The Malazan Empire, page 621
The Hound Master’s face was ravaged with distress, tears streaming down his wind-burned cheeks and glistening like sweat in his beard. ‘They’ve been poisoned, Atri-Preda! Poisoned meat, left on the ground – I’m going to lose them all!’
Bivatt cursed under her breath, then said, ‘Then we shall have to do without.’
‘But the Edur mages—’
‘If our own cannot treat them, Bellict, then neither can the warlocks – the Edur tribes do not breed dogs for war, do they? I am sorry. Leave me now.’
Just one more unpleasant surprise to greet this dawn. Her army had marched through the last two bells of night to reach the valley – she wanted to be the first to array her troops for the battle to come, to force Redmask to react rather than initiate. Given the location of the Awl encampment, she had not felt rushed in conducting that march, anticipating it would be midday at the earliest before the savages appeared on the east side of Bast Fulmar, thus negating any advantage of a bright morning sun at their backs.
But that enemy encampment had been a deceit.
Less than a half-league from the valley, scouts had returned to the column to report enemy in strength at Bast Fulmar.
How had her mages not found them? They had no answer, barring a disquieting fear in their eyes. Even Brohl Handar’s Den-Ratha K’risnan and his four warlocks had been at a loss to explain the success of Redmask’s deception. The news had left the sour taste of self-recrimination in Bivatt – relying upon mages had been a mistake, laziness leaning heavy on past successes. Outriding scouts would have discovered the ruse days ago, had she bothered to send them beyond line of sight. Keeping them close ensured no raids or ambushes, both gambits for which the Awl were renowned. She had been following doctrine, to the letter.
Damn this Redmask. Clearly he knows that doctrine as well as I do. And used it against us.
Now, the battle awaiting them was imminent, and the bright dawn sun would indeed blaze into the eyes of her soldiers even as the first blood was spilled.
Rising in her stirrups, she squinted once more at the valley’s far side. Mounted Awl in swirling motion, in seeming chaos, riding back and forth, lifting clouds of dust that burned gold in the morning light. Horse-archers for the most part. Tending to mass in front of one of the broader slopes to the south, on her right. A second gentle incline was situated slightly to her left, and there, shifting restlessly, were five distinct wedges of Awl warriors on foot, lining what passed for a ridge – and she could see their long spears waving like reeds on a shore. Spears, not those flimsy swords sold them by the Factor’s agents. She judged around a thousand warriors per wedge formation – too disciplined even now, before the fighting began. They should be drunk. Pounding on shields. Their shamans should be rushing about in front, down all the way to the riverbed. Showing us their backsides as they defecate. Screaming curses, dancing to summon dread spirits and all the rest. Instead, this…
Well, how likely is it those wedges will survive contact with my soldiers? They are not trained to this kind of war – nor did Redmask have the time to manage anything but this thin shell of organization. I have over sixteen thousand with me. Eighteen if I include the Tiste Edur. This one army of mine outnumbers the entire Awl population of warriors – and while it looks indeed as if Redmask has gathered them all, still they are not enough.
But he wasn’t making it easy to gauge numbers. The tumultuous back and forth of the horse-archers, the clouds of dust, the truncated line of sight beyond the valley’s ridge – he was keeping her blind.
Brohl Handar reined in at her side, speaking loudly to be heard over the movement of her troops and the officers bellowing orders. ‘Atri-Preda, you seem to intend to hold most of your medium infantry in reserve.’ He gestured behind them to punctuate his words. Then, when it was clear she would not respond, he waved ahead. ‘This valley’s flanks, while not steeply inclined, are ribboned with drainage channels—’
‘Narrow,’ she cut in. ‘Not deep.’
‘True, but they serve to separate the field of battle into segments nonetheless.’
She glanced across at him. ‘We have three such channels on our side, and all of them on my right. They have four, one to my right, two before me and one to my left – and in that direction, north, the valley narrows.’ She pointed. ‘See the bluff on our side there, where the Dresh ballistae are being emplaced? It cannot be assaulted from the valley floor. That shall be our rock in the stream. And before the day is through, not simply a rock, but an anvil.’
