s lands are at peace and in those places a soldier can enjoy life’s comforts, with little fear that he may die at any time.”

  “But Warmont’s lands are not at peace,” she said.

  “No, they are not. The Duke has been blessed with a domain where the people have known freedom. They do not enjoy bending the knee or paying their taxes to a cruel man in a distant city.”

  “Freedom is a joy for everyone. Why are the Emperor’s other nobles not beset by these problems?”

  “It is the problem of every empire. The further from the centre you go, the more fragmented and difficult to control it gets. The Emperor has no give in him at all – he offers no concessions, even here, where we are as far from Hardened as you can get and still remain within his lands. A wiser man would let these far cities have some slack, permit them a degree of self-governance or to set some of their laws. Not so, Malleus. His control must be absolute. It is part of his nature.”

  “Have you met Emperor Malleus?”

  “Yes, my lady. We all have - it is a part of our history and our shame. When we have the opportunity, I will tell you about it.”

  She could have pursued it, but chose not to, content at my promise to speak of it later. “We are hoping that rebellion out here will be the catalyst for a change throughout all of the Emperor’s lands.” It was half-question, half-statement she spoke.

  “That is the hope, my lady,” I said. In truth, I knew the cause to be lost even before it had started. The Duke was more vulnerable than he had ever been and there was a chance we might cause him some great difficulty. In my confidence, I also thought that if the stars aligned in our favour, if the threads of warp and weft brought us good fortune, that we could even topple the man and crush his armies. The Emperor was the problem. I had never before seen such a focus of power, the ability to bend and force matter living or dead to submit to his desires. He was not a god, but he may as well have been - our Saviour was a tiny light against his all-encompassing darkness. Strangely, I did not care and knew that the First Cohort would fight to the last man for our lady’s cause.

  After a time, the light faded. Our adversaries maintained their vigil, gradually becoming little more than silhouettes against the hills and the darkening sky. Their sounds gave them away more clearly than the light and I had no fear that they would be able to mount a surprise assault. I passed the word along that we should reduce our own pace, in order that we could maintain our formation, and I asked our lady down from her horse, in case it should stumble and cast her to the ground. Soon, the noises from the cavalry faded and I knew that they had ended their pursuit for the day. I was reluctant for us to stop, but a march in pitch blackness threw up its own concerns.

  At last I decided that we had made sufficient progress and called a halt high up on a hillside, which come daylight would allow us an excellent vantage back over the land we had travelled. Bonecruncher would not have worried if he lost a few men in the darkness, but he would certainly not want his forces to drift out of formation such that they might be vulnerable. Even more importantly, he would not want to lose us in the dark – although our course had remained almost die-straight towards Treads, we had made one or two minor deviations, so that anyone who hoped to catch us by following the valley floors would end up passing us by.

  I ordered that we set up a camp without tents or fires. In the lee of the hill, the now-sporadic wind was much less of a burden and the men were happy to lay out their rolls upon the grass. The Saviour found me during the preparations to rest.

  “What will happen tomorrow
, Captain Charing?”

  “The same thing as happened today, my lady. Bonecruncher’s cavalry will send out riders to locate us at first light, then they will keep pace in the hope that something delays us. They will keep the infantry on a course to find us.”

  “Are there any woods or forests for us to use to our advantage?”

  “I have spoken to Lieutenant Craddock, and all that we can expect between here and Treads is more of the same. Hills, grass, streams.”

  “How much further until we get to Treads?”

  “Four days. Four and a half, perhaps.”

  “I do not want us to be chased there every step of the way,” she said with certainty. Her eyes gleamed, though there was no light for them to reflect.

  “What do you propose, my lady?” I asked her.

  “The cavalry are three miles over yonder,” she said. “They have camped by a stream in order that their horses may drink and feed.”

  I didn’t ask how she knew this. Ploster could travel the weave of power to find things that did not want to be found. He was not skilled at it, but his seeking had helped us on occasion.

  “Lieutenant Craddock, Sinnar!” I called. When they arrived, I said, “Break camp, we’re going to find Bonecruncher’s horsemen. They’re three miles that way. We’re leaving our packs. Just bring what we need to do the job.”

  “Yes, Captain,” they responded.

  Sinnar’s voice rolled out across our camp. “So, who wants to stick a sword into a sleeping horseman? I’m calling for volunteers. I’ll need five hundred and seventy-seven of you!”

  There was a ripple of laughter across our camp as the men clambered to their feet, searching for the weapons they’d need. There were a few shouts of ‘I’m in’ and ‘Are there any more spaces left?’, even though the numbers Sinnar had called for encompassed every soldier in the First Cohort.

  The night was filled with violence, but we did what we needed to do. Ploster cast some sort of blanket around us that masked our footsteps and disguised the clanks and coughs from the clumsier members of the Cohort. Furtive killed two of their sentries, tracking them down and ending their lives with a sharp knife across their throats. We left fifty men to guard our lady close to where they’d hobbled their horses. The rest of us swept amongst the cloth tents, hacking and slaying the horsemen without pause. They had lit fires and a few of them managed to stumble towards us in the flickering redness, with their swords drawn. We butchered them all. A few tried to escape towards their horses, but the men I had left close by prevented any of the cavalry from escaping. After less than ten minutes, we were alive and they were not. I think a few chose to run, but in the darkness we did not pursue them.