Moontide 02 - The Scarlet Tides (69 page)

‘Col’s out there – and look: Korion’s been ordered to take his cavalry south, to screen our flank.’ He pointed away to the right.

Ramon peered along the tribune’s finger and saw a khurne rider far in the distance, at the head of a line of horsemen.
Perhaps Duprey at least half-believed me …
He fervently hoped so. ‘Then the Lesser Son had better keep his eyes peeled, because I saw Keshi out there.’ Ramon dropped his voice. ‘What about our
special consignments
, Storn?’

Storn looked about him warily before whispering, ‘All safely under wraps, sir. I have the promissory notes on my person. The gold and poppy are in the lead wagons. One of Echor’s staff was sniffing round while you were gone, but I fed him a line and he went away.’

Ramon bit his lip.
That’s all we need …
He looked at Storn and said firmly, ‘We’ll deal with one problem at a time, Tribune. Let’s get the wagons re-hitched and the lines set up. I want men above that dry riverbed, where the cutting climbs to this plateau – if the enemy break through Duprey’s men, that’s the only place we’ll have any chance of holding them.’

‘Rondian legions don’t break, sir. It doesn’t happen.’

Ramon strode along the ridge until he was overlooking the cutting, where a river had carved a path from the heights to the plain. The cliffs might not be that high, but they were surprisingly precipitous behind the Thirteenth. He stared out over the battlefield, straining his eyes to get some idea of what was happening. It was hard to tell, but it looked like something might be happening away in the north. He could definitely see lightning – and was that the invisible concussion of gnosis being unleashed?

Even as he watched, a great mass of Keshi flowed forwards like a dark shadow over the sand and struck the Rondian north flank. They recoiled in a cloud of billowing dust, and a cheer went up all along the lines, including among the watching men of his own
maniple. For a few moments he felt his breathing ease. Perhaps he’d underestimated the might of their own forces.

But still the fog crawled closer to their position.

We’re right where the Keshi expected us to be
, Ramon thought nervously.
And they’ve got magi – how many? How skilled? Enough to make a storm and prime the weather to suit themselves? We’ve just got here, most of the men haven’t even rested from the march. The Keshi must be fresh, well fed and watered, and well rested … we have eighty thousand men and two hundred and forty magi – how many do they have?

At that, another highly unwelcome thought intruded:
Would Emperor Constant lament if we’re all wiped out?
Duke Echor’s army was almost entirely made up of vassal states – and looking at it from Pallas’ perspective, if the potential threat to the Crown that Echor posed was dealt with, the loss of the few Rondian legions would surely be acceptable.

For a moment he even wondered if the emperor had actively set this up.
But to do that he’d have had to practically invite Salim to his planning sessions … and that’s impossible, surely?

‘
Holy Kore!
’ Tribune Storn exclaimed as the fogbank disgorged rank upon rank of Keshi infantry. He looked at Ramon with sudden fear, his earlier confidence wavering visibly. ‘You were right, sir!’

Si, thanks very much for noticing …

As each Keshi unit emerged from the mists they burst into song – prayers to Ahm, Ramon guessed – while above the noise of thousands of voices chanting to their god came the whip-crack voices of their officers. Trumpets brayed, and the Keshi forces surged forward.

Ramon watched the great wave of screaming men hurtling towards Duprey’s lines, and then raised his head and scanned he entire battlefield. That sight was repeated all along the southern flank of the Rondian battle-line, and still the enemy continued to pour out from the mists.

To his credit, Duprey reacted instantly. Within seconds, with Severine using her gnosis to relay his orders, Duprey’s officers were wheeling their units into defensive formations, packing shields. But the Rondian legions had been issued only with light javelins instead
of the heavy pikes they would normally deploy for defending. Though the lines reset swiftly, precious moments had been wasted, during which no archers fired to disrupt the enemy. And quickly though the men responded, the lines had not managed to fully interlock before the first waves of Keshi soldiers struck them.

