On the hill above the shallow valley, Rhillian sat ahorse and watched the preludattle. From here, behind the Rhodaani Steel’s right flank, she could see nearly everything. A small river ran across the fields below, and in front of her, on the far side of the river, she saw a small castle on a hill. No more than a minor holding-it was held, she’d heard, by a lord named Herol, a bannerman to the northern Lord Arendt. Here, upon the long slope before the castle walls, the Army of Elisse, beneath Lord Arendt commanding, had chosen to make its stand.
The Elissian Army was enormous. Scouting talmaad with a better eye for such things estimated their numbers at between twenty-two and twenty-five thousand. They bristled across the hillside. Banners flew, denoting each minor formation’s allegiances in the many colours of feudal heraldry.
Rhillian could see why Arendt had chosen this place to stop running. For one thing, it was barely north of the coastal city of Vethenel, and squarely on a major route of supply. If the Steel took these roads and lands, Vethenel would be blockaded and, more importantly, would no longer be able to resupply the army. Also, most of the lords remaining were of the northern peninsula, and to not make a stand here would be to abandon many castles to incineration. But, mostly, what made this a good place to fight was the terrain.
The Elissian Army occupied a slope, up which the Steel must advance, in heavy armour. The castle made a good vantage, from which the battle could be directed. And at the base of the slope ran the river, which the Steel would need to ford, directly into the teeth of Elissian archers and charging knights. The Rhodaani Steel numbered nine thousand, as the third battalion under Captain Pieron had been the first to encounter the Elissian position here, and send word to the first battalion under General Zulmaher. The fifth battalion under Captain Malisse had not yet arrived, but was known to be two days’ march to the east. Rhillian headed barely more than six hundred of her three thousand talmaad in Elisse-the rest were scattered across the lands behind, guarding supply lines, making certain newly sworn lords kept their oaths, gathering supplies and putting down minor revolts.
Surely Lord Arendt was feeling as confident as was possible of any commander, facing an army of the Steel. He had the favour of numbers, by three to one. He had the favour of the land, particularly the river. General Zulmaher was attempting a quick victory, and could not waste days or weeks attempting to outflank the retreating Elissians in manoeuvre after manoeuvre, seeking a more suitable place for battle. Arendt could retreat all the way up the peninsula if he chose, never fighting a decisive battle, and cost the Rhodaani Steel another month at the least. If Zulmaher wished to defeat the Elissian resistance on the field, he had no choice but to do it here.
Trumpets rang across the valley, shouts followed, in unison, and the Rhodaani Steel began its advance. Rhillian could hear the armoured clatter, even from this distance. Six thousand infantry, arranged in three formations of two thousand each. Each two thousand comprised of twenty squares of a hundred, in two lines of ten, one thousand men per line. The formations were precise in their geometry. Rhillian wondered how many of those serrin scholars who insisted that nothing of war could ever be beautiful, had ever seen the Rhodaani Steel in battle.
“Here we are,” said Arendelle, pointing across the river. “The cavalry musters.” The Elissians had been holding back their cavalry, presumably to keep Zulmaher guessing, but there had been little doubt as to Arendt’s intentions. The best Elissian cavalry was heavy, and Rhillianved, but w19;s guess was that a quarter of these cavalry were knights. Downslope, headlong into the centre of the Rhodaani formation, they could break even a line of the Steel. Flanking would serve no purpose, for the talmaad worked on the flanks, on faster horses mounted with serrin archers, who did unfair, unchivalrous things like shooting unarmoured horses from under the knights’ steel backsides.
Now, as Rhillian watched, cavalry were pouring down the hillside between formations of footsoldiers. Before the front ranks, they were forming.
“Signalman,” Rhillian called, “if you please. Call to our talmaad to prepare.”
The trumpeter was a tall, skinny Rhodaani boy, lent to her for the occasion by General Zulmaher. The boy raised his long horn, and blew a clear, high melody.
“That’s very pretty,” Aisha remarked, steadying her anxious mount with one hand, her bow in the other.
