Patrick looked with curiosity over the ground where the battle was to be fought. As far as he could tell the troops were expertly placed to receive an attack, emplaced on the slopes looking down into the river valley. The enemy would have to ford that stream and make their way upward into the face of the Eirish soldiers. But maybe not so well placed for an attack, he thought. That river and the opposite slope would have the same effect on the friendly troops. But the Hyrkanians were known for their fierceness in the attack, and the plan was to let them come on in their habitual way. Today Patrick hoped that it was true.
Patrick heard his brother’s voice shouting out over the din. He looked down and to his right, where Sean was arranging his soldiers. Several hundred pikemen were to the front, their long spears waving in the air. Behind them were a hundred or so musketeers, setting up their fork supports and readying their matchlocks. They were the right flank of the army proper. There were some skirmishers beyond them, a few hundred men with javelins, spears and bows, who would screen them from any surprises.
Further out was one of the flanking cavalry detachments, about five hundred men seated on the backs of their feathered raptors. The raptors had been unmuzzled, and were screeching their displeasure to the morning while they revealed their alarming array of teeth. Patrick knew from experience that the foul tempered and intelligent mounts, about six times the mass of their riders, carried their deadliest weapons on their feet. The armored riders carried long lances, swords and wheel lock pistols, but were not the threat that their mounts were. Patrick would just as soon fight on foot as have to handle one of the beasts, who were known to take chunks out of riders or anyone else standing about.
The young monk let his eye wander further inward, where the King and his body guard looked over the field. Cannon were placed further up the slope, where they could plunge fire into the enemy struggling up the steep embankment. Above them, almost at the crest of the hill, stood the larger raptors of the royal knights. These beasts were as tall as two men, and massed more than twelve. Their riders sat back on their saddles and talked among themselves, every once in awhile slapping their mounts on nose or back of head to keep them from attacking each other.
Patrick looked back down to the King and met the eye of one of the monks in the monarch’s bodyguard. All carried large shields as well as blades, and all looked alert and ready. About fifty yards from the king stood a hundred monks, a contingent of supreme warriors who were the King’s personal reserve. Patrick saw Master Killian at the head of that grouping, looking calm and composed as he held his short, broad bladed spear.
“Are we ready, sir Monk?” asked the Duke, striding up to take his place in the formation.
“I am ready, Lord,” said Patrick with a head nod. His magical sword was in its sheath, but Patrick held a shield made of the same metal on his arm. “And my Fae shield is ready as well.”
“Hopefully you won't need it,” said the Duke, gesturing the rest of his personal retinue to their places. He stopped for a moment and looked closely at the shield.
“From the vaults, my lord,” said Patrick, twirling the shield. “My Master said he had a vision that I would have need of it.”
“The vault that you opened, young Monk?” asked the Duke with a smile. “I have heard the tale. How nothing known could get through the door, until you touched it with your good right hand.”
“I don’t know why it opened for me, Milord,” said Patrick, his face reddening with embarrassment. “There was nothing special about my right hand.”
“The Good God must have disagreed,” said the Duke with a laugh. “Since you were the one that opened it, and released the wonderful artifacts within.”
“Witch weapons are what they are,” said a slightly less drunken looking Rory.
Patrick looked over at the man, who returned a glare. Patrick was not sure why the man hated him so. Does he have an agenda I don’t know about? Patrick made it a point to keep an eye on the man, come the battle, when it would be too easy to lose the focus on any one soldier.
“Here the bastards come,” shouted a voice from below.
Patrick looked down at the pikemen to the front, where the call had come. Several were pointing to the other ridge, and he let his eyes naturally follow those gestures. And there the bastards did come. Hundreds of them at first, all cavalry, chain mail glittering in the sun as they walked their large raptors forward, pennants fluttering from lance heads. Patrick looked back at the royal knights, then at the approaching enemy, and judged that the raptors they rode were of a size with the ones behind his lines. Their feather patterns were a different color was all, stripped orange and black, instead of the blue and gold of his side’s. A different race. And the men riding those war beasts were also of a different color, a deep dark brown that reminded Patrick of shoe leather. But they are still children of the Good God, he thought, shading his eyes from the sunlight. Even if they choose to worship the Evil One.
