by Alma Boykin
Horses screamed and the shock of impact rippled through the mass of men. The Turkowi hurled their horses at the pikemen, a suicide charge trying to force a gap and open the line again. She heard the Eulenberg guns to the east and spared a glance that way, but kept her attention on the center. She saw the back of the line starting to bend and rode that way. A rider had gotten halfway through the lines, opening a breach before dying.
“Hold steady,” she called, and other voices took up the refrain.
“Hold steady,” and the shifting stopped. Horses and men screamed, and she saw commotion ahead of her in the wavering gap.
“Hold steady,” and men filled in the hole, reforming the wall.
“Hold steady,” and the wall held.
Her eyes filled with tears from the smoke and from relief. Thank you, Godown, and she continued down the line. Lazlo’s corner had buckled and they rallied the men, driving a few forward with the flats of their sabers. “Hold steady,” she shouted over and over. “For the Emperor and Godown, hold steady or you’ll die.” Where was her cavalry screen? Satisfied that Lazlo had things stable for the moment, she swung around and rode back behind the line. She heard another volley from Eulenberg’s guns, and a third. Horses screamed, men called, and motion to the north caught her eyes. Another cavalry charge surged down toward her pikes.
Back and forth she rode, encouraging and sometimes beating the men back into formation. A few Peilov officers joined her. Battle screams resounded, then a ripple as the horses crashed into the wall, and equine screams joined the chaos once more. Oh, she hated the screaming horses, hated the men who wasted animals, hated the Turkowi. A youngster without a helmet rode up, his horse shaking foam everywhere, sweat streaked. “Col. Sarmas?”
“That’s me.”
Relieved, the messenger blurted, “Lt. Sparli sends greetings and he’s riding out now.”
“Thank you. Stay here. I may need you.” He nodded and fell in beside her as she rode back and forth along the line. Her eyes watered from the powder smoke in the air, courtesy of Eulenberg’s guns. Ricardo, no longer eager, stepped heavily. She wondered how the battle was going. Her little bit seemed stable, for the moment.
Some time later, perhaps near noon, they heard more noise to the north and braced for another attack. Instead, the Peilov and Donatello riders returned, along with two carousel guns! Lt. Sparli found Elizabeth on top of the hill, where she could see both east and north. “A little gift, Colonel,” he informed her. “The former owners don’t need them anymore, not where they’ve gone.” Blood splashed horse and rider, and he’d stopped to bandage his leg, but Sparli’s ferocious smile warmed her heart.
“Well done, Hans. Very well done.” She turned her gaze back to the battlefield. “Any sign of Lord Peilov?”
“None that we found, Colonel.” His tone suggested that they’d not looked very hard, and she almost asked, but stopped. Jan was an adult, supposedly. They’d search for him later.
Their end of the line quieted down and she ordered the pikemen to rest their pikes. They spread out more, and a few took the opportunity to loot the dead Turkowi in their midst. Others pulled the dead out of the squares, salvaging weapons and straightening the lines. Elizabeth took one gauntlet off so she could wipe her face. When she rested her bare hand on her leg, fingers brushing the saddle, the leather felt wet. “What?” She glanced down and suddenly realized that she’d pissed herself at some point. She felt her face burning and started to turn Ricardo so she could find a place to dismount and change clothes, wiping the saddle dry and hiding the evidence. Stop that! Be glad it’s just piss and act like a soldier, you fool. She calmed down, now as embarrassed by her reaction as by losing control of herself.
Messengers rode up and down the lines, but the north remained quiet. Lazlo, satisfied that the corner would stay in place, rejoined Elizabeth and they compared notes. Someone, one of the pike men whose weapon had broken, brought them water bottles and they drank avidly. Finally, several hours later, orders came from Starland. “His grace sends his greetings and orders you to fall back in order, to the Lander ruins on the Plateford Road. Peilov and Donatello are to protect the guns.”
“Fall back in order to the Lander Ruins on the Plateford Road, Peilov and Donatello protect the guns,” she repeated. “Give his grace my respects and we obey.” As he rode off she slammed her hand against her thigh armor, the only frustration she allowed herself to show. “Do you have a map?”
