The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador (49 page)

The Chaplains walked their horses through the lines of spearmen, swordsmen, and archers before dropping Beldin off with his troops. “Where is the prince king? I must speak with him before the battle begins in earnest.”

“
He was just there,” Beldin's mind was recovering well now but an overpowering headache contested it again. “I don't know where he's gone.”

“
Sir Beldin!” The courier from before rode over, exasperated to say the least. “His Majesty the King has given you command of the northern forces. We are beset on all sides.” He turned his horse to leave, already impatient to be back with his master. “I would suggest that you find a vantage point from where you can direct the battle, my lord.”

The young man was gone before Beldin could even think to ask any questions.

“
We'll be following that one, then.” The Trench pointed after the courier with his white hammer, black blood still dripping from one corner as he did so. “Don't you worry yourself, little lord. This will be where the best fighting will be done, so you can be assured we will return. Just watch for us at the breaking point.”

He didn't even make a motion that Beldin could discern, but his horse lunged forward as if it knew its master's mind. The entire troop of two hundred white-clad, black-spattered killers took off after him, soon dwindling into the dusty masses of the southern forces.

T
HIRTY-
T
HREE

“
I
NEED A HORSE
!” Beldin's skull was actively trying to crush his brain; he could feel a touch of nausea coming on as well. “Get me a horse!”

“
Sire, take mine.” One of the cavalrymen nearby jumped down and helped him up.

“
Thank you,” he said as he straightened his back and fought the increase of pressure in his head as his heart rate picked up. “What did those outriders report?”

“
The approaching front of two columns outnumbers us at least two to one.” Thorn held up his shield to him until he took it.

“
Good odds, all things considered, though I'd hoped more had gone to Veria.” He looked up for his scouts above who were signaling that more enemies were approaching. “From the north and the northwest?”

“
Correct, m'lord.” The captain of his cavalry nodded from his left.

“
What's in the front row? I can't see that far...”

“
Knobacks, predominantly.” The man stood in his saddle as if to see better. “The outriders said they came under fire from darts, but I see no archers yet. Just Knobacks and a few Dunmar driving them.”

“
Well at least they won't be terribly diverse. How long until they're in range of our archers?”

“
A few minutes at most.” He sat back in the saddle.

“
Knobacks are rumored to be scared of fire,” he said as he turned to Thorn. “I want your second and third volleys to be alight. Otherwise keep the heads clean and sharp.”

“
M'lord.”

“
I'll be back.” He turned his horse and made his way around the mountain that was now the natural barrier to their left flank. The king's troops were engaging on their own, the oncoming Knobacks already in range of the archers. The Renault troops were much more brilliantly arrayed than his own troops, the archers in trim green uniforms and gray leggings with the foot soldiers in high-browed helms and green chain mail secured with bits of plate over their arms and chests.

Bows thrummed in a disconnected rhythm, their long arrows whistling into the air in flocks that gathered in the heights only to separate upon their descent. He found their commander and asked what was happening, half-staring at his horse's neck just to focus on the man's voice.

“
Knobacks are within range, m'lord. The scouts above have warned us that they're interspersed with pockets of Brenlucks, the little spindly gray archers. I'm expecting them to break loose at any point.”

“
Your men have shields?”

“
The front five lines do, m'lord. They're all spear; the rest of our foot are light infantry; all they're carrying is bucklers.”

“
That will have to do. Make sure they cover themselves when the darts begin to fall. Have you sent any fire in with your arrows?”

The commander shook his silvery head, tossing the green ribbon about behind it. “We aren't equipped to use fire arrows, m'lord. We're just killin' em today.”

“
Well if you can't scare them, you'd better kill them.” Beldin looked back up to see the massive shoulders of the Knobacks swaying to and fro, now much like porcupines with all of the arrows sticking out of them. “But it looks like the killing will be done in close quarter. Don't let them have the initiative. Swing your line forward from the left, and let your cavalry through there on their right flank. If you pull your right back they'll lose their speed. They can't run far on those little legs.”

“
Yes, m'lord, though that rotation will be difficult to accomplish.”

“
The timing is more the issue.” Beldin took his horse's reins and began to turn away. “But the king's troops can accomplish anything, I'm sure.”

“
Thank you for your faith, m'lord. We won't let you down.”

“
I'm counting on it!” Beldin shouted as he made his way back towards his own troops. He turned as a new sound joined the battle: the whoosh of a thousand darts released into the air at once. The Brenlucks had released their short poisoned arrows from their small bows and were joining the fight at last. Sir Beldin watched as the first volley landed among the men, who thankfully responded to loud orders with haste, covering their heads with their shields.

He made for his own archers, dressed in their checkered yellows, oranges and browns, and wondered briefly who would prove the better force. He smiled against the headache at the thought of his own men proving their worth beyond that of the king's, but forced it away as he knew the thought to be pointless. They needed each other desperately now, and any of them would be lucky to make it out of this alive.

The realization resonated with him as his own archers released what must have been their third volley already, the tongues of fire running half the length of the arrow shafts as they tore through the wind. They had walked into a death trap, the whole purpose of which was to draw out the Relequim and somehow give the Brethren the window they required. For all they knew they had simply marched to their own slaughter willingly like so many lambs, but he could wrest this army from the Relequim. That much he could manage.

