Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four

by Shepherd, Joel

  Daish paled. “You think?” He looked along the riverbank.

  Sasha nodded. “I don't know how, but we did,” she murmured, staring downward. Arken's line was nearly at the artillery now, but having penetrated into the Regent's force, his flanks were under pressure. A thin silver wall of men fought hard to keep the tide at bay.

  Daish galloped away, and passed Yasmyn as he left. “The Lenays are crossing the river as they pull back,” she informed Sasha when she arrived, “they're coming under our artillery cover. The Regent's forces pursue, but not hard; they seem shocked.”

  “Lenayin does that,” Sasha agreed.

  Yasmyn smiled ferociously. “The artillery captain tells me that any who pursue them beneath his fire will regret it. How goes the fight?”

  Sasha merely pointed. Yasmyn watched for a moment. “Courageous,” she said. “Should you send more?”

  “In very little time I'm not going to have enough,” Sasha replied. “Even with what I have now.”

  “Like trying to plug twelve holes with ten fingers.”

  Sasha nodded. “Soon we'll be using toes.”

  Jaryd made his second run back at a canter, holding a Valhanan man with a slashed arm before him in the saddle. The Valhanan had insisted upon walking, but lost a lot of blood, and his comrades had insisted he take a horse. Jaryd rode with him in front so he could be caught if he fell.

  The Army of Lenayin retreated in good order along the south side of the valley, beneath heights held by the Ilduuri. Many were frustrated, yelling aloud to any commander who would listen that they should turn about and go straight back. No doubt enough of them remained in good enough shape that they would win yet another glorious victory, and then perhaps another, if they wished. But after a few more such victories, the Regent's army would simply continue to advance, while the Army of Lenayin would fairly much cease to exist.

  The Rhodaani Steel now advanced in gleaming squares up the valley centre, men on the near flank sending cheers to the retreating Lenays, who saluted back in good humour. No doubt the Rhodaanis were somewhat cheered to see that despite obvious losses, the Army of Lenayin still appeared strong and in high spirits. Jaryd looked at those tightly packed squares of Rhodaanis, and wondered if the same would stand for them, when the hellfire rounds began falling.

  He joined other cavalry heading upslope and around the valley wall, and then down again to the far side. There, a hospital was working feverishly in the yard of a farmhouse, and he was assisted by Jahndi women in taking the wounded Lenay from his saddle. There were many serrin here also, men and women, villagers from across Saalshen who had come to help, yet could not fight. Many of those were learning archery, which could certainly be of use in later defence, even if poorly aimed. Others made arrows, or ballista bolts, or even hellfire, prepared further defences, and helped to tend the wounded.

  On a horse nearby he saw a familiar figure directing a steady flow of wagons that now trundled out from Jahnd, and threatened to make a blockage as they churned up the valley roads. Jaryd smiled, as she talked to some hard-of-hearing individual who had aroused her displeasure.

  “No!” Sofy was insisting loudly. “Dismantle the fence—you can't fit all these wagons through that gate. Bring the fence down and then you can move as many wagons as you like back and forth, otherwise we'll never move wounded as fast as they arrive!”

  She was about to go on to the next trouble spot when she saw him. And smiled with a delight that set his heart to thumping, even despite all the thumping it had just done for different reasons. She trotted quickly over.

  “I heard they were magnificent!” she said.

  “Lenayin's finest hour,” said Jaryd. “Pity Koenyg wasn't there to be part of it.”

  Sofy's eyes fell, and she swallowed. Jaryd regretted he'd said it. “You're well?” she asked, recovering quickly.

  “I'm well, Damon too, most of his friends. Casualties quite light, all things considered, but still too high.”

  “Better than it could have been,” said Sofy, with feeling. Jaryd nodded. “Jaryd…”

  “I know,” he said, and smiled. He wanted to kiss her, but she looked so busy, and there were wounded all around. She had done this kind of thing before, and with her authority, she could make things happen. “You take care.”

  “And you,” she said. “Is Sasha…?”

