Blood in the Water (56 page)

Unexpected exhilaration warming him, Tathrin spurred his horse towards a knot of Dalasorians who were busily rounding up loose horses. “Where’s your clan lord?” he yelled.

One replied in his own tongue, incomprehensible. Another waved Tathrin towards a group clustered around a scarlet and yellow pennant.

“Rega Taszar!” Tathrin waved as he recognised their captain.

“Good day to you.” Grim weariness sat oddly on the Dalasorian’s youthful features. He was splashed with blood but as best Tathrin could tell, none of it was his own.

“Captain-General Evord’s compliments,” he said swiftly. “Can you gather your lancers and force an attack into those woods?” He pointed. “As quickly as you can. The captain-general wants to drive the Parnilesse flank back before Lord Geferin can learn what’s amiss. Hunt down anyone making a break to carry him news.”

Rega Taszar frowned. “Don’t you think it’s time for them to earn their bread?” He nodded towards the Wheelwrights who were now rapidly advancing, with the massed ranks of the regiment following. He gestured towards his countrymen who were tending their own wounds and those of their horses. “Haven’t we done our duty?”

Tathrin flinched as he saw a Dalasorian cut the throat of a broken-legged horse. He hardened his heart. “I’m just bringing you the captain-general’s orders. What reply would you have me give him? What would you have me tell Sia Kersain?” Would putting the burden of refusal onto Rega Taszar tip the balance?

The young Dalasorian captain sighed. “We will do what we can. But after today—” He broke off with a shake of his head, shouting to his companions in their own tongue. Swift horn calls rang through the clear air

Tathrin’s horse shied away. The bay gelding was wounded, exhausted and badly unnerved. He let it turn away, but once they reached the byway, he kicked it remorselessly into a canter. It could rest soon enough. Once he returned to Evord’s retinue, he could demand a remount.

Riding back, he had a clear view of the valley. The battle was rapidly gaining pace, growing ever more deafening. In the centre, archery duels had given way to hand-to-hand slaughter. Nyer’s Watchmen and the companies following them were pushing right into the scrubby trees. He couldn’t see which side had the upper hand but Evord’s men weren’t being pushed back. That had to count for something.

Further along the dank valley bottom, everything was changing. The Marlier regiments were forcing their way forwards, step by bloody step, out of the sodden meadows. They left countless dead behind but they weren’t stopping now.

Tathrin couldn’t tell which corpses were Ridianne’s mercenaries or Parnilesse’s. Wet and muddy, their motley surcoats and jerkins were indistinguishable at this distance. But he could see the black and green liveries of Parnilesse’s militia regiments clearly though. Their banners were wavering horribly in the face of the Marlier mercenaries’ relentless approach.

Down by the bridges, where the high road crossed the streams running into the river, more of the Vixen’s swordsmen were laying into the mercenaries flying Triolle colours. Given all that those companies had suffered, the defeat at Tyrle and their long, confused retreat to Triolle and on to Adel Castle, Tathrin was astonished to see them hold their ground so doggedly.

Behind them, however, the Triolle militia in their pale green and yellow were already visibly retreating. The first companies had already reached the second bridge. Nothing stood between them and headlong flight along the highway.

That was all well and good, but as Tathrin rode closer towards Evord’s standard, he saw serious cause for concern. Those Marlier companies closest to the Soluran’s regiments were following their lead into the woods. The Vixen’s regiments attacking the Triolle forces were forcing their foes away from the treacherous ground by the river. As a consequence, the middle of the Marlier line was thinning dangerously.

Tathrin could see Lord Geferin’s standard amid a cluster of mercenary banners. He was rallying every company not yet inextricably engaged. Was he preparing an attempt to break through the Marlier line? It looked horribly like it to Tathrin.

He saw the pale heads of the Mountain Men jogging down the road. Captain-General Evord must have anticipated this. The uplanders would reinforce that weakness in their line. As long as they could get there in time.

