There were cheers and congratulations of course. Tythias and Sathina made an interesting couple to watch. She wore a beautiful azure blue dress, augmented with gold embroidery and jewellery and he wore his full uniform, weapons and all. Kiva laughed outrageously as the minister came to wrap the cloth and intertwine the couple’s arms only to find that they were an arm short and had to turn the prefect to face away from her so that they could be bound together in the traditional fashion. Darius gave his imperial blessing in a curiously embarrassed fashion, and Mercurias wished them a future of good health. All in all it was a short wedding in close company and full of good humour and there was a celebration planned immediately afterwards outside the command tent. In fact, Kiva and Darius had already informed the senior officers of each unit in the valley and amphorae of wine had been delivered to each quartermaster with orders for one drink only to be distributed to every man in the army.
Tythias and Sathina made their way arm in arm out of the tent and into the open of the Tosco valley, where the army of the Emperor Darius spread out from one spur of land to the other and half a mile deep. They had arrived four hours ago and the camp was already well fortified, ditches lined with sharpened stakes and small areas of strategically-placed palisades. Kiva had heaved a heavy sigh of relief once they had arrived and could manoeuvre into position on the high ground, having beaten Velutio to the site.
Soldiers cheered as the happy couple made their way a hundred yards or so to where a large open air table and benches had been set up. Wine and spirits stood in jugs on the table along with the very best supplies the quartermaster chief could come up with, especially since Athas had stood at his shoulder making grumbling sounds all through his planning. Behind the two of them came Sarios and then the Emperor with the rest of the staff and the members of the Wolves.
The party was approaching the table when a young soldier, out of breath, ran directly into the path of the bride and groom and stopped, rocking slightly and looking tremendously embarrassed.
“Sorry to interrupt, sir. My captain sent me to warn you that Velutio’s army has just been sighted at the bottom of the valley. They’ll be here in about an hour, sir.”
He glanced at the bride and blushed.
“Real sorry sir and congratulations from all the Fifth!”
Tythias smiled at the soldier. “Go back and get your wine soldier, or you’ll miss it. Velutio won’t do anything today. By the time they line up the light’ll be starting to fail, so he won’t make a move until morning.”
The soldier saluted, still glowing furiously, and turned to head back to his unit. Tythias smiled weakly at his new wife. “You realise we’re going to have to break our wedding celebration in the middle.”
Sathina nodded. Her smile was riveted to her face as though she were afraid it might fall away. “I knew you were a soldier, Tythias; if I’d wanted safe, I’d have married a grocer. Just be careful.”
Tythias nodded as Kiva approached them. The general gave a sad little smile. “We can spare an hour for the meal before we do anything.” He winked at the girl. “And he won’t be needed overnight, you know…”
Sathina smiled. “I know, but I’m entitled to worry, general.”
“Of course you are, but there’s nothing on earth’s been made by man can get rid of your husband. He’s been wounded by every type of weapon I could name and probably most of the animals and he’s still here.”
For a moment Sathina’s smile faltered and then she looked back up at the general. “He’ll be fine. Now let’s celebrate.”
“Indeed.” Sarios walked past them and intoned a prayer to various gods before they began. The staff waited patiently for a few minutes until he fell silent and then made their way to the various seats around the heavy wooden table.
The meal began with toasts and jokes and then bread was broken and wine drunk as every man and the few women at the celebration tried their hardest to have a good time, despite the foreboding feeling triggered by the nearby sounds of an army making ready for brutal war.
It was perhaps an hour from sunset when Tythias finally stood and turned his glass upside down. “No more for me now until I return. I don’t think infantry support is necessary, general. This is just a teaser, so I’ll take the cavalry.”
He leaned down and kissed his wife for a long moment before standing straight once more. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Sathina watched as Tythias gave a slight bow to his friends and peers and then turned from the table and strode away toward the stables. Three of the celebratory party, all ex-members of Tythias’ company, stood and adjusted their tunics before following their commander. Despite the Lion Riders having been split up into more useful roles, many of the cavalry officers originated from the that unit.
