Chapter 13
At The Gates
General Aphilan’s men stood in straight and even lines behind the hill, holding spears and shields at the ready. His attack force consisted of three formations of one thousand men each; another group of five hundred Duellrian soldiers were left to guard the supply trains and act as a reserve. At the front of the formation, the archers stood casually with their long ash bows slung over their right shoulders and arrow cases tightly fastened to their left hips. Behind them were the infantrymen with long, leaf-shaped swords and large wooden shields. All loose gear had been secured to ensure nothing could get caught up or snagged and prove to be an advantage for the enemy. All of their cloaks and outer clothing had been discarded. There would be no need for added warmth, even in this chill weather, once the fighting began. Each man looked to his left and right reassuring his comrades that he would do everything possible to protect his friends during the fight.
The Erandian cavaliers stood at the front of the army, also in three groups. Each of the young cavalry officers and his men would support the advancing Duellrian formations, ensuring no enemy forces would attempt a surprise flanking movement during the fight. The cavalrymen sat on their horses, looking straight toward the gate they would soon rush. Their first priority was to reach the wall as quickly as possible and set the massive wooden gate aflame with the oil they carried. At Mikhal’s suggestion, large flasks of oil were brought forward from Singhal. Each of the cavaliers now carried a leather sack full of the stuff. If enough of them could get close to the gate, they might have the chance they needed to secure a foothold in the city. Once inside the walls, they knew they could defeat the Belarnians.
“If we can just reach the wall,” Mikhal kept telling himself. If they did not quickly enter the city and reach the palace, they knew that the army would not succeed, and they would all die.
Mikhal sat mounted on his horse in front his men, straightening his plumed helmet for the hundredth time. Gone were the formal uniforms that everyone associated with the cavaliers. They now wore simple chain mail vests under their padded coats. Small round shields were strapped tightly to their left forearms and in their right hands they held eight-foot-long lances with hand guards.
Mikhal fidgeted with the strap on his helmet again. He and his men were in the center and were expected to reach the gate first; Alek had personally given him this task. Mikhal knew his men were the best in the company, but the knowledge did not help him fight the urge to panic. This battle would be much different than the skirmish at Singhal or the border fights he had been involved in. Many of his men would die; perhaps even he would die.
Mikhal had sat on a rock looking at the dark and forbidding city trying to cope with the possibility he would not see his parents or home again. He chided himself several times through the night for being a coward, but he knew that was not what was bothering him. He had always known that his profession would someday call for him to kill or be killed. No, the prospect of killing and being killed on the battlefield was not what frightened Mikhal. It was the possibility that they might fail. Or that he might fail. Mikhal felt a heavy burden weighing down on him. He knew that failing his men was what really bothered him. To think, for even a moment, that some of his men might die because he made the wrong decision terrified him.
Our prince hasn’t even considered the consequences of his actions, he complained to himself. If anything terrible happens, he will be the one to blame.
He adjusted his chinstrap yet again, hefted his lance to feel the weight of it, and then looked back behind his men to find his commander.
“What are we waiting for?” he asked again. “Let’s at least attack before we are seen out here in the open.” Mikhal felt exposed and vulnerable standing before the massive city. It was still a league away, and they were protected some by the hill, but the walls were so tall, it seemed to Mikhal that they were easily within range of Belarnian bowmen.
Just then Kristian, Alek, and General Aphilan rode forward of Mikhal’s men and centered themselves in front of the nearly four thousand men. Kristian turned and shouted for all the soldiers to hear.
“Men, we are gathered here because of a common need. Monsters live in Erinia. They have crept amongst us and killed your king and stolen your princess. Ferral threatens us with his tricks and wishes us to lie down and let him have his way. Tonight we stand before this vile monster’s lair. We will not lie down. We will tear down his walls and rescue the one he stole from amongst us. We will show his people mercy, but we will show him none.” Kristian paused to look at the formidable army and smiled. “We will destroy him!”
He tried to shout, but he was drowned out by the deafening cry of the army that was ready to fight. Kristian nodded approval for Alek to begin his attack.
