by RW Krpoun
A signaling system was established to alert the deputy commander (Lord General von der Strieb) should Grand Marshal Laffery be incapacitated or slain, and the commanders of the two flanking cavalry groups were given considerable latitude in their orders to allow them to react to any threats at once, rather than having to wait for orders from the Grand Marshal. Despite considerable grumbling within the Heartland Army that Grand Marshal Laffery had withdrawn from Galati too easily and had retreated too far, too fast, there were few who could fault his dispositions on this field.
Duke Sorgen had set up his field court near the Grand Marshal’s position directly behind the center of the line, and had been alone in that decision: King Henry II of Ilthan was to watch the battle from the ramparts of his capitol, with the King of Lashar as his guest; Baron Noury, who had distinguished himself at Mancin in the command of his hard-hit footmen, commanded the Grand Reserve. King Henry had invited the Duke and his court to join him in watching the victory from a position of safety, but the Duke had declined; once again, he, his two sons and daughter would stand on the field as a demonstration to the common folk of his realm that their ruler was a man of honor. The Lord Marshal Rhys Sorgen was in command of the combined cavalry of the left wing, and burning for an opportunity to avenge the blot upon Sagenhoftian honor caused by the loss of Pecheux’s Hill.
The Lord Chancellor and his mercenary guards were included with the Duke’s court on this occasion, the Duke having been impressed with the Company’s assault into the second breach, and their fighting prowess as demonstrated during the retreat off the hill. The fact that it was mercenaries under his command who had uncovered a group of the Hand’s agents working to create a shortage of bow strings had done much to raise the Badgers in his estimate as well.
The Duke had changed his mind regarding other matters on the retreat from Mancin as well; in Apartia he had arranged for the purchase of a short sword-rapier of the style known as a hanger and a good dagger, both weapons being presented to his daughter. Since instruction in the weapons would require both an expert swordsman and the necessity of the swordsman placing his hands upon the student (in this case, the Duke’s sixteen-year-old daughter), a female instructor was sought. It quickly developed that the two best women for the job were serving in the ranks of the Phantom Badgers, which led to Serjeants Bridget Uldo and Janna Maidenwalk being entrusted with the weapons education of the Lady Eithne, being paid four ducats per lesson. That a lady of the court should not only wear a sword, but be taught its use by mercenaries raised a burst of outrage amongst those ladies of the court who were still with the Duke in the field, but any cries of outraged propriety failed to daunt a father who had seen the Eyade swirling around the retreating army’s flanks, picking off stragglers and the unlucky.
Thus the two Badger Serjeants spent the early morning hours of the sixth putting the Lady Eithne through the basic moves of the sword and dagger under the disapproving stares of two ladies-in-waiting, with six Lifeguards in half-plate nearby.
“High outside, thrust,” Bridget called. “Good, but watch your follow-through and recovery. Try it again, go. Better. Time for a break.”
“I’m feeling much more confident than yesterday,” Eithne bubbled to Janna, pouring herself a glass of white wine. “If an Eyade gets close to me I’ll carve him a new smile.”
“If an Eyade gets near you, the best you can hope for is to annoy him to the point where he kills you rather than takes you prisoner,” the ex-Silver Eagle said, not unkindly. “Which is most likely what your father is hoping for, at the moment. There is a world of difference between knowing the movements of weapons use, and actually hurting someone with a weapon. Some people just can’t draw blood, it isn’t in them.”
“After all the horrid tales Kroh has told me about what Goblins and Eyade have done to their captives, I believe I’ve got it within me,” Eithne nodded shortly, her shoulders squared determinedly.
“Just how much time have you spent with Corporal Blackhand?” Bridget inquired uneasily.
“Oh, I always get up early, and so for the last few days he and I have watched the sun come up together. He says normally Corporal Brightgift watches it with him, but she’s been busy scouting most of the time.” For the girl looked to see if the ladies of the court were within earshot. “I’ve a question: what does ‘buggering’ entail?”
