The Hordes of Chanakra (Knights of Aerioch) (18 page)

"But it's not my plan," Kreg said. "And as for the krayt, I was lucky."

The boy grinned slyly. "As may be.  Will you speak to her for me?"

"All right," Kreg said. "Why not?  What's your name?"

"Bertan," he said. "Bertan the Valiant."

Kreg smiled at that. "Well, Bertan the Valiant, I will tell Kaila that you are an outspoken young man who delays people who have business with the King."

"Oh!" Bertan gasped, chagrined. "I'm sorry.  He's on the roof, so he can see the battle.  Just go inside.  There's a ladder."

Kreg patted Bertan on the shoulder as he entered the building.  Behind him, he heard the other pages teasing Bertan.  Kreg grinned.

The odor of old manure, rotting hay, and worm-eaten wood assaulted Kreg's nose.  He waited the few moments necessary for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.

A ladder leaned against the far wall where a rough-chopped hole gaped in the roof.  The ladder appeared unlikely to support his weight, but if the King, with his larger frame, had come this way, then Kreg could manage.

Marek spoke as Kreg poked his head up through the hole. "Kreg," his voice was stern, "we have enemies at our gates.  Now is not the time to quarrel among ourselves."

Pushing himself to his feet on the rooftop, Kreg could see that the King had a commanding view of the place where he and Dahren had fought.

"Sorry, Your Majesty."

"Aye, Kreg." Marek's voice softened. "'Twas not your fault.  Dahren has always been hot of temper and o'erzealous in defending his honor." He paused then pointed toward the east where a dust cloud grew on the horizon.  "I am much concerned.  My scouts report that yon army is far larger than I had hoped."

"How large?"

"There are three for every one of my men."

Kreg pursed his lips and thought.  Three to one odds?  Not good at all.

Marek looked back at Kreg. "Should be retreat and save the chivalry of Aerioch for another day?"

Kreg shook his head.  Why was Marek asking him?  He said, "I don't think so.  Even at three to one, with their tactics and our position, we've still got a good chance.  If we retreat now, I think we'll crush any spirit your army has left."

"Aye," Marek said. "It is as I thought."

Kreg shaded his eyes with his hands as he looked to the east.  The dust cloud was still distant. "Doesn't look like they'll be here for a while."

"Not until well into the afternoon," Marek said. "So my scouts tell me."

Kreg nodded. "Any guesses on whether they'll attack or wait for morning?  For that matter, will they attack at all?  They could pass us.  It's not like they have, or need, any supply lines to worry about with us in their rear."

"Methinks they will attack," Marek said. "It has ever been their way when we have met to come immediately to blows."

"Better and better." Kreg allowed himself a spark of hope. "The sun will be in their eyes."

"Aye, Kreg." Marek turned to survey the army. "You have the makings of a great general.  You turn our enemy's greatest strengths against him and make our weaknesses into strength.  You even show us how to make the very land and sun our ally."

"General?  Me?" Kreg took an involuntary step back. "Your Majesty, I'm no leader.  Good heavens, if this situation weren't practically tailor-made I'd be at a complete loss."

"As you will." Marek shrugged. "Kaila tells me of similar words from your mouth about your skill with a sword but I just beheld you stand against a peer of the realm and win.  But that is for another time, we have yet a wait before the battle."

He shouted at the boys waiting by the entrance to the barn turned command post. "Ho!  Have food sent up."

"At once, Majesty." One of the boys, not Bertan, saluted and dashed off.

CHAPTER TEN

Kreg nibbled at the cheese and bread that the page had brought.  He was too nervous to be hungry.  The sun had passed zenith and begun its descent before the Schahi army first came into view as more than a dust cloud.

Kreg could tell at a glance that the approaching army was far larger than Aerioch's.  No surprises there.  Worse, discounting the bowmen for the moment, Marek's army was almost half peasant levies, untrained and probably unreliable in combat.  Or perhaps not so unreliable.  These men were fighting for their farms, their homes, and their families.  The Schahi were fighting for...whatever it is that demons fight for.

To the north and somewhat in advance of the oncoming army’s main body marched the Schahi archers, half again as many as Marek's own archers.

Marek shouted to the pages below, "Have ten of the swiftest men-at-arms mount.  Send them to spy upon yon army.  Warn them that they must not come to blows, but are to watch and bring us word should the Schahi try any trickery."

"Aye, Majesty." Bertan dashed off.

Kreg asked, "Will he be obeyed?"

"Aye." Marek turned his attention to the approaching forces. "He wears my symbol and all know he speaks with my voice."

"How much longer?" Kreg's wave indicated the Schahi.

Marek studied the approaching army for a moment before answering. "Methinks about two candles."

Shading his eyes from the bright afternoon sky, Kreg studied Marek's lines.  They had arranged themselves as he had suggested.  On the right wing, in the front line, he saw a knight whose surcoat caught his eye: red with a white chevron between three gold stars.

Kreg wallowed a few moments in self-recrimination.  Any feelings for Kaila, he told himself, were stupid, hopeless.  With one hand he wiped at his eyes.  Dust, he thought.  It must be the dust.

