Brown,_Simon_-_[Keys_Of_Power_03]_-_Sovereign

by Simon Brown

  Lynan had to squint, something he was not used to doing. Having Silona's blood coursing through his veins had had some advantages. He could just make out two spear-carrying infantry squatting on top of the rise. They were very still, not talking to each other. They seemed very alert, but their position was too low to see over the woods.

  'How many?' he asked.

  The scout pointed to a second rise about fifty paces south of the first and no higher. 'Two more on that one,' the scout said. 'Between them is their camp. Maybe two or three hundred light infantry besides the fifty or so we ran across pretending to be scouts.'

  Lynan nodded. 'I've seen enough.'

  The two slowly retreated back through the woods. Fifty paces west they came across a clearing. Waiting for them were Korigan and Gudon with the horses. Beside them was Akota, one of the oldest chiefs and now in command of a banner made up of Chetts from different clans. Lynan had seen her in combat using a bow he would have trouble even pulling.

  'Well?' she asked impatiently.

  Lynan took the reins of his horse from Gudon. 'It's time,' he said.

  Akota grinned at him, wheeled her horse around and trotted off.

  'We had better get to the Red Hands,' Lynan told the others. 'Akota is so excited she is likely to start without us.'

  They carefully followed Akota along a trail that wound its way through the woods for another two leagues, eventually emerging onto farmland, now churned up under the hooves of hundreds of horses. Akota's banner was already on the move, and the Red Hands were looking on anxiously. Then they saw Lynan and knew they were not going to be left out of the coming battle.

  Captain Urling scowled at the messenger. 'Dejanus said what?'

  'That you should stop worrying about nothing. When the enemy moves, you'll see more than dust and birds in the air.'

  Urling shook his head. He could not believe his ears. He had fought for Grenda Lear in the Slaver War as a lowly Amanite recruit and worked his way up to commanding his own battalion of light infantry. He knew the signs of an approaching army. He knew the enemy was on the march.

  'So the Great Army is still in camp?'

  'It was when I left, Captain.'

  'The idiot,' he said under his breath, not wanting anyone to hear his opinion. Morale was low enough without subverting the authority of the commanding general. He thanked the messenger and turned to his second-in-command, another veteran of the Slaver War named Ordt. 'Dejanus is going to need hard proof. We need a prisoner.'

  'Our patrols just ain't seeing anyone, Captain. They're seeing plenty of signs, but no enemy as such.'

  'A night patrol might have better luck. Send one out this evening, heading northwest where we saw all the dust this morning. They should be able to cover five or six leagues and still get back before daylight.'

  Ordt nodded. 'That's fine, sir, but what if they don't find anything either?'

  'Then we pull back to the main camp,' Urling said. 'The Chetts are out there. I can feel it in my bones. I'm not going to let them cut us off.'

  'The General won't like that.'

  'He'll like it a lot more if we bring a prisoner back with us.'

  'I'll see to it, sir.'

  Ordt turned to go, but Urling grabbed his arm. 'Listen.'

  Ordt did, but heard nothing above the normal sound of the camp. There were birds nearby, a flock of them scattering into the sky…

  'Something's coming,' he said.

  Urling dropped to the ground and put his ear against it. He shot straight back to his feet. 'Form up!' he shouted. 'To your flags! First and second company north of the camp, third and fourth companies south! Quickly!' He pushed Ordt to the south. 'It's cavalry! Put a company on either side of the road. I'll take the north!'

  'What happened to our lookouts? And where are our scouts?'

  Urling glanced at both the rises. There were no lookouts there now. 'Gone. All gone. Hurry! Take the south!'

  There was sudden confusion in the camp, but the Amanites were professionals and soon gathered around their company flags. Urling and Ordt started setting up an ambush when the first riders burst into the valley from the north. Chett horse archers, riding full pelt, their bows already drawn. Ordt quickly ordered his companies to join Urling, but it was too late. The first volley of arrows fell among the Amanites like a hail storm, followed quickly by a second and then a third. The Chetts galloped through the camp and scattered Ordt's force, firing arrows into the fleeing soldiers. When they reached the end of the camp the Chetts dismounted and set up a line running oblique to the road. Ordt managed to gather some of his soldiers together to meet up with the survivors from Urling's group; the captain was not among the living, however.

