Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar v(-100

by Mercedes Lackey

  "All right," Cogern said, turning to the cluster of runners and trumpeters, "what are you waiting for?"

  The staff members scattered to execute the orders. Horns blared. Under officers shouted as the lead battle, company by company, shifted their pikes and picked up a clumsy trot. The regiment's company of mounted skirmishers thundered past, their riders adjusting bows, quivers and heavy sacks. They disappeared in a trice over a low brow to contest the Hardornans' passage.

  Tregaron knew a hundred archers weren't enough to stop the invaders by themselves, but he hoped they'd be enough of an irritant to make Reglauf deploy his forces prematurely.

  The vanguard had just drawn even with the streamlet when a single horn blew in the distance. Tregaron followed the sound and saw a thin dust plume rising above the bluffs. "That would be our guests," Cogern said, his flat voice calm. Tregaron studied the thin brown column. Infantry dust tended to spread as it rose, making a ground-hugging haze rather than a rising tail. Yes, definitely cavalry.

  He turned in his saddle to address the trumpeters. "Play: Form line of battle—left."

  The horns skirled. Trumpeters farther down the line answered the calls, acknowledging the orders.

  "Front Northwest!" Cogern shouted, his bass voice cutting the din. In such moments all hint of his lisp vanished. "Debouch by companies!"

  The battles' officers and sergeants amplified the commands as the regiment dropped its packs and began to smoothly deploy into the serge alongside the dusty road. Tregaron heard the crack of a whip and snapped his head around to see one sergeant coiling his badge of office back into his hand. He rode over as the man raised it for another How. "You are a fine sergeant, Gren," Tregaron said through clenched teeth, "but you are no longer in the Seventeenth. If you raise that starter to another one of my lambs without good cause, I'll have you flogged back to your old regiment. Is that clear!"

  The sergeant, his face pale, nodded silently. Tregaron jerked his horse's head around and rode to take his position with the standards, by then positioned on the left-center of the line. The battles' guidons had long since returned to their units.

  Front-rankers aligned the regiment into four neat rows, using pikestaves as guideposts. The pikemen in the first two ranks took their intervals, setting their shields between them to provide cover if the cavalry stormed them with arrows. The rear ranks, composed of swords-

  men each equipped with two heavy javelins, marked off their running distances and prepared their gear.

  The javelins were cunning weapons. The swordsmen wrapped lanyards around the middles, which, when held between the casters' fingers when throwing, imparted a spin on the spear. Spinning spears flew farther and more accurately than straight-thrown, though no one knew why.

  The javelins' heads were attached to the shafts with weak glue or brittle pins. When the weapon hit, the glue usually failed or the pin broke, making the thing useless for a return throw.

  The regiment's longbow company moved quickly out in front, ready to act as skirmishers and contest the ground in front of the regiment with long range fire. Two scouts galloped across the field, plunging whitewashed stakes into the ground at hundred-pace intervals to mark the boyers' ranges.

  The farthest scout turned, and using his last stick as a goad, pounded back toward the readied regiment.

  Cogern cantered up beside him. "As for tactics, sir," he asked, "butterfly wings?"

  Tregaron nodded. "If they let us. Have Luhann double her leftmost companies. If they try to turn our flank, her side'll be the most likely place they'll try."

  Cogern passed the instruction to a runner. Most battlefield situations were too complex for trumpets. Runners gave more precise messages, but were slow and often got lost or were lost.

  Cogern smiled the easy grin of man with a secret. Tregaron rarely saw the Pikemaster as happy as he was before a fight. Vkandis knew his guts always knotted up beforehand.

  "Your horse, sir," Cogern said. Tregaron dipped his head and dismounted. Mounted officers made easy targets.

  They gave their animals to an orderly to take behind the line.

  "Where's the damned Oriflamme?" Tregaron snapped. "It should be here."

  "Here, Colonel," Solaris said, stepping through the ranks to join them. Tregaron saw she wore no mail and carried no weapon.

  "Where are your cohorts?" he said, a little more harshly than he'd intended, but only a little.

