Our story began here.
Battle for the West
Fear felt like an interloper sitting in Davidus’s chair, but the Grand Magus had insisted and anyway given that the Black Mage’s quarters were in the Dovecote and far from the centre of Pandoria it made sense. All the same, Fear felt uncomfortable.
He eyed the only other mages in the whole of Pandoria, Nadine Wherefore and Gareth Parmenter, who if anything looked every bit as uncomfortable as he did. Beyond them in the room were half a dozen adepts watching what their elders from the other side of the room. Fear might have acknowledged these doubts, but since the death of William Tulore the remaining adepts and junior faculty had been quite rattled enough for him and his senior colleagues to display any doubts.
“I can’t say I am happy with this,” Nadine whispered, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the adepts.
She looked too young to be a mage, although Fear knew that she was pushing 40 and although she was not considered one of the most effective of his colleagues, she had a fine mind and good theoretical grasp of Earth Magic.
“Happy with what?” Fear said crisply, letting the assembled adepts hear his words.
Nadine hunched into herself and appeared to shush him.
“The Magister were needed in the counter attack on the West and a fat lot of good we would be in a fight,” Gareth Parmenter said in an irritated voice.
“Actually your skills are needed to defend the barrier,” Fear countered.
“And yours in case there are any more demonic attacks inside it,” Nadine whispered, still trying to be discreet, “But did I have to stay behind?”
Fear realised that as far as Nadine was concerned Gareth had been right but there was another reason too and she shared it.
“Although you’re an Earth mage, you are accomplished in the other three elements. From a purely theoretical point of view you could probably oversee the curriculum if it should have to be resurrected,” he said.
Fear glanced around the room and hoped that Nadine wouldn’t ask him to spell it out. But it was clear from the faces of the assembled adepts that they fully understood his remarks.
“You think that the Magister won’t come back then?” Gareth asked pointedly.
Gareth was getting on in years, but was highly accomplished when it came to Water and Air magic. Fear’s own abilities with Fire as well as Earth Magic did indeed protect against that eventuality. Gareth’s point was well made.
“I am certain that they will, after all the Grand Magus has a company of more than a score of magi to reinforce Gort for the coming battle. I have every confidence.” Fear winced inwardly. He sounded like an old politician.
Nadine nodded thoughtfully as if she took this at face value.
Quietly Fear doubted that the Magister could more than slow down the invasion. For even if they destroyed an army or two he was sure that enough would get through. Still, nothing was certain and advanced intelligence suggested that the enemy’s problems lay with ships and not men.
“Dr Fear, Sir,” one of the young adepts asked nervously, “I… I was chosen to remain here and I want to do all I can, but… but are we safe here?”
Fear smiled reassuringly, but did not answer. He had no idea.
*
Sir Mark De Lacy viewed his troops with a critical eye. Back in Timbre they had looked like they could conqueror the world. So what if half of them had slightly out-dated armour and many of the pikes and other equipment showed visible signs of having been patched-up; they were good men.
Even when he had been assigned another two battalions to add to his own 600-strength and ordered up the line his confidence had never wavered. Then he had hoped against all his doubts that they would be assigned anything more than a combat role.
But all too quickly he had been sent mobilisation orders and assigned to a squadron of ships for the counter attack against the West. His euphoria had quickly been mitigated by his old soldier sense. He was not in his prime, he knew, and nor were his men. If his regiment of light horse had been despatch as part of the expeditionary force, then the generals were scraping the barrel and he knew it.
Still morale was high and even when the shaken and seasick warriors of his command had blundered onto land he had been hopeful.
The combined armies of Timber and Precips were over 60,000 strong. They were well-provisioned and had good lines of communication back to their supporting ships.
Furthermore, they had landed unopposed and the scouts reported no more than light garrisons in the towns in any direction. They even had a score or more mages on their strength. He had seen them riding at a lick passed his column only that morning.