“Thank you, M’Lady,” said the nervous young man. He seemed far more nervous of serrin women than men, Rhillian thought. Well, perhaps she should have forbade Eli and Sairen from trying to get him drunk and bedded last night. To the best of her knowledge, the lad had not succumbed. Which was still a pity, she thought now, watching the army advance toward the river. It would not do for any man or woman to die a virgin, and this lad certainly looked it.
From the rear of the Rhodaani formation, Rhillian could see her talmaad now galloping in two groups, three hundred to each flank. Arendt would see that, and have his conviction to go through the centre reinforced. Rhillian wondered if he would also note the artillery line moving up behind the infantry, and grasp its significance. Most feudal commanders rarely did. The great crossbow arms of two-stack ballistas bounced as the carts upon which they rode trundled forward, pulled by horse or oxen.
Of the nine thousand assembled men, fully a thousand were artillerymen. Each of the infantry formations was backed by fifteen cart-mounted ballista, and five catapults-for forty-five ballista and fifteen catapults in all. Usually, in forces equipped with such weapons, the artillery remained behind with the command and reserve. Here, the artillery advanced, while the thousand-strong reserve, of eight hundred foot and two hundred cavalry, remained behind. It was a great risk if the battle turned against the Steel. But General Zulmaher did not expect to lose.
The right-flank formation reached the river a little before the centre and left, and waded in past the broken screen of trees. Serrin riders had already tested its depth, braving occasional arrowfire to gallop through the waters, returning to assure all that at its deepest, it would be barely above a soldier’s waist. Before the front rank of Elissian infantry, the cavalry line appeared to be nearing completion.
“How many cavalry, do you think?” Rhillian asked Arendelle. There were ten of them here, atop the shallow hill, all serrin save for the signalman. Enough to guard against sneaking scouts and outriders who sought to flank them, and ambush in the rear.
“I think about four thousand,” said Arendelle, staring hard across the battlefield. “One thousand knights.”
Another trumpet call from the artillery line, which ceased its advance. Rhillian saw rounds being moved to the catapults from amongst piles of wet blankets. Small fires were t, men swarming to prepare their enormous contraptions.
“They’re in range,” said Tessi with certainty, measuring the distance with her eyes. “How unbelievably stupid of them.”
“Let’s go,” said Rhillian, and galloped down the slope, her talmaad in pursuit. She was nearly at eye level with the artillery when the first catapults fired. With a great, unwinding rush, they hurled flaming balls into the sky. For a moment, the air filled with streaking, burning projectiles. Already the catapult men were rearming, winding furiously at the handles that wound metal-toothed gears, pulling back the giant arms thrice as fast as conventional rope winches.
Ahead, flames erupted across the Elissian cavalry line with a horrid orange and blue glare…. Rhillian winced as she rode, to shield her sensitive eyes. Then the noise reached her above the thunder of horses’ hooves-the whump! of successive bursts of flame, and the screams and cries of a thousand men and horses, who had not realised themselves within range of the Steel’s most feared weapon. Conventional artillery was hard to aim. How the Steel artillerymen could achieve such accuracy on wheels was beyond even her.
Now the ballista were firing, forty-five at once and each one a double-stack, the cartsmen not even bothering to halt their advance. Ninety bolts shot skyward, and mechanisms were immediately winched back, even faster than the catapults.
Rhillian arrived at the head of her three hundred right flank cavalry, just short of the riverbank, and stopped. From here, through breaks in the trees, she could see the confusion of the Elissian forward line-horses milling and rearing, senior men waving swords and flags, trying to rearrange the formation. Smoke hung in the air in great palls, and sections of grass still burned.
The Rhodaani infantry line had now stopped, midstream. They simply stood in waist deep water, and watched. More horses fell, randomly, to streaking ballista bolts. Cavalrymen held shields above their heads, and hoped, waiting for their seniors to sort out the confusion and give the order to charge. Surely they still had some time left before the next fiery volley, as catapults took time to reload.
