Paul Thompson - A Hero's justice

“Juramona! Juramona!”

The Riders trapped between the militia squares and Tol’s charging vanguard broke off fighting and rode out of reach.

The Juramonans barely had time to draw breath before two fresh hordes bore down on them. Hastily they formed a new square four ranks deep. The Riders trotted along the outside of the square, hacking the spearheads jabbing at them. Fighting was at arm’s length as the Riders surged around the militia, but once they realized the Juramonans wouldn’t be easily broken, the hordes withdrew a short distance to rethink their strategy.

Around him, Tol heard the labored breathing of his men. Kiya had sheathed her sword and taken up a spear from a fallen soldier. She wiped blood (not her own) from her hands so she could better grip the spear. Again there was little time to rest before battle was renewed.

From between the reformed ranks of mounted men bowmen emerged-seven hundred of them. The enemy’s plan was easy to discern: unable to force open the dogged militia squares, the imperial commander would use archers to thin the Juramonan ranks until his Riders could smash through.

The first arrows were falling when trumpets sounded on both sides of the Ackal Path. Tol recognized the calls. One was from Zanpolo, with the left wing of the army. The other came from Pagas and the horsemen attached to Tol’s center column.

The ground shook with the thunder of galloping horses. Zanpolo’s twenty hordes met the imperial Riders in a cherry orchard, and a furious cavalry fight erupted on Tol’s left. Rank upon rank joined the fray. Tol guessed the number facing Zanpolo at ten hordes. The emperor was reckoned to have ninety more hordes at his disposal, better than twice the size of Tol’s army. So where were the rest?

The militiaman beside Tol fell dead, an arrow in his eye. Tol put Number Six away and snatched up the dead man’s spear and shield. He couldn’t see Miya anywhere, but spotted Kiya’s long blonde hair streaming below her helmet. Shouldering in beside the Dom-shu, he rammed his spear over the heads of the soldiers in front of him, impaling an enemy rider through the thigh.

Lord Pagas and his landed hordes joined the fray, hitting the emperor’s men on their left. Pressure on the infantry lessened as Pagas’s Riders swept through the bowmen, cutting them down. Freed of the deadly hail of arrows, Tol ordered his spearmen forward.

Locked together by their overlapping shields, the phalanx ¦ of spearmen lurched into motion. Like some fearful spiny beast, the squares of infantry crept down the road. The hordes hovered but kept their distance.

The causeway descended to ground level, exposing the sides and rear of the militia to charges. At Tol’s order, two blocks of spearmen swung right and left, forming a wedge behind the leading company. When a horde sallied out of the orchards on the south side of the road, the militiamen, moving in unison, whipped their spears around to cover that side. The massed movement was so startling (and menacing) that the imperial force pulled up short. Again and again Riders were thrown by the footmen’s actions. Faced with an attack from elite Riders of the Great Horde, foot soldiers were supposed to run away, or toss down their arms and plead for mercy. The Juramonans did neither.

Pagas re-formed his scattered men. Egrin was with them, the high comb topping his marshal’s helmet rising above the squat, round helmets worn by Riders in the landed hordes. At a walking pace, the Army of the East pushed ahead. Ackal V’s men slowly gave ground, uncertain how to best them.

On the right, the north side of the Ackal Path, a low stone wall marked the boundary of a large pasture. Some of Pagas’s men steered their horses around the obstacle, while others urged their animals to jump over it. Confusion resulted, and before they’d regrouped, three imperial hordes came roaring across the pasture, sabers forward. Frustrated by their abortive fight with Tol’s infantry, the men vented their fury on Pagas’s disordered men.

Tol bawled new orders to the militia. Companies of spearmen halted, ponderously swung to their right, and headed toward the boiling cavalry fight. Arrows sailed in from imperial troops. One skipped off Tol’s helmet, throwing him off balance. Kiya looped an arm through his and kept him on his feet.

Pagas’s horde fractured in half. The tough old warlord whose valiant battle against centaurs had earned him a bashed nose and a high-pitched voice was engulfed by younger, saber-swinging foes. He gave as good as he got for quite a while, but finally too many blades flashed around Pagas, and he pitched from his horse.

Egrin, trapped in the other half of the Plains Panther horde, tried to break through to the fallen warlord. Pagas was trying to rise on hands and knees when imperials closed in and trampled him under in a blur. Immediately the cry went up that Lord Pagas was dead.

Undaunted, Egrin and a wedge of horsemen plunged into the enemy riders, forcing them away from where Pagas lay. Unfortunately, it was soon clear the cries were true: Pagas was slain.

Armor clanking, sweat running down every face, the militia was about to close on the cavalry duel when fresh imperial hordes galloped up behind them. With this new threat at their backs, the Juramonans had no choice but to face about. Tol shouted for the nearest company to attack.

“Egrin!” Kiya shouted.

Her cry brought Tol whirling around in time to see the man who had been like a father to him inundated by enemies. A saber blow sent Egrin’s helmet flying, though the old warrior skewered the Rider who’d landed the blow. Even as he recovered his weapon, however, four more warriors thrust at him. He parried the first attack, the next, and the next-then a saber tip caught Egrin under his sword arm.

From his vantage fewer than thirty paces away, Tol saw the strike clearly. The imperial Rider who’d landed the blow stabbed Egrin again, and the old warrior collapsed sideways off his mount and vanished among the churning horsemen.

Breath caught in Tol’s throat. He felt as though the thrust had pierced his own flesh. He began to shout at the top of his lungs. Later, he would have no memory of what he’d said.

Kiya stared at him in shock. She’d never before heard such language from her normally even-tempered husband.

Tol drove his company forward, but the infantry could not catch the horsemen. The horde that had slain Pagas wheeled before the militia’s rush and rode easily out of reach.

The bodies of the two warlords lay within paces of each other. Pagas lay on his stomach in the trampled grass. He had suffered a score of wounds. Egrin’s only visible wounds were the jab underneath his sword arm and a shallow cut across his throat. After falling from his horse, his great stamina had allowed him to pull himself to a seated position. He was slumped forward, head hanging down. His right hand still gripped his saber.

With the militia encircling him, keeping watch for enemy attack, Tol knelt by Egrin. His hands shook as he dropped his spear and tilted the old marshal’s head up. Hazel eyes blinked at him.

“Egrin!” Tol cried. “Egrin, can you hear me?”

He blinked again, and managed a barely perceptible nod, but he couldn’t rise or speak.

“Husband!” Kiya said urgently. “We need you-the battle goes on!”

Tol gently laid the marshal on his back and stood, positioning himself so his shadow covered Egrin’s face.

“We’ll hold here,” he said, wiping sweat and tears from his grimy cheeks. “We can’t advance without more cavalry support. Ackal’s men would chew us up.”

With trumpet calls, the trailing hordes of Tol’s army were summoned forward. Last to arrive were Mittigorn and Argonnel, hurrying from their position at the customs house. When the full weight of Tol’s forty-four hordes was in place, the imperials began to withdraw.