The sultan’s white-robed infantry stormed forward, bearing their distinctive circular shields. Some attacked the Rondian front line while others ran towards the gaps in the ranks, seeking to get through and circle behind. It looked like there were too many for the Rondians to contain – the din of their battle-cries made it sound like the world was filled with them – and then their arrows began to punch home, stinging clouds of them launched from behind the front ranks, raining down like sleet.

But terrifying as the massed Keshi attack was, the battle-magi of the Thirteenth knew their job. From his vantage point, Ramon could see Secundus Rufus Marle and Renn Bondeau, the magi with the lead maniples, below him as they cast shields overhead, domes of pale light that warped the air and slapped aside the storm of arrow shafts. Barely a single arrow penetrated.

The rankers responded with javelins, with a blast of telekinesis lending extra force to the thrown spears, and the front rank of Keshi tumbled to the ground, spitted.

But still the enemy kept pouring onwards.

As the oncoming Keshi came within range of Marle and Bondeau, the magi lifted their hands, working in concert, and fiery orange liquid washed over the advancing infantry. Ramon could feel the rush of heat from where he stood, two hundred yards away and thirty yards higher, then truly awful bloodcurdling screams rose over the war cries. He flinched, and his nails gouged his palms. Fire was a hideous weapon, and he felt like he was hearing every individual, agonised shriek.

Marle and Bondeau did not rest. They followed their flames with Earth-gnosis, making the ground itself ripple until the Keshi were tripping over each other and sprawling amongst those already slain by spears and liquid flame. Then lightning crackled and the onslaught
wavered as groups of armoured men were blasted apart by searing mage-bolts. The Keshi died in their hundreds in the successive waves of fire and lightning.

So far, so much as you’d expect
, Ramon thought:
Rondelmar victorious
. But when he tore his eyes from the conflict below, he found the distant scenes were far more worrying. The sand-storm was enveloping the northern flank – and he could have sworn there were distant dark shapes moving in the yellow-brown clouds of sand and earth.

It takes weeks to create precisely the weather you want, so they would have had to know exactly where we were going to be, to the very
day
– and weeks in advance. How can they possibly have known—?

Then out of the east, flying serenely above the Keshi army, came a fleet of windships, each with that distinctive triangular sail. And now those sails bore the crescent and scimitar of Salim. They were aloft despite the oncoming storm … His jaw dropped.
These Keshi are truly insane …

Ramon physically felt the doubt and fear that struck all down the Rondian line as the rankers suddenly realised that for the first time in their lives, they were facing an enemy with gnosis. The Rondian windships rose as if in answer, sails hastily unfurling to meet this new threat, but as if the appearance of their own gnosis-wielders had given them heart, the Keshi soldiers roared their approval and surged forwards with renewed vigour. Mage-bolts flew, but now they were coming from both sides, all the way along the line –
and there were more flying from the east than from the west.

How can they have so many magi?

As Ramon stared in horror, he saw individual mage-duels breaking out all over the place, distracting the Rondian magi from protecting the rankers. The overwhelming Keshi numbers began to hammer against Echor’s lines, and the Rondian line buckled inwards as masses of the enemy hurled themselves bodily at the interlocked shields of the thin front line.

‘We’ll hold ’em, sir, you’ll see,’ Storn muttered, but when Ramon looked at him, the tribune was gripping his reins as if his life depended upon them.

Beneath their vantagepoint, the attack on the Thirteenth was coming apart. These attackers didn’t appear to have any magi support, which meant the Keshi were simply target practice for Rufus Marle and Renn Bondeau. But they were holding the legion in place, preventing them from going to the aid of the centre.

Ramon could no longer see the left wing of Echor’s army, for it had vanished into yellow-brown sand cloud. He’d been told what these desert storms were like: hundred-mile-an-hour winds blasting sand so hard it stripped flesh from bone. The Rondian windships were already being thrown across the sky; it was obvious they were faring far worse than the enemy craft in the alien conditions.

If you knew the storm was coming, could you prepare yourself to fight in it?

It was certainly true that the enemy appeared to be somehow immune to the power of the sand-filled winds. Ramon could see and sense gnosis being expended all over the battlefield as the enemy windships reached the duke’s lines, and started targeting individual mage-pilots. Every time he saw one of the tiny figures emitting gouts of light, he felt the rippling power prickling his skin. Echor and his staff were high-bloods, raised in Argundy and trained to war – but there was no mistaking the overwhelming and unexpected power being deployed against them. And an unwarded legionary could die in a fireball as easily as a Keshi.