  'The enemy's dismounted,' Ordt told the survivors. 'This is our only chance. We have to charge them. We have spears and shields to their bows; at close quarters we'll slaughter 'em. Keep two paces apart, two lines, one directly behind the other, shields up, and run. Got it?'

  Those who heard nodded, terrified. 'Once we're past them, get to the forest and make as best you can for the Great Army. Alright, up now! Companies one and two form the first line, three and four the second.'

  Despite the swarm of arrows now falling on them, they managed to form some semblance of two lines, their raised shields protecting them most of the time. A handful fell with arrows in their legs and feet. Ordt raised his spear for the order to charge when he heard more horses behind him. He swore, looked over his shoulder, and saw Chetts not armed with bows but with the short sword, and each hand with a sword was dyed red past the wrist. He knew what that meant, and despite all his years in the army and all the combat he had seen, he still pissed himself.

  Lynan was coming.

  It was almost sunset. Terin's long shadow, and those of the lancers who lined up either side of him, darkened the ground before them as if they were stretching for the enemy camp. A single rider galloped along the line until she reached Terin, then reined in hard.

  'Ager Parmer is ready,' the rider said. 'The Ocean Clan has barred the road north.'

  Terin nodded and the messenger manoeuvred her horse behind the line. Terin looked left and right. The lancers were calm, sitting well back in their saddles, their weapons held vertically. Then he looked down on the enemy, who was so confident and so completely unaware.

  A shout came from below them. Someone in the camp had finally noticed the cavalry on the rise to their west. Terin saw people stop and look up at him. They would see the lances, assume they were more cavalry come to join them in the reserve. Then they would wonder why they were line abreast, and why they were sitting on the hill and not moving. Then doubt would set in.

  Right about now, Terin told himself. He nudged his mount forward a few paces and drew his sabre out of his saddle sheath. He heard the riders behind him sit straighter in the saddle, gather their reins, change their grip on their lances. He smiled, raised his sabre high enough for the sun's last rays to catch its blade, then dropped his arm and spurred his horse into a walk. The line started moving behind him. He watched the enemy below and could imagine their doubt turning to panic as they recognised the beginning of a charge.

  Terin wished he could move to the gallop straightaway, but it was too far for the horses to run and still have the strength and wind they would need for the battle; more, they were going downslope, and experienced riders never forced their horses to gallop downslope.

  The enemy were starting to run to and fro, some scrambling to fit saddles on their horses, others disappearing into their tents to get weapons, still others jumping bareback on horses and running away as fast as they could. Most of those fleeing headed south, and they were of no concern to Terin or the Chetts, but many ran north in the direction of the Great Army camp and, Terin knew, Ager's waiting Ocean Clan; none of them would be allowed to get through.

  The lancers were off the slope now and Terin eased his mount to the trot and then the gallop. He held his sabre out as Lynan had shown him, with the elbow bent
slightly. His blood raced with the sound of his banner charging behind him. Some came abreast as the line started to break, their lances couched low.

  A short fence, easily cleared, and then the first of the defenders, some on horseback. Terin swiped at a head, missed, the impetus of his charge carrying him on. Someone with a sword appeared from behind a tent. He swung underarm, catching the side of the man's head. Still at the gallop. An officer on a horse, armed with a straight sword. Terin brought his arm up again, shouted his war cry. His sabre punched through the officer's arm and through to his chest. The impact tore the sabre from Terin's grasp as his horse slammed into the officer's mount and went down. Terin tumbled on the ground, sprung to his feet. His horse tried to scramble up, but its back was broken and it collapsed onto the enemy officer, killing him outright. Terin waited until the horse squirmed aside and retrieved his sabre, finished off the wounded animal, grabbed the reins of the officer's stallion and remounted. His lancers were all around the camp, finishing off scattered groups of defenders. The enemy that could escape had done so; it was too late for the rest.

  Dejanus woke with a thumping headache that seemed ready to punch out his eyeballs. He managed to swing his feet out of his cot then had to stop. Savis came into his tent, looked down at the general with his head in his hands.

