The Hordes of Chanakra (Knights of Aerioch) (23 page)

Kreg nodded. "If they wait, we can fortify our position.  Then a couple of small forces, one to stop the main army here and one to destroy anything they try to take through the marshes, can keep them here to starve.  We can take the army to fight in the north.  I’m sure they know that.  They won't wait; they can’t wait.  They have to attack us on ground of our choosing."

"But what of honor?" Efrij asked. "What of courage?"

Kreg wondered how Efrij thought he had a right to even mention those two words. "What honor is there in foolish battles that you cannot win?"

"But we must attack!" Efrij's voice rose.

"No." Kreg kept his voice level. "We must win."

"They are laying waste to all the land," Efrij said, at last voicing his real concern. "I cannot let my home be ravaged so."

"And such an ill-advised attack," Kreg said, "will lose us the army and then they will ravage all of Merona."

He was making headway, but it took more than an hour before he got Efrij to delay his attack.  One day, one more day, and they would be here so why abandon a defensible position?  Eventually, the message got through.

"Bertan," Kreg said when they left the tent. "In the battle, I want you to stay close by me.  That idiot is likely to get us all killed before this is over.” Kreg hated himself for what he had to say next, but he saw no alternative. “I'll need a messenger I can trust.  You have armor?"

"Kreg, I'm a page," Bertan said. "Pages aren't allowed armor."

Kreg swore.  He looked Bertan up and down. "Well, there's no way I'm putting you on a battlefield without it." He grinned. "King Marek would skin me alive, I think.  I know Kaila would, and I wouldn't blame either of them."

"I'm not afraid," Bertan said, but his lower lip quivered slightly.

Kreg spotted the quiver and smiled reassuringly.  He patted Bertan on the shoulder. "I know you're not.  Don't worry about it.  I'll make do with whatever messengers Efrij has."

"There is another solution." Shillond stepped out of the shadows.

"Don't do that," Kreg said. "You scared me out of ten years' growth."

Shillond ignored Kreg's comment. "I know you hoped that Kaila would choose you as her squire, but would Kreg be acceptable?"

"Would he?" Bertan's eyes grew wide. "Kreg fought a krayt and won a battle and he's a great general and everything."

"I can't take a squire!" Kreg protested.

"You are a Knight, Kreg," Shillond said. "It is not only your right, it is your duty to take a squire.  The next generation of warriors must be assured."

"Shillond," Kreg said, "I'm still new at this.  I'll teach him something wrong and get him killed.  I can't live with that."

"Have you so little faith in Kaila's teachings then?" Shillond let a hint of laughter creep into his voice. "She has told me how you fought at Griselde.  In the short time that you have been here, you have learned to handle a sword as if you had been born with one.  You have even defeated a peer of the realm in single combat and that is no small feat."

"If you mean Dahren," Kreg said, "I got lucky.  He nearly skewered me."

"You frightened him," Shillond said. "The tales I heard said that he used his secret thrust, until then known only to us peers, in full view of all who watched.  He would not have done so had you not proved his master."

Kreg stared off into the setting sun. "Bertan?"

"I would be honored, Sir Kreg."

Kreg sighed. “You’re not going to let me get out of this, are you?”

“It is duty, Kreg,” Shillond said.

“All right,” Kreg said, “but I don’t know how.”

“There is merely the oath,” Shillond said, “and while I am no knight, I have heard the oath often enough to know the words.”

#

At Kreg's insistence and over many objections, the cooks were up before dawn.  While waiting in their lines, the troops ate bowls of hot porridge and drank steaming mugs of a bitter, yet stimulating drink.  The scouts heralded the approach of the Schahi army.

Kreg sat on his horse on the right wing of the army, its breath frosting the air in front of him.  The ground crunched as the horse fidgeted.  An early frost had left a coating of white on the grass.  To the left, the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky.

Kreg sat at the extreme right of the line, partway up the hill.  This gave him a commanding view of the battlefield.  He was not alone.  Efrij and several of his squires and pages were there as well.  More importantly, from Kreg's point of view, Bertan was there.