She sighed and swallowed hard, forcing the tears welling in her eyes to stay there.
“I wish he’d stop saying things like that. Tempting the fates is never good.”
Athas, two seats down the table, reached across where Tythias had been sitting and squeezed her wrist. “It’s alright, Sathina. Kiva here’s the only one the Gods have got it in for.”
It wasn’t exactly a joke, but it certainly turned their thoughts away from Tythias’ immediate danger.
Down at the stables, Tythias prepared his horse as his commanders donned their armour and weapons. The prefect’s plans had been well known by the cavalry since before they’d arrived in the valley and officers were already present in the makeshift stable, while their units were formed and waiting by the front line.
As he and the other commanders finally mounted up in the dusky light with a deep blue-grey sky showing through the cracks between the wooden walls, he smiled at them and hefted his sword.
“Let’s get out there. I want to be out ahead of our front line and see what we’ve got. Then I’ll know how best to hit them.”
There were murmurs of assent from the other officers and the six riders made their way out of the hastily constructed officer’s stable and past the corral that held most of the remaining steeds, down toward the front line at a steady walk. Five units of cavalry milled around close to one of the stockades guarding a crossing of the ditch, waiting for their commanders. Three were light, skirmishing cavalry of the style the Imperial army had traditionally used for harassing the flanks of the enemy, but the other two were equipped after the fashion of the more civilised of the eastern horse tribes; their horses were armoured with chain mail and the riders wore a suit of chain interspersed with steel plates that promised good protection but also extreme weight. They held spears and shields, with their swords attached to the horns of their saddles. All in all, they were the heaviest cavalry Tythias had ever seen fielded within the empire. He’d made the decision to train heavy horse units, but had passed the responsibility itself down to Peris, the best horseman of the Lion Riders, who even now was approaching them and eyeing them critically.
“You!” the officer called out. “Straighten up in that saddle and hold your shield like you might want to use if you daft bastard.”
Tythias smiled. “Officers to me!” he called loudly as he walked his horse across the ditch crossing. Behind him the five unit commanders followed him into the no man’s land, watching the distant lines of the enemy. Peris pulled alongside as they walked their horses and addressed his commander in a low voice.
“You do realise, sir, that you can just tell us where to go and what to do. You don’t actually need to come along. You’re a senior commander and we’re not daft.”
Tythias raised an eyebrow and Peris sighed.
“You’ve a wife back there, sir and you’ve been married less than two hours. Don’t you think you should be with her?”
The prefect smiled. “I will be shortly, but I’m not passing up the opportunity to find out what we’re up against.” He squinted into the distance. “I see they’re still not properly set up. We know what their army comprised a few days ago, but they may have picked up others now. They’ve passed the lands of several of his allies now. I want to have a look at the rear ranks that are still arriving.”
With a smile, he turned to Peris. “Here’s a chance to test the mettle of the heavy cavalry. Peris and Crucio, take your two units to the right hand side of the valley. I want you to make your way right to the slope at the other side and then make a charge against the end of their line. Hit ‘em really hard. I want you to frighten the shit out of them and draw all attention there. Once you’ve finished your charge, rally and pull back across the field. As soon as you’re a good distance away, turn and do it again. You know what to you’re doing.”
Peris nodded. “I doubt we’ll get three charges in before they’re prepared and the shock’ll have gone.”
“That’s fine,” Tythias nodded. “Try for three if you can. Just keep them busy and give them something to think about. Meantime, the rest of us are heading up over this hill on the left hand side and we’re going to go round and hit them from the back. I want to see the support that’s coming up now and harass them a little.”
Peris squared his shoulders and peered across to the enemy’s left flank. I’ll give it ten minutes once we’re over there before we charge. We don’t want to go too early or our attack’ll be over before you even reach position.”
The prefect nodded and, turning his horse, led the light cavalry along the line behind the front ranks of men, heading for a farm house low on the slopes of the valley side where they could enter an orchard and cross the brow of the hill relatively unobtrusively. Peris watched him go and then nodded to his fellow officer.
