The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) (40 page)

Hetman
Gynfor Moreland was eight hundred yards from the Narthani central block when he
saw them raise their ranked pikes, turn, and run to their rear. A quick glance
to the neighboring blocks also revealed movement.

They’re
breaking
!
Gynfor exulted to himself.
I told those timid fools at the conclave the
Narthani footmen would break when they saw us bearing down on them—no men on
foot can stand up against a horse charge!
 

All
thoughts of the agreed-on plan evaporated. He had a fleeing enemy in front of
him, and he led an irresistible wave of riders. He would ride them down, crush
the Narthani, and show the other clans who not to trifle with! They roared past
the stopping point. Several of his leaders looked at him, waiting for the
signal to turn. He held his sword high, then pointed straight at the Narthani
and urged his horse on ever faster. Three thousand Moreland riders—one hundred
across and thirty deep–followed his vision of glory.

Welman
Stent had waited for Hetman Moreland’s signal to halt the charge. At first, he stared
dumbfounded when, instead of flags signaling to break off the charge, Moreland
swung his sword in a circle, pointed straight at the Narthani, and continued
the charge. It took Stent ten seconds to process what was happening. By then,
they had closed the distance to the Narthani by another hundred yards.

The
idiot is
carrying through the charge, instead of holding up! God damn all idiots!

Stent
pulled up his horse, which still took him another thirty yards deeper into the
now-formed Narthani arc, albeit just at the right portion of the arc. The Stent
riders behind and beside him also reined in, but almost fifty men were too far
in front and didn’t see they were now the only Stentese still charging. Stent
pointed to their right, and they moved parallel to the Narthani. Several riders
had been pulling bales of hay, which were now lit and the burning bales dragged
along the ground behind the main Stent body, setting some of the partially dry
grass on fire.

To
the Moreland left, a similar shock was going through hetmen Lordum Hewell and
Klyngo Adris. Hewell hesitated longer than Stent, costing the Hewellese another
fifty yards, but Adris stopped at the agreed position and wheeled left.

Culich
saw the coming disaster the moment the Moreland hetman committed his men.
Unlike the other hetmen, he instantly understood what was happening. He also
recognized that the Moreland action made no difference to his role and that as
bad as the disastrous move was for Moreland, it helped his own part by focusing
Narthani attention to the center.

They
continued their charge until within two hundred yards of the Eywellese. Culich
could easily identify Brandor Eywell.

That
pompous ass still dresses like a male murvor displaying flashing feathers and
goes helmetless to show everyone that ridiculous head of hair.

He
nodded to his flagmen, and they signaled Luwis and the Gwillamese to lead their
men in a simulated retreat. The remaining two hundred riders followed Culich
another fifty yards and then turned south and feigned retreating away from the
battle scene and down the open alley toward the stream, the waiting dragoons,
and their pitiful Keelan artillery.

From
his vantage point, Zulfa watched the central cavalry mass flow into the
Narthani cul-de-sac. The apparently isolated central infantry block was joined
on both sides by blocks previously held to the rear. There were now nine blocks
plus the two artillery groups forming an arc two-thirds of a mile across. He
regretted the two flanking masses had stopped their charges.

No
matter,
he thought. This way, even more Narthani firepower would focus on the central
group, while still holding off any new charges on the flanks.

As
more and more clan horsemen flowed into their trap, Zulfa gauged when it was
time to spring. Just as he was about to say to himself,
Now, Ketin, now’s
the time
, Ketin seemed to read his mind again, and a rocket shot up from
Ketin’s observation position. Within seconds, the Narthani arc erupted in flame
and smoke. Sixty cannon firing canisters and twenty-seven hundred muskets fired
within three seconds. The Moreland charge hit a wall.

