by John F. Carr
That was only partly true, Sirna realized, or at least only partly true in the short run. If Kalvan succeeded in inventing paper and following it up with printing, the processes wouldn't remain secrets for long. Styphon's House could print its propaganda just as enthusiastically as its enemies. In the long run, though, Kalvan was working toward mass literacy and mass education, which were the most potent enemies of superstition and ignorance—and they were his worst enemies.
While the cart was being emptied, Mytron left on a small horse, waving farewell. Sirna made a Grefftscharri gesture of aversion. She didn't know whom she was trying to save from bad luck, but there seemed to be a lot of it going around, rather like fleas...
"You made that gesture as if you believed it," said a voice behind her.
Sirna whirled, ready to shove Lathor Karv into the nearest trench if he were mocking her tolerance toward the Zarthani. Instead she saw Aranth Saln, and she couldn't find anything to say to the expression on the Scholar's face.
In any case, before she could have said two words, they both heard a distant dull thudding off in the heat haze toward the southwest.
"Cannon," Aranth said. "That means the main armies are engaged, not just the skirmishers."
TWENTY-TWO
From the top of a small rise at the rear of the right wing, Kalvan could see that the entire center of both the Holy Host and the Hostigos army were lost in a steadily swelling cloud of white smoke. Kalvan was surprised by the number of guns the Styphoni had managed to haul up, almost equal to the Hostigi in numbers although decidedly inferior in rate of fire. Soton clearly learned fast.
Periodically the noise of the big guns rose as one side or the other fired a ragged salvo. It reminded Kalvan of scrap iron being dumped on a concrete floor.
Captain-General Chartiphon commanded the center, almost twenty thousand infantry with the recent Ulthori and Zygrosi reinforcements—men anxious for gold and glory. General Alkides was in command of the Hostigi artillery and Kalvan mentally wrote him down for the Battle of Phyrax Honors List, if there was one. Alkides had done everything but haul bombards on his shoulders to assemble the Hostigi artillery and the Great Battery in particular. He had thirty guns in the Great Battery, his own three eighteen-pounders, four sixteen-pounders, assorted field pieces with defective carriages and a miscellany of heavy older pieces, mostly bombards, collected from every fortress within dragging distance of Hostigos Town.
Behind the Great Battery the Hos-Hostigos regular infantry were drawn up, with the Royal Army anchoring the right and the surviving veterans of Old Hostigos holding the left. The center was composed of the veterans of the Heights of Chothros, while four thousand mercenary Ktethroni pikemen from a distant Hos-Zygrosi Princedom held the rear.
The Ktethroni were a tangible sign of support from King Sopharar; Kalvan only hoped they were as good as advertised. They generally reminded him of the early Swiss pike squares and appeared to know their business. However, pike squares were vulnerable to well-handled artillery and, in any case, he wasn't about to commit untested soldiers too soon in the most important battle of his life.
If he lost this battle, his allies would melt away; there wouldn't be enough Hostigi manpower left to raise two companies. That is, if the Styphoni didn't raze every building in Hostigos to the ground and sow the earth with salt, as the Romans had done to Carthage.
So far it was a case of "things could be better, but then again they could be worse." Prince Ptosphes, in command of the Army of the Besh on the left, had on his initiative led his cavalry out against the right wing of the Holy Host under Grand Master Soton. Kalvan was sure that Ptosphes had been drawn out by insults from the Zarthani Knights; it was a disquieting demonstration of Ptosphes' shaken state of mind that he'd attacked without orders from Kalvan.
The Knights quickly broke Ptosphes' precipitous charge, and he was only saved from disaster by the veteran infantry of Old Hostigos, who'd quickly reformed their pike line along the left flank. They pinned the Zarthani Knights long enough for Harmakros to bring up the cavalry of the Army of Observation from the reserve. Suddenly facing the fire of fifteen hundred dragoon musketeers, Soton had retired quickly—but in good order. The major casualty of this action was the morale of the Army of the Besh and Prince Ptosphes, both suffering from a massive inferiority complex. Kalvan was either going to have to bolster their confidence or relieve Ptosphes of his command, something he did not want to do unless he had absolutely no other choice.