Kreg spared a glance at the hilltop above him where Shillond waited.  If Kreg had need to send word to Shillond Bertan would be his messenger.  Kreg would trust no other.

The first Schahi troops topped a rise in the road.  They advanced in three columns.  As Kreg watched they spread to cover the width of the valley.

In front, they placed archers. In the center, one division formed a front three to four hundred yards across and five ranks deep.  To right and left there was a gap of about fifty, then two more lines of archers, each spreading over two hundred yards of front and the same five ranks deep.

The archers were armed with the same short bows that had been ineffective at Griselde and Kreg hoped they would be equally ineffective here.

Behind the archers were lines of infantry armed with shields and spears.  The infantry formed in small blocks, about five men wide and five ranks deep with gaps a few yards wide between the blocks.  In total, the line of infantry covered about a half mile.

And behind the infantry, coming over the rise, were cavalry.  Like the infantry, they covered a front of about half a mile across organized in small blocks, but these blocks were only three ranks deep.

Those gaps in the lines of infantry and cavalry worried Kreg.  Someone on the Schahi side had learned something from Griselde.  When the archers retreated, as Kreg was confident they would, those gaps would allow them to retire to the rear without their own forces trampling them.

A violet glow formed over the approaching army, matched by a golden one over their own.  Kreg waited for a moment, but nothing else visible happened.  The hairs on the back of Kreg’s neck rose at the interplay of forces, the testing of magical defenses by each side.  Although battle-trained, Kreg's horse shifted beneath him.  The knights around him looked at one another nervously.

“Bertan!” Kreg called.

“Here, Sir Kreg.”

“Ride to the hilltop.  If Shillond can answer, ask him what role magic will play in today’s battle.”

“At once, Sir Kreg.” Bertan pulled his horse around and rode off, cantering up the hill.

“What nonsense is this?” Efrij said. “You send a lance away on a foolish errand.  It is well known, their mages cannot strike at us.  Our mages cannot strike at them.”

“Your mages, perhaps not,” Kreg said, “but your mages are not Shillond.  Let us see what he says, now that he’s had a chance to taste the other side’s strength.” Kreg only wished that he felt the confidence of his words.

A few minutes later, Bertan returned, letting his horse pick its way down the hill.

“The Schahi magic is not great,” Bertan said when he pulled up alongside Kreg, “They have two mages of moderate power and several little more than apprentices.  Shillond believes he has concealed his own power from them and could break through their defenses once, maybe twice, but he would then lack the strength to defend our own forces from magic.  He suggests caution, but that he is ready to strike if you give word.”

“Well done, Bertan,” Kreg said and grinned.  They had an advantage, an advantage the other side did not know about.  That was good. “Stand ready,” he told Bertan, “when the time comes, I may need to send you to Shillond again.”

The Schahi army advanced.  The infantry in the second line began to beat the shafts of their spears against their shields.  The rhythmic thunder was clearly intended to intimidate and, looking around at the nervous faces of the knights around him, Kreg saw that it was working.

“Why, look,” Kreg said, keeping his voice cheerful, “they play some music to die to.” He turned in the saddle and shouted, “Trumpets!  Give them a tune in response.  To arms!” The trumpet call was redundant.  The army was already at arms, but it was a sprightly tune and Kreg saw the knights around him take heart.

A shriek rent the air as the line of archers charged up the hill.  Arrows flew from the Meronan archers to fall among them.  Many of the Schahi fell, but still they charged.

"We must charge!" Efrij stood in his stirrups.

"No!" Kreg shouted. "Hold.  We have the best of it.  Let them come to us."

Below, the Schahi archers on the wings concentrated on the Meronan archers.  The greater power and accuracy of the Meronan longbow, the protection of the shield bearers, and the higher ground gave them the advantage.  While Kreg winced at every scream, three Schahi fell for every Meronan.

The center group concentrated their volleys on the infantry of Kreg's own lines.  The peasant levies huddled behind their shields.  They suffered few casualties.

In the fury of the arrows arcing across the sky, Kreg almost missed the advance of the infantry.

