"...the truth that cuts, the discipline that frees..."
Behind me, a bearded raven screamed omen of dark death. Across the plain, the foremost phalanx advanced now at a run.
"Destroy me once, destroy me twice..."
>From altars within the palisade, the storm-godar unleashed the fury of
the Great Thane. Boiling blue-black clouds congealed across the plain,
the wind a screaming fury from the east. With searing crack the
vengeance-cloud spat forth its arsenal - stinging spears of hail,
sharp pain pellets to confuse and blind the foe. It clattered against
the armour at my back, violent and loud.
The Lunars answered with fury of their own. The baleful pale red globe above their camp held the clouds at bay, defending its perimeter. Now it spat forth foul magic upon our defences. Screaming red-gold fireballs shot forth to burst upon the palisade, moon-summoned meteors tinged with madness and death. We sheltered 'neath our shields, lest one burst down upon us. Within the wooden wall, the tribesmen howled, diving for shelter. Some panicked and ran, caught in the spreading lune-fire. On the edges of our own position, warding standards glowed white hot.
The deadly bombardment soon ceased, whether by countermagics or exhaustion I did not know. The foremost enemy phalanxes had reached the base of the ridge, victors of the boggy plain. They now faced a long slope before they could engage, blinded and stung by the oncoming hail. I could make out individual shields and standards, identify the nearer units ranged against us.
Silver serpents twined upon a moonstone pole. Howling bat shield devices. So we faced the spears of the Devastation Legion. Veteran campaigners, with scarlet cloaks and long hair. The god's bounty would be great.
Yet their formation was deeper than it was wide, and many in the further ranks carried neither spear nor pike. Of those that did, some hoisted training poles quick-capped with tips of bronze. Another outcome of our wyter ritual. Praise the Earth, and all the fertile blessings of Her touch!
Kiomar was patient and unhurried, using long experience to judge the correct moment. Finally, the signs stood correct. "Cohort, prepare for battle! Orderlies depart from the ranks. Silence, pay attention to command! Take up your spears!"
A veteran of several of these terrible clashes, I did not envy my brothers and sisters in the ranks. Just breathing and hearing were difficult enough in the close-packed mass of the phalanx, let alone with roar of thunder and the insistent clatter of hail on armour. Our front formed with much rubbing and jostling of breastplate, shield and spear. Battle-wise veterans rested shield-rims on the lip of their shoulder-armour, saving strength for the crucial minutes ahead.
Then came the fear of which the skalds do not speak. The terrible fear, the chattering fear, the fear that runs down the legs. That gut-twisting anticipation of battle, awaiting the terrible moment of blind slaughter when phalanxes collide, the dread crush of friend and foe. A fear that settles on Sword and initiate alike - I have seen veterans of a hundred battles crack and run under that terrible pressure.
A few enemy skirmishers shot shafts into the phalanx from downslope. Salamanders flamed into existence before the advancing foe. A summoned lune locked itself in desperate battle with Hail Children between the two shield walls. Shields came up, locked into place: a seamless wall of hide and burnished bronze.
Kiomar spat, shouted above the gust-driven hail. Her voice echoed within my head, heard also with Karis' spirit sense. "Take a wide stance; stand strongly against them! Dig your heels in the ground; beware you do not bite your lips. Brandish your war spear and shake the crest above your helm! You are terrible, you are humakti! Remember - - your armour and breastplate are your own, but your shield protects us all. Hold firm! The shield wall must not break! To the standard now our strength and offering... 'We who walk...'"
"'We who walk the path of truth. We who hear the silence.'" The battle chant began, slow and sonorous, our strength and magic centring on the cohort's standard, our temple and our only treasure.
The next few minutes held the measure of victory or defeat. I glanced across the battlefield a final time before giving myself completely to the chant and the advancing wall of spears.
The Praxians to our right had gone; I could not sight them on the hail-swept plain. Behind the approaching phalanx, I saw Lunar troops in open order struggling through the mud: they carried no spears. Capricious winds assailed them, knocking men about and wrenching shields from arms. A great mass of riders advancing at a trot from further up the valley. Their bulk immistakable: Tusk Riders. A grim day indeed.
The palisade to our immediate left was burning. From within I heard sharp screams; the occasional flash of magic. Enemy troops had struck; probably War Dancers using motion magic, seeking to kill our commander. While the sword clash would be terrible, I knew the Orlanthi preferred it to a battle such as we faced. They despised the collective march of formations, the discipline of columns and spears. Good fighting, friends.
The Sun Domers had marched their spear forest to the base of the hill: they too were moments away from the terrible clash. The Elmali cavalry still stood steady behind them, even though several lines of Lunar cavalry were advancing at a charge to flank the mercenary ranks. How could they ignore such peril!
I'd forgotten the altars on that further hill. The ground trembled beneath my feet, grim rumble of the Dark Earth. I watched in open-mouthed astonishment as a great portion of the hillside detached itself, surging downward like a wave over the terrified Lunar cavalry beneath. I involuntarily touched the charm at my neck, fearful least the ground open in gaping seams before us, and the fury of the battle stream down to bitter hell itself.
Yes! The chant around me faltered, recovered. The earth sisters had once more done duty fit and well. I saw now the purpose of those days before the altar, undermining the hillside with spirits of earth and water. The Earth Shakers had done the rest.
Below us, the enemy surged forward. I knew that this day would bring me release; I now felt a chance it might bring victory as well.
Our own elementals fell upon those of the enemy. Gnomes rose through the ground to bite at the feet of the phalanx, causing the spears to falter and sway. The battle chant grew to a towering crescendo.
Any... moment... now...
Copyright 1994 John Hughes
CONTINUED IN PART IV
==
"Bound I to Humakt
Serve in awe
yet practise double labour.
With skaldic verse, and tales of war
I also serve Donandar."
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