Authors: William Gehler
Late morning, and the day grew hotter. She felt the sweat roll down her torso underneath the metal and leather armor that covered her chest. Her tongue felt thick, and her mouth was as dry as the grass beneath her horse’s hooves. She kept licking her lips. She pushed down the fear that tried to rise in her chest. Her bow was strung and over her shoulder. She’d pull it over her head after she threw her torch. The quiver was full of arrows. Lance under her knee. A short sword hugged her left side, dagger on the right. Her horse kept moving around under her, sensing the building tension.
Clarian’s face crossed her mind, but she erased it quickly. She had to focus. She swiveled in her saddle and surveyed her force. They seemed ready. Many eyes looked back at her. She rubbed her horse’s neck, soothing it. Was it getting late? The attack should have started already.
A wave of noise, at first like a great murmur and then a rising pitch of hundreds of voices swept toward Lillan from far away and then closer and closer and louder and louder. Her eyes on a scout hidden high up on the ridge, she waited, tension mounting. Finally he signaled to her to light the torches. She passed the word, and torches were lit. The horses didn’t like the flames and danced sideways as riders reined them hard amid snorting and neighing.
The scout gave the signal to go, and torch in hand, Lillan kicked her horse into a gallop. Her soldiers charged out from the scrub cover just as Martan’s scouts raced by, dragging flaming bundles, igniting the dry grasses. Lillan’s horse leaped over the flaming path, and in a moment she was in among the wagons. She jammed her torch into a wagon with a canvas covering over a pile of goods in the bed. The pitch from the torch spread, and the wagon began burning. Lillan didn’t wait to watch the fire she had set but pulled her bow free, notched an arrow, and shot the nearest Maggan soldier, who had just ventured out of his tent, his face bewildered as he fell, clutching the arrow in his chest.
The Karran mounted archers wove among the wagons, first setting them ablaze and then methodically cutting down the supply soldiers. There did not appear to be a rear guard, and the supply soldiers were not well armed. Resistance was light. Encircling the horse herd and killing the horse handlers, the Karran soldiers drove the stampeding horses off the field of battle.
The grass fires raged and spread, consuming the wagons and tents of the Maggan. With her quiver empty, Lillan called her troops out. Smoke from the hot fires blanketed the battlefield, and the sweet smell of burning flesh was sharp in the air. A breeze came up and fueled the flames, pushing the fire down the road toward the main body of the Maggan army.
The sounds of mayhem rose up from the Maggan army. Lillan listened after she reined in her horse some distance from the battle on a hillock where she could observe the action. The cries of the dying and wounded floated out to her.
She sent a messenger to Clarian that the attack on the rear of the Maggan army had been successful. She knew he was waiting for word from her that would enable him to begin his drive into the forest. She was glad she wasn’t going.
Maggan soldiers emerged from the smoke and the smoldering fires, running for cover. With a series of arm signals, Lillan repositioned her archers in a loose line back from the field of battle and out of the smoke but close enough to contain the fleeing Maggan. Quick arrows dropped many of the frenzied soldiers and drove others back into the smoke and flames.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
N
eevan was dreaming of home as she slept under the hot tent with another female warrior. She saw her mother waving at her from the front door of the apartment they shared, beckoning her to return. She sensed she needed to hurry as she came running from the market with a bag of vegetables clutched in her hand, and then the bag broke open, and all the items spilled out. Someone began yelling at her, and she looked around but couldn’t see anyone. Suddenly she awoke. The woman lying next to her was screaming, an arrow protruding from her abdomen. The wall of the tent was on fire, the curling white smoke caustic and burning.
Neevan grabbed her tunic top and her weapons and, bending low, she ran through the tent opening into the brassy sunlight of day. She had trouble focusing her vision in the bright light and the thick black smoke. Soldiers were running back and forth shouting. The entire camp seemed to be on fire. A wall of swirling fire was roaring just feet away. Tents exploded into flames around her. Soldiers fell next to her, arrows puncturing their bodies. Screams from the wounded, the dying, and the frightened provoked her into action.
She thought of her horse and ran in the direction of the horse herd, dodging burning tents, flaming grass, downed bodies, and running soldiers. A great din of noise swept across the field. She reached the area where she thought the horses were tethered, but there were no horses. She grabbed the arm of a soldier who staggered by her. “Where are the horses?” she asked.
“They were driven off by the Karran! Look out, here they come again.”
She heard the pounding hooves, and through the smoke she saw them, hundreds of riders bearing down, bows bent back, taking aim, shooting arrows into panicked soldiers trying to escape. She drew her sword, but she was in no way a threat to the horsemen. A Karran soldier on a big bay loosed his arrow at her at point-blank range, but she ducked low, and it flew high. He swept by, reaching back into his quiver to draw another arrow. She ran to the left, but another line of Karran horsemen dashed in, bowstrings snapping as they released more arrows, bodies strewn everywhere now.
