On pre-dawn patrol of the third morning, he received his distraction. Kruso, on point, was the first to hear it to the southeast. He signaled, and Abel called a halt. It was difficult to miss the thunderous hoof fall of ten thousand donts on the move.
The Blaskoye horde had exited Garangipore. Had they taken the bait?
Kruso was already off his dont, his ear to the ground. Abel waited patiently for the old Scout to make his judgment. He stood up.
Even in the wan light of the crescenting of the smallest moon, Levot, Kruso’s crooked smile told Abel all he need to know.
“They’re turning north?”
Kruso nodded. “Tham all, ut sunds like, too.”
In the distance, they heard the bone horns blow.
The Blaskoye timed the Canal road ambush just before sunrise, and it came off as planned.
The Blaskoye adjusted their attack on the run as they swept up from the south toward the road. The Militia was strung out for about a quarter league, although the captains, forewarned, had done their best to keep the marching order compressed. It was in the nature of the beast of a marching line to straggle out no matter what, it seemed.
Undoubtedly, Center said. And they are most impressive. Even though it is clearly an intuitive move, they’ve chosen almost the exact center to attack.
His Scouts had given fair warning. At the first sign of the Blaskoye move, they charged north toward the Militia with news of the coming storm.
In addition, one rider was sent east and the other west to spread the alarm along the Road. Later in the day, wigwag and flashing glass could serve the purpose faster, but in the wan pre-dawn light, flags were impossible to see at any distance, and mirrors were useless, as well. Abel had ordered the Scouts to construct a series of watchfires along the road at thousand-pace intervals. Each had a two-man scout team manning it and would be lit later when it was certain where the Blaskoye were heading.
The Militia still managed to be taken by surprise, at least some of the troops. But for the most part the line in the road, two abreast, formed into squares, as they’d been drilled to do for the past sixty-two days. The squares were ragged, especially where they sloped down from the road and into the flax fields, but they would do.
All they need to do is get a couple of volleys in and retreat, Raj had said. If they were too effective, the Blaskoye might pull back, and the whole plan go to seed.
Raj didn’t have to worry about the amateurish nature of the Militia squares. Three deep, not able to move at a quick pace in any direction, forward or backward. But deadly to dontback riders, all the same.
Abel was through the line with his lead group of Scouts and galloping at breakneck pace toward the distant levies. Center provided him with a vision of what was happening behind his back, however.
Observe:
The Blaskoye moved toward the Canal road like an approaching wave. Some fanned out to right and left so that they would hit the lines obliquely. The Militia riflemen waited. And waited.
The watchfires were lit, and Abel’s remaining Scouts scrambled back behind their line.
The Blaskoye skirted the fires and kept coming.
I would estimate a force of ten thousand two hundred on dontback, Center put in. It is a huge gathering of nomads that the Blaskoye have managed to summon into the Valley. Very impressive. And deadly. Our forces on the Road are under four thousand. Total forces are at five thousand three hundred fifty-two.
But as soon as the donts passed the first of the watchfires, another signal was given among the Militia. Rifles were raised. Aimed.
The cry of “Ready!” and a front row of muskets were taken from shoulders and aimed into the morning gloom. Behind these, another group lowered rifle butts to the ground and prepared for a volley as soon as the front troops had complete theirs and knelt down to reload.
“Aim for the donts, thrice-damn you!”
First the horns, the eerie bone horns of the Redlands.
Then the thunder came, the thump of the horned feet of donts on the stubble-filled fields. The dusty cloud rising now, an approaching whirlwind.
And standing ready and afraid, yet ready-
Abel, in the split vision of the approaching Blaskoye and his own headlong gallop, felt pride in these Valleymen.
Observe:
They will stand. We are not a decadent, useless people. The Redlanders truly are the enemy of civilization, of what is good in men, or at least that which elevates us above savagery, good or not, and makes us twice, no, ten times the savage as the savage himself. And yet also, twice as productive, able to see our creations to fruition.
Perhaps even worthy of those ships from the stars when they come, as Center and Raj had promised they would. Worthy, at least in this moment when a terrifying horde of deadly warriors gallops toward them and they do not break, but stand and-
One hundred paces away.
Seventy-five.
Fifty.
“Fire!”
Crackle of muskets. And the Blaskoye are in range, as well, with carbines, perhaps not as accurate, but deadly, deadly.
Charging all in an uneven line bunched a half league long and ten, sometimes twenty, donts deep. Most are armed in some fashion-armed with powder and muskets that were the bloodgeld of Cascade and Progar-and make their shot. A bit too early for the carbines, perhaps. A bit too far away for the unrifled barrels. But many balls strike their targets.
A square of men sags, three down. Those in line behind them step up, take their place.
The Redlanders, still at a gallop, stow their rifles. These are the light cavalry of dreams. Even the Scouts cannot ride like this. Every Redlander had, since birth, spent more time on dontback than walking. They post instinctively with the beasts, reach effortlessly behind them and draw forth their bows. Notch an arrow while at full gallop.
Another volley from the squares.
Murder in the front of the Blaskoye line. Screaming, falling men and donts.
Now a cloud of arrows launched at the Militia, much more coordinated than the musket fire. And it flies toward the squares, the ten squares caught now at the brunt of the attack, just as the first volleyers have reloaded, raised their weapons.
