been removed from the cavalry: to stiffen the resolve of nervous troops in the face of an undefeated enemy.
More enemy cavalry were out ahead of the advancing legions. Those not engaged in trying to clear the skirmishers lingered on the edge of bowshot, but Osh knew they wouldn’t stay there long: Before the heavy infantry caught them up they’d start to strafe the Narkang line, see if they could draw out a pursuit. If anyone followed they’d quickly be surrounded and wiped out, so every single officer had had the same order drummed into them: if they allowed anyone to leave the line without a clear order from the king or a general, they would be executed.
Not long after, the beat of drums drifted over the moor and the sound prompted a sudden jerk from the cavalry and a grin from Daken.
‘Here they come,’ he yelled triumphantly, ‘now hold the line, all o’ you!’ He beckoned over one of Osh’s aides. ‘Archers ready, fire on my word.’
The man saluted and gestured to a major commanding the archers on the right.
Daken watched the Menin follow the tree-line, aiming to slant across the line of pikemen holding the open ground at the end of the ditch. ‘Rear legion,’ he called, turning to face the officer waiting for his order, ‘five volleys, fifty yards in from the trees — furthest range: Fore legions, fire at will!’
Osh resisted the urge to duck as he heard the dull thrum of bowstrings ring out and a cloud of black arrows flashed over their heads, arching down towards the attacking cavalry, and before the second volley was loosed, the first of the enemy were tumbling from their horses.
The cavalry pressed on, unable to do anything but close the ground and throw their javelins at the infantry; attacking an ordered line head-on would be suicide, and even their efforts to ride down the line cost them dearly as archers were positioned there specifically to pick them off.
‘Hold the line!’ an officer shouted from within the press of infantry, and his call was quickly taken up by the rest as the cavalry swept past and turned away.
Once they moved away Osh could see the heavy infantry behind: armoured Menin troops with fat, oval shields and long spears, advancing steadily in two wide blocks. They appeared oblivious to the streams of arrows raining in on their flank from archers behind the ditch.
‘Rear legions, another five volleys, furthest range,’ Osh called to the officer behind him, ‘then keep firing just beyond our line.’
‘What’re we missin’ here?’ Daken muttered as the officer spread the order. ‘Those heavy infantry ain’t goin’ to push their way through eight ranks o’ pikes, not unless they got another few legions behind.’
‘Scryer said eight of them, but they don’t look like they’re all engaging yet,’ said the mystic, scratching his cheek. He looked up suddenly. ‘’Ware incoming arrows!’ Osh called loudly. They watched the missiles fall with a strange detachment, knowing they could do nothing - most fell short, but a few found their mark and the screaming started.
As the Menin closed they heard shouts from their left, at the tree-line. A fierce grin appeared on Daken’s face as a youth ran out from the trees, one of the division of volunteer infantry stationed there.
‘Chetse!’ the youth shouted again and again in a high, panicked voice, ‘Chetse in the trees!’
It took Osh a moment to place his uniform, then the mystic realised he’d last seen it on the streets of Narkang: this division was comprised of City Watchmen, who’d arrived unannounced a few days before, inspired by the sacrifice of Commander Brandt, in Narkang the previous year. They’d been assigned to the forest, as their weapons were barely suited to an open battlefield.
Daken moved with surprising speed. The youth running towards them, still shouting, barely had time to look surprised before Daken clouted him around the head hard enough to knock him down.
Osh looked at the rear rank of the pikemen; the white-eye had been right to do so; they were looking panicked at the thought of Chetse axemen appearing behind them.
‘I heard ya the first time,’ Daken growled, standing over the young watchman, ‘now: get up!’
The youth was still sprawled on his back, dazed by the blow. He was wearing a peaked iron helm and a leather coat and carried a wooden shield; not much protection against the Menin, but good for anyone trying to negotiate the dense forest. At the white-eye’s words he pulled himself