Maggan officers were shouting and trying to put together a line of spearmen to ward off the Karran, but the Karran bowmen rode parallel to the spearmen and began picking them off. The line of spearmen broke, and they ran back into the flames and smoke. Neevan couldn’t think. More arrows flashed by. More Karran horsemen rushed past her as she knelt down in the tall grass. Where were the Maggan soldiers? She ran back into the smoke and burning grass, trying to find some order.
The dead and wounded carpeted the ground. In the thick smoke, she stumbled and fell over a dead soldier. The fires reached the fallen wounded, their great piercing screams adding to the horror. Soldiers trapped by rings of flaming grasses burning hot and high covered their faces and plunged into the smoke.
There has to be someone taking charge here,
she thought. But it was the same everywhere—fire and smoke and the drone of arrows cascading. A soldier staggered into her with an arrow in his back. He clung to her, but she shook him off and scampered deeper into the camp.
“Where is our defense?” she shouted to a commanding officer lying wounded with an arrow in his leg.
“They hit us from all sides. There is no defense. We’ve collapsed. We can only hope that the Karran will be satisfied and pull back. Then we can regroup!” he shouted back over the screams and roaring fires.
“Where’s Ferman?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Back there somewhere.”
Ferman was in the middle of the Maggan camp, lying wounded under a wagon. There the fire raged, too, and the arrows fell with deadly accuracy. Several officers cowered under the wagon with him. Ferman was screaming at them to go out and fight, but they didn’t move away from the shelter of the wagon. “Attack those ridges, or I’ll kill you myself!” he raged.
Several officers reluctantly rushed away, shouting at nearby soldiers to follow them. Few did. Most dodged behind wagons, and those who did follow were cut down by Karran archers from the ridges above. An officer riding a wounded horse pulled to a stop at the back of the wagon and slipped off the horse. The horse collapsed in a heap, kicking out its life.
“Ferman? Ferman?” the officer called frantically.
“Yes, I’m here,” croaked Ferman.
The officer crawled under the wagon to where Ferman was lying. “Ferman! The Karran have attacked the supply wagons and are burning them! And our horses have been captured and driven off.”
Ferman was speechless. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes were bloodshot from the smoke and the pain of his wounded arm, and his mind was thick and sluggish.
“You’ve led us into a trap, Ferman!” the officer accused him. “They’re attacking our rear. They’re everywhere. The whole camp is burning. The Karran are above on the ridges shooting down into us. They are cutting us to pieces. You’ve got to do something, Ferman. Now!”
“Pull back! Pull back! Sound the retreat! Pull back out of this fire zone!” Ferman shouted.
Officers slipped away from the wagon, and within moments a horn blared, sounding the retreat. Soldiers sprinted toward the rear. The wounded hobbled and stumbled. The enemy arrows continued to shower from the sky.
Neevan was running as fast as she could through the chaotic ranks of confused and frightened soldiers, trying to find someone who would take charge. The grass fires were burning there as well, tents igniting into flames, white and black smoke concealing the enemy on the ridges, soldiers falling, horses screaming and thrashing on the ground with arrows protruding from their flanks. She heard the horn sound the retreat and watched as panicked soldiers ran over one another to get to the rear.
A lost horse appeared out of the smoke. Neevan lunged at the trailing reins, grasping them as the horse jumped sideways. She spun the horse in a circle and leaped into the saddle. She slammed her heels into its side, and it bolted into the turmoil. She pulled back on the reins to gain control and tried to guide the horse toward where she thought the army command might be. Her horse knocked down several soldiers who were running aimlessly. The horse, nearly mad from the fires raging all around, bucked and jerked his head. Neevan had to keep the horse moving.
She came upon several wagons that were stalled because of wounded horses. Soldiers were trying to cut the wounded horses out of the traces.
“Where’s Ferman?” she shouted at one of the soldiers pulling the harness off a dying horse.
“Under the wagon, there.”
She leaned down and could see a number of officers crouched low or lying under the wagon. “Ferman!” she yelled.
Ferman looked out from under the wagon. She could see that he was wounded but couldn’t tell how badly. “What have you seen, Neevan?” he asked.
“The whole battlefield is on fire. Their archers up on the ridges are cutting us down. Our mounted companies at the head of the column have been destroyed. The horses have been run off. We can’t even mount a counterattack!”
Ferman’s mouth twisted in pain as he inched closer to Neevan. “Get to the rear. Gather up all the mounted soldiers you can find. The Karran are also attacking our rear, and they have burned the supply wagons. Fight them off. We have to fight our way back to open ground. We can’t stay here.”