  She made a wry face. "They've decided to support your fight from back there." She pointed toward the area behind the regiment, where the horses, gear, and a few noncombatants waited.

  "That'll do 'em no good a'tall if n they get behind us," Cogern said. He looked at Solaris. "Do you have a weapon?"

  She held up the Oriflamme. "I have this."

  Cogern looked closely at her a long moment. "Then what are you waitin' on, girl?" He pointed to the Stainless Banner. "Show 'em what we're fightin' for."

  She grinned and hefted the pole, raising the 'Flamme high above their heads. She waved it about, swirling its swallowtail in a gentle arc. The center battle cheered. The shouting built as each battle fought to outdo the , others.

  The skirmishers' reappearance quieted the noise. The horsemen paused at the hill crest to fire one final volley at their pursuers, then fled across the open ground. They opened the sacks tied to their saddles and tossed handful after handful of small black objects into the grass behind them.

  "What are those?" Solaris asked, lowering the 'Flamme and grounding the haft.

  "Caltrops," Cogern said with malicious glee, "four sharpened pieces of iron welded together. No matter how they fall, one prong always points up—a little dainty for a horse's hoof."

  The first mass of Hardornan cavalry crested the hill, a black tide that quickly covered the facing slope. Tregaron heard the thin voice of the archers' commander. "Take your aim—four hundred paces. Loose!" A thin iron sleet rose and fell. Some arrows struck home, here and there felling a horse or rider. The range was a bit long for accurate fire, but Tregaron hoped the harassment would goad the Hardornans into leaving.

  The mass reacted by spurring their horses and charging.

  "They've got no order at all!" Cogern sniffed, sounding offended. Tregaron knew he hated inefficiency, even when displayed by an enemy.

  "Three hundred paces!" the archer leader yelled, timing his fire so the riders would cross the stake just as the arrows arrived. "Loose!"

  The toll grew heavier as arrows found their marks or pierced armor. Horses pulled up and fell, screaming and thrashing, as the cruel iron caltrops pierced their hooves. Most riders scrambled to their feet, but here and there one lay still, either knocked witless or themselves victims of the spikes hidden in the grass.

  "Two hundred!" More riders fell. The Karaite horse archers added to their toll with their shorter-ranged bows as they moved to the flanks to cover the ends of the formation. Here and there a Karsite fell, arrowstruck, but the Hardornens' volleys were erratic and largely ineffective. The cavalry's thunder grew louder as they galloped down onto the waiting Karsite line.

  "One hundred!"

  Cogern turned, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed. "Set to receive cavalry!"

  With a wordless shout, six hundred pikes came down in a single glittering arc, their bitter edges bright in the noonday sun. The rear ranks gave way a pace, ready to hurl their javelins on command. The archers scampered for the rear.

  Cogern grabbed the regimental standard and raised it over his head. At the instant he dropped it, the battles' commanders dropped their swords and six hundred javelins smashed into the onrushing horses. The cavalry slowed, their charge blunted by the heavy spears. A second volley crashed home an instant later, cutting down the lead ranks like a scythe through wheat. The rear

  ranks piled over the dead and dying and pressed home the attack.

  The crash of the horsemen hitting the readied pikes roared over Tregaron like a tide of sound, a breaking wave of iron-shod hooves and slas
hing, cursing soldiers. His world retreated to a circle five yards across. A Hard-ornen, her horse gutted by a pikeblade, bowled over the front ranks and plowed into the command party. One orderly slashed the animal across the knees, bringing it down and throwing the rider. Two officers plunged their blades into her before she could rise, the second twisting his weapon to gore her before withdrawing it She collapsed, dead, blood fountaining from her mouth and nose.

  The lead Hardornen was dead, but the gap she'd forced in the line filled quickly with other horsemen, slashing and stabbing as they tried to widen the breach. Horns blew in alarm on either side of the command party as squads detached from the flanking units to help seal the break in the line. Tregaron, looking for more troops to throw at the Hardornens, whipped his head around and saw Solaris using the Oriflamme's staff to fend off one horseman while Cogern moved to his flank. The Pikemaster stabbed deep, driving his sword deep into the horse's barrel, dropping it in its tracks. He then brained the rider with his sword pommel and ran him through with a quick thrust as he tried to rise.

