Last Battle of the Icemark (40 page)

A sudden alarm call distracted her thoughts, and she looked up to see a formation of giant bats swooping in from the north. A flight of arrows was immediately shot into the air, but the Vampires were well beyond range and continued to observe the Hordes at leisure before peeling away and flying back to the north.

This was the Vampires' fourth detailed observation of Erinor that day, although it was the first that the enemy had actually seen. Everything was prepared now, and, judging by their line of advance, the Hordes were still unaware exactly how close the Allies were, so it didn't matter whether they were observed or not. Besides, the staff officers had needed to know if Erinor herself was definitely in command, and low-level flight was needed for positive identification.

Erinor watched as the giant bats disappeared from view; the Thirrin woman would soon know exactly where they were, and how great their numbers. But the Basilea didn't see this as a disadvantage; knowing that they were heavily outnumbered was more likely to make the enemy break and flee. She calculated that first contact would be made with the foe either by that evening, or – at the latest – by first light the next day, so her surprise was enormous when she suddenly saw the
outriders of the Allied army.

Erinor adjusted her mind to the new sensation of military shock. Normally she could accurately predict the enemy's every move, but Thirrin was proving difficult. She had no way of knowing that her uncanny ability to guess the enemy's every move had been courtesy of Cronus himself. But now that she'd served his purpose he'd abandoned her, and she would no longer receive the Arc-Adept's help.

Oblivious to all of this, she raised her hand, and immediately bugles rang throughout the huge army. The enemy were in sight; the enemy had arrived to offer themselves for sacrifice.

As soon as the Vampires had reported back from their first high-flying reconnaissance earlier that morning, Thirrin had ordered the army to march in battle formation. This had meant that the infantry had to leave the fast transport wagons that had been commandeered from the Merchants' Guild in Romula, and take up the fighting positions Thirrin and Cressida had devised. The wagons had done their job admirably, and the army had been able to advance at almost three times the normal rate over the superb Imperial roads, which had the dual advantage of putting more distance between the pending battle and the vulnerable capital city, and also of taking Erinor by surprise.

The army now advanced in its fighting dispositions, with the cavalry and the mounted archers of the Hypolitan Sacred Regiment riding on the left and right wings, and the infantry in the centre in a huge bloc. The housecarles, werewolves and Polypontian shield-bearers formed a circular core around which dense ranks of pike men literally revolved, like a
gigantic cog that was toothed with a deadly array of their immensely long spears, held at all angles from horizontal to the vertical. In effect, the infantry had become a mobile fortress with walls of shields and deadly steel.

Thirrin and Cressida had been well aware of Erinor's huge advantage of numbers when they devised the plan, and knew that the infantry would be the anchor of the entire battle. Hard-pressed cavalry would be able to fall back on the mobile fortress, and even if they were completely surrounded by the Hordes its deadly walls of locked shields and bristling pikes should keep out even the most determined assault. Only the Tri-Horns could be a problem, and the Regiment of the Red Eye and Grishmak's werewolves had been assigned to deal with them.

Thirrin knew that her battle plan was far from subtle; basically it entailed allowing the enemy to batter itself to pieces on the rock of the infantry while the cavalry tried to inflict as much damage as possible in high speed hit-and-run tactics. All of which was little better than Grishmak's usual idea of ‘hit 'em hard, and keep hitting 'em hard until they bugger off!', but fighting a force with such a huge numerical advantage left her little choice. Of course, she could have tried to defend Romula for a second time, but its walls were too sprawling and in such poor condition that they would have been impossible to defend. And fighting in the streets again was too risky; directing a battle required a clear view and good communications, but fighting from house to house and district to district meant nothing was ever clear. Victory on one street could be countered by defeat on another. Last time they'd had no option but to defend the city, as the enemy had already broken through the defences when Thirrin and her Allies
arrived, but given a choice, she far preferred to fight in as wide a space as possible, where the field lay as open as a giant book beneath the sky.