Neevan nodded. She slapped the reins and pushed the horse into a gallop through the chaos, through the stinging smoke, heading for the rear of the stalled Maggan army. Unscathed, she arrived at the burned-out supply wagons. Maggan archers were gathered behind them, shooting back at the Karran. Through the layers of smoke she could see mounted soldiers riding fast up ahead. She kicked her horse into a gallop toward the riders. She was sure the mounted soldiers were Maggan.
Clarian sat astride his horse with several officers on a hill overlooking the chaotic battlefield near what had been the head of the Maggan column. Much was obscured by the smoke and fire. He could see the archers on the ridges launching their rain of arrows down into the melee. He pointed. “Move archers down from these ridges and line them abreast from ridge to ridge in multiple ranks across the road, and begin pushing the enemy back down the road toward the forest. Cut the enemy down. Go slowly and efficiently. Walk. Do not charge wild-eyed into the fray. Don’t rush into the fires. Wait until the fires have burned out sufficiently. Just keep driving them back down the road with constant but not reckless pressure.”
All day the arrows rained down on the Maggan army as they staggered back through the burning terrain, through the gauntlet of archers on the ridge tops. By the end of day, the Maggan soldiers had staggered back to the rear to the burned-out supply wagons into more open land.
The torrent of arrows ceased as they moved out and away from the ridges, but the Karran army kept the pressure on against what had been the Maggan front but was now the rear. The Maggan ran. There was little resistance, and the enemy losses were staggering.
When night fell, the Maggan found themselves in open, low-rolling hills with rocky outcroppings and no water or food. Ferman ordered his army to fight their way out of the ridge country toward the forest, but the road back was a several days’ march, and it was blocked by Karran forces. With the loss of most of his mounted soldiers and horses, he angrily marched his army in retreat through the night.
The Maggan had not rested for over thirty-six hours. The Karran archers and foot soldiers marched into the rear of the retreating Maggan army. Wading into the debris and the blackened field of battle, Karran soldiers killed the hapless Maggan with lances. Swords flashed and fell on the exhausted and disheartened. The Maggan could see better at night than the Karran, but they were beaten.
Clarian kept his army on the attack throughout the night. He knew he could not let the enemy rest at any time, and he did not have reserves to give his soldiers any rest either. The cries of the dying and wounded filled the night as the full moon rose above the hills to shed silvery light upon the desperate Maggan, illuminating them with a ghostly sheen. The stench of fire and burning flesh drifted in the light breeze. The shouting of officers competed with the clash of metal. Arrows sliced through the night air without relief.
On the next day, the sun rose hot and harsh. The Maggan were desperate for water, but there was little, and the brook that ran beside the road was red with blood. They couldn’t stop to rest or sleep. They couldn’t get out of the sunlight, and it sapped their strength. They slouched forward in rough formation without leaders, many of their officers lost to the battlefield.
Yet the war was not over. The foe had lost great numbers of soldiers, but it still outnumbered the Karran. Clarian knew he had to break them completely, or they would return to fight again, perhaps within days, and they would not be so susceptible to clever strategies next time.
Troban, commanding the soldiers who had stopped the spearhead of the Maggan, gave the order to regroup as the Maggan army fled the way they had come. Karran supply wagons from the staging areas were pulling up to provide water and food and replenish weapons. Most of the Karran soldiers lay down next to the road to rest. More wagons arrived with weapon supplies. Troban’s officers let the weary troops rest for an hour and then got them to their feet.
The area around them was littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers, most of them Maggan. The ground was burned clean in many places. Partially burned tents and camp debris and dead horses lay scattered everywhere. Wounded Karran were being helped or carried to the road to be put on wagons and transported to where they could receive treatment. Those wounded Maggan who could sit up sat stoically, waiting for what they expected would be death at the hands of the Karran soldiers walking through the battlefield.
Off in the distance, down the road toward the forest, the fight continued, and the chorus of strident voices could be heard as a constant wail accompanied by the clash of metal on metal.
Troban was standing with his officers by a food supply wagon when Clarian rode up.
“You did well, Troban,” he said.
The young officer flushed with pleasure. “It is going well, I think.”
“Yes. And be careful not to rest your troops. As soon as they are done being rearmed, you must march them all back to the battle line. Spread them in lines from ridge to ridge as before, and march forward into the enemy rear as they retreat. You must attack the enemy as they retreat and harass them constantly. But let them retreat. As long as they are in retreat, they can’t rest or eat. Besides, they have little water or food now and few other supplies,” Clarian said.
“Clarian, my people are exhausted!” Troban said in disbelief.
“So are the Maggan. But those you do not kill today will fight you tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I can get them to their feet.”
“You must. Within the hour, as soon as you are rearmed.”
“They need at least four hours’ rest.”
“Get them to their feet and back in the fight, or I will replace you with a commander who will.”
Troban held up his hands and nodded his head, accepting the rebuke. “So you intend for the enemy to get back to the forest?”
“No. I intend for them to die.”