Mikhal strapped his lance into the saddle and raised his saber, signaling the advance. Nothing could be heard above the cheering of the Duellrian men who were ready to kill the person responsible for the death of their king. Mikhal only hoped his men were paying attention to him as he started forward. Looking back, he saw they were riding with him past Kristian. The prince shouted words of encouragement to them, but Mikhal paid him no attention as they prepared to rush the city gate. His men had advanced half way to the wall at a slow trot and nothing happened.
Mikhal raised his saber again and signaled for them to move forward at the gallop. He would reserve the strength of his men and their horses for when it was necessary. They were still more than a couple of minutes away from the gate even if they went into a full run, and he knew this battle was going to last much longer than a few minutes.
Growing anxious, Mikhal knew he could not wait any longer. He lifted his saber a third time and signaled the charge. Mikhal stole a quick look back to see his men urging their mounts on and then let his own horse run as fast as it wanted. They all knew this was the most vulnerable part of the plan. If the guards were alert above, then they would rain arrows and rocks down within seconds and put an abrupt end to their charge. While he was looking back, he saw his commander and the prince riding behind his formation. And though he had only seen them for a mere fraction of a second, he could see the expressions on their faces. Alek rode on silently with a grim look of determination on his face and Kristian rode next to him shouting war cries.
Mikhal turned to look forward and gauge their distance from the gate. They were rapidly approaching the bridge that crossed the moat. On the other side, there were less than two hundred feet remaining before they finally reached the large wooden doors.
Suddenly, fires sparked to life from a hundred different places along the wall directly in front of them.
“Trap!” someone shouted from behind.
Mikhal did not stop, he spurred his mount on; Champion carried him across the bridge an instant later. He felt more than saw or heard the arrows flying by him as he swiftly closed on his target, but something was wrong. No one was behind him. He quickly reigned in his horse at the base of the wall and threw his sack of oil at the door. The leather pouch burst on the wood, spreading oil over a large area.
Mikhal looked back toward the bridge to see his men staring up at the wall directly above his head. Sitting there dumbfounded, fear finally creeping over him, he heard the evil laughter coming from above.
Ferral laughed cruelly as he watched the lone rider charge through the arrows and throw something on the gate. “Well done, cavalier, well done,” he said as he waved down at Mikhal.
Metal clanked against the stones of the wall as he shouted down at the man. Ferral held a sputtering torch in one hand and the end of a chain fashioned as a leash in the other. The other end of the chain was attached to a metal collar fitted around Rebenna’s neck. She looked subdued and beaten. Standing meekly beside her former lover, she looked more like a whimpering beggar than a priestess of Belatarn.
“No Belarnian archers, don’t shoot him. This one is braver than his companions. I suspect that if half of their army was as capable as him, they might
not all die tonight. Let him return to his men,” Ferral ordered.
The demon woman, dressed in her long red cloak, stood beside Ferral and watched the small rider return across the bridge to join his men. Ferral’s plan to ensnare the army was working perfectly. She looked on, feeling something akin to remorse as she lost sight of the lone rider regrouping with his companions.
Ferral handed his torch to Rebenna and turned to address the cavaliers. “Welcome to the mighty citadel of Belarna. I bid you welcome and invite you to enjoy your stay.” He laughed again, taking great pleasure in his moment of triumph. Another rider broke free of the small knot of cavalrymen and trotted forward onto the bridge.
The man looked defiantly up at his enemy and said, “Ferral, don’t play games with us. We already know what you’re like. You’re a murderer. We have come for Princess Allisia.” He struggled to maintain a good grip on the reins of his horse as he fought back his fear. “Return her, now, and you will save many of your people further harm.”
Ferral laughed at the arrogance of the person making claims from the bridge. “Only the Prince of Erand could be so bold and stupid to make such a claim.” He turned to look at the guards on either side of him.
Waving his hands grandly toward the gathering storm clouds, he said, “Don’t you feel it, Kristian of Landron? A new age is upon Erinia. An age I have ushered in. An age that Belarn will dominate for a thousand years.”