  “She's fine. Don't worry about us, Sofy. You save some lives.”

  Sofy nodded with determination, spun her horse, and cantered off to supervise more arrivals. Jaryd looked around.

  A steady stream of wounded continued to arrive, many of them on horseback. Jaryd saw a serrin man with two Lenays balanced on his horse, and three Lenay infantry, big, ferocious-looking men, one of whom carried a small serrin woman with a wounded leg. So many stories, he thought. So many hopes, friendships, and tragedies, unfolding upon these lands. He imagined the Army of Lenayin, marching triumphant back to their homeland, with a number of serrin wives accompanying them. A few serrin women at least might find the idea appealing…provided their new husbands promised them lives filled with more than that of a traditional Lenay wife. And he imagined himself, arriving back in his homeland, a new noble title to his name and with Sofy in a saddle beside him.

  Jaryd sighed, shook his head to clear it of unnecessary thoughts, and cantered off to the path along the wall, and his army beyond.

  The Ilduuri were running back up the slope. Exhausted, some half-carrying wounded comrades, they struggled and strained up the grassy hill, around rocky outcrops and charred trees. Arrows streaked up and into them, lower velocity on the upward arc, but still fast enough to pierce exposed flesh and mail. Running men fell, and were helped up by comrades, but the Regent's men were pursuing behind, and those in the rear were fighting a desperate rearguard.

  “Lowest slope!” Sasha yelled at her archers. “Let nothing fall short!” Arrows streaked away, and then fell, a long, fast plummet toward the bottom of the slope. “Yasmyn, get back to the artillery and tell them to fire only at the lowest slope, nothing falls short!”

  Yasmyn galloped off. Sasha did not trust the trumpet now to call artillery—its notes did not allow for enough precision, and she was desperate to avoid killing her own men with those terrible weapons.

  A new, whistling, thudding noise drew her attention back down the slope. Ballistas by the Ipshaal River were firing uphill. They could not elevate enough to hit the ridge, but their bolts were streaking by the score straight into her struggling, retreating men who were now approaching midslope. She saw them hit, smashed, and pinned into the turf, armour and all. She saw men trying to retrieve fallen comrades, only to find them literally stuck to the ground. The screams were a horror, and she could see their faces, eyes up toward the ridge, desperate to reach that safety.

  And now, at midslope but further to the right, clustered beneath their shields for protection from Ilduuri archers, a large mass of Bacosh soldiery was preparing to hit those climbing men from the side.

  “Captain Dalen!” she yelled. “Form another three companies and sweep down this ridge! Clear those scum off our mountain!”

  Captain Dalen rushed to do that. Some fast orders and men sprinted from amongst the ridgeline trees to make new lines. More ballista fire tore into the retreating party. They were not nearly so fast now as on their morning runs. The Ilduuri Steel were tough and talented, yet they had not seen heavy battle in a long while, and perhaps had not realised that fast manoeuvres in training, and fast manoeuvres after heavy fighting were completely different things.

  With a roar, the new Ilduuri line went over the edge and plunged down the slope. Archers sent arrows whistling ahead of them as Bacosh soldiers appeared from cover and tried to make a line. On the downslope, against Ilduuris desperate to cover their comrades, they had little chance. Still some of the Bacosh line was engaging the climbing Ilduuris, exhausted men fighting hard just to get through, until their comrades arrived and sent the Regent's soldiers fleeing down to the bottom
.

  They clashed too with the soldiers who pursued them, forming a rearguard that was fresh and full of fight. Heavy clashes followed, lines of Ilduuri men repelling great waves of Bacosh soldiers, and killing many with the great advantage of skill, armour, and height. Finally, the artillery was resuming, first ballista fire spattering across the lower slope, and then the blinding flashes of hellfire.

  Retreating Ilduuris made the ridge and collapsed to hands and knees, gasping for air. Comrades helped them, and moved them back into the trees so they did not block the way for others coming up. Some came up wounded, helped by friends, some with arrows sticking through legs or arms, and some with worse. Sasha remained out of their way, doing some rough counting. Downslope, Bacosh men were falling back fast. As they did so, Bacosh artillery resumed firing at their newly available targets—the second wave of Ilduuri soldiers now at midslope. More were hit, with brutal force.

