Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

The leading line of Second Battle gave the single shout “V’KANDIS!” and charged. They crested the low hill and sprang down the far side. The units’ leading edges lost coherence in the steep slide down the hill, but training, discipline, and momentum carried them into the thin line the Black-robes’ warriors set to defend their chiefs.

The mercenary men fought like lions, but in the eternal fight between soldier and warrior, soldier wins. The warriors, no matter how skilled, fought as singletons. The Men of Karse, trained and blooded brethren, fought as part of a larger unit. No shame in ganging two on one, three on two, five on two. No honor in the line, just the imperative of stab, guard, parry . . . shuffle step right to cover your mate’s exposed side. Thrust into the enemy’s back. His bad luck his mates didn’t cover down.

The leading edge of Second Battle broke into the black-robes’ line, fracturing it. Tregaran sent the second sally at that point, the men sliding down the steep slope. The reinforcements, piling into the first line, shattered the black-robes’ forces. They began to fall back. Warrior after warrior broke and ran as the fight turned south.

Tregaran still on the hilltop with the reserve, watched the enemy line fragment and fail.

He made a “come-here” gesture to the horncallers. “Blow ‘Halt Pursuit. Form Double Line.’ ” He looked at the Battle’s double squad of archers. They stood close by, weapons strung and ready. “Kill them,” he said quietly.

The archers leaped into action. They used the new Rethwellen pattern bows, sinew and wood . . . all backed with horn. The weapons shot fearsome distances on a flat trajectory. The archers brought the weapons into play quickly, standing on the hilltop and taking a savage toll on the firelit men who fled. Tregaran noted that the archers killed as many as the line. The Black-robes’ forces fell back into the village in disarray.

Tregaran’s mind flashed to a place where a regiment used the bow to provide the bulk of the killing power, rather than just skirmishing. He had an image of a line of pikes with Reth’ bows salted in, yard-long arrows in direct, flat-trajectory fire, and two or three more rows of archers behind, shooting overhead. The pikes would hold cavalry at bay, likely enough, and the Reth’ bows would punch through field armor for cert. If a half-company could work this slaughter, a regiment of bows would black the sun, and an arrow-storm that would shatter any unit closing. Valdemar’s slow, heavy foot would never have a chance.

The “Cease Arms” call brought him back to the moment.

The last of the Black-robes’ troops fled within the inner ring of houses surrounding the town square, depriving the archers of clear targets. Plunging fire remained an option, but there still remained at least one more fight tonight. Best to conserve arrows for the later fight.

He left a small detachment to guard the archers, and led the balance of the reserve down the hill. The horse they’d found for him plunged forward eagerly, not needing spur or goad. It nearly fell in the scree, and at one point sat down to avoid plunging tail over head.

The battle-line reformed quickly, the reserve moving to its accustomed place. He passed their lines, his horse bucking a little at the soldiers’ cheers. The troops’ blood was up. Winning did that, especially when the win laid low two of three enemy with no loss on your side.

Tregaran led them into the Fire-lit streets, nearly staggering from the heat and smell. No wood fed these flames. Instead, long bones marked the Fires’ fuel. Each piled between knee and waist high, and all burning with an unholy vitality. He was no stranger to battlefield carnage, enough to estimate a death count, and his gut told him hundreds lay slain just in the outer court. Most of the dead now fueled these fires.

He heard the sounds behind him as the soldiers took in the carnage and what burned in the fires all around. Their morale would soften if he gave them too much time.

“To me,” he bellowed. Then, “Charge!”

The Battle came behind him with a shout, and he led them between the thick, greasy pillars and around the line of buildings. The horse refused the flames, battling and bucking to avoid being driven forward. He felt it slide in the street, and fall heavily on one shoulder. Tregaran had bare moments to kick free to avoid having his leg crushed. He rolled away as the horse got its hooves under it and staggered upright, slipping one more time, before bolting in panic.

The troops, now ahead, rounded the corner. He grabbed what remained of his dignity, picked up his blade and shield from the street and ran to follow. His right leg still hurt, for cert from the fall, and it was more of a limp than a sprint when he cleared the corner.