Eric Flint: Much Fall Of Blood

Manfred's attempt at keeping a straight face failed. "Well, I thought the innocent poor young Mongol maiden was going to tear the new Great Khan of the Golden Horde's head off."

"I'm not surprised. She… can express herself." Erik blushed again. "But… I will keep my distance if that is what I am supposed to do."

"Well, maybe she's just waiting for you, Erik. You know, they marry them off young here. She's quite old to be single. She might be desperate enough to take you, in spite of your looks," said Manfred, laughing again.

"You've had far too much wine."

Eberhart nodded. "Especially as we have to ride to see Vlad of Valahia this afternoon. The new Khan wants to discuss a mutual non-aggression pact. He asked us to act as his intermediary."

"Which is one step from miraculous, considering their history," said Erik.

"But common sense," said Eberhart, "if they're going to try and expand north and northeast. It would leave them with an under-protected long flank."

"Anyway, so you'll have a nice long cold ride to think about it," said Manfred.

But it was less of a ride than they had anticipated.

They had barely gone two leagues when they were met by Vlad, a company of his Szekelers, and an escort of Mongols.

"I have come to propose an alliance. Emeric of Hungary is pushing through the Suceava river valley. It appears that he is coming to the lands of the Golden Horde, not to attack Valahia. He has some forty thousand men."

"You want an alliance?"

Vlad nodded. "Whatever he is up to, we will be next. Dana and I are quite weak in the north. The heart of our power is in the Faragas Mountains, but we may not be able to resist there either. So: it comes down to strength of arms. It will take me a few days to gather my troops, and bring them north onto the lower lands of the Golden Horde. I do not have great numbers, but I do have the wagon-forts and the cannons. We can be the anvil, and the warriors of the Hawk clan can be the hammer. Between us, I think we can defeat the Magyars."

"I think you'd better ride on," said Eberhart. "It won't just be the Hawk clan, any longer. There is a new Great Khan and he will be pleased to see you."

When it had become apparent that his operations in the lands of Golden Horde had failed of their direct purpose, Jagiellon sat on his throne and scratched at lice absently. The intellect that had largely devoured him was deep in thought. Factors to consider were many, complex and varied. Somewhere on the Black Sea was a hostile fleet, although his own fleet was larger. But the shipyards on the Dniepr still held the bulk of his round ships. The camps outside Odessa held thirty thousand troops, waiting. If he could not take his troops to Constantinople by sea, perhaps they could go through the lands of the Golden Horde.

That would not be easy, of course, but… The grand duke's agents had told him that Emeric was attacking the Mongols. Jagiellon didn't think the Hungarian king would defeat them, but for Lithuania's purposes he didn't need to. All he had to do was bleed the Mongols and remove them as an obstacle.

That would be enough. True, the power in the Carpathians would remain, and it was nearly unassailable. But that power weakened quickly as it left its mountainous heartland. Chernobog could magically shield a force moving at speed past those lands toward Constantinople.

Yes. It would be enough.

March, 1541 A.D.

The lumbering wagons had trundled through the night to be here, to set up the mobile forts, each with a goodly trench and earth rampart, and their cannons ready. There were six of them, each considerably larger than the original makeshift one that Vlad's men had contrived.

The mounted infantry were out on the gently rolling hills, along with the Szekeler light cavalry, harassing and drawing out the Hungarian heavy cavalry. The Szekelers inflicted steady pinpricks of damage and fury, never stopping to allow the greater numbers and mass of their opponents to catch up with them.

In separate little battles, the Croat light cavalry were taking a battering. There were fewer of them than Emeric needed, for one thing. For another, the Szekelers had local guides and used the mounted infantry as bait.

By the time the scouts sighted the wagon-forts, Emeric and his commanders were almost desperate for an enemy that would stand and fight. The Hungarian troops had had little respite since the campaign began, suffering small attacks day and night and facing a hostile local people.

For once, Emeric left the tactics to his commanders. They sent some of the Croats forward to probe the forts. Those could be avoided if they appeared too well defended. The Croats came within fifty yards of one of the forts, at which point they came under desultory arquebus fire.

"They're well enough dug in, Your Majesty. I would say they have been using them as re-provisioning points, camps to defend themselves against Mongols. Still, they're just earth embankments, wagons and a few pikes. Something of an abatis, but they're short of trees.

"One of the encampments," the scout added, "the one in the center, flies the flag of the duke of Valahia."

Emeric grunted his satisfaction. That was what he had planned for. A battle with Vlad of Valahia here would make more sense than an endless campaign in the mountains, with its castles and fortifications, and a mobile enemy using the terrain to nullify the advantages of numbers and heavy cavalry.

Emeric directed two thousand of his troops at each fortification, in a simultaneous attack. "They plainly expect to come to each other's aid. This way, they can't."

In the wagon-forts, the covers were being taken from the guns. Fixed pikes were being positioned and anchored. And the waiting had started.

Instead of scouts and infantry, Emeric's commanders had apparently decided on speed and weight. The charge, the heavy cavalry's standard method, raced forward, to the brave sound of battle cries.

Under normal circumstances, that charge would have crushed the enemy. Magyar heavy cavalry were feared, and for good reason. But here they encountered fire they'd never expected in an open battlefield. At barely one hundred yards, the bastard culverins of the wagon-forts cut loose, firing cloth bags full of shrapnel.

The slaughter was horrific, especially of the horses. The charge collapsed almost instantly. And as the Hungarian cavalry began retreating, Mongol cavalrymen came in pursuit. The retreat became a rout.

Emeric's fleeing cavalry disorganized the rest of his army, as often happened in such instances. If the Hungarian troops weren't rallied, this battle could turn into a disaster.

More than anything, the situation called for a commander with steady nerves and the ability to instill confidence in his officers. Or, to put it another way…

Anyone except Emeric.

The king of Hungary began screeching furious orders mingled with threats that were as pointless as they were blood-curdling. The result was simply to confuse his staff officers.

The Hungarian army began coming apart, here and there. Infantry units began breaking and heading to the rear, following the cavalry. Naturally, the Mongol cavalrymen targeted them immediately. Steady infantry, well-organized and armed with either pikes or guns, could withstand cavalry. But routed infantrymen were easy prey for cavalry-any cavalry, much less Mongols who'd been trained since boyhood in the great Mongol hunts.

Emeric turned to Mindaug. The count was perched on a mule perhaps ten yards away.

"Do something!" he shrieked.

Mindaug managed not to shake his head. Barely. As he had feared, his new employer was prone to hysteria. From a purely military standpoint, the situation was not yet desperate. True, the initial headlong and reckless Magyar cavalry charge had been bloodied and battered, and the Hungarian army's morale was fraying badly. But there was still time for Emeric to rally his forces, and those forces still outnumbered those of his enemy. Under such circumstances, to turn toward magic would just be further recklessness.