A new series of thuds and whistles overhead put the lie to that. Cavalrymen saw it coming, and screamed in panic. Whole sections of formation broke, hundreds of horses scattering. Some rode straight into an eruption of flame, and were engulfed. Rhillian closed her eyes to save her vision. When she opened them again, she saw scenes of utter horror, men and horses engulfed twenty and thirty at a time, rolling and running, screaming and falling. Ballista fire whistled continuously, felling animals and riders with steady, random rhythm.
Finally the trumpets blew, others taking up the cry. Broken sections of cavalry came galloping downslope, and others joined them, as much in hope of escaping the murderous artillery as attacking the midstream Rhodaanis. More trumpets blew, this time from behind, and with a thunder of their own, a thousand Rhodaani cavalry charged for the river, and the gaps between their infantry’s formations.
Rhillian held her horse in check, watching the mass of mounted Rhodaanis plunging through the frothing waters. They were not so heavily armoured as Elissian knights, wearing segmented armour like the infantry, yet their shields and lances, and huge warhorses, made them imposing enough. They cleared the far bank, and aimed for the gaping holes the artillery had torthrough the Elissian cavalry’s ranks. The Elissian charge split, some falling back in swirling confusion upon the Rhodaani cavalry, others charging on toward the river.
Rhillian tore her sword clear, raised it, then swiped at the air. She needed no trumpeter, and the serrin gave no yell as they charged, crashing into the waters in a churn of white spray. Ahead, beyond the confusion of cavalry, new bursts of fire were blooming further upslope. The artillery had turned their attention upon the Elissian footsoldiers…and Verenthane gods help them.
Her talmaad rounded the Rhodaani right flank, and emerged from the waters to find what heavy cavalry had made it this far, plunging into the river to attack the Steel infantry. The water slowed their horses in leaping, splashing bounds, and took the weight off their charge. The Steel held firm, behind solid walls of shields, and returned with sword thrusts and thrown spears from within the protective formation squares.
Serrin riders fanned out, bows ready, firing wherever targets presented. Always they fired at horses, never at armoured riders, and animals toppled. Perhaps fifty mixed knights and cavalry charged them instead of the infantry, huge armoured suits atop equally huge horses, angling wicked steel lances as they came. Rhillian might have attacked, courageously, but instead wheeled, and galloped before them. More serrin did the same, wheeling for the flanks, firing as they went. Pursuing horses fell, and knights crashed tumbling on the ground. A cavalryman to Rhillian’s left, in chain and helm, took an arrow in the neck as he charged at her flank. Serrin ran on, twisting in their saddles to shoot with accuracy known only to the talmaad.
Smart Elissians turned around and galloped away as fast as they could. Ten frustrated cavalrymen rode about in circles, yelling and swiping at any serrin who came close enough, demanding hand-to-hand combat. Serrin archers stayed calmly out of range, shooting one horse after another, and taking a rider in the neck where the opportunity presented. Rhillian rode down one fallen, horseless man with her sword, and took a mounted man from behind with a blade through the neck. When all had fallen, or galloped away, the serrin moved on.
Rhillian paused her mount on some open grass, and stood in the stirrups to take stock. Elissian cavalry were retreating in scattered bunches, pursued by Rhodaani horsemen, or serrin with bows. The Steel infantry were emerging from the river, like a dripping, moving wall. Fallen cavalrymen yielded before them, threw aside weapons, and were trampled over if they did not seek a gap between the advancing squares.
A great roar filled the air, and a rattling thunder. Rhillian turned to see, past the scattered remnants of retreating Elissian cavalry, the infantry were charging downslope. She wheeled, signalled those riders still around her, and rode hard for a gap between the Rhodaani squares. Past the first rank, then the second as they emerged from the river, she turned left and cantered, splashing through the shallows toward the right flank once more. Upon her left, the Steel’s front rank were shifting, the squares unfolding into a series of unbroken lines, with no gaps between. Ahead of them, a mass charge was descending, thousands of screaming Elissians with mail, shield and sword.
The second and third Rhodaani ranks threw light spears into that charging mass-some of the attackers fell, others slowed to dodge, others took a spear through the shield, narrow points punching deep, the spear shaft then entangling as they ran. The first wave that crashed onto the Rhodaani shield line was uneven, yelin broke with the fury of a great wave upon a cliff.