“Well, Crucio. Time we went too, eh?.”
Tythias frowned. From their vantage point on the lowest slope of the hill among sparse fruit trees, he could see everything that was happening at the rear of the enemy force. Something was wrong here. They must have already fielded half as many men again as Darius’ army, and yet there were still long columns of troops coming in. More than that, there were huge wagons bearing catapults and bolt throwers being escorted by strange unidentifiable low-grade infantry. Where had all these extra men and machines come from?
He grunted and strained to see back across the field. The heavy cavalry were in position and waiting. Any minute now they’d charge and Tythias would be able to move his skirmishers down past the other flank without drawing all their men back from the front. He turned his gaze back to the columns coming up from the west and that was when the banner finally appeared among riders behind the siege machines. The column seemed to be a full army in itself, with a cavalry unit at the front, already past their position and taking their place among Velutio’s lines. Behind them an infantry unit in black were getting into position, followed by the cart bearing their massive weapons, surrounded by light infantry. Behind them in turn came units of musicians and standard bearers light with burning torches or lanterns on short poles. And there, behind the musicians came the black banners bearing a Golden crown and two rearing horses flying over a covered black wagon draped with gold and black curtains. The banner of a Pelasian lord, the Satrap of Siszthad. He must be the usurper that had taken Prince Ashar’s family’s heads. And now the bastard was marching with Velutio. Surrounding the wagon were a number of over-dressed but under protected glittery guards. More courtiers followed the wagon in their own palanquins and chairs, beyond which the Pelasian infantry swarmed.
Tythias glanced back over his shoulder and spotted the two heavy cavalry units of Crucio and Peris hurtling across the field toward Velutio’s army. This was it; time to go.
“Ok.” He called out to his men. “We’ve got one small chance to do something really useful here, boys. Some of those units are carrying torches and lanterns against the dark. We need to take them out and use those torches on the war machines. I don’t care how you do it, but burn as many of those bastards to the ground as you can. They won’t have enough water with them while they march to put them out. Stay in groups and don’t get too split up. We’re going to be short on time here.”
He turned again to face the siege engines. “Go, lads, go!”
The skirmishing units charged wildly, disregarding any ideal of formation other than staying in small groups, through the loosely planted orchard and down onto the flat turf. Shouts of alarm went up from some of the footmen who were now clearly of Pelasian origin. The bastard Satrap had brought the war machines with him. The loose formation of footmen tried to pull themselves into an ordered line, but they had not been expecting an attack from the rear and were truly unprepared for the ferocity of Tythias’ cavalry. Spears lunged and stabbed as three hundred horsemen rushed a thin line of defenders. After a couple of thrusts with their spears, swords were drawn and the cavalry went to work on the simple butchery of their disorganised enemy. Tythias wheeled his horse in the midst of the chaos.
“Stop fucking around and get those torches!”
As his men made for the flickering lights, Tythias looked around. The only units within the column bearing torches were musicians, flag and standard bearers and senior men in gaudy golden silk costumes. That made their targets easier to identify. The prefect grinned and watched five of his men dispatch the last defenders in front of a huge catapult. He waved to one. “Get this thing burned. You four… come with me.”
Turning, now flanked by four of his men, Tythias rode along the column, past a small unit of drummers who were being brutalised for the sake of the lanterns their unit carried, and toward the flags he’d seen. From this viewpoint, the road down the valley was visible and the rear ranks of the Pelasian contingent were arriving; perhaps two thousand heavy infantry in all. “We’d best get out of here before they reach us,” he called.
The three charged toward the large, black wagon surrounded by guards in black and gold with some variety of feathery headdress. Grinning, Tythias leaned in his saddle. “You four keep them busy. I’m going to have a look inside that thing.”
