A skinny, undernourished youth who attacked food of any kind with reckless zeal, Trip was the first to finish and set his bowl aside. “I s-s-spoke to Sils today.”
Kip’s ears perked up. He always liked talking of the former housethrall’s lively sister. As did the rest of the men, and he saw a familiar smile come to Henk’s lips. Good luck, Kip thought. The girl worked in the Rechshtal, serving the generals and nobles—meaning she now had a hopeless infatuation with the prince.
“Aye, I did. Brought me these g-g-gloves.” He proudly displayed the poorly-knit mittens for their admiration. “She s-s-spoke to the Th-th-third. Says he is s-s-sad about something.”
“Sad? What can he be sad about?” Henk asked aloud, his smile becoming a scowl. “He has everything a man could want. And what do we have? Cold, disgusting stew.” But Kip noticed that the other soldier emptied the bowl before setting it down.
The three of them spoke for a time of the poor food, the bitter weather, and the unfair treatment of their superiors. Everything but the coming battle. Which was odd, because that was the one subject that dominated their thoughts. The thing that bound them all together, for they were all terrified.
Twilight settled over them by the time they heard the commotion. It started on the other side of the courtyard, and slowly moved their way, preceded by a surge of whispered excitement. The Third! The Third is here.
Along with all the others, Kip stood and pressed forward to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, there was their leader, their prince, their commander, along with the one-armed woman and quiet man who always accompanied him.
As the trio came close, the soldiers all cheered. Kip found himself doing the same without even thinking about it, noticing that Trip and Henk did likewise despite the earlier commentary. That was just soldier talk; this was the real thing.
Much to his surprise, Kip watched as the Third stopped directly in front of him. That young face stared back for a moment, then erupted into a smile. The unwounded arm reached out, a hand clasping the former page’s shoulder in a gesture of friendship. “Kip, it’s good to see you. How goes the training?”
He could hardly believe it, and became nearly as tongue-tied as Trip. “E-excellent, Third.”
The smile grew larger. “Who are your companions?”
“Trip…and Henk, Third.” As he introduced them, the Third patted each once on the shoulder.
“Trip. Henk. Are you all prepared for the fight?”
“Aye, Third,” they answered in unison. Caught up in the moment, they probably even meant it.
“Good. Akenberg counts on you. I know you’ll make us all proud.” He nodded one last time, then moved on. The commotion went with him, but the excitement lingered.
Kip noticed that the others treated him with more respect that night. Even Captain Benson.
The horn woke them early, well before first light. It was time to march.
Clad in stiff, uncomfortable leather and a steel pot helmet—neither of which did much to keep out the cold—and carrying a heavy spear that his suddenly sweaty palms persistently threatened to drop, Kip maintained step with the man beside him and the woman ahead. If nothing else, they had at last learned to walk in straight lines.
There were few bystanders as his company cleared the streets and continued out the city gates to the grassy slopes beyond. Inside Neublusten, they had all felt reasonably safe, if anxious. Now, as soon as they left the wall behind, Kip could not help feeling vulnerably exposed. Still hidden in the morn darkness, the crossbows and ballistae on the wall ramparts and inside the towers kept the enemy at bay. But the infantry marched onward, farther and farther from that protected zone, down where death and dread awaited.
The terrain was one of the few advantages favoring the defenders. From the lake, the ground sloped upward toward the walls of the city. The snow had stopped, at least for the moment, but not before coating everything with a white powdery layer several inches deep, softening the ground and turning much of it soggy. The grass was high and slick, and the ranks of soldiers began to waver as men and women slowed and stumbled.
The spear was the weakest weapon on the battlefield, given to the poorest and least-skilled soldiers in an army. Primarily a defensive unit, spearmen were the expendables that commanders threw away like refuse. He would have far preferred to be in one of the sword companies, but it had come as no surprise to Kip when he had received this assignment.