“We know that evil has been unleashed in the land, Ferral. An evil you created. We’re here to stop you and your mad plans.”
“Fools! You dare interfere with the wishes of our god, Belatarn? I will crush you for your sacrilege,” Ferral said pointing down at Kristian.
“Call your god what you will,” Kristian replied evenly, “but there is only one name for the evil you have called upon. Don’t think for a moment that God will stand by and watch you destroy his world. He will bring you down.”
“Indeed? Then he is planning to do so without the support of the mightiest kingdom in Erinia.” Ferral smiled cruelly. He reached down to pick up something from between his feet. It was dark and too far for Kristian to make out what it was. “Tell me, Kristian. How is your father doing? I hope he enjoyed the summer weather I sent him.”
“I’ve had enough of your pointless jokes, Ferral. We all know you’re the one causing all of this trouble. Your evil magic has caused this foul weather,” Kristian called back.
Ferral acted surprised, putting his hand over his mouth. “You mean you really don’t know? I know your father wanted the chance to speak with you one last time. Something terrible has happened, I’m afraid. There was an awful fire, Kristian.”
Kristian’s heart skipped a beat as a dread feeling began to set in. Ferral’s words reached him through a dense cloud forming in his head.
“I wanted him to be more comfortable. I thought a little warmth would help him combat the early winter, but it got a little out of control.” Ferral continued, holding the object in his hand higher. “Here, your father really wants to tell you the news himself.” The mad sorcerer tossed the object down. It landed on the bridge just in front of Kristian. “Behold, the wise Emerick of Landron! The dead king of Erand.”
Kristian looked down in fear and saw a grotesquely scarred head. Blackened and charred, it was unrecognizable. Kristian’s instincts told him it was his father, but he could not bring himself to accept it. “It’s a trick. You can’t fool me so easily. My father has already sent reinforcements. They will be here ….”
“Your father is dead. Most of your people are dead or soon will be. And your land is mine.”
“No. You’re lying,” Kristian shouted.
“Enough,” Ferral shouted back. “This game of words is over. I thought I would like you once I met you, Kristian, but I suppose I should have listened to my advisors. You truly are a spoiled brat. It doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not. You will be meeting your father before the sun rises.” Ferral and his men laughed at the prince, as he stood motionless on the bridge.
“I don’t think we will get the chance to meet again, Your Royal Highness, so I bid you farewell. Farewell!” The guards along the wall echoed Ferral’s words as they waved to the small force of cavalrymen below.
Suddenly, Mikhal could see the silhouettes of men closing on either side of him. Even in the darkness, he could tell there were several thousand armed men forming into ranks on either side of the moat. A chill wind blew past the cavaliers, and Mikhal was forced to huddle behind the neck of his horse in a futile attempt to block the wind. Although his blood was racing, and a moment ago he could feel nothing, he now felt an unsettling cold taking over his body.
“Where did they come from? We saw them leave,” Mikhal exclaimed.
“These aren’t the same men,” Alek shouted.
Alek quickly took charge of his men and ordered them back into even ranks. It was obvious that the Belarnian army was attempting to surround the cavaliers before the slower Duellrian forces could move to protect them. General Aphilan’s men were still half a league away.
Ordering a charge, Alek led them toward the furthest point on the right where the Belarnians were still moving into position. Cursing, Mikhal lead his men toward where the forming infantry looked most vulnerable.
The cavaliers rode into the exposed flank of their enemy with their lances lowered. They cut a path through the tightening cordon and broke free of the foot soldiers. Mikhal looked back to see how many made it through and saw an unlucky soldier fall from his horse. The soldier tried to reach an arrow sticking out of his back, but two Belarnians immediately came up and cut him to pieces. The gathering army just as quickly butchered the man’s horse. Mikhal could only hope the man was not one of his own soldiers. He was still not prepared to face their deaths.
Alek halted after reaching safety and shouted for his officers to protect the Duellrian flanks, as planned. “We will hold them off and fight our way back to the hill. We should be able to keep the hill until Justan arrives with the rest of his forces.”