Trusting his men to do their job, Tythias looked around for other men nearby and, spotting a group of riders pouring lit oil onto a bolt thrower, called “over here!” He rode for the black wagon and reined in, his sword ready. A guard with a gold-burnished breastplate leaped down from the rear of the wagon, bearing a curved knife and attempting to unhorse the prefect. Bracing himself, Tythias swung his sword up in a wide arc. The blade caught the falling man on the hip and sliced diagonally up across his abdomen. The body crashed into him and the man, still alive though barely so, drove in the knife he held as he fell. Tythias grunted in pain as the blade dug deep into his thigh. The body fell past him then to the floor, bleeding out its life, while the dying guard clung on to the hilt, dragged alongside Tythias’ horse. The prefect scowled and wrenched the knife from his leg, watching the Pelasian crash to the ground and thrash painfully. Reaching up, he ripped the silky black curtains aside.
The Satrap of Siszthad was a corpulent man with an oily complexion and small, dark, piggy eyes. His scalp was shaved barring the topknot and his clothing was as ostentatious as Tythias could ever imagine. Gold and silver silk adorned with jewels and peacock feathers threatened to make the prefect laugh out loud. He leaned into the doorway.
“You can either come with me, or I can skewer you and take you anyway. The choice is yours.”
The Satrap stared at him and then screamed “Guards!” in a surprisingly falsetto voice.
“Ok. Have it your way.”
Tythias stuck his sword, point first, in the wooden side of the wagon and, reaching inside, delivered a powerful punch to the portly man’s face. There was a distinct crunch as the Satrap’s nose broke beneath the blow and, in a spray of blood, the man blacked out. The prefect looked around urgently. Men were rushing up from behind and, ahead, wooden carts on fire had brought the column to a halt. The defenders were rallying properly now and in minutes the light cavalry would be in serious trouble. Only one of the four men that had come with him was still in his saddle, desperately fighting off two guards at the front of the vehicle, though other riders, having finished their work, were bearing down on the Satrap’s wagon.
“To me!” the prefect cried, aware that the cavalry were fragmenting into small melees and would soon be too dispersed to deal with an orderly retreat.
Reaching out, Tythias grasped the saddle of one of the fallen riders and guided the horse clumsily closer to the wagon. Reaching inside and grunting with the sheer effort, he hauled the corpulent unconscious body of the Pelasian usurper out of his seat and to the door of the vehicle. Several more horsemen appeared as if from nowhere and help him heave the ruler’s figure out and onto the horse. With a last glance around him, Tythias called “Fall back! Back to our lines!”
Slapping the over-burdened horse on the rump, he launched back along the lowest level of the slope toward their front lines. Members of the three cavalry units pulled back in alongside him as they rode. There were fewer survivors than he’d hoped to see. The action had at the very least halved their numbers, but the damage they’d caused Velutio was incomparable. The loss of his Pelasian ally, his siege engines and a number of dead infantry, compared with the thinning of the Imperial cavalry? Tythias smiled across and down at the slumbering heap laid uncomfortably across a four-horned saddle.
“Is Ashar ever going to be pleased to see you, fat man.”
He rode, aware of the growing numbers of horsemen surrounding him and the unconscious body of the Pelasian Satrap. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see that the Pelasian cavalry contingent was mobilised and was already chasing them back toward their lines.
“Shit!” The Prefect was well aware how far they had to go and how little chance they had to reach their army before their enemy overtook them, fresh and speedy as they were.
“Move!” he cried to the men around him.
Reining his horse in, he turned to face their innumerable pursuers, both annoyed and gratified to note the number of riders who had also brought their steeds to a halt and turned to join their commander in defending the rear of the departing cavalry and their prize.
He’d made light of it to Sathina and it was a shame to disappoint her, but he was damned if he was going to disappoint his Emperor. The thought of Sathina in her beautiful azure dress going alone tonight into their tent filled him with an inordinate sense of loss and, more than that, with an insurmountable rage. If these Pelasian bastards were going to take him away from his wife, he was damn well going to make them suffer for doing it.
At least a dozen other horsemen had lined up with him.
