Halt, Erak and Ragnak were in the command position, more or less in the centre of the Skandian line, on a small knoll.
Now, more signal flags were seen and the advancing cavalry broke into a trot, beginning to wheel slightly towards the Skandian left flank.
There was a stir among the archers crouched behind the breastworks. Several of them reached for the arrow bins in front of them, instinctively feeling the need to arm themselves.
‘Stay down!’ Will called, wishing, as ever, that his voice wouldn’t crack. Halt didn’t want him revealing the presence of the archers until the Skandians had made several of their usual probing attacks.
‘Wait till they’re committed to a full attack, then we’ll surprise them,’ he had told his apprentice.
The line of archers turned now to look at their young commander. Will forced himself to smile at them, then, feigning a casualness he certainly didn’t feel, leant his bow against the breastworks in front of him, signifying that there would be no action required of the archers for some time yet.
Some of the other men copied the action.
‘Nice work,’ Horace said quietly beside him. ‘How can you stay so calm?’
‘It helps if you’re terrified,’ Will replied, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. He was surprised at the warrior apprentice’s question. Horace himself seemed to be the epitome of calm, totally unworried and seemingly unconcerned. His next statement dispelled that idea.
‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘I nearly dropped my sword when they rode round the bend there.’
The Temujai charge was gathering pace now, breaking into a fast canter, then a gallop. As they neared the Skandian line, a major part of the force swung away, seemingly deterred by the fortifications and the sharpened stakes. They wheeled their horses to run parallel to the Skandian line for a few seconds, then began to curve back towards their own army. The Skandians yelled abuse and scorn at them. A shower of spears, rocks and other missiles erupted from the Skandian line. Most of them fell short of the galloping horsemen.
A smaller group, maybe less than a hundred, continued to close on the left wing of the Skandian line. Leaning forward in their stirrups, shouting their war cries, they forced their shaggy mounts up the earth breastworks, ignoring the screams of those horses who were struck by the stakes. About two-thirds of their numbers made it to the Skandian line and they leant down from their saddles, striking left and right with their long, curved sabres.
The Skandian defenders joined the battle eagerly. Huge axes rose and fell and more horses came down, with agonised screams. Will tried to shut his ears to the sound of horses in agony. The small, shaggy Temujai mounts were nearly identical to Tug and Abelard and it was all too easy to imagine his own horse bleeding and terrified, just as the Temujai horses were. Obviously, the Temujai thought of their horses as a means to an end, and had little affection for them.
The seething battle occupied one corner of the Skandian line. For some minutes, there seemed to be no clear picture of what was happening. Then, gradually, with cries of panic, the Temujai began to give ground, backing down the sloped earthworks, wheeling their horses and moving away, and letting the Skandians come after them with increasing eagerness.
Yet, to the more distant observers, it was obvious that the retreating enemy weren’t moving as fast as they might. Even those still mounted made no real effort to gallop clear. Rather, they withdrew gradually, maintaining contact with the foremost of their pursuers, drawing them further and further from the defensive positions they occupied and into the open ground.
‘Look!’ said Horace suddenly, pointing with his sword. In response to more flag signals, and unseen by the defenders on the left flank, several hundred riders from the original Temujai charge had now completed a full circle and were wheeling back to the aid of their embattled companions.
‘Just as Halt said they would,’ Horace muttered and Will nodded wordlessly.
In the command post near the centre of the Skandian line, Erak was saying much the same thing.
‘Here they come, Halt, just as you said,’ he muttered. Ragnak, standing beside him, peered anxiously over the breastworks at his exposed men. Nearly a hundred Skandians had streamed out of the defences now and were engaged with the Temujai.
‘You called it correctly, Ranger,’ he agreed. From this remote position, he could see the trap about to be sprung. Had he taken his normal place, at the thick of the fighting, he would have been totally unaware of the tactic.
‘Can Kormak be trusted to keep his head out there, and not let his men get out of control?’ Halt asked the Oberjarl. Ragnak scowled at the question.
‘I’ll kill him if he doesn’t,’ he said simply. The Ranger raised one eyebrow.
‘You won’t have to,’ he said. Then, turning, he gestured to one of Ragnak’s signallers, who stood nearby with a huge ram’s horn in his hand. ‘Get ready,’ he said and the man raised the horn to his lips, pursing his mouth to form the right shape to create the mournful but penetrating note.
It was a game of cat and mouse. The smaller group of Temujai were pretending to retreat, all the while managing to stay engaged with the leading elements of the pursuing Skandians. For their part, they were simulating a wild and undisciplined pursuit, and getting further and further from their own lines. And all the while, the first Temujai force were circling back to fall on the exposed Skandians.
There was only one more element in the game, which was unknown to the Temujai leaders. Before dawn, Halt had directed a hundred Skandian axemen to take up positions in the fringe of the wooded slope bordering the valley. Concealed in hastily dug shallow trenches and behind fallen logs, they waited now for the signal that would tell them to make a surprise attack on the Temujai who were planning to surprise their comrades.
‘Signal One,’ Halt said quietly, and the ram’s horn sounded a single, extended note that echoed across the valley.