More and more raptors came over the hills. He had heard that the Hyperborean Army was mostly a cavalry army, though there was said to be some infantry among the vassals. Just as he was thinking it some of that infantry came marching over the rise.
Patrick pulled out a small telescope he had been gifted by the great scientist Liam Nelson. It was a wonderful instrument, though not as powerful as that used by Nelson to scan the night skies. But much more practical on the battlefield. Patrick focused in on the infantry and grunted in surprise. The faces of the men carrying the three meter long broad bladed spears were darker than those of their Hyperborean masters. They wore flowing robes, so it was impossible to tell what kind of body armor they wore, though Patrick thought by the way they moved it couldn’t have been much. They did wear small helms on their heads, and were in good order as they made their way down the slopes. The only way to tell how good they were in combat was to watch them as they fought. And that would come soon enough.
A shattering roar sounded from behind the ridge, followed by a dozen more. A huge head appeared, much broader than a raptor’s and filled with an alarming array of teeth. They were similar to the large carnosaurs that had inhabited Eire prior to being hunted out. A hundred times more massive than a large man, they were creatures of nightmare. A dozen had appeared over the ridge and were making their way to the down slope, while dozens more heads poked over the ridge.
“May the Good God have mercy on us,” called out a nearby voice.
“We will defeat them,” called out the Duke, trying to change the mood before it turned into panic. “They can die, just like the local lizards did, a century ago.”
Patrick focused in on one of the great beasts with his telescope. The creatures all advanced with head forward and counterbalancing tails swishing back and forth. There was a large basket on the back of each of the beasts, with a half dozen musket armed men in residence, as well as the mahout. The snout of a cannon poked offset to the side.
The cannon of the Army of Eire opened fire at that moment. Patrick cringed for just a moment as the iron balls flew overhead. Despite all of his training, one of those balls would smash him in an instant were it fired too low. All of the balls went safely over the troops, into the valley, and splashed into the central stream, over a hundred yards short of the nearest enemy.
“Cease Fire,” yelled a voice up slope. “Wait until you can actually accomplish something.”
The cannon fire ceased and the enemy shook out into a loose formation on the opposite slope. Raptors hissed and were answered by the ones on the Eire side. Carnosaurs roared and the enemy infantry stood unmoving. On the Eire side the infantry was milling a bit, but Patrick was sure they would tighten their ranks as the enemy came closer. That enemy seemed to be content with holding its ground at the moment though. A half hour passed, then an hour, while the soldiers sweated in the sun. The King of Eire was determined to fight from the defensive against this opponent, so his side waited. It seemed the enemy commander was not so set in what he would do. As the s
un approached an overhead position he seemed to make up his mind. Horns blared and the enemy began to move.
The cavalry trotted down the slope, at the speed of a sprinting man. The carnosaurs jockeyed to the front, their full speed much less than that of the raptors. Infantry ran behind the cavalry, spears held over shoulders. More of the enemy cavalry spread out to the flanks. It was an obvious tactic even to Patrick’s untrained eyes. The enemy was going to try to smash through the Eire infantry with the carnosaurs, then push through the holes with their raptor cavalry, while the infantry pinned the pikemen to the sides. Just because it was obvious didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. A glance at the soldiers around him, the expressions on their faces, told him that they were worried as well. Then the enemy hit the stream, splashing across the shallow water, and the army knew they were within range.
“Fire,” came the command from the King’s area. The command echoed up and down the lines, relayed by officers. The cannon roared. Muskets barked. Round shot hit the waters of the stream and sent high splashes into the air. Red also splashed, as a few of the shot found targets, knocking down raptors and their riders. One of the large carnosaurs roared as a heavy shot struck it on the right leg. Roared and went down, to the cheers of the Eirish pikemen.
