The Battle for Skandia

by John Flanagan

  What was significant, however, was the behavior of the Skandians. That first attack had been designed to reduce their numbers by several hundred, not his own. In fact, there had even been the slight hope that the majority of the Skandians might have been drawn out from behind their defensive positions, into the exposed ground where they would have been easy meat for his mounted archers.

  He reined in as he came level with a group of his officers. Among them, he recognized Colonel Bin’zak, his head of intelligence. The colonel was looking decidedly uncomfortable, he saw. As well he might be.

  Haz’kam caught his eye now and jerked his head toward the Skandian defenses.

  “That was not what I was led to expect,” he said. His voice was deceptively mild. The colonel urged his own horse forward a few paces and saluted as he came level with his commander.

  “I don’t know what happened, Shan Haz’kam,” he replied. “Somehow, they seemed to see through the trap. It’s not the way I expected them to react. It’s…” He searched for the right words, finally saying weakly, “It totally un-Skandian behavior.”

  Haz’kam nodded several times. He held in his anger with an effort. It was undignified for a Temujai commander to show emotion on the field of battle.

  “Does it occur to you, perhaps,” he said eventually, when he was sure he could keep control of his voice, “that the Skandians may have someone with them who knows our way of fighting?”

  Bin’zak frowned as he turned this thought over. In truth, it hadn’t occurred to him. But now that the Shan mentioned it, it seemed the logical conclusion. Except for one factor.

  “It would be unlike the Skandians to give field command to a foreigner,” he said thoughtfully. Haz’kam smiled at him. But it was a smile without the faintest touch of humor in it.

  “It was unlike them to break off their pursuit, form a shield wall and then hit us with a surprise attack from the woods too,” he pointed out. The colonel said nothing to that. The truth of the statement was self-evident.

  “There have been reports,” the Shan continued, “that a foreigner has been seen with the Skandians…one of those cursed Atabi.”

  Atabi, literally meaning “the green ones,” was the Temujai term for Rangers. In the years since Halt had made his successful horse raid, the Temujai leaders had attempted to gather as much knowledge as they could about the mysterious force of men who wore green and gray cloaks and seemed to meld into the forest. In the past few years, in preparation for this campaign, spies had even reached as far as Araluen itself, asking questions and seeking answers. They had learned little. The Rangers guarded their secrets jealously and the ordinary Araluens were reluctant to discuss the Ranger Corps with foreigners. There was a strong undercurrent of belief among Araluens that Rangers dabbled in magic and the black arts. Nobody was too keen to discuss such matters.

  Now, at this mention of an Atabi among the enemy, Colonel Bin’zak shrugged.

  “They were rumors only, Shan,” he protested. “None of my men could confirm the fact.”

  The general’s gaze locked on his. “I think we’ve just had it confirmed,” he said, holding the colonel’s eyes until the officer looked down and away.

  “Yes, Shan,” he said bitterly. He knew his career was finished. Haz’kam now raised his voice, addressing the other officers gathered around and dismissing the matter of the disgraced intelligence colonel.

  “It might also explain why our own planned surprise attack from the ocean failed to materialize,” he said, and there were a few assenting grunts. The plot with Slagor had also been hatched by Bin’zak. Now, it seemed, the 150 men who had embarked on the Skandian ships four days ago had simply vanished into thin air.

  The general came to a decision. “No more subterfuge. We’ve wasted enough time here. We’ve been delayed by three weeks already. Standard attack from now on: rolling arrow storm until we create a weakness, then we drive through their line.”

  His commanders nodded their assent. He looked around at them, seeing their determination, their grim confidence. The Temujai were about to do what they did best, using their mobility and the devastating force of their mounted archers to probe and weaken the enemy line. Then, when the moment was right, they would drive in with their sabers and lances and finish the job. There was no shouting of battle cries, no histrionics from these men.

  This was a normal day at work for them.

  “Give your orders,” Haz’kam told them. “Watch for my commands.”