Kreg bit into a piece of cheese as he continued to survey the army below.  Pages ran among the soldiers carrying cheese, bread, bowls of porridge, and flasks of watered wine.  The army would be rested and well-fed while the Schahi would be hot, tired, and probably hungry.  Or would they be hungry?  Shillond had said that the changeling armies would require only as much food as the animals they had come from.  Small animals might eat less than a human overall, but they had to eat more frequently.  Still, a squirrel-sized appetite coupled to a human-sized stomach.  For all Kreg knew, they would not have to eat more than once a week.

"I hate waiting," Kreg said.

"Aye." Marek took a long pull from a wine flask and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "'Tis the hardest part of any battle."

"I wouldn't know," Kreg said, "I've never been in a battle."

"Patience, Kreg.  If I must wait here--" Marek tapped his foot on the rooftop for emphasis. "--you can wait alongside me."

"Look," Kreg said. "I’ve been serving as Kaila’s squire and I've done all I can here.  My place is with her."

"Nay, Kreg." Marek placed a hand on Kreg's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "I may yet have need of you here.  However well one plans for a battle, always things occur that one had not considered.  One must be ready to change the plans as fortune permits."

Kreg sighed. "If things go sour I don't see how I can help."

Marek shrugged. "Humility is an admirable trait, young Kreg, but too much is as great a fault as too little.  Let us see what shall happen as events unfold, shall we?"

Kreg grunted and settled down to wait, then his attention jerked skyward.  A wash of bilious green sprouted over the Schahi army and sped toward them to be met by a wash of gold from somewhere behind Kreg.

"What?" Kreg said.

"It begins," Marek said.  He turned and noted Kreg's expression. "Be not afraid.  We have strong magical defenses, as do they.  None are likely to fall from spellcraft."

Kreg swallowed and nodded, hoping that he spoke true, while overhead the pyrotechnics continued.

#

"The archers still proceed," Marek said some time later.

As the two armies neared the magic-born pyrotechnics had ceased.  Marek had told Kreg that the mages had felt out each other's defenses, found them solid, and settled to watchful vigilance.

"Perfect," Kreg said. "The archers don't have any cover.  They're advancing without support.  Our own archers have range and the advantage of the high ground.  The sun is in the Schahi's eyes and that should spoil their aim.  It'll just be target practice for our own."

"And more, Kreg." Marek pointed at the forces on his left wing. "If we launch our attack from thence, will they not flee straight from them and will that not carry them into the lines of their own cavalry?  Will that not create much confusion?"

Kreg looked from Bryon's archers waiting in line to the advancing Schahi. "I think you're right."

"Send word," Marek called down to the pages. "Kaila is to instruct her archers to hold their shafts.  Bryon's are to delay until the Schahi archers are halfway up the hill, then let fly upon them."

"At once, Majesty.”  Two of the boys ran down the hill, one toward the right wing, the other toward the left.

As the first wave of Schahi horsemen began to advance, the archers of both sides loosed their first volleys of arrows.  The arrows, driven by the shorter bows of the Schahi fell short.  Schahi archers fell in droves.

Loosing arrows as they came, it seemed for a moment that the Schahi archers would press forward until they were able to reach their adversaries.  But only seemed.  Kreg saw one of the Schahi drop his bow and turn to flee.  Several of his companions joined him.  Soon the entire Schahi archery company fled down the hill where, at the foot, they collided with the first ranks of the charging Schahi cavalry.

Instead of turning aside themselves, or opening ranks to allow the archers to pass through them, the Schahi charged, cutting into the ranks of their own fleeing archers.

At that moment Kaila decided to add the weight of her own archers to the storm falling among the Schahi.

The second wave arrived.  They charged into the struggling mass at the foot of the hill adding, if it were possible, to the confusion.

Schahi men-at-arms began to break free of the pandemonium and make their way up the hill, a few score at a time.  Most died, pierced through with arrows, long before they could reach the top.  The few who did were met by dismounted knights and pulled from their saddles.  Marek's lines kept good order.

The third wave did not add much to the confusion.  They did, however, provide more targets for the archers.

The fourth and fifth waves hauled up short, out of archery range.  With shouts, trumpets, and waving of banners, they got the boiling mass at the foot of the hill to pull back.  A much-depleted army retreated.

"By the Threefold Twins!" Marek whispered. "Never have I seen such a victory."

"It's not over yet," Kreg said. "They still outnumber us two to one."

"But we have slain more than our own numbers," Marek said.  A moment later, he sighed. "You are right.  They may yet attack again.  It is best to be ready."

He called down to the pages and sent them to have the wounded taken to the rear, also to distribute more food and wine, and fresh shafts for the archers.  Finally, he sent an injunction to remain alert.  The Schahi could return at any time.

About an hour later, the Schahi did return.  The first wave of this second attack, five thousand strong, approached at the trot.  As they reached the furthest extreme of archery range they broke into full gallop.  Arrows fell among them.  Men and horses screamed and fell.