He had been told that in their train they had half-a-hundred adepts and other magic folk who would not only augment the healers and protect the key positions from fire and magical attacks, but that the assembled magi had offensive magic to sow confusion among the foe.
He wondered idly if Katrin were among them, but decided that from her last letters, she was still considered too junior to risk.
“Sir,” came a voice at his heel.
He wheeled around to confront an eager young man in polished armour and a sash denoting that he was a staff officer. Sir Mark could see from his eyes the boy had never seen combat and from the way the horse danced back and forth, nor had his mount.
“Sir Mark, I have orders,” the young officer said earnestly.
Sir Mark nodded and extended his arm to accept any missive.
The man looked horrified and swallowed hard.
“Colonel Vanpike requests that you detach two troops of cavalry for scouting duties,” the officer told him.
“A verbal request from a brother colonel does not constitute an order boy,” Sir Mark said testily.
“No Sir but…” the young man spluttered.
“Where are they required?” Sir Mark yawned.
“Sir…?”
“Where are they to report?”
“Then you agree, I mean…” the young officer wheeled his horse to disguise its unprofessional friskiness and executed a full turn on the spot before he added with a point forward, “Reconnaissance Major Stanger.”
Sir Mark snorted thoughtfully and gazed across his command before his eye alighted on one of his more enthusiastic junior officers, a certain Lieutenant-Ensign Spade.
“The man in the blue plume,” Sir Mark said sharply pointing at Spade. “Ask him and Cornet Portland to report to me.”
“Cornet Portland…?”
“Spade knows,” Sir Mark barked as he kicked his horse away down the line, “Now jump to it, Vanpike needs eyes out there.”
*
The opposing army was vast. The scouts had put it at more than a league away and yet it already dominating the horizon. One minute it had been an indistinct haze broaching the far ridge and then suddenly it was there.
“So much for surprise,” King Peron spat angrily.
As nominal commander of the allied force all eyes turned in his direction looking for any sign of fear or hesitation, but they saw none. The man’s unblinking stare could cut warriors from their saddle.
Not that he held everyone’s full attention. Several of the leader’s from other contingents stole a glance at Davidus Grimm the Grand Magus who sat at the King’s right hand, his trademark pudding basin hair style a perfect echo of the domes helms of the surrounding warriors.
He too beheld the enemy with an unblinking gaze.
“This is going to be tricky my liege,” he said to the king, “What do you think? Outnumbered aren’t we?”
As he spoke he took in Gort the High Hand with his eyes for some independent confirmation. But it was Sejanus Jacelon who answered.
“By my reckoning they have us at three to one with pike-men and maybe twice that with horse,” the Scroll Keeper said grimly.
“I expected more,” Peron growled, “I don’t think this is their main force.” It was a bold statement and all faces now turned to him.
Beyond and behind the leaders the allied army, which had previously rung with song and random good natured insults to comrades along the way, now fell silent. The only sounds now were the clink of mail and horse gear and the occasionally whinny from a terrified mount.
“We more than match them in gentlemen of horse and swordsmen afoot,” William Armarlon, the Duke of Timon said with some bravado.
The Duke was the commander of the larger Timbre contingent and brother to their King, John of the House of Armarlon. He was a huge man with imposing shoulders that made his head look small. An affect that was only heightened by the heavy armour he wore. Under his polished helm he was near bald which coupled with his prominent hooked nose gave him the appearance of a vulture. But this crude look belied his noble refinement and his fame in battle secured his leadership here. He stood second in this company only by dint of the presence of the King of Precips.
Peron nodded absently and then remembering the Duke’s importance added more brightly, “Indeed your Grace, I am mindful of the contribution of your countrymen; no doubt the finest swordsmen in the world. They will give the foe a run for their money. What say you Grand Maestro?”
The Grand Magus shrugged, he had little time for warrior bravado. Since the enemy had been sighted he had studied the patterns of the opposing troops and practiced a tentative mind link with the rest of the Magister.
“I sense no great magic,” Davidus said quietly, “A few warlocks’ and priests maybe, but I agree, their main force is not here.”
