The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  Twenty-five hundred archers were spread out behind the second line of pikemen further up the riverbank, and those archers began to shoot at an angle into the air, aiming over the barricade of stacked shields in front of them. The archers’ position on the field was not a coincidence, as we had tested their maximum range until we knew where they needed to stand to have their arrows land in the middle of the ford. The Pith archers wouldn’t be able to protect the flanks of the warriors coming across that ford effectively because of the deep water, which meant they would probably follow along behind in their traditional place instead. That would put them at the back of the ford, far enough that they wouldn’t be able to target my Gander archers. The lead Piths would then be trapped in a tightly confined space in what I expected would soon be a sea of slaughter, while my archers shot from behind the safety of a shield wall into the massed warriors with impunity.

  I watched as hundreds of iron-tipped shafts filled the sky, turning it dark before they began to arc downward like deadly rain on the heads of the onrushing Piths. Warriors and horses fell in droves, thrashing and screaming as the White Rock began to turn red with blood. Impatient Piths waiting on the far bank to cross the crowded ford leaped their horses into the river to either side instead, waving swords, war hammers, and axes as they tried to flank us. But the incredible horsemanship the Piths displayed on land was neutralized by the pressure of the water, and few managed to make it to our side before they were cut down. Those that did were greeted by a solid wall of shields and spears, and not one warrior gained a foothold on the bank.

  The lead Piths reached the first palisade, trying to leap over it, but most horses—even those as well-trained as the Piths’ warhorses—will almost always balk at an obstruction of that size. Men were flung from their saddles onto the waiting sharpened points of the barricade, with their riderless horses milling about, adding to the confusion. Waves of arrows and thrown spears continued to pour into the Piths as they cursed at us in defiance, hacking at the wooden palisade with both axes and swords. I shook my head in admiration as a giant, bare-chested warrior with a bald head balanced himself on his saddle, then leaped agilely to the top of the barricade. He roared, shaking his war hammer at the skies before an arrow transfixed his throat and he fell back into the carnage behind him.

  “That was foolish,” Jebido muttered beside me.

  I nodded but kept silent. The Piths had already suffered huge losses and the battle had only just begun, yet I took no pleasure from it. It’s one thing to be in the heat and thick of a fight like this, relishing every breath you take as you match yourself strength for strength and skill against skill with other men. But it’s an entirely different thing to watch everything from afar, safe and secure, while men you would gladly call friends in a different situation do everything they can to kill and maim one another.

  Finally, after many long minutes of nothing but slaughter and mayhem, drums started to sound from the opposite shoreline before the Piths began a confused and disorientated withdrawal. Our cheering archers and spearmen made them pay for every foot they took backward. Hundreds of Piths lay dead and dying all across the ford and in the river. Some of the corpses were being swept along by the current to the south, but most remained where they were, weighed down by armor. A hush began to fall over the battlefield, the cheers lessening one by one as the full extent of what had happened to our adversaries became all-too clear.

  “Damn,” Jebido muttered. He spat on the ground and wiped his mouth. “What a waste.”

  The Piths had drawn back to the base of the closest foothill, though some of the more daring had already returned, riding back and forth along the far bank in rage as they sent the odd arrow our way. I saw one woman halt along the shoreline and bare her large breasts, which brought forth the expected whistles of appreciation. Men in the front rank lowered their shields to get a better look, but before either Jebido or I could shout a warning to them, the Pith loosed three arrows in rapid succession. Two pikemen in the front rank immediately fell as the rest ducked back beneath their shields in sudden fear. Our archers tried to bring the bare-breasted Pith down, but she just twisted her horse nimbly to the side and then galloped away unscathed, leaving only her mocking laughter behind.

  The boy who I’d sent to Baine earlier had returned, and I turned to him. “What’s your name?”

  “Culbert, my lord.”

  “Whose son are you again?” All the runners today were offspring of the lord’s down in the field.

  “Lord Rupert, my lord,” Culbert answered. His face turned angry. “Father said that I was still too young to fight, but I want to help.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, Culbert,” I said. “And help you shall. I want you to ride south and tell Lord Stegar to expect Piths.” Lord Stegar was a small, intelligent man with three sons and a vast holding southeast of Corwick. All of his sons were equally as capable as their father, and I had placed all four men in positions of importance.

  Jebido frowned at me.” I thought you said Einhard wouldn’t go around?”

  “I said he wouldn’t go around at first,” I replied. I gestured to the ford. “Now that he has lost his siege engines and this has happened, he’s going to be looking at alternatives.” I knew the next likely place a force could cross the White Rock was a bridge three hours hard ride to the south from here. That bridge was too small to get siege engines and larger wagons across; that’s why I had discounted it as an avenue for Einhard earlier. But it was more than big enough for horsemen to ride single file. I examined Culbert’s young mare. She had fine lines and looked fast enough to get the job done. “After you speak with Lord Stegar, follow the river south until you come to a narrow stone bridge. If the Piths haven’t already crossed, then wait until you see how many there are before riding back to inform Lord Stegar.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Culbert said.

