Book 6: Chapter 13 |
AFTER TWENTY DAYS OF MARCHING along the old Imperial track, our force finally made its way around the mountainous range known locally as the Dravar Hills and began its descent into the Felvina Valley .
According to local legend, Dravar was a magical lizard who served the Goddess of Fertility, Felvina, and died defending her in battle against the Demons of Chaos. The legend stated that the Goddess and her guard had been laid to rest in these parts. And that this range of hills was the fossilized spinal column of the mythical beast. The scenery took our breath away. It reminded me of the sights I’d seen with Thais back in our homeworld. Once in a while, for just a moment, I would forget that I was traveling at the head of a column of soldiers on the march.
From there, the old road (built long ago, in the days of the Empire) was practically straight, stretching to the east parallel to the border of the Shadow, which was located slightly to the north of where it once had been. Gondreville was waiting farther on. There, we planned to give our people a chance to rest, and also restock our supplies for the march north to Shadow Pass.
Actually, the big, time-consuming hook our army was marching along was the main reason that the Duke de Clairmont had decided not to march the main army along this route. Although as far as I knew, the original plan (prior to the news about the epidemic in the enemy’s ranks, that is) had been to move the army this way despite the distance. At first, the Duke was planning to check in on my Margraviate and kick the “Scarlets” out of it. After that, he would have marched his legions at a quick pace down the Imperial track toward the Gray Foothills. There, the army would have joined with the Fifth Legion and the remnants of the Bergonian Army to give battle to the Atalians.
But the Blood Fever outbreak meant that the Duke de Clairmont’s plan required certain adjustments. As such, he was racing forward along the so-called Royal Track, which went some ways east before forking into two roads in the Valley of Winds: one road leading north, which terminated in the Gray Foothills, and another leading southeast to the Atalian border. Long story short, for the moment at any rate our forces were marching along parallel roads that were separated by the Dravar Hills, and farther on by the Ervan Range.
Not counting the raids Prince Heinrich’s personal forces kept launching against local villages, there were no other forces along the old Imperial track at the time. And Heinrich himself was only showing up at the biggest population centers, and then only the ones that were about three days’ march from Chéran. He had yet to move any farther to the north.
As before, the main movements of the Vestonian, Bergonian, and Atalian armies were happening along the Royal Track, which was the main transport artery in Bergonia. And all the big, significant battles were happening in the middle of the country.
Actually, as I was getting ready for the campaign and learning everything I could about Bergonia and my Margraviate, I came to the conclusion that this war was bound to happen sooner or later. The border with the Shadow, the big veins of silver and copper — this country was simply too rich a prize for either Vestonia or Atalia to ignore. The murder of the Bergonian ambassador was just a pretext to launch a long-awaited attempt to seize this rich morsel of land.
Monsieur Beron, by the way, wasn’t exactly right in everything he told me about the Gray Foothills. I remember him saying it was uninhabited. Susanna Marino’s information said otherwise. There were people there. Sure, there weren’t very many of them, but it would be incorrect to say the area was uninhabited. There was an ancient citadel in the area, which belonged to the Sapphire Guild of mages and served as their fortress. Most likely, I thought, that was also where they kept their treasury. That explained why the Vestonian Fifth Legion had journeyed so far, and why the Golden Lion had been slowly but confidently cutting them off from the outside world. Apparently he felt secure saving them for a “snack” once the main fighting was done.
As I looked out at the empty villages, I realized something. Our scouting unit was several days ahead of us and under strict orders not to rob or otherwise offer any insult to the local inhabitants — their remit was strictly to obtain provisions and fodder, and pay for it in good silver. Despite their best behavior, however, they hadn’t managed to convince a single household. People preferred to flee.
The Viscount de Leval, and his noble friends, found this intensely irritating. Our commander-in-chief was genuinely annoyed that neither the local nobility nor even the local rabble were around to display the proper attention and respect to him and his forces. After all, in his simplistic conception of how the world worked, he had come here as a defender and liberator to fight off an Atalian invasion.
With every new village we passed, Pierre de Leval was getting more dour and angry. And when, in the valley, we came across yet another village and found nothing but empty houses, dried piles of dung, and garbage littering the streets, the Viscount’s patience finally snapped.
He had been hoping that here, if nowhere else, we would find the mayor and elders assembled to pay their respects to us. Children would run out along the cobblestones with happy shouts to let the whole world know about the arrival of the brave commander, while the enthralled women of the town would throw flowers at his charger’s feet and swoon beneath his lusty gaze.
Then, per his expectations, we would be feted at a ball in the mayor’s home, after which there would be a raucous drinking party and a wild night with the local courtesans. By the time we reached this village, of course, he had tempered these expectations a bit, but still... He was being completely ignored and neglected!
Pierre was so incensed that he even wanted to order his soldiers to burn down everything after we left. And to do the same with any other abandoned villages that might be unfortunate enough to lie along our route. Only my timely intervention managed to stop the Viscount from committing such a rash action and cool his ardor a little bit.
I had to explain that for the time being, the locals were simply trying their best to hide from us. The locals would soon see that we were simply passing through, without committing any lawlessness en route. From the very start, in fact, the soldiers had been notified that marauding and thievery would be punished, and they had acted accordingly.
