For all of Redmask’s creativity, he was not, in Toe’s judgement, a tactical genius. Here, he had done all he could to gain advantage, displaying due competence. Without the K’Chain Che’Malle, this battle might already be over. In any case, Redmask’s second surprise could not-for anyone-have been much of a surprise at all.
Natarkas, face slick with sweat behind his red mask, eased his horse into a canter. Surrounding him was the sound of thunder. Two thousand chosen warriors rode with him across the plain. As the canter was loosed into a gallop, lances were set, shields settled to cover groin, hip and chest.
Natarkas had led his cavalry through the night’s rain, east of the seabed, then north and finally, as false dawn licked the darkness, westward.
At dawn, they were positioned a third of a league behind the Letherii forces. Arrayed into a wedge with Natarkas himself positioned in the centre of the sixth row. Awaiting the first sounds of battle.
Redmask had been adamant with his instructions. If enemy scouts found them, they were to wait, and wait yet longer, listening to the sounds of battle for at least two turns of the wheel. If they believed themselves un- discovered-if the opportunity for surprise remained-when the sounds of fighting commenced, Natarkas was to immediately lead his cavalry into an attack on the rear formations of the enemy forces-on, no doubt, the Tiste Edur. There was to be no deviation from these instructions.
At dawn, his own scouts had ridden to Natarkas to announce that a mounted troop of Edur had discovered them. And he thought back to Redmask the night before. ‘Natarkas, do you understand why, if you are seen, I want you to hold? To not immediately charge? No? Then I will explain. If you are seen, 1 must be able to exploit that in the battle on the seabed. At least two wheels you must wait, doing nothing. This will lock the Tiste Edur in place. It may even draw out the Bluerose cavalry-and should they approach you, invite them to the chase ~ lead them away, yes, and keep leading them away. Do not engage them, Natarkas! You will be savaged! Run their horses into the dust-you see, they will cease to matter by then, and Bivatt will not have them at her disposal. This is important! Do you understand my commands?’
Yes, he did understand them. If surprise was lost, he was to lead his Awl… away. Like cowards. But they had played the cowards before, and that was a truth that burned in his heart. Flaring into agony whenever he saw the Mezla, Toe Anaster, yes, the one-eyed foreigner who stood as living proof to a time of such darkness among the Awl that Natarkas could barely breathe whenever he thought about it.
And he knew his fellow warriors felt the same. The hol-lowness inside, the terrible need to give answer, to reject the past in the only way now left to them.
They had been seen, yes.
But they would not run. Nor would they wait. They would ride to the sounds of battle. They would sight the hated enemy, and they would charge.
Redemption. Do you understand that word, Redmask? No? Then, we shall show you its meaning.
‘Sister Shadow, they’re coming.’ Brohl Handar tightened the strap of his helm. ‘Ready your spears!’ he bellowed to his warriors, and along the entire front line, two ranks deep, the iron points of the spears flashed downward. The foremost rank knelt, angling their points to the chest height of the approaching horses, while the row behind them remained standing, ready to thrust. ‘Shields to guard!’ The third rank edged forward half a step to bring their shields into a guard position beneath the weapon arms of the warriors in the second row.
Brohl turned to one of his runners. ‘Inform the Atri-Preda that we face a cavalry charge, and I strongly advise she order the Bluerose to mount up for a flank attack-the sooner we are done with this the sooner we can join the fight on the seabed.’
He watched as the youth rushed off.
The wedges were on the flat now, he understood, employing the step and settle advance Bivatt had devised in order to adjust to the mud. They were probably nearing the Awl lines, although yet to clash. The Atri-Preda had another tactic for that moment, and Brohl Handar wished her well.
The slaying of the mages had been a grim opening to this day’s battle, but the Overseer’s confidence had, if anything, begun to grow.
These fools charge us! They charge a forest of spears! It is suU tide!
Finally, he realized, they could end this. Finally, this absurd war could end. By day’s close, not a single Awl would remain alive. Not one.
The thunder of hoofs. Lances lowered, the horses with necks stretched-out, the warriors hunching down-closer, closer, then, all at once, chaos.
No horse could be made to run into a wall of bristling spears. In the midst of the Awl lancers were mounted archers, and as the mass of riders drew to within a hundred paces of Edur, these archers rose on their stirrups and released a swarm of arrows.
The first row of Edur, kneeling with spears planted, had leaned their rectangular Letherii shields against their shoulders-the best they could manage with both hands on the spear shaft. Those immediately behind them were better protected, but the spear-hedge, as the Letherii called it, was vulnerable.
Warriors screamed, spun round by the impact of arrows. The row rippled, wavered, was suddenly ragged.
Horses could not be made to run into a wall of bristling spears. But, if sufficiently trained, they could be made to hammer into a mass of human flesh. And, among those still facing spears positioned at chest height, they could jump.
A second flight of arrows slanted out at forty or so paces. Then a third at ten paces.
The facing side of the Edur square was a ragged mess by the time the charge struck home. Beasts launched themselves into the air, straining to clear the first spears, only to intercept other iron-headed points-but none of these were butted into the ground, and while serrated edges slashed through leather plates and the flesh beneath, many were driven aside or punched back. In the gaps in the front line, the horses plunged into the ranks of Edur, flinging warriors away, trampling others. Lances thudded into reeling bodies, skidded from desperate shield blocks, kissed faces and throats in a welter of blood.
Brohl Handar, positioned behind his Edur square, stared in horror as the entire block of Arapay warriors seemed to recoil, flinch back, then inexorably fold inward from the facing side.
The Awl wedge had driven deep and was now exploding from within the disordered square. The impact had driven warriors back, fouling those behind them, in a rippling effect that spread through the entire formation.
Among the Awl, in the midst of jostling, stumbling Edur, heavy cutting swords appeared as lances were shattered, splintered or left in bodies. In screaming frenzy, the savages were hacking down on all sides.
Horses went down, kicking, lashing out in their death-throes. Spears stabbed upwards to lift Awl warriors from their saddles.
The square was seething madness.
And horses continued to go down, whilst others backed, despite the shrieking commands of their riders. More spears raked riders from their saddles, crowds closing about individuals.
All at once, the Awl were seeking to withdraw, and the Edur warriors began pushing, the square’s flanks advancing in an effort to enclose the attackers.
Someone was screaming at Brohl Handar. Someone at his side, and he turned to see one of his runners.
Who was pointing westward with frantic gestures.
Bluerose cavalry, forming up.
Brohl Handar stared at the distant ranks, the sun-lashed lance-heads held high, the horses’ heads lifting and tossing, then he shook himself. ‘Sound close ranks! The square does not pursue! Close ranks and let the enemy withdraw!’
Moments later, horns blared.
The Awl did not understand. Panic was already among them, and the sudden recoiling of those now advancing Edur struck them as an opportunity. Eager to disengage, the horse-warriors sprang away from all contact-twenty paces-archers twisting in their saddles to loose arrows-forty, fifty paces, and a copper-faced officer among them yelling at his troops to draw up, to reform for another charge-and there was thunder in the west, and that warrior turned in his saddle, and saw, descending upon his milling ranks, his own death.
His death, and that of his warriors.
Brohl Handar watched as the commander frantically tried to wheel his troops, to set them, to push the weary, bloodied beasts and their equally weary riders into a j meeting charge-but it was too late. Voices cried out in fear as warriors saw what was descending upon them. The confusion redoubled, and then riders were breaking, fleeing-
