by Tony Roberts
“Thank you, Admiral.” Jorqel turned to go. “I’ll leave you to your job while I’ll get ready for mine.” He went down to the main deck of the warship and spoke to Deran. He wanted to know the condition of the men and their beasts, and equipment. This was to be a one-off fight, and afterwards they would be returning to Kastan City. He was keen to see for himself how the mounted archers would perform in battle. It was, after all, a step towards forming an army capable of taking on and defeating the Tybar.
Deran gave Jorqel a quick appraisal of the men and animals. He called the three squadron commanders over to join them. All three were young, bright-faced and eager. They saw themselves as the future, no matter that some had mocked their choice of military career. They prided themselves that they were different from the usual type of Kastanian soldier; no spearmen, swordsmen or heavy cavalry were to be found here.
“My squadron commanders,” Deran introduced the three to Jorqel. “They will be under my direct control in this battle, sire. This is the Tybar way of command; they have three distinct arms of war. Foot archers, spearmen and mounted archers. Each arm is under the overall command of a captain who is directly subordinate to the army general. The general, like you have here, is part of a heavy cavalry shock unit. He issues commands to the three captains and they ensure their particular arm carries out these orders.”
His thick Tybar accent irritated Jorqel. To be indebted to one of the enemies of the empire rankled, but Jorqel was pragmatic enough to realise Deran was invaluable. To fight the Tybar they desperately needed to learn how the tribes fought. It would be an interesting battle, Jorqel mused, using Tybar tactics against a likely traditional Kastanian force. If history was any guide, then he would emerge victorious. “My army will consist of two arms only, Captain Deran. Your force of three squadrons will be one, and two companies of imperial archers will be the other arm.”
“All archers, sire? No infantry?” Deran sounded surprised.
“No. This is to be a mobile force. I shall protect the foot archers. My infantry are remaining in Slenna, to garrison it against any move the Duras may make against it. By using your men I can split my forces and deal with each threat separately. I also understand that Lombert Soul’s force has not been trained to deal with archers, and nearly all of my force will be armed as such. I have sent an order to the governor of Niake to supply us with every arrow in his stores. I intend winning this battle through missile barrage. Now,” he looked at the four men evenly, “I want to know what tactics suit you best in order for me to formulate a proper plan to attack.”
The three squadron commanders looked at Deran. They had been drilled endlessly over the past year and a half and their recent victory over the small bandit force at the burned-out farm had given them added confidence. Deran circled his hands in the air. “We ride out separately, usually one to the right, one to the left and one remains in the centre. Then we ride hard for the enemy, shower them with arrows, wheel about and avoid any counter-charge. With such a widespread front, any enemy move will have to disrupt their own neat lines, allowing a counter-charge to punch a hole in them. If the enemy do not move, then we continue to shower arrows down on them until they are too weak to withstand a final charge.”
“Instead, my centre will be the foot archers. We can advance closer to them while your units occupy their attention.” Jorqel nodded. “What form of communication do the Tybar use in battle? Such fluid movement negates verbal command.”
“Flags,” Deran said. “Red to attack, yellow to withdraw, green to circle, blue to return to the main body of the army. The flag is placed next to your battle standard so the commanders here know where to look.”
“And the internal chain of command within each squadron?”
Deran indicated the stockiest of the three, a brown-haired youngster with intelligent brown eyes, to speak. “Sire, I have under me seven squads and a further squad of support troops, taking care of messages, care of the wounded and supplies. Each squad has a sergeant and nine troopers.”
Jorqel nodded slowly. “Very good. This is exactly based on Tybar structures?” he asked Deran.
“Sire,” the rogue Tybar nodded. “It allows flexibility and a greater degree of command. If the commander falls then the senior most sergeant takes over immediately. They are always arranged by colour designations. Red, then yellow, followed by blue, green, brown, black and finally white.”
“The Tybar use colour coding a lot, so it seems,” the prince observed.
“Yes, sire. It is pervasive throughout Tybar society.”