They were still in motion as the sun peeked over the horizon, clear and bright, promising to bestow upon them a beautiful day. They felt the first rays on their faces with eager anticipation, for their bodies shivered uncontrollably, and some of that from the chill.
At a quarter-mile down the slope, the corporals barked orders to shift formation. Kip and his comrades broke the long lines to form wide columns, four soldiers deep and ten wide. He was in the second row, and could now see over the shoulder of the man ahead well enough to make out the distant enemy. Over a thousand of them, less than a mile ahead, slowly making their way up the troublesome incline.
It did not take long for the lines to close to within a few hundred yards, and already the intermittent bursts of crossbow fire arced back and forth between the armies. Kip and his comrades did not carry shields, so they could only hope that none of the deadly missiles would rain down upon them. Thankfully, few did.
“Here they c-c-come,” Trip said. “I’m not r-r-ready.”
“Neither am I,” Henk admitted mournfully.
They all stared out, seeing the swords and shields of the enemy closing in on them.
While their weapons were most effective against cavalry, the bane of the spearmen was swordsmen, for once the short gap between foes was crossed, the spear’s longer reach became more of a hindrance than a boon. Therefore, the trick was to keep the enemy back with an unbroken wall of spearpoints. To this end, the first row held their weapons out at chest-level, while Kip and the second row extended theirs over the shoulders of those in front, forming one continuous, jagged barrier. The key was to maintain this formation, for once weaknesses appeared, the swords could close and take advantage.
The enemy line halted fifty yards away. Even though their shields provided significant protection, pressing directly into an unbroken line of spears was no simple task. Kip found himself smiling in relief. A few fleeting minutes of the upper hand would bolster the confidence of everyone in his company. Maybe the whole army was watching, and cheering. Perhaps even the Third himself.
Then he heard a horn sound the order to advance, and his smile faded. He did not like the order, having just gotten comfortable with where they were. Now his comrades began stepping forward on the unstable ground, directly toward the enemy. While moving, the precise height of their spearpoints was harder to maintain. Then, at twenty yards away, they heard the call to charge. A surge of fear and anticipation pushed him forward, and Kip heard himself yelling nonsensically in unison with the others.
The sides met, and he felt the tip of his weapon clash on shield. He stabbed forward, pulled back, and stabbed forward again, the way he had trained to do day after day. His palms were still sweaty, his grip uncertain—but his muscles had strengthened from repeated drilling, and the familiar motion felt cathartic to an anxious mind. His row took another step forward, and he realized they were driving the enemy back. Long may it last…
It did not last long. The shields pushed back, and the gap between lines shortened. Kip stepped back instinctively, wanting to maintain as much distance as possible. Beside him, however, Trip tried to step forward instead. All along the ranks, this uncoordinated movement was happening, and the formation quickly disintegrated as a result.
Then the woman in the rank ahead took a blade to the shoulder and went down with a yell. Kip could hear other screams, some in anger, most in agony. All around him, his comrades were attempting to step back, but the ranks behind them prevented most from doing so. The swords of the enemy were now flashing, swinging left and right in deadly arcs, thrusting fo
rward and back with terrible effect. Kip stared at one of them, directly ahead, expecting the man to jump forward and extinguish his life in one swift merciless second. Instead, the swordsman remained shoulder-to-shoulder with his neighbors. The enemy was holding their formation, even as the Akenbergers did not.
“A-a-ah!” Trip shouted as he lunged, aiming his spear at the neck of a Lorester. A shield raised, deflecting the point uselessly into the air. Then the shield moved aside and a sword-thrust followed, catching Trip in the gut and driving deeper, then withdrawing just as quickly. Kip’s friend fell to his knees, dropped the useless spear in order to clutch his belly with mittened hands, then collapsed at the feet of the man who had killed him.
Up and down the lines, similar incidents were occurring, leaving Kip to wonder when his turn would come. Then, for some reason, the swordsmen stopped advancing. They even took a few steps back, disengaging. Right before his eyes, the enemy unit swung backward as one, like a giant door on a hinge. The infantry were clearing the way for those behind.
