The Seer King: Book One of the Seer King Trilogy (57 page)

Chardin Sher’s army held an excellent position, a choke point that we must pass through to reach the border between Kallio and Dara. The road we’d been following ran down to a ford, and across it was Chardin Sher’s main force. Across the river to the west reared a heavily forested mountain, the Assab Heights. Downriver, past the ford, were Chardin Sher’s reserves, and beyond them to the east the river forked and passed through a marsh.

We formed battle positions, and waited to see what would happen next We estimated Chardin Sher’s forces at about 50,000, surprisingly close to the exact number revealed after the war. Outnumbered, they made no move to attack, but waited for us.

I was surprised to see they’d prepared no fighting positions other than shallow trenches near the river, since they planned to be on the defensive.

I began to feel the fire build. This might well be a battle decided by the cavalry, and I would be in the forefront Mail reached us.

But the rest doesn’t matter.

So I was to be a father.

Now I hoped the campaign would be a very short one, or else I might have an interesting wedding ceremony, with my firstborn as ring-bearer.

• • •

Then it began to go wrong.

General Rechin Turbery called all regimental commanders with their adjutants for a briefing one morning. We would attack on the following day.

Such a major move required far more notice than the eighteen hours he’d given us.

He’d made no consultation with his corps or division commanders.

He’d sent no patrols to the far shore to make reconnaissance.

The size of the briefing guaranteed no one could ask anything but the most obvious question, let alone raise objections.

The soldiers would be ready to move at midnight, and the attack would begin at false dawn.

Too long a time would pass between assembly and battle.

The army was completely unpracticed at moving, let alone fighting, at night.

Each wing would attack frontally, crossing the river at once.

No soundings had been taken to see if the water was shallow across our entire front.

The Right Wing was to swing right after it reached the far bank and immobilize Chardin Sher’s reserves to the east, near the swamp, while the Center and Left Wings were to close Chardin Sher’s main force in a pincers.

The Numantian Army might have survived the other errors, but this last was the worst:

What was on the other side of the Assab Heights?

I was about to ask that question when the general laid the final stroke of the whip.

The cavalry was to be withdrawn to the rear of the Center Wing and take no part in the initial fighting. Once the Left and Center Wings had broken Chardin Sher’s main force — this was an automatic assumption by Turbery — we would then charge across the Imru and settle the Kallians’ hash for good, the so-called final moment of battle.

I reddened in anger and disbelief. It might have been a good idea to have a strong striking force ready to seize any opportunity, but
all
the cavalry? I barely knew the names of the other regimental commanders. That we were supposed to fight together as a team without plans, order of battle, rehearsal, without field exercises, was utterly absurd. If General Turbery had planned on using us in this manner, he should have had us practicing in Cicognara and on the march east, rather than letting us skylark about with no purpose. Turbery’s plan would also leave the army without screening riders, flank security, or frontal scouts — in short, completely blind in its attack.

I glanced at Bikaner, and he was as aghast as I.

General Turbery went on to describe what was to be done with Chardin Sher when we captured him, although he’d not said anyone knew he was actually with the Kallians across the river, then closed with some inspiring remark about how Numantia would now prove its iron, its strength as a great nation. I was too angry to hear him.

I headed straight for Seer Tenedos’s tent, which was not far from Turbery’s headquarters. It was large, divided into two sections, one for an office, the other for the seer’s bedchamber. I saw no sign of Rasenna. I started telling Tenedos what idiocy I’d just listened to and he held up his hand, stopping me.

“Did you notice I wasn’t present?”

Of course I had, but idiotically had assigned no importance to it.

“The general informed me of his intentions last night. I objected strongly, as strongly as I could, but he insisted he knew better, so I refused to honor the farce with my presence.

“I’ll tell you two things that you must not repeat to anyone, not even your adjutant, that will make you even angrier, and this is why I refused to take part in the briefing, because I know we face potential disaster.

“First is that there is great magic swirling around this place, magic such as I’ve never heard of before, never encountered.”

“No one has told me anything about the Kallians having a great sorcerer,” I said. “But considering the disregard the army still holds magic in, that means nothing. Can you detect who’s casting these spells?”

“That’s the unusual aspect, for I detect no single … signature might be the word, the sign that one man or woman is working these incantations. I almost fear Chardin Sher has a magician who’s perfected a Great Spell, somehow getting others to work together with him.

“But I can’t believe that I’m prideful enough to think if I couldn’t produce anything cohesive from those master magicians, arrogant fools that they are, of the Chare Brethren, no one else, using other wizards, can either.”

“What’s the other problem?” I asked.

“I brought half a dozen magicians with me, and we’ve been trying to cast searching spells across the river, since General Turbery has refused to send scouts out, fearing to lose the element of surprise.

“All of our efforts have been turned back, as if we were but tin swords lunging at steel plates.

“This worries me more than the first.”

“Is there anything that can be done?”

“Very little. Probably nothing. Try prayer — and not to Saionji. We do not need to encourage the Bringer of Chaos to even notice us on the morrow. Return to your regiment, and be very wary of the way you fight on the morrow. If you cross the river, be prepared for surprise. I’m going to try yet again to penetrate this veil of darkness, to see what Chardin Sher is up to.”

“One question, sir. Have you, or any of your seers, been able to ascertain whether Chardin Sher is over there in person?”

“We tried, and were rebuffed. I tried another method, and sent a searching spell across the country, aimed toward Polycittara. I detected no sign of the prime minister, but that isn’t certain. My spell could have failed, or he could be in yet another location, or have wards up to prevent my locating him.