‘Provided you can hold the debouch beneath it,’ the Tiste Edur observed.
‘I pray to the Errant that the Awl seek to flee down that defile. It may not look deadly but I assure you, push a few thousand panicking barbarians into that chokepoint and as many will die underfoot as we ourselves slaughter.’
‘So you intend to sweep down and in with your right flank, pushing the enemy on the valley floor north to that narrowing. Cannot Redmask see the same?’
‘He chose this site, Overseer.’
‘Suggesting he sees what you see – that this place invites a half-encirclement to funnel his warriors north – to their deaths. You said, did you not, that this Redmask is no fool. How then will he counter what you seek?’
She faced the valley once again. ‘Overseer, I am afraid I do not have time for this—’
‘Would not a slow placing of your forces be to our advantage, given the sun’s position?’
‘I believe he is ready, even now,’ she replied, biting back her irritation. ‘He could advance at any time – and we are not ready.’
‘Then why not withdraw?’
‘Because the plain behind us is level for leagues – he will have more mounted warriors than I, lighter-armoured than my Bluerose lancers, and on rested horses – they can harry us at will, Overseer. Worse, we have lost our wardogs, while from the sounds of that barking, Redmask has hundreds if not thousands of his drays and herders. Your suggestion invites chaos, a messy succession of skirmishes, attacks, feints, raids—’
‘Very well,’ Brohl Handar interrupted. ‘Atri-Preda, my K’risnan tells me this valley is dead.’
‘What does he mean, dead?’
‘Bereft of the energies one uses to create magic. It has been…murdered.’
‘This is why none of the mages sensed the Awl army?’
Brohl Handar nodded.
Murdered? By Redmask? Never mind. ‘Did you ask your K’risnan about the impending battle? Will he be able to use sorcery?’
‘No. Nor can your mages. As he said, there will be no magic here. In this valley. That is why I again advise we withdraw. Even on the plain, exposed as you say we are, at least we will have sorcery.’
Bivatt was silent, considering. She had already known her mages would be ineffective in the valley below, although they could not explain why it was so. That the Edur warlocks had found the reason confirmed that spirit magic was involved. After a long moment, she swore and shook her head. ‘We still outnumber them, with better-disciplined, better-armoured troops. Iron to iron, we will crush the Awl today. An end to this war, Overseer. Did you not counsel a quick, succinct campaign?’
‘I did. But I am uneasy, Atri-Preda—’
‘A battle awaits – we are all uneasy.’
‘Not in that way.’
Bivatt grimaced. ‘Retain your warriors, Overseer, midway between our baggage camp and my reserve units – those medium infantry, by the way, are arrayed into discrete platoons of five hundred at the minimum, and each one protects one of my mages. They are not in the valley.’
‘Thus, if you are forced to retreat—’
‘We will be positioned to blunt the pursuit with sorcery, yes.’
‘Is this your plan? A feigned retreat, Atri-Preda?’
‘One of them, but I do not believe it will be necessary.’
Brohl Handar studied her for a long moment, then he gathered his reins and swung his horse round. ‘I will reposition my warriors, then.’
As he rode away, signal horns were sounding from various locations along the western side of the valley as units announced they were in place and at the ready. Bivatt rose once more on her stirrups and scanned her lines.
This section of the valley certainly invited a horned advance – the west edge curved, marking what had once been a broad bend in the course of the long-dead river. The enemy’s side was more undulating, bulging in the centre. The widest approach for the Awl was to her right. To counter that she had set three legions of the Crimson Rampant Brigade in shield-wall formation at the top of the slope, fifteen hundred medium infantry, flanked on the nearer inside by five hundred heavies of the Harridict Brigade. To the furthest right and already edging down into the valley were a thousand skirmishing light infantry of the Crimson Rampant. Inside of the heavies another fifteen hundred skirmishers, these of the Artisan Battalion, were likewise slowly, raggedly, working their way down. The foot soldiers on this side screened three wings of Bluerose cavalry: fifteen hundred lancers who would, when she gave the signal, sweep down between the south skirmishers and the Crimson Rampant shield-wall to begin the hard push of the enemy northward along the floor of the valley, even as that shield-wall advanced towards the riverbed.
