Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“In any case itʼs suicide,” Nortah commented, shaking his head. “There are well over a hundred thousand souls in this army now, and growing by the day.”

“If our enemy is intent on their own destruction,” Lyrna said, “I am more than happy to oblige. Battle Lord, you will wish to make your dispositions.”

Al Hestian sent the Nilsaelin horse and North Guard galloping off before his main battle line was fully in place, ordering them to engage as many Volarian cavalry as they could. The Realm Guard cavalry were kept back to secure the flanks of the infantry, which he arranged in a surprisingly compact formation. The lead grouping consisted of just three regiments, standing in close ranks with the rest of the Realm Guard arranged behind and Lord Nortahʼs Dead Company, flanked by the loosely ordered mass of barely trained slaves, forming a rear-guard with the Nilsaelin foot. Out in front he placed the Renfaelin knights and Cumbraelin archers.

“I assumed Your Highness wished this matter concluded quickly,” the Battle Lord stated in response to her cautious observation that this order of battle was beyond her experience.

“Quite so, my lord,” she said, watching him ride off with his flag-men and signallers, wondering if she shouldnʼt ask Davoka to stay at his side throughout the battle, ready to kill him should this stratagem reveal itself a great, and perhaps deliberate folly. She pushed her misgivings away at the sight of Al Hestian riding along the flank of the army she had given him, seeing the total absorption on his face as he cast his expert eye over their ranks. War is his art, she realised. His one remaining passion. Like Master Benrilʼs statues or Alornisʼs sketches.

Her gaze went to the Lady Artificer, moving among the line of ballistae arranged on a low rise on the left of the armyʼs line of march. She had voiced a strident objection when Al Hestian advised the engines would not be required for his assault, calmed only slightly at Lyrnaʼs suggestion they be employed to guard against a counterattack. Enlivened only by the prospect of blood, Lyrna thought, her gaze tracking Alornisʼs slim form as she moved from engine to engine.

Lyrna had placed herself at a short remove from the ballistae, under close escort by the remnants of the Queenʼs Daggers and the Seventh Orderʼs most gifted members. The rise offered a fine view of the unfolding drama. The Volarians were approaching in reasonably good order, their front line composed almost exclusively of Varitai, with the Free Swords behind. A large plume of dust rising from the redflower fields beyond their left flank told of a fierce battle already raging between the North Guard and the Free Sword Cavalry, the Nilsaelin lancers streaming towards the struggle at full pelt. A three-battalion contingent of Volarian cavalry could be seen arcing round on the right, presumably with the intention of threatening their rear, but a series of flag signals from the Battle Lordʼs attendants soon sent the Realm Guard horse in pursuit, the opposing mass of riders meeting in a headlong charge some three hundred yards short of the rise. Lyrna saw Alornis pacing about amongst the ballistae, face set and fists clenched in frustration as not a single Volarian horseman emerged from the melee to provide a welcome target.

A familiar hissing sound drew Lyrnaʼs attention back to the main body of the army, allowing her a brief glimpse of the first Cumbraelin volley descending on the centre of the Volarian line. It seemed to shudder from the impact, its pace slowing but still keeping on despite the continuing arrow storm, Lyrnaʼs spyglass revealing the blank faces of Varitai marching blithely forward as their comrades died around them. She had expected Al Hestian to halt the army and let the Cumbraelins do their work for a time, but the sounding of multiple bugles told of a different intent.

She lowered the spyglass as the Renfaelin knights spurred into a charge, thunder rising from the earth as they accelerated, a cloud of shredded redflower ascending in their wake, rendered oddly beautiful in the sunlight. The Cumbraelins immediately ceased their arrow storm and began to form ranks for their own charge. Discarding bows and drawing swords and hatchets, moving in a more coordinated fashion than their maddened charge at the temple to fall in alongside the leading Realm Guard regiments.

Lyrna lifted her gaze to watch the Renfaelin charge strike home, a spectacle she hadnʼt witnessed before though her father had often spoken of it. Imagine an arrowhead of unbreakable iron, but fashioned by a giant. She heard Murel issue a curse of amazement as the great wedge of steel and horseflesh struck home, the impact birthing an instant tumult of screaming men and horses mingling with the harsh, discordant notes of colliding flesh and metal. She saw several knights fall, tumbling with their horses in a tangle of armour and flailing hooves, but for the most part the knightly host retained its cohesion to skewer the Volarian line, tearing all the way through to the Free Swords and the open country beyond.

More bugles sounded and the entire mass of Al Hestianʼs infantry increased its pace to a run. The comparative cohesion of the Cumbraelin contingent evaporated as they ran, covering the remaining distance to the Volarian line in a frenzied sprint of flailing swords and hatchets, tearing into the already disordered mass of Varitai. The leading Realm Guard regiments struck home seconds later, halberds rising and falling in a practised display of disciplined slaughter, stripping away any remnant of order in the Volarian ranks, which buckled, fell back and disintegrated.

Ever more petals rose from the field as the battle became a rout, obscuring much of the unfolding carnage in a haze of drifting scarlet. The cavalry battles on either flank raged on for a time but soon the Volarian horse could be seen fleeing east as they discerned the fate of their infantry. The spyglass revealed the sight of Lord Adal leading the North Guard in pursuit of the escaping riders, despite the foam covering the flanks of his horse, green cloak streaming behind as he spurred it on, reddened sword extended straight as an arrow.

As her gaze returned to the centre of the battlefield she found a dense cluster of Free Swords had formed amidst the onrushing mass of Realm Guard. The spyglass revealed mostly fearful men, fighting with the kind of ferocity that was only born of survival.

“Send a rider to Lord Al Hestian,” she told Iltis. “I am keen to secure more prisoners…”

“Ah, Highness…”

She turned at Murelʼs half-whispered words, the sight that greeted her making her wonder if some new enemy hadnʼt appeared in their midst, so disordered were the ranks of the Realm Guard, thousands of mostly unarmoured figures struggling through their lines. The slaves, she realised, catching sight of Nortah on horseback, vainly attempting to hold back his recruits as they charged towards the surviving Free Swords. The first hundred or so were cut down in seconds, but the others came on as if maddened, uncaring of the swords that slashed and hacked their unprotected flesh. She saw a man claw his way through the Volarian ranks with his bare hands, tearing at faces and necks, seeming not to feel the blade that sank into his chest as he bore its owner to the ground, prizing his helmet away to fix his teeth on the flesh beneath. His fellows piled into the shallow gap he had rent in the Volarian line, the Free Swordsʼ desperate courage turned to panic by the savagery of the onslaught. Some ran to the Realm Guard, empty hands raised high and sinking to their knees. Most were not so fortunate.

Justice, Lyrna thought as the last speck of Volarian black disappeared in the seething mass of former slaves. Many were now waving captured weapons, or even severed limbs and heads in celebration as the petals continued to fall. We are not the only hungry souls here.