The fire arrows were having an effect as the Knobacks roared in unison. The Dunmar raged and whipped harder to get the slowing Knobacks to press onward. That was good; at least their morale could be affected as well. The Dunmar stood over a head taller than their broad-shouldered comrades and were more versatile in a fight. The only advantage the Knobacks would have against his spears was the momentum of their initial charge. If he could rob them of that, he could hold his line.

They were closing now, probably less than a minute from making their charge. The call went out for the spears to be lowered into place.

“
Archers!” He turned his horse in place to shout to his men, forcing the words past the resonance in his skull. “Archers! Ignite!”

They hadn't been ready for this, having switched to arrowheads after following his orders, and it took a moment for them to reload with the sap-tipped shafts. The thin line of oil that burned before them was already threatening to go out, but they would have just enough time.

“
Hold your fire!” He held up his open palm as he watched for the Knobacks to make their move. They would take the last fifteen or twenty yards, and it was in that space that he needed his archers to show their skill. “Aim low!” There it was; the whips rose and fell in time and the Knobacks bellowed their monstrous groan of a cry. His sergeants had caught on and were shouting for the infantry to freeze in place.
Good men.

The lumbering began, but before the small legs of the Knobacks could gain any real speed, Beldin lowered his hand into a fist and called fire. The blunt arrows roared like a firestorm between the helmets and spears of the infantry, arcing just enough to come down in the face of the oncoming foe. The fire was brilliant, and sudden, and the Knobacks were caught completely off guard.

They stumbled and stopped in fear of the flame as the Dunmar roared for them to press on. This was their moment to take the initiative.

“
Forward for the Shale!” Beldin shouted, gritting his teeth as he finished the phrase. “Don't let up until every last one of them is dead!”

His sergeants called for the charge, and his troops let out their battle cry as they advanced and closed with their enemy.
Discipline will carry the day,
his father's words echoed in his head.
Let's show these lizards what men can do.

Six rows of spearmen advanced, prickling with the long dark shafts of oak carved from the trees along the southern coast. They had carried them thousands of miles to bring death to the Relequim and his abominations; now death did they deal. The distance the soldiers could maintain with their razor tips put the Knobacks on their heels, the monsters' advance still nullified by the terror of the fire. But the Dunmar had had enough. They didn't fear fire and they wouldn't be cowed. They drew their broad, crooked blades and hacked at the rear ranks of each squadron of Knobacks that refused to press on.

The pressure built, and soon the Knobacks were bursting to fight. They pressed back into his spearmen, forced onward by their angered and terrified comrades from the rear. The front row lowered their shoulders and pressed on, attempting to charge into the few yards that rested between the two lines. Some managed to close the distance, avoiding the spikes upon which their neighbors died, but many were skewered by their own weight and dropped to the ground in massive, twitching piles.

This isn't going so badly,
Beldin allowed himself to think with a pained smile. He craned his neck to check the waning sun when he noticed motion on the walls above.
Oh damn you...

He turned to face his archers. “The walls!”

But arrows already flew overhead from the archers on the mountain behind them. They too had seen the Brenluck archers scrambling up the cliffs and were taking matters into their own hands. Their path up the side of the mountain was obscured from view to Beldin for the first three quarters, and he cursed himself for forgetting the possibility of the battle escalating literally to a higher level.

The first group of Brenlucks running the edge of the mountain were obliterated by his archers on the mountain behind, but the distance was too great for his own to reach them where they climbed. It was too high and too far for them to hit. He waved them down and shouted on them to fire over the front lines and into the enemy beyond.

“
Swordsmen!” He rode his horse over to where his Tenth and Seventh units held the left flank. The front rows of spears were slowing as the Knobacks entered the fight for real at last. “Mighty Tenth, do you see that path?” He pointed to where a little shelf grew and dropped over the line into the Knobacks ahead. “Can you find a use for it?”

His men grinned up at him as their sergeant shouted back, “We shall become as death from above, my lord!”

The unit's ranks liquified as his men scrambled up onto the shelf and ran the full length of its incline in a steady stream. Beldin ordered the Seventh to fill in the space and collapse into fewer rows to support the spears ahead. The Tenth was his elite light unit. They were his most veteran troops, and they would indeed carve out a hole in the Knobacks if anyone could.

“
First Cavalry!” He rode back to his heavy cavalry, who were anxious to regain the honor he knew they felt they had lost in the skirmish from before. “Are you finished resting on your laurels?”

“
We have rested enough, my lord!” Their commander was one of the wealthiest traders in the south, a swarthy man who loved his horses second only to his trade ships. “Put us to the front!”

“
The mighty Tenth are carving their mark in the enemy as we speak!” The adrenaline pumping from the rush of battle quieted his headache for the moment. He rode back along their line as he stood in the stirrups. “Can you break it wider still for me with your lances?”

As one they raised the lances in question and cheered.

“
Form up on the left flank and make the widow's wedge! Break them and run them back to the pit in which they were spawned!”

He led them back towards the front, shouting for the Seventh to part to the right. He allowed the commander of the First Cavalry to pass him, the widow's wedge taking form as an angle out from the canyon walls as opposed to the arrowhead formation of a usual wedge. The last of the Tenth were jumping down off the shelf. Their presence had caused a new panic among the slow-minded Knobacks, and the left flank of spearmen advanced steadily to fill in the gap they were creating.