Gynfor
Moreland saw the smoke and seconds later heard the thunder. The Narthani line vanished
behind white smoke. Then most of the riders in Gynfor Moreland’s view crashed
to earth, as horses and riders were hit by musket and canister balls, some of
the leaders hit several times. Clouds of blood exploded in Moreland’s vision,
horses collided with those down, and screams of men and animals rose over hoof
beats. Whereas an instant earlier Moreland had ridden behind a thin screen of
riders and had masses of more riders in his peripheral vision, he suddenly rode
alone. Glancing to his rear, he could see mounds of downed riders and horses
with more coming behind them crashing into their fallen brethren. Those
Morelanders still ahorse snaked their ways around the chaos and kept coming.
Among those missing were his two sons, Owain and Caedem.

They
must have fallen
,
rose to his stunned mind.

Perhaps
only their horses had been hit, and they had jumped from their saddles before
crashing with their mounts. Both were such good riders and had been since they
were eager children first learning to ride from their father. The
incongruousness of the scene flashed through Gynfor Moreland’s mind at that
moment and was lost forever when a second volley of muskets ended his universe.

Welman
Stent’s heart was stout, but it froze when the Narthani fired. He could see some
of his men and their horses fall, mainly those who had been in front and failed
to see his signal to stop. Of those fifty, perhaps half went down. Those few
remaining looked around and saw their isolation and reined in. Stent waved at
them to get back. Ten of them made it. The Narthani firing continued, and with
each volley a few of his men fell. Even outside of the presumed effective
range, a few balls found human and horse flesh. By the fourth volley, the smoke
from the Narthani line and the smoldering grass fires being set by clansmen spread
a cloak over the battlefield, and the Narthani were firing at where the
islanders had been, instead of where they could be seen.  Stent pulled his
group farther back and the bulk of the Stent, the Hewell, and the far too few
surviving Morelander horsemen used the smoke to withdraw back to their original
positions and let the Narthani waste ammunition firing through smoke. By the
time the remnants of the Moreland debacle escaped the trap, the plain was
carpeted with dead, dying, and wounded men and horses. The cries and screams of
both reached ears two miles away.

From
Zulfa’s elevated position, he could see the main islander charge disintegrate,
as hundreds of clan riders and their horses went down. It had not worked as
well as hoped, but then what battle plan ever did? Not all of the middle group
of Caedelli had entered the trap, and the two flanking groups withdrew or
stayed out of range. He regretted that not more of the clansmen had fallen, but
the bodies littering the battlefield gave evidence that the central group had
suffered catastrophic losses.

Not
all Moreland horsemen either fell to the volleys or retreated. Despite the storm
of lead, enough horsemen survived and kept moving forward that not even the
disciplined Narthani ranks had been able to hit them all. A hundred riders
reached the Narthani infantry blocks, only to find, as Yozef predicted, that
the wall of pikes was too much even for their shocked horses. Those temporarily
spared flowed between the infantry blocks. Once to the rear, they found no
succor. They were too few, scattered, and too unled to have any noticeable
effect on the infantry blocks. The Narthani musket men turned their muskets to
the rear and picked off individuals. None that penetrated the Narthani line
survived more than two minutes.

Zulfa
saw all of this. Erkan Ketin, his initial task complete once he signaled for the
trap to be sprung, fell back to Zulfa’s position with his staff and guards.
Zulfa would use him as a reserve commander, if needed and if a major change in
plan was warranted. Having a senior commander deliver changes was more likely
to be obeyed immediately.

Most
of Zulfa’s attention was on the center of the Caedelli charge, and the devastation
was gratifying. It was too bad about the flanks. They’d wanted more of the
clansmen in the kill zone.

What
should be the next move? The two flanking masses of islanders were intact, as
were the parts of the central group that pulled up before entering the kill
zone, so sending in his cavalry and island auxiliaries in an envelopment wasn’t
automatic. He strained to see through the smoke. The battlefield obscurity
wasn’t as bad as some battles he had been in. Only his own men had fired
significant powder; few Caedelli got off shots. From his elevated position, he
could still see more than in other battles he’d been in, where, after the first
few volleys, neither side could see more than a hundred yards, and it became a
game of intimate contact orchestrated by imperfect information on dispositions.
The islanders setting the grass afire was unexpected. Now that firing had
slackened, the smoke should begin to clear.

