Warrior of the Altaii

by Robert Jordan

  There was one small chance, a minor one, that their protection didn’t cover everything. Often only the major points would be covered, spell-induced treason or plague and the like. The spell Mayra had given me, so minor I could work it myself, was an irritant. It was to make the Lantans and Morassa feel frustrated and on edge, to sharpen whatever natural feelings they had toward each other, but not enough to bring any counterspells into action. A little thing, but it might be enough to make them act without thinking when they desperately needed to think. It might be the edge we needed.

  Before my arrival Dunstan and Bran had been harassing the enemy, keeping them off balance wondering where the next strike would be and when. Time and again they’d hit, sometimes with a hundred lances, sometimes with a thousand but never enough to be pinned and brought to battle by the unwieldy mass of the enemy. Foraging parties, wood and water details, scouting parties: None had been safe. When they went out without a heavy guard they disappeared, and when mere wood-gathering details grew to several thousand warriors, the raids shifted to the horse herds.

  Forces sent out to hunt these raiders found only what Dunstan and Bran wanted them to find. If they were large, they found nothing but empty ground and campfires of two days ago. Were they smaller, to move faster, they found death.

  This northern force hadn’t managed to make its move south, yet. In fact, when I arrived they were farther north than they were when Dunstan and Bran first made contact. With my arrival, and the ten thousand lances I brought with me, we moved to full offense.

  Some five or six hours after sunset on my first night, I ordered torches stuck in the ground in a huge circle around the enemy encampment. When they were lit, as close in succession as could be, panic reigned in the camp, alarms were sounded and confusion spread. To all appearances they were surrounded by a force as large as their own, or even larger. It was impossible for so many Altaii to be there. They knew that, but their eyes told them differently. All night they stood to arms, in a tight defensive formation, while we retired to our blankets, leaving only a few men on watch. Before dawn the torches were removed. I watched them search the next morning for clues as to who we were and how many, but all they found were the tracks of seemingly countless numbers of horses.

  On the second night the torches were put in place again, and the Lantans and Morassa stood to again, waiting. Our watchers said there seemed to be many complaints from the Morassa about having to stay awake. Some of them went back into their tents and were nearly attacked by the Lantans.

  The third night again the torches were placed. This time, after what appeared to be considerable arguing, a force of some ten thousand, half Lantan and half Morassa, was sent out. Obviously they were to discover what was there and force a move of some kind.

  Between the torches and their camp, we were waiting for them with the short, curved horse bows. They never met the mounted masses they expected, but from behind every rock and bush and fold of ground war shafts emptied their saddles. Our horses were far to the rear, and the orders were to shoot anyone riding. Over a thousand of them fell without harming a single one of us, and when the others returned to camp, from the reaction among the rest of them, they must have told of facing invisible enemies, or of overwhelming numbers. They pulled in to tighter formations and moved their supply carts to form barriers. The whole they ringed with torches, so their camp was as well-lit as any palace room. We might be invisible, but if we used magic to sneak up on them, they’d at least see our presence by what we did. Except for watchers, we slept the rest of the night.

  The next night they refused to come out, again awaiting our attack, and the next. On the fourth night there was muttering in the ranks, and on the fifth Lantan units came close to mutiny when Morassa began sleeping by their horses. The sixth day the enemy spent dividing their camp in an effort to keep open fighting from breaking out between the allies. That night most of the warriors were allowed to sleep, and we struck.

  Now they followed us through the first light of dawn and into the day, south and east, into the rolling hills of the grasslands. We moved as slowly as we dared, as if keeping our horses rested for a long chase, careful never to break contact completely. The last men in our line, on topping a ridge, could often see the first of them, topping a ridge behind us.

  They followed us slowly, but surely. Their slowness was to allow the Lantan infantry to keep up. Our scouts began reporting that the Morassa seemed to be arguing for the mounted warriors to be sent on ahead to close with us. The Lantan cavalry also appeared to be arguing for it. Tempers were flaring, the scouts said. It appeared that small spell was working.