Marek pointed. "They attack the archers."

The approaching line of cavalry charged toward the twin clumps of archers between the two wings. Kreg held his breath.  If they broke through the line, it would be all over.

Cresting the hill, the first of the horsemen reached the checkerboard of pits.  His horse stumbled, pitching the rider to the ground.  His body, and those of the Schahi who followed him, formed a living wall, obstructing the advance of those behind.  The peasant levies pressed forward through the ranks of the archers and dispatched those few who got through.  Again, Marek's casualties were light.

The retreating remnants of the first wave clashed with the second.  Chaos erupted.

"They haven't learned anything, have they?" Kreg looked away from the carnage.

Again, a much-reduced force retreated before the army of Aerioch.

A messenger arrived.

"Majesty!"

"Speak."

"The scouts report the Schahi army massing," the man said. "One thinks they are planning one more attack at sunset, their entire force at one blow."

King Marek turned to Kreg. "What fortune is this?  Right glad am I that your plan has left me with the force to exploit it!"

"I don't understand."

"If yon army truly attacks in a single mass," Marek said, "then can we not take this--what did you call it, ah, reserve force--through the village of Griselde.  We can encircle the Schahi and fall upon their rear."

"Maybe." Kreg nodded. "Unless they have a reserve force of their own."

"Aye, a wise warning," Marek conceded. "I will instruct the scouts to keep watch."

He did so.

As the sun dipped low toward the western horizon, bathing the battle in its blood red glow, the Schahi army approached.  Nineteen thousand strong, they seemed determined to roll over the army of Aerioch by sheer weight of numbers.

As one, Marek's archers lifted their bows.  As the Schahi came into range, the air was suddenly thick with arrows.  Men and horses fell only to be replaced with others.  More arrows...more dead.  The line of Schahi drew closer

"Your Majesty," a messenger shouted, "it is reported.  No reserves.  That is the entire host."

"The day may yet be ours!" Marek leaped for the hole in the roof.  He dropped down the ladder, scarcely touching the rungs.  Kreg followed more cautiously.

"My horse!" Marek shouted as he dashed from the barn. "And a horse for Kreg."

The horses that a page brought were larger than any Kreg had yet seen.  They stood well over six feet tall at the shoulder with broad chests and well-muscled flanks.  A page stood near to help Kreg mount.  Someone shoved a lance into Kreg's hand while another held a shield for him.  Awkwardly, Kreg thrust his arm through one strap on the inside of the shield and grasped another.  He spared a moment’s thought for the wish that Kaila had thought to teach him to use a shield, or a lance for that matter.

"Mount!  Mount!" Marek waved his lance as he rode among the troops. "We ride to victory!"

The knights, squires, and men-at-arms leaped to horseback.  Marek rode to where the foot troops stood waiting.

"Archers, go to Kaila," he said. "Add you weight to hers.  Knifemen, to Bryon.  Tell him that when I close upon the enemy's rear, he is to swing forward and thus close the trap."

Men ran to and fro as the troops hastened to comply.

Marek led the cavalry down the steep slope to the village of Griselde.  Kreg found himself caught in the flood of men and horses, unable to change his course even had he wished.

The river on one side and the cliffs on the other forced the mass of cavalry into a narrow column.  Kreg shuddered.  By the time they passed through, there would be no village left standing.  The knights would trample it into the dirt.  Kreg hoped the villagers were gone.

The charge took on an unreal quality to Kreg, as if he were watching from a great distance rather than riding in the midst of it.  He heard a familiar voice shouting in an inarticulate roar and was startled to realize it was his own.

As one, seven hundred lances came down.  Ahead, the rearguard of the Schahi army spotted the charge.  Bedlam ensued as they tried to pivot to face this new threat.  The charge struck home.

Kreg found himself facing an armored knight.  He leaned far to the left to avoid the knight's lance.  Unfamiliar with his own, he let the point dip, aiming at the horse -- a larger, less agile, target.  Kreg's lance missed the horse and struck the ground, the shock of impact jerking it from his hand.

Kreg drew his sword.  It gleamed in the final crimson rays of the sun.

The Schahi army was in utter panic.  Kreg's arm rose and fell repeatedly.  What remained was not battle, merely butchery.

By the time of the larger moon's setting Marek's army had no enemies left to fight.  Those that had not fled littered the blood-soaked ground.

#

With a cheer, the division led by Kaila opened ranks to allow the mounted men-at-arms to return to the rear.  Bryon's force returned to their lines.

Marek stood in his stirrups, his voice ringing through the night. "We have won a great victory this day." A cheer burst from the army at those words and he waited until it died before continuing. "Nevertheless, we know not what forces our enemies retain.  Thus, it is our royal command to keep watches and that our armies camp in their battle lines.  Thus, should the Schahi army return, we will give them a defeat they will long remember!  Aye, remember and tremble."  The cheer that followed dwarfed the first.

As the other mounted men crowded around the king, Kreg found himself pushed to the outside.  He let them, at a loss at where to go and what to do.