The
results of the Moreland charge were unknown to Culich. Although he saw the
Morelanders continue toward the Narthani position and heard and witnessed the
Narthani fire, his focus had narrowed to the Eywellese. He stayed in the
vanguard of his clansmen, even though endangering himself. For their plan to
work, the Eywellese must see him and his banners and follow them as he “fled.”
The Keelan banners couldn’t fall. If any bannerman fell, others would pick up
the banner. His men also had instructions that if their hetman were killed, they
would tie his body upright in his saddle and lead his horse. Neither Culich’s
wife nor Maera knew his saddle had braces at his back for such a task and not
to help him stay on his horse, as he’d told them. If his horse fell, his body
and saddle would be transferred to another mount.

The
pounding of his horse’s hooves reverberated up his backbone and jolted his bad
knee. He heard cannon and musket firing, but he and his clansmen weren’t the
main targets, although he did see a few of his men and horses fall.

By
the time they were two hundred yards from the Eywellese, Luwis led the feigned
retreat, leaving Culich and two hundred riders.

For
Brandor Eywell, the battle was frustrating in both planning and execution,
because the Narthani had relegated his people to doing nothing, which was what
he considered protecting the Narthani right flank. He watched, as the other
clans deployed into three points of attack, and he understood the logic behind
Zulfa’s plan. He reassured himself that he and his clan would be on the winning
side in this battle; the other clans were clueless what they were up against. Still,
the traditional feuds and histories chaffed that he wouldn’t have an
opportunity to strike at old enemies. Then God smiled on him. He recognized the
Keelan, Gwillamer, and Mittack banners facing his side of the Narthani
deployment. Maybe there was a chance to pay Keelan back for past indignities,
after all.

He
also identified the banners of the Moreland-led group. Too bad the Adris and
Hewell clans had stopped. He smiled to himself at the same time that he winced when
the Morelanders rode oblivious to their deaths. Once the firing started, he
lost sight of anything except what was directly to his front. His eyes fixated
on the cluster of Keelan banners, where Culich Keelan himself would be. His
face turned first to stone and then red with fury when he saw his own banner inverted
under Keelan’s.

That
arrogant bastard even now can’t refrain from insults—and this
. . .
?

Wait.
His eyes narrowed.

When
the charge in front him seemed to falter and most of the riders retreated or
wheeled left, he cursed in disappointment until he realized that the riders to
the far right were still coming. There couldn’t be more than a few hundred of
them, including Keelan himself.

What’s
the arrogant prick thinking? That Eywell would run just at the sight!

The
thought fueled his anger. Was this his chance? An opportunity to pay back the
hated Keelanders? Killing Culich Keelan and many of his best men would cripple
the Tri-Alliance and solidify the Eywell position in a Narthani-dominated
future.

The
Keelanders suddenly reined in.

Finally
, thought Brandor.
Culich has realized how exposed he is and is about to pull back. If I’m
going to act, it has to be now
.

“Demian!”
he shouted out to his younger son by his side. “Ride back to the last five
hundred and tell their commanders to hold position to defend this flank. I
leave you here in charge. I take the rest of our men to ride down Culich
Keelan.”

“But,
Father,” protested the seventeen-year-old, “our orders are to hold this
position.”

“Do
as you’re told,” Brandor snarled. “This is a chance to crush the Keelanders,
and I mean to take it.”

With
those orders, Brandor turned from his son to listening subordinates.

“Forward
to destroy Keelan!”

Culich’s
eyes focused on the Eywell leaders.

Would
Eywell take the bait? Brandor would be stupid to do so. Then again, they were dealing
with Brandor Eywell, so stupid wasn’t out of the question.