  He wheeled his horse, ready to ride back to the knoll where he had set up his command position. Already, signal flags were beginning to order the standard assault. A voice from behind made him pause.

  “General!” It was Bin’zak. He had forsaken the social honorific of “Shan,” Haz’kam noticed, and addressed him by his military title. The general faced his intelligence colonel now, waiting for his next words.

  “Permission to ride with one of the Ulans, sir,” Bin’zak said, his head held high. Ulan was the Temujai word for the formation of sixty riders that was the basic unit of the Temujai force. Haz’kam considered the request. Normally, field grade officers were kept out of the close contact part of battles. They had no need to prove their courage or dedication. The general finally nodded permission.

  “Granted,” he said, and spurred his horse back to the command position.

  “Now what?” said Ragnak irritably as he watched the Temujai cavalry forming into groups.

  Halt watched too, his eyes narrowed. “Now, I think, it’s the end of the opening gambits. Now they’re going to hit us in earnest.” He pointed with his bow, sweeping it along the line of mounted horsemen facing them. “They’ll fight in their Ulans, sixty men in each unit, hitting us all along the line and wheeling away before we can respond. The idea is to pick off as many of our men as possible with arrows before launching a concentrated attack at a selected spot.”

  “Which is where?” Erak asked. This tactical talk was making him increasingly cross. All he wanted was a dozen or so Temujai within reach of his ax. Now it appeared he would have to continue waiting for that eventuality.

  Halt turned to the signaler with the horn.

  “Give the ‘ready’ call for the archers,” he said, and as the man blew a series of long short, long short notes, he replied to Erak’s question: “Wherever their general decides they’ve created a weakness in our line.”

  “So what do we do while we’re waiting for him to make up his mind?” Ragnak asked irritably. Halt grinned to himself. Patience certainly wasn’t high on the Skandian list of virtues, he thought.

  “We surprise them with our own archers,” he said. “And we try to kill as many of them as we can before they become used to the fact that someone’s shooting back at them.”

  All of Will’s hundred archers heard the horn signal and there was an instant stirring among them. He held up a hand to calm them.

  “Stay down!” he called. He took his time and was pleased that his voice didn’t crack. Maybe that was the answer for the future, he thought. He climbed up on the raised step that had been built into his command position. Horace, his shield ready, stood beside him. The wicker breastworks still concealed the archers but, when the time came, they would be pushed aside and the shield bearers would have the responsibility of protecting them from the answering storm of arrows that the Temujai would send their way.

  Below Horace and Will’s more exposed position, protected by earthworks and a wicker overhang, Evanlyn crouched in her position, with a clear sight of the line of archers.

  The assembled troops of horsemen began to move now, cantering slowly at first, then at increasing speed. Will could see that this time, each man was armed with a bow.

  They thundered toward the Skandian line—not in one extended line as they had before, but in a dozen separate groups. Then, a hundred meters from the Skandians, each group wheeled so they were heading in a dozen different directions and sending volley after volley of arrows arcing up and over the Skan
dian lines.

  Will drummed his fingers nervously on the breastworks before him. He wanted to see the Temujai pattern before he committed his men. The first surprise would have the maximum potential to disrupt the enemy and he wanted to make sure he didn’t waste it.

  Now there was a continuous rattle as the raised Skandian shields caught the majority of the arrows that the Temujai were pouring in. But not all. Men were falling along the Skandian lines and being dragged back out of the battle line by those behind them, who then stepped in to replace them. Now the second and third ranks of Skandians held their shields high, to protect them against plunging fire, while the front rank presented their shields to the more direct frontal fire.

  It was an effective ploy. But it left the men blinded to the approach of the Temujai. Now, as Will watched, one group of sixty quickly slung their bows, drew sabers and darted into the Skandian line in a slashing attack, killing a dozen men before the Skandians even realized they were there. As the Skandians re-formed and moved to counterattack, the Temujai withdrew rapidly and another Ulan, waiting for this exact opportunity, poured a deadly hail of arrows into the disrupted shield wall.

