David Gemmell - The Ironhand's Daughter

The first of the lancers breasted the hill: tall men on high horses, their breastplates shining like silver in the sunlight, their long lances glittering. Each man carried a figure-of-eight shield on his left arm. They were still travelling in a column of fours, but as they reached open ground they spread out. The officer drew rein, shading his eyes to study the tree line.

Fifty Highlanders moved out on to open ground and loosed their longbows. Some of the shafts struck home, and several men and half a dozen horses fell, but most were blocked by the shields of the lancers. Levelling their lances, the riders charged.

'Now?' whispered Torgan.

'No,' Fell told him. 'Wait until they are closer.'

The fifty exposed Highland bowmen continued to loose shaft after shaft at the oncoming riders.

Horses tumbled under the deadly volleys, but the lancers rode on. The distance closed between them, until no more than thirty paces separated the two groups.

'Now!' said Fell. Torgan lifted his hunting horn to his lips and blew two short blasts. Another hundred bowmen ran from the trees to stand beside their comrades. Hundreds of shafts tore into the lancers; the charging line faltered as the missiles slashed home into unprotected horseflesh.

Horses reared and fell, bringing down following riders. Amid the sudden confusion the Highland swordsmen charged from cover, screaming their battle-cries. The lancers panicked, though many tried to swing to meet this unexpected attack. Horses reared, throwing their riders, then the Highlanders were among the lancers, dragging riders from their saddles and hacking them to death upon the ground.

Among the first to die was the enemy officer, hit by four shafts, one taking him through his right eye. The horsemen at the rear pulled back, galloping towards the safety of open ground. Torgan blew three blasts on his horn, and a chasing group of Highlanders reluctantly halted and jogged back to the tree line.

Over the hill-top marched a thousand Outland infantry, flanked by a score of archers. They drew up and surveyed the scene of carnage, then locked shields and advanced in broad battle formation, one hundred shields wide, ten deep.

'More than we thought would come,' said Torgan.

'They can't hold that formation within the woods,' said Fell. 'Fall back fifty paces.'

Torgan's hunting horn sounded once more, in one long baleful note.

Highland archers continued to shoot into the advancing mass of men, but to little effect. Some fell, but the infantry held their long rectangular shields high and most of the shafts bounced from them.

The lancers had re-formed now, and galloped forward to try an encircling sweep of the woods. Obrin and two hundred riders counter-charged them from the left, cleaving into their flank, hacking and cutting. The lances of the Outland riders were useless in such close quarters and they frantically threw aside their long weapons, drawing their sabres. But this second attack demoralized them, and they were pushed steadily back.

The Outland infantry slowed its advance, their leader unsure whether to push into the trees or swing and defend the beleaguered cavalry.

'Come on, you bastard!' whispered Fell. 'Come to us!'

The line began to move once more, the formation breaking into a skirmish line as each of the soldiers increased the distance between himself and his fellows by around three feet. Fell was forced to admire the smoothness of the switch from tight ranks to open formation.

These were enemies to respect.

Less able to protect one another in this new formation, however, the Outlanders began to take heavy losses from the retreating archers.

'This is it,' Fell told Torgan. 'By God, we'd better get it right!' Torgan gave a wide grin, and sprinted off to the left where his hundred men waited. With a harsh battle-cry Torgan led his warriors in a frenzied assault on the enemy's right flank, just as they crossed the tree line.

Fell saw the Farlain leader push himself deep into the fray, his claymore rising and falling with deadly skill.

Drawing his own sword, Fell signalled his own hundred and they crept through the undergrowth towards the enemy's left flank. Outnumbered ten to one, Torgan's men were being driven back as the wings of the Outland force pushed out to encircle the defenders.

With all attention on the right Fell charged the left, his claymore smashing through a soldier's helm and scattering his brains over his comrades. The Outlanders fell back but re-formed smoothly, trying to close ranks. The thick undergrowth and the trunks of tall trees prevented them re-forming into a tight single unit and the Highlanders, unencumbered by heavy armour, tore at them like wolves around a stag at bay.

A sword flashed for Fell's face. Swaying aside, he swept up a vicious two-handed cut that glanced from the tip of the soldier's shield and smashed into his cheekbone. The soldier was punched from his feet by the blow.

On the right Torgan had pulled back his men. Some Outlanders had given chase, but Torgan swung back his group and cut them down.

Out on open ground the lancers broke into a full retreat. Obrin made no attempt to give chase, but gathered his men and galloped for the woods. Leaping from their horses, the Highlanders ran to the aid of their comrades. Torgan saw them coming and blew on his horn. Highland archers dropped their bows, drew their swords and joined him.

Again he charged the enemy right, and such was the ferocity of the charge that the Outlanders buckled and broke, losing formation. Beside him the giant Mereth, wielding a club of oak reinforced with iron studs, hammered his way forward with Loran beside him.

'Pallides! Pallides!' roared Mereth.

Torgan hurdled a fallen tree and shoulder-charged an Outland soldier. The man staggered back, falling into his comrades. Torgan's claymore sang through the air as three men hurled themselves at him. He blocked the lunge of the first, all but decapitating him with a reverse cut. The second man's sword cut into Torgan's side, the third aimed a blow at his face. It was blocked by an upraised sword, and Torgan saw Obrin smash the man from his feet.

Ignoring his own wound, Torgan leapt once more into the action. To his right Mereth was surrounded by swordsmen, but was holding them at bay with great sweeps of his murderous club. 'Farlain!' shouted Torgan, rushing to his aid. Several men followed him, including Loran. An arrow sliced by Torgan's cheek, taking Loran in the side of the neck; the handsome Pallides staggered to his right and fell. Ignoring the bowmen Torgan raced into the fray, ducking beneath a wild sweep and slashing his sword through the knee of the wielder; the leg broke with a sickening snap and the swordsman fell, screaming. Mereth bellowed a war-cry and ran at a second group of men. One of them rammed a spear through the giant's belly and Mereth staggered to a stop. Then his club swept up and across to smash the skull of the spear-wielder. A sword clove into Mereth's bull neck. Blood spurted from the severed jugular as Torgan stabbed his own sword into the killer's belly.

On the left Fell was battling furiously. Here the Outlanders retained at least a semblance of order, and were pulling back towards open ground. Again and again Fell led his men in increasingly desperate charges.

But there were fewer of them now. Obrin and twenty Highlanders ran to his aid. Fell had been cut on the right cheek, and blood was flowing from a deep wound in his thigh. His claymore, though, felt light in his hand as he charged again, Obrin beside him.

'Don't let them re-form!' he bellowed.

The archer captain Cheops reached the crest of the eastern slope and glanced across at the enemy defensive wall. Beyond that he could see the cavalry charging the woods. It was all going well; the range from his position to the enemy was less than two hundred yards, well within killing distance. It was hot, and today would be thirsty work. Glancing behind him he saw a heavy stand of gorse, and beyond it a grove of trees.