by John F. Carr
The rifle wasn't quite balanced like the quarterstaff Verkan knew well, but the butt end's extra weight made up for it. Designed especially for Verkan, his rifle—while looking like a perfectly ordinary flintlock—was almost indestructible. With ridiculous ease he brained the first man who ran at him, poked a second in the groin, smashed a short sword or long knife out of the hand of the third and knocked down a fourth with a butt-blow to his armored chest and finished him with another to the forehead under the rim of his morion helmet.
He turned to see Xykos decapitate a heavily bearded Holy Warrior with his two-handed sword. The Veterans' banner-bearer had lost one arm to an evil-looking polearm and was in the process of losing the other, when Verkan shot his attacker dead with his belt pistol.
Someone was shouting in his ear and tugging at his arm. It was Dalon Saln, pulling him back from the edge of the slope. Xykos and one of the halberdiers were coming with him, but the third Veteran was dead and the banner-bearer was dying, one arm gone, the other crippled, but his teeth locked on the banner pole.
They cleared the Great Battery's field of fire just in time, as case shot from something heavier than a sixteen-pounder sprayed the slope. Two score of dismounted Holy Warriors and a few mounted ones behind them went down, and twice as many turned and ran; apparently even religious zeal had its limits.
Verkan and his bodyguards ran back another fifty yards, then stopped to make sure the rest of the Mounted Rifles were clear. They were. The number of Holy Warriors, both mounted and on foot, climbing the slope discouraged him from lingering to count the Rifles' casualties, particularly since the Holy Warriors were now being pushed ahead of the first ranks of the Royal Square. A company of billmen rose out of a draw, and a round shot smashed the first six of them into a bloody, screaming tangle.
Verkan began to reload his rifle on the move, and discovered the lock was hopelessly jammed with blood and gore. He made a mental note to suggest caltrops to Kalvan if he could find a non-contaminating way of doing so. Strewn over the slopes of the ridge, those multipointed hoof destroyers would have made Kalvan's Great Battery a lot more cavalry-proof.
The ground between Verkan and the Great Battery offered little cover or concealment, and he had the nasty feeling that the career of the Mounted Rifles was about to end here. A four-pounder had already been overrun, and an old-style eight-pounder was being defended by its crew against mounted Holy Warriors. What was left of Harmakros' three regiments of dragoons was manhandling two eight-pounders and the sixteen-pounder called Galzar's Teeth into a position where they could hit the Styphoni at point-blank range.
Alkides himself was standing on the breech of Galzar's Teeth in a fraction of his shirt and a smaller fraction of his trousers, defaming the ancestry and habits of his gunners for not moving faster. Behind the big gun rode Harmakros, and behind him was a line of men carrying objects the size and shape of round shot, but not quite...
Verkan suddenly realized he was about to see the first test of explosive shells in Kalvan's Time-Line. While he appreciated the honor, he hoped the fusing was reasonably accurate or the shells might burst right over the Mounted Rifles.
"Down!" he shouted, gesturing frantically. The Riflemen obeyed, searching for any fold in the ground large enough to give at least the illusion of safety. The two eight-pounders bellowed together, hammering the advancing Holy Warriors with grape shot. The line stopped and a good number of them dropped to the ground as well. The Riflemen opened fire, to encourage this notion.
With his rifle useless and the action just out of pistol range, Verkan was free to watch the entire process of loading the first shell, including the lighting of the fuse, the various rites of propitiation and Alkides firing Galzar's Teeth. Verkan kept his head up, following the shell all the way to where it struck the ground, bounced twice, rolled under the legs of a Holy Warrior's horse—and exploded!
It took only four shells to convince the Holy Warriors that they were facing something unusual. From "unusual" to "Demonic" was a short mental step for most of them. Contemplating the undignified speed of the Holy Warrior's retreat, Verkan had to admit that superstition could have its uses.
Verkan would have felt better if Galzar's Teeth hadn't fired a fifth shell, which burst over the Mounted Riflemen. When the smoke cleared away, he saw that the one-eyed captain would never argue with him again, and the captain wasn't the only casualty.