Jorqel thanked the men and allowed them to return to their units and beasts. He went to stand on the prow of the ship, watching as the indigo darkness of the far shore drifted past. They were on the tide running north, and they made good time. He stood there, deep in thought, thinking of his beloved, and of the battle that was coming. If he was endowed with fortune by the gods, then he would emerge victorious. He needed one more piece of information, and that was where the exact location of the enemy camp was.
He got that the following morning in Aconia. Tired, his eyes sore and gritty with a lack of sleep, he stepped off the gangplank onto the wooden jetty and stood for a moment to get his legs used to solid ground again. It had been a smooth passage but even so, the movement of the deck had been enough to make him anticipate the next motion of the waves. Now he was back on firm land, he had to forget the motion.
Gavan waved and approached him, leading Jorqel’s mount by the reins. “Well met, your majesty!” he boomed. “All is in order, sire?”
Jorqel grasped Gavan’s arm. “It is, yes. How are things here?”
“We’re impatient to get going. Word is that the rebels are on the move. There’s a man waiting for you from Niake over there,” the bodyguard gestured to a figure standing apart from the soldiers preparing themselves. “He has information on their camp.”
“Has he, by Kastan!” Jorqel punched his hand in delight. “Bring him here!”
As the mounted archers led their beasts off the two imperial ships, Jorqel was introduced to Demtro Kalfas. The merchant bowed and gave the prince a quick outline of what he knew. “I’ve got information from a contact in the enemy camp. It seems my brother who is inside the rebel army has managed to corrupt one of the officers under Soul, and this man sent me a description of how to get to the camp.”
“Where is it?”
“To the interior beyond the road to Niake. The rebel army will be marching soon along this route. There’s a narrow valley halfway to Niake and its along there. I have sketched a crude map, here,” and Demtro passed over a very creased and stained piece of parchment which Jorqel greedily scanned.
“Excellent. I shall keep this, for I shall ride for this camp the moment I have dispensed with the traitors.”
“I shall come with you as my brother and woman are also there. Their lives will be just as at risk as your good lady’s.”
“As you wish. Now, what else can you tell me?”
Demtro retold the story of the leaf episode and the arrest of the guilty parties. Jorqel’s face grew thunderous.
“You mean that fool Extonos had done nothing to learn of their contacts or their command structure?”
“No, sire. He is content to merely imprison them. He is thinking on whether he had enough ‘evidence’ to keep them or let them go.”
Jorqel shouted in fury. “I shall write to him and inform him in no uncertain manner what he is to do with these people. I am through with being reasonable as far as the Duras are concerned. Now, go get some food because I am going to ride for this valley as soon as my men are disembarked and prepared.”
Demtro bowed and backed off. He had his own food and water, not wishing to rely on the questionable supplies from the port’s merchants and sutlers. By the time he’d finished the army was all armed, supplied and ready to move. The wagons in the port were left there, their provisions and arrows taken. The men were laden with enough food and equipment for one day onl
y. This was going to be a short campaign.
Jorqel led the way, his armoured retinue in attendance, their flags and pennants fluttering in the breeze. The foot archers came tramping next, tough professionals who had already endured the siege of Slenna and knew all about warfare. Lastly, slowly following the imperial archers, were the three squadrons of mounted archers, many of them looking in wonder at the countryside, never having been in this part of the empire before. Demtro rode close to them, being interested in these new style of warriors. This was Jorqel’s secret trick, something he thought would tip the balance in his favour against the largely spearman-based army of Lombert Soul.
At the spot where the narrow valley stood, the army left the road and Jorqel signalled to Deran to send out scouts to spot where the enemy was. Ten riders roamed far and wide as the rest of the army marched along the bottom of the valley. It was the growing season and plants were reclaiming those areas lost to winter’s chill touch, and the leaves of the encroaching bushes and trees were glistening with moisture from a recent shower. It was a beautiful setting and so in contrast to what was about to happen.
In mid-afternoon the scouts returned with news that the enemy army was approaching. Jorqel immediately waved the mounted archers to load up and scatter in three groups, and he then led the two companies of foot archers up the long steep slope of the valley to about halfway, and then they turned and faced the approaching enemy. Jorqel and his men along with Demtro sat in their saddles behind the two imperial companies.