On
cue, the Keelanders milled for perhaps a minute, before Culich pointed south
and the Keelanders rode toward the alley at the end of which awaited Denes
Vegga. The Eywellese must have seen both his banners and the upside-down Eywell
flag, for suddenly the front of the Eywellese horsemen surged forward, a
hetman’s banners in the lead.

Despite
his low opinion of the Eywell hetman, Culich was still surprised.

Stupid
wins again
.

By
the time the leading Eywellese trailed only fifty yards behind the last Keelan
rider, both groups were racing toward Denes and the ambush.

“Run,
you dogs!” yelled Brandor Eywell. He outnumbered them four or five to one. If
he caught them against a barrier, even if only slowing them down, Culich Keelan
would die.

The
lead men in his pursuit were within twenty yards of the trailing Keelanders.
Occasionally, one fell from a pistol fired by his lead men, shots from
horseback finding a Keelan more by accident than skill. One of his men carrying
a lance and on a fast horse caught a Keelan rider and pierced him in the back
to fall from his horse and be trampled by pursuers.

Two
hundred Keelanders raced through the open alley about a hundred yards wide
between low hillocks with scattered trees. Ahead, Brandor saw an approaching
line of brush and a hundred yards farther a twenty-foot escarpment the horses
couldn’t climb. Would the brush slow the Keelanders? Maybe this was where they
would pen them. Then . . . no . . . the front of the fleers dipped down and
then back up in sight. A creek bed. Once they crossed the creek, the Keelanders
would be pinned against the escarpment!

When
Denes arrived at the creek, the first hundred of his men had already deployed.
One man in four held the reins of four horses behind the screen of shrubs and
small trees on top of the north section of the west embankment. The other men
finished positioning for clear firing lanes and room to reload. South of the
break in the brush, the swivel artillery and the rest of the musket men moved
into place. Nine swivel barrels and three hundred muskets waited to see if the
Eywellese obliged.

The
three crossbow carriages were set up fifty yards behind the swivels, with
orders from Yozef not to engage the Eywellese. He didn’t want to worry about
quarrels landing short.

All
of their positions were exposed, both the men with muskets and the swivel
carriages. In the expected chaos, they hoped the mounted Eywellese couldn’t
return effective fire. Nor could they directly assault the ambushers, since a
six- to eight-foot vertical embankment fronted the men and the guns. The only
way for the Eywellese to attack the ambush was from behind, after following
Culich’s men down the far shallow embankment, across the creek, and back up a similar
opening on their side. To prevent this, once the horsemen led by Culich passed
between the two lines of ambushers, they would wheel to face any Eywellese
riders reaching the Keelan side of the stream. When it was clear no significant
number of Eywellese would survive to reach the ambush’s rear, the two hundred Keelan
bait horsemen would join with Hetman Mittack’s four hundred riders and circle
behind the remaining Eywellese horsemen protecting the Narthani flank.

Yozef
crouched behind a rock next to the three makeshift artillery pieces. He rested
one elbow on a rock and pretended to steady the telescope he held in both hands
with a death grip. This was not what he had planned for his future on Anyar. What
else could he do? He had made a place among these people, better than he could
have hoped for. For this society, he was wealthy and provided with such luxuries
as were available. He found the work in developing products and slowly
introducing knowledge to the Caedelli more engrossing than he’d expected. The
local hetman thought highly of him, and he had a wife who was bright and
evidently dedicated to the marriage. He had one child already and another on
the way. His memory flashed briefly to Maera, her belly just swelling, kissing
him briefly and walking away, as he rode to join the Keelan contingent headed
for Moreland.

So
why was he here, waiting for a thousand screaming lunatics on horseback to gut
him with sword or lance? The obvious answer was he had no choice, especially
after he had suggested the very tactic they were attempting, after he had
designed and overseen these abortions of artillery pieces, and after his wife
expected that he would
want
to be part of this.

 
I
wonder if it ever occurred to Maera I’d be scared shitless and wish I was back
in our house, waiting for news of the battle.

