Kalvan dismounted at the top of Grax Hill. While his dignity might require meeting King Nestros on horseback, his horse required a rest. The retreat of the Hostigi Royal party from the left flank had been more speedy than dignified, over rough, muddy ground. A few of the Royal Horse Guard were still fishing themselves out from under bushes and rounding up their horses.
From the hilltop, Kalvan had his first good view of the battle in more than an hour. The nomad horde was large, maybe seventy-five to a hundred thousand warriors, a flood of men, as hard for Ranjar Sargos to direct as for Kalvan to stop. Not much had changed, and of that little for the better. The enemy's right and center, under Sargos, still overlapped the allied left. They had even advanced all the way to the redoubt on the banks of the Lydistros, now stopped among the caltrops and pitfalls, under the fire of the one four-pounder Kalvan could spare for fixed defenses.
As Kalvan watched, a large force of what appeared to be medieval cavalry out of the Thirteenth Century on otherwhen-wearing chainmail hauberks and kettle helmets-broke off from the enemy center, riding their horses into the caltrops. The screams of the falling and injured horses ripped through the air and beat on his ears. The impromptu caltrops had been welded together out of broken swords, spear points and plow blades. Before the dust settled, two regiments of mixed musketeers and arque-busier were pouring volley after volley into the stalled cavalrymen, blunting the horde's attack. Still, the horsemen drove on, over fallen comrades and horses. Already, the Hostigi musketeers were falling back to the next prepared position.
Kalvan turned to one of his messengers, pointing at the retreating musketeers. "Request Prince Ptosphes to send two companies of Mobile Force rifleman to shore up that position."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" The officer jumped onto his mount and rode off.
On the allied right, masses of horsemen, light infantry wearing boiled leather armor and chainmail, a few score fully armored knights Sargos had picked up Styphon knows where and an occasional chariot surged back and forth. Each chief was giving his own orders to his followers and taking none from anyone else, including Sargos. They were the less dangerous but more numerous part of the enemy army; roughly seventy thousand against Sargos' forty thousand, give or take a few thousand.
They faced mostly Nestros' Trygathi, eight to nine thousand heavy horse, with twice that number of supporting infantry, spearmen, swordsmen, and missile troops-crossbowmen, archers, some arquebusiers and even a few slingers. The Trygathi were stiffened by three Ulthori pike regiments, two regiments of Royal Musketeers, a brigade of riflemen and two four-pounders. Not that the Trygathi needed much stiffening; they were fighting with the knowledge that they had a chance of victory and that meanwhile their homes were safe. The alliance with Hos-Hostigos had let Nestros leave a third of his army home to make raiders a poor insurance risk. The twenty-five thousand he had on the field were his best.
"General Alkides!" Kalvan called downhill. "Is the flying battery ready to move?"
"With Galzar's favor, yes," the smoke-blackened artillery general replied. "I wish the guns really did have wings. This cursed mud's going to butcher the horses!"
"Not half as fast as those guns will butcher Sargos' warriors," Kalvan called back. The gun crews cheered their Great King's words. That started a chant of'Down Styphon!' mixed in with 'Down Sargos!'
There were only eight guns for the Flying Battery; three more were in emplacements and one had been lost in a swamp on the Nyklos Trail. As much as he wished for another battery or two, with maybe some six or eight-pounders, the Flying Battery was a far cry from the half a dozen catapults the enemy was using.
Kalvan walked over to General Alkides and asked quietly. "How is Great Captain Mylissos doing?" Nestros' chief of artillery had started the day a bit peevish over the council of war. It had been agreed that his ancient bombards would remain with the reserves, and not try to advance with the major attacks. Kalvan could even sympathize with him; after all, it was the first time in memory that Mylissos actually had enough fireseed to fire his massive hooped-iron pipes more than once or twice without exhausting his powder magazines.
"A sight happier than he was, now that he's got targets and fireseed to burn on them. I think he shifted a couple of those twenty-pound bombards without orders, but I'm not complaining. A twenty-pounder loaded with rocks and old nails isn't something I would care to face!"
Kalvan would have liked to have said more, mostly to Aspasthar. The boy was fighting his first battle away from his father, riding with Alkides as one of his messengers. But the boy looked as if he would take the encouragement as an insult, and by Dralm, there was Nestros and his guards in their red and white colors coming up the other side of the hill!
By abandoning royal dignity and running back to his horse, Kalvan was mounted by the time Nestros reined in and hailed him.
"Greetings, friend and ally! We are smiting the horde as if the gods themselves fought for us!"
So we are. Maybe too hard. Corpses can't fight the Zarthani Knights. Thank somebody for Ranjar Sargos. He made the horde more dangerous, but if we had to take the surrender of every petty chief one at a time we'd be here until winter!
A Hostigi messenger rode up and saluted both kings. "The lookouts in the Willow Spirit Grove report that Warlord Sargos is advancing on the Grove. They spotted his banner, the black raven on a white field."
"Tell them to wait as long as they can, and imitate a strong force meanwhile," Nestros said. "Then they can withdraw. Meanwhile, Sargos will be drawn forward, perhaps we can meet him hand-to-hand!"
Kalvan and Captain-General Harmakros exchanged amused looks. Nestros was no fool; he was familiar with feints and deceptions. At heart, though, he was also an old-style Trygathi warrior, whose highest ambition had to be meeting the opposing leader hand-to-hand and defeating him.
"As the gods will it," Harmakros said. Kalvan decided to let his Captain-General speak, even if protocol said he should be talking King-to-King. Even four-star generals needed something to take their minds off their sons' winning their spurs-or their shrouds.
"The gods willed that Sargos should be a fool," Nestros said cheerfully. "They also willed that Kalvan should come and bring his fireseed and strength to join ours. I think they will give us this one more small favor."
Kalvan doubted the accuracy of Nestros' description of his opponent. The Warlord had pulled his chariots back the moment he realized the ground was too muddy to let them get up speed. He still had his in reserve, while the other chiefs had mostly lost chariots, riders and teams together.
"Let the gods will that all our men hold their fire until they have a clear target, and that they be an enemy," Kalvan said. "We have more fireseed than any army ever seen in the Trygath, but not yet enough to waste!"
"My men are not children," Nestros said with offended dignity.
"Then let the heralds sound for the advance," Kalvan said. Both kings looked at Harmakros; he signaled the trumpeter. The brazen voice sounded, was picked up and relayed, triggering the launching of two signal rockets.
When the green rockets rose into the sky over Grax Hill, six thousand reserve cavalry would be launched at the heart of Sargos' army.