The charge hit the front line in a clash of metal. A frothing chaos spread, the angry foam of a storm-driven wave crashing into unyielding land.
Sergei had to force himself to stay back and not charge into the fray with his sword-the Hirzg’s sword-held high. But it was difficult enough with his healing wounds just to sit his horse, and it was not the commandant’s role to fight.
Not yet. Not today. For a turn of the glass, perhaps more, the Nessantico line held, as Sergei directed his offiziers through the scurrying pages and the signals of flags and cornets.
But they couldn’t hold forever.
The line sagged inward toward Sergei’s position as the meadow filled with Firenzcian black and silver. The war-teni lobbed spells and counter-spells into the field and onto the rear ranks; fire burst in colorful sparks over the field, and the screams of the wounded and dying were muffled in drifting smoke and confusion.
Distantly, Sergei saw a portion of the northern end of the line give way entirely. Firenzcians poured through the gap, the banners of the chevarittai fluttering as they pushed deep into the Nessantico ranks.
The flag-pages around Sergei glanced over nervously. He scowled down at the battlefield.
“It’s over, Commandant,” ca’Montmorte said. “They’re through the defenses. We can’t hold them here any longer.”
Sergei hadn’t expected to prevail, but he’d also not expected to be routed so quickly. “I know,” he nearly shouted at ca’Montmorte. The angry words tasted like bitter, unripe sunberries in his mouth. “Tell the offiziers to fall back,” he grunted, and the pages snatched red flags from the ground and began waving them frantically, the horns changed their call. The cry went up from around the field.
The Nessantico war-teni turned to different spells; now they covered the field with a thick, dense fog to confuse the inflow of the Firenzcians and cover the retreat. The chevarittai reluctantly turned their mounts; the foot soldiers gave way and the archers tried to slow the enemy troops that filled the vacated space.
Faintly, Sergei heard the Firenzcian horns. He’d hoped that the Hirzg would let them retreat, so that the Hirzg could lick his own wounds and set the army for the final thrust toward Nessantico. That was the way of polite warfare: when the outcome of the battle was decided, the the triumphant side allowed the loser to draw back, perhaps to exchange prisoners and recover the bodies of any important ca’ or cu’ who had fallen.
But the horns across the field weren’t sounding halt, but pursuit.
Ca’Montmorte spat onto the grass. “The bastard. .” Sergei shook his head. He pulled on the reins of his horse.
“Regroup the chevarittai with the Kraljiki’s troops near the Fen Fields,” he told ca’Montmorte. “Send a runner to the Archigos; we’ll need all the war-teni to try to stop them there. Tell the Kraljiki to be ready. The Hirzg wants his city today.”
Sergei glanced once more at the battlefield wreathed in spell-fog.
He shook his head and kicked at his destrier’s sides.
Jan ca’Vorl
The pages rushed about, carrying news from the front lines and relaying orders from Jan and Starkkapitan ca’Linnett as the attack began. Well back from the front line and protected, Allesandra was with Jan, as were Archigos ca’Cellibrecca and Starkkapitan ca’Linnett. From the cover of the trees, they watched as war-fire arced away from the teni toward the defenders of Nessantico. But the sense of destiny and power faded almost immediately. Jan cursed and Archigos ca’Cellibrecca gaped in shock as the spell-fires were countered, as the blazing suns were extinguished or-far, far worse-were sent back toward their own lines. There were cries of alarm from across the field of battle, but the overwhelming terror that Jan had been assured would be the result was lost. “They’re using the Numetodo. .” the Archigos muttered. He made the sign of Cenzi, as if to ward off evil.
Jan was merely furious. “Archigos, I’d remind you that both you and U’Teni cu’Kohnle assured me that our war-teni would send our enemies running back to the city. It seems to me that nothing of the sort has happened, and that, in fact, you’ve just caused the death of many of our own men.”
“The counter-spells came impossibly quickly, my Hirzg,” ca’Cellibrecca answered nervously.
“Impossible, Archigos? I saw them. Or are you telling me that I’m mistaken?”
Ca’Cellibrecca bowed his head. “I’m sorry, my Hirzg. But it’s obvious the Kraljiki and the heretic cu’Seranta have made a pact with the Numetodo.” Ca’Cellibrecca clenched his hands and made the sign of
Cenzi. “They deserve everything Cenzi will bring them. Everything.”
Allesandra answered him. “My vatarh brings the Kraljiki’s fate to him,” she said tartly, the emphasis in her statement obvious. Jan’s anger didn’t fade, but he smiled grimly at his daughter’s admonition, as did ca’Linnett.
“We’ll deal with this failure later, Archigos,” Jan told him. “Numetodo or not, and despite the performance of your war-teni, we will prevail here. Starkkapitan, send our troops forward. Let us see how well the Garde Civile fares against true Firenzcian fury.”
Ca’Linnett bowed and barked orders: cornets blared, and with a great cry, the army surged out from the trees, the chevarittai leading the way with banners of black and silver flying.
But the resistance was stiff, far more tactically adroit than Jan had hoped. The flood of pages continued to come over the next turn of the glass, and the news was never what Jan wanted to hear. “That’s ca’Rudka,” Jan grumbled. “Ca’Montmorte hasn’t this kind of flair. The bastard should never have been allowed to escape Passe a’Fiume.”
With that, ca’Linnett glanced at Jan uneasily. “They’re outnumbered, and your strategy has them spread along too long a line to defend well,” the starkkapitan insisted. “We have more war-teni and more chevarittai. They won’t be able to hold for much longer, my Hirzg.”
Jan raised his eyebrows. “They’d better not, Starkkapitan,” he said.
“For your sake.” At his side, Allesandra giggled at the face ca’Linnett made.
Jan prowled the tree line restlessly, glaring across the field, his hand on his sword. He ached to be out there, even if he knew it was not his place. The adrenaline of battle sang in his ears, and he could not stay still. Allesandra watched him as he paced, her gaze always on him.
But the starkkapitan proved to be prophetic. One of the pages came riding up, breathlessly, a grin on his stained face. “Their line’s broken, my Hirzg,” he shouted. “We are behind them now.” Even as the boy spoke, Jan heard Nessantico’s horns on the far side of the meadow calling retreat and saw a spell-fog rise near the trees on the other side of the clearing.
“Excellent,” Starkkapitan ca’Linnett nodded to the page. The relief was obvious on his face. “It was only a matter of persistence. Tell the offiziers to let them run. Have the horns call ‘Halt’ and. .”
“No,” Jan interrupted, striding up to them. “We pursue.”
Jan watched Ca’Linnett struggle not to let relief turn to irritation.
Ca’Cellibrecca simply blustered. “My Hirzg,” ca’Cellibrecca said, “it’s well past Second Call already and this is an excellent location to consolidate our forces. We should plan our final assault. We shouldn’t be reckless. .”
“Reckless?” Jan interrupted, and ca’Cellibrecca’s mouth closed as if a fist had struck his lower jaw. “Allesandra deserves her crown of lights tonight. We will pursue.” He tousled the girl’s hair, and she smiled up at him. “Starkkapitan ca’Linnett? I trust you have confidence in the strength of our forces and your ability to lead them, even if our Archigos does not?”