The arrows stopped.  The archers filtered back through the gaps in the infantry’s lines, then the rear ranks of the infantry stepped forward, filling those gaps and turning the infantry into a solid, unbroken line.

The Meronan archers continued their rain of arrows.  The wings of the infantry line bowed backward.

“Hold fast,” Kreg said to Efrij.

“But...”

“Give the order,” Kreg said, pitching his voice just loud enough for Efrij to hear. “We have the advantage so long as we hold fast.”

His face white under his helmet, Efrij nodded.  He stood in his stirrups and shouted. “Hold fast.”

The trumpets sounded.

The infantry continued its march up the hill, the ends of the line continuing to bow backward as arrows fell among them.  Then, for one moment, they stopped, fifty yards from the center of the Meronan lines.

For a few seconds the two armies regarded each other across the field of battle, then the Schahi infantry charged.  The peasant levies in the center bowed backward.  Bowed, but held.  In minutes the attack broke off and the Schahi infantry fled down the hill.

No sooner did the infantry disperse than the cavalry arrived.  The Schahi left, the wing in front of Kreg, forged ahead of the rest of the line.  The Meronan cavalry lowered lances and waited.

The Schahi cavalry lowered lances in turn and charged.  Kreg tried to force calmness through the seat of his pants as his horse started to fidget.  He brought his shield up, mindful of the brief instruction Kaila had been able to give him before they had parted company at Norveth.  Before they could meet, a Schahi fell screaming from his saddle, clutching at an arrow in his thigh.  The archers had shifted their aim from the retreating infantry to the front ranks of the charging cavalry.

The combination of archery from the flank and unbroken line of Meronan cavalry proved too much for the Schahi horsemen.  They turned and followed infantry down the hill.

The Meronan knight to Kreg’s left spurred his horse after the retreating cavalry.  Just beyond another was also giving chase.  In seconds, dozens of Meronan cavalry were racing down the hill, followed by hundreds a few seconds after.

Kreg stood in his stirrups. “No!  Hold!”

"Charge!" Efrij shouted.

"No!" Kreg cried. “Dear God, No!”

Yelling and shrieking, the entire right wing of Meronan cavalry plunged down the hill.

Kreg found himself caught in the charge before, swept up through no choice of his own.  He watched the events as though from a great distance.

They caught the fleeing cavalry.  Men and horses screamed.

Suddenly, blood splashed against Kreg’s helmet and face.  The man on Kreg's left fell, a lance ripping open his body and spraying blood like a fountain.  Ahead of Kreg, a lance struck another horse through the haunch and it fell, forcing Kreg’s mount to veer to avoid it.

The Schahi center had wheeled and fallen on their flank.

Outnumbered, the small contingent of Meronan cavalry fell back. The Schahi cavalry swept around them until the Schahi surrounded the remaining Meronans.  The Meronan knights huddled atop a small knoll, seeking for nonexistent weakness in the wall of encircling cavalry.

"You have led us to ruin!" Efrij snarled at Kreg.

"You were supposed to hold!" Kreg snarled back. "And your stupidity has killed us all."

The Schahi cavalry circled the knoll but making no effort to close in.  Kreg saw why.  The archers had reformed and were marching their way.

In horrid fascination, Kreg watched as fingers fitted arrows to bowstrings.  Bows bent.  Arrows flew.  Two arrows struck glancing blows and rebounded from Kreg's breastplate, a third from his helmet.  Another grazed his left thigh, leaving a bloody line.  His horse fell, screaming, mortally wounded by still more arrows.  Kreg scrambled free as it fell, lest he be pinned underneath its body.

A short pause in the sleet of arrows left Kreg with a moment to look around.  Only a few dozen of the Meronan cavalry remained standing, most on foot.  Horses were larger targets than men for the rain of arrows.  King Efrij lay by Kreg's feet, an arrow having struck him in the cheek and angled upward through his head.  With a sick feeling, Kreg realized that Bertan was not among those standing.  Around them, the archers drew arrows to breast once more.