What could we expect if we rescinded that rule? The locals would start actively fighting us as partisans, and who knows what that might mean for us? First to suffer would be our hunters — the people who were ensuring a constant supply of game.
Besides that, I explained to the Viscount and his people that I had a very personal interest in maintaining the loyalty of the local population. Whatever their attitude toward us might be, these people were going to be my neighbors, and I would have to get along with them somehow. At the end of my short impromptu speech, I informed him that I would be extremely disappointed if anything bad should happen either to this city or any others on our route.
This clearly struck a chord with the nobles present. The commanders present, however, merely smiled knowingly. They knew very well, after all, that in the course of twenty days on the march de facto command of the army had transferred from Viscount de Leval’s hands into my own. Formally, he was still our “commander in chief,” but the last word in all our councils of war basically belonged to me. And actually, nobody was really opposed to such a situation. Even Samuel Kroner, who had clearly been ordered by the Count de Leval to look after the Viscount, seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
Basically, Pierre ended up calming down, and after we left the city and continued on our way he transferred all his energy to hunting. Although even that soon lost its charms for him. Our leader (and the rest of us along with him) was saved from boredom by the arrival of our scouting unit. I had sent Aelira along with them, and by my calculations they should still have been somewhere on the road to Gondreville at that point.
Their appearance, therefore, caused a pretty big stir in the camp, which we had set up just beside the Imperial track.
“Why did you come back?” I asked as Aelira strode into the main tent. The Viscount de Leval, his noble friends, and all our commanders were present as well. “What happened?”
“A force of Atalians is heading this way,” came Aelira’s grim reply.
A gasp echoed through the tent.
“How many?” I asked.
“About 3,000 riders,” said Aelira as she launched into her full report. “About 500 of those are heavy cavalry, with good armor and lances. The others are relatively poorly-equipped. A lot of feudal levies.”
A quiet hubbub erupted among the assembled commanders.
“Infantry?” Kroner replied; everyone fell silent.
“No,” Aelira shook her head. “They’re back with the wagon train. You could say this unit is traveling light.”
“Maybe this is an advance force?” One of Pierre’s friends chimed in.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Aelira shook her head. “We checked. Nobody’s really keeping an eye on their wagon train. For a distance of two days’ ride, at least.”
Some of those present were looking at my bodyguard with skepticism writ large on their features, but I knew exactly how she had acquired so much information so quickly over such a long distance. My “air” fairy. Vaira had almost certainly spent a huge amount of energy doing it, but she had done her job well.
“Do they know you were there?” I asked.
“No,” replied Aelira; then, with a sinister grin, she added: “But they’ll be finding what’s left of their advance unit pretty soon.”
“Good,” I nodded. “How much time do we have?”
“Two days. No more. Just in case, I left a few soldiers behind who will warn us if anything changes.”
“I see,” I replied. “You stay here for now. We may need you to answer a few more questions.”
I was right. There were a lot of questions, but Aelira answered them all patiently and in great detail. And given that she had managed to memorize the sigils on the Atalian nobles’ banners, and give a thorough description of them all, Pierre de Leval and his friends didn’t have any trouble determining that we were about to face off against Marquis Hugo di Spinola, the only son of the Duke di Spinola, whose lands comprised a significant piece of northern Atalia.
“A black griffon on a red shield — definitely the Duke di Spinola!” Pierre de Leval concluded loudly. “But what’s his son doing here?”
“And why have they come so far in the first place?” One of the other nobles asked.
“They were supposed to head toward the border with the Golden Lion...” mused Pierre de Leval.
“3,000 riders...” Kroner mumbled as he rubbed his chin. “Traveling light...”
“They’re trying to move around our main force,” said Gaston Laforte. “To attack the rear and plunder our wagon train. That’s why it’s only riders.”
Basically, the captain of the “Last Chances” said exactly what I was thinking. And judging by Hilaire Reese’s expression, he was thinking the same thing as well.
“Devil take my soul if it’s not the case!” Samuel Kroner chimed in with a confident nod of agreement.
“So the Marquis di Spinola doesn’t know about the epidemic in the Golden Lion’s legions?” Viscount de Leval asked with surprise.
“Seems like he doesn’t,” snickered Gaston Laforte. “But that doesn’t necessarily make things any easier for us. 3,000 infantry against 3,000 cavalry in open battle... We’re doomed.”
A heavy silence settled over the group. I could feel the attention of every person in the tent on me. Basically, everybody was there because of me in the first place. Sure, it was at the order of the King, but they were there to liberate my Margraviate.
“Laforte is right,” I said. “We don’t have a prayer in open battle. The nearest mountains are about two days away. We won’t have time to retreat that far. They’ll catch us on the march.”
“Do you have anything to suggest?” Kroner asked.
“We’ll have to fight,” I replied; then, before anyone had a chance to voice an objection, I added: “But not here. Somewhere else.”
“Where?” The Viscount asked.
“Here.” I jabbed my finger down onto the map spread out on the table in front of us.