  “We’d better do something,” Horace muttered. Will held his hand up for silence. The seemingly random movements of the Temujai Ulans actually had a complex pattern to them, and now that he had seen it, he could predict their movements.

  The horsemen were wheeling again, galloping away from the Skandian line and back to re-form. Behind them, more than fifty Skandians lay dead, victims of either the arrows or the slashing Temujai sabers. Half a dozen Temujai bodies lay around the breastworks where the Ulans had made their lightning attack.

  The Temujai riders were back in their own lines now. They would rest their horses, letting them recover their wind, while another ten Ulans took up the attack. It would be the same pattern, forcing the Skandians to cover up behind their shields, then attacking with sabers when they were blinded and, finally, pouring in volley after volley of arrows as their own men withdrew, leaving a gap in the shield wall. It was simple. It was effective. And there was a deadly inevitability about it.

  Now the Ulans began their wheeling, galloping dance once again. Will fixed his attention on a troop at the middle of the line, knowing that it would curve and turn and eventually come at them on a diagonal. He muttered to Horace.

  “Get those breastworks down.”

  He heard the muscular apprentice bellow: “Shields! Uncover!” The shield bearers rushed to shove the wicker walls down, leaving the archers behind a waist-high earth berm and with a clear field.

  “Ready!” called Evanlyn, indicating that each man in the line of archers had an arrow nocked to the string. Then it was up to Will.

  “Half left!” he called, and the archers all turned to the same direction.

  “Position two!”

  A hundred arms raised to the same angle as Will watched the approaching group of riders, seeing in his mind’s eye the galloping Temujai and the flight of arrows converging to meet at the same point in time and space.

  “Down a half…draw!”

  The elevation corrected and one hundred arrows came back to full draw. He paused, counted to three to make sure he wasn’t too soon, then yelled:

  “Shoot!”

  The slithering, hissing sound told him that the arrows were on their way. Already, the archers were reaching for their next shafts.

  Horace, about to call for the shield bearers, waited. They were under no direct attack at the moment and there was no need to disrupt the sequence of shooting and reloading at this stage.

  Then the first volley struck home.

  Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was the result of the weeks of practice, hour after hour, but Will had directed that first volley almost perfectly. One hundred shafts arced down to meet the galloping Ulan and at least twenty of them found targets.

  Men and horses screamed in pain as they crashed to the ground. And instantly, the disciplined, structured formation of the Ulan was shattered. Those who were unhurt by the arrows were confronted by their comrades and their horses tumbling and rolling headlong. And as each stricken man fell, he took another with him, or caused his neighbor to swerve violently, reining his horse in, sawing on the reins until the tight formation was a milling mass of plunging horses and men.

  “Ready!” called Evanlyn. From her position, she couldn’t see the result. Quickly, Will realized he had the chance now to deal a devastating blow to the enemy.

  “Same target. Position two. Draw…” He heard the scrape of arrows against bows as the men drew back their right hands until the feathered ends of the shafts were just touching their cheeks.

  “Shoot!”

  Another volley hissed away at the tangle of men and horses. Already, Will was yelling for his men to reload. In their haste, some of them fumbled, dropping the arrows as they tried to nock them. Wisely, Evanlyn decided not to wait until they had recovered.

  “Ready!” she called.

  “Same target. Position two. Draw…”

  They had the range and the direction now and the Temujai troop was stalled, caught in the one spot, losing their most valuable protection—their mobility.

  “Shoot!” yelled Will, not caring that his voice cracked with excitement, and a third volley was on its way.

  “Shields!” bellowed Horace, shoving his own shield forward to cover himself and his friend. He had seen that some of the other Ulans had finally noticed what was happening and were riding to return fire. A few seconds later, he felt the drumming of arrows against the shield, heard the rattle as they struck other shields along the line of archers.