What would happen if they didn’t? Tathrin still couldn’t see what was happening on the far side of the rising land. He remembered the Parnilesse horsemen had been regrouping after their first punishing assault on Marlier’s cavalry. Were the Dalasorian horse archers still holding them off?

If not, if Lord Geferin could break through the line and the Parnilesse cavalry followed his lead and attacked, more than half the Vixen’s companies, the men who were desperately trying to force their way through to the bridges to take the high road, would find themselves with enemies on both sides.

Tathrin saw Duke Iruvain’s standard. He was rallying the Triolle militiamen. His heart pounding, he rode towards Captain-General Evord’s banner. What orders would the Soluran give Tathrin to ride out with next?

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Karn

The Battle of Pannal,

in the Lescari Dukedom of Triolle,

1st of For-Winter

They must rally the Triolle militia. They had to hold the road and that second bridge long enough for the Parnilesse attack to break the Marlier line. There was still no sign of that whore Ridianne giving way.

The river was foul with bloody carcasses. Karn had to kick them aside as he forced his horse across. As the shivering animal scrambled up the far bank, he rapidly assessed the battle.

Could they still win this? Their best swordsmen had begun this battle already weary and they were tiring fast. Their worst troops were still fresh enough to run away as fast as their legs could carry them. What else could you expect from pox-ridden militiamen?

“How dare he?” Duke Iruvain raged. “Ordering me here and there, as if I were some sergeant-at-arms?”

“Your Grace, this battle is balanced on a knife edge.” His sword drawn, Karn placed his horse between Iruvain and the Triolle mercenaries who were still holding their ground.

He wasn’t going to be caught unawares if some Marlier swordsman came running to murder the duke. The youthful nobles serving as Parnilesse and Triolle’s lieutenants would be no protection. They were milling about in confusion as the entangled retinues separated. Karn looked briefly for Lord Roreth but couldn’t see where he was.

He risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Good. Iruvain’s presence seemed to be bolstering the livery-clad militia. If they weren’t advancing, they weren’t retreating any further.

Unlike the Parnilesse regiments in the centre of the battle. They were still falling back amid the copses and brambles, all cohesion lost. Unable to draw up in a solid line, they were beginning to panic. If the enemy couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see each other and take heart knowing friends stood with them. Instead, they feared every bush hid a foe and shrank still further back.

What was going on? Had Lord Geferin had any recent reports from his right flank? Karn scowled. Down here in the valley bottom, all he could see were the enemy archers, unable to ply their trade, now busy amid the fallen stranded by the tide of battle. The exiles’ wounded were swiftly carried away towards their surgeons. Parnilesse’s helpless men were stripped of their helmets, the better to land a crushing blow to finish them off, their bodies swiftly looted.

Could he get a clearer view if he moved away?

“Men of Triolle! To your duke!” Iruvain stood in his stirrups as his standard-bearer swept the great green grebe to and fro. “To your duke! Let us drive these exiles and thieves from our precious home. They cannot defeat us! They only fight for coin and plunder. You fight for your families and the land that you love!”

Karn closed his ears to Iruvain’s exhortations. Such speeches might sound very fine declaimed by festival players. Here in the din of battle, he doubted anyone heard half the duke’s words.

He looked south and west. The battle was going better there. The beleaguered Triolle mercenaries need only hold a little longer. The Parnilesse horsemen who’d successfully rebuffed Marlier’s first cavalry charge had finally regrouped. They were launching an attack of their own, hooves thundering as they broke from a canter into a gallop.

The Parnilesse horse would cut deep into the Marlier flank. Those cursed Dalasorian horse archers were doing their best to stop them but most of their arrows were falling short. Some men fell, a few beasts stumbled, but the Parnilesse charge didn’t falter.

“You sons of noseless whores!” Karn gripped his reins as a fresh mounted force crested the shoulder of land behind the rebels’ gold and white standard. They spurred their steeds straight at the Parnilesse horse. Dalasorian lancers.