This artillery duel couldn't go on much longer; one side or the other was going to have to commit itself. It looked as if it was going to be up to him; either that, or wait for the Holy Host to run out of rations. He didn't know how long that would take, and in any case they might forage until Hostigos looked like Georgia after Sherman's march to the sea. Lord High Marshall Mnephilos wasn't about to march his Sacred Square up to the Great Battery, nor was Soton about to charge with his Knights through the Grove of the Badger King, where Hestophes and Harmakros' pet Sastragathi were holding back the Knights' auxiliary horse-archers.
General Hestophes had been wounded, but not before he'd smashed one attack by mercenaries and a second by horse-archers. His people were now digging in around the Grove of the Badger King. Its name might be seen as a good omen, while its trees would keep the heavy cavalry out of their hair. Hestophes' last message before he was surrounded was that he could hold out as long as he had fireseed and arrows, and that fortunately Soton's auxiliaries were being generous with the latter even if they were proving stingy with Styphon's Best.
Kalvan's remaining problem was tactical. Unfortunately, history was short on examples of pike armies against bills. The bill had been an English national weapon during the late Middle Ages and Renaissance, but they hadn't fought many major Continental battles during the Sixteenth Century. The only major pike vs. bill engagement he could recall was the Battle of Flodden Field, where the French-armed Scots knights under James IV were shorn of their nobility by the English bills.
Pikemen were most effective against other pole-armed infantry when moving forward in formation. Once they were halted, they could be chopped up far too easily by the shorter and more maneuverable bills. Thus at Flodden, the Scots took the initiative: King James, and the cream of the Scottish nobility, led fifteen thousand men downhill in a charge against the Earl of Surrey's dismounted men-at-arms and seven thousand Yorkshire billmen. The shock of impact drove the English downhill several hundred yards, but they held their formation and took a terrible toll of the front ranks of pikes. At close quarters, the Scottish pikes and swords were overcome by the heavier English bills. When the battle ended, King James and ten thousand of his subjects lay dead on the field.
The Holy Host of Styphon was also deployed with a bill-and-musket center with cavalry at both flanks. The Hos-Ktemnoi foot, under Mnephilos, were arranged in two rows, like the old tercios under Tilly. The first row was made up of the Royal Square of Hos-Ktemnos and two Great Squares, about ten thousand men. The second row held four thousand Zarthani Order Foot, three thousand of Styphon's Own Guard and three thousand assorted mercenary foot. No surprises there—but if Ptosphes could restrain himself and Soton didn't have anything up his sleeve, Kalvan just might have a surprise or two of his own.
A shout from the sentries made Kalvan turn. An armored barrel on horseback, decorated with red plumes, was approaching. A closer look revealed General Klestreus, an unwarlike figure—even if his three-quarter armor was blackened.
"What in the name of Styphon's Bollocks—"
Klestreus looked mildly insulted. "My place is beside my Great King, or I am no soldier." He wasn't, of course, but why be rude?
"A messenger has just arrived from Nostor. With luck and Dralm's Blessing, he may yet outlive his horse."
Kalvan nodded. "Yes, yes." Get on with it, man! There's a battle going on, or hadn't you noticed?
"He says there's a great host of Styphoni on its way through Nostor. He saw the banners of Royal Hou
se of Hos-Agrys, several Agrysi Princely Houses and Styphon's Red Insignia."
That was the reversed circular swastika (all too appropriate, Kalvan felt) of Styphon's device and the banner of the Red Hand and the Order of Zarthani Knights.
"How large is this army and did they bring their own supplies?" There would be neither food nor forage in battle ravaged Nostor—not after last year's campaigns.
"The scout said it would take two days for the wagons alone to pass. It was if the Styphoni had opened the very storehouse of Balph itself!"
Probably exactly what they did. That also explained all the ship traffic going up the Hudson; they'd been building up magazines of stores so that King Demistophon could fish in troubled waters at Styphon's expense. As long as somebody else was paying, his Princes—most of them worshippers of Allfather Dralm—would have few objections to his taking sides.
"How many soldiers are in this army?"
