“Up, lads!” he roared. “We’re heavy assault troops now. We’re going to scatter that cavalry rabble quickly and then break on Vocke’s flank like an ocean wave. We’ve got to swamp them, push until we can’t push anymore.” He pointed at the enemy ranks with his spear. “Don’t let the Sun Swords slow us down! Don’t let up! Advance double-pace… now!”
The Tooth and Blade foot marched out faster than the company to their left, almost running. Shields up, a dismounted Damicos in the lead, they began to gradually wheel to the left so they could come at the enemy at an angle that would compact them into their center rear.
“Here come their horse! Make ready!” Damicos shouted. He was dimly aware of the Red Lancers silently speeding across the field on the left and hitting the center of Vocke’s ranks, which had failed to cohere in time.
He saw Kallida and her chariots at the head of the assault and briefly wondered at the decision to put the charioteers in the position of greatest risk. If they impacted with the ranks of the foe and were slowed or halted, it would be the end of them all. Momentum was everything to a chariot, and he realized he was probably looking at the last charge of the Red Lioness.
Damicos focused his gaze on the horsemen barreling toward him at a gallop. Sun Swords, bronze sabers out and ready, came on like swift darts from Telion’s hand. Awe-inspiring, and sickening for one standing in their path.
The captain of a Kerathi phalanx traditionally took the leftmost and foremost position, the very front corner of his men. The cavalry knew that and would target him. There was a slight gap on Damicos’ left, between him and the right-most Deep Shield hoplite. Damicos knew the enemy horsemen would try to hit that gap and widen it.
“Phalanx! Form wall!”
As one, the hoplites ground to a halt. Shields interlocked with a clatter of bronze, presenting a tight barrier that bristled with long spears as every man in the front rows brought his spear into position over the top. The men behind leaned into their forward comrades, helping the brace, ready to fill gaps in the line. Tamwrit was among them, his smooth face pale but set. Cormoran snarled in battle rage.
“Taste the spears! Come and taste our spears!”
The pounding of oncoming hooves drowned out everything else. The ground shook. Sandals dug into the dirt, seeking purchase. Men gasped, snarled, shouted. Breath rasped inside helmets. Eyes glittered.
Damicos’ mouth was dry. His heart was hammering its way out of his chest. He couldn’t swallow. His body was screaming at him to flinch, to turn away from the horsemen barreling toward him with lances outstretched.
He was the captain. He did not flinch.
A single Sun Sword rider thundered toward him, separating slightly from the pack, eager to gain glory by taking out an enemy captain. Damicos ground his feet into the sand. The knuckles gripping his spear turned white.
Damicos launched forward at the last second and met the horseman with an outstretched spear-point. His first sergeant, Leon, on his immediate right, did the same in tandem. The oncoming rider missed both men with his lancetip, startled by the sudden movement of his target. He was flung backward from his saddle with two spears driven through his ribcage, the joint under his breastplate no match for sharpened bronze and momentum. The rider hit the ground with a thud and did not rise, but Damicos’ spear was ripped from his grasp, stuck in the horseman’s body
The horse, riderless, veered at the last second and its momentum carried it through the gap. Its shoulder clipped Damicos, spinning him half around. He whipped out his wide, heavy short-sword and took up a high stance that would allow him to chop or thrust at mounted riders.
Two more horses were approaching at a gallop, veering at the last second when the phalanx didn’t waver. One escaped, the other was too slow and was spitted on the long spears.
A fourth came at him. Leon, concerned for his captain’s safety without a long spear to stop charges, had broken from the wall just long enough to pull both spears from the first rider. Now the lieutenant was out of position, exposed and vulnerable. He turned, saw his danger. The horseman spurred his mount harder for the last few instants before contact.
Without hesitation Leon flung Damicos’ spear at the oncoming cavalryman. It glanced off the horse’s neck and bloodied the rider’s knee, causing both horse and rider to slow dramatically and veer to one side, velocity spent.