The air was filling with the smoke of gunfire, and visibility on both slopes was becoming a problem. The air was still clear enough down in the valley, especially on the river, which meant the targets of the Eirish artillery were still visible, and the artillerymen and musketeers worked their weapons with the speed of training. The cannon were swabbed, powder was pushed into the barrel and packed down, followed by the shot. Sweating and swearing men moved into position away from the recoil while the gunner applied the match. Cannon roared while fire flew from their muzzles, smoke billowed, and the guns reared back on their carriages. One ball bounced from the water and flew through a formation of infantry, knocking down a half dozen in a mist of red.
Musketeers fired, dropped butts to ground and went through the process of pouring powder, shot, and ramming all home. They pulled their weapons back to their shoulders, adjusted their matches, and fired. Most shots were unaimed, the smoothbore weapons lacking the accuracy to hit a specific target. They killed in their numbers, sending hundreds of balls into the enemy ranks to achieve a few score hits. There was talk of much more accurate rifled weapons reaching the battlefields of the future, but so far they had not materialized.
Individual cavalrymen were going down as well as their mounts, targets of muskets and grapeshot. The cannons and musketeers adjusted their fire as the enemy came on, galling them, but not really slowing the assault. Another large carnosaur went down, then their cannons started to respond.
Cannon were not very accurate. They were intended for use in a stationary position, against an almost stationary foe. Fired from the back of a charging monster they were even less accurate. But accurate enough that some of the balls struck a target as large as a deployed army. Dozens of pikemen were bowled over by the heavy balls. Being professionals the soldiers closed ranks without hesitation. Pikes were lowered, their heads seeking toward the enemy, as they prepared to receive the charge.
The roaring and hissing of raptors caught the monk’s attention. He looked over to the flank, where the two army’s outlying formations struck. The larger enemy raptors had the advantage of size and larger jaws, the smaller speed and maneuverability. The Eirish raptors launched themselves from the height of the slopes into the enemy, dew claws struck, lances thrust and pistols fired. The action devolved into a swirl of blood and death, and it looked like the enemy was checked for the moment.
“Get ready,” yelled the Duke, drawing his sword from its sheath. All the men around him armed themselves and prepared for whatever made it through the pikes. Musketeers worked quickly at reloading, attempting to get off one more volley before the wall of pikes was assailed.
Patrick steadied his shield on his left arm as he reached over his back and gripped the hilt of his sword. He pulled it smoothly from its special sheath, the one constructed so the edge would not contact any material on the way out. He brought the sword down and to the front, watching as the thundering line of enemy reached for the pikes.
Several things happened at once as the enemy met the line. The cannons above them fired a volley, plunging fire into the cavalry ranks behind the front, knocking men from beasts and beasts from life. The Musketeers got off a volley that knocked scores of beasts and men from the battle. And the lances of the cavalry and the points of the pikes tangled in a deafening crash.
In most cases the cavalry lost that clash. The pikes had longer range. The raptors might be willing to charge the wall, but once a lance pierced their flesh they were just as ready to back off. Some pike points took riders out of their saddles. Some lances pierced pikemen in the front ranks. The cavalry charge would probably have failed with greater loss to cavalry than infantry, if not for the carnosaurs.
The big beasts lumbered up to the wall, not charging, but looking and picking. They swiped with their arm claws and snapped with their jaws. One carnosaur got hold of one of the officer’s by the head and lifted him away. The pikemen thrust at the monsters, wounding them, galling them. Several of the carnosaurs were pierced enough to fall to the ground, dying. Even in the act of dying they still caused havoc and deaths. One moved into the line at an angle and pushed a gap open, which the raptor cavalry moved to exploit. One carnosaur leapt at the line. It was hit in mid-leap with a cannon ball, mortally wounding the beast. It fell into the pike line sideways, legs twitching and tail swishing, knocking aside Eirish warriors like nine pins in an alley.
