Jan ca’Ostheim
JAN VIEWED THE LANDSCAPE FROM THE TOP of the hill
along the Avi a’Sele, some fifteen miles out of Nessantico, and his
mind reeled. “Cénzi’s balls . . .” Starkkapitän ca’Damont breathed
alongside him, and Commandant Eleric ca’Talin gave a sympathetic
laugh at the curse.
“It’s rather
impressive, isn’t it?” the Commandant said. “They’re swarming along
the road and a good mile or two on either side. I have reports that
companies of their warriors crossed the A’Sele and are now on the
south side as well. We haven’t been able to do more than annoy
them, much less stop them.”
Jan had seen armies
on the march before, but rarely so large a force. The Westlanders
spread out before them, dark specks crawling like ants along the
road and through the tilled fields to either side, the scales sewn
onto their bamboo-and-leather armor glistening in sunlight. They
made the army at Commandant ca’Talin’s back look like but a single
squad. The Firenzcian force that would be arriving was little more
than half the size of the Tehuantins. “I feel better now that we
have at least a few hands of war-téni with us,” ca’Talin continued,
“and we have adequate supplies of black sand, but these Westerner
sorcerers are terribly strong, and we already know what their own
black sand weapons can do against city walls. They cut through
Villembouchure’s defense like rats through soft cheese; it was all
I could do to hold the town for a single day and make it as costly
for them as I could. Still, they forced me to retreat just to
preserve the troops I had so I could continue to harry them on the
way here.” The Commandant shook his head. “If I thought we had any
realistic chance of cutting them down significantly, I would say we
should bring your troops here and engage the Tehuantin here and
now, before they reach Nessantico. We have the advantage of height,
and beyond these last hills the land flattens in front of
Nessantico, and we’ll have less room to maneuver. But if we do that
and fail, then we’ve abandoned the city’s defenses to those who
manage to live and retreat, and to the Garde Kralji. If you have
some better strategy, Hïrzg, Starkkapitän, I’d be happy to hear
it.”
Ca’Damont only shook
his gray head. Jan stared downward. “Watch,” ca’Talin said. “I’ve
sent out a group of chevarittai to attack their left flank there,
by the river where the Westerners are exposed. The chevarittai are
in that copse of trees . . .”
Before the Commandant
had finished speaking, a group of two hands of mailed riders rushed
outward from the cover of the trees, hurtling toward a group of
Tehuantin warriors who had become slightly separated from the main
group. They saw the Westlander warriors bring down their pikes,
grounding them against the charge. But the lead chevaritt hurled
something that glistened in the sun toward their front ranks. It
exploded, shattering as it reached them. They saw the brilliance of
the explosion and the smoke rising from the Tehuantin ranks before
the sound of the explosion came, a thunder that rolled from the
hillside. There was a hole in the pike line, with several of the
Westlanders on the ground. The chevarittai slammed into that hole,
swords and spears slashing, but now they could see other warriors
hurrying toward the gap, and plume-helmeted sorcerers raising their
spell-staffs. Lightnings flashed, and—with the shrill call of a
cornet—the chevarittai were retreating back through the hole they’d
torn in the line. There were only six of them now, with two
riderless horses accompanying them, and two more horses down. They
hurried back into the cover of the trees as arrows plummeted down
around them—Jan saw another rider fall under the assault just
before they reached the tree line.
Then it was
over.
“Five dead,”
ca’Damont said. “But I count at least twice that number of the
Westlanders down. Still . . .” He licked at his lips. “That’s not a
margin of loss we can sustain. There’s bravery—and our chevarittai
have that in abundance—and there’s stupidity. We can pick off the
Tehuantin a hand at a time, but even if we do, they’ll be at the
gates of Nessantico in five days at their current pace. With the
black sand they have, we won’t be able to keep them out—and if they
can do at Nessantico something like they did at Karnmor . . .”
Ca’Damont shuddered. “I thank Cénzi for your reconciliation with
the Kraljica, Hïrzg Jan. Without Firenzcia, we would be doomed.
Even with your support, nothing is certain. I cede control of the
Garde Civile to you, and I’ll cooperate with you and the
Starkkapitän in any way I can.”
“Thank you,
Commandant,” Jan told him. “My matarh chose well when she named you
Commandant, and she’s fortunate to have someone of your skill at
her side. You’ve done as well as could be expected. No one could
have done better.” Starkkapitän ca’Damont nodded at that
appraisal.
He looked again at
the deadly array before them, then over his shoulder at the land
behind: the Avi a’Sele winding through woods until it vanished. He
could, faintly, see the roofs of Pre a’Fleuve above the distant
treetops. Only a few miles beyond that lay Nessantico. And
somewhere just to the west of Nessantico, his own army should be
nearly within sight of the city, weary from a long, fast march from
Firenzcia.
To the immediate
south, the great ribbon of the River A’Sele curled through the
rolling landscape, oblivious to the drama that was unfolding so
near to it. Whether the Holdings prevailed or the Tehuantin, it
would continue to flow to the sea, unperturbed and
uncaring.
“I agree with your
assessment, Commandant,” he said. “We can’t stand here, not with
the troops we have, though it’s a shame since we have the high
ground. Still, I think we might yet slow them down. We need more
time to prepare, for my own troops to arrive and rest, and for
Sergei to get more of the war-téni here also. We’ll meet their main
force outside Nessantico because it’s our only choice, but I think
we’ll also give them a taste of what they’re up against—if only so
we can see how they’ll react. Starkkapitän, Commandant, let’s
retire to the tents and make our plans . . .”