“No,” Kristian shouted. “We have the advantage of speed and skill. Look how many we took down in just one charge. We’ll go at them again.”
The cavalry commander could no longer keep silent. “What? There must be nearly ten thousand men back there. We’re only one hundred. You can’t make such a decision.”
“Remember your place, Captain Hienren.” Kristian stopped himself before he said something more. He sighed in frustration and then added, “Look, we’ll never have another chance. They are still trying to get organized, and they’re afraid of a mounted attack. We can keep them in disarray until Aphilan can engage them. Allisia needs us. If we give up now, Ferral will kill her.” Kristian paused, gauging Alek’s loyalty to him. “Do I have to make the order myself?”
“No,” Alek shouted back at the prince. “I will lead my men.” He closed with the prince and leaned forward so that no one else could hear. “You are our prince. The cavaliers were created to serve you and the king. If your father is still alive, he would never do this. You may have just ordered us all to our deaths. Kristian, you don’t know anything about how we should be used.” The prince, angry and a little shaken by the exchange of words, sat motionless beside the commander as the order was given.
Alek pulled his horse away from Kristian and called out, “Form into three wedges. I want you to charge past their flanks and force them to extend their formations. Romlin, you will go first and draw them left. Hanson, you will follow and draw them to the right. And Mikhal, I want you to lead a charge through the middle to scatter their lead unit. They’re not a regular army. Some of them were carrying only pitchforks and most didn’t have any armor … so hopefully they will break and run.” The three officers nodded to their commander understanding that speed and confusion were their only chances for survival.
“Don’t get caught up among them for very long or they will cut you to pieces,” he cautioned Mikhal. “Look for weak points in their
formations and take advantage of the ones you find. Move away quickly, and when you’re free again, we will regroup here.”
“Watch out for archers. Keep your bodies low even after you are free of them,” Mikhal warned his men. Alek looked around at his entire command and spotted Truan Langwood. The old cavalier smiled knowingly back at his captain.
“I will follow behind the company, sir, and try to keep them together,” the veteran said as he turned to the cavaliers. “Which one of you will bring me the banner of the monster that dares challenge us?” he demanded.
For a brief moment, no one said anything. Then a lone soldier rode out from the formation. He was a young man, one of Mikhal’s soldiers. His name was Davil. He looked frightened and pale in the growing cold, but he rode forward and accepted the old sergeant’s challenge.
“I will,” Davil replied. The sergeant nodded solemnly and motioned for the cavalier to take his place with his men.
Romlin shouted for his men to prepare for the charge. Mikhal also turned and faced his men and shouted, “Davil has made a pledge. Anyone that sees Davil get the banner must protect him with his life.” The men shouted in unison praising Davil for his courage.
Then all heads turned as one as Romlin gave the order for his men to charge. The cavalrymen moved swiftly, lances lowered, as they quickly approached the loose formation of Belarnian foot soldiers. Mikhal and his men could hear the large formation of bloodthirsty soldiers cheer as they saw the small group of thirty Erandians move toward them. At the last possible moment, Romlin moved his wedge of horses and men to the left. They scraped the front of the army and pushed the first few ranks of Belarnians back into the spears and swords of their own men. Many of them feared the horses and broke ranks, pushing and shoving to get away from the charging beasts. Others broke from the formation and chased Romlin and his men.
Seeing the point of attack become more apparent, Hanson sounded the charge. His men had seen that the commander’s plan could work, and they rode hard; their fear subsided as they pushed toward the right side of the Belarnian army. Hanson began to slow his men’s advance to better control his wedge as arrows started flying all around them. The cavalrymen smashed into their enemies again and forced the lead ranks of soldiers upon themselves. Hanson deliberately slowed down his charge even more during his withdrawal to ensure that as many Belarnians followed as possible.
Mikhal watched his friends taunt thousands of angry Belarnians. He smiled, admiring their bravery as the enemy scattered to the left and right, chasing after the fleeting cavaliers. Mikhal stood up in his saddle and shouted, knowing it was his turn to ride and smash the middle, “For Erand!”