Then the massed billmen of the Royal Square topped the rise, still in their columns of march and with a self-confident swagger that said bluntly, "Clear the way, you amateurs. The professional soldiers have arrived."
"Move out!" Verkan ordered. There weren't enough guns the size of Galzar's Teeth to take a bite out of these men. He turned to Xykos and added, "When we reach Captain-General Alkides, you make sure he goes with us. I don't give a damn what he says, general or no general!"
The grin splitting Xykos' face told Verkan that Alkides would have an easier time avoiding the marksmen of the Royal Square than he would escaping his giant bodyguard.
IV
Sirna stepped out the door of the foundry warehouse, mopped the sweat off her forehead, and looked up at the roof where Captain Ranthar was still wearing a groove in the wood as he paced back and forth, looking off to the southwest. Sirna had been up there herself earlier in the day, but the steady drumming of gunfire and the vast cloud of gray smoke off toward Phyrax didn't tell her anything.
She doubted they told Ranthar very much either, and suspected that he was up on the roof because it was a way of not having to talk with the rest of the University Team. She was sure he'd sensed the hostility of some of them, and she also suspected that he felt guilty at not being in battle with his comrades—and whom did he see as his comrades, his Chief Verkan Vall or the Mounted Rifles?
Even their military advisor Professor Aranth Saln had admitted that it was hard to tell much from a lot of smoke and intermittent rumbling noises, without being able to see any troop movements. "At least there haven't been any wounded or fugitives coming back," he'd added. "That means something. Either Kalvan's army has gone into the bag without any survivors"—at which point Sirna felt the blood leave her head—"or else the Hostigi are still holding on and in good order. I'd say it's more likely the second. From what we know about Kalvan and his army, it would take more than the Holy Host to mop them up that fast."
That was typical of Aranth Saln despite his formidable appearance—polite to everybody, intelligent whenever he spoke, but committing himself only on his own specialty of Pre-industrial Military Science. It was hard to trust him completely but harder still to really dislike him, even if he was a retired Army Colonel. He certainly didn't fit Sirna's image of a military professional.
"Hey!" Ranthar shouted, and ran toward the stairs from the roof. Sirna looked around and saw three bedraggled horsemen cantering toward the foundry gate. Two rode haltingly, as though they'd never been on horseback before. All wore the colors blue and gold, which she remembered were the colors of the Princedom of Ulthor, and the red sashes of Hos-Hostigos. She reached the gate at the same time as the lead horseman, a tall man with a young-looking bearded face.
"Run for your life, mistress! The Styphoni have broken through the center and turned the Great Battery on our own army. King Kalvan is missing—all is lost!"
"Is the whole army running?" a voice from behind Sirna asked, full of contempt and authority.
The young horseman looked as if he'd been slapped, then lunged for his sword.
Captain Ranthar had his pistol drawn and stepped forward. "I asked you a question."
The young man dropped his hand from his sword hilt and said, "I don't know, sir...I guess we didn't stay around to see. We saw some comrades get hit by case shot and decided we didn't want anything to do with it."
One of the horsemen cried, "I got a wife and son back in Ulthor! What do I care about Styphon's House or Hostigos?"
"That will be enough," Ranthar said.
By now the res
t of the University Study Team and half the foundry workers had gathered around the gate. "Let the man speak!" Varnath Lala cried. "If the Army of Hostigos is losing, then we'd better get marching."
There was chorus of agreement from the rest of the Study Team faculty members.
The horseman looked encouraged and was about to speak, when everyone heard the sound of Ranthar's pistol being cocked. "You and I"—he paused and used his barrel to point to the horseman's two companions—"and these two—gentlemen—are going to go back and take another look to see what's really happening. And pick up any other stragglers we happen to find."
"You're here to take care of us, Ranthar, and don't you forget it!" Lala screeched.
"He can take care of himself," Lathor Karv said, "but I'm for getting out of here." He set off for the stables in a wide-loping gait followed by two-thirds of the Study Team, including Varnath Lala, who only paused long enough to give Captain Ranthar a withering glare.