Bridget spat out a mouthful of wine and began coughing desperately, having been in mid-swallow. Janna thumped the advocate between the shoulder blades while fixing a steely eye upon the girl. “And where, pray tell, did you hear that word?”
“From Kroh,” the girl said unconcernedly. “He said one thing the Eyade do to their captives is tie them across a saddle and bugger them until their ears bleed, but I don’t know what ‘bugger’ means.”
“Ah.” Janna looked to the red-faced priestess, who simply shook her head and walked off, looking for the Waybrother with fire in her eyes. “Do you know how babies are made?”
“Yes, of course.” Eithne rolled her eyes.
Janna explained the act the term indicated. “Oh, my,” the girl murmured, looking a bit green around the gills.
“I don’t think that Corporal Blackhand is fit company for a young girl,” Janna continued. “And I especially do not believe you should ever repeat anything he says or has told you around anyone in your family or your father’s court.”
“I suppose; it’s just that except for you, Bridget, Starr, and Henri, he’s the only Badger who is willing to talk with me.”
“Corporal Toulon is especially not fit company for a young girl, or a young woman, or any woman with self-respect, come to think of it. And you are never to slip away from your guards to be alone with Henri no matter what he says.”
“All right,” the girl looked a bit askance at Janna’s tone and changed the subject. “Tell me some more about the Hand army.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Someone told me there were Undead warriors in their ranks, skeleton-things; are there?”
“They are called Dayar, sort of an Undead version of Direbreed. You make them from levare, a container of skin that contains ash and bone fragments from a sentient creature, in a ceremony that centers around a talisman made from the bones of a mighty champion of the Dark One. Each levare is transformed into a Dayar, which is imbibed with a bit of the spirit of the deceased Void hero. The Dayar never die unless slain by destroying their skull, and they learn with time as Direbreed do. They cannot speak, but understand, and can use weapons and wear armor. They look sort of like a Human skeleton, except the bones are wrong in many places, and there is no sinew or tissue anywhere. Their eye sockets are filled with a dull flame which is very visible at night; the ‘bone’ and eye-flames darken with age, and spikes or horny protrusions grow out of their skulls and joints with the passage of time as well. Unlike Direbreed, however, they cannot be brought back once they are gone. The Dayar in the Hand Army will have been bought from some Sundered Gate cult, necromancers, and controlled by spell-users hired as mercenaries from such a cult. Since they neither sleep nor eat, Dayar make excellent combat troops.”
“What about the Human warriors the Hand uses?”
“There are two kinds besides the Eyade, who are actually vassals of the Hand, and not truly Hand troops. There are the ordinary warriors, usually foot, formed into companies of seventy men, and Bands of seven companies. Holdings are formed with four Bands and support troops; the Dayar are formed into Holdings as well. There are twelve Human and four Dayar Holdings facing us, along with all the others.”
“The other Human warriors of the Hand are the Sevenguard, the elite warrior Councils of the Hand of Chaos.”
“I’ve heard of the Sevenguard, but I thought they were just officers and bodyguards,” Eithne interjected.
“Generally, but they are also formed into Sacred Bands which have seven fifty-man companies. There are five Sacred Bands facing us, although I’m not sure which of the seven Colos, or C
ouncils, they are from.”
“As big as the Hand army is, you wouldn’t think sixteen hundred warriors would amount to much.”
“They do if they are as good as the Sevenguard,” Janna observed grimly. “And now it is time for you to go over the basic steps again.”
Hebreth Descente stared out across the fields at the Heartland’s battle line while his own forces moved into position. It was a gray, damp day, perfectly suited for his plans. It would not rain, his Seers assured him, but the clouds overhead were leaden and grim, if not overly low-hanging, and the dew had taken a long time to fade from the grass.