Kip’s eyes widened in horror as he saw the horses growing larger. His ears recognized the sound of blowing horns and pounding hooves, and he watched the enemy cavalry lean forward in their saddles in perfect time. He still had his spear, and remembered his training. Spears were supposed to be strong against cavalry, although drilling in courtyards had not prepared the recruits for how loud and terrifying a torrent of warhorses truly was.
He planted the base of the shaft in the soft earth and raised the point up, the way they had been instructed. But few of his companions were doing the same.
“…the Devil with this,” Henk yelled, then dropped his spear and ran.
“Henk…” Kip gasped. He turned his head back to the enemy, just in time to see the mass of horses leap.
* *
Before the battle began, Nico had debated what exactly to do with his limited crossbowmen. He had considered their value in the early stages of the battle, where every soldier was crucial, but ultimately decided that it best suited his plans for them to cover a retreat. And so, with mixed feelings, he had stationed the lion’s share on the ramparts. A line of them stood beside him now, watching events unfold in the center just as he did.
The clean air made visibility perfect for watching the crisp lines. Initially pleased at the good order Handersonn’s troops showed on the march, Nico appreciated the precision with which they switched from column to line and stood in place. His battle plans did not call for them to do much more than that. All they were supposed to do was hold their ground for as long as possible, to give time for the action on the wings to resolve.
His displeasure did not begin to mount until those lines began moving again. The twelve companies of footsoldiers were divided into eight units of spears and four of swords. The latter were purposefully behind the former, a reserve force to be held back until they were needed. Now Nico watched those four advance to a line with the others, and then the entire group move together as one.
“What is General Handersonn about?” he asked aloud. Not only was this movement not what he had ordered, it directly made those units more vulnerable.
The problem was not that he wanted the center to win—he had always expected these inexperienced units to be driven back—but rather that he hoped it would be able to fall back in good order. Every step forward now took this line farther from the wall, from the cover of the men stationed there, from eventual safety. Every step forward now meant more men and women killed, to no good purpose.
The center of an army was traditionally its strongest point, and so Nico had intended it to appear today. It was, in terms of numbers—but not with respect to skill or experience. He hoped the Loresters would not anticipate his deception, of course. Putting his least dependable soldiers in the center was certainly unorthodox, as much born of desperation as ingenuity, and yet that was the key to the entire battle.
Nico did not worry about the center collapsing, because his strategy relied upon that. And on the enemy pursuing. With luck, right into the kill zone comprising his crossbows and ballistae. Nico hoped to be able to rally any fleeing troops at the wall, to throw them back upon the enemy in a sudden counterattack. Yet even if not, he planned for his own success to come on the wings, exposing the enemy flanks and putting his own forces in an advantageous position. Perhaps even within striking distance of the Lorester supply train in the rear.
Displeasure became anger when he saw the line break into a charge. This was not only unhelpful to his plans, it was the exact opposite of them. He wanted steady defensive lines that the enemy would have to slowly push back uphill. Instead, he could see the formations falling to pieces already.
“Lima!” he yelled over his shoulder.
“Here, Third.”
“Get our horses ready. We’re going down.”
“Already ready, Third.”
By the time he, Lima, and Pim reached Handersonn’s headquarters, the first waves of panicked soldiers were already running past.
Nico’s instincts were to attempt to rally them, but logic told him to get a grasp of the big picture first. He located the general’s open canopy and galloped toward it, practically launching himself from horseback to ground in his haste, bellowing to get the man’s attention. “General Handersonn, what are you about? Your orders were to…”
He stopped himself. There was no point in continuing, for the general was clearly drunk. The nose redder than ever, dark veins blazing forth from waxen skin. “Third, welcome! We drive the enemy back... Isn’t it glor…glorious?”