His men repeated his shout as he turned in his saddle and raised his lance and then lowered it. Mikhal put his horse straight into a full run. Leaning low, bracing himself against the jarring impact to come, Mikhal centered himself on the large formation before him. He screamed as he chose his target and spurred Champion on into their enemies.
Mikhal’s blow cut straight through the neck of one soldier who hesitated a moment too long. The lance caught for a moment as the Belarnian fell grasping at the slender piece of wood sticking out from his throat. His charge had carried his men completely through the lead formation. The Belarnians quickly scattered, leaving many of their comrades vulnerable to attack by Mikhal’s men. They started to fan out to either side of Mikhal, thrusting spears down at the confused soldiers.
Mikhal was terrified that he might get overwhelmed while his lance was stuck; he kicked Champion onward and used the momentum of his horse to pull the weapon free. Mikhal lifted the lance and threw it at a Belarnian rushing toward him. The soldier momentarily clutched at the wood jutting from his chest before he fell to the ground, blood bubbling from his mouth. Mikhal quickly pulled his saber free of its scabbard and looked around at his men. Most were similarly engaged in combat. Their momentum had pushed them deep into the ranks of the center formation, much further than he had intended. He knew that if he did not quickly find a way out of this mass of men and steel, they would soon be overwhelmed.
The fears he had thought of earlier came back as he began to believe he might have led his men into a death trap, but he fought down the urge to panic. He found a gap in the fighting to his left and was about to lead his men out.
Suddenly, Mikhal heard a triumphant shout from somewhere off to his right. Davil emerged from a solid mass of Belarnians shouting and waving something in his hand. Covered in blood, the young cavalier looked ready to fall out of his saddle at any moment, but in his upraised hand he held the remnants of a black and red flag.
“I did it! I did it!” he shouted. Mikhal shouted for someone to help Davil and saw several riders break away from their fights to rescue him.
Mikhal saw a glint of steel out of the corner of his eye and turned quickly to see a Belarnian with a crude spear rushing toward him. He could not bring his shield around in time and immediately brought his saber down with all of his strength. His attack broke the spear just before it went into his side. He brought his blade down again and cut through the man’s scalp.
Seeing his chance for escape fading away, he ordered his men to make for the spot he saw earlier on his left. Mikhal made a daring attempt to get clear of his enemies; he kicked Champion hard and leaned low to keep from being knocked down by a chance blow. He cut a couple of soldiers down on his way to freedom. They were trying to grab the reins of his horse to stop him, but Mikhal was eventually able to get clear.
He let out a deep sigh of relief as he kept urging Champion away from the fighting. Chancing a look back, he saw that most of his men also made it out safely. He used his saber to point toward where the rest of the cavaliers were regrouping and then guided his horse in that direction.
“We did it!” Romlin shouted as Mikhal and his men reached the safety of the small area secured by the cavalier.
“They barely seemed like soldiers. Most of the ones I saw didn’t even have armor or shields,” Hanson offered. “They must have been pressed into service.”
Casualties proved to be far less during the charge than Mikhal expected. He and his men had lost only four. The loss was terrible news to Mikhal, but he tried to push their faces out of his mind and concentrate on the battle
“If we can hold on a little longer, we may just make it,” Mikhal hoped. The young cavalry officer looked around for his commander and spotted his prince instead.
“Cavaliers, you have proven your worth this day. There is no finer company of cavalry in the world. Let’s ride once more into their ranks and show them what Erandian soldiers are made of,” Kristian shouted as he waved his saber over his head. Mikhal noticed there was no blood on his sword, and then he grimaced in disgust as he ordered his men back into even ranks and awaited orders from Alek.
Alek had also looked at the prince disapprovingly. Kristian had briefly shown them that he had great potential over the last few weeks, but tonight he had chosen to revert back to his usual, uncontrollable self. “Not just yet, Your Highness. Look at how their commanders are whipping their footmen back into tight ranks. They will not be as easily drawn away from the center again.”
“At least we have slowed their approach. They seem much more cautious now,” Mikhal offered as he pointed at the black mass of soldiers lumbering toward them.