He watched, appalled, as all along the Rondian lines, gaps appeared and hordes of Keshi punched through.

‘The duke’ll plug the holes,’ Storn repeated feverishly. ‘You’ll see.’

As if to vindicate his words, one of the Keshi windships suddenly burst into flames and plummeted to earth – but it ploughed into the lines of an Argundian legion, killing dozens of men before it shattered into splinters. And that was only one ship; more and more came on, mage-fire flickering among the sheets of arrows that poured down from above.

Ramon turned his attention back to the ground immediately below him as another assault smashed against the front ranks of the Thirteenth. Bondeau strode to the fore and on his own managed to
throw the attack back with a massive burst of Fire-gnosis. All around him arrows crackled to nothing and the Keshi nearest to him went up like torches, filling the air with the stench of cooking flesh. The men cheered as those Keshi still living fled.

Maybe it was worth having you along after all, Bondeau you prick …

Then another surge of energy took his breath away: it was distant, but incredibly powerful. It took him a moment to work out what had caused it – and then he realised that the dust-storm had struck the centre of the Yurosian line. The Rondian magi must have been trying to hold it back, but to no avail, for the magic that had set the storm in motion worked the same way as rolling boulders down a mountain: once it was in motion and had picked up momentum, it was almost unstoppable.

Even as he reached out with his gnostic senses, trying to find out what was happening, the Rondian magi’s efforts failed – and then he didn’t need to focus his senses to feel the shrieking of thousands of men as the sand-storm ripped through the lines, tossing men aloft like ants before completely engulfing them. His gnostic senses gave him a fuller picture as he sought to scry what was happening: he saw and felt men panicking, burying their faces as the unnatural dust-storm filled nostrils and throats with sand, blinding eyes, and scouring skin and flesh. The thousands of soldiers in its path were literally being flayed alive …

That’s going to keep coming up this valley until it rolls over the top of all of us and eats us alive …

There were Keshi attackers in those dust-clouds, he would swear to it, and other things too. He could see the enemy windships were manipulating their strange triangular sails now to lift themselves clear of the storm, and those Rondian craft that had managed to get into the air were dropping straight to the ground again before they were wrecked. But still there were large shapes looming out of the dust-storm itself: giant beasts with wicker structures on their backs, filled with archers and magi, all protected from the elements in ways the Yurosian rankers weren’t. As they came they wielded their weapons with ferocious intent, pouring arrows
and mage-bolts down onto those rankers blinded by the sand and reeling from the almost-living dust-storm. Ramon had to fight back the nausea as he worked out the full extent of this hidden slaughter, feeling first one legion go under, and then another. All along the line the Keshi magi were engaging their Argundian and Estellayne counterparts. Though most were outmatched in skill and blood-rank, still they kept the Rondians occupied, allowing the Keshi infantry who outnumbered the Yuros-born rankers three or four or five to one to keep pushing and pushing until their greater numbers told.

The Thirteenth and its near neighbours were still managing to hold the line. The legions had other advantages – better armour, better discipline, more training; their heavy equipment suited a close press better than the looser formations and more individualistic fighting style of the Keshi. But that could take them only so far: they had no strong places to defend, no fortifications to narrow the front against the sheer numbers they confronted. The reserve maniples were now engaged, individual units swallowed up as a vast and savage brawl developed. This was far from the pristine classroom conditions where most of the magi had learned their craft; this was hack and stab or die. The rankers were being overwhelmed by men who appeared not to care if they lived. They had the prayers of the Kalistham on their lips even as they threw themselves at their enemies and died in their hundreds, their thousands.

Ramon looked at Storn. ‘Tell Duprey he’s got to pull out.’

Storn looked at him. His eyes were wide, disconnected. ‘The Thirteenth is holding,’ he maintained stubbornly. His armpits were soaked in sweat and his lower lip trembling. ‘We’re holding.’