  'I heard you get up,' he said cautiously, wishing now he had stayed out.

  'What is it?' he said testily.

  'Some of your captains are begging to see you.'

  'Whining, are they?'

  'They have concerns—'

  'Concerns!' Dejanus shouted, and immediately moaned as pain seemed to grip his whole skull and shake it.

  Savis blanched and retreated a step. 'About supplies, sir. Some regiments have been without food for several days now. And Captain Harden from Kendra died in his sleep two nights ago and his regiment wants to know which officer is to replace him. And there are representatives from three nearby towns who are here to complain about the army's use of their wells, and to report the theft of several cattle and sheep and several bales of hay—'

  'Enough, Savis, enough. Why is everything happening at once?'

  Savis did not remind Dejanus that most of the problems had come up over the last several days. He did not relish a tongue-lashing this early in the morning. 'Will you be up and about soon, sir? I can tell those waiting to come back, if you like.'

  'Yes,' Dejanus said. 'Later. Tell them to come back later. And get me some wine.'

  Savis nodded and left. Dejanus slowly, cautiously, stood up. He had slept in his uniform and it stank of stale wine. He ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it, strapped on his sword, and stood there. What now? How could he organise this army to besiege Sparro when its captains could not even solve their own supply problems? Orkid had not given him an army, he decided, he had given him a rabble commanded by petty officers without initiative. He deserved better than this.

  There was an argument outside. He heard Savis's voice try to rise above the hubbub. Another voice rose above Savis's. Then suddenly it all went quiet. After a moment Savis reappeared.

  'You had better come out, sir.'

  With a low growl Dejanus burst out of the tent. The sudden brightness blinded him and he put a hand over his eyes.

  'What's going on?' Dejanus demanded. He looked down and saw a young man in the uniform of the Amanite light infantry. Several captains, pale-faced, hovered around him. 'Don't tell me, another bloody message from Captain Urling. Well?'

  'We are attacked, sir!' the Amanite called out.

  The words hit Dejanus like physical blows. He actually reeled back. 'No,' he said.

  'Yesterday afternoon, General,' the Amanite continued. 'At least a thousand Chetts. We heard them coming and were able to prepare an ambush. We killed many hundreds and drove them off.'

  Dejanus did not know what to say. The one thing he truly believed would never happen was that anyone would dare attack the Great Army. The messenger's last sentence sank in. 'You killed hundreds of them?'

  The messenger nodded.

  'And you drove them off?' There was a note of hysteria in Dejanus's voice.

  The messenger nodded again. 'But my captain is afraid they will try again today.'

  Dejanus swallowed. 'I see.'

  'He suggests this is a wonderful opportunity.'

  'He does?'

  'He thinks the Chetts will come in even greater numbers, but still only expect to find four companies of light infantry. If you could reinforce us with the other companies of light infantry, and maybe some cavalry, the captain says your victory will be even sweeter.'

  'My… victory?'

  'As general of the Great Army, of course it would be your victory,' the messenger said, surprised Dejanus should doubt it. 'As last night's victory belongs to you.

  After all, it was you who placed our infantry so far forward.'

  'Yes, of course.'

  'So you will send the reinforcements?' the messenger asked hopefully.

  Dejanus did not answer right away. His mind had grasped the opportunity offered and run away with it. If I defeat the Chetts today, I can claim two victories. That will shut up Orkid and all my whining captains. Maybe even terrify that fat fool Tomar into surrendering Sparro to me.

  'I will do more than send reinforcements,' Dejanus said. 'I will bring up the whole army, and I will lead it personally.'

  The messenger seemed overjoyed. 'This is better than even my captain expected!'

  'Go back to Captain Urling. Tell him we're on our way. Tell him we'll be there by midday.'

  The messenger bowed and left. Dejanus turned to all the captains who had come that morning to complain. 'Well? What are you standing there for? Get your companies ready to march!'

  The captains scattered. Dejanus turned to Savis. 'Get word to all the other units whose captains were not present. We march in one hour. We march to victory.'

  'Here they come,' Korigan said, watching the dark line of the enemy snake its way north from its camp.

  'And all in marching order,' Gudon said, shaking his head in amazement. 'This Dejanus is a fool.'