On the right wing of the advancing Allied army, Olympia, Basilea of the Hypolitan, sat at the head of the Sacred Regiment of mounted archers. Only an hour before, she'd taken leave of her consort Olememnon, who commanded the Hypolitan infantry as part of the army's central bloc. As usual he'd been as bright and happy as an affable bear, convinced that Erinor and her Hordes were about to be crushed. But Olympia wasn't so sure. As the commander of the elite regiment of the Hypolitan, she was all too aware of what fanaticism could do. Even a badly trained soldier could be an unstoppable force once contaminated with the uncompromising insanity of the extremist, but Erinor's warriors were certainly not badly trained. They were disciplined, deeply experienced and highly motivated; add to that the unquenchable fire of their fanaticism, and they were virtually unstoppable. The fact that they were defeated last time was probably due only to their ferocity being somehow redirected from fighting strength into a raging panic that swept through the entire force and caused them to break ranks and flee. Olympia thought that it was somehow telling that this was the one and only time the Hordes had been defeated, and the likelihood of mass panic affecting them again, with Erinor in personal command, was almost nil.

Suddenly the Vampire scouts returned, sweeping through the skies like the rags of miniature storm clouds, barrel-rolling as they came. This was the signal that confirmed Erinor was in
command, and Cressida nodded grimly to herself as she led her contingent of cavalry to support Olympia and the Sacred Regiment. This would be the decisive battle, she thought to herself; neither her mother nor the woman who'd led the Hordes to endless victories would retreat. By sundown the war would be won . . . and lost.

Cressida looked to her left and watched Leonidas's superb riding style with appreciation. Now that he was in the field and away from the dangers of socialising, he was as elegant and deadly as a hunting cat. Sensing her scrutiny, he turned and raised his sword in salute, and she nodded coldly in reply, both of them expertly ignoring the hot flushes that were turning their faces crimson. But then the needs of the coming battle claimed their undivided attention, and they looked ahead to where the horizon of the flat featureless plain began to shimmer, as though a lake or sea was glittering under the cold winter sun.

A brassy fanfare of bugles warned that the enemy had been sighted, and the werewolves began to howl, the ferocious sound rising into the air and contrasting sharply with the elegance of the Polypontian soldiers, who advanced in silent discipline, their armour gleaming and bedecked with lace collars and cuffs.

But then the young boys and girls of the drum corps began to rattle out a stirring marching rhythm, and this was joined by the deep bass notes of gigantic kettle drums that were mounted on huge draught horses whose pristine armour gleamed and shone in the sunshine.

Ahead in the distance the Hordes had now swarmed into view, glittering with weaponry and moving with the inexorable power of a lava flow. The gigantic Tri-Horns led the host in
a wide wedge formation, culminating in the apex of a truly enormous beast that wore armour of scarlet and gold and carried a howdah on its back. In this rode a lone figure, glimmering like a distant flame. So rode Erinor at the head of her warriors.

She scanned the enemy dispositions as they approached, and moulded her response to them by signalling with her spear. Immediately the chariots thundered away, cutting left in a wide arc that would bring them into contact with the Sacred Regiment, Cressida's cavalry of horse and Snow Leopard as well as the hateful Vampires. The Shock Troops of male regiments also swept away, at a swinging trot that moved smoothly to the right, while the Tri-Horns and elite female regiments continued the frontal assault.

Erinor searched the ranks of the enemy, looking for the banners and insignia that would show her where Queen Thirrin would fight. She found her on the left wing, the position of honour since ancient times. Of course, where else? Erinor raised her spear and a squad of male soldiers shot away, carrying a broad wooden stretcher that contained several barrels covered in a thick tarpaulin. With them went a squad of female archers carrying short compound bows, whose sole job seemed to be to protect their male comrades.

The Tri-Horns now set up a huge bellowing as they scented the enemy, and the faint howling of the werewolves reached Erinor's ears as she advanced. Before her was the infantry bloc, bristling with revolving pikes and walled with shields.

“How novel,” she said to herself, and smiled. She knew that it had been the pikes, under the command of General Andronicus, that had turned the Tri-Horns in the battle of
Romula, and in fact she herself had almost suffered a setback when she and the general had clashed in an earlier battle, but now she was eager for a re-run of the contest, with herself in command of the beasts. She stood in the howdah, and as she screamed out orders the Tri-Horns surged forward in a turn of speed that made it look as though the earth itself had gathered muscles and was storming down on the thin barrier of brittle wood and steel.

