Joel Shepherd - Tracato

Rhillian finally galloped clear on the right flank, and found a milling confusion of her own cavalry and some Rhodaanis already there. A lieutenant was forming them up, and her talmaad were spotting her own snow-white hair, and galloping across at speed. Rhillian waited for the Rhodaanis to move first, and watched that the infantry on this side were not outflanked. The extreme-right flank formation were unengaged, and instead moved forward, swinging around to press on the Elissian flank. Lieutenants yelled, dressing the line, and men shouted encouragement over the roar of clashing steel. Mostly, they coordinated by reflex, as though moved by a single, steel will.

Flames continued to erupt further upslope, decimating the later ranks. Elissian archer fire was so sporadic, Rhillian was uncertain if they had any archers. But Bacosh lords always employed archers. These must have been in the middle ranks, so positioned to be at good range against the advancing infantry, whatever good it would do. Those archers were now squarely in Rhodaani artillery range.

The Steel line advanced. Men yelled and heaved, pushing onto their shields, stabbing then covering, push, stab, cover. Push, stab, cover. Elissian soldiers hammered desperately at that impenetrable wall, and fended the lightning thrusts with their smaller shields, but with so little space to move, their defences were limited. Inevitably, flashing Rhodaani blades found the gaps and they fell, as did the next behind them, as did the next. At a whistle, the front rank of Rhodaani soldiers abruptly faded back between the shields of those behind, who became the new front wall, while the front rank took a rest in the rear. The Steel pressed on, trampling over the bloodied corpses of enemies, the second rank finishing those wounded who resisted from underfoot, pushing that huge sea of foes inexorably back up the slope. Occasionally a Rhodaani man would fall, to be replaced immediately by the man behind.

Ahead, the re-formed Rhodaani cavalry gave a yell and charged once more, this time into the flank of the Elissian infantry…of Elissian cavalry there was nothing to be seen. It seemed they had fled, or regrouped in the far, far rear. Several hundred cavalry ploughed into the Elissian flank, hacking and wheeling as men began scattering before them. The scattering gathered pace, and within the blink of an eye, the entire Elissian flank was falling back in terrified confusion.

Rhillian found Arendelle, eyes alive like he wanted to go after them. Rhillian put a hand on his arm. “It’s over,” she told him. “Let them run. I want Lord Arendt.”

Here on the right flank, a wide expanse of hillside, paddocks, farmhouses and small woods were all that stood between the talmaad and the hilltop castle. That, and several thousand panicking, milling, retreating cavalry and infantry.

Rhillian galloped to the head of her re-forming cavalry, at least two hundred, with the remainder gathering fast, sprinting from the river, or from entanglements further up the slope. Most had bows, a few like Rhillian only swords, and some alternated, as only serrin cavalry would. Once in position, Rhillian wheeled her mare, waved her sword, and cut the air.

Again the thunder of hooves, and a headlong sprint up the gentle incline. Rhillian could not see her friends around her, and could only trust that they were well, somewhere in the pursuing crowd. She leapt a low wall, skirted a small dam and watercourse, and saw arrows whip past from behind, smacking retreating cavalrymen squarely in the back. Two tumbled, and a third rode on, slumped and dying.

There were running, panicked infantry, serrin riders weaving amongst them like wolves through so many terrified sheep, putting arrows into any who looked likely to swing a weapon. Ballista fire fell near, random streaks thumping the turf with force audible even above the thunder of hooves. To the left, retreating infantry were hit, smashed into the ground like piglets beneath a charging boar spear. Rhillian signalled her riders further to the right, hoping the artillery captains retained their usual vigil, and saw her move up the flank.

More flashes of artillery to the left, level with their position…less devastating now, with Elissian formations spread out and running, but horrifying to see so close all the same. Rhillian galloped past burning circles of blackened grass, littered with scores of charred, skeletal corpses in armour. About their perimeters, some men still writhed and screamed, faces half burned away, an arm blackened and peeling, or trying to run on blistering feet. Rhillian tore past running, cowering men, ignoring those who had dropped or sheathed weapons, but now leaning from the saddle to slash one running man who still carried a large polearm. Arrowfire dropped others, murderously accurate, serrin bows having little trouble with chain mail from this close range.

She rounded a blackened oak, its branches burning, smouldering corpses scattered on the upslope, another man pinned to its trunk by a ballista bolt that had gone through shield, mail, flesh and wood. Infantry lines were forming ahead-militia, she saw with disbelief, small folk with poorer weapons and little armour, while the mass of Elissian footsoldiers, comprised of wealthier men and village folk, possessed many. They were standing, while others were running. In the battle of Tirone, in the early days of invasion, southern Lord Horase had thrown the militia in first, to soften up the Steel for heavier assaults to follow. The slaughter had been so horrible, and for so little result, that demoralised infantry and cavalry had been reluctant to attack. Here, Lord Arendt had wisely held the militia in reserve, but had made the folly of committing his main force too close to the Rhodaani artillery. The battle had been over from the moment the first catapult had fired. If not well before.

Serrin cavalry opened fire on the forming lines from range-less use against more well-armoured footsoldiers, but felling numerous militia. Still they held. Rhillian saw men running up and down the line, screaming at their fellows not to run. There were scythes, poles, spears and axes, only the occasional sword. Half had small wooden shields. Rhillian leaped the last small wall, rode over some running infantry who fell flat before her, and picked her spot in the line. Arrowfire felled more, a murderous buzz, serrin now aiming sideways across the line to take shields out of play. Perhaps fifty fell, the lines thinning dramatically as bodies tumbled and hands flailed.

A few archers were firing back, but without serrin longbows or serrin accuracy… Rhillian stayed low as shafts whistled overhead, and the last serrin volleys cut past ahead, whipping left and right across her path. More carnage, Rhillian’s intended target falling with a shaft through the face, and her second target, and the third. She plunged through the first rank, and took the head off an axeman in the second rank.

Ahead was the castle, and she galloped on, finding enough clear ground to glance behind. The militia lines were gone, like saplings before a spring flood, and all she could see were serrin on galloping horses. Most had blades in one hand, bows in the other, but were resheathing those blades even now to nock another arrow. The horrid totality of it took her breath away. She couldn’t believe a bunch of peasants had stood and died for their feudal oppressors while their better-armed and armoured comrades fled shrieking all around them. Sometimes humans were simply beyond her comprehension.

Ahead to the left, Elissian artillery made a line across the crest of the hill. Another poor strategic choice-catapults were nearly impossible to fire on sloping ground, and despite the hill adding to their range, they were still out of range of the advancing Steel infantry. Far too much depth to the Elissian formation, not enough width, artillery deployed too far back…but no choice really, given the hill. It was a disaster, and Rhillian wondered if she’d find Lord Arendt before his own men killed him.