The cliff held firm. Soldiers leaned into the force of it, like sailors into a howling gale, the men behind pressing on their armoured backs. Shields tilted aside just enough to admit the Rhodaani’s short, stabbing swords through the gaps, and men across the attacking wave collapsed, shrieking and clutching their abdomens.
Rhillian finally galloped clear on the right flank, and found a milling confusion of her own cavalry and some Rhodaanis already there. A lieutenant was forming them up, and her talmaad were spotting her own snow-white hair, and galloping across at speed. Rhillian waited for the Rhodaanis to move first, and watched that the infantry on this side were not outflanked. The extreme-right flank formation were unengaged, and instead moved forward, swinging around to press on the Elissian flank. Lieutenants yelled, dressing the line, and men shouted encouragement over the roar of clashing steel. Mostly, they coordinated by reflex, as though moved by a single, steel will.
Flames continued to erupt further upslope, decimating the later ranks. Elissian archer fire was so sporadic, Rhillian was uncertain if they had any archers. But Bacosh lords always employed archers. These must have been in the middle ranks, so positioned to be at good range against the advancing infantry, whatever good it would do. Those archers were now squarely in Rhodaani artillery range.
The Steel line advanced. Men yelled and heaved, pushing onto their shields, stabbing then covering, push, stab, cover. Push, stab, cover. Elissian soldiers hammered desperately at that impenetrable wall, and fended the lightning thrusts with their smaller shields, but with so little space to move, their defences were limited. Inevitably, flashing Rhodaani blades found the gaps and they fell, as did the next behind them, as did the next. At a whistle, the front rank of Rhodaani soldiers abruptly faded back between the shields of those behind, who became the new front wall, while the front rank took a rest in the rear. The Steel pressed on, trampling over the bloodied corpses of enemies, the second rank finishing those wounded who resisted from underfoot, pushing that huge sea of foes inexorably back up the slope. Occasionally a Rhodaani man would fall, to be replaced immediately by the man behind.
Ahead, the re-formed Rhodaani cavalry gave a yell and charged once more, this time into the flank of the Elissian infantry…of Elissian cavalry there was nothing to be seen. It seemed they had fled, or regrouped in the far, far rear. Several hundred cavalry ploughed into the Elissian flank, hacking and wheeling as men began scattering before them. The scattering gathered pace, and within the blink of an eye, the entire Elissian flank was falling back in terrified confusion.
Rhillian found Arendelle, eyes alive like he wanted to go after them. Rhillian put a hand on his arm. “It’s over,” she told him. “Let them run. I want Lord Arendt.”
Here on the right flank, a wide expanse of hillside, paddocks, farmhouses and small woods were all that stood between the talmaad and the hilltop castle. That, and several thousand panicking, milling, retreating cavalry and infantry.
Rhillian galloped to the head of her re-forming cavalry, at least two hundred, with the remainder gathering fast, sprinting from the river, or from entanglements further up the slope. Most had bows, a few like Rhillian only swords, and some alternated, as only serrin cavalry would. Once in position, Rhillian wheeled her mare, waved her sword, and cut the r.
Again the thunder of hooves, and a headlong sprint up the gentle incline. Rhillian could not see her friends around her, and could only trust that they were well, somewhere in the pursuing crowd. She leapt a low wall, skirted a small dam and watercourse, and saw arrows whip past from behind, smacking retreating cavalrymen squarely in the back. Two tumbled, and a third rode on, slumped and dying.
There were running, panicked infantry, serrin riders weaving amongst them like wolves through so many terrified sheep, putting arrows into any who looked likely to swing a weapon. Ballista fire fell near, random streaks thumping the turf with force audible even above the thunder of hooves. To the left, retreating infantry were hit, smashed into the ground like piglets beneath a charging boar spear. Rhillian signalled her riders further to the right, hoping the artillery captains retained their usual vigil, and saw her move up the flank.