"He had to be careful and there was not much time—"
"But?"
"He thought their force might be as great as fifteen thousand. Most were mercenaries."
"How much time do we have?"
"He doesn't know. He ran his first horse to death and had to walk three candles before he found another."
"Did he give you any kind of guess?"
Klestreus cringed, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news.
Under different circumstances it might have been funny, but now it was temper boiling. "Out with it, man!"
"They could hardly come upon us in less than five days."
That was good news, or better than he'd expected from Klestreus' expression. They could fight today's battle without the Styphoni receiving any reinforcements. If the Hostigi won, they could turn the Agrysi invasion with ease; if they lost, it wouldn't matter how many vultures came to pick over the corpse of Hostigos.
The one question remaining in Kalvan's mind was: why were the Styphoni fighting at all today, if they had a chance of being reinforced? Were they that short of supplies, or did they distrust Demistophon that much? It was likely that Demistophon had been pushed into this attack by the Inner Circle for allowing the Great Council of Dralm to meet in Agrys City. Or, had Soton and Mnephilos been carried away by the opportunity to smash Kalvan's force by their own unaided efforts?
No point in speculating too far ahead of the facts, and in any case Klestreus wasn't leaving now that his message had been delivered. Kalvan nodded, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"There is more, Your Majesty."
I don't know if I can stand any more. "Continue, General."
"Prince Armanes has taken a gut wound."
Kalvan winced. Here-and-now that usually meant a lingering, painful death for a good and loyal man. It also gave him an excuse to tether Prince Ptosphes with the cooler head of Count Phrames—a much wiser counselor than poor Armanes.
"I need a favor."
Klestreus swelled until it looked as if he'd burst his armor like an over-burdened lady's corset. "Anything, you command. Your Majesty."
"I want you to ride to Count Phrames and tell him that it is Our will that he replace the wounded Armanes on the left wing."
"It will be done, Sire."
"Then, I want you to personally escort the Prince to the field infirmary and see that he receives proper care."
"With great pleasure, Your Majesty. I shall see that he knows it is your will."
That was three things accomplished: a noncombatant sent out of the way; Armanes given a fighting chance to live, although he would doubtless not appreciate being carried away from the battle; and a trusted general sent to keep watch on one whose judgment was no longer reliable.
As he was turning on his horse, Klestreus spun around in the saddle. "Oh, I beg Your Majesty's pardon for forgetting. Six hundred Nyklosi peasant levies have arrived. I led them to the center before I learned of Prince Armanes' wound. And, there is word from Tarr-Hostigos; Her Majesty, Great Queen Rylla, has gone into childbirth pangs."
"WHAT?"
Kalvan spent a moment suppressing several unproductive but emotionally satisfying urges, such as having a heart attack or strangling Klestreus with his bare hands. Finally, he said, very slowly, "I wish you had told me this first."
"Forgive me, Your Majesty. It seemed to me—"
"Never mind what it seemed." Although perhaps Klestreus had a point; the outcome of today's battle did make more difference to Hos-Hostigos than the outcome of Rylla's labor. Maybe even to him, but if some god came and told him that the price of certain victory today would be Rylla's life...
There were advantages to not believing in gods who struck that kind of bargain—or any other, Kalvan decided.
After a few moments of mulling over all the terrible things that might happen to Rylla and the baby, he realized that Klestreus had already left to carry out his orders. A breeze was blowing now, tearing the gray and white smoke into tatters, and he was able to see the entire Styphoni center. The huge royal Square flanked by the smaller Great Squares; Gustavus Adolphus might have seen such sights at Breitenfeld or Lützen.
A great many things could go wrong with his plans today, but somehow they seemed far less personal than what was going on in the royal bedchambers at this very moment.
He was wrenched out of his thoughts by the harsh coughing sounds of a badly winded horse making its way to the top of the rise.
"Did you give Alkides my orders?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Major Nicomoth said. "Though not before he wept and ranted as though it was his children being dismembered!"
Kalvan wasn't surprised. It hadn't been easy for him to order a dozen of his mobile six- and eight-pounders spiked and rendered useless, but that was far better than having them turned and used on the Hostigi center. Besides, the Styphoni were a big fish, requiring bait to match.
