Lord of Janissaries (125 page)

Rudhrig saw the enemy foot pressing up into the gap between the remnants of his Third Division and the Second Division to his left. The guns fired faster, flailing the enemy with stones that cut great swathes through the ranks. His pikemen reformed their ranks. Riflemen and archers joined them, and the enemy cavalry gained no more ground. Rudhrig shouted for a messenger. If the Wanax threw his reserves against the enemy’s horse and foot—

Three archers and a musketeer ran out of the press, carrying a limp figure. The banner of the White Hawk was still in his hand. Rudhrig suddenly lacked the breath even for a prayer.

The limp figure raised its head and shook off the hands that tried to hold him down. Rudhrig found himself at his son’s side. “Guy—my boy! How is it—”

“I’m not hurt, Father. Please tell these sons of swineherds to stop stepping on my hands!” His voice held both indignation and affection. “I’m sorry the White Hawk’s been muddied.”

“They could have used it to wipe Toris’ arse!” Knightly language be damned, Rudhrig thought. Thank Yatar, my son is safe. “Guy, you must take a message to the Wanax Ganton.”

“Father, I
won’t
be sent away like a disobedient—”

The Great Gun of the starmen opened fire. Rudhrig counted five shots from the—the
mortar
. There was a crashing explosion, and a great cloud of white smoke poured up beyond the enemy. Rudhrig scrambled into the saddle.

The smoke cleared and he saw that the barrels of firepowder must have exploded. Had the starmen’s mortar by chance struck at friends? Certainly something had destroyed two of the guns. The ground was littered with the bodies of the men who had tended the guns.

Three of the guns remained, and the men who served them were still alive. Limping, black-faced, half-clothed, they took their places. Rudhrig remembered what he had heard of the fight at the Great Redoubt: how the gunners had charged with Lord Rick himself to take their weapons back from the enemy.

Courage comes in many forms. As does honor.
And there were things not even knights or Eqeta could face undaunted.

* * *

Ganton saw the enemy thrusting into the gap between the battered Third Division and Teuthras’ Second. A messenger rode off to Lord Drumold to bring up the Tamaerthan horse. Then Ganton spurred toward the gap.

Hilaskos and the Guards had just caught up with him when the starmen’s mortar opened fire. The first four rounds gave Ganton hope the enemy attack would never reach the guns. The fifth round dashed that hope. When the smoke cleared, two of the five guns were overturned, and many of the gunners lay on the ground. Ganton cursed.

“Guards, halt! First Squad go tell the starmen—”
Tell them what? Not to kill our own people?
“Tell them to be careful. I am going to rally the gunners.” He sent a messenger to Lord Clavell and his Nikeian axemen: rally at once at the banner of the Fighting Man.

“Where will that be, Majesty?” asked the messenger.

“Among the guns,” said Ganton, pointing downhill. The messenger swallowed but his Wanax’s glare froze any argument on his lips. He rode off as Bheroman Hilaskos raised the Fighting Man and the royal party trotted downhill.

They reached the rear of the guns just as the enemy’s foot recovered their courage and came on. The Guards musketeers fired from the saddle, a ragged volley that still couldn’t miss a target the size of the oncoming foot. Their wine-colored tunics identified them as spearmen of Ta-Kartos.

The enemy surged forward, the Guards dismounted to reload, use their bows, or hold horses. Master Gunner Pinir ran about, using a rammer to prod reluctant gunners back to their duties. The gunners seemed more afraid of him than of the enemy.

From behind the enemy’s foot horse archers began shooting. With the short northern bows, few of their arrows reached hostile targets. A good many struck their own foot. The attack wavered again, then wavered still more as the musketeers of the Second Division opened fire.

Ganton’s horse was spent. He dismounted. Moments later he was in the middle of another battle. Enemies were all around him. He drew his sword and lashed out.
Lord Rick would never approve. I am no more than a common foot soldier. And who commands now?
He tried to hack his way to the rear so that he could return to the command post. There was nothing to be done here.

Hilaskos fought beside him, holding the Fighting Man. A spearman ran at him and thrust him in the thigh. Hilaskos brought the banner pole down on the attacker’s head. A Guardsman cut the spearman down, just as Hilaskos staggered, then fell. A squire ran forward to lift the banner. “Hold it high! You are a knight as of this moment!” Ganton shouted.

More enemies, with swords and ironbound clubs for close work. Ganton’s sword broke on the head of a club but his Guards were all about him, throwing their shields in front of him until they made a wall. Ganton drew his Browning and fired between the Guards’ shields. Five of the enemy went down. Others heard the thunder of the star weapon and held back.

More of the host of Drantos rallied to the Fighting Man, until his friends were causing as much confusion as enemies. Rudhrig brought up the last of his cavalry reserves. They began their advance into the gap, not in a solid line but picking their way forward in twos and threes. With swords and lances they cleared the rear of the guns of enemies, then formed into two columns. One to the left, one to the right, they passed through the guns and into the enemy’s foot.

The Ta-Kartos spearmen were neither armed nor trained as well as Lord Rick’s pike regiments; they could not stand against cavalry and did not. They would have fled, except for their own horse pressing hard against their rear. So most of them died where they stood. Those who did not die under Drantos steel died from the arrows and bullets of both Divisions; the archers and musketeers of the Third had rallied.

At last there was nothing in front of Ganton and the guns save dead men or wounded that the cavalry were finishing off with lance-thrusts from the saddle. Rudhrig had his knights well in hand; Ganton had no fear of their charging too far. When he’d seen Hilaskos bandaged and carried off the field, he remounted and ordered the Nikeian axemen to the right of the Third Division. Their long-handled axes would do well against either horse or foot, as long as the Fourth Pikes did not give up the fight.

