Broken Rule | Chapter 30
This post is chapter thirty of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule, which I'm serializing here on Steemit.
The story so far:
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29
Gavril's army had marched north from Haverwood. He hadn't set a particularly brisk pace. He had no desire to give the men any reason to complain, and as long as he got where he was going he would be content. The capital wasn't going anywhere, and he would get there eventually. He found that he was more patient, more able to relax and savor life, now that he was free from the obligation of others' expectations. The throne would be all the sweeter for the anticipation.
It was inevitable that they would face resistance before they took the city, but it was surprising what form it took. Gavril's scouts had warned him about the Liatian forces, but now he saw them for himself, just on the horizon. Baron Rance Greenhouse had been told to keep the damned Liatians bottled up at the Tanga Valley, but now Gavril saw that Greenhouse was as useless as the lackwit son he'd sent to be Gavril's squire. The Liatians had a reputation as excellent soldiers, precise and efficient on the battlefield, especially the near legendary Liatian Lancers. Still, that reputation hadn't been tested for hundreds of years. Men could grow soft through inaction, and Gavril suspected the same was true of armies and nations.
Gavril ordered his troops to form up for battle. Better to control when and where the battle took place and let the enemy believe they had the advantage of attacking. The battle would be fought here in the headwaters of the Redwater River. The tiny brooks and streams that crisscrossed the terrain all eventually came together to form the mighty Redwater, the river that ran through the heart of Tarkannan.
He would command the action from the top of a small rise that overlooked the field, too small and gentle a slope to truly call it a hill. He issued his orders to his officers, who dashed about like bees from an overturned hive to carry them out. Many of the officers had been recently promoted from the commoners who made up the foot, and Gavril wondered if he would regret that decision. They were certainly more likely to be loyal than the nobles they had replaced, but few had any experience leading men. Still, the men all seemed to be forming up in good order, which was a promising sign. Hopefully they would all remember what the signals meant.
Gavril positioned his right flank against the sandy banks of the Redwater tributaries. He knew that the Lancers would be reluctant to send their horses through the unpredictable terrain when there was perfectly solid ground to be had in the grassy plains on the left. Still, knowing that the Lancers were more likely to attack his left flank did nothing to make it more defensible. With no natural boundaries, he had his men lined up in the shape of a giant hook, bending back to the left so that it would be harder for the enemy cavalry to get behind his lines. Even so, the Liatians had the advantage of mobility with their well disciplined horse. Gavril wished he had more pikemen to set against the Lancers, but he had to fight this battle with the men and equipment he had, not what he might wish for. He concentrated what pikemen he did have on the left flank, to discourage the Lancers from trying to get around the most vulnerable part of his line.
The Liatians eventually broke their marching column and formed a line of their own, footmen all. The Lancers themselves were held in reserve. Gavril had always thought that an unwillingness to risk cavalry had been an artifact of the Tarkannan system of knighthood, but now he wondered if there was simply something about sitting on a horse for too long that caused men to overestimate the value of mounted soldiers. The Liatians began to advance, and Gavril had to admire the discipline of their formation. They advanced slowly, but uniformly, across the field. Gavril relayed an order to stand fast, and up and down the line his officers shouted at their men.
From twenty yards away, the Liatians charged. Their formation broke up a little with all of their men at a dead run, but it was still impressive. Even so, Gavril's men held firm. More than a few went down, but they broke the tide of the Liatian advance, and as many Liatians went down to the axes, swords, and spears that Gavril's army brought to bear. Suddenly, the Liatian center broke and started a disorderly retreat. Gavril signaled to his trumpeter, who blew two short blasts. His own men started to press the attack in the center. Now the Lancers made their move.
Gavril generally felt that horsemen were overrated on the battlefield, but even he had to admit that the Lancers were impressive. To move their animals with such speed and precision must have taken years of practice. The enemy cavalry was surging toward the center of the line, attempting to take advantage of the chaos and confusion the retreat and pursuit of the footmen had caused.
As the Lancers closed, Gavril signaled his trumpeter again. Three short blasts this time, and now his men had to scramble. The hook on his left flank closed into a circle, and then flattened out into a double rank of pikemen, perpendicular to their old line, and moved to a full charge. Gavril smiled, happy that his newly promoted officers had been up to the task. The Lancers, who had expected to break through the lines and harry Gavril's men from the rear now faced a well-ordered attack on their flank. With their plan thrown into disarray, the Lancers' cohesion broke. Some turned to fight, but fell to the rapidly advancing pikes. Some of the Lancers broke off their charge to attack the old right flank, but that ran their horses right into the sand and streams, and more then a few went down with broken legs as they struggled to adapt to the new terrain. Some Lancers stuck to the original plan of breaking through Gavril's formations, but found that they faced not the rear of a well-ordered line, but a confused free-for-all as Gavril's right flank purposely abandoned their formation. Gavril sent his own cavalry, meager as it was, around the pikemen on his left in order to give the Liatian foot a taste of what the Lancers had intended to inflict on Gavril's men.
It was a bloody battle, and men and horses lay screaming on the battlefield, sending some true red down to feed the Redwater. The Liatians, confused and disoriented, were unable to take proper advantage of their discipline or superior arms. Groups of Gavril's men would disrupt any attempt of the Liatians to regain their formations, cutting more and more down with each attempt. The battle degenerated to a riotous melee, which gave Gavril's men a distinct advantage. He had given them a taste of blood in Haverwood, and they had developed a hunger for it. It wasn't the most elegant way to fight, but it was effective. The Liatian leaders eventually called retreat, but they waited far too long. Gavril's men were relentless in their pursuit. Less then a quarter of the enemy foot escaped and less than a third of their horse. Gavril's casualties were much lighter. His horse, alone behind the Liatian line when the retreat was called, fared the worst. Gavril didn't mourn their loss. Many of them had questionable loyalty, and he anticipated few more field actions ahead. Cavalry were not especially effective in taking cities, so it wasn't a loss that would hurt him overmuch. Besides, dead knights couldn't plague him with requests for political favors after he took the throne. With the goblins, Haverwood, and now this battle behind them, his footmen had all seen enough action to be considered veterans. He knew they were more than ready to take on Kubara.
Gavril signaled his trumpeter again, to call his men back to form up. When they did, he shouted to be heard by as many of them as possible. “We'll camp here tonight. Take what you will from the dead, but don't weigh yourselves down too much. We'll be at Kubara soon, and there will be sweeter prizes to claim.” His men broke out into a ragged cheer, which for a while drowned out the cries of the wounded men, still dying on the battlefield.