Apart from the occasional blowing of the equines, there was a heavy silence. Then, gradually, movement and colour caught their attention, and men slowly came into view from the crest of the rise at the end of the valley. The enemy halted, conferred, and then a squadron of lancers came out from behind the soldiers.
“That’s the fool Lombert Soul,” Jorqel stated. “Lancers? We’ll have them for breakfast!”
Gavan grinned. “Sport. You up for it, lads?”
The others chuckled and agreed. Lancers were deadly to foot soldiers but easy meat to heavy cavalry such as the armoured bodyguard.
“What about the rest of their army, sire?” Demtro inquired, nervously twiddling his leather reins.
“Spearmen – our archers will cut them to pieces. Archers, by the looks of things, too.” Jorqel leaned forward to the imperial archer captains. “Target those archers first – forget their spearmen for the time being!”
The captains saluted and walked along their front lines, passing on the command. Even as they did so, the deployment of the rebel army went on below them. Two companies of archers stood out in front, but these were rudimentary bowmen with small bows and hardly any protection. They were peasant volunteers who owned bows and were little trained in warfare. The imperial archers licked their lips in anticipation, and began sticking their arrows into the ground before their feet so that they could easily reach for their next missile.
Behind the rebel archers they could see the neatly lined up three companies of the spearmen which was the backbone of Lombert’s army. Jorqel snorted. The rebels had a bigger army, but were clearly inferior to his Army of the West.
“Numbers, Gavan?” Jorqel asked softly.
“Just shy of seven hundred and fifty, sire,” Gavan said, having just quickly counted the heads of the rebels.
“And we have five hundred and thirty.”
“Better men, sire.”
Jorqel grunted. “I trust the mounted archers will be up to the task.” He turned to the rear. Below the hill the mounted archers waited, nervously. They were out of sight of the rebels for the moment but once Lombert came out to parley he would see them. Therefore there was no point in keeping them concealed any longer. He signalled them to take up their initial positions. The equines came up the hill, one group remaining close to the valley bottom, one rode behind and over to the left while the third walked out to the front and then waited, below the long line of imperial archers.
Lombert Soul, sitting astride his personal charger, watched with astonishment as the mounted archers made their way to their respective positions. “What in the name of the gods are those?”
His senior bodyguard peered forward. “Sir they look like Tybar equine archers!”
“Tybar mercenaries?” Lombert shouted, “where did they get the money and contacts to hire them?”
“Kastania don’t have any, sir, and they don’t look like Mazag irregulars.” The bodyguard frowned, puzzled. “But they don’t look like Tybar tribesmen either; their uniforms are too smart and regular. I don’t recognise their identification flag.” He pointed to a fluttering pennant of a purple cross and five circles, one in each white quarter and the fifth in the centre where the cross met.
“Damn the Koros. Who’s their commander?”
They looked up to the main body and the large flag of an avian and sword. There was a crown circling the sword tip. “Sir, that’s the heir to the throne. Jorqel Koros.”
“He’s supposed to be in Kastan City! Can’t the spies get anything right?” Lombert snapped. “What of his infantry? I can’t see any. Is this a trap?”
“I don’t think so sir…..” the bodyguard lifted himself as high as he could in his saddle. “No, there’s just archers and the imperial armoured bodyguard.”
Lombert slapped his hands together. “The fool! No infantry? We’ll ride those archers down ahead and the spearmen can follow! Send the archers out as a screen. They can duel with the Koros archers, then we can charge and hit them hard!”
Jorqel, meanwhile, waited until the three squadrons of mounted archers were in position, then ordered the red flag to be raised. Gavan raised an eyebrow in surprise. “No parley, sire?”
“Damn Lombert and his army to the underworld,” Jorqel snapped. “They don’t fight with decency, imprisoning women and threatening the people with a vile drug addiction. They deserve no mercy. I certainly won’t parley with that scum! Kill them all! Kill!”