  'He is a king slayer,' Lynan said flatly. 'Can you tell their order?'

  Korigan nodded. 'Some medium cavalry in the van and light cavalry on either flank; not much of either, though. The rest of the Amanite light infantry comes next, then archers, then heavy infantry, the general and an escort of more cavalry, supply wagons, and the last of the heavy infantry bringing up the rear.'

  'We need to lure the cavalry away from its infantry support, especially the archers,' Lynan said.

  'What we need is bait,' Korigan said.

  Akota said: 'I can take care of that.' She stood in her stirrups and pointed north. 'The road bends around the copse there. That's where I'll set it up.'

  'Fine,' Lynan said. 'Take whatever you need to do the task, but make sure none of the enemy horse get away.'

  Akota grinned. 'That will be a pleasure.'

  Captain Mylor of Storia was enjoying the morning jaunt. The sun was pleasantly warm without being too hot, something she had found easy to take after the cooler climes of her native province in the south of the continent. There was a light breeze brushing across the landscape. She and her company were in the van, so avoiding all the dust kicked up by the footsloggers. And best of all they were on their way to severely punish the army of this renegade Rosetheme.

  She found Kendrans a peculiar bunch at the best of times, but the Rosethemes seemed to concentrate all the strangeness in a few individuals, throwing up the best and the worst of their kind. The sooner this civil war was over the sooner she could resign her commission and get back to her father's vineyards.

  There was a picturesque little copse to her right, around which the road bent. She tried to remember the map she had studied that morning in the general's tent, but only had a vague recollection of a small wood. She had no real idea how much further they had to go before reaching the picket camp established b
y the Amanites. Perhaps it was even around this bend? Time to give the horses a bit of a run, she decided, and urged her horse into a trot. Her company followed her example and they drew ahead of the column. As she rounded the bend she saw about one hundred paces ahead of her twenty or so mounted Chetts, relaxing as their horses cropped at the grass by the side of the road. She glanced quickly over her shoulder to make doubly sure her company was behind her, gave the signal to charge and kicked her horse to the gallop. The Chetts looked up in shock and whipped their mounts with their reins. They moved quickly back onto the road, but Mylor knew she had them. The distance between them closed to sixty paces, then forty. Mylor could feel her surprise turn to excitement; it was like being on a hunt back home. Thirty paces. She aimed the tip of her spear at the back of the nearest Chett rider, right where his kidney would be.

  Then, from the copse running along the right side of the road, came a sound like the furious whirring of bees but a hundred times louder. She was stopped from dwelling on it when the Chetts she had been pursuing peeled off the road and wheeled around in a manoeuvre that would have been impossible on her big charger. She overshot them, caught a glimpse of them loading their bows. She reined in and desperately pulled her horse around. The road behind her was covered in the dead and dying, and all of them belonged to her company. She stopped, her mouth dropped open in shock, and she realised what the sound must have been. Hundreds and hundreds of arrows. She had never heard nor seen such a thing before. Some of her riders were turning and turning again, looking for someone to fight, and then from the copse came a shower of arrows as thick as a cloud. The last thing she saw was the last of her company fall to the ground with an arrow in his throat, then she felt herself pitch back over the saddle with the force of several shafts plunging into her chest and stomach at the same time. She was dead before she hit the ground.

  The ensign leading the remnants of the Amanite infantry, a grizzled old campaigner who had worked his way up from the ranks, recognised the sound coming from the copse ahead. He immediately halted the column and ordered his infantry to form a line across the road, and signalled to the officer leading the archers behind his infantry to copy him. As the two units started to spread out, a regiment of heavy infantry ran into the rear ranks of the archers and an argument started. The officer in charge of the archers raced back to sort things out. His own soldiers stopped forming their line, not sure what was happening or who was in charge. Some of the more enterprising actually strung their bows, nocked a flight arrow and put a handful of the heavier barbless arrows in the ground before them, but they were on level ground and could see little ahead of them because of the Amanite infantry, now neatly organised in three lines across the road. The argument behind them was getting fiercer when a commotion started in front of them as well. They looked up as one and saw it was no argument, but the curses of the Amanites watching their doom ride down upon them.