The general’s aide was a quiet young woman named Anika. She had seemed capable during their brief exchanges in the past. Now, Nico addressed her stiffly. “Captain, please take command of the center. Pim, the general is under arrest. Please see him back to the city, find someone you trust and turn him over, then come back. I might need you.”
He was aware that words were spoken in protest, but Nico focused on the young captain who suddenly found herself in command of an entire third of an army. She stared at him anxiously, but showed less surprise than he might have expected. He wondered if she had known this outcome was inevitable.
He stepped toward her, away from the curses and insults now being leveled in his direction. “Captain, let’s see if we can get this rout under control.”
“Yes, Third.”
The other officers were willing enough, but it quickly became obvious that no one was going to be able to slow the mass exodus of fleeing troops. As a last resort, Nico leapt back onto his horse and called to the troops as loudly as possible, just to get their attention. Some stopped, but most ran on. He did not blame them, for he saw the enemy cavalry not far off, pushing ahead, hacking down scattered pockets of resistance. Behind them came rows of infantry, moving at a brisk pace. Handersonn’s center had all but dissolved.
The first missiles began landing on the rapidly shrinking field between Nico and the enemy, and he became aware of the precariousness of his own position. Then a Lorester cavalryman was struck by a ballista bolt and knocked from the saddle, and Nico realized the incoming projectiles were friendly fire. This was the furthest reach of those on the walls and towers.
Of course. He now recalled how the enemy crossbows were concentrated in the wings—which was a good thing, for Nico had overloaded his own with the cavalry that were so dangerous to missile units. Nevertheless, he found himself wishing he had kept a few more horsemen in the center, for emergencies like this.
“Third!” Anika called out. “We must pull back now.”
Nico watched her mount her own destrier, pointing out the direction for the rest of the headquarters staff to head. Then he looked back at the Loresters, looming closer and closer. The cavalry had pulled back to tighten their ranks, forming a giant wedge. Soon they would be upon this very position, with the infantry just behind.
He wanted them to come, closer to the city walls—and his own sword. He reared his horse on its hind legs, hoping to make an irresis
tible target for their attention.
“Fool!” Lima spat as she grabbed his reins and pulled him after the others. With her single arm, she could not control both his mount and her own, so Nico accepted her lead and galloped back toward safety. He was heartened to see some semblance of order being restored. Many of the most frightened continued to run toward the walls, but Anika and her officers had managed to reform patchwork groups of infantry. Not enough to counterattack, but perhaps enough to slow the enemy’s advance.
He and Lima cleared the front rows and saw the spears fall into position behind. The Loresters continued to come on quickly, undaunted by the thin defensive line. But each step brought them farther into the kill zone, closer to the crossbows and ballistae, and the effect of the missile fire was beginning to show. The Lorester line slowed at last, and sporadic cheers erupted from the Akenberg troops.
Once the opposing lines clashed, however, the advantage of the city walls would be lost. The missiles would stop firing for fear of hitting friends. Nico looked about for Pim, hoping that the two of them might be able to charge into the melee, if for no other reason than to stiffen the resolve of the outnumbered defenders.
He heard horns sounding all around, and looked expectantly at the oncoming Lorester forces. Signals to charge, no doubt.
But they were not charging at all. Instead, their lines were breaking into disorder as some soldiers kept coming while others turned around. Disorder quickly became panic, and Nico could now see fighting in their rear and on their flanks. Beyond flew the banners of General Freilenn’s Second Army.
Nico’s wings, pressing in, enveloping the enemy at last.
In terms of pure numbers, the Loresters probably still held the advantage. But nothing affects a soldier’s morale quite so much as being unexpectedly hit from the undefended flank. And the Loresters were now being hit not only from both flanks, but from behind. Their soldiers did not know which way to turn, for danger lay all around, and some of them lashed out so indiscriminately, they must have hit each other.
Hearts of Fire (Empire Asunder Book 2) Page 20
