Paul Thompson - A Warrior_s Journey

“Twelve thousand men,” Allacath muttered.

“Equal parts foot and cavalry,” Tol added. “The Tarsans hire plains nomads for their riding skills.”

“They can’t stand up to our horsemen,” said Darpo staunchly.

“They’ve been doing a pretty good job so far,” was Allacath’s gloomy reply.

When Fellen’s men had caught up with them, Tol ordered his men into battle formation. Five companies would lead: Tarthan’s on the far left, then Wellax, Allacath, Frez, and Darpo on the right. About fifty paces behind them would come the second line, the companies of Fellen, Sanksa, and Egrin, the latter now commanded by Kiya. In ordinary times, it would have been impossible to convince Ergothian warriors to follow a tribal woman into battle, but her part in defeating XimXim had won Kiya much respect from the hard-nosed soldiers.

Darpo’s company, disguised by yellow cloaks and peaked helms, advanced slightly ahead of the rest of the line. Several times they came within sight of the rearmost echelons of the Tarsan army, but Tol held them back, allowing Tylocost to keep ahead. The time was not yet right to strike.

Midday came. The sky was bright blue, flecked with clouds only at the far eastern and western horizons. It was summer, and the warm wind off the sea combined with the sun to make the day sultry.

Tol and his men ate and drank on the march, passing waterskins back and forth in the ranks. Off to their right, the west, a distant shout went up, closely followed by the telltale clatter of arms. Tol tossed his waterskin to the man behind him and drew his sword.

“Close up the line. Shields up,” he said quietly.

Two hundred round shields swung into line; two hundred long spears protruded beside them. Darpo’s company scattered into a thin skirmish line. They trotted through the slender pines toward the din of battle, but hadn’t gone far when an officer on horseback cantered back to them.

“What are you men doing here?” the Tarsan demanded. “Get to the front! We’ve caught the Ergos. They won’t escape this time!”

Darpo hurled a spear, killing the officer. The riderless horse galloped away. While the Ergothians were searching the dead man, a troop of enemy cavalry came riding by. They were lightly armed nomads, wearing Tarsan colors, but rode past without stopping. Darpo let them go.

In the dead officer’s cuirass, Darpo found a dispatch. As he was skimming its contents, Tol and the main body of soldiers came jogging through the trees. Darpo handed him the letter.

“ ‘Proceed at once to the enemy’s left, and charge home,’ ” Tol read aloud. “ ‘Their unhorsed cavalry won’t fight on foot.’ ” He looked up swiftly. “It’s signed ‘Tylo.’ ”

“What are we going to do?” Wellax said.

Tol crumpled the strip of parchment. “We go straight in,” he replied.

He knew his plan would work better if the Tarsans routed the battered, horseless Ergothian riders. It was a harsh decision, but there was no time to waste explaining to his men. Mounting Cloud, he urged his soldiers forward.

The sounds of combat increased. Atop a sandy knoll Tol took in the panorama of battle. On his right, the Tarsan cavalry was swarming around a large body of Ergothians on foot-the horseless riders mentioned in the dispatch. Had Tol commanded them, the Ergothians might have formed a tight circle and held off the enemy light horse, but the imperial riders had no proper training in fighting afoot. They sallied forth in groups of ten and twenty to attack the nomads, who easily evaded them. Then the Tarsan cavalry charged and tore the isolated knots of Ergothians to pieces, trampling them underfoot or impaling them with their long, light lances.

In the center of the battlefield, a strong force of Ergothian horsemen was holding out against combined forays of Tylo-cost’s cavalry and heavily armed foot soldiers. Encased in armor, using shields so large and heavy it took two men to shift each one, the Tarsan infantry could push the Ergothian cavalry back. But the Tarsans’ great weakness was their lack of maneuverability.

On the left, another mixed force of enemy foot and cavalry was driving steadily through a small force of riders. Judging by the stout resistance in the center, Tol deduced Lord Urakan was there, his granite-hard resolve steadying his men. Tylo-cost would gravitate to the center as well, looking to overwhelm the imperial hordes and complete their destruction.

“Darpo, off with those rags!” Tol said.

“Yes, my lord!” Darpo’s company shed their Tarsan cloaks and helmets.

“Juramona!” cried Tol.

“Juramona!” answered his chosen retainers. The city guardsmen under their command raised spears high and added, “Daltigoth! Daltigoth!”

Tol’s men fell on the rear of the Tarsan force. His hardy footmen drove through the nomad cavalry but slammed to a halt when they reached the armored infantry. The nomads reformed and swarmed around the rear of Tol’s formation, expecting to scatter the few Ergothians. To their immense surprise, Kiya’s company formed a tight block bristling with spears and ran at them, trapping the Tarsan force against Sanksa’s company in the rear. At least a hundred nomads fell, and the balance fled in consternation. A few of Sanksa’s men picked up stones and contemptuously flung them at the fleeing barbarians.

Deep in the fight, Tol saw none of this. He was in formation with Darpo and Frez, and they hit the enemy foot soldiers hard from behind. The rear ranks died where they stood, unable to face about in the press, but the middle ranks managed to turn and meet Tol’s onslaught. The Tarsan troops were armed with short, heavy swords, shields, and halberds. Tol’s spearmen kept the short swords away, battling the halberdiers to a standstill. The fight degenerated into the kind of slashing match Tol could not afford with his slender line of men, so he called for Fellen’s company to hit the enemy’s flank. The engineer arrived like a whirlwind, bowling over the mercenaries in their weighty suits of iron mail and bronze plate. In the center, five thousand Tarsans were pinched between Tol’s two hundred sixty and Urakan’s three thousand. Lighter troops might have fought their way out, but the heavily armored foot soldiers were trapped by their inability to maneuver.

Lord Urakan felt the tide turning, even before he understood why. The pressure lessened on his beleaguered riders. By his side, Egrin declared, “My lord, Lord Tolandruth has hobbled them! It’s up to you to knock the enemy down!”

Brandishing the standard of his own horde, the Golden Riders of Caer, Lord Urakan charged straight into the center of the melee. His Ergothians broke the first line of infantry, then the second; by the time they reached the third, however, they had no momentum left. Mercenaries closed around Lord Urakan. Halberds whirled and struck the standard from his hand. He replaced it with his saber, but the foot soldiers used the hook ends of their pole arms to drag him from the saddle. Fighting furiously, brave, arrogant Lord Urakan was pulled into the mob of Tarsan soldiers, and brutally slain.

Seeing this, an angry Egrin took command and re-formed the center of the imperial line. The center held, but the Ergothians were now in difficulty on both flanks. The unhorsed warriors on the left had been beaten and were streaming away from the fight with howling nomads in pursuit. On the right, the Tarsans and Ergothians battled back and forth, neither side gaining an advantage. Everything depended on the center, on which side would outlast the other.

Tol left the front line long enough to climb a small pine tree and survey the battlefield. The enemy center was pinched in the middle, leaving two large blocks of troops joined by a thin line. Egrin was sending waves of mounted attacks against this narrow line. Men and horses were piling up in heaps.