The King and his officers joined Davidus in studying the troops lined up ahead of them. But they were still away off and appeared as shapeless rough blocks of dark against the pale yellow grass of the plain.
Just then there came the blowing horns from the enemy ranks and several they could see shifting dots of men in the grey formation become more animated and begin to form up in lines.
“We always knew we would meet a larger force,” Peron said quietly so that his words only took in Davidus and William Armarlon. “I suggest we stick to the plan.”
“Our best pike men are still to the rear your majesty, perhaps we could fall back on them and double the manoeuvre as a faint. It might encourage them to do something reckless,” William suggested.
“Our swordsmen and archers can position themselves easily as you say, but we may have to accept that some of our lesser levies will not fall back in good order, not in time anyway. They may have to take position in the van,” Peron countered.
William shrugged. He had not favoured throwing away his best men at the point of the wedge anyway. Better he thought to anchor the formation with them to guard the lighter armoured troops and archers.
“They will try to surround us and hit us in the rear with their light cavalry,” Peron warned.
As he spoke he looked at Davidus.
“That can be handled,” he said simply.
A dead look touched eyes. Many would die that day, he thought.
The Duke nodded, he knew what mages could do.
“If they try that, then we will counter attack with our own cavalry and cut them up piecemeal,” Peron said sharply.
William darted a look at Davidus. The king was not as enthusiastic about magic as he might be, but if they were to keep enough of the army intact to make a difference then they needed not only a victory, but a decisive rout.
“Give the signal,” Peron ordered.
The cascade of trumpets that followed his command echoed down the ranks and one by one flags and pennants went up to convey precise formation orders. The war drums started up in a steady beat and for several moments it looked like the entire allied army was walking backwards in slow retreat.
Suddenly several horsemen from the Western Host broke off and charged the out-of-formation Easterners only to be met with great waves of arrows shot into the sky like clouds of midges that fell with deadly force among the attackers.
The response of the enemy was a curious one. For even as hundreds fell amid the twang and clatter of arrows yet heavier horse lunged forward in several vast but disparate charges that met much the same fate.
As these skirmishes ensued at the fringes, the main bodies of each army began to reshape themselves. The Western Host, suddenly left in ever widening ground began to march quick time to close up on their opposition.
Meanwhile the combined forces of Precips, Timbre and other allies seemed to fall into disarray with pike levies forming up at a right angle as if they didn’t know the line. At the same time foot soldiers in light armour appeared for a moment to run away while archers stood to provide covering fire.
For long moments the Allies looked as if they were in total disarray with great gaps in their lines. But gradually another line of heavy pike men could be seen to move up in good order until there were two solid lines at right angles totally screening the archers who still fired great volleys at the pursuing attackers.
If one had been a bird, from above it now looked as if the Allied pikes had formed one huge wedge like a great V-shape on the ground with lines of swordsman and archers alternately lined up inside a great coral. Behind this line and at a distance were two great clusters of horsemen ready to screen the flanks and guard against encirclement.
Not that the first moves of the Western Host attempted this. Instead the remainder of their attacking horse closed on the retreating pikes just as they stopped and got into line to receive the charge. Most tried to slew away at the last minute but either fell in a heap or crashed sideways into the line where they were hacked to pieces by supporting axe men and a few eager pike men who broke formation to stab at the tumbled riders and horses. A few more met a more horrendous fate and charged headlong onto waiting pikes skewing themselves like scarecrows. In one case a horse accepted a pike full in the chest and kept going until the point emerged under its tail. The weight of the dead horse came to a sudden a deadly stop dragging two or three Easterners down and sending the rider crashing four ranks over into the mass of standing troops.
By then the Western Host had realised their folly and desperate recalls sounded across the plain. It took a while, but eventually the Host lined up to face the waiting allies just out of bow shot.
“They must have lost a third of their horse,” William said excitedly.
“We got lucky,” Peron agreed, “But now gentlemen it begins.”