More flashes of artillery to the left, level with their position…less devastating now, with Elissian formations spread out and running, but horrifying to see so close all the same. Rhillian galloped past burning circles of blackened grass, littered with scores of charred, skeletal corpses in armour. About their perimeters, some men still writhed and screamed, faces half burned away, an arm blackened and peeling, or trying to run on blistering feet. Rhillian tore past running, cowering men, ignoring those who had dropped or sheathed weapons, but now leaning from the saddle to slash one running man who still carried a large polearm. Arrowfire dropped others, murderously accurate, serrin bows having little trouble with chain mail from this close range.
She rounded a blackened oak, its branches burning, smouldering corpses scattered on the upslope, another man pinned to its trunk by a ballista bolt that had gone through shield, mail, flesh and wood. Infantry lines were forming ahead-militia, she saw with disbelief, small folk with poorer weapons and little armour, while the mass of Elissian footsoldiers, comprised of wealthier men and village folk, possessed many. They were standing, while others were running. In the battle of Tirone, in the early days of invasion, southern Lord Horase had thrown the militia in first, to soften up the Steel for heavier assaults to follow. The slaughter had been so horrible, and for so little result, that demoralised infantry and cavalry had been reluctant to attack. Here, Lord Arendt had wisely held the militia in reserve, but had made the folly of committing his main force too close to the Rhodaani artillery. The battle had been over from the moment the first catapult had fired. If not well before.
Serrin cavalry opened fire on the forming lines from range-less use against more well-armoured footsoldiers, but felling numerous militia. Still they held. Rhillian saw men running up and down the line, screaming at their fellows not to run. There were scythes, poles, spears and axes, only the occasional sword. Half had small wooden shields. Rhillian leaped the last small wall, rode over some running infantry who fell flat before her, and picked her spot in the line. Arrowfire felled more, a murderous buzz, serrin now aiming sideways across the line to take shields out of play. Perhaps fifty fell, the lines thinning dramatically as bodies tumbled and hands flailed.
A few archers were firing back, but without serrin longbows or serrin accuracy…. Rhillian stayed low as shafts whistled overhead, and the last serrin volleys cut past ahead, whipping left and right across her path. More carnage, Rhillian’s intended target falling with a shaft through the face, and her second target, and the third. She plunged through the firs rank, and took the head off an axeman in the second rank.
Ahead was the castle, and she galloped on, finding enough clear ground to glance behind. The militia lines were gone, like saplings before a spring flood, and all she could see were serrin on galloping horses. Most had blades in one hand, bows in the other, but were resheathing those blades even now to nock another arrow. The horrid totality of it took her breath away. She couldn’t believe a bunch of peasants had stood and died for their feudal oppressors while their better-armed and armoured comrades fled shrieking all around them. Sometimes humans were simply beyond her comprehension.
Ahead to the left, Elissian artillery made a line across the crest of the hill. Another poor strategic choice-catapults were nearly impossible to fire on sloping ground, and despite the hill adding to their range, they were still out of range of the advancing Steel infantry. Far too much depth to the Elissian formation, not enough width, artillery deployed too far back…but no choice really, given the hill. It was a disaster, and Rhillian wondered if she’d find Lord Arendt before his own men killed him.
She signalled to her talmaad to take care of the artillery, and cavalry behind her swung that way, intent on doing that. Already artillerymen were running, leaving their weapons loaded but unfired, the Steel lines still perhaps a hundred paces from range downhill. These artillery held in their slings only stones, not hellfire, and only the Steel used ballistas. Their construction looked poor, crudely hacked from recently felled trees. Everyone tried to copy the Steel, but no one knew how.
Rhillian galloped toward the castle. Its dark stone walls were more a tribute to noble vanity than any serious attempt at defence. It was small, with a single tower, a moat that was little more than a dry ditch, and a portcullis facing onto some small buildings that one might have called a village, if one were generous. She rode over cultivated lands, weaving past farmhouses and jumping stone walls.
She searched the castle’s battlements for archers, but saw none. The portcullis was open, and a group of knights and armoured horsemen clustered about the bridge across the moat, banners flying. Even now, squires were handing lances up to knights, and other armoured men were mounting with assistance. Some now stared, halting to point in her direction. Everyone else turned to look.
