Steph Swainston - Dangerous Offspring

Slightly to the rear on each flank of the second block of infantry were the armoured lancers. Eleonora held the left with the Tanager and Rachiswater lancers; and Hayl held the right with detachments from Eske and Shivel. They rode in discrete wedges, ready to intervene quickly if Insects threatened to envelop the archers and infantry.

The aristocracies of Awia and the Plainslands found it increasingly fashionable to arm as lancers, but I thought it an unnecessarily hazardous way of fighting. I couldn’t help but remember how the last mass cavalry charge I had witnessed at Lowespass turned out. Still, the casualties probably helped keep inbreeding amongst the nobility under control.

Finally, directly behind the reserve block, the Imperial Fyrd rode onto the field together: a bright red square. They took position in the exact centre of the line, and in the centre of that, the Emperor on his midnight black stallion. Above him flapped the Sunburst, the largest banner on the field. Frost, mounted on an immense destrier, trotted to his right surrounded by the company of her bodyguard, Riverworks’s foremen and navvies. She was to take command of operations when we reached the dam.

The whole host was centred on the metalled road leading to the dam’s walkway, though only a few men in the deepest part of the mass were actually walking on it. It emerged from under the leading pikemen’s feet, and stretched ahead of them, bisecting the expanse of ankle-deep mud that they would have to cross.

Occasionally tiny gaps opened in the battle lines, where a man was having a piss, and his fellows on either side were trying to shuffle out of the way of the splatter, because none were allowed to leave the line for any reason. I curved up, gaining height to about five hundred metres, until the whole host was arrayed in browns and splashes of colour below me; pennants, padded jacks and white armour bright against the mud. There were the many-shaded blue backgrounds and individual devices of Awian manors; the greens and devices of Plainslands manors; the red hand of Morenzia. All the fyrds of the Fourlands bar Cathee, Brandoch and Ghallain’s infantry were represented.

Behind the fighting troops, auxiliaries of all kinds trailed through the canvas city back to Slake Cross, industrious as Insects. A constant pony cart relay brought up supplies of arrows and javelins to stockpiles behind the ranks. Wagons laden with stacks of stretchers swayed through the mud to the forward dressing stations, where orderlies fussed over them. Water-bearers staggered under dozens of canteens they would carry to the men once underway. Swarms of boys tried to sell apples from barrels to the stragglers. Whores were doing a roaring trade in the tents with young fyrdsmen who didn’t want to die as virgins. A party of artillerists tried to lever a cart-mounted repeating ballista out of a ditch. Squads of Gayle’s mounted provosts brandished their truncheons as they trotted between the pavilions and alongside the road, scaring skivers back to their units.

I heard Lightning’s horn calling thinly into the sky. Each Eszai carries his or her own signal to call for the Messenger but it has taken me years of selective deafness to convince them that just because I can fly I can’t answer them all at once. Now they have learnt only to use them in truly important cases. I wheeled back over the tumult.

Lightning had ordered his Select to bunch up, clearing a strip of ground for me to land on. It simply looked brown, but as I dropped closer it looked like someone had decided to plough a pond.

I came to earth in front of his horse, peeling off the top layer of mud in a sliding flurry of feathers, probably just as Lord Melodrama had planned. ‘This had better be good! Even if I can get airborne from this muck, I’ll be carrying half the field around with me all day.’

‘Hush.’ He looked around and then, sighing, dismounted to stand next to me. His riding boots squelched into the slurry and stopped being so damn clean. In a low voice he said, ‘I do not want the fyrdsmen to hear. I am worried.’

I whispered back, ‘Look, this is the strongest we’ve ever been. It looks glorious from the air. Half the Fourlands is here. The Insects can’t even outnumber us by more than three to one.’

‘Yes, that is exactly my concern. Nobody here has experience of handling a host this size. Forget the governors, even most of the Eszai have barely commanded a force bigger than a battalion in the last two hundred years, and then mostly on the defensive. The Emperor hasn’t directed a battle for almost eight times as long.’

I shrugged, annoyed. Trust Lightning to be so perfectionist he finds fault where there is none. ‘So?’

‘Nobody has proper control over this field. A developing situation could get quickly out of hand. The mud will slow the dispatch riders. Most of these troops are untried and barely trained-we have many men but not many soldiers. Originally we just expected them to make a great show for the press and then spend the next month demolishing cells.’

‘Look, all the Select is here. You know nearly all the Awians drill regularly. The entire Circle is here. The Emperor is here. The green troops will either be straining their best to impress or be terrified of us. Don’t fret. Oh, and I checked on Cyan this morning; she’ll be safe.’

He scowled. ‘That wasn’t what I was thinking about. Jant, you’re the only one who can watch everything as it happens. If you see anything start to go wrong, tell me immediately.’ He looked down the first line. ‘Damn! Ata had a proper head for this, so had Dunlin. Or Sarcelle. And the last Hayl.’

I was shocked. Had he really so little confidence in us?

‘What about San?’

‘You must go to him if he summons you, of course. But remember that he is here to inspire and observe. He hasn’t taken formal command from any of us. They are forgetting-’ he waved an arm towards the front, in Tornado’s general direction ‘-that San created the Circle to do this for him.’

I looked Saker full in the face. Behind his usual expression he had a weariness I wasn’t used to seeing.

I nodded. I pulled my damp feet from the ooze, ran soggily, and leapt into the air. A whole division of Morenzians ducked as I flashed over their spear-points. When I looked behind me again, Saker was still standing where I had left him, patting his horse’s neck abstractedly.

I could see my couriers converging on the Imperial Fyrd and its captain turning around in his saddle to speak to the Emperor. San raised his hand. The standard bearers of the Imperial Fyrd sounded their horns and the buglers of every division responded, till the air vibrated with a single note. The advance began.

Lourie’s phalanx started to elongate as the men in the front line began to march; then those towards the middle. The lines separated slightly and narrow gaps opened between them as those at the back, and the infantry behind them, waited for their space to move.

Their pikes jutted ahead, held straight out from the first few ranks, and directly upwards in the others. They looked like a hairbrush. I looked down into the spaces between the spears; they seemed to bristle as I soared over.

Hurricane’s polished glaive was clear among them, a wider blade in the centre. He was setting the pace deliberately slowly, to prevent men stumbling in the adhesive mud or advancing too far ahead of the archers.

The prickers fell back as planned. Around the flanks, exhausted men headed their horses to the rear to rest. As they retreated, Insects began to venture forward. The strong south wind gusted, spreading a ripple of interest through the Insects gathered around the lake.

I watched the forward movement surge through the infantry and reach the archers. Over the roar of airflow and the rhythmic swoosh-and-batter of my wings I could hardly hear their horns but I saw thousands of men bend their bows in unison. Their shot arced high, arrows pausing at their zenith, turning and falling at a steeper angle, thicker than rain or snow, spraying out in front of the first spearmen.