Lazlo had a map. She called Sparli and two of the Peilov officers together, along with one of Eulenberg’s men, who’d come up carrying the count’s plan. “My lord will fall back here,” he pointed. “Infantry, then guns, then infantry, and will take this route to the ruins.”
She studied the route, frowning as she saw a chokepoint. “Sparli, gather as many cavalry as you can. If there are any who can ride double, have them carry musketeers with them. The others will ride ahead and scout,” she traced a line through the woods bordering the road and another marsh, “this. I don’t want surprises when I get there.”
“Surprises, Colonel?” Eulenberg’s man asked.
“Turkowi in trees, Captain, firing down on us. Turkowi behind trees. Caltrops in the reeds or fire in the grass,” she counted off on her fingers all the surprises she’d read about. His eyes widened but he did not challenge her.
“We follow Eulenberg, as a rear guard,” she informed Lazlo. He nodded, not happy but not arguing with her in front of the Peilov and Eulenberg men. “Any questions?”
“What about our men?” The Peilov officer looked worried.
“Did you train to retreat in formation?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Then that’s what you do. Remind them that the Turkowi cavalry like to harass stragglers and your men should find some inspiration.” She was not going to try and fold them into her own formations, not now. Nothing good would happen.
“Yes, Colonel.”
She looked at each man in turn. Grimy, tired, hoarse from smoke and shouting, they met her eyes and nodded. “You have your orders. Godown be with you and we’ll meet at the Lander ruin on the Plateford Road. Godown and the Emperor.”
“Godown and the Emperor,” came a ragged reply and they scattered to their duties, all but Lazlo. “What don’t you like?”
He shook his head as he folded the map. “I don’t know, Colonel. It may be hard to keep the men in order.”
“No, it will be hard,” she corrected him. “We’ll do it, and Godown willing not in the dark.”
“May He grant our prayers,” came the fervent reply.
The sun hung low on the horizon before Elizabeth left the field of battle. She walked beside Ricardo, letting him rest. He was too valuable to ride into the ground. He’d grabbed a few mouthfuls of browse when she stopped to empty another overfull bladder, among other things, and green flecks added to the white foam around his mouth. She’d let him drink some, but not too much. Now they walked, part of the rearguard following the medical wagons. At least Peilov had done that right, she sighed. The Turkowi had missed the Peilovna wagon laager, so she could bring out her injured and some of the dead. A few captured horses trailed along with the wagons, too tired to flee and probably glad of company. Horses and humans shared similarities, she thought yet again.
She heard a “twang—thud” and Ricardo staggered, screamed, and collapsed, almost falling on top of her. She dropped to the dusty ground beside him, cursing as he fell onto one of her pistols. More crossbows twanged and some guns fired, and she heard yells of, “Ambush! From the woods, north side.” She pulled her own crossbow around from off her back and cranked it as fast as she could, loading both strings.
Using Ricardo’s body as a shield, she twisted and braced, watching as man shadows emerged from the woods. “Selko—” one yelled before she fired, putting a bolt through his armor and into his heart. He fell, tripping the man behind him. The second attacker clambered to his feet just in time to get a bolt in the gut. He stared at
it and began wailing, a thin, high–pitched sound that irritated Elizabeth to no end. It sounded like a swarm of biting gnats and she wanted to leave cover and hit him just to make it stop. Instead she drew a pistol from the exposed holster, sighted, and fired. “Thump.” “Oh, blast,” she cursed. She’d forgotten to remove the safety! She ducked, pulling the bit of cloth off the end of the flint, cocked, and fired again. She missed, but someone else caught the wailing man as he dodged her shot.
Elizabeth flipped onto her back, head ducked low, bracing against the saddle and cranking the crossbow as fast as she dared. She twisted around, reached over the saddle and pulled two more bolts out of the quiver, slipping them into their slots and flipping on the safety caches as she rolled over again, peering over the top of the dead horse. Part of her mind screamed in anger at whoever had failed to clear the woods of enemies, while the rest watched for movement. She trusted the others to protect her back.