General Andronicus marched with the infantry bloc he commanded, and at a word the pikes stopped their revolving but continued their advance. He watched as the wedge of massive beasts bore down on his soldiers, and waited for the moment when he'd give the order to stand.

Intermingled with the long spears of the pikes were the heavy round shields of the housecarles, which provided the defensive walls of the formation. In the wide ‘O' of the centre marched the werewolves, the mixed regiment of the Red Eye, commanded by Eodred and Howler, and the Hypolitan infantry under Olememnon. These were the anchor, the rock and the foundations of Thirrin's army. If they broke, the battle and the war were lost.

The Tri-Horns were close enough for the barnyard smell of them to reach Andronicus's nose, and he bellowed out the order to stand. Immediately the infantry stamped to a halt, and they watched as the enormous creatures rolled down towards them, looking almost as though the earth had raised itself up like a sea, and a tsunami was bearing down on them.

Andronicus knew Erinor would try to roll over them without slackening her charge. The first contact was crucial; the opening seconds would either end it or see the beginning of a
monumental struggle. Closer they came, their huge feet pounding like heavy hammers into the ground.

Andronicus gave the order, and the circle of the infantry bloc compacted itself into a thick crescent, like a quarter moon, the ‘horns' sweeping back in an arc to protect the flanks, the pikes lowering into the engage position as the sharp spike of each of the long spear butts buried itself deep into the frozen earth.

“RED EYE AND WEREWOLVES, PREPARE TO ENGAGE!”

Howler and Eodred quickly embraced and then rattled out orders. Then, at a nod from Andronicus, the human and Wolf-folk warriors let out a huge roar and howl of challenge, and charged, leaving the housecarles and pikes to maintain their stand.

The Tri-Horns bellowed as they saw the enemy sweeping down on them like a grey cloud, and then Wolf-folk and human warriors were swarming up the huge tree-like legs of the beasts, howling and snarling as they climbed. Soon they were leaping over the broad swaying backs of the Tri-Horns, cutting down enemy soldiers, and hacking at the thick armour of the beasts themselves with huge double-headed axes.

But still the creatures advanced. Erinor raged and screeched hatred as she rained arrow after arrow down on the stand of pikemen and housecarles that stood before her like a defiant thicket of trees before a hurricane. Andronicus called out orders in a steady voice as the Tri-Horns suddenly seemed to increase speed and rolled down towards the thin defensive line. The soldiers braced themselves for impact.

Then, with a deafening roar of man and beast, the creatures drove into the line. Hundreds and hundreds of pikes shattered
on impact, but more swung down to take their place, and the soldiers leaned with all their might against the impossible velocity and weight of the Tri-Horns. The housecarles braced themselves three to each pike man, holding him in position as Andronicus rallied them again and again:

“HOLD THEM! HOLD THEM! THEY CAN'T BREAK THROUGH! THEY CAN'T BREAK THROUGH!”

Erinor roared out the order to advance and the mighty squadrons surged forward, pushing back the crescent of infantryman as their werewolf and Red Eye comrades continued to fight a vicious hand-to-hand battle with the warriors in the howdahs.

Andronicus gave the signal, and the two horns of the crescent suddenly swung around to smash into the flanks of the Tri-Horns, the pikes driving into the armour of the beasts and finding chinks and gaps in the covering mail.

Olememnon now raised his axe and led his command to strike at the beasts. Like armoured lumberjacks they hewed at the massively thick legs that pounded the ground all around them; the Hypolitan Commander took both hands to his axe and drove it with a roar into the haunch of a bellowing monster. With a scream of pain and rage, the beast suddenly leaned visibly as the steel bit through muscle and sinew. Hamstrung, it fell thunderously to the ground, where it disappeared under a swarm of werewolves and Red Eye as they tore into its bulk.

Four more of the giants fell in a welter of blood and screaming rage, but the majority still heaved and pushed on, driven forward by the will and power of Erinor, who was the killing apex of the charge. Still the pikes held their courage,
slipping and sliding before the strength of the huge animals, and driving back against them with all their might.