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On Gwaynn’s orders Captain Gaston departed Lynndon with slightly less than three thousand tough and eager cavalry men. He was happy to go…Lynndon was now a place of death and the smell was nearly overwhelming, but the Plateau’s defenses were secure since many of the peasants from the finger decided to stay and see the fight to the end. The population on the border with the Deutzani had grown tired of the constant threat to their country and felt compelled to fight back. Massi it seemed, was growing angry…very angry. There were now well over five thousand men and women camped around Bert’s up on the Plateau.
According to Speaker Sarbeth, Gwaynn and the rest of the Massi army were perhaps fifty miles to the southwest and drifting slowly toward the Scar. They were retreating cautiously before the Palmerrio, not wanting to engage until their cavalry arrived. Gwaynn was mindful of the Scar at his back, though they still had nearly twenty miles of open land in which to operate before being trapped against it. Gaston quickly decided to head straight south first before angling toward the west. The cavalry moved rapidly over the wide landscape, and ate up the miles, eager to join the army once more. The Plateau was ideal for horse warfare. It was flat, open and seemingly endless with few natural obstacles, though the landscape did contain the occasional gully, stream or wash.
Toward late afternoon on the first day out of Lynndon, a lone horseman suddenly appeared, riding fast toward them from the west. There was a bit of scrambling before the horseman was recognized as Patia Hawken, a long range scout. She rode through the ranks at top speed then pulled to a hard stop before Captain Gaston. He couldn’t help but smile at the eager young girl, who was no more than fifteen. She might be young and slight, but she was the fastest damned rider they had and a better than average tracker.
“It’s…it’s…the...Palmerrio cavalry,” she said while trying to catch her breath. Her face was flushed with excitement and from the exertion of riding hard, and her hair was damp with sweat. Gaston noticed she had little beads of perspiration running down the sides of her face leaving trails of clean skin that contrasted greatly with dust covered whole.
“Where?” He asked alarmed but with equal excitement. Patia was still breathing heavily and was gazing at him with her large hazel eyes. Suddenly she smiled.
“Ten miles due west…they’ve stopped for the night,” she said still gasping slightly. “They’ve stopped in a wash, near the center channel…looked to be the trickle of water that brought them in.”
“A wash? How many? How deep is the wash?” Gaston fired at her before she had time to even formulate one answer.
But when he finally had all the information he could glean from her, he smiled, moved his horse forward and grabbed her hand. Patia gazed up into her commander’s eyes and suddenly her heart was pounding all the more fiercely in her chest.
“Well done Patia!” He said and squeezed her hand so hard she felt pain, but she did not pull away. Captain Gaston was her dream. She answered his questions as quickly as she could and felt him squeeze her hand again, this time a bit softer. “Well done,” he repeated