On her immediate right, at a modest bulge in the ridge line, the Atri-Preda had positioned the Drene Garrison – fifteen hundred medium infantry – looking down on an approach narrowed by two drainage channels. Directly in front of her waited the conjoined wedges of a thousand heavy infantry of the Merchants’ Battalion – a sawtooth formation that she would advance down then swing either right or left, depending on the state of battle. Rightward was problematic in that they would have to cross a drainage channel, but they would do that so early in the march down that she was not unduly concerned.
To her immediate left waited three half-legions of heavies from the Artisan Battalion, screened in front by a thousand Harridict skirmishers just beginning their move down towards the broad, flat riverbed. Just north of these units waited the Atri-Preda’s mailed fist, a thousand heavies of the Crimson Rampant, again in sawtooth formation, against whom she expected Redmask to throw his main force of warriors – who were already directly opposite, still holding to their spearhead forms, five in all.
Behind this solid wall of heavy infantry waited the remaining three companies of Bluerose lancers, although this was a feint, since Bivatt intended to send them northward, round behind the ballistae knoll and down into the riverbed beyond the chokepoint.
North of the Crimson Rampant heavy infantry was another shield-wall of the brigade’s medium infantry, positioned to guard the flank of the heavies to their right and the approach to the knoll to their left.
Settling back onto her saddle, Bivatt gestured and an aide hurried to her side. ‘Signal the Crimson Rampant heavy to advance into the valley and halt midway between their present position and the riverbed. Confirm that the Dresh ballistae are properly sighted for enfilade.’
The runner rushed off to the block of flag signallers gathered on the raised platform behind her. Without mages they were resorting to the ancient practices of communication. Far from ideal, she admitted, and once the clouds of dust rose above the engagement…well, at that point such signalling often became irrelevant.
She waved another aide forward. ‘Send the left flank lancers to north of the chokepoint.’
Right and left on the valley slope before her, Letherii skirmishers were reaching the flats of the riverbed, still unchallenged. The sound of masses of soldiers in motion rose in a whisper above the thunder of horse-hoofs from the other side of the valley.
On that side the clouds of sunlit dust obscured almost everything, but she noted that those clouds stretched both north and south, well beyond the battle site. Well, one of those marks a feint, likely the north one. He knows which of my horns will strike deepest and turn. She called out to a third message-bearer. ‘Signal the right flank lancers to advance to the edge of the riverbed, widely arrayed in case the skirmishers need to withdraw in haste. Crimson Rampant mediums and the Harridict heavies to march down in their wake.’
Let’s get this damned thing started, Redmask.
She couldn’t see him. No knot of standards or banners marked his command position. No riders converging in one place then back out again.
But, finally, movement. Lightly armoured skirmishers were pelting down to meet her right advance. Slingers, shortbow archers, javelin-hurlers, round hide shields and scimitars. The mass of horse-archers that had been riding back and forth along that ridge line was suddenly gone.
‘Have the south lancers hold!’ Bivatt snapped. Those Awl skirmishers were an invitation to charge, at which point her cavalry’s flank would be swept by those mounted archers – and whatever lurked hidden behind them.
Light engagement now between skirmishers, directly down from the Drene Garrison. The javelins were an unexpected inclusion, and were proving bloodily effective.
The southernmost Crimson Rampant skirmishers had crossed the riverbed and were angling northward – still a thousand or more paces from contacting their Awl counterparts. Then arrows began descending in their midst – horse-archers, crowding the ridge just above its steepest bank. Hardly clouds of missiles, but enough to make those lightly armoured skirmishers flinch, then contract slightly back towards the riverbed.
Where the hand-to-hand fighting was occurring, the Artisan skirmishers – weathering the javelin strike – were now driving the Awl back.
The early morning air remained infuriatingly still – no wind at all, and the dust swirled and rolled and spread in an ever-thickening haze.