The raptor riders and infantry saw the gaps developing and swept into them, widening the openings. Patrick had to admit that they were brave, to the point of recklessness. He was quickly coming to the opinion that this kind of bravery won battles, even if it was hard on the individual soldier. He pulled himself away from that thinking as the enemy got closer, and he realized he needed all his concentration for the here and now, were he to live to philosophize in the future.
He caught sight of the Hyperborean at the last moment, aiming a musket at the Duke. He doubted the man, sitting on the basket of a carnosaur, even knew who he was aiming at. But from the burnished armor of the Duke, and the rich surcoat over his torso, the warrior must have known it was a man of some importance. As the match descended Patrick threw out his arm and brought his shield in front of the Duke. The matchlock puffed out its smoke, the bullet flew at the Duke and hit the shield, careening off in a shower of sparks. All the sparks were products of the lead ball. The shield was untouched, as always. A couple of other muskets fired at the Duke, or maybe at Patrick. With the lighting reflexes of the Fae he intercepted them all.
The enemy cavalry and infantry widened the hole, and Duke Seamus waved his sword in the air and led the aristocratic footmen into the gap, trying to plug it. Patrick kept the shield at the ready, but was soon having other worries, like keeping himself in one piece.
The first man Patrick faced in the swirling confusion was a footman, thrusting and slicing with his broad bladed spear. The monk took the spear on his shield, then slashed with his own sword. The wondrous blade hit the spear on the metal head, and moved through it as if it were made of air. Half the head fell away, the Hyperborean yelled in surprise, and the yelling stopped as his head leapt from his neck. Patrick pushed the body aside, where it fell against a raptor that snapped at the dead man.
The raptor was the next target. Patrick noted that the rider’s attention was on another Eirish warrior. He thrust his lance forward, the head sliding from the Eirish man’s shield. But this was battle, and there were no considerations for fair play. So Patrick thrust his sword through the leg of the Hyperborean and into the body of the raptor. The man stiffened and yelled while the raptor hissed. Patrick pulled his blade back with a draw cut that severed the man’s leg and sliced into the torso of the beast. The raptor fell, to its other side, pinning th
e rider’s leg. The man squirmed and screamed, until the Monk allowed his blade to slice through helm and skull and bring the man some slight mercy.
Patrick looked around, trying to catch a view of the Duke. He found him, in a knot of Eirish men who were battling Hyperborean infantry, while the pikemen around them thrust at the cavalry, trying to keep them away. Patrick cursed under his breath as he tried to fight his way back to the Duke. It had been his job to guard the right wing commander. In the excitement of battle he had allowed himself to be moved away. There was no excuse for that. Patrick did everything he could to get back to his charge. But it seemed that the battle kept throwing more obstacles in front of him.
Patrick sliced through the arm of a cavalryman, then took out his raptor’s throat with a back slash. Next he cut through the spear of an infantryman, then through his abdomen with an upward back hand. The sword of the ancients sliced through everything with equal ease. No material could stand before it. In the hands of the skilled monk it was death incarnate.
A lumbering carnosaur stumbled into the way. Patrick raised his shield just in time to block a musket ball fired from the creature’s back. That was followed by a pair of arrows and a long spear, all deflected by the shield of ancient metal. Patrick ducked through the creature’s legs, swinging his blade at the thick right ankle as he passed. Flesh and bone parted as easily as wood and steel. The big carnosaur bellowed as its foot was cut from its leg. Patrick took two more quick steps and did the same to the left leg, then ran away from the carnosaur as it started its heavy fall to the ground. He glanced back and saw that the fall was in his direction. The other troops involved in the battle seemed aware that tons of dinosaur were about to fall on them as well, and scrambled to get away.
Theocracy: Book 1. Page 3