Killing Pecheux had helped win at Mancin, but in the long run it was proving to have been a costly error; Laffery was not the best general in the Heartland’s ranks, but he was no fool, either, and quick to learn. He hadn’t made the amateur’s mistake at Mancin of trying to retake the hill without infantry, and he had failed to take the bait at Galati as well, making the hard decision to retreat to more favorable ground rather than fight on his enemy’s terms. And now he set up with his west flank hanging ‘open’, a basic trick but not a bad one; there were infantry in reserve this time, and his horse was out on the flanks were it belonged. He had thinned out the army’s rolling stock in an attempt to pick up its travelling speed, although the Hand’s spies had reported that there were still plenty who blamed Galati on cowardice on Laffery’s part, and not on the Heartland’s snail-pace, where the blame belonged.
They blamed Laffery for retreating too far, too fast, but Descente cursed the man for the same thing: the Heartland Army had withdrawn to the shadow of Apartia for its next fight, where Descente would have to come and fight on ground of Laffery’s choosing; he could not bypass or dodge with the lake and fortified city choking off the way to the Royal Highway, so fight here he must. Killing Laffery would only make things worse: Laffery was a bulldog, simple and vicious, but that bastard von der Strieb was a madman, a long-nosed war hound who could smell an approaching fight like a shark smelled blood and whose Legions adored him, as if those square-heads could fight any harder that they already did. The damned Eisenalders fought hard, marched fast, and never gave ground; every trooper in the ranks was well-armed and well-equipped, and nine out of ten were veterans of Orc and Goblin-fighting on the Northern Wastes. They were professionals, relying on training, tactics, and drill, which Descente feared. The Arturians and most of the Realms troops sneered at drill and the military arts, counting on courage, dash, and the shock value of armored horsemen riding in two ranks stirrup-to-stirrup to carry the day for them, as it often had in their wars with the local Goblins and Orcs.
Laffery might be mocked and reviled within the ranks of some of his force, but Descente wasn’t laughing. He had to reach Sagenhoft before the fall rains in order to set in a siege, for however much his intelligence staffers praised their plans for taking the city by stealth and treachery, he, as the commander, could not rely upon anything but brute force. The Bohcas to the north and south were advancing as planned, ensuring that the Realms forces in either area and the outsiders who aided them would have their hands full, while the Thunderpeaks were aflame from end to end as the Cave Goblins marched, aided here and there by bribed Felher Weehocs. The plan had called for the Goblins and Felher to cut the Bloody Road and harry the Realms, but the Dwarves had marched as well, and although heavily outnumbered (as was always the case), they were winning everywhere. But at least it kept the Thunderpeaks Dwarves out of the larger fray. Despite all the Hand’s plotting, subterfuge, and deceptions, it boiled down to whether or not Bohca Tatbik could smash the Heartland Army and take Sagenhoft.
There was a fourth Bohca, Bohca Ileri (Quiver, or Arrow-Case), a small force which had been held in reserve along with one heavy, one medium, and two light siege trains out on the Plains. The medium siege train had been released to Bohca Neft in the north, and a light train to Bohca Ortak in the south, while the heavy train and remaining light train were now following Descente’s force; the Grand Council had also released Bohca Ileri to him as well, but only after extensive arguments via enchanted devices. The Council had wanted to send Bohca Ileri and the second light siege train to take Petrel, the capitol of the Barony of Kordia, but Descente had argued that it was a dispersal of force that would achieve nothing towards the central goal, which was to seal off the Realms from outside intervention.
They had grudgingly agreed to his plan, but on the condition that Bohca Ileri not be committed to action until Descente had inflicted another defeat upon the Heartland Army. Should he fail here, Descente suspected, his own life would be forfeit and the attack on Petrel would be mounted. They were fools on the Council, sitting safe and snug back in the home lands waiting for the Realms to fall into their laps like olives from a wind-stirred tree.
“Looks like the dance will begin soon,” Kroh observed, puffing out a cloud of smoke. “And it don’t look as if they’re going to be coming at us head-on this time; they’re stirring around as if they’ve a better plan.”
“They didn’t do so bad last time,” Starr observed, take a drink from a flask of lukewarm soup. “We lost, remember?”