Damicos took advantage of the lateral movement to lunge and plant his sword into the faltering rider where his armor joined at the hip. The horse staggered into another man’s spear and soon the rider was down on the ground, hacked into oblivion by infantrymen’s sword arms.
Ahead, Damicos saw his lieutenant again seeking to retrieve his spear.
“Leon, you fool!” Damicos snarled. “Get back into the wall!”
Leon grinned, snatched up the spear, and scurried back into line, where the wall closed over him. The lieutenant passed the weapon to his captain. “There you are, sir. Thanks for lending it.” Damicos took it with a shake of his head.
That was the extent of the cavalry charge on Damicos’ side. The Sun Swords had spread to only a few deep in order to clash with the entirety of Damicos’ wide ranks.
The infantry captain scanned the line to his right to see how the rest of his men were faring. He let out a triumphant shout when he saw that some twenty cavalry had underestimated the cohesion of the shield wall and fallen victim to spear thrusts. The men around him echoed the shout and beat their shields in defiance of the enemy.
“Forward, march!” Damicos yelled, and the phalanx broke apart just enough to advance once more, slowly, ready to reform on the instant.
The Sun Swords, unsuccessful in their initial charge, scattered and wheeled, seeking easier meat at a different angle. Damicos saw Treliam himself leading the retreat, riding hard to the east to get away from the advancing troops whose spears were now at his back. The ground ahead was clear of horses; only Vocke’s infantry now faced them.
“Do not stop! Do not stop!” Damicos screamed. “Hit them, hit them, hit them!”
The men began to run.
A quick check to the left showed that the Red Lancers had done their work, crushing the front ranks of Vocke’s center mass just before they could halt and form the phalanx. A few horses lay kicking, but most of the fallen shapes were enemy infantry. Their comrades were rapidly re-forming to repair the breach, but shortened their lines as a result, drawing apart from the flanks on either side.
That was good. Damicos wagered he’d be able to hit Vocke’s isolated left and perhaps overwhelm them before they could re-link with the center. He couldn’t see any of Kallida’s chariots, but knew that if they had survived contact with the phalanx then they were still out there, wheel blades scything men like ripe grain. The battle was fully on now, and the next ten minutes would be essential to setting the pace for the rest of the day.
On Vocke’s right, Menier Oltan was leading his horsemen around the steep hillock and into Telros’ left flank. The Black Manes were much more determined and experienced than the Sun Swords and could ravage the infantry if Telros hadn’t put hardy men there. So far it seemed the cavalry of both sides had maneuvered around each other without a clash.
Damicos turned his attention back to the final and most decisive issue—the foot battle his own men were about to begin. The line opposing them, Vocke’s left flank, appeared tight and unbroken. But Damicos knew they had seen the Red Lancers break through the center. The temptation to look over their shoulders had to be overwhelming. The phalanx was a powerful tool, almost unstoppable from the front, but every man of them knew he was vulnerable to a mounted charge from behind.
It was now the Storm Furies’ time to exploit that fear, to smite them and keep them so focused on the push between the phalanxes so that they would forget to check their rear. With any luck, the Lioness’ chariots or the Red Lancers would see the opportunity and hit them where they were unprepared. If not, the Tooth and Blade must earn their pay the hard way.
The enemy, mere paces away now, were a mix of heavy infantry clusters with lighter skirmishers in between, some javelin-casters and others wielding swords and axes of heavy bronze. Damicos scanned their faces and noted that while some were hard and determined, one in three had eyes glittering with fear.
“Their horse couldn’t stop us,” he snarled with sudden desire for blood and victory. “Their foot won’t stop us. We will break them apart!”
Telion! Protect thy sons!
He raised his sword high and bellowed to his men. “Hit them hard!”
The sergeants echoed the words down the line.
“Steady… and… engage!”
At his command the front line broke into a last fierce run, covering the remaining distance in an instant and crashing into the oncoming wall with a thump and a roar that pushed the enemy line back a full stride.