“You’re right, Mikhal,” Alek remarked, noticing the determined but slower pace of the lead ranks. “I’m surprised they have that much control over their men after what your man did. It was Davil that took the banner, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Mikhal turned to congratulate the cavalier but could not find him.
“Sir,” Jamal interrupted, “Davil was removed from the ranks. He suffered numerous cuts and was unable to ride any longer. I ordered him to return to the supply wagons to seek aid.”
Mikhal looked down at the frozen ground as he tried to figure out what to say. All he could do was nod in understanding. Davil was a good soldier. His courage in captur
ing the flag bolstered the spirit of the entire company. Now he was badly hurt, and Jamal made it sound like he might not see the sunrise.
“Here they come!” someone shouted from behind Mikhal. The cavalier scanned the distance to judge the progress of the Belarnians. They had gained a lot of ground while the Erandians rested. The deep sound of Belarnian war horns reverberated through the night. It worried some of the cavaliers that had never experienced the sound of the march-horns. It was followed by the chants and screams of thousands of angry Belarnians as they rushed toward their hated enemies.
Alek rode forward so that everyone could hear him. “They have seen how well we can fight. Those bastards won’t rush in to pull us down again.” Many of the younger cavaliers laughed nervously. “But now we’ve got to use the combined force of our entire company to ensure we’re not taken down piecemeal by these murderers of women and rapists of sheep.” They all laughed and cheered.
“We’ll charge them again, but this time in full force. All elements focus on the center to put fear in them. At my command, we will shift our momentum to the far left. I noticed that side is slower to react than the rest of their army. We will rake their front and turn to smash back into their flank. Does everyone understand?” The entire company shouted their acknowledgment in unison.
“With any luck, Aphilan’s men will finally join the fight,” he added, jokingly.
Mikhal barely had time to turn and make sure his soldiers were ready before his commander sounded the charge and led them toward the enemy. He tried to keep them centered on his captain as they rode toward the middle of the large army, looking back constantly to ensure his men were in a tight formation. Mikhal could see the front rank of foot soldiers and peasants begin to slow and stop as they feared a direct assault. Belarnian commanders tried to bring archers closer to the front to slow their charge, but at the last possible moment, Alek veered to the left.
Pitchforks and spears reached out to knock Mikhal’s commander from his horse, but he was too fast for them to follow. Hanson’s soldiers were on the side closest to the Belarnians as the cavalier shifted to the left. His men knocked many down with just the momentum of their horses. Hanson tried to maintain the speed of his charge, his men using their lances to force the Belarnian mob back, while the rest of the cavaliers headed toward the far end of the army. The front ranks were either crushed by the horses or cut down by Hanson’s men. Several hundred Belarnians ran away just to keep from being trampled in the panic.
When they finally passed by the end of the formation, Mikhal signaled for his men to turn back into their enemies in a wide arc. As his men again faced the army, he saw Hanson and his cavaliers break free of the Belarnian front ranks and move into position behind him. The cavaliers crashed into the weaker side of the opposing army just as they tried to get back into a defensive posture. Mikhal was surprised at how great an effect their horses had on the foot soldiers. Easily a hundred were killed in the first few moments as the cavaliers used their momentum to push toward the flag of some Belarnian commander.
The officer, dressed in black armor, turned toward the advancing cavaliers and ordered the men closest to him into a protective ring. The rest of the Belarnians between the black, helmeted commander and the charging Erandians were, unfortunately, confused and shocked by the cavalry charge. Unlike their commander, most of them wore nothing more than ragged clothes and had no armor protection. They ran as fast as they could to get away from the thundering hooves of the cavaliers, creating chaos throughout the entire left side of Ferral’s army.
It was during the charge that Kristian decided to follow the cavaliers deep into the flank of the enemy.
“No, Prince Kristian, stay with me!” Alek shouted. The prince either did not hear or chose not to heed the commander.
Kristian saw Mikhal lead the daring attack and urged his horse through the gap in the enemy lines. He did not check his horse’s speed and ran into the back of one of the cavalier’s mounts. The horses faltered and Kristian thought he might fall. He struggled to maintain control of his horse.
