I was more concerned with the Pani forces before us, presumably awaiting the issuance of its orders.
Cabot was shortly back, and I was aware of a message, or some form of communication, being passed throughout our lines, even to the left and right flanks.
“Be prepared to obey,” said a fellow to me, and then repeated this message to others.
If that were the message, it seemed pointless to me. What soldier is not prepared to obey?
I stood up, and looked back. Some new fellows were behind us, almost as shadows, and, down at the beach, some others, I sensed, might have been approaching. I could see some lanterns, on small boats, and one on the stern of a galley. From torches I could sense, as well, a number of men at the water’s edge. Our own position was precarious, but I was sure the defensive lines which Cabot and I had joined, commanded by Lord Nishida, had won the time needed for the withdrawal of most of our surviving forces.
They, at least, would return to the ship.
We waited in place, as did our foes, for the signal of the drum.
When it began to sound, we witnessed, as expected, the movement down the defile, marked by a hundred or more torches, of the mass of Pani reserves.
It did not seem likely we would return to the ship.
A fellow two or three men to my left, suddenly turned and fled toward the beach.
I felt much like following him, and a wash of panic and terror seemed to seize my whole body. Boats were at the shore. I could surely reach one in time. What was I doing here? This was not my war! It was no choice of mine! It was an accident that I was here, at all. It was not of my will that I was here. I was Cosian, not Pani. This was not my business. Too, I was only one man. What did it matter if one ran? The others would stay, and protect my back, my flight. I felt that I must move, run, flee, if only to do something. But I remained in place.
“Steady,” I heard a fellow say, to someone, somewhere to my right, on the other side of Lord Nishida, who stood like a rock, unmoving, in the center of our line.
“They are coming,” said a fellow beside me.
“Yes,” I said.
I did not know why we were whispering. Too, was it not obvious that the enemy was massing, and approaching?
I heard a stirring to my left.
The fellow who had fled had returned.
He must have reached the water’s edge, and then turned back, to take his place in the line. No one paid him any attention. He had never left.
The beat of the drum increased.
I supposed Lord Nishida, and the Pani, or some of them, might have read the drum. On the other hand, it was easy to read the movements before us, to see the torchlight on helmets and weapons, to hear, drawing closer, the rustle of steel, leather, and accouterments.
“Be prepared to obey!” called Cabot.
I thought the enemy before us, on the whole, had been directed rationally, its forces distributed intelligently, and applied judiciously, in such a way as not to crowd its attacks, or impede its own movements. In this way, one applies one’s resources in a measured manner, conserving them as much as possible and maximizing their effectiveness. Similarly, timing the engagements of elements is important. On the other hand, I had the sense that the commander of the opposing forces had now come to the end of his patience, such as it might have been, and, contemptuous of care and delay, finished with military sobriety, and conscious of his numbers, intended to conclude matters with one crude, costly, irresistible, massive blow.
Men began to run toward us, some falling, stumbling, pushed from behind, jostled, some weapons down, some not lowered. In the torchlight I could see the almost random thicket of glaives, like bunched tem wood in the wind. In the darkness and torches it was almost like a flood of darkness on darkness, a storm of bodies. Some, from the sound, and cries, were trampled by others. The drum struck, again and again, wildly. I think many fell, thrust from behind, and many may have been the wounds inflicted by exposed weapons, edges run against, points buffeted, blades fallen upon. This mad, rushing wall of darkness, squandering men, swept forward.
“Tragic,” said Lord Nishida.
“All tall,” exclaimed Cabot. “Brace yourself for the impact!”
How could one brace oneself for such an impact? More easily might the talender resist the stamping boot. More easily might the stand of delicate Sa-Tarna turn back the scythe.
But is not deception the key to war?
Our standing masked what lay behind us, and our charging foes prepared to meet us, as we stood, tumultuous crowd to man.
The great flood of darkness, confused, proximate, rushing, pounding, imminent, was some five yards from our steel when Cabot cried out, “Down!”
We all crouched down, instantly, and, from behind us, over our heads, into the confused, rushing mass of men before us there poured a rain of arrows sped from the small, saddle-clearing Tuchuk bow. The leading, confused ranks of our foes probably did not understand what killed them, but they fell, and succeeding rows, four or five, stumbled over them, fell, rose, climbed over them, and met death. A mound of darkness began to form, hills of men. And as succeeding ranks surmounted their fellows, they, too, encountered the rapid fire of the small, powerful, swift bows, developed over generations of warfare amongst the Wagon Peoples of the Southern Plains. It was perhaps only the sixth or seventh ranks of the enemies, impelled by their fellows, who, in the light of the torches, some flung amongst us, realized they were facing archers, and of a sort with which they were unfamiliar. Some cried out, some turned, some stood, as they were, and died. They had no return fire. They had no cover. They could not reach the enemy with their glaives, or swords. Some, escaping arrows, rushed upon us, to fall amongst our blades. Many stood, confused, suddenly realizing they were defenseless, and doomed. The strike of the Tuchuk bow, short, of curved horn, requiring much strength to draw, is heavy, and, at close range, terrible, capable, like the thrust spear, of penetrating the typical four-layered shield. So hapless might be a shieldless swordsman viewing the crossbow, the ready quarrel leveled, set in its guide.
The flood stopped, and, like startled, turned verr, the enemy began to mill, and fearful words were carried to farther ranks, and men who could not even see us received reports so magnified that they must exceed the horror of reality. “Demons!” “Dragons!” we heard.
Had we had stakes and trenches before us, the trenches would have been filled, the stakes heavy with the impaled meat of death.
The enemy turned, and began to flee.
Some enemy officers struck about themselves with swords, trying to stop the rout, but these, too, were as often struck by terrified men who, in the darkness, were unclear as to their foe, his power, or even his nature.
Some of our bowmen climbed over bodies, and from the grisly height of such hills, formed of inert or bleeding men, plied their craft, playing, as it is said, tunes on the lyre of death.
I thought there would be much feasting here for Thassa’s gulls.
I looked back toward the water. There were now three galleys at the beach, and several small boats. Men stood about them, waiting.
“Honorable friends,” said Lord Nishida, “let us return to the ship.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“It is there,” said Tarl Cabot. “See?”
He pointed high, toward the mountains, their peaks soft with fog, off the port bow.
“No,” I said.
“Higher,” he said.
“No,” I said.