Rhillian charged, and now there were other horsemen emerging from the town, and crossbowmen running to form a firing line. But already there were serrin cavalry overtaking her, hooves flying, riders raising themselves a little from their lurching saddles to steady their balance as they hauled back on their bowstrings. Arrows flew, then a grasp at the reins to leap a low wall. Landing, to gallop on open grass, and more arrows were nocked.
A few Elissian horses had been hit with those opening shots from range. A crossbowman fell. Return fire came, a shot fizzed past Rhillian’s ear, a serrin horse fell with a horrid crash. Armoured knights were charging, straight into the attack, seven, eight, nine…twelve of them, Rhillian counted fast, with another twelve cavalrymen behind.
Arrows peppered the knights’ charging horses, bringing down several in crashing rolls of long legs and armoured limbs. Survivors ploughed through the serrin lines, but found no opponents, serrin simply pulling wide of their charge to shoot them as they passed. Several more crossbow bolts streaked past, but then the bowmen were running back into the village, knowing they could not reload before the talmaad were on them.
Perhaps twenty serrin were ahead of Rhillian now, and galloped hard after the departing foursome. Weighed down with armoured riders, and lacking the endurance of sleeker, smaller Saalshen horses, those four would not get far. Rhillian waved some riders into the village to clear it, and peered through the open castle portcullis as she rode past. She glimpsed movement.
She reined up fast, diverting into the shallow, dry moat so as not to cause a pile-up with charging riders behind. But many others were also pulling up, sensing that the four escaping riders did not need more than thirty pursuers, however high their rank. More rode about to cover the far side of town, while others turned to head back down the slope and assist in the final effort to clear the battlefield. Another twenty rode across the small bridge to the portcullis, and Rhillian went in their midst.
The first two riders to reach the entrance dismounted, and ran into the gate towers on either side. The others waited, fanning off the bridge into the dry moat, and close to the base of the walls, arrows nocked and pointing up at the battlements. It was the simplest trick, to lure enemy riders into open castle yards just bristling with bowmen, and stick them full of arrows. Rhillian waited on the bridge, watching fleeing infantry and militia scattering past, and galloping horsemen, some escaping Elissians, others Rhodaani or serrin.
A cry came down from one tower, then the other. Serrin riders urged their mounts into the castle courtyard, watching warily at the surrounding walls, hooves clattering on the pavings. There was bundled straw, scattered manure and abandoned carts, some empty buckets about a well, a mule tied by the forge beneath the wall…but no people. The guardhouse was shut, as were mainhold doors, and the wide stable doors also. But the doors were barred shut on the outside.
Two more serrin dismounted and heaved the heavy bar off the door, dragged it aside, then pulled them open. Rusty hinges squealed, and twenty serrin pulled back their bowstrings, aiming to the dark interior. Rhillian put a hand to her brow and squinted…one thing serrin eyes did not do well was contrast, light against dark. Within, shapes became clear. Men on horses, in heavy plate armour. Knights. She could not see their faces, but their manner showed dismay.
“Lord Arendt, I presume?” Rhillian called. “Your decoy might have worked, if there were fewer of us.” But your lines collapsed rather faster than even we anticipated, she might have added.
An armoured figure on horseback clopped forward several strides. This horse wore metal barding, covering sides, chest and flanks. Rhillian blinked. That would have been interesting, if all the other horses had been so armoured. Arrows would be as little use against that as all the rest of a knight’s armour, even serrin bows firing arrows tipped with serrin steel were as useful for piercing armourplate as hurled acorns. But it would have slowed the horses, and exhausted them fast. On open ground, against heavier cavalry, serrin could just evade until the opposing horses collapsed of exhaustion, and archers could shoot for the legs. Which was, of course, why serrin hated to fight in fixed formation. It suited none of their fighting styles, on horse or on foot. And against any fixed, weakly armoured formation, this man before her was death on four legs.
“I am Lord Arendt,” said the man in fluent Larosan, his voice muffled behind the armoured visor. He did not raise it. No doubt he’d heard stories, ofeav archers and marksmanship. A pity Errollyn was not here, Rhillian thought sourly. From this range, that visor slit was probably not beyond him. “You have the appearance of the one they call Rhillian.”
