All he wanted to do was take her away. Somewhere where he knew she would be safe so that he could do what he had to do. Strike back. But right now he was helpless. Caught between two colleges, neither of whom cared whether he lived or died.
He had watched the two riders gallop over the rise to the south and cross to the Dordovan camp. He had watched them ride back separately, the one with the flag in advance of the other. And then he had watched the line of soldiers and horsemen appear, ready to charge. He shivered and cursed under his breath, not even having the strength to be scared like so many of those around him. He now had so little to lose.
He hugged Ellin tighter, kissing her on the top of her head.
'Be strong, my love,' he said. 'And listen to me. We are going to have to run once more.'
Chapter 27
Chandyr had been organising his men from the moment Rusau and the messenger had disappeared over the crest. He'd split his cavalry into two wings, leaving his foot soldiers to take the central ground. Mages were dispersed along the line, providing offensive and defensive cover. Chandyr's aim was simple. His men would not put one foot in the waters of the Dord, that was not their brief. But they would push every enemy across those waters.
He called his forces to order. Flags waved their readiness from the left flank cavalry. He would lead the right.
'Archers ready?' he called.
'Aye!' came the shout.
'Soldiers ready?'
'Aye!'
'Engage only armed men, shoot at armed men only. I want as little refugee blood on my hands as possible. No one is to walk on Dordovan land. We are not mounting an invasion. Not yet. Lieutenants, sound the march.'
Orders were barked along the line, which stretched for about a third of a mile. Chandyr trotted back to his cavalry. It would be a classic pincer if he could close it but he expected the Dordovans to be aware of the tactic. If not, he had movement orders waiting and his command team had been fully briefed, orders ready to be passed down to all levels of the army. Chandyr had studied Ry Darrick for a time and had learned a few truths about effective battle. He wondered if he could put any of them into practice.
The army advanced at a walk up the incline, the cavalry keeping pace. It was steady and ordered, as it had to be. And interrupted by a scout tearing back over the hill on foot. He sped down towards Chandyr.
'Messenger approaching, sir,' he said, breathless. 'Flag down, sir, flag down.'
'Get your breath and fall in.'
'Yes, sir.' He saluted and ran off round the side of the cavalry.
Chandyr looked to his left. 'Flagman, signal the full advance.'
'Sir!'
A thin red flag was held aloft and swept around in a long circle twice. The order was taken up along the line.
'To a trot!' ordered Chandyr.
The line quickened its pace, trotting up the slope, cresting the hill and carrying on down at an unbroken pace. Chandyr could see the refugees being herded left but not fast enough. He could see the Dordovans forming up on the north bank, cavalry in loose formation behind their foot soldiers, scattered horsemen that had to be mages among the rank and file. And in the middle of the empty plain, one rider. Rusau.
'Dear Gods, you fool,' muttered Chandyr. 'You bloody fool.'
There was nothing that could be done for him now. Chandyr's warning had been clear enough, though he felt a stab of regret.
To the left, the refugee group had seen the approaching army. There was trouble in the mass and the Dordovans were having difficulty containing it. People had got away from the guards. Some carried on running to the left, others unbelievably were coming up the plain towards them but most were making for the river.
'Keep it tight!' roared Chandyr. 'Keep it tight!'
As they descended the slope, the Dordovans were fording the river, their line reforming on the near bank and moving slowly, keeping to the flat ground, unwilling to give the Xeteskians any slope advantage. The forces closed, Rusau still between them.
'Get out of the way,' whispered Chandyr, then shouted, 'Get out of the way, Rusau!'
His voice echoed out. Rusau pulled his horse round and drove headlong towards Chandyr. He was shouting but the Xeteskian couldn't hear him until he closed to a few yards and slowed hard.
'Stop this madness!' he yelled.
'Out of my way, Rusau. Get behind the lines. There's nothing you can do now. Go back to Lystern.'
'Damn you, Chandyr. Make it stop.'
'Last chance, Rusau. Please go.' He looked to his lieutenants and signalled with a clenched fist. They were a hundred yards from the Dordovans. Spells were prepared. 'Flagman! Stand ready!'
'Sir!'
'Chandyr.'
'Leave.'
Rusau wheeled his horse again and sped back towards the Dordovans.
'Archers!' called Chandyr. At the back of the lines his archers stopped and knelt. The Dordovans were doing likewise. 'Deploy shields.' Each order was relayed by his command chain. Hard- and SpellShields came on instantly, deployment confirmed across the line. 'Fire at will!'
Arrows flew away, volley after volley, soaring overhead to clatter against the Dordovan shields and answered by the enemy. Across the divide, Rusau was being pushed away by Dordovan soldiers. Chandyr had no time to look at him any more. Dordovan cavalry had broken left and right and were galloping along the back of their line, which bristled with pikemen.
'Waiting,' yelled Chandyr. 'Waiting.'
He watched the cavalry closely. They were spread quite thin and outnumbered by the Xeteskian horsemen, their tactic as yet unclear. Thirty yards. It was enough.
'Engage!' he shouted.
The flagman flung his flag forwards, the foot soldiers roared and charged, his cavalry sprang to the gallop. Archers dropped their bows and joined the fray, spells filled the air. And in the midst of it all, Rusau, seeing his folly, began a desperate gallop to the right. He was never going to make it.
A few Xeteskian FlameOrbs soared out into the late afternoon sky, targeting mages and archers and splashing down in their midst, fizzing and hissing over shields or detonating on the ground where there were none. HotRain fell from the sky in a brief torrent over the Dordovan foot soldiers. The enemy mages were ready; their shields held, as did the Xeteskians' under the entirely predictable response.
But Chandyr had held something back. As they had been drilled, the Xeteskian foot forces, still just ahead of the cavalry, suddenly slowed for four paces. Unexpectedly, the Dordovan line was exposed to Xeteskian spell attack and more FlameOrbs fell in a concentrated burst on their left. At least one SpellShield cracked under the sudden and focussed barrage. Magical fire tore into armour and cloth. It melted faces and ate through furs and flesh, the unquenchable flames leaving their victims helpless as they died.
'Push the right. Watch the cavalry flank!'
Chandyr rode headlong into the Dordovan cavalry, horsemen to his left driving at the disoriented and weakened line, to his right fanning out to guard against a flank attack.
Rusau was caught in the chaos, wheeling his horse left and right as swords rose and fell all around him. Chandyr leaned left and swept his sword over his horse's head to clash with an enemy's. He let go the reins and dragged at the man's shoulder with his left hand as he snatched his weapon back. Pulled off balance, the Dordovan didn't see Chandyr's blade whip back and across to take him on the top of his helmeted head. Stunned, he fell from his horse, as good as dead under the churning hooves.