  Karaite swordsmen flooded the area, surrounding the horse troops and attacking from all sides. Their grim intensity and lacquered red-and-black armor made Tregaron think of ants swarming a moth.

  Distant horn calls announced the arrival of the second regiment. He craned his head toward the sound and saw it advancing over the hill crest in slightly better order than the first. The newcomers made a token effort to dress ranks, then charged across the caltrop-littered ground. A few fell to the hidden spikes, but the charge went home almost unblunted.

  Pikemen fell, lanced through or scattered like ninepins as the horsetroops plowed into the center of the Twenty-

  First's line. Swords slashed and stabbed. The din drew louder and the center units, beset by the fresh Hardorn regiment, sagged under the pressure. Trumpets blew frantically as under officers fought to hold the line. The battle hung in the balance, a race between whether the pikemen could reknit their formations or the Hardornens could split the regiment and roll it up.

  Cogern took half the remaining swordsmen in the command party and went to shore the line where the fighting was thickest. Solaris followed, keeping the Ori-flamme aloft. The soldiers, seeing the woman and the banner, both now stained with blood, fought harder. The pressure intensified, the battle growing more desperate as units lost cohesion. The thick, coppery smell of blood, mixed with the stink of loosened bowels and horsedung, threatened to overwhelm Tregaron, as did the clouds of dust as thick as smoke that obscured much of the field.

  Twice the pressure on the command party built, and once Tregaron himself had to swing his sword against the enemy. More horncalls sounded from the right, calling for assistance. Tregaron looked around frantically. The entire right half of the line was engulfed and all reserves on that side were already committed. He had to launch a counter, something to take the pressure off the beleaguered center and right before it cracked under the Hardornens' hammerblows.

  "This'll have to work," he said to himself as he summoned his remaining trumpeters. Most were dead, killed defending the relics. He pointed to two. "Go to Captain Luhann. Tell her to prepare to attack en echelon. She's to commence when she's ready. Don't wait for a signal. We're counting on her to take 'em in the flank and grind 'em into powder. Repeat."

  The runner cleared his throat. "Attack en echelon when ready. Don't wait for signal." Tregaron checked the message with the other runner, then sent them to the left. He repeated the same message with two more and dispatched them to the right, though he doubted that wing of the regiment could comply.

  He fretted in the minutes that followed, afraid his order had come too late, or that the Hardornens would break the line. He peered anxiously to where he could see the Oriflamme, still bravely waving. He worried about what was going on there even as a Battle or two of horsetroops made another try for the regiment's banner. More blood and more dead followed in a sharp little fight.

  The Hardornens finally broke, driven from the standards by a volley of arrows fired from across his line of sight. The dust cleared and he saw the archers on the extreme left complete the echelon movement that gave them a clear shot along the regiment's long axis. Each pike company stepped off in turn, marching forward a few paces, then wheeling to the right. In the distance, Luhann made it look like a parade ground maneuver. He distantly heard her voice through the din, using a leather megaphone to yell orders to her troops. Her voice didn't have Cogern's carrying power, but she compensated well.

  He considered Luhann his best triumph. The army, the fighting arm of a very male god, was as thinly populated by women as the priestly ranks. He remembered the laughter of his counterparts when he'd accepted her as a cadet. The crisp precision of her troops was all the proof he'd ever need that he hadn't been daft in appointing her to command.

  A runner panted up to him. "Pikemaster Cogern sends 'is respects, sir, and asks if you're ready to close the wings yet? He says he's hanging on by 'is teeth."

  Tregaron gathered his thoughts a moment before answering. "My compliments to the Pikemaster. Tell him the left has already started. He's to lure them deeper, if he can." The runner repeated the message and scampered away.

  Tregaron had little to do but fret. Victory and defeat looked a lot alike in those moments, while the center remained vulnerable and the flank attack developed. His smaller force was strung out around three-quarters of the compass while a numerically superior enemy held the center. His regiment could be easily shattered and there was not a damned thing he could do about it.