He
quit pretending to study the approach to their position, hunched down even
lower behind the rock, took several deep breaths, and looked around. Denes
alternately watched the alley and swung his gaze along their line, checking for
any exposure that might warn the Eywellese.

Brave,
honorable Denes
.

Yozef
remembered Denes’s family, a wife and three children. Would they have a husband
and a father at sundown today? Carnigan. Hulking, sour-looking, gruff, and a
heart bigger than the rest of him. Yozef wondered whether anyone but him
realized this about Carnigan. And secrets. Why did Carnigan seem tied to the abbey?
Some dark secret? Yozef had probed a few times with Carnigan and the abbot and
gotten nowhere. Carnigan was the first person Yozef had connected with after he
came to Anyar. Who’d held him that day in the garden, then taken him for food
and cold beer. Would Carnigan be alive tomorrow? Would the men manning the
cannon pieces? None were “friends,” except for Filtin, but several were his
workers and had trained hard at handling the carriages. He knew all of their
names, and if any of them died, he’d feel the loss. How many of them would
survive the day and how many widows and orphans would there be by sundown?

Yozef
returned to observing the alley, this time not pretending to look through the
telescope, though he stayed crouched behind the rock. They heard the thunder of
cannon and muskets and the cries of thousands of men and horses. What was
happening back at the main battlefield? He hadn’t expected so much fire from a
feigned charge.

Next
to the farthest carriage from Yozef, a man crouched behind another of Yozef’s
contraptions: a bladder two feet in diameter, fixed to a narrowing funnel with
a fluted end, lay on the ground. At Denes’s signal, the man would lie hard on
the bladder, forcing air into the end to emit a piercing shriek. They didn’t
have signaling rockets yet, but even if they had, the bladder–horn was quicker
and more reliable, albeit of shorter range. Everyone who needed to hear was
within a hundred yards.

Yozef
felt the earth shaking from thousands of hooves. The men crouching behind the brush
also heard the thunder approaching, looked at one another, and gripped their
muskets in silence.  Even the hundreds of horses held only fifty yards behind
the position were silent, as if they, too, anticipated.

Dust
clouds rose from the north, and the first Keelan riders appeared in the alley,
a few at first, then the cluster of banners within which Yozef hoped was Culich
Keelan, then a solid mass of riders, stirrup to stirrup across the alley. They
raced toward their waiting fellow clansmen and covered the two hundred yards
from where they first appeared in seconds that seemed like minutes. Down the
far slope they raced, splashing across the foot-deep water, hard up the near
slope, through the opening in the brush, and past their clansmen, the Eywellese
hard on their heels. As Yozef watched, pursuers cut two of the slower
Keelanders from their horses. Then, the last Keelan rider cleared the brush
opening, and Denes tapped the bladder-horn man’s shoulder. The man jumped to
his feet and let his full weight fall on the bladder.

A
shriek pierced even the cacophony of horses and men, followed seconds later by
the first swivel barrels, the muskets, then the second barrel on each swivel
carriage, and finally the third barrel. Six seconds passed from the shriek to
the third barrel firing. The first swivel barrels and muskets swept the creek
and the opposite slope of riders and horses and turned them into a jumble of
dead and dying. The closeness of the ambush meant many of the balls hit the
most exposed targets many times, shredding those nearest and partly shielding
those deeper into the Eywellese formation, who were only briefly spared.

As
the horses in front of them went down, those following at full gallop had no
time or room to react, and their horses collided with the fallen, adding to the
tangled mass. As many Eywellese were crushed under the weight of horses or felled
by thrashing legs as were struck by lead balls. The Eywellese not hit in the
first salvo couldn’t see the extent of the devastation until too late. When
still mounted Eywellese tried to rein in, the momentum of riders behind pressed
them on. The second and third barrels of the three artillery pieces swept more
riders and horses away. A hundred and fifty Eywellese fell from the Keelan fire
in those first seconds. Another two hundred piled into the tangle of dead and
wounded horses and men before the rest of the horsemen could stop.