Joel Shepherd - Tracato

“My turn lad!” yelled a warrior behind, pushing past.

“Find the gap!” Andreyis yelled at him as he attacked. “Make the shield move! Find the gap!”

Despite the chaos, a kind of order was developing, Lenay men unable to attack all at once, and awaiting their turn, lunging into space, leaving enough room for their neighbours to swing. This was better, Andreyis thought, fighting to retain his place against the jostle of fellow Lenays behind. The Enoran advantage in artillery was terrifying, but now they were to grips with fifteen thousand Lenay warriors on foot, they’d not find them like any opponent they’d yet encountered. Not merely brave, Lenay warriors studied warfare like scholars studied tongues. They had been puzzling over the Enoran problem for the entire march from Lenayin, and now that they were here, they would put their theories to the test, and force holes in the Enoran line where the Enorans were not accustomed to any holes appearing.

Now if the cavalry could only win out on a flank, and do something about that artillery, the day may yet be won.

Sasha’s reward for chasing talmaad about the rear of the army’s formation was an arrow shaft through her shield. It ended only when reinforcements arrived, whereupon the serrin simply faded back across the fields, their task of forcing the Lenays to divert large forces away from the front largely complete.

Sasha returned to the stream that had become the right-flank cavalry’s rallying point, and allowed her mare to drink. Leaving the horse with some Isfayen men, she walked to a paddock wall and climbed up, to gain a slightly better vantage of the fight.

The scale of it defied belief. From horizon to far horizon, formations were engaging. Smoke made a haze about the interlocked lines of infantry, but flashes of flame were relatively few-the Lenay infantry had pressed itself thin against the Enoran lines, making it difficult for the Enoran artillery to shoot without hitting their own men. Even from this limited vantage, Sasha could see the strategic risk-one big push from the Enorans could break a hole through the thin Lenay lines, and split their formation. But for now, the Enorans were struggling, simply unable to inflict the level of casualties upon Lenay infantry that they were accustomed to doing. Tactical ingenuity, Kessligh had told her often, was more truly a matter of knowing your own forces’ relative strengths and weaknesses, and deploying them accordingly, than a matter of brilliant commanders winning battles single-handedly with inspired manoeuvres. Lenay infantry simply did not die in face-to-face combat as quickly as the Steel were accustomed. Sasha wondered if the heavily armoured Enorans would tire more quickly, and wished that the cloud would break up further, and the day would warm as the sun rose higher.

She bit from a fruit she’d stowed in her saddlebag. It felt odd to be eating in the middle of a war, but if she didn’t keep her strength up, she wouldn’t be much use to anyone. Over a vast sweep of rolling green fields to her right, cavalry charged and wheeled like great flocks of starlings above a wheatfield. The talmaad , with their swift horses, had succeeded in spreading the massed Lenay and Torovan cavalry far out to the right flank, and far back behind the Lenay lines. She suspected the talmaad may have brought fresh horses, and were hiding them somewhere beyond the immediate battlefield, so that they could cover the extra ground without exhausting their mounts.

An Isfayen village headman leaped to the wall beside her in a rattle of mail, and handed her some bread. Sasha gave him her second fruit. She had no idea where anyone she knew was-most of the morning she’d fought by the side of strangers. She thought she liked this better. If she survived, she expected to find many friends dead at the end of the day, and did not know that she could continue fighting if she saw them fall in person.

“We’re not breaking through on this side,” the Isfayen growled, chewing on the fruit. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like these serrin. They’ve got heavy cavalry protecting their damn artillery, and anyone who attacks is immediately outflanked and hit from the side by serrin archers.”

Sasha had expected some bitterness, Lenays never having had much admiration for archery, regarding it a coward’s art. But the talmaad ’s horseback archery was breathtaking, and when one was on its receiving end, terrifying. Sasha heard nothing but respect in the bloodwarrior’s voice.

The fact that much of the right-flank Lenay cavalry were riding smaller dussieh wasn’t helping, Sasha reflected. This right flank was superior in numbers to the Lenay left, but the left was northern, and huge, and somewhat more skilled as cavalry, rider for rider. Against the Enoran cavalry, most Lenay riders were outmatched, and the Torovans, while riding bigger horses and more well armoured, were failing to press home their attacks with the ferocity required. Perhaps the left was where the breakthrough would come.

“Come,” said Sasha. “We’ve had our rest.” She jumped from the wall and strode back toward the horses. Riders galloped past, and Sasha spared them a wary look, to be certain they weren’t serrin sneaking through the lines once more to cause havoc in the rear. “I think we might be wasting time trying to make a wide flanking move about the far side. I think there might be a way through closer to the middle.”

“Against the infantry flank, aye,” the Isfayen agreed. “Then there’s the artillery.”

“We can’t become so paralysed with concern for the artillery that we don’t dare venture near it. Our infantry are right under it, we have to take some pressure off them.”

She didn’t dare use the word “fear,” or else the Isfayen might have charged straight into the teeth of the worst artillery fire, just to prove they weren’t frightened.

On the way in, she found Damon and the royal vanguard, partially hidden behind a cluster of barn and trees. Sasha indicated to her riders, who now numbered perhaps a hundred and fifty, to wait aside while she rode to converse with her brother. Royal Guards pulled aside, and she found Damon and Jaryd pointing at the unfolding confusion ahead of them, seeking an opportunity. Both looked relieved to see her as she halted alongside.

“Hell of a fight, yes?” Jaryd remarked to her. Though it was now midmorning, and they had been fighting since dawn, he seemed yet to overcome his awe.

Damon seemed as grim as ever, yet less anxious than she’d seen him, as though warfare was preferable to waiting. His left shoulder guard was torn, yet from the angle of the cut, it seemed that the mail beneath had deflected it, and his face betrayed no pain.

Sasha explained her trials in the rear with the talmaad .

“I’m tempted to try the artillery just to get away from those damn serrin,” Damon agreed, eyes searching the way ahead. “I think we erred to suppose that the artillery would be Enora’s greatest advantage.”

“Sasha, what do you think?” Jaryd pressed. “Perhaps like Ymoth? A two-force feint?”

“Perhaps,” said Sasha. “How many are you?”

“Immediately, perhaps two hundred,” Damon replied. “If we rally properly, we could collect thousands…”

“But we’ll afford the Enorans the same opportunity,” Sasha finished for him. “I think that’s our next option, if this doesn’t look like it’s working. We’ve maybe three hundred and fifty between us, any more may be more hindrance than help. You go first, spring the trap, I’ll get in behind and get straight into their infantry. See if we can turn one of their formations, get our infantry an edge.”

It worked superbly, but not how she’d thought. Riding out in front, Damon and Jaryd’s two hundred cavalry were countered by a similar-sized formation of defensive Enoran heavy cavalry. Thus committed, those cavalry were in no position to stop Sasha’s hundred and fifty Isfayen, who tore down on the exposed flank of Enoran infantry. Ballista fire adjusted too late, raining mostly behind the Isfayen charge, and a single catapult shot erupted close enough to singe the leftmost Isfayen rider, but no more.