The shoving match began. Bodies strained and heaved as each side, shields interlocked, sought to push back the foe and break their line. Spears thrust and stabbed over the shields, aiming for face and shoulder—punching in, returning a clotted red. The second and third ranks marched in, inexorable, pushing against the backs of the men ahead, forcing them forward.
Calf muscles bulged and knotted as men pushed for their lives. To break through, to smash through – that was all. All existence came down to that. Those who fell did not rise again, trampled broken and bloody into the sod.
The air over the field was full of the cacophony of war, and the ground trembled as foot and hoof pummeled its turf. Closer to the shore, sand flew as men and beasts strained to pierce one another. Everything became a flurry of grit, blood, and noise.
Amid the chaos, not a soul witnessed the sudden shifting of soil around the little hillock called Argos’ Wart.
CHAPTER 24: BATTLE IN THE FOREST
The horse troopers roused in the pre-dawn gloom, chill and damp with dew. The fires were all smoking black heaps that had to be kicked to life, and a hurried breakfast eaten standing around them.
Keltos felt the jitters in his gut as he munched biscuit and strips of dried beef. Good jitters. The odds were good that they’d see action this day. He and Makos were well on their way to becoming the full-blooded warriors they’d dreamed of back in Kerath. There they had hunted gazelles with lance and bow, and drilled with other recruits, but never had they faced mortal combat with determined enemies. It was so different now.
What happened this day mattered.
The sentries had given no alarms during the night, and the men were rested and ready. As the first pink glow of the sun showed eastwards, their guide approached, the woodcutter who’d seen the apes at the lake. He introduced himself as Jakius, but didn’t say much else. He seemed unhappy to be headed back to the site of his encounter with the creatures.
The cook, Tibion, remained in camp with a token guard, three young troopers furious to be missing the action, and two men that were on sick call. The rest saddled and mounted in silence.
The guide, Jakius, refused the offer of a horse and led off, trotting at a steady pace with his own long legs. The company followed, Pelekarr in the lead.
They moved north past the cleared land of Greenfield’s farms, and then east, into the trees. It was a green labyrinth, a jade wall, and the rising sun barely penetrated its borders. Keltos drew a deep breath as Hetta carried him through the hanging boughs into a still-twilit world.
It was like nothing Keltos had ever seen. The plains of Kerath were hot and dry, covered with long grass; copses of cedar and cypress grew here and there, but nothing like this. This was an emerald world, the very air heavy with wet smells and sweet growing scents. Leaves of a hundred shapes and textures, millions of them. The wooded hills they’d entered for the fight against Black Tur were nowhere near this dense.
Everything was morning-still and dew-damp. Tree trunks stood dark and gnarled, gray and brown and black. Twigs, branches, and sticks crisscrossed Keltos’ vision until he had to stare down at his pommel just to regain his bearings. The deep loam underfoot muffled the horses’ heavy tread.
He was hopelessly lost within moments of entering the forest. Even worse, they didn’t seem to be following any kind of straight path. It was impossible; there were no roads here, and although the woodcutter swore he was taking them on the most direct cross-country route he could, some of the men grumbled that he was leading them through every briar patch in the region on purpose.
Keltos was chagrined. He realized he’d been expecting an open, grassy track straight to their destination with perhaps some tall trees on either side of the road. Now he felt stupid, and the guarded warnings of Makos and Somber Dom the night before seemed obvious. If a pack of howling apes fell on them in here, there would be little room to maneuver and it would be nearly impossible to form a decent charge.
Rocky outcroppings jutted from the forest floor here and there, forcing them to detour constantly. Keltos didn’t recognize the stone. It was pale gray but flecked with other colors. Here and there small brooklets babbled and chuckled their way in rocky little beds, dainty and clear, sometimes forming limpid pools bottomed with tiny colored gravel in which small fish darted. They were enchanting to look upon but slowed the column down even further.
Their guide did his best to stick to horse-friendly paths, but there was no easy way to move all the horse soldiers through the woods without turning every few yards. Two hours passed before they came to the lake.