The Dwarf snorted. “Wasn’t much of a defeat, that. All they did was shove us back, and it wouldn’t have worked at all if Pecheux had had some infantry in reserve. They’ll have to come up with a better plan than a handful of turncoats to beat this Laffery.”
“I heard some Arturians speaking poorly of the Grand Marshal,” Rolf observed.
“Huh!” The Waybrother shook his head. “That’s because they’re fools who think with their lances. Even if the Hand pushes us back again here they’ll have to stop and invest Apartia, so we’ll be able to reform and reorganize no matter how bad the defeat. This Laffery’s a fighter, not as bright as some, maybe, but he’ll give the Hand a run, mark my words.”
“Duna’s awful upset over missing the battle,” Starr said mournfully, rubbing her thigh. In the light of the day after, the little Threll felt guilty for having been so aggressive in demanding that they attack the camp. From the cult-markings on the bodies they had discovered that the three women were Hand agents, while further investigation had determined that the ‘workmen’ had been street toughs hired in Apartia; Friend had likewise been a gambler hired as a front man.
“They’ll be plenty of gold studs to be earned before this is all over,” Kroh puffed out a smoke ring, and laughed as Rolf tossed pebbles through it. Durek had awarded a gold battle stud to everyone who had fought at the Battle of Mancin, the fourteenth engagement to warrant such a marker in the eleven year history of the Company, and the Battle at Apartia would warrant another if the Badgers saw action. Every member of the Company now wore at least one gold stud, while the veterans all wore several, and while Duna currently wore three, she was desperate to gain another. Fully a third of the Company had had no such markers before the battle, and even amongst the Senior Badgers and junior Corporals there were many who had had only one or two studs, as the Company had faced mainly small actions over the last couple years. Starr herself wore six, while Rolf had the same and Kroh wore seven.
“What is it?” Starr asked Axel as the Lieutenant limped up with Henri, Bridget, and Elonia in tow.
“I’m not sure, but nothing good,” the wizard frowned, staring off towards the Hand lines. “Elonia...”
“Too much magic,” the Seeress didn’t bother to let him finish. “I haven’t been able to See in their direction for a day and a half; they’ve kept low-level spells going, and various distortion devices. The entire Hand force is a blank for every Seer and Watcher in the Heartland Army, and has been for over thirty hours.” She shrugged. “Of course, it blinded their own people as well.”
“So what are you so concerned about?” Starr persisted.
“They’re doing something strange, they’re linked just about every major spellweaver they’ve got, leaving the second-line to raise counter-spells. They’re working on a big enchantment, something very special, as it will strip them of
nearly all their offensive spell abilities. Their troops will pay for that, as that means more of our magical abilities will be able to be focused on attacking, rather than defending, but the real question is, what will this spell do?”
“Something terrible?” Rolf ventured.
“Nothing fatal, directly, that is; such spells are fairly simple to fox, and require vast amounts of preparation. No, this will be something fairly subtle, I think.”
“Can we do something similar?” Starr asked.
“No. The Dark Arts are well-suited to group action, while the Light Arts are more independent in nature. Anyway, a big group enchantment like that bets it all on one roll of the dice. Ah, here we go.” A cool, damp breeze rolled from the Hand forces across the fields and washed over the Heartland Army. “I’ll be dipped, it’s weather, I mean, the manipulation of weather.”
“Not a plague or something?” Starr said through the bandanna she had clasped over her mouth and nose.
“No, fog I suspect,” the wizard sniffed at the air. “What do you think, Henri?”
“Heavy mist,” the Arturian nodded. “It’ll pull the overhead visibility down a bit and shroud their rear areas, might reduce the life-span of bow strings and cut archery ranges by a third, aimed fire, anyhow.”
“Precisely. We had better report this to Durek.” The group moved back down the Badger’s line to where the Captain stood by the standard, leaving the three Corporals to their own devices.
As the mist thickened and deepened visibility dropped; while both armies could still see each other, the opposing lines were drained of all color and definition, becoming threatening gray-black walls that shifted and surged as units moved.