  I called for Orne, and he rode up beside me. “How are their infantry keeping contact? I don’t want to move fast enough for them to take the Morassa suggestion and leave them behind.”

  “They’re keeping up,” he grunted, “but barely. Any warrior on the Plain could keep this pace all day, sleep or no, even a Morassa. What am I saying? Even a boy could keep it. These Lantans are supposed to move and fight on foot, but they’re soft.”

  “As long as they’re keeping up. Have the scouts keep a close watch on them. If they begin to lag we’ll have to slow our march.”

  “But why, my lord? Without them it’ll just be that much easier for us. And alone, with no horsemen to scout and cover them, they’ll be all but useless.”

  “You know better. You’ve faced infantry in the open field before. Well led, they’re far from useless, and we’d better assume these are well led until we know differently. Anyway, I wouldn’t leave them if they were fresh-recruited dirtmen. I won’t leave sixty thousand Lantans in an organized body to form a rallying point. I won’t leave one thousand.”

  “Very well, my lord. We’ll take the infantry with us if we have to carry them on our horses.”

  We continued south and east until sunset. Always the enemy stayed at our heels. No doubt they thought they were driving us before them according to their plan. Perhaps they even thought we constituted the entire force that had been harassing them. Whatever they thought, they followed us until sunset, until after sunset, so eager were they. An hour after dark came, our scouts reported that they’d finally made camp. Even then, apparently, there’d been some argument for continuing the pursuit.

  They made their camp with no tents and no fires, a battle camp. We made the same, and fed on dried meat and fruit, with lukewarm water tasting of waterskins to wash it all down. Half of us slept while the other half kept watch. Our scouts were on constant patrol around their camp, but I’d take no chances of being surprised as they had been, with my men trying to wake up and begin fighting all in the same moment.

  Before sunrise the chase began again. Our scouts rode in to report that the enemy was breaking their camp without so much as a single torch. They hoped to catch us in our blankets. When they arrived, though, we were gone.

  There was something different about their pursuit that morning. They pressed. Despite the tiredness of their warriors, despite the infantry trying to keep up, they pressed. Time and again Lantan mounted units or masses of Morassa broke away to push harder, only to be argued back by the Lantan officers. The Morassa were close to blows with the men who held them in check. The frustrations were boiling, the angers building. If they’d only hold for one more hour. I needed an hour.

  I sent Orne for a messenger.

  “My lord,” the youth said. He’d been chosen for his small size, and given the fastest horse I could find.

  “You know the message?”

  “Yes, my lord.” His mount arched its neck and took two quick steps. He held it back, but he was leaning, waiting for the command.

  I handed him my messenger’s scarf. “Go.”

  He dashed away as if the wand had dropped to begin a race, leaning low over his mount’s neck. In the flicker of an eye he was over the next hill and gone. I’d no worry about him running the horse out. It had been chosen for endurance as well as speed, and he had brains to go with his light w
eight to qualify him.

  But I still needed an hour. The grasses were taller, now, most as high as a man’s shoulder. Some clumps were as tall as a man on horseback. All had their seedpods open, shaking in the wind, dropping the seed that would be covered by the winter snows and sprout in the spring. Shaking in the wind.

  “Orne!”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Tell the scouts to get closer. Wherever there’s an area of tall grass large enough for them to avoid capture, let them move about in the grass so it sways as if there was more than one man in it. There’s nothing else up here this time of year would do it, so they’ll have to investigate, and if they investigate, the commanders will slow their march.”

  “But Lord Wulfgar, won’t that make them suspicious?”

  “The commanders perhaps, Orne, but I know for certain that their commanders aren’t going to give in to their feelings beyond a certain point. I’m counting now on their individual warriors.”

  “Very well, my lord. It’s as good as done.”