Keltos gazed on it with relief. It wasn’t much of a lake, more a large pond or forest tarn. Here, at least, the trees cleared over the dark water. In the still morning air, a white mist was rising from the surface, obscuring the far shore. Great water plants with massive, flat green leaves lay atop the water near the shore, and blossoms of pale pink opened to the sky. Keltos saw a fat green frog sitting in the middle of one of these leaves, solemn as a priest. It was only the second he’d ever seen in his life. In Tekelin, frogs were only found in the private gardens of the wealthy.
The woodcutter conferred with the captain and Sergeant Bivar at the head of the column. The rest of the men stretched back out of sight into the undergrowth and trees. Men were shuffling, ill at ease, speaking only in whispers. The forest was an alien thing that seemed to mutter and grope and sigh all about them.
Keltos saw Pelekarr dismount and study the ground, observing tracks. The woodcutter spoke and pointed around the lake’s southern shore and on into the trees. Bivar nodded, and the captain remounted. Pressing on, the column moved even more slowly now, letting the woodcutter pick his way forward as he studied the trail.
Keltos watched the ground, and from time to time he could make out the hand-like splayed spoor of an ape’s foot. Seeing them in the mud sent a thrill through him. Their quarry was real, and close. The tracks were very fresh. They might have startled the beasts from cover moments before, and he expected an order to surge forward at any moment.
But the morning passed slowly without any such command from the captain. Through the forest canopy they caught glimpses of the sun, sparkling down in golden trickles that flared on lance head or helmet. At one point Keltos saw a gazelle-like creature, slender and ethereal, with what appeared to be branching horns of some kind on its head, but these were covered with short fur. It made not a sound, and faded into the vast depths with almost unnatural ease.
Finally, up ahead came the sight of a meadow through the trees. Keltos could see open grass. He smiled, nudging Makos, who also smiled. At last, open ground.
The column halted. Up ahead, the woodcutter was pantomiming silence. The captain and his lead sergeant dismounted, signaling the column to remain in the trees, and advanced on foot with the guide. When they returned, all three were tense with excitement.
Word came down the line: “Apes in the clearing. Form a skirmish line.”
Sergeant Bivar appeared next to Makos and Keltos, pointing where he wanted his troops. The plan was a two-pronged advance, with half the cavalry as the arms of the scorpion a
nd the rest coming behind as the stinger to punch through and divide the enemy. With luck, a total envelopment would be effected, the enemy body scattered. Then it would be a matter of running down individual fleeing apes.
Keltos’ unit was in the left pincer, and within moments they were ready, holding nervous horses in check. He felt Hetta tremble beneath him, and he patted her neck. She was a beautiful creature, and he loved her dearly. He knew she would do well today.
The order to advance came, and Keltos nudged Hetta forward. Beside her, Makos leaned low over Brel’s neck to avoid a low hanging branch. It was a good advance; the damp leaf mold and loam muffled their tread, and there was no breath of breeze to carry their scent. Slowly, through the trees, the clearing drew closer. Keltos raked the open space with an eager gaze, looking for a first glimpse of their prey.
Sergeant Bivar herded them left with one outstretched arm, staying in the trees to remain unseen until the envelopment had been fully prepared. Keltos was able to stare to his right as they began to curve around the clearing’s perimeter. He drew in a deep breath.
Hairy figures slouched and shuffled out in the grass. The morning sun gleamed on pale, tawny fur, an almost white blonde. They were larger than he had expected, fully as tall as a man when they stood erect, and the long arms were corded with muscle visible even at this distance. He counted about thirty of them, including several young ones. Females carried whelps on their backs, or in the crook of one arm. They seemed to be feeding on the succulent shoots of meadow grass, and were completely unaware of the enemy presence.
“Not so cunning, after all,” Keltos breathed.
Makos leaned close to his ear. “But where are the males?”
Keltos stared. Makos was right. He saw a few males, judging by the absence of breast development, but they were young, smaller than the females. There were no full grown males visible on the meadow.
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