Instantly, the pursuing Skandians, strung out in a long line behind the retreating Temujai riders, broke contact with the enemy and ran to form a defensive circle, their round shields forming an impenetrable wall. They were none too soon, as the second wave of Temujai horsemen was nearly upon them. As the eastern riders swept in, they were surprised to find an enemy already in a defensive formation and obviously awaiting them. The charge broke against the shield wall and another seething, struggling skirmish formed, with the hundred Skandians defending desperately against at least five times their number of horsemen.
Haz’kam, commanding general of the Temujai invasion force, frowned from his command position as he watched the well-rehearsed, co-ordinated movement of the Skandians as they formed their shield wall.
‘I don’t like the look of this,’ he muttered to his second in command. ‘This is not how these savages are supposed to react.’ And then the ram’s horn rang out again, this time sounding three short, staccato notes that seemed to punch the air. A signal of some kind, he realised. But for what? And to whom?
The answer wasn’t long in coming. There was a roar from the main Skandian ranks as a group of foot soldiers broke from the cover of the trees and ran to fall upon the encircling riders from the rear. The Skandian battleaxes took a terrible toll of the surprised Temujai, who found themselves suddenly and unexpectedly caught between the hammer of the new attacking force and the anvil of the shield wall. Surprised and confused, and with the momentum of their charge long since spent, the horsemen were easy marks for the savage northerners. In a matter of a few seconds, Haz’kam estimates that he had lost at least a quarter of his engaged force. It was time to cut his losses, he knew. He turned to his bugler
‘Retreat,’ he said quickly. ‘Disengage and retreat.’
The silver notes of the bugle spilled over the battlefield, cutting through the consciousness of the highly disciplined Temujai cavalry. This time, as they withdrew, they made no pretence of staying in contact with the Skandians. Their rapid disengagement showed how false their previous feig
ned retreat had been. In a matter of a few minutes, the riders were streaming back towards their own lines.
For a moment, it looked as if discipline and reason had forsaken the Skandians. Ragnak realised that, in the heat of the moment, they were on the verge of pursuing the retreating Temujai back to their own lines – and to certain death for the Skandians. He quickly jumped up on the breastworks and bellowed, in his loudest storm-quelling voice: ‘Kormak! Back here! Now!’
There was no need for the ram’s horn to reinforce the order. The Oberjarl’s voice carried clearly to the Skandians and, as one, they ran for the shelter of the fortifications. Realising too late what was happening, some of the Temujai sheathed their sabres and turned back to send a volley of arrows sailing after the Skandians.
But it was too little and too late. Apart from a few minor flesh wounds, there were no injuries.
Will and Horace exchanged glances. So far, things had gone pretty well as Halt had predicted. But they didn’t think the Temujai wouldn’t be trying that particular trick again.
‘Next time,’ said Will, ‘it’ll be our turn.’
General Haz’kam trotted his horse along the front rank of his army, watching as the first skirmish party made their way back to his lines.
He had lost perhaps two hundred men killed and wounded in that first encounter, he estimated. And perhaps half that number of horses. With an army of six thousand combat troops, of course, the numbers in themselves weren’t terribly significant.
What was significant, however, was the behaviour of the Skandians. That first attack had been designed to reduce their numbers by several hundred, not his own. In fact, there had even been the slight hope that the majority of the Skandians might have been drawn out from behind their defensive positions, into the exposed ground where they would have been easy meat for his mounted archers.
He reined in as he came level with a group of his officers. Among them, he recognised Colonel Bin’zak, his head of intelligence. The colonel was looking decidedly uncomfortable, he saw. As well he might be.
Haz’kam caught his eye now and jerked his head towards the Skandian defences.
‘That was not what I was led to expect,’ he said. His voice was deceptively mild. The colonel urged his own horse forward a few paces and saluted as he came level with his commander.
‘I don’t know what happened, Shan Haz’kam,’ he replied. ‘Somehow, they seemed to see through the trap. It’s not the way I expected them to react. It’s …’ He searched for the right words, finally saying weakly, ‘It totally un-Skandian behaviour.’
Haz’kam nodded several times. He held in his anger with an effort. It was undignified for a Temujai commander to show emotion on the field of battle.
‘Does it occur to you, perhaps,’ he said eventually, when he was sure he could keep control of his voice, ‘that the Skandians may have someone with them who knows our way of fighting?’
Bin’zak frowned as he turned this thought over. In truth, it hadn’t occurred to him. But now that the Shan mentioned it, it seemed the logical conclusion. Except for one factor.
‘It would be unlike the Skandians to give field command to a foreigner,’ he said thoughtfully. Haz’kam smiled at him. But it was a smile without the faintest touch of humour in it.
‘It was unlike them to break off their pursuit, form a shield wall and then hit us with a surprise attack from the woods, too,’ he pointed out. The colonel said nothing to that. The truth of the statement was self-evident.
‘There have been reports,’ the Shan continued, ‘that a foreigner has been seen with the Skandians … one of those cursed Atabi.’