  The sun was hot, although it was early, for this was the Plain, if the edge of it, but the wind was out of the north. It bit through the bone, then ate into the marrow. The winter coming would be a hard one on the Plain.

  The trick with the tall grass no longer delayed them. They were coming harder, now. Their forward scouts had us in sight all the time, now. Soon they’d move.

  We rode through an opening in a ridgeline out onto a broad, flat valley surrounded by three ridges in a three-point. We pushed through the grass faster. By the time the enemy’s scouts entered the valley, the last of us had disappeared over the far ridge. They galloped wildly across the valley, desperate not to lose sight of us, and wrenched their horses to a halt short of the ridge as we appeared on the crest, ten thousand Altaii lances spread in a crescent and holding the high ground.

  The rest of the enemy was pushing hard to catch us, too. The first of them had nearly reached the center of the valley in their haste before they realized that we were waiting. Their officers managed to gain control and stop their headlong charge, but others, following behind, piled into them. Men and horses milled around in confusion. Among orders shouted, and counter-orders, men moved off as if to attack and were forced back by their officers.

  I laughed. “Look at them, Orne. The soldiers want to attack, but their commanders fear a trap. Look at them studying the skylines, watching for more of us to appear.”

  “I’d feel better about it, Lord Wulfgar, if we’d a hundred thousand lances behind those ridges,” he muttered. “Are you ready for the signal?”

  “Not yet, my friend, not yet. We must wait for their infantry to join.”

  “If they don’t attack first,” he grumbled, and moved for a better view through the gap to the Plain beyond. He drew the long-handled ax he favored instead of a sword and rested it across his saddle.

  XXVIII

  A CURTAIN OF STEEL

  Below, the Lantans and Morassa were beginning to bring order to their forces. The Lantan cavalry had formed into symmetrical ranks, while the Morassa made a great point of not being in anything approaching a formation. They did gather in groups around their battle leaders, though.

  Among the Lantan officers and commanders there was much riding back and forth, much conferring. There was no need for a Sister of Wisdom to tell me what they were discussing. What was going to happen next, and even more, why what had already happened had occurred. We obviously couldn’t fight so many with so few. But then, why had we turned to face them? On the other hand, if there were more of us hidden somewhere, if there were indeed enough of us to face them, why hadn’t we attacked? Why wait and dispel both the element of surprise and the chance presented by their disorder? The discussion went on, but when Morassa entered it, it began to degenerate. The arm gestures grew wider, more strident. Men stood in their stirrups, and fists were shaken. At last they broke apart and cantered back to their respective units. I didn’t think they’d resolve their questions, but they were definitely more at swords’ points than ever.

  “My lord,” called Bartu, “the infantry. It comes.”

  They entered the valley at a walk, their measured tread pounding the ground like a drum. No one had thought to send a messenger to them, but their officers had seen the rest of the army waiting ahead and slowed the step until they could see what it was they faced.

  Once they were inside, and could see us clearly, they moved to a trot. Still no one broke the step. They were well trained, these Lantans, for all Orne’s contempt for men who walked to fight, as fine as any infantry in the world.

  Their death-walkers moved out in front of the formations, taking their huge, stomping steps, whirling the tundun over their heads. The leaping, stamping steps were meant to intimidate. The long, narrow pieces of wood swung on the ends of long cords made noises like blood pounding in a dying man’s ears, or like the roar of giant flies settling on corpses. They made a fine show, this Lantan infantry and its death-walkers. I wondered how well they would die.

  The horsemen before us split, the Lantans sharply, the Morassa as if they wondered what was happening. The infantry marched into the gap and halted on a shouted command. The death-walkers faded back into the formation, and as one they swung their shields to overlap, forming a solid shield wall. The front two ranks leveled their spears, and the rest held theirs at the ready.

  We were faced then with the whole northern army. In the center was six times our number of infantry. The two wings of cavalry numbered half again that many each. Their banners, whipping colorfully in the wind, seemed to outnumber our lances.

