Robert Adams - The Death of a Legend

Then Oaib sought the mind of Thoheeks Kehn Kahr. “If you please, my lord thoheeks, has your group taken many casualties from the arrows?”

In his mind’s eye, he could see the steamy-red face—for Thoheeks Kahr had gained many years and much superfluous flesh since last he had actively campaigned or worn armor in the heat of summer—but there was an ill-concealed and boyish eagerness in the return the middle-aged nobleman beamed. “Vahrohneeskos Berklee’s son, Steev, has a broken leg… I think. His poor horse took a dart and fell ere he could clear leather. And we’ve lost a few more horses, too, killed or wounded. But no more gentlemen, all thanks be to Wind and Pitzburk.

“We await your instructions, Captain Vahrohnos” son. When do you want us to fight? Where? Ahorse or afoot?”

Gaib breathed a sigh of relief. The thoheeks and the three score gentlemen were only technically under cavalry command. They could all see the charging Vawnee from their position and must certainly be aware that the odds against them were something over ten to one. Had Kahr sanely opted for flight rather than fight, Gaib would have been powerless to do aught save curse him.

“If it please my lord thoheeks, form a single rank just inside the camp and block the road. Place your left flank on the verge of that deep gully and your right at the perimeter ditch. The lancers will be forming behind you.

“My lord, you and yours must hold them until the High Lady be safely away and my squadron be formed up. My bugles sounding The Charge’ will be your signal to disengage.

“Does it please my lord thoheeks to understand?”

“Sacred Sun keep you, boy, nothing has pleased me more since my horse sister, Red Sarah, dropped twin foals by my horse brother, Axe-Hoof, and both of them colts—one coal black and one snow whitel Well hold the bastards, Captain Vahrohnoif son, by Sun and Wind and Steel, well hold!”

Next Gaib tried to range the mind of the arrogant Clan Linsee prick who commanded the High Lady’s guards. Meeting with no success, he beamed directly to the High Lady herself.

“Yes, captain,” came her strongly beamed answer, “I am aware that we are under attack and I have but just farspoken the High Lord of the facts. He comes, but he is far up, with the van, and it will take time.

“I’ve listened in on your beamings, as well, captain. You are a good officer and a true credit to our arms; your decisions have been sound. Would that I might this day sit a horse at your side, but it is my time of the moon and I earlier imbibed of a decoction of herbs; though they leave my mind clear, so seriously do they affect my balance and my physical coordination that I doubt that I could draw my saber, much less use it.”

“But another reason, my lady, that I would have you on the road,” Gaib mindspoke emphatically. “As of this dawn, my squadron was understrength, and I doubt not but that we’ve lost horses and men to the missiles. Yonder looms a strong force, and, am I to have sufficient weight to smash their attack, I’ll need every horse and sword I can muster.

“I recall that your team be hitched, my lady; let it please you to take the road forthwith. But you’d best leave some few of your archers somewhere along the road to retard pursuit should we fail here.”

Aldora had agreed to adopt his plan, adding, “Sacred Sun guard you this day, young Linstahk; for the Confederation can ill afford the loss of men such as you.”

While his lieutenants and sergeants formed up their half-strength units, mating sound, unwounded men with sound horses, where necessary, Gaib and his bugler and colorbearer sat their restive mounts with an outward show of calm. Their training and strict discipline proved, as often before, of inestimable aid in strengthening their force of will to seemingly ignore the incredible tumult and confusion of the feathered death still falling from the sunny morning sky and the milling and bleating of dying noncombatants within the perimeters of the campsite.

Thoheeks Kahr’s force of nobles was strung out barely in time; the leading elements of the Vawn cavalry struck their thin line of steel with the sound of a thunderclap, and the line bowed inexorably inward, inward, inward at its center. It bowed until Gaib, watching, was certain that it must snap and let the screaming horde of Vawnee through to pour over the mostly unarmed throng of servants, cooks, smiths and wagoneers.

But then, like a well-tempered blade, the line slowly commenced to straighten, helped by the lancers and, unexpectedly, by half a hundred unmounted sappers, not one of them armored, and “armed” with a miscellany of long-handled spades and iron crowbars, wooden mauls and sawbacked engineer short swords.

Witnessing the costly valor of these support troops, Gaib silently vowed that never again would he either engage in or tolerate the sneers and snickers usual when a “dung-beetle”—which was his peers’ unflattering nickname for sapper officers—made to enter the mess.

The ringing, clanging blacksmith symphony raged on, with the superior weight of numbers of the Vawnee bearing the camp’s defenders back and back. But Thoheeks Kahr was naught if not true to the very essence of his word, for every lost foot was hotly, bloodily contested and the meager gains of the rebels were dearly bought.

Despite the fact that he considered them, one and all, to be stupidly proud, supercilious and completely undisciplined amateur soldiers, still did Gaib find himself flushing with pride that his own veins surged with the same rich blood as Thoheeks Kahr and his band, for they fought with the tenacity of the best professionals.

Then Squadron Sergeant-Major Ohahrah was saluting him with a flourish of gleaming saber. “Sir, the squadron be formed on squadron front. Thirty-two of the High Lady’s horseguards ride with us; if it meets the captain’s approval, eight have been posted to each troop. Will the captain be inspecting the formation?”

Gaib asked, “The High Lady is away, then?”

“Yes, sir; at the gallop, sir.”

“No, I’ll not be inspecting, sar’major.” Gaib smiled at the grizzled noncom. “If the formation pleases your critical eye, it could not but please mine.”

Still smiling, Gaib drew his saber and formally returned the salute of his subordinate, remarking in a relaxed and comradely tone, “So, then, Baree, let us see what these rebels know of saber drill. Or had you expected to die in bed, old man?”

Sloping the back of the cursive blade across his armored shoulder, he turned to his bugler. “Horn, ‘Walk March,’ if you please, then, ‘Draw Sabers.’ “

Dropping his reins over the pommel knob, Gaib lowered his visor and secured it to his fixed beaver. Halfway through the first, blared command of his bugler, the four troop bugles began to echo it and, with the clop of hooves, creak of leather, jingle and clank of metal equipment and armor, the squadron of Confederation kahtahfrahktoee stepped out in the direction of the enemy. A chorus of metallic zweeeps from behind him followed the second bugle call. Gaib did not need to look around to know that the well-schooled, veteran squadron followed in drill-field order, every saber sloped at the proper angle. His mind’s eye could picture his force—their closed-faced helmets sprouting short crests of black-and-red-striped horsehair, their gleaming scale shirts of steel reinforced at breast and back and shoulders with light plate such as protected their upper arms, elbows, loins, thighs and knees, reflected sunlight from the high polish of jackboots and long-cuffed gauntlets and leather horsegear.

And the horses. None of them as big and tall and impressive as the destriers ridden by him and some few of the other noble officers, but all mindspeakers and still bigger than the common troop horses of the lancers of the Confederation and of Middle Kingdoms dragoons. Kahtahfrahktoee horses were a proud product of generations of selective breeding by the stud farms maintained by the High Lord Milo of Morai, and they stood as a combination of the very best qualities of the many strains that had joined to produce them.