At sighting the half-thousand heavy infantry of the Harridict appear at the west edge of the riverbed, the Awl skirmishers began a wholesale retreat, many flinging away their round-shields.
Redmask does not have their hearts. Oh, we can break them here. Hard and fast. ‘Signal the Merchants’ heavies to advance and swing south!’
To her left, the only movement was from her own forces, the skirmishers of the Harridict and, just north of them, the Crimson Rampant heavy infantry – almost to the riverbed now. She squinted at the valley’s opposite side. Perhaps this chaos she was seeing was evidence of Redmask’s loss of control. No, wait on this. Wait until we take the valley’s south end.
The Artisan skirmishers were seeking to maintain contact with the retreating Awl, but Bivatt could see the sergeants holding them in check, keeping them just ahead of the advancing heavies on their right flank. Still, throwing away their damned shields…
Then, directly before her, horse-archers appeared, a narrow spear driving down the centre of the battlefield, with only skirmishers opposite them – who quickly backed up the slope at a southerly angle to draw in behind her advancing Merchants’ Battalion of heavy infantry. Is Redmask mad? That spear-point will be smashed against the heavies – this is not how cavalry charge – they’re only horse-archers!
Whereupon the mounted archers wheeled, the spear becoming a line – a thousand or more – suddenly sweeping southward.
Catching the Artisan skirmishers in the flank.
Arrows flashed.
The Letherii light infantry seemed to melt away, bodies tumbling down. Survivors ran for their lives.
That broad line of horse-archers then began a complicated, stunning manoeuvre, its tailing, easternmost end now slowing, swinging up, west, pulling to shift the line south-north, now launching sweeping arrow-fire across the front ranks of the Harridict heavy infantry, then the Crimson Rampant medium, before the head of the line swung back eastward, more missiles arcing across to the Bluerose lancers, who responded with a blare of horns, surging forward to close with the Awl.
Yet they were not interested in such an engagement. The line broke apart, as riders spurred hard back towards the east ridge.
‘Halt that charge!’ Bivatt shouted. Stung, we lash out – who commands that wing?
As the lancers spread out in their hard pursuit, three wings of heavier-armed and armoured Awl horse-warriors appeared on the ridge line, then plunged down the slope to take the Bluerose companies in the flank. Three wings, outnumbering the lancers by two to one.
Bivatt watched in fury as her cavalry sought to wheel to meet the attack, whilst others responded to her command – and so lost all momentum.
‘Sound the withdrawal for those lancers!’
Too late.
The Awl horse-warriors swept through scattered skirmishers of the Crimson Rampant, then slammed into the Bluerose companies.
She heard animals scream, felt the impact tremble through the ground – enough to make her mount sidestep – and then dust obscured the scene. ‘Advance the heavies at the double!’
‘Which heavies, Atri-Preda?’
‘Harridict and Merchants’, you fool! And same command for the Crimson Rampant medium! Quickly!’
She saw riders and riderless horses plunge into view from the roiling dust clouds. Her lancers had been shattered – were the Awl pursuing? Their blood must be high – oh, let them lose control, let them meet the fists of my heavies!
But no, there they were, rising up the far slope, waving weapons in the air to announce their triumph.
She saw the Awl skirmishers reappearing on the ridge line, in blocks with avenues in between to let the riders pass through – but those light infantry were transformed. Equipped now with rectangular, copper-sheathed shields and bearing long spears, they closed ranks after the last horse-warriors were through, and steadied their line at the very edge of the ridge.
On the valley floor, dust climbed skyward, slowly revealing the devastating effects of that flank charge into the Bluerose companies. Errant below, they’ve been wiped out. Hundreds of dead and dying skirmishers covered the grounds to either side of that fateful impact.
Her right advance had been deeply wounded – not yet mortal, even so – ‘Advance the medium and the two heavies across the valley – order to engage that line on the ridge. Wedge formations!’ Those skirmishers are too thinly arrayed to hold.
‘Atri-Preda!’ called an aide. ‘Movement to the north side!’