  “It’s time, my lord?” asked Orne.

  “It’s time,” I replied. With a grunt of satisfaction he returned the ax to its loop on his saddle and dismounted. “Now, drummers,” I commanded, joining him on the ground.

  As the drums began to pound out their signal I took the hunting bow from under my stirrup and strung it, briefly thinking of Elspeth. With an oversized sheaf of arrows I walked forward onto the front slope of the ridge. Three out of every four warriors joined me there, and each had a longbow in his hand. Salvation rests on the bow.

  The remaining quarter of the warriors moved behind the crest with the horses. It hadn’t been an easy job to convince them to do it. Finally I’d had to say that if any of the horsemen broke through, they were free to take them.

  Suddenly shouts rose from the enemy below. Men pointed, and heads swung round, and with every head that swung there was more shouting. On the ridges behind them were my remaining ten thousands. Like those with me they were split, one in four with the horses, the rest in front of the ridgelines, bows in hand. On the day I arrived in the north they’d split away. Since then they’d waited, impatiently I was sure, for the message the youth had brought, the message to move onto the ridges. Now we stood waiting, and the enemy was below us, surrounded.

  Frantically units shifted, formations moved to face this new threat. They were on edge, but there was nothing of panic in their movements. They still outnumbered us heavily. They would roll over us as if we were a pebble on the road.

  An argument broke out between the Morassa leaders and the Lantan commanders. Fingers pointed, at the Lantan troops, at the Morassa, at us on the ridges. Evidently there was some dispute over who should be attacked first, and by whom. Morassa fists shook, and Lantans gestured angrily. Might they not finish each other off for us?

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the argument was over. The Lantans moved back to their units, the Morassa back to theirs. Slowly the Morassa moved away from the Lantans. All of them. They swirled about in apparent confusion, but finally divided themselves into three parts, one facing each ridge. I began to realize that the Lantans intended to dispose of the Morassa as well as us. If they constantly formed the first wave of attack, there wouldn’t be enough of them left when it was all over to cause any trouble.

  Our drums began to play again, a battle beat, and the war flutes joined in. The masses o
f horsemen began to move, rolling forward in a tide that gained speed with every step. Their war cries drifted ahead of them, shrill in the cold air.

  I nocked an arrow and drew it back to rest on my cheekbone, the bow held high. Salvation rests on the bow. Almost gently I released the string, and the long arrow arched high into the air. Fifteen hundred paces away the broad-head shaft, meant for killing fanghorn, fell. By chance it plunged into a Morassa’s chest, and he fell to be trampled beneath the hooves of the charge. I don’t think any of the others noticed.

  They had to notice the flight that followed, though. Twenty-five hundred shafts struck from the sky to tear gaping holes in their ranks. And then another twenty-five hundred. And then another. And then the first rank was ready to fire again. No sooner did one flight rise than another rose to follow. The charging Morassa rode through a curtain woven of steel. Horses and men fell by the hundreds at each flight, never to rise again. On the survivors came.

  At four hundred paces we no longer fired volleys. Each man picked individual targets out of the thundering throng. I fell into the rhythm. Nock an arrow, draw, and release. Nock, draw, release.

  Saddle after saddle we emptied, and still they came, riderless horses keeping pace with the charge. At one hundred and fifty paces we no longer aimed just for the man, but for the heart, the throat or even the eye slit in his helmet. Of those who fell now, all fell dead, and no fewer fell than before. The hail of arrows continued, but the Morassa came on, wound to the breaking point by frustration, pushed beyond it by friction with the Lantans. They no longer cared about their losses, only the chance of killing us.

  At seventy-five paces, at the very foot of the ridge, they hit the stakes. Sharpened on both ends and driven into the ground by those who had waited here, they formed a tangled barrier hidden by the grass. We’d known they were there and picked our way through. The Morassa hit them at full gallop.