Even as Lombert prepared to ride out, the mounted archers cheered and began galloping forward, riding at the rebels from three directions. “What?” Lombert sat in his saddle, stunned, “no parley?”
“Sire, they’re attacking!” his bodyguard commander yelled, alarmed. “Archers!” he added, not waiting for Lombert to give the order.
The rebel archers hastily began fitting arrows but the first missiles from the hard riding mounted men from Kastan City were already arcing through the air with deadly intent. Deran screamed in delight and got his men to wheel, loose off another volley, and ride back and forth, helping to make them harder to hit.
Arrows fell like a deadly rain amongst the archers. Men staggered under the impact, crying out in pain, twisted in agony or merely fell to the ground. Arrows struck the ground, soft flesh, clothing and shields as the bodyguard desperately tried to extricate themselves from the confusion.
Jorqel looked on with grim satisfaction at the carnage developing. “Captains,” he said to the imperial archer officers, “you may loose.”
The two companies of Taboz bow carrying men raised their weapons in unison, their discipline admirable and something of deadly beauty, and they loosed off in one motion. The heavier and faster travelling arrows poured down onto the already frightened rebel archers. The thudding impact of the second part of Jorqel’s deadly rain sent the line of archers toppling in clumps. Bodies fell on top of one another, some of them never to move again, others jerking spasmodically with the searing pain of their injuries.
Lombert Soul cursed loudly. “Damn his black heart! Ride those archers down!” he ordered, raising his sword. Behind him the three companies of spearmen began to follow, marching grimly forward. They had only been trained to deal with enemy infantry and cavalry, so they made their way along the valley towards the bottom of the slope that Jorqel and his archers were standing halfway up. The mounted archers directly in front of the main Kastanian army peeled away, still loosing off arrows.
Those to the left and right closed in on the wa
vering archers, now isolated behind the rebel army, and sent shaft after shaft into the hapless men. With no protection, they turned and fled, throwing away their bows. Best to be away from the remorseless archers and their damned arrows than to stand there to be butchered.
Lombert and his men gathered pace, outstripping the spearmen, and charged up the slope. Jorqel saw the lancers coming and snapped down his visor. “With me, come on!”
His bodyguard advanced through the archers, the bowmen opening their ranks and retreating, and suddenly Lombert was faced with the steely front of the imperial armoured heavy cavalry. “Charge!” the rebel commander screamed. It was do or die now, and they were committed to their charge. If they turned they would be at Jorqel’s mercy. Jorqel yelled in delight; here were the lancers completely exposed, downhill, and with no chance of avoiding them. In a straight chase the lancers would outrun the heavier equines, but here they had no chance of getting out of the way, and Lombert Soul had realised that, so he had gritted his teeth and charged.
The imperial cavalry broke into a canter as they closed. There was not enough time or distance to change into a full gallop, but the slope assisted them and slowed the lancers as they came up at their opponents. Jorqel raised his sword as they struck, his shield covering his left chest. A lancer passed close by, his wooden strike weapon splintering. The prince slashed down, catching the lancer across the neck. The man grunted and slid off his saddle, and then Jorqel was past and knocking a second man’s attack up out of the way. The equines stopped and milled about, a few yards from the imperial archers who watched in morbid fascination at the melee before them. If Jorqel and his men fell, they would be cut to ribbons, but after a few moments it was clear the lancers, out armoured and outclassed, were on a hiding to nothing.
Deran waved his squadron round away from the melee. His remit was not to get caught in that fight. He concentrated instead on the rebel spearmen who had reached the bottom of the slope and were now beginning to march up, hoping to catch Jorqel in the melee. If they reached the prince, his cavalry would be vulnerable to the wicked spear points. “Archers, cut them down!” Deran snapped, delighting in the feeling of commanding mobile archers once again. One thing he had not revealed to the Kastanians, for obvious reasons, was in his past he’d been with a Tybar force that had defeated a Kastanian army in the highlands of Izaras. Having become an outcast meant those days were over, but now he’d found his calling again. The feeling was so good it was almost sexual in nature. He was supremely confident of victory, the helplessness of the foot soldiers compared to the free moving archers.