Where had they come from? The Soluran must have held them in reserve. Worse, they’d rallied the remnants of the Marlier cavalry that Karn had thought hopelessly scattered. Stirrup to stirrup, mingled troops of lancers and mounted swordsmen were charging straight down the hill at the Parnilesse horse. Appalled as he was, Karn had to admire such riding.

“They’ve seen them. They’ve seen them!” Iruvain reassured his threadbare retinue, palpably relieved.

Amid ear-splitting horn calls, the Parnilesse riders swerved away from their intended victims to meet this new assault. The two mounted lines met with a shattering crash.

“Now you see our strategy!” Duke Iruvain pointed to the far side of the river where three companies of Parnilesse cavalry still remained, backed by a sizeable contingent of foot soldiers. “Now we will commit our reserves, mow down those grassland scum and then we scatter the Marlier line!”

Karn watched those distant standards closely. Lord Geferin had already sent three messengers to demand those mercenaries cross the river and press home the attack on the Vixen. Karn still couldn’t see them moving.

He saw a single rider leaving the cluster of the captains’ standards. But the horseman wasn’t riding for the bridge, towards Lord Geferin and the Parnilesse lord’s retinue. He was fording the river, swerving right around the fighting between the Parnilesse horse and the newly arrived lancers. He was heading straight for the cream and gold of the exiles’ commander’s banner.

The rider must be some galloper from the Soluran, sent with a message for those Parnilesse mercenaries. Karn recalled what he’d heard of Duke Garnot’s first battle with the exiles. Captain-General Evord had spent long years fighting Lescar’s battles. He had plenty of experienced captains on his side, who knew how to exploit all the rivalries and grudges of hired fighting men. What had the Soluran said?

“What are they doing? Are they coming back to the bridge?” Arriving at his side, Duke Iruvain watched the contingent south of the river begin a purposeful retreat.

“Perhaps.” Karn didn’t think so.

“We must clear the road!” Iruvain began shouting. “Make way! Make way! So our brave allies can get through. They must bring all their strength to bear as they reinforce our line!”

Karn saw the distance between the road and the retreating Parnilesse forces widening rapidly. They were leaving.

“Triolle! Stand!” Iruvain’s voice cracked with outrage.

The liveried militia could see the Parnilesse reserve were deserting. That made up the waverers’ minds. As those men began moving down the road away from the battle, militiamen who might have stood firm found themselves left exposed. Looking uncertainly at each other, they began walking backwards. The Triolle retreat towards the bridge began gathering pace.

“Signal a rally to my standard!” Iruvain raged at his closest lieutenant.

Karn ignored the ineffectual horn calls. Those Triolle mercenaries still doggedly holding their ground would soon realise no one guarded their backs. The Marlier regiments would see it too and that would give them fresh heart. The best Triolle’s forces could hope for now was a defensible retreat to hold the second bridge.

He searched for Lord Geferin’s standard. There was no sign of it leading any attempt to break through the enemy line. Those cursed Mountain Men had arrived to reinforce that transient weakness and Marlier’s troops were fighting with renewed vigour. Parnilesse mercenaries were enmeshed in the slaughter.

Karn looked further up the valley. He still couldn’t see the blue banner with its crossed sword and halberd. Was the Parnilesse lord hidden by the trees? Karn could see their own forces gaining no ground. Worse, the exiles were thrusting deeper into the woods.

“You will be pilloried! You will be flogged, and your wives and children!” Iruvain was yelling impotent threats after the fleeing militiamen. “You will be thrown naked into the gutters to starve, with every member of your families!”

Lord Geferin had placed too much reliance on the slope, Karn concluded. He’d trusted too readily in the cover offered by the trees and brambles. He had been too focused on the battle with Marlier down in the valley bottom. Every time he’d seen a possible route to victory, all his attention had been seduced.

What had actually happened on their far-right flank once the Dalasorians had broken the Parnilesse cavalry on the byway? Hadn’t it occurred to Lord Geferin to wonder at the lack of reports from those regiments supposedly holding the northern face of the woodland? Didn’t he think that might mean there was no one left in command to send him a runner?