John Carr - Kalvan Kingmaker

"The chariots, too?"

"Yes. Let Kalvan's iron hats break their teeth upon them."

The two were young men on fresh horses; they vanished in a spray of mud clods. Sargos drew his sword and adjusted his throat guard, his one piece of armor that was metal all through instead of metal over leather. Althea waved as she rode off with her small army of archers. Headman Hyphos was just there for those hardheads who could not accept having to take orders from a woman-already, as Althea proved her prowess with the bow and as a commander, they grew fewer and fewer in number until now it was truly her command.

Sargos' sword hummed over his head as he whirled it. The day was too overcast for sunlight to shine on it, but those close by saw it and heard it humming. Their shouts told others what was happening, and the war cries rose until they seemed a solid wall across the front of the advancing foe.

Then Sargos made a quick prayer to the Raven Hag, lowered his sword and spurred his horse through the thicket. Behind him came the thunder of thousands of charging horses. A moment later he broke through the hedge and onto a rise, where he surprised a troop of Rathoni iron hats. One lifted a poleax and before he could strike, Sargos' sword buried itself in his armpit, where the chainmail armor was most vulnerable. The axeman lost his balance, bleeding profusely, and dropped both poleax and reins. Sargos slashed his sword at the horses' neck, opening a long scarlet wound; the horse bucked off its rider and knocked into two more horses. The iron hat was lost in the churning hooves.

Moments later the archer vanguard was by his side, sowing death and confusion among the Rathoni iron hats. At this close range, their arrows went through the Rathoni chainmail armor like cheesecloth. "Red!" he cried. One-Eyed Red, splattered with blood, but uninjured, rushed to his side.

"Warlord?"

"I've got a message for Althea. Tell her to ride right up to our foes before they fire. If they'll hold their formation and fire at twenty rods, they can cripple Kalvan's flank!"

One-Eyed Red nodded, pumped his arm, turned his mount and rode away.

Only one of the green rockets flew high enough to be seen. That was enough. The cheers from both armies drowned out the trumpeters and captains like a hurricane drowning out a mouse's squeak.

King Nestros was pointing frantically downhill. "There! Behind that hedge! Sargos forms his battle line! We must reach it before he brings up reinforcements."

Nestros couldn't have been in more of a hurry if he'd read Napoleon's maxim, "Ask me for anything but time." Once again he was doing the tactically sound thing, out of a desire to cross swords with an enemy chief.

On his head be it, thought Kalvan.

No, wait a minute. If Nestros gets too far ahead of you, the Trygathi will say their Great King was braver than the Great King of Hos-Hostigos.

"Harmakros!" What would have been a shout under other circumstances was about as audible as a whisper.

The Captain-General reined in beside Kalvan. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"You stay back here with the mobile command post. I have to charge with Nestros."

"That Dralm Bl-" began Harmakros, who thought better of using his trooper's vocabulary about an allied king, then mock-saluted. "As Your Majesty wishes."

Kalvan started to count off guards to ride with him, then saw Nestros and his heavy cavalry digging in their own spurs. This time Kalvan had to restrain his curses. Instead he signaled his own bannerbearer and dug in his spurs. It was a good thing Rylla wasn't here; she'd never let him forget this charge!

The bannerbearer took the reins in his teeth and drew his sword. Bearing the Great King's banner had been a much safer job than fighting in the front ranks-at least, until today!

V

Sargos jumped his horse over a ditch and turned it, meanwhile drawing his sword. To retreat was cowardly more often than not, but to stand with the men he had would not even slow the enemy. Like the Great River flooding, the enemy horse flowed on as if only the gods could stop them.

Crossbowmen were running up, but the range was still long. At this distance against armored men they would most likely waste their bolts. Against the enemy's horses, perhaps-"Hold your fire! Wait until they're closer and aim for their horses."

"Look, my chief!" Warchief Halgoth was pointing. He had just arrived with a hundred and fifty of his Raven Clan, some of them panting and foaming at the mouth, not six deep breaths ago. "Warlord, the kings offer themselves to the gods!"

It was true. The two royal banners were forging steadily toward the head of the enemy horsemen. Under those banners, Sargos could now see tight bands of splendidly armored cavalry. Their polished and silvered armor glistened under the lances of sunlight than poked out of the dark clouds above. Is this a warning or blessing from the god?

"They offer themselves to us!" Sargos snapped, since the gods refused to give their answer. He tried to quiet his own doubts. Have the kings had an omen, that the gods will give victory if they offer themselves as a sacrifice'?

"Then let us take what is offered," Warchief Vanar Halgoth cried.

Sargos patted his horse's neck and looked about him. The warriors he'd summoned were streaming toward him from all sides. Already the first of the chariots was in sight. Not all would be with him before he had to face the Kings, but the rest would know enough to fling themselves on the foe.

"Hoaaa! Tonight we offer two Kings' heads, to the gods of our land and the spirits of our dead!"

Captain-General Harmakros paced back and forth, puffing on his pipe, as he watched the two kings race down the hillside with their armies trailing behind. He was sweating so much, that he took off his burgonet helmet and wiped his forehead. This was the kind of stunt he expected from Rylla, not Great King Kalvan, for Dralm's sake! If anything happened to Kalvan, this army of the Great Kings would fall apart like a rock-gutted ocean galley.

Even worse, Harmakros truly enjoyed being in the thick of the action, as Kalvan called it, rather than watching the battle like a spectator. His hand, of its own volition, found his sword hilt and he had to forcibly restrain himself from drawing steel. Down the hill, he saw the Warlord's men leaving the Spirit Grove to support their center. There was a colorful wagon that had to be Ranjar Sargos war wagon, with the Warlords Raven banner-a black raven on a white field.

Then Harmakros saw a sight that almost took his breath away; a large force of light archers coming out of a copse of trees. The archers were angling toward the Army of the Trygath's right flank, where the Rathoni Army was thickest. Harmakros had fought with the Sastragathi archers and knew first hand how much damage their compound bone and sinew bows could wreak-even on good plate armor.

Harmakros turned to one of his colonels and ordered, "Tell the Mounted Rifles to mount up and protect the right flank. There's about fifteen to twenty thousand light archers about to hit Nestros' Army. If they have a commander who's worth his pay, they'll turn the Rathon flank and Dralm knows what damage they'll do!"

The Colonel looked at his Captain-General as if he'd taken a sharp rap to the head without his helmet on. "Archers!"

One of the problem with the new crop of officers, since Kalvan had arrived in Hostigos, was they tended to think only in terms of rifles, guns and rate of fire. They had never watched a Sastragathi mounted archer shoot a pigeon-the kind Kalvan called Carrier Pigeons-out of a tall tree, or fire three arrows in the space of time it took to say the words.

"Yes, tell Colonel Democriphon that an army of archers are about to join the right flank. He'll know what to do." Democriphon was a good soldier, even if he was a bit of a dandy. Kalvan was thinking about raising his rank to general, with the general rank inflation that occurred when an army doubled its size every winter, it was well deserved.