  “Trumpeter!” Sasha yelled. “Full retreat, get them back up here!”

  The exhausted, battered Ilduuris looked dejected. They'd overrun several ballistas and a catapult, but had been unable to do much damage before the Regent's forces had overwhelmed them. Dead crews would be replaced, and little would change. Now those same ballistas were killing their friends.

  Sasha leaped down from her horse and walked amongst them, whacking shoulders and shields with fierce appreciation.

  “Magnificent!” she told them, moving from one man to the next. “Brave as all hells! Formidable soldiering, Lenayin could not have done better!”

  “We failed you,” a sergeant mumbled, face streaked with sweat and blood.

  “You failed no one!” Sasha shouted for all to hear. “You gave them a fucking thrashing. I see their blood all over your swords and shields! It is my fault. I gave you an impossible task and still you nearly pulled it off! You are heroes, each and every one!”

  It seemed to have some effect, as men sat to rest, and drink, and check on their friends. Sasha continued walking amongst them, determined to put a hand on as many shoulders and a word of encouragement in as many ears as possible. Now the second rank began returning, some of them wounded, and she walked amongst them as well.

  A lieutenant came to her, having made a more precise count. “Six hundred and thirteen missing,” he said quietly. “Another hundred and five too wounded to fight.” Nearly all of those in the first wave, he did not need to say. “Captain Arken is amongst the missing, several say they saw him fall.”

  Sasha kept her face stony calm. “Get the wounded to the rear, and put the first wave survivors in reserve for now, they deserve a rest.”

  “You had to try,” said the lieutenant. Evidently her attempt at calm was not convincing.

  “I know,” she said. “Thank you, Hanser.”

  Lieutenant Hanser nodded and left. Sasha stroked her horse's nose for a moment. That had always calmed her in the past. It failed to do so now. She recalled Arken's handsome blue eyes when she'd first met him, the tall blond man who looked so much the Ilduuri ideal, and yet trusted the foreigners that so many of his fellow Ilduuri hated. They would laugh at him now, and consider themselves proven right, as his faith in the foreigners had killed him after all.

  Sasha recalled Arken's young family left behind in Andal, and hoped that it was worth it. For a brief moment, nothing was.

  Kessligh galloped past lines of hospital wagons, and others loaded with ballista bolts for the artillery. He rounded the Dhemerhill Valley's western wall and found the Rhodaani Army in preparation to advance, and General Geralin in final discussions with his officers.

  “Balthaar hits the Ilduuri with everything,” said the general. “He attacks not only along their front, but now up the valley sides as well. We must advance, to pressure their flank, or the Ilduuri will lose the ridge.”

  Kessligh nodded. “You will be advancing without artillery. You must change the formations—an open formation, as we discussed.”

  The general frowned. “We are not accustomed to such formations. They disrupt our pattern of battle.”

  “The Regent's artillery will disrupt it more. Your forces are so close together that single hellfire rounds will destroy entire portions of your formation. Should you attack in such a manner, the Rhodaani Steel may be destroyed in its entirety.”

  General Geralin had not liked this idea when Kessligh first suggested it, and he did not like it now. The Steel had introduced hellfire into their artillery nearly one hundred years ago, and despite a century of trying, various enemies had failed to discover the secrets of its making. Now, things had changed.

  “The Lenays made their attack in good order,” stated another officer. “Their losses are light. The Regent's forces have not mastered their new weapons—they are not such easy things to use.”

  “The surest way for commanders to lose battles is for them to presume that they are the only ones on the field who know what they're doing.”

  “You are Lead Commander,” General Geralin said sharply. “You are not in command of the detailed affairs of the Rhodaani Steel. They are mine to command, as I have risen from foot soldier to generalship across my thirty years of service, and I am certain I know them far better than you.”