  He sent several squads he couldn't afford to give up to back Cogern, who had began a slow retreat in the center. The Hardornens pressed forward, sensing victory. Just when he thought the battle could get no louder, he heard a crash and clatter on the far right. The sounds of fighting there intensified. A slight breeze stirred, moving the thick dust, but not clearing it. Had the Hardornens broken through? Was all lost?

  Distant trumpets sounded. The trumpeter beside Tregaron closed his eyes, listening intently to the distant signal. "First Battle reports: Attacking en echelon, Left Wheel, sir." Tregaron tried not to whoop with glee.

  More trumpets blew, this time on the left. Luhann's entire battle, pikes in hand and its blood up, finished pivoting on its right heel, paused, aligned its ranks, and charged.

  They crashed into the disordered Hardornens, crushing one side of the mass and working a fearful slaughter as the cavalry tried to flee. The horse archers, briefly visible though the murk, rushed to seal the trap, covering the opening between the two wings like a lid on a pot.

  The bulk of two regiments were trapped. Tregaron knew his own forces were spread much too thin to hold the enemy inside, so it was time to kill as many as they could before the Hardornens broke free.

  "Sound General Advance," he yelled at the remaining trumpeter. The boy nodded, blatted into his horn a few times, then sent the final command in pure ringing notes. The troops on either side of Tregaron advanced, carrying with them their standards and cheering. They smashed the weakening resistance, killing horses and riders with equal abandon.

  A portion of the rear regiment cut through the thin screen of horse archers and burst out of the trap. The Hardornens scattered like wind-blown leaves as each rider fled to preserve life and health. A hot gust of wind swept the dust away, giving Tregaron a glimpse of the carnage. The entire field before him was littered with dead and dying horses and soldiers, piled three deep in some places. Hardornens cried for succor in a dozen languages.

  He saw, as he walked forward across the torn and bloody field, that the leading regiment had gotten trapped between Cogern's and Luhann's units. Badly weakened by the javelins, robbed of its momentum and best fighters, it was caught in the jaws of an implacable foe. He looked at the trumpeter. "Play: No Mercy." The boy looked grim, but complied.

  Ancar took no prisoners in Karse and showed no mercy. Now the favor was returned. Luhann gave the final command and Reglauf's regiment vanished u
nder a wall of pikes.

  Later, Tregaron walked among the troops laid out in groaning, screaming rows where the regiment's hedge-wizards labored to save as many as they could. He adjusted his turban, his one concession to the heat, while his helmet hung from his belt. Many of the soldiers, busy tidying the battlefield or finishing the wounded Hador-nens, had also removed their helms. Even Cogern, who normally would have blistered the troops for such a lapse, kept his silence. He also, Tregaron noted wryly, kept his helmet.

  He glanced back at the wounded. The regiment had suffered three hundred casualties, a twenty-percent loss. It was a light butcher's bill considering the desperate nature of the fight, but still far too heavy. Tregaron took each dead and wounded soldier as a personal failure, his losing Karse's most precious resource.

  The Hardornens had lost much worse than he, at least five times his numbers killed, one regiment destroyed, and another scattered. Still, Hardorn recruited the scum of five countries, and such losses were easily made good.

  He bent to help one man who begged for water, taking his own canteen and holding it to the man's lips. Tregaron held the man's head while he sipped. He caught a whiff of punctured bowel. This soldier would never recover. His end would be agonizing as his own waste poisoned his body cavity.

  "Do you wish mercy?" Tregaron asked, his voice gentle.

  The soldier, perhaps only then realizing what he faced, sobbed once and nodded. "Hagan," the dying man whispered, "send Hagan. Third Battle, fifth company. He'll do it." Tregaron stood and summoned an orderly who sprinted to fetch the man's friend.

  Havern waited at the end of the row. He seemed positively cheerful as he looked around at the long rows of gored and wounded soldiers. "Can I help you?" Tregaron asked, realizing as he looked at the man just how bone tired he felt.

  "We'll have the Fires ready within the hour, Colonel," the Black-robe said.