  There was no way that the Temujai could send a squad with sabers in toward the archers. Halt had placed Will and his men to one side and behind the Skandian main line of defense. To reach them, the Temujai would have to fight their way through the Skandian axmen.

  The troop that Will had engaged had taken three carefully aimed volleys—nearly three hundred arrows—in quick succession. Barely ten men of the original Ulan remained alive. The bodies of the others littered the ground. Their riderless horses were galloping away, neighing in panic.

  Now, as the other riders wheeled away toward their own lines, Will saw a further opportunity. Another two Ulans were riding in close proximity and still well within range.

  “Shields down,” he said to Horace, and the warrior passed the message along.

  “Target: right front. And a half…Position three…draw…” Again, he made himself wait, to be sure. “Shoot!”

  The arrows, dark against the clean blue of the sky, arced after the withdrawing cavalry.

  “Shields!” Horace called as the arrows struck home and another dozen or so Temujai tumbled from their saddles. Behind the shelter of the big, rectangular shield, he and Will exchanged grins.

  “I think that went rather well,” said the apprentice Ranger.

  “I think it went rather well indeed!” the apprentice warrior agreed with him.

  “Ready!” called Evanlyn once more, her gaze fixed on the archers as they fitted arrows to their bowstrings. The call reminded Will, a little belatedly, that she had no way of knowing how successful their first action had been.

  “Stand down!” Will called. There was no point keeping the men tensed up while the Temujai were re-forming. He gestured to Evanlyn.

  “Come on up and see the results,” he told her.

  34

  IT TOOK SEVERAL MINUTES FOR THE TEMUJAI COMMANDER TO realize that something had gone badly wrong—for the second time. There was a gap in his line as the riders returned, he realized. Then, as he cast his glance over the battlefield, he saw the tangled bodies of men and horses and frowned. He had been watching the overall action and had missed the four rapid volleys that had destroyed the Ulan.

  He pointed with his lance at them. “What’s happened there?” he demanded of his aides. But none of them had seen the destruction as it took place. His question was greeted with blank stares.
>
  A single horseman was pounding toward them, calling his name.

  “General Haz’kam! General!”

  The man was swaying in the saddle and the front of his leather vest was slick with blood from several wounds. Blood stained the flanks of his horse as well, and the Temujai command staff were startled to see that the horse had been hit by at least three arrows.

  Horse and rider skidded to a stop in front of the command position. For the horse, it was the final effort. Weakened by loss of blood, it sank slowly to its knees, then rolled over on its side, its injured rider only managing to escape being pinned at the last moment. Haz’kam frowned as he peered at the wounded man, then recognized Bin’zak, his former chief of intelligence. True to his word, the colonel had taken his place in the front line of one of the Ulans. It had been his incredible misfortune that he’d chosen the one destroyed by Will’s archers.

  “General,” croaked the dying man. “They have archers…”

  He staggered a few paces toward them and now they could see the broken-off stubs of arrows in two of his wounds. On the ground beside him, the horse heaved a gigantic, shuddering sigh and died.

  “Archers…” he repeated, his voice barely audible, and he sank to his knees.

  Haz’kam tore his gaze away from the stricken colonel and scanned the enemy ranks. There was no sign of archers there. The Skandians stretched in three ranks across the narrowest part of the valley, behind their earthworks. On the seaward side, and a little behind the main force, another group stood—also behind earthworks and holding large rectangular shields. But he could see no sign of archers.

  There was one sure way to find them, he thought. He gestured toward his next ten Ulans.

  “Attack,” he said briefly, and the bugler sounded the call. Once more, the valley filled with the jingle of harness and the thunder of hooves as they drove forward.

  In front of him, the colonel slumped forward, facedown in the sodden grass. Haz’kam made the Temujai gesture of salute, raising his left hand to his lips, then extending it out to the side in an elaborate, flowing movement. His staff did likewise. Bin’zak had redeemed himself, he thought. In the end, he had brought his general a vital piece of intelligence, even if it had cost him his own life.