A Belarnian ran forward then, seeing an opportunity to bring a few of the cavaliers down, and grabbed Kristian’s reins. Kristian saw the man’s panicked expression as he frantically tried to pull the horse to the ground. The Prince of Erand hesitated for a moment, knowing he had to kill the other man, but now that the time had come to test his mettle, he found it hard to raise his saber.
In that brief instant, Kristian knew his adversary had been pressed into service. This wasn’t a warrior. This was an ordinary man that had been forced to obey the commands of an evil ruler. Was he justified in killing the man? Kristian wondered.
He let the saber fall but put little force behind the swing. The cut sliced through the man’s left eye socket and nose but failed to kill him. The Belarnian screamed in panic, seeing parts of his eye and nose fall off in his hands. The man’s blood covered his face, hands, and even parts of the prince’s horse.
Kristian raised the saber again, realizing he had botched the attack and could not leave the man like he was. This time he brought the blade down with all of the force he could manage. The force of the swing almost threw him from his saddle. The impact of the blow helped steady him, though, as his sword came down hard on the man’s exposed neck. The blow did not completely sever the man’s head, but his spine was cut and the man’s screaming suddenly stopped.
Kristian raised the bloody sword, breathing heavily and looking for other threats. There were a few more Belarnians nearby but they decided not to attack him, fearing either the horse or the men with their lances and swords. Kristian was glad. He regained control of his horse and guided it through the closing gap. Kristian quickly reunited with Alek, and the two backed away from the front ranks of the Belarnian army.
“That was not a smart move, Kristian,” Alek rebuked the young man. “You had no one to protect your other side and could easily have been overwhelmed.”
Kristian nodded in agreement. He would be more cautious the next time. The prince looked at the blood running down the groove in his saber. He felt a sick fascination and was a little relieved at having finally killed another man. Kristian had not been certain he could do it when the time came, but he had done what thousands before him had done. And he realized he did not like it; a sense of dread began to creep over him.
“We’ve got to pull them back before it’s too late. Sound the horn. Regroup. Regroup!” Kristian shouted back at Alek. A cavalier pulled out his horn and sounded a few short notes. Mikhal saw one of Romlin’s men drive his lance into the Belarnian commander as cavaliers pushed through the remainder of the protective circle. Several Erandians shouted in triumph, feeling the outcome of the battle shift in their favor; the remaining Belarnians were running back to the protection of another unit.
For a brief moment, there was an eerie silence on the battlefield. The cavaliers looked around them in relief, thankful for the momentary respite. Mikhal saw Kristian next to his captain just outside the fray. He was breathing heavily and looked distraught and confused. He clenched his saber desperately as he looked around in disbelief. Mikhal noticed that this time Kristian’s sword was covered with blood.
Good. At least the prince has finally learned the price of winning a war. How brave and noble do you think killing is now, Your Highness? The words were only thoughts in Mikhal’s mind, things he could not bring himself to say out loud.
Suddenly, the mass of soldiers around them seemed to close in. The Belarnians regained control of their army and were attempting to trap them. Mikhal looked around in despair as he saw all possible escape routes vanish. He pulled hard on Champion’s reins, trying to calm his horse. The lieutenant heard the signal for them to pull back, but it was difficult to see a way out of the mess. Mikhal could see the looks on many Belarnian faces. “They know they’ve got us this time,” he spat at them.
A single snowflake fell to the ground in front of Mikhal, and he shivered, feeling the cold wind blo
w even harder than before. The distance between the cavaliers and the cautious Belarnians was slowly closing.
“A few seconds more, and then they’ll be close enough to launch arrows at us,” Mikhal warned his men.
The sound of horns echoed across the battlefield just as the enemy prepared to assault the cavaliers. Mikhal thought it was Alek’s second call to pull back and regroup, but as he prepared to make his last stand, the cavalry officer could see his enemies turn away from him in confusion. The horns gave out a much more musical note than the sharp, gruff sounds of the Belarnian march-horns. Screams and shouts of alarm rose from the far side of the battlefield and the Belarnians forgot about the cavaliers as they fought to keep from being over run by the Duellrian army. Aphilan’s men had finally caught up with the Erandians and were rushing into the larger army, hoping to free the cavalrymen.