Ranthar turned to Talgan Dreth, who looked as if he would have much preferred to be with the party heading for the stables. "Director Talgan, if you decide it's necessary, go ahead and prepare for Emergency Evacuation Procedure, Code Yellow. I'm going to reconnoiter the battlefield and find out first hand what is happening and whether or not we need to evacuate." He pointed to one of the undercover Paratime Policemen who acted as Foundry guards. "I'll send someone back if things look bad. I suggest you leave a few volunteers to watch over the foundry until you hear from me, or until it becomes apparent that King Kalvan's army has really been routed."
Talgan was white as a Styphon's House lower priest's robe. He mumbled a response and walked as quickly as his tattered dignity would allow back to the foundry farmhouse they used as quarters.
Rather to her surprise, Sirna found herself volunteering to stay. So did Eldra, Aranth Saln and some of the others who weren't on their way to the stables. Ranthar put Aranth in charge of Foundry security and rode off with the three reluctant Ulthori horsemen and one of the lower ranking Paracops.
TWENTY-SIX
I
The last of the mercenary cavalry held out for nearly an hour, far longer than Kalvan had expected. Most of that resistance could be credited to the big mercenary captain whom Kalvan recognized as the same captain who'd escaped the envelopment at Ryklos Farm. How he had ridden from the Harphaxi disaster at Chothros to Phyrax had to be a story that might one day be sung by troubadours—if the man survived the day's battle.
The big captain had escaped, but the Hostigi still wound up with more than three thousand prisoners, all of whom had to be guarded and removed from the battlefield as quickly as possible. Kalvan assigned a regiment to escort them back to Hostigos Town where they could best be split up and kept out of mischief.
All this, only to learn that Harmakros and the center had been pushed back, and worst of all, the Great Battery lost! If Chartiphon had already committed the reserve and the center folded, well, the next battle might be at the gates of Tarr-Hostigos.
Not to mention no word about Rylla or the baby, either. Her delivery had come at the worst of all possible times. If only he knew whether she was alive and doing well, or... Hell and damnation, if something happened to the baby—! Well, they could always try again. Or adopt an heir if they had to.
This not knowing was the worst. Now was no time to worry, though...
He had to relieve the pressure on Harmakros before the center went into an uncontrollable rout—and all was lost. That, and pray that Ptosphes could hold back the Zarthani Knights a bit longer.
Kalvan looked back at his command; it was a smaller and less orderly group than he'd led across Phyrax pasture an hour ago. Yet, their spirits were high and most of the gaps in the ranks had been closed. Since he couldn't reach the Sacred Squares, he was going to do the next best thing: hit the mercenary foot on the flank, roll right over them and smash the Order foot.
"Major Nicomoth, signal advance!"
Kalvan checked the loads in his pistols, raised his sword and joined his voice to six thousand others in a single shout:
"DOWN STYHPON!"
The mercenary foot, attacked in the flank and from the rear, displayed little of the fight that the mercenary cavalry had. Perhaps they're not as well led? Kalvan wondered. A few of the pikemen put their helmets on their pikes and raised them in formal surrender, but most threw down their arms and cried "Oath to Galzar!" or simply took to their heels. About eight hundred were shot, run through or simply ridden down; twenty-five hundred surrendered.
The Zarthani Order Foot were made of stouter stuff and used the time it took Kalvan's cavalry to ride through the mercenary lines to wheel and face the Hostigi charge. Fortunately, the Order infantry had three pikes to every firearm and no artillery. And Kalvan had another surprise for them.
He gave the order for the caracole, a difficult maneuver the cavalry had practiced but never used in such strength, or on the battlefield. He knew it would take luck and the help of Galzar or Somebody to bring it off even with troopers he trusted completely. The caracole required both discipline and iron nerves for successive ranks of cavalry to ride within ten feet of the enemy line, fire both pistols, then wheel away to let the next rank to follow.