  “You are right,” said Kessligh, “you know your soldiers better than I. But I know something of your enemy, and his capability with that artillery, and I know that he will kill all of your soldiers if you let him.”

  “Your broken formations will not contain a force of their number…” the general tried again.

  “My broken formations will allow you to absorb punishment from their artillery for a considerable time instead of being destroyed as an effective fighting force within the first few salvos.”

  “And I will not engage the enemy in a formation that does not allow my men to effectively close with and kill the enemy! Now good day, sir, I have a battle to fight!”

  He and his officer wheeled and galloped to their formations, a few of the lower officers with misgiving looks at Kessligh as they went. Kessligh refrained from swearing.

  He summoned a messenger. “Go to Sasha, tell her that if the Regent's artillery is employed in good order against the Rhodaani Steel, the Rhodaanis are about to get hammered. They're advancing with the old formation, not the new. Go!” The messenger left in a hurry.

  Rhillian arrived on horseback and reined alongside. “What is that fucking idiot Geralin up to now?” she said succinctly. “Those look like the old formations.”

  “I want their command party shadowed,” Kessligh said grimly. “If the general is killed, and pray that it comes soon, then Captain Aile should be in charge. Make certain that he is—I know he agrees with me.”

  “You can't reorder formations in close contact and under artillery fire,” Rhillian replied. “Once they're in, it's too late.”

  “No, but he will manage an orderly withdrawal before they're all dead.”

  “I have an archer in my group,” said Rhillian, emerald eyes unblinking. “Some say that he is Errollyn's equal with a bow, though there is some dispute. Many chaotic things happen under artillery fire. No one will see everything.”

  Kessligh exhaled hard. “I'd have relieved him of command, but the Rhodaani all follow him. If they catch you shooting their general off his horse, they may leave the battle. Better we take our chances. He may get lucky.”

  The attacks now made those previous seem like mere skirmishes. The Ilduuri line was assaulted across its entire front, and well down the Dhemerhill Valley. The Regent's forces had followed the Army of Lenayin's retreat into the valley, keeping at first beyond Ilduuri artillery range. Then they had attacked along a valley front more than a thousand paces wide. There had not been enough artillery or archery to so much as slow their approach this time, and now as a sea of enemy soldiers swarmed up the hills like ants upon a carcass, Sasha's entire line was engaged hand-to-hand in furious action.

  “The Rhodaanis are coming!” Sasha yelled at her men as she cantered along the ridge trai
l behind their line, weaving through the trees as Ilduuri ranks fought and exchanged places to her right. “The Rhodaanis are coming, hold the line!”

  She had no archers now, for there was no room to shoot. To her left, away from the valley, the ridge was level in parts and thickly forested, preventing any archery. Then it climbed, far more steeply than the valley walls. Their foothold upon this ridge was like a thin path upon the lip of a cliff, the enemy below and mountains behind. Any breach along the line would cut off those further along. The line had to hold, or she'd lose the whole formation.

  She passed her artillery position, a ridge that ran from the mountain behind. The great contraptions swung and sprang, shooting swarms of bolts or burning hellfire rounds streaking through the sky. That would protect her far-left flank overlooking the Ipshaal, the scene of all previous action. But it was her near-right flank that worried her most.

  She reached the bluff at the corner of the valley mouth and turned left. The fighting here was again heavy, and the sea of men below apparently inexhaustible. Flame and smoke roared into the air from hellfire impacts—catapults were poor for firing short range as their abbreviated swings were inaccurate, a terrible risk firing over the heads of friendly forces with hellfire rounds. They were only reliably accurate at long range, meaning this far flank. Ballista fire now fell across the middle and right flank, searing low over the Ilduuri line's heads to scythe through men coming uphill.

  Seeing that the line held, she turned, careful to dodge men moving across her path. Coming back down the valley, she could see the Rhodaani Steel advancing. There were great squares of glinting silver, formations that had once terrified feudal armies far smaller than this one. But this army advanced without its artillery, while the feudals, even as she watched, were beginning to fire.