Mikhal could see hundreds of arrows arcing down toward Ferral’s men like a heavy downpour of rain. The soldiers could hear the hissing of the massive storm even above the sounds of battle. Hundreds of unprotected men fell in an instant.
Alek saw their opportunity for escape and ordered those around him to charge. “Now, men. Ride! Ride now!” he shouted as he led them toward a smaller group of Belarnians.
Mikhal saw his commander and shouted for his men to follow him. He spurred his horse after Alek and the remaining cavaliers did not hesitate. They forced their horses to run over those still barring their way to safety and then turned toward the rear of the Duellrian army for some much needed rest.
The battle raged on for over an hour. Of the one hundred Erandians present for the initial charge, only fifty cavaliers could still sit in the saddle and carry a lance. Saved by the Duellrian attack, they had regrouped and rested while their allies managed to push the larger Belarnian army back against the moat. But the weather grew worse as they fought, and the Duellrians began to lose their momentum. They were able to hold their position but could not keep the Belarnians pinned against the edge of the moat. An inch of snow was already on the ground, forcing soldiers to move more cautiously on the frozen, snow-covered battlefield.
Alek saw that the Duellrians were losing their advantage and ordered his three officers and their men to help by attacking the exposed flanks. The commander hoped their harassing tactics would keep the enemy worried enough about their vulnerable sides that they would pull some of their forces away from the front.
Duellrian archer units launched their last volley of arrows into the center of the large mass of men near the moat. The scene was one of violent chaos.
Mikhal looked back to see how many of his men had fallen during the last pass. “Three. Three more good men,” he said, despairingly. So far, Mikhal had lost fifteen men during the battle. He wondered how many more he would have to watch die before he was also pulled from his horse and killed.
Mikhal reigned in to rest and scanned the winter gloom for signs of the rest of the company. He could see Hanson and his men also pulling free of the army, racing toward a place where they could regroup. The southern Erandian only had twelve uninjured cavaliers with him. Mikhal also looked for Romlin. Earlier, the lieutenant had struggled to rally his men against a large force of pike men, but Mikhal could not find him. He did, however, see Alek and their prince talking with General Aphilan.
Even from where he was sitting, Mikhal could see that Kristian was ordering more people into the fight. The prince pointed to a group of Duellrians and waved his saber mightily in the air. The soldiers he was talking to quickly ran off toward a small group of Belarnians.
“How many more brave men will you send to their deaths, Prince?” Mikhal asked as he looked in dismay. The Duellrian army started to give ground to the much larger enemy force.
Mikhal saw Aphilan give the signal for retreat as they began to lose control of their formation. Trumpets began to sound across the battlefield for the second time as Duellrians and Erandians hurried away from the Belarnians. Mikhal looked up at the walls of the city to see Ferral still laughing at Kristian’s failed rescue attempt.
Anger swelled up within Mikhal as he thought of the terrible costs they had all paid only to fall back. He called for Jamal saying, “Bring me a torch. Quickly.”
“What are we going to do?” one of his soldiers asked as he stared at Mikhal’s grim face.
Mikhal did not bother saying anything as he grabbed the flaming torch and turned toward the fortress. He kicked Champion hard and rode off, leaving his men behind. They began to understand what their leader was planning to do and shouted war cries and charged after him.
Mikhal and his small band of men raced for the bridge, passing groups of Belarnians that were resting or cheering at the retreat of their enemies. They crossed before anyone realized what was happening. Mikhal reached the large wooden doors blocking their way into the city before his enemies could stop him.
A moment later, Mikhal thrust his burning torch at the oil soaked doors. His men added their remaining sacks of oil and the flames began to grow. There were only a few bags left, but they were enough to help the flames spread across the entire door. Mikhal sighed, enjoying the small victory as the fire began to burn into the wood.