“When we get back to the lines,” he cried with a mad grin, “you’re all on a charge!”
The Pelasians, all light cavalry, but numbering in their hundreds just in the first wave, thundered towards Tythias and his scant defence. They may not be able to hold them for long, but maybe just enough to afford safety and a chance of survival to the rest.
He sighed as he hefted his sword and swung it a couple of times before drawing it back and ready for the first blow, his reigns tied around the saddle horn and guiding the horse with his knees.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the open air and braced himself for the collision.
And as he watched the Pelasians thunder towards him, was aware of the miracle the Gods had granted him. His eyes were locked on his attackers and he wasn’t even aware of Crucio’s heavy cavalry charging past him in the other direction, neatly bypassing the Prefect and his few defenders, until they were already past. The ground shook under the hooves of the heaviest cavalry the Imperial world had ever seen as Crucio’s men hit the Pelasians like a tenderising mallet. The enemy advance was smashed and fragmented, with terrified Pelasians trying desperately to turn their mounts and head back to the safety of their own lines while their compatriots were literally thrown from their mounts or battered by the spears and shields of the heavy steel machine and obliterated. The Pelasian advance had met the Imperial wall.
Tythias stared for a long moment until his agape mouth slowly formed into a mad grin.
“You took your time sir!” A voice called from behind, as captain Peris drew his mare to a halt and leaned across in the saddle.
Tythias turned the mad grin on his subordinate.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
Peris smiled and proffered a waterskin of something that smelled like ammonia.
“We managed three charges in all and got back to our lines and there was still no sign of the rest of you, so we though we’d best come and look. Your wife would tear me to shreds if we left you for dead, you know that, don’t you sir?”
Tythias laughed and took the skin, drinking deeply and coughing.
“I honestly thought I was a dead man.”
“Nah…” Peris took the skin back and took a swig himself. “Didn’t you hear the general? Nothing on earth’s been made that can get rid of you!”
Tythias laughed a relieved laugh and, watching the chaos and carnage in front of him for a moment more, sheathed his sword and turned his horse back to the Imperial lines.
The night was deep and thick and an eerie mist had risen from the ground to fill the valley. The tents of Sabian’s army were hard to discern and only from one of the valley sides could the tips of them all be seen, scattered around the camp fires that burned away the worst of the miasma. In the old days, the summer was the campaigning season and war was done with before now. Sabian grunted unhappily. If only war had been done with before now. He really had precious little wish to fight young Darius. He relished the opportunity of pitting his wits against Caerdin, but not really for the glory of the man who would take the crown, and certainly not after having been forced to give the best ground and positioning to the man and to fight him on his own terms. He gritted his teeth once more. Many years ago his mother had berated him for that habit and he’d long since grown out of it, but he seemed to be doing it more and more these days. The loss of the siege engines was a blow, but nothing he wasn’t prepared to handle. They were decoration as far as he was concerned anyway. The bulk of this fight would be on foot and with blades and that is where destiny would be decided. The loss of that despicable and thoroughly dislikeable Pelasian Satrap was more of a blow. While he hated the ostentatious idiot with a passion otherwise reserved for his superior, the Pelasians had withdrawn to the rear of the field and were no longer prepared to face Darius’ army. He stared back through the mist to where they were quartered, having pulled out of the front line, but not entirely abandoned the cause. Where they stood now was anyone’s guess and despite Velutio’s assuredness that they would remain where they were, Sabian was less sure.
Currently, after yet another blazing row with his lordship that had brought his close to either resigning or being dismissed, he was on his way to find a likeminded friend to have a drink with. He knew his position was safe now. Velutio couldn’t possibly dismiss his general on the eve of the most important battle he would ever fight, but Sabian could still walk away…
Ahead of him, Lord Dio’s flag fluttered above his tent. He’d really expected Dio to have been gone by now, but the old lord maintained his stand. He would see this new Emperor before he made up his mind.