  I glared at the boy. “Don’t do anything stupid. Dead heroes won’t help me win this battle. Just find the Piths, assess their strength, then return to Lord Stegar. Tell him I said to fall back here if there are too many of them for him to handle on his own.”

  “I understand, my lord,” Culbert said, his face etched with determination. “I won’t fail you.”

  I nodded and motioned the boy off as a rider appeared across the river, heading for the ford.

  “Is it Einhard?” Jebido asked, squinting.

  I shook my head as I urged Angry forward. “No, I think it’s Saldor.”

  I rode Angry to the water’s edge to the left of the fortifications as the Cimbrati paused his horse well out of bowshot range. The higher ford was shedding water all along its length like a miniature waterfall as it fell into the lower part of the river, where it swirled and gurgled in tiny whirlpools. Saldor was holding a spear with an Amenti banner attached to it in his right hand. He lifted his free hand to me in greeting.

  I lifted mine back. “What can I do for you, brother?” I shouted across the distance.

  I saw the warrior shrug. “I come with a request, great Chieftain.” His words seemed to float over the water as my army waited, listening in breathless silence, while in between us, wounded men and horses moaned and whimpered all across the ford.

  “I thought you told me that the Amenti would never lift arms against me,” I called back.

  “And we have not,” Saldor replied. “Nor will we while the Wolf lives.”

  I grunted in acknowledgment. “Then, what is it that you want?”

  Saldor shook his head. “It is not I who asks, Chieftain,” he said. He gestured behind him. “The Sword of the Queen requests that you allow us time to clear our dead and wounded from the battlefield.”

  I hesitated for a moment, and then I shook my head. “Denied,” I said in a gruff voice. Even from where I sat Angry, I could see Saldor’s face harden with disapproval. “But,” I added in a more conciliatory tone. “I consent to ten Amenti recovering the wounded and dealing with any horses that remain alive. You have one hour. The b
odies of the dead will stay to remind the Sword of the mistake he made in fighting us.”

  “It is a fair bargain,” Saldor said after a moment of thought. “I believe he will accept your terms.”

  I thought I could see the Cimbrati smiling with admiration as he swung his horse around. I cupped my hands around my mouth. “One last thing,” I shouted. Saldor paused his mount as he looked back at me. “The next time Einhard wants to beg me for a concession, you tell him to come see me himself, preferably on his knees.”

  Saldor hesitated, then he nodded. “I will tell him, Chieftain.”

  I returned to the knoll then as my forces began chanting, “Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” They were loud and raucous as they cheered me, for many of them had heard what I’d said to Saldor and had passed it on. An army is only as strong as the commander that leads them, and I had wanted my men to know that I was not afraid of the Pith warriors and their superior numbers. Einhard would be smarting from his recent failure just now, and hearing those chants would only add to his anger—that and my taunt once Saldor relayed it to him. I had said those words deliberately, knowing what effect they would have on the Sword. I wanted Einhard to react with emotion and anger right now, and, because of that, hopefully make poor decisions in the hours to come.

  I smiled grimly as I watched Saldor disappear within the mass of teeming warriors. I had never wanted Einhard or the Piths as an enemy. But sometimes choices are taken from a man, and all he can do is deal with what lies in front of him, regardless of how unsavory it might be.

  “What did Saldor want?” Jebido asked me when I returned to him.

  “To clear the injured and dead from the ford,” I responded. Jebido looked at me sharply and I raised a hand. “Don’t worry. I told him he could only remove the wounded and put any horses still alive out of their misery.” Jebido looked relieved, though I thought he should have known me better than that. Removing the corpses would have done nothing for me, but it would have been a great benefit to Einhard’s side. The bodies lying twisted and broken in the water would only help slow the Piths down on their next attack, so why would I possibly consent to allow them to be moved?

  “He’s trying to buy time,” Jebido muttered.

  “Maybe,” I said. I looked south, wondering what was happening in that direction. Had Einhard actually sent men that way to get around us? And if he had, how many would be coming, and when? It was a three-hour ride at a gallop to the bridge from here and three hours back—a long time. If Einhard had sent those men only recently, then it would be close to dusk before they would arrive. If he had sent them earlier than that, then Lord Stegar might even now be engaging them. There was no way for me to be certain, and I didn’t want to waste my remaining mounted messenger to find out. I would just have to depend on Lord Stegar to handle whatever situation arose on our flank.

  I had told Culbert’s father, Lord Rupert, who was in overall command of my front rank, to expect Piths coming to retrieve their wounded. My orders were to let them be, so when the ten Amenti led by Saldor began helping wounded men from the ford and plains, not a single Gander raised a hand against them. It took a little less than the allotted hour for the Amenti to move all the wounded away and deal with the injured horses, and the moment they were done, the drums began to roll again. This time, Einhard had broken his forces into two groups, one of which started toward the north, where Wiflem’s still untested men and the smaller ford they protected awaited. The second group remained in place, facing us as their eager warhorses pawed at the ground.

  I glanced at my messenger, who sat his mount chewing on his filth-encrusted nails. “Go tell Baine that I want him to shift his archers back to their original position.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the boy said, looking startled that I’d spoken to him before galloping away toward the river.