The endless hours practicing the caracole on the drill ground paid off. Despite the steady fire from the Order's shot, and the unearthly screams of wounded horses, the for-real caracole went off in a surprisingly good imitation of how it had been practiced on the parade ground. The Order's arquebusiers emptied more than a few Hostigi saddles in the beginning, but the cumulative effect of continuous heavy fire beat them down, then began to shred the ranks of pikemen. The pike ranks showed gaps, wavered and began to leak deserters. The Order Foot were brave men and veterans, but no unit could stand helpless taking casualties like this without something breaking. It was the pikemen who could not stand it any longer and charged the Hostigi horse wildly, in no particular order and hardly under the control of their officers.
Finally! thought Kalvan. Pikemen on the move who weren't keeping their ranks tight were comparatively easy meat for cavalry. He ordered the countercharge.
The Hostigi cavalry smashed through the disordered pikemen and rode them into the ground, sabers rising and falling. Few asked for quarter, fewer yet were granted it; these were Styphon's soldiers and killing them was like killing rattlesnakes. Most died where they stood. Kalvan watched from the rear, knowing that whoever won today, Grand Master Soton of the Order of Zarthani Knights would never forget the price his Order paid.
II
"Fire!"
Or at least that's what Harmakros thought his battle-numb ears had heard. A moment later the crash of the gun proved him right. After the redoubt explosion, he wondered if he would ever hear well again. If he survived this nightmare-of-the-gods battle, he might find out!
The ball gouged a huge clod out of the slope, spraying the Sacred Square of Imbraz with grass, dirt and pebbles. It bounced high, crashed through a cluster of billheads with a weird clanking, then dropped to the ground out of Harmakros' sight. He couldn't see or hear if it did any damage.
That was probably the demicannon that had run out of case shot. It wasn't the only one, not after the Great Battery had been lost and retaken. The Ktemnoi infantry must be running short of fireseed and shot, too; their musketeers were only firing a half-company at a time and aimed fire instead of volleying by ranks. Not that aiming at two hundred paces with a smoothbore did much good, but it couldn't hurt. Harmakros had been knocked on his back once since they'd recaptured the Grand Battery. Fortunately, the cotton gambeson he wore underneath his breastplate—at Kalvan's recommendation—had left him with bruised, but not broken, ribs.
Harmakros wasn't exactly sure in the confusion what was responsible for the temporary retreat of the Holy Host. One messenger had claimed that Kalvan had attacked them in the rear, but if that were true, why had the retreat stopped so quickly? It was Chartiphon's tardy arrival with the Ktethroni pikemen who had brough
t the Sacred Squares to a standstill in the first place, giving the battered Hostigi infantry time to regroup and mount their own counterattack. It was during this counterattack that the Styphoni had begun to fall back.
Now the Holy Host was back on the march. So far the Hostigi had been able to hold them back from the top of the slope and the Great Battery until the Styphoni center now formed a gigantic arc with the Royal Square of Ktemnos now at Harmakros' right, stretching through the Second Great Square to the First on the left. Directly in front of Harmakros the ground was mostly defended by the fire of the Great Battery itself, but he could see the surviving Mounted Riflemen and his own Mobile Force dragoons tying in with the First Hostigos Royal Foot beyond.
Another gun fired, a sixteen-pounder from the sound of it, and this ball cut a bloody furrow in the Sacred Square of Cynthlos. Another far-off gunshot came like an echo to the first. The Great Battery's few remaining guns on the left were firing occasionally, to do what they could to discourage the Zarthani Knights. From what little intelligence Harmakros had been able to gather in this potmess of a battle, the Knights had run Ptosphes and most of the left wing into the forest. Phrames, Sarrask and maybe fifteen hundred heavy cavalry were all that was keeping the Grand Master from committing his Knights in support of the Sacred Squares. If that happened, neither Great King Kalvan nor Galzar himself would be able to save the Army of Hos-Hostigos.
Harmakros heard the sixteen-pounder fire again, then a great shout.
"Long live King Kalvan!"
He turned, raised his hands to shield his eyes, and saw in the distance the red plumes of Hostigos pushing into the black plumes of the Zarthani Knights.
Praise Allfather Dralm and Galzar Wolfhead, was Harmakros' one thought.
He watched for a moment long, then knelt and said sort prayer of thanks to gods who had clearly not forgotten Hostigos.
