Glen Cook - An Ill Fate Marshalling

„Uhm. Maybe." He rubbed his eyes, knew there would be little sleep for him. He would be wrestling his conscience all night.

It was he the Tervola wanted.

He scanned the enemy again. One legion, he guessed. One legion that had been cut up some already. He had to get them to attack him. His bowmen could carve them up. Then a counterattack down the long flank, there, to open enough room for Gjerdrum to mount a charge. They couldn't keep Gjerdrum from breaking through if he got a run at them. Then the knights could hit them from the rear.

He snorted in self-derision. It sounded good, but it wouldn't work. The Tervola were going to use their power, and there was no way he could stop them. Unless. ... He stared northward, toward the far Dragon's Teeth.

He was worried. Could the wizard really let him go down? „Don't be negative," he told himself. „The situation is never impossible."

„Sire?"

„Nothing." He sketched his thoughts about pulling the enemy under his bows.

„Did Lord Hsung serve in the west during the wars?" Hardle asked.

„I don't think so. Why?"

„Toward the end they pretty well learned how to handle massed arrow fire."

„What do you think of negotiating, then?"

„Sire?"

„Hsung wants me. Suppose we could get him to let the army go if I turned myself over?"

„No," Gjerdrum said.

Hardle shook his head. „Not even in extremity. We rose together, we'll go down together."

„I want to do what's best for Kavelin. What happens if Kavelin loses two thirds of its best soldiers?"

„What happens if Kavelin loses a King who cares?" Sir Gjerdrum demanded. „You know who takes over. The Estates. Inger will be like a peasant girl trying to ride a wild stallion. They suckered her on that succession business."

Bragi smiled a thin, hard smile. „Don't be so sure. The Estates might find they were suckered. That's one tough lady when she makes up her mind. And she has some nasty friends."

„Norath," Gjerdrum said. „I nearly forgot."

„Norath. Among others. I want you to get some rest. Win or lose, it'll be a hard tomorrow."

Ragnarson slept, but just for a few hours. He was up watching the enemy encampment long before the stars began to fade. He wakened the cooks early, had food distributed to the men. He had the company commanders double-check weapons and equipment. He had his forces in position long before the morning breeze brought the sun ballooning up over the eastern horizon.

His enemy was as ready as he. The growing light revealed black armored soldiers drawn up in order of battle, behind a trench which entirely encircled the base of the hill. „So much for sending Gjerdrum in," he growled. „At least till we're able to counter-fill those ditches. Messenger. Tell Sir Gjerdrum I want the animals brought to the top of the hill. Everyone will fight on foot."

He peered down at the tent where the standard of Western Army stood. The standards of two legions flanked it. He scowled. Two legions? There weren't that many men out there... . Maybe it was elements of two legions, survi­ vors of the fighting in the south.

He began pacing round the hilltop, studying the enemy lines. They were extended temptingly thin. A captain less familiar with the legions would not have been able to resist.

He put temptation aside. „They have to come to me. Pray they don't try to do it the easy way by starving us out." Idly, he wondered if there were some way he could get a message to Yasmid asking her to step up her activities. Put Hsung under pressure to finish here, and... . Had Hsung beaten her already? But the way that prisoner had talked, Hsung's people had gotten the worst of it down there.

He shuddered. The legion drums had been pounding constantly since their arrival. The ceaseless rumble was getting on his nerves.

What was going on? Hsung being here had to have some meaning he couldn't fathom. Had to have. Something had happened. He looked north. „How much longer are you going to let me roast, wizard?"

The tenor of the eastern drums changed as the sun's lower limb cleared the horizon. Enemy troops began crossing their ditches and assembling facing the hill.

„Five cohorts," Bragi muttered. „Sending in almost half his men, like the five rays of a star. Just to test our stubbornness." But he wondered. Hsung hadn't even made a pretense of negotiation. That suggested both an intent to destroy Kavelin's army, and a supreme confidence in his ability to do so.

Why? Ragnarson wondered. He doesn't have the man­ power to be that confident... . The sorcery. Of course. They have it and I don't.

Any minute the first smashing blow would fall. The air would scream with the torment of deadly spells.

The beat of the drums changed again. Five cohorts surged forward.

Ragnarson pointed at a trumpeter. The man blew till his eyes bugged, a screaming sound new to Kavelin's signal repertoire.

The army's drums began pounding out a beat which partially drowned that of the eastern drums. Somewhere on the flanks of the hill the attackers would reach a point where they could no longer be sure of their own signals. Hopefully, they would become confused.

The first arrows arced into the sky, rained down on the enemy. A few men went down, but, as Hardle had feared, they had adjusted their shieldwork to cope. „Come on, Talison," Bragi muttered. „Get those arbalasts down low. Let them get their shields up, then cut them off at the knees."

He paced, circled the hill, watched each enemy force for a moment before moving on to watch another. On the lee of the hill he cussed a regimental commander who was a little slow. Almost immediately smoke rose from the dry grass.

Flames leapt to life, began running before the breeze.

„Good. That ought to slow that bunch." He moved on.

The combination of confusing drums, flames, plunging arrow fire, and crossbow fire low had its effect. The attack­ ing forces were growing ragged. But they came on. They approached the first ditch.

The real test would take place there.

Bragi paused to stare at the enemy headquarters. „When are you going to come with the witchery?" he wondered aloud. „You're overdue." Unconsciously, he hunched his shoulders against his neck.

The blow didn't come. Instead, more troops crossed the ditches below, advanced up the aisles unused by forces already climbing the hill.

„So. You're going to go for it all first try."

The first wave reached his first ditch. The clangor drowned the sound of the drums.

After a while, Bragi muttered, „Yes, going for it all first time." Hsung had kept just two cohorts in reserve. Ragnarson guessed that six thousand men were trying to fight their way up the hill. The defenders of the first ditch began to waver. Only on the grassfire side had the assault broken down.

He selected an average-looking section of slope and tried counting bodies. „Not bad," he grumbled. „But it could have been better. A whole hell of a lot better." His bowmen weren't doing nearly well enough. He had no way to estimate his own losses.

The long, bloody day dragged on. Eventually the first ditch had to be abandoned. Casualties nearly filled it. His men had given a good account of themselves. The tentativeness of the advance on the second ditch proved that.

Bragi glanced at the sun. A quarter of the day gone. Already. While time seemed to drag so slowly. He wished he had a taller hill and more trenches. Three had seemed enough when he had thought the bowmen would massacre whole formations.

Where was the sorcery? Why was Hsung wasting all those lives? Did he have something especially nasty waiting for just the right moment?

Noon. The second trench had fallen. The enemy seemed to have left half his number lying on the hillside. But now the arrows and crossbow bolts were spent. Now it would be strictly sword and spear, hammer and dagger and maul. Does it come now? Bragi thought. The great nasty blow?