  “I guess Einhard’s thinking he has twice the chance to break through this time,” Jebido said.

  “Probably,” I grunted, feeling uneasy. I couldn’t see Einhard anywhere within the throng of warriors, but I knew I was visible to him where I watched from the knoll. I was certain that I could feel his cold gaze upon me. I wondered what he was planning.

  Baine’s men were still moving into position when the Piths began their charge toward the southern ford. The northern horde began their attack moments later, and both forces reached the riverbank at the same time with a volley of our hungry arrows waiting there to greet them. And just like before, Piths began to fall, though this time, something appeared to be different. I realized that all the warriors on the forefront of the attack were heavily armored, and as they forged into the water, they made no effort to assault the palisade, but instead leaped from their saddles to form a shield wall across the ford. The suddenly riderless mounts swarmed in front of that wall of men, panicking as they were now trapped between our barrier and their own riders while arrows hissed and whipped around them. Some of the terrified horses crashed through the rapidly-forming shield wall anyway, ripping gaps in the line, but most spilled out to either side of it into the deeper water beyond the ford.

  More Piths were arriving along the shoreline on foot to either side of the ford, and they splashed into the water, shouting and waving their weapons at the terrified horses as they tried to fight their way back toward the western side of the river. That left the animals only one remaining option for flight, and they turned and headed our way.

  “Pull back!” I called out to my men, knowing what was about to happen. But my words were lost to the noise of battle and the screams of the horses. “Stay here!” I grunted at Jebido as I propelled Angry down the embankment, shouting at my flanks to give ground and let the horses pass. But no one heard me. I hadn’t even reached halfway to the river before the first of those horses came barrelling out of the water and up the bank, causing instant pandemonium as the wall of pikemen to either side of the ford buckled beneath them.

  I was cursing as I rode, knowing Einhard was using my strategy at Gasterny against me as I tried to get Angry through the lines of panicking men. I could see hundreds of Piths in the river now, many of them holding their bows over their heads as they waded through the almost chest-high water near the ford. Others stripped of armor were diving into the river further down, fighting the pull of the current as they tried to swim across with axes and swords strapped to their backs. If they got behind us, I knew we were finished.

  “Form up!” I screamed, launching myself off Angry and grabbing the first man I saw who had turned to run. I shoved him forward. “Make a line, damn you! Hold this shore or we all die!”

  The lead Piths had almost reached our side of the river, while more continued to pour into the water from the opposite bank. Many of the Piths’ terrified horses had punched through my front lines into the rear ranks, creating mayhem everywhere. I glanced behind me to my secondary line, where Lord Stegar’s youngest son, Brock, stood watching in wide-eyed indecision as panic-stricken horses swept through and around his men.

  “Brock!” I shouted, waving Wolf’s Head to get his attention. “Send the archers back fifty yards.” I pointed south with my sword. “Move half your men there and form a wall. Keep those bastards from getting around us! Then shore up my lines with the rest.”

  I wasn’t sure by the look on the young man’s face if he had fully understood what I wanted, but I had no time left to worry about it. The Piths had reached the riverbank, and they came out of the water on either side of the ford, dripping and furious as they threw themselves at our disorganized walls. Many of the warriors were falling to our arrows, but even more continued to wade and swim across the river. I glanced to my right as the enemy shield wall at the ford slowly advanced toward the palisade, knowing we were in trouble.

  I could hear myself cursing as I ducked beneath a Pith’s wild swing, then gutted him and kicked him back into the water. A female archer descended on me, screaming as she struck her bow across my face. I barely noticed as I grabbed her by her leather breastplate and swung her arou
nd, flinging her back into several more warriors struggling to navigate the muddy shore. All three of them fell as I continued to shout at my men to hold the line. A wild melee began then as more and more Piths swarmed out of the river, hacking and slashing at Gander shields as they tried to gain a foothold.

  Pikemen were falling on both sides of the palisades as the lead Pith archers finally reached shallower water and began shooting up at us. Above the riverbank, the already soggy ground had turned from slick grass into clinging muck beneath the churning boots of the combatants. I glanced to the ford, where the Pith shield wall had halted only feet from the first barricade. The Piths were trying to set the wood on fire as archers behind them raked our lines with deadly shafts. But we’d smeared river mud all over the poles and beams that morning, and they quickly gave up when the wood wouldn’t take the flame. Warriors started hoisting men into the air then, flipping them over the shield wall and onto the barrier. Many were cut down, but some managed to leap into the gap between the two fortifications. Once there, they were forced to climb the berm only to face the trench’s bristling stakes below and then Lord Rupert waiting behind the barrier with his pikemen.

  Brock had understood what I’d wanted after all, and hundreds of additional spear-wielding men suddenly bolstered our faltering shield wall. While behind them, my lancers spun and whirled, skewering any of the enemy who had managed to get past our lines. More pikemen had shifted to the south as I had instructed, engaging with the nearly naked Pith warriors who’d managed to swim the White Rock. The archers further up the slope were shooting over our heads with devastating effect, their barbed shafts sending Piths reeling backward into the water all along the embankment.