It was the hair, Rhillian knew. It gave her away every time. “I might be,” she conceded.
“I wish to grant terms,” said Arendt.
“You’ve been defeated,” Rhillian replied, faintly incredulous. “Those of your army not slaughtered are running like frightened deer. Why would I need your terms?”
“Not you,” Arendt replied. His big horse looked so weighed down, the poor thing barely twitched. “I will give terms to General Zulmaher.” Rhillian had thought as much. “I am the Regent of the North. Not all the northern lords have committed full forces, yet I can grant terms on their behalf. Otherwise, it could take you months to finish them all.”
“Weeks,” Rhillian said. “Less, if their castles are all as pitiful as this.”
“This castle is Lord Herol’s,” Arendt replied. “He’s little more than a hedge knight, it was chosen merely for its strategic location. The greatest castles of Elisse are to the north, thrice in size than any you have so far conquered, and commanded by lords far more stubborn.”
Rhillian sighed, and sheathed her sword over her shoulder. “Come forth then,” she said tiredly, “and we shall parley.” That was what the man wanted, after all. To parley, and waste time, until General Zulmaher arrived.
Lord Arendt might have nodded, but the armour hid the gesture. He touched great, roundel spurs to his beast’s sides, and clomped forward from the stable gloom. Rhillian rode to meet him halfway. Within the stable, perhaps ten mounted knights watched, swords clasped in gauntleted hands. Arendt and Rhillian paused with their horses nose to nose. Rhillian’s mare sniffed at the warhorse, warily, but the warhorse barely responded. Rhillian gave the northern lord her best gleaming smile. It frightened some human men, that smile, even as it stirred their lust. Most found the effect disconcerting.
It seemed to have some effect on Lord Arendt, for he flipped up his visor to regard her face to face. Rhillian’s right hand went to her belt, produced a knife, and threw. It struck Lord Arendt in the eye, and he lurched in the saddle, then toppled to the pavings with an almighty metal crash. His warhorse danced aside, as though with relief. Rhillian had not even seen what Arendt looked like. Within the stable, his knights sat stunned.
“Finish the rest!” Rhillian announced. Arrows flew, and horses shrieked, flailing and wheeling. These wore no barding. The necessity always saddened Rhillian, but with the riders so invulnerable, there was no other choice. It would take a while to finish the knights, once dismounted, but they were painfully slow against unarmoured talmaad, and soon enough the serrin blades would find armour joints, draw blood, and slow the man enough for someone to knock him down and leave him flailing like a tortoise on its back. From there, it was simple knife work.
Once it was done, Rhillian remounted, rode back to the castle bridge, and waited. Soon enough, the first line of Steel infantry crested the hill-the rear rank, as they had begun the day, saved the initial fighting and left fresh to charge into what rained of the Elissian infantry, to prevent any chance of the enemy line re-forming. The green shields of the men were spattered red, as were their short, razor-tipped swords. They showed little emotion as they formed new positions about the town and castle, too well disciplined, and too accustomed to overwhelming victories for that. Most seemed barely out of breath, having run up that slope in full armour and shields.
The second rank-formerly the front rank-came after, in small groups, escorting a truly enormous number of prisoners. Rhillian guessed about five thousand. More than half the entire Rhodaani force, weapons and armour cast aside, some clad in little more than undergarments. They were mustered into great groups on open fields, guarded by lines of Steel infantry and sections of looming Rhodaani cavalry. A surreal sight, like so much in war-a lovely Elissian hilltop, scattered shady trees, paddocks filled with flowers…and five thousand shivering, frightened, defeated men, who should have been home tending their fields, animals and families.
Finally General Zulmaher arrived, with several captains and junior officers, two of whom were bloodstained and explaining recent actions. The retinue halted beside the large elm at the lip of the dry moat, where Rhillian had taken a seat with Gian and Via, to sip water and rest, while their horses grazed. The horses would need water soon, which would mean a trip down the hill, past all the corpses and wounded. Rhillian did not relish the prospect.