Atabi, literally meaning ‘the green ones’, was the Temujai term for Rangers. In the years since Halt had made his successful horse raid, the Temujai leaders had attempted to gather as much knowledge as they could about the mysterious force of men who wore green and grey cloaks and seemed to meld into the forest. In the past few years, in preparation for this campaign, spies had even reached as far as Araluen itself, asking questions and seeking answers. They had learned little. The Rangers guarded their secrets jealously and the ordinary Araluans were reluctant to discuss the Ranger Corps with foreigners. There was a strong undercurrent of belief among Araluans that Rangers dabbled in magic and the black arts. Nobody was too keen to discuss such matters.
Now, at this mention of an Atabi among the enemy, Colonel Bin’zak shrugged.
‘They were rumours only, Shan,’ he protested. ‘None of my men could confirm the fact.’
The general’s gaze locked on his. ‘I think we’ve just had it confirmed,’ he said, holding the colonel’s eyes until the officer looked down and away.
‘Yes, Shan,’ he said bitterly. He knew his career was finished. Haz’kam now raised his voice, addressing the other officers gathered around and dismissing the matter of the failed intelligence colonel.
‘It might also explain why our own planned surprise attack from the ocean failed to materialise,’ he said, and there were a few assenting grunts. The plot with Slagor had also been hatched by Bin’zak. Now, it seemed, the one hundred and fifty men who had embarked on the Skandian ships four days ago had simply vanished into thin air.
The general came to a decision. ‘No more subterfuge. We’ve wasted enough time here. We’ve been delayed by three weeks already. Standard attack from now on: Rolling arrow storm until we create a weakness, then we drive through their line.’
His commanders nodded their assent. He looked around at them, seeing their determination, their grim confidence. The Temujai were about to do what they did best, using their mobility and the devastating force of their mounted archers to probe and weaken the enemy line. Then, when the moment was right, they would drive in with their sabres and lances and finish the job. There was no shouting of battle cries, no histrionics from these men.
This was a normal day at work for them.
‘Give your orders,’ Haz’kam told them. ‘Watch for my commands.’
He wheeled his horse, ready to ride back to the knoll where he had set up his command position. Already, signal flags were beginning to order the standard assault. A voice from behind made him pause.
‘General!’ It was Bin’zak. He had forsaken the social honorific of ‘Shan’, Haz’kam noticed, and addressed him by his military title. The general faced his disgraced intelligence colonel now, waiting for his next words.
‘Permission to ride with one of the Ulans, sir,’ Bin’zak said, his head held high. Ulan was the Temujai word for the formation of sixty riders that was the basic unit of the Temujai force. Haz’kam considered the request. Normally, field grade officers were kept out of the close contact part of battles. They had no need to prove their courage or dedication. The general finally nodded permission.
‘Granted,’ he said, and spurred his horse back to the command position.
‘Now what?’ said Ragnak irritably, as he watched the Temujai cavalry forming into groups.
Halt watched too, his eyes narrowed. ‘Now, I think, it’s the end of the opening gambits. Now they’re going to hit us in earnest.’ He pointed with his bow, sweeping it along the line of mounted horsemen facing them. ‘They’ll fight in their Ulans, sixty men in each unit, hitting us all along the line and wheeling away before we can respond. The idea is to pick off as many of our men with arrows before launching a concentrated attack at a selected spot.’
‘Which is where?’ Erak asked. This tactical talk was making him increasingly irritable. All he wanted was a dozen or so Temujai within reach of his axe. Now it appeared he would have to continue waiting for that eventuality.
Halt turned to the signaller with the horn.
‘Give the “ready” call for the archers,’ he said, and as the man blew a series of long short, long short notes, he replied to Erak’s question: ‘Wherever their general decides they’ve created a weakness in our line.’
‘So what do we do while we’re waiting for him to make up his mind?’ Ragnak asked irrit
ably. Halt grinned to himself. Patience certainly wasn’t high on the Skandian list of virtues, he thought.
‘We surprise them with our own archers,’ he said. ‘And we try to kill as many of them as we can before they become used to the fact that someone’s shooting back at them.’
All of Will’s hundred archers heard the horn signal and there was an instant stirring among them. He held up a hand to calm them.
‘Stay down!’ he called. He took his time and was pleased that his voice didn’t crack. Maybe that was the answer for the future, he thought. He climbed up on the raised step that had been built into his command position. Horace, his shield ready, stood beside him. The wicker breastworks still concealed the archers but, when the time came, they would be pushed aside and the shield bearers would have the responsibility for protecting them from the answering storm of arrows that the Temujai would send their way.
Below Horace and Will’s more exposed position, protected by earthworks and a wicker overhang, Evanlyn crouched in her position, with a clear sight of the line of archers.
The assembled troops of horsemen began to move now, cantering slowly at first, then at increasing speed. Will could see that, this time, each man was armed with a bow.
They thundered towards the Skandian line – not in one extended line as they had before, but in a dozen separate groups. Then, a hundred metres from the Skandians, each group wheeled, so they were heading in a dozen different directions, and sending volley after volley of arrows arcing up and over the Skandian lines.
Will drummed his fingers nervously on the breastworks before him. He wanted to see the Temujai pattern before he committed his men. The first surprise would have the maximum potential to disrupt the enemy and he wanted to make sure he didn’t waste it.