“But I can tell you I feel his presence. I would wager, with nothing more than that feeling, that he is, indeed, over there, waiting to preside over our destruction.”

“Sir,” I said. “I mean no disrespect to our commander, but I thought General Turbery had experience; I thought he’d fought the Kallians.”

“He has, Damastes. But with how many men? A regiment, perhaps two, against small probes by a company or two of their forces, both sides breaking off when real blood began to be shed, since neither side wished to acknowledge real enmity. I’m afraid General Turbery’s reach has far exceeded his grasp.

“There might also be another problem: It’s not uncommon for a man to achieve greatness so long as he isn’t the final rung on the ladder. As long as General Turbery could fall back on a superior, such as General Protogenes, all was well and good.

“But now he stands alone, and will be judged.”

No longer angry, but worried, I hurried back to the Lancers.

The various units were supposed to wait until dark to begin movement, and the Lancers obeyed orders. Others didn’t — I saw dust clouds swirl as various foot units began, literally, stealing the march, dust clouds visible across the river to warn Chardin Sher something was in the offing.

Finally, the Lancers began moving, and if the morrow were not looming close, it might have been funny. Columns got lost, troops ended up riding with other regiments, men fell off their horses, men rode into tents, men rode into wagons, men rode into latrines … the list of mishaps was as various as the numbers of swearing cavalrymen wallowing around in the night.

But eventually we found a location approximately where we were to be, and waited for battle.

At false dawn, the havoc began.

• • •

The Battle of Imru River is correctly taught as one of the finest, least subtle, most complete catastrophes of war known. It should have been a great victory — we outnumbered the foe nearly two to one, it was a calm day, the heavy clouds overhead were unthreatening, and both sides could see each other perfectly.

Most combats, once joined, are a confusion of blood and screaming, where no one knows quite what’s going on, and frequently the victor isn’t sure he’s won until the next day. Imru River was different. Since my role, until the end, was to sit fuming helplessly on a ridge, waiting for the grand opportunity that never happened, I can tell precisely and briefly of the disaster.

Just at false dawn, trumpets sounded, and the three Numantian wings marched toward the river. General Hern led the Left Wing, General Odoacer the Right, with General Turbery taking personal command of the Center.

They marched straight into the river, in closed battle order, and the floundering began. The water at the ford was a bit deeper than anyone had thought, and men struggled and yelled, the river’s swift current catching their shields and sending them stumbling. General Turbery and the other high-rankers, on horseback, had noticed nothing.

In the Center, confusion began.

General Odoacer, on the right, was perhaps more eager than the others for his share of glory, and so he’d moved forward a bit faster than the other two elements.

Our right flank was therefore exposed.

On the left it was a debacle. The shallows did not extend that far west, and the river deepened to more than eight feet a few paces from the bank. Men toppled into water over their heads, flailed about, trying to swim in armor, and began drowning. The implacable press of the formation forced other men after them, and the water became a seething mass of helpless soldiery.

On the other bank, the Kallian forces rose out of their shallow pits, and a single man rode out in front of them — Chardin Sher, magnificent in silver armor astride a chestnut stallion, his standard-bearers behind him.

General Turbery was evidently not aware of the problems of the Left Wing, and, as he saw his foe in plain sight, he called for a charge, and the Center crashed forward, out of the water onto dry land.

Without even waiting until they were within arrow range, the Kallians began falling back. Perhaps Turbery thought they had panicked, seeing the determined Numantians come at them. But he should have known better, for they retired in an orderly manner, marching backward, line on line. The Numantian Center shouted exulting war cries and broke into a run, sucked even farther into the trap, for of course that’s precisely what it was.

Our Right Wing was having a bit of trouble, the river being wider where they were crossing.

At this moment, Chardin Sher struck.

His sorcerers brought up a wall of water, like a sudden neap tide, and sent it rushing down on us from the west. It was no more than two feet high, but that was more than enough. It caught the men of the Left Wing and swept them along, but there were only a few ranks to be sent tumbling downriver.

It took the Right Wing in midcrossing, smashing into it as hard, and lethally, as if it’d been a blacksmith’s sledge.

Kallian horns screamed, and Chardin Sher’s center turned back and attacked, archers to either side volleying arrows into the massed Numantian Center.

General Turbery was killed in that first volley, and I saw, from my vantage point, the Numantian colors go down. The Center took the shock of the first wave, then stumbled back a bit.

Chardin Sher’s forces must have rehearsed this battle over and over. Isa knows they’d had time enough, having held the ground for long days before our dilatory arrival. The Kallian Left Wing split its forces, sending half in against the Numantian Center, the other half across the river, on a hidden ford, to our side of the bank and striking against our Right Wing.

Then came the deathstroke. From their positions, which had been masked by sorcery and the Assab Heights, ran the rest of Chardin Sher’s army. They were mostly cavalry or light infantry, and drove directly into the open flank of the Center Wing.

The battleground became swirling chaos, man fighting man, man killing man, no more tactics, no more grand design, just bloody slaughter.

I saw Numantian flags go down, and small knots of soldiers I knew to be ours make a last stand, then disappear, overrun by waves of Kallians.

I heard a cavalry general shouting, to whom I don’t know, perhaps the god of war, for someone to unleash us.

But there was no one to give the command.

General Turbery was dead. General Odoacer was dead. General Hern was pinned under his fallen horse and had a broken leg. Three other generals died that day, ten dominas, and who knows how many lesser-ranking officers.

The Numantian Center Wing was obliterated, the Left mired in confusion, and the Right cut to ribbons. Chardin Sher’s forces reformed, and rolled toward the river, an indestructible force bent on our total destruction.