Zulmaher dismounted, as Rhillian climbed achingly to her feet. The general smiled, and offered her an embrace. Rhillian accepted-Rhodaani men were like that with each other, so there was no reason to refuse.
“A truly inspired run up the flank,” Zulmaher told her with a hard smile, hands on her shoulders. “You secured their artillery before our lines came within range, and split any chance of a regrouping on their left flank. I did say the talmaad of Saalshen were the finest light cavalry in all Rhodia, and today you proved it for certain.”
Rhillian did not begrudge the man his lack of sweat or blood-in this army, with all its lethal parts, such work was not his function. Zulmaher had done more than his share of sweating and bleeding as a younger man, and needed prove nothing to anyone.
“It was well done,” she said simply. “Everything worked. Most battles are chaotic, but in this army, somehow everything works.” It was as great a compliment as she could imagine, and Zulmaher seemed to take it as such. He knew how difficult a thing it was that she described.
“And where is Arendt?” he asked her expectantly, with a glance to the castle. “Did you find him?”
“We found him,” Rhillian agreed, sadly. “His decoy ran off, expecting us to follow, but there were enough of us to cover all options and then some. I took twenty inside, and found Lord Arendt and ten knights, hoping for a clear escape. They tried to break through, but failed. They were remarkably brave and stubborn. We had no choice but to kill them all.”
“All?” Zulmaher was displeased. He looked to the castle once more, and back again. “You’re certain it was Arendt? Not some decoy?”
“Yes.” Being in command of three thousand of Rhodia’s finest light cavalry, currently spread in a great network across Elisse, gave Rhillian first access to the greates source of news and gossip in all the land. She knew Lord Arendt’s identifying marks, and she’d had his corpse checked after the fact. “It was him.”
Zulmaher still looked puzzled, his broad forehead creased. He ran a hand through short, helmet-flattened hair. “My information suggested he may have attempted to yield, if defeated on the field. His family in marriage to other northern families had been threatened-apparently he spent many a coin of gratitude in assembling this army, and gaining its command. Had he yielded, he could have used the threat of Rhodaani force to keep his relatives safe.”
Rhillian sighed, and shook her head. “He did not attempt to yield. I couldn’t tell you why, I’m just a poor serrin in the land of the humans. You baffle me.”
Zulmaher took a deep breath, clearly reassessing. He shrugged lightly, and patted Rhillian on the shoulder with a smile. “It isn’t your fault. You and your talmaad fought valiantly, I’ll be certain your names are mentioned in my next report to council.”
Rhillian made a light bow, and Zulmaher strode off toward the castle, his retinue in tow. No doubt to check for himself. Rhillian sank back to the grass with a sigh, and took a swig from her waterskin.
“What if he suspects?” Gian asked. “The general is not a stupid man.”
Rhillian leaned her head back against the tree. “He may well suspect, but he cannot prove. Most of the captains are with me anyhow.”
“The war may take longer now,” Via added, cleaning his blade with a cloth. “Arendt may have convinced other lords to yield as well.”
“Just the problem,” said Rhillian. “The greatest threat to Rhodaan’s defence now lies with the feudalists. They will weaken Rhodaan from within, and strengthen their allegiances to powerful vassals in Elisse, who will do their bidding. The aim of this war was to end the threat to Rhodaan’s northern flank, not to create a new one. It’s worth a few extra days to make sure…and besides, after today, the war is fairly well won. So long as these lords remain our enemies and do not become the friends of Rhodaani feudalists.”
Via made a face. “This was well done,” he said, with a glance toward the battlefield and the clustered prisoners. “That was not.” With a glance back to the castle.
The dissent did not bother Rhillian. Nor the hint of rebuke. They were serrin, and they shared vel’ennar. She understood him perfectly, and he her. So long as it were so, no serrin needed ever to fear another.
“I know,” she said tiredly. She gazed out at the shallow valley and the drifting mists of smoke that smudged the far horizon. Below, the carnage was thankfully out of sight. But the memory of it burned as bright as any sun. “The things they make me do, Via,” she murmured. “The longer I spend among them, the more I fear what I shall one day become.”