The Guards reformed their shield wall. Some time before the low clouds had broken into misty rain. One after another the guns fell silent. Ganton had time to pull out the arrows stuck in his gambeson. None had penetrated the mail beneath. He reloaded the Browning.

The rain would silence guns and muskets alike. Thick smoke from the firepowder lay across the entire battle area. Archers could not see a hundred paces into the gloom, and had no targets.

The battle would be won by whoever could bring home a charge, infantry or cavalry. There could be no strategy, and in this smoke weapons that struck at a distance were useless.

Vothan favors the side with the greatest numbers.
Ganton had heard that as a child. Today it might be true.

The enemy trumpets sounded again.

29

Tylara watched the battle until the rain and smoke closed in. Then there was nothing to see.

Balquhain rode up. “Mac Clallan Muir sent me to ask if you know who commands this army.”

“It is certainly not me.” She pointed down the hill into the smoke. “The Wanax Ganton rode that way with the Banner of the Fighting Man half an hour ago. I have not seen him since.”

“I think our father knows this.”

“So do I. Why did he send you here?”

Balquhain shook his head. “You always did know him better than me. But I think he wants you to take command of the army.”

“Take command—”

“Tylara, you are Eqetassa of Chelm and Justiciar of Drantos. The Wanax has vanished. Someone must command—”

“Brother, the knights will not obey me. I am Eqetassa, not Eqeta—”

“Drantos knights would obey you more than me, or Mac Clallan Muir.”

Yatar, is this part of my penance?

“Father says we must do something or the battle is lost.”

Tylara peered into the smoke. The sounds of battle flowed up the hill. Screaming horses and men, the clash of swords and shields, and other sounds she did not recognize. None of them told her what was happening. Just as the weather closed in completely she had seen Akkilas’ forces rally and attack once more. She had no guess as to their progress, but many of them had moved against the weakened Third Division.
Without orders the other Divisions will not move. They cannot support each other if they cannot see. We may yet be defeated
in detail
. Rick says that is nearly always how battles are lost or won.

“He may be right. Do you wish me to command?”

“Mac Clallan Muir does.”

“Then ride to Prince Strymon. Offer to take command of his Division, or to serve him in any other way, and beg him to come here and take command of this army.”

“Tylara—”

“You wanted orders, Balquhain. You have them.”

“You always did get your way. Yes, Sister. As to my squadrons—”

“Send them to me. Tell them to obey me. I have work for them.”

“May I ask what?”

“Balkie, none of us do any good here, and in this rain the guns cannot defend our right flank. I am afraid the enemy will come through there. I will take the clansmen to stopple that hole.”

Balquhain grinned. “Hurrah for Tilly! I’ll tell Father.” He turned his horse, then stopped and looked back. “Tylara—”

“Get out of here!”

“Yes, my lady.”

* * *

The sounds of battle came over the hill. Rick stopped for a moment to listen. “That way!” he shouted. He spurred his horse forward.

“Colonel,” MacAllister shouted. “It ain’t going to do nobody any good to get there with dead horses!”

“Sh—” Rick caught himself. “Right, Corporal.” He reined his horse to a walk. “Who’s got the best mount?”

“You do,” MacAllister said. “Colonel, we’re
all
wore out, and you got to know it.”

Which didn’t help a bit. Somewhere ahead was a battle. Rick looked at the sheaf of semaphore messages he had received. Tylara’s ransom. Tylara’s release. Strymon an ally. Castle Fasolt taken. And now a battle in the Ottarn Valley, only that wasn’t in any message. “What in hell is going on?” he said aloud.

“Beats me, Colonel,” MacAllister said. “I just know it’s time to walk the horses.”

“Oh, shit. All right, Corporal.” As Rick dismounted he wished for a Honda Tricycle.

* * *

Tylara waited impatiently for Balquhain’s squadrons. The rain was falling more heavily. It washed away the smoke from the guns, but still she could not see into the valley below. There were no more sounds of gunfire anywhere, but the other noises of battle were undiminished.

Where are the starmen?
More important, where was the king?

Hoofbeats. Drumold rode up through the rain. “I’ve brought the clansmen, Daughter. Your brother said you had need for us.”

“That may be. Certainly we do no good here.” She pointed to her right. “There is a gap yonder between the Third Division and the village. Guns were to protect it, but in this rain they cannot fire.”

“Does the enemy advance there, then?”

“Father, I don’t know. I only know that we do no good waiting here, and if Akkilas brings his cavalry through there we are lost.”

“What is the ground there?”

“Solid down the slope. Then mud.”

Drumold grinned. “So they come from mud to face us on solid ground?”

Before she could answer, two of her cavalrymen rode up the slope. They reined up and the older one said, “We have heard horsemen in the swamplands.”

“How many?”

“We cannot tell. The noises of battle are too great. But horsemen are advancing.”

“Well done,” Drumold said. “My lady, should we not go to meet them?”

“Father—”

“Lass, I am Mac Clallan Muir, but you are Justiciar of Drantos. I wait your command.”

She wheeled her horse and beckoned to her light cavalrymen. “Follow me.” She led the way down the slope.

* * *

The sounds of battle grew louder.
To hell with the horses.
Rick remounted and spurred his mount into a trot. As the slope grew steeper the beast dropped back into a walk. Rick cursed.
One consolation. A walk’s easier on my arse than a trot. And thank God Agzaral sent the Preparation H.