A flash of yellow caught her eye as a lick of flame flickered. She cringed as the bullet hit Ricardo’s body with a meaty “thunk.” Then she aimed and missed, one of four people firing at the Sworn Acolyte. Another glimpse of yellow and she fired for the center of the color patch to be rewarded with a scream. The scream faded after two more gunshots.
Now she felt the ground vibrating with hoofbeats, hearing the dull thuds of someone riding hard toward the Imperials. “Godown and the Emperor,” men called and the reserves swept in, flowing around the men on the road and into the woods. Shots, screams, the sound of sabers hitting flesh and wood, and the last of the attackers vanished, the Imperials hard on their heels.
Now that she could think, Elizabeth reloaded the pistol. She didn’t bother with the crossbow, but slung it around to hang on her back again. She smelled dirt and blood, death and dung, and the cool, damp smell of the woods. “Ricardo?” She got to her feet and walked around to find the tail of the crossbow bolt that had stopped his heart. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “You were such a good horse.”
She should be rallying the men, she knew. She was Colonel Elizabeth von Sarmas, commander of the Peilovna and Donatello troops. She was her father’s daughter, had duties, must give orders. Instead she knelt beside Ricardo and stroked his neck. “You were such a good horse.”
She looked at the dead stallion and felt tears rolling down her face. “Colonel?” Count Jones peered down at her and she shook her head before patting Ricardo’s neck again.
“I can’t afford to repay his grace,” she explained, looking back up at the other officer. “Not for a trained war horse.” She sniffed hard and stroked the sweaty neck, shaking her head. Then she got up and walked around the corpse, unfastening straps and loosening the girth. She had to save the saddle and armor or she’d be in debt until Godown called her home. The men seemed to be staring as she wrenched the bits of leather and metal free of the heavy body.
As she began unbuckling the headstall, a hand stopped hers and she looked up. It was Lt. Krehbiel, who should not have been near the fighting. He shook his head. “We’ll see to it, my lady. You’re needed at the muster point.”
With his help she straightened up. Someone brought a strange horse and she mounted, ignoring the blood and other things on the too-large saddle. “The pistol is loaded,” she remembered to warn, before riding off with Count Jones. “I apologize, my lord,” she began. “I gave orders to clear the woods before we came through.”
“Don’t apologize,” he told her. “We’re flushing Sworn Acolytes and Jeagers out of every copse, grove, and lump on the ground.”
Maybe that was what happened to Jan Peilov? She turned her attention back where it should have been all along, peering into the long shadows beside the road, watching for more ambushes. The strange horse seemed content to plod along without testing his new rider. The wind had shifted, turning out of the south-southeast, and taking the smoke smell with it. She was glad. The last thing she wanted was to have to fight a fire after fighting humans.
Count Jones was talking at her, she realized. “…and that’s when the first sign of trouble came. They’d probably aimed short on purpose, to lure us onto the field so they could come in from the north as well as the east.”
“Ah.”
“We had no idea until a few men in Peilov colors came galloping past, saying the line was rolling up and everyone should flee.” He shook his head. “Of course it wasn’t, and things settled down. Young Lord Peilov needs to discipline his men better. If they’re going to run, they shouldn’t try and drag the army with them!”
Somewhere she found the tact to say, “I quite agree, my lord. I quite agree.”
“Where is he, by the way?”
She looked at the long shadows creeping back towards them from the riders and infantry ahead. “My lord, I do not know.”
11. Aftermath
“We stopped them,” Aquila told the surviving officers the next day, as the afternoon shadows began creeping out from their noon-day hiding places. Apparently no one followed St. Mou, because Aquila called the meeting in the Lander ruins, next to a sturdy wall that provided both cover and shade. The sun baked wall radiated heat, making Elizabeth even sleepier. The wind had died with the rising sun, inspiring the flies and gnats, and Elizabeth fanned a small swarm away as she nodded. Aquila continued, “It seems the Turkowi did not expect such a stout resistance.” Still too tired to say anything, she nodded again.
