James Lowder - Crusade

"Damned magical-" Alusair stopped, kept her eyes tightly closed, and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she saw Torg standing over her, his hands balled into fists and resting on his armored hips.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

"Only a few more miles and we'll see the Alliance," the princess said sullenly. "The Tuigan have them surrounded, so we'd better hurry."

Not waiting for more of an explanation, Torg barked a string of orders to his captains. The dwarven army heaved itself wearily to its feet and prepared for the march. Before the army proceeded across the low, rolling hills, however, they dropped their packs and tethered the mules that towed their wagons.

"We won't be needing tents to fight the barbarians," was all Torg would tell Alusair by way of a reply.

Her heart heavy with concern for her father, the princess contacted the falcon, once again using the bracelet the centaur had given her, and told it to circle the battle for a while, then return to her. Next she, too, stripped her pack and put on her full armor. Sweat trickled over much of her body almost immediately after she donned the heavy plate. The princess's thoughts were on other things, though, so she hardly noticed it.

Setting a quick pace, Torg set off for the battle. The dwarves had yet to see a Tuigan patrol, and Alusair hoped their appearance would be a surprise. For his part, the ironlord didn't care much about the tactics of the fight to come, only that it come quickly. If the army gained a few skulls for the caves of Earthfast, so much the better. The number of dwarves who might die to take them didn't matter, either, just as long as they perished in a righteous fight.

Smoke rose on the horizon. From what she'd seen through the falcon's eyes, Alusair knew it was from the fire the wizards had started with their spells early in the battle. The dark clouds rolled into the sky and seemed to transmute into thousands of individual black birds. This grim sight set the dwarven troops on edge long before they heard the first faint echoes of the battle drift over the hills toward them.

"Damn all humans!" Torg shouted suddenly. He slapped his mailed hand noisily against his leg and pointed to the left. A few hundred yards away, three Tuigan scouts were rising from the tall grass. The barbarians dashed away before the ironlord even considered sending soldiers after them.

"It can't be helped," Alusair offered. Bracing her helmet under her arm, she wiped the perspiration from her brow. "We should be able to see the battle once we top that next hill anyway."

The princess was correct. When the dwarves reached the spot she'd indicated, they saw the two armies thrown together in bloody, chaotic combat before them. Far to their right, the Alliance's camp was spread in the bright sun. Without warning, a falcon swooped low over the fields, then caught an updraft and sailed high over Torg's troops. For a moment, Alusair considered using the bracelet again to get a better vantage on the battle. She quickly dismissed that notion when she saw a line of horsewarriors break from the conflict.

"Array for combat!" Torg shouted. He swatted the standard-bearer when the boy didn't move fast enough for his liking. Alusair frowned at the cruelty.

The dwarves scattered and formed a triple line across the hill. The first two ranks placed their pikes at their feet and drew their crossbows, while the third rank braced their polearms as a protective palisade. As five thousand Tuigan horsemen rumbled up the incline, away from Azoun's left flank, Torg's troops swiftly cranked their heavy bows. They loaded the powerful weapons, then waited with their characteristic silence to meet the charge.

"They'll ride close once, then turn and fire," Alusair reminded Torg. "Just as they did with the Army of the Alliance. They'll try to draw you out."

The ironlord raised the visor on his helmet. "I'm not fooled so easily, Princess." He smiled and straightened his beard, bound in heavy chains of gleaming gold for the battle. "And the Tuigan have never faced a dwarven army in battle before."

Slamming his visor back into place, Torg ordered the standard-bearer to relay a command to the troops. As the horsewarriors galloped closer, the dwarves' front rank raised their bows and sighted on the enemy. When the Tuigan reached seventy-five yards, the dwarves fired.

A loud, reverberating retort followed the firing of the bows. Heavy crossbow bolts sped toward the Tuigan and tore fearfully into their ranks. Horses tumbled and soldiers screamed, but the mass of the enemy line rushed toward the dwarves, unaffected by the death and pain around them. At fifty yards, the barbarians reined in their horses and returned fire.

Alusair flinched as the shower of powerfully launched Tuigan arrows arced into the sky and struck the dwarven line. The princess knew what to expect from the attack, so she wasn't really afraid. Like the rest of Torg's troops, Alusair wore plate armor wrought in Earthfast, legendary for its strength. That day's battle added to the stories about the mountain kingdom's craftsmen.

A thunderous clatter echoed in Alusair's ears as arrow after arrow struck armor and bounced off. In only a few instances did the missiles penetrate the dwarves' plate mail, and then only because of a carelessly exposed joint or slightly open visor. As the rain of arrows lessened, the ironlord ordered his troops to fire again. The second line loosed their crossbows, and more bolts ripped into the retreating Tuigan line.

"They won't try that again," Torg said loudly. He looked down the intact dwarven line, then out at the hundreds of wounded barbarians in the field. "Not even orcs are stupid enough to use an unsuccessful attack twice in a day."

With a twinge of guilt, Alusair found herself admiring Torg again. The ironlord was thoughtless and perhaps even cruel, but he knew the battlefield well. "May Clanggedin and all the other dwarven gods prove the rest of your plan as successful, Your Highness," the princess said. She glanced at the horsewarriors and added, "For we will test it very soon."

With a loud and trilling war cry, the Tuigan charged again.

As the double line of riders drew nearer, Alusair could see that they wielded lances and silver curved swords instead of bows. It was clear that they were going to push for hand-to-hand combat.

Showing little anxiety, even though the barbarians were barreling down on his troops, Torg bade the standard-bearer signal again. Deftly the soldiers hung their crossbows from hooks on their brichettes and picked up their pikes. The Tuigan were less than forty yards away when the dwarven lines broke. Their bows clanging softly against their armored hips and legs, Torg's troops formed their battle squares.

It was obvious that the Tuigan had never encountered this tactic before. Their commander, riding next to his standard, halted his charge and attempted to slow his men, but the barbarians rushed to engulf the four squares of dwarves. Capturing so compact and easily surrounded an enemy looked simple at first. The horsewarriors soon discovered otherwise.

"To the right! Crush them between the squares!" Torg bellowed and waved his sword from the center of one group. The dwarves pushed to the right as commanded, driving the horses and riders into the pikes bristling from the next square.

Alusair, in the center of a different square, watched as the Tuigan tried to press the attack. The horsemen found themselves spitted on pikes or knocked from their mounts. The latter often provided worse then a quick death by blade, as the rest of the barbarian attack crushed the hapless victims under horses' hooves. And as more riders rushed to the battle, those caught in front against the immovable wall of well-armored, well-armed dwarves were slain with greater ease.