A man brushed past him in the mist and made a slightly surprised sound. Sabian would normally have berated such an act, but the man was one of the Pelasian contingent and was unlikely to care what the commander had to say to him. The small Pelasian disappeared into the mist without even an apology. Such was the respect now in this army. Sabian grunted. He really had to talk to Dio. He seemed to be the only man in this entire army who still made any kind of sense.
Shahar Siliyad, right hand man of Ashar Parishid, true Prince and ruler of Pelasia smiled as he ambled down the hill. Sabian had been so obsessed with his various distresses he hadn’t even thought to question a Pelasian walking deep into the camps of the rest of the army. He could have laughed out loud, but tonight’s mission was far too important for that.
Making his way around the muddy turf lanes between banks of tents, he made for a specific camp fire. As the banner, a boar’s head above two lightning bolts, swum into view in the thick grey mist, he smiled more and removed general Caerdin’s list from his tunic. Running down the list of names with his stylus, he found the first one that had not been crossed off and made a mark next to it.
With a deep breath, he straightened himself and strode into the lit area of the campfire where Lord Irio’s men caroused as men will anywhere the night before a battle. Two men in blue tunics bearing the boar’s head stood and drew their swords.
“We’ve no dealings with Pelasian betrayers here,” one of them spat.
“That’s as maybe,” Shahar replied without letting his smile falter for a moment. “However, I bear a vital message for you lord and must see him now. You may search me for weapons if you wish and escort me to him. I assure you, you will not find any. “He laughed quietly. “Which is not to say that they aren’t there…”
The guardsmen muttered to each other for a moment and then one ran off toward a large tent at one end while the other stood glaring at the intruder in the misty darkness. No words were exchanged for several minutes as Shahar stood pleasantly whistling a lullaby tune from his childhood. Moments later, the other guards reappeared and nodded.
With no deference to the fact that in his home city, the small Pelasian would have outranked their lord, the two soldiers marched Shahar across the open ground and to the tent of their master. One entered, bowing and stood to one side, while the other ushered the Pelasian in at sword point. Shahar narrowed his eyes in the low light. Lord Irio was a barrel-chested man with a bushy moustache and thinning hair. He sat in his armour at a table, reading. Shahar was delighted to note, as he cast his professional eye around the room, that the text the man was reading was an ancient Pelasian lovers’ manual that was long outdated back home. He tried hard not to laugh and, instead, grinned at the barrel-chested lord.
“Lord Irio. I am most delighted to make your acquaintance. I realise that you have no reason to trust me, but I have important words and would speak to you alone. Rest assured that if death was my intention, you would probably be dead and I would not have announced my presence to your men.”
Irio waved the small man’s words aside and grunted to his two soldiers. “Get out. I think I can handle this midget.”
As the guards left, Shahar wandered over to the table and smiled again. “I would recommend page thirty seven personally.”
Irio’s face flashed with annoyance. “What’s your business?”
“It has come to our attention that you are not altogether content with this battle.” Irio made to speak, but Shahar continued blithely. “Please do not disgrace yourself with denial. I’m sure you’ve heard how accurate Pelasian intelligence can be.”
He took a seat opposite the lord whose colour was slowly rising.
“You see, I know that you are the lord of a fairly large estate and that in this battle you will be committing and losing many men that will make next year’s harvest tough for you. I know that you hope for grander office, but you know that Velutio has favourites above you and you will get nothing from this fight but loss. I know that you are not considered a nice or fair man, but still, my current master, the Emperor Darius, would like to offer you an alternative.”
Irio narrowed his eyes as he looked across the table. “Go on…”
Shahar smiled again as he reached for Irio’s glass of wine and took a sip with a look of distaste. “There is a way to end this without battle; without the war. The armies can go peacefully about their own business. This is an offer being made only to some few lords, so this is for your ears only. If you wish to end this peacefully and preserve your lands, visit the villa on the western hill just before dawn tomorrow. General Caerdin sends his personal oath that you will be unmolested and there will be no soldiers waiting for you.”
Irio watched him, doubtful and Shahar smiled. “Or don’t. It’s your choice.”