“That little hill along the road that we passed a few hours ago...” Kroner muttered as he bent down over the map.
“Yes,” I nodded, then continued: “There’s a lake on one side, and a little stretch of forest on the other. And another forest about half a mile behind it. Nature will cover our flanks and rear for us. I suggest we move our forces onto the top of that hill, and send all our horses and supplies to the rear.”
“That’s definitely better than meeting them in the open field,” said Laforte with a smile. “At least that way we won’t get slaughtered for no reason. And my boys won’t run if they know they’re being covered by such excellent warriors.”
I looked up and glanced around at them all. While I saw confidence (or at least willingness to fight to the end) in the eyes of the commanders, the expressions of certain nobles were quite different. Unlike the common soldiers, they had horses, which meant that they could simply hop in the saddle and run for it. And, also unlike many of the soldiers, they actually had something to lose. By the way, Pierre de Leval was not one of these — he was obviously prepared to fight to the death.
The commander of the “Last Chances” winked as I glanced at him. He knew exactly what I was hoping to do: light a fire under the nobles. If the horses were all at the rear, their riders would have no choice but to fight. And then the rank-and-file, knowing that the aristocrats were going to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with them come what may, wouldn’t be inclined to run either. Besides that, they would be protected by strykers — two of whom were among the most powerful avants on the continent.
* * *
A little more than a day had passed since we first got news of the approaching Atalian horde. And that turned out to be exactly as much time as we had. The Marquis di Spinola discovered that his scouts had disappeared, and sent a bigger force riding ahead; this force discovered our positions sooner than we had anticipated. The sight of our camp didn’t seem to make much of an impression on the Atalian commanders. Their first reaction must have been something like “Wow... Look how quick the rest of the army fled.”
And that despite the fact that we had made some pretty impressive preparations. The entire hill was riddled with spike-filled pit traps. Besides that, the archers had planted three rows of sharpened stakes athwart the approaches to their positions, which would make life very uncomfortable indeed for any attackers.
Our force took position in three distinct battalions. Our left flank was covered by Samuel Kroner and his legionaries, our right by the “Last Chances” under Gaston Laforte. Pierre de Leval and the other nobles, together with their squires and armed retinues, were located to the rear of the center, along with my unit. We were the reserve. Baron Reese’s archers were positioned on the flanks of each battalion. On the extreme left and extreme right flanks, the archers had established positions slightly forward, so as to bring the entire field within range of their covering fire.
All the horses and wagons had been sent about half a mile to the rear, where we had them gathered into a circle and surrounded by a chain of wagons. Lada, Kaylinn Brinn, and the first-born were there too. I didn’t want to risk my fairies. They still hadn’t developed enough for serious battles like this, although Ignia was eager to plunge herself into the fray all the same. I had to calm her down a little bit.
“Finally!” Pierre de Leval growled with a smile as he saw the first riders appear at the foot of the hill below us. “I was starting to worry! I thought maybe the Marquis messed himself when he heard about us and decided to run home to daddy!”
Lots of soldiers could hear his exclamation, and a hearty laugh rippled down the ranks. They, too, were sick of standing in their armor under a hot sun, and were waiting impatiently for the Atalians to arrive. As if to spite us, the weather was especially hot that day, so much so that even the cool breeze blowing in from the lake did little to ease the discomfort.
Finally, around five o’clock, the head of the enemy column came into view, riding along the Imperial track. I was thinking that the battle might have to wait until the next morning; after all, it would be dark within two or three hours. But apparently the Atalian commanders had different ideas. They obviously intended to move right out of line of march into line of attack.
Standing on the height, surrounded by my comrades-in-arms, I couldn’t help but admire the way the Atalian cavalry strung itself out in an unhurried manner into two well-formed, heavy battalions on the opposite end of the field. I could feel the tension in the air, and I sensed that every soldier in my vicinity was holding their breath in anticipation of the impending battle.
The sunlight glinted spectacularly on their polished armor and weapons. The heavily-armored Atalian knights seemed almost the epitome of military power. Their massive, muscular, majestic horses were stomping their hooves against the ground impatiently. My field of vision wass soon awash in a sea of brightly-colored military uniforms with their sigils and aristocratic badges and colors. The rippling of their cloaks in the wind created the impression of a wave that was about to surge forth and break against the shore.
Unshakeable confidence was visible in every move the riders made. Their faces were covered by closed helmets, but it wasn’t hard to guess what their expressions might be as they looked over at our force.
Atalian banners thrust high into the air caught every little ripple of wind, as if inviting the gods to witness a scene of glory and victory. The clanging of armor, the screech of weapons being drawn, and the muffled shouts of their commanders mixed into the unmistakable sound of preparation for battle.
Suddenly, a jolt rippled through their front ranks, and the first wave of Atalians (armed and armored better than the rest) lurched forward and quickly began to pick up speed. As they did so, other riders were still making their way off the track, moving into line of battle as they took their places in the formation. It seemed like the Marquis and his knights considered us easy pickings, and wanted to attack us immediately.
“So it begins!” Pierre de Leval roared next to me, watching as the massive wave of men and horses surged up the hill toward us.