"You gave Chartiphon his orders?"
"Yes. The Captain-General will order the center to advance as soon as you give the signal. General Harmakros is also bringing the remainder of the reserves into position."
May Dralm be with you, Harmakros, thought Kalvan. And Ptosphes, too; there would be nobody to pull the Prince's bacon out of the fire if he charged the Knights again and Ptosphes had to fall back. Still, if Prince Leonnestros in command of the Styphoni left wing continued to be as rash as he'd proven himself in the past... Kalvan was sure he knew what Soton's orders were: force the Hostigi to commit their army until it is worn out, then grind them into the earth without mercy.
Kalvan watched as Harmakros threaded his Army of Observation through the gap between the center and the right wing. Then the wind changed direction and all he could see was a white cloud streaked with gray ribs. When the smoke cleared again, he could see that Harmakros' heavy cavalry were already forming the shield for the mobile artillery.
It seemed to take an hour for the dozen artillery pieces to move into position on the knoll, but Kalvan knew it was really only ten or fifteen minutes. Already more than half of the three thousand dragoons had passed through the Hostigi lines. It was at times like this that he missed a good watch more than anything except a hot shower.
Kalvan was betting his last dollar (or in this case, Hostigos crown) that Prince Leonnestros, eager to succeed Mnephilos as Lord High Marshal of Hos-Ktemnos, could not sit still under the fire of a dozen Hostigi artillery pieces. If this ruse didn't come off, Kalvan didn't want to think about what would happen to the Hostigi gunners who in blind faith were standing behind guns that couldn't fire—and they wouldn't be the only casualties.
The Army of Observation and the mobile artillery were approaching their position now. Off to the left through all the smoke, Kalvan thought he saw the left wing shifting again. He couldn't see clearly, and in any case there was not time to find out or do more than hope the left would hold for a few more minutes.
Kalvan raised his arm, and the primitive Roman candle he'd had Master Thalmoth make exploded over the Hostigi center. Twelve thousand arquebusiers, musk
eteers and pikemen moved forward, each pikeman holding a buckler or shield as well as a pike. Some of the shields bore the devices of recently deceased nobles of the finest houses of Hos-Harphax. Behind them came fifteen hundred halberdiers, several thousand peasant militia and the four thousand Ktethroni pikemen.
Kalvan raised his other arm. The second Roman candle burst, while sunlight blazed off helmets, armor and gun barrels as the cavalry troopers of the right wing began to mount up.
TWENTY-THREE
I
Xykos was so tall and strong that in his home village his nickname was "the Bull." Still, the double weight of armor and shield was beginning to tell on him as he tramped across the rocky ground; he wondered how those without his strength were faring. To be sure, his shield was twice the average height, large enough that two musketeers were moving half-crouched behind it.
Halfway to the Styphoni lines and still not a shot fired from the blue and orange square ahead. Excellent fire discipline, he thought, is how Kalvan would put it. He'd been fortunate enough to partake in some pike drills led by the Great King himself; a great man, unlike many of noble blood, who was not afraid to get his hands soiled. My brothers will not falter, even when the bullets come. We are the Veterans of the Long March.
They were the survivors of four times their number of foot who had died at Tenabra and the days following when Grand Master Soton chased after them. Xykos himself had been only a member of the Hostigi militia before Tenabra; now he was one of the four hundred men of the Hostigos regiment, the Veterans of the Long March, so named by Prince Ptosphes himself.
Xykos had been blooded long before Tenabra; first at the Battle of Listra Mouth, then later at Fyk, where he'd liberated his armor from the dead body of a baron of Sask.
Tenabra had been his first battle where the Hostigi had lost, all thanks to that Dralm-damned traitor Balthar! After Balthar and his troops had bolted, leaving a gap that the Styphoni had quickly exploited; the Ktemnoi billmen had mowed down the Hostigi foot at Tenabra like a farmer's scythe in a field of barley. Somehow he knew that Balthar would not have done his foul treachery if King Kalvan had been in command. Prince Ptosphes was a fair ruler and a good leader of men, but he was no gods-sent Kalvan!