“We return to the advance tomorrow, Godown willing. Wandertruppen and light cavalry at first. I want to harry them back before they try and consolidate their position. Sarmas, you will go north and east, retracing our path. Send stragglers back. Eulenberg, I need you to,” and he continued through the ranks and assignments. She didn’t want to go back, but her cavalry troops were the least tired. Unlike their officers, but that was beside the point. She’d sleep in winter.
“Sarmas!”
She startled and blushed. “Your grace?”
The men chuckled until Starland glared at them. “Have you seen Lord Peilov?”
“No, your grace. I told my men, and his, to keep watch for him, but we have not found either him or his horses.” She wondered if he’d ridden into a bog, or been captured by the Turkowi. Maybe he was wandering in the woods, lost but too proud to ask for directions.
“Sarmas, you will command the Peilovna soldiers until Lord Peilov returns and I find him fit to resume command, or until you return to Donatello Bend and Peilovna.” He met the eyes of the other nobles and officers in turn. “Colonel Sarmas did damn good work yesterday, as did the rest of you. She, Count Eulenberg, and Major Lazlo Destefani stopped what could have been a route and halted two Turkowi cavalry charges, as well a protecting Count Eulenberg’s position and capturing two field artillery pieces.”
“Thank you, your grace,” and she bowed to him from her perch on a bit of wall.
After a few more questions and clarifications, he dismissed everyone but Elizabeth. She waited for the others to leave, then approached where he stood, arms folded, staring at the grey trees clustered on a rise to the south.
“I have a problem, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Your grace?”
He shifted a little, now clasping his hands behind his back, still gazing into the distance. “Peilov fled.”
Should she say something? “That is one possibility, your grace.”
He snorted, shaking his head, then turned to face her. “You are too tactful, Elizabeth. He fled. There were witnesses, who have spoken to others. The entire army will know by the time the campaign ends. His men won’t obey him.”
Now it was her turn to stare at the trees. “That is indeed a problem, your grace.”
“We need to find him.” Before she could reply, he added, “But not you, or Destefani, or Sparli. If you see him, send a messenger back. I wish we had brought birds with us.”
She snorted. “Would they return to a moving camp, your grace?”
“Some do.” He reached over and grabbed her shoulder, squeezing very hard. �
��Very, very well done, Elizabeth. Very well done. You and Lazlo stopped a disaster.”
“Thank you, your grace, but the Peilovna sergeants did as much, if not more, than we did. We just turned people around.”
He shook her a little. “Elizabeth, you know better than that. Eulenberg told me, some of the Peilov officers and NCOs told me, and Jones told me what you managed to salvage. Damn good work.” His eyes vanished into his wrinkles as he smiled, and at that moment she would have thrown herself into the fires of hell if he asked her to.
“Thank you, your grace.”
He released her. “Go, see to your men and get some rest. Have you found a horse yet?”
“Yes, your grace. One of the Peilov beasts fits my saddle.” The gray gelding’s trot made her bones ache, and he seemed well on the way to developing an iron jaw, but he fit her tack and obeyed her.
“Good. You are dismissed.” She saluted and left him talking to his aids. As she picked her way through the ruins, a glint like metal caught her eye and she crouched down, digging and brushing away dirt until she found a bit of silvered glass. She turned it over and whistled at the lovely blue and green swirls. She tucked it into her pouch. Her fingers brushed paper and she remembered Archduke Lewis’s letter, still unread. She shrugged. Quill’s orders came before Lewis’s desires for the time being.
The army moved ahead while she and her men were scouting the next day. They recovered some loot, caught a few stray horses including some of their own, but found no living Turkowi. The stench from the battlefield discouraged loitering or looting, although she suspected the people living in the area would pick the dead clean as soon as it was safe. Carrion birds squabbled and circled over the slaughtered men and horses, and some of her troopers wanted to shoot them. “No. Don’t waste ammunition and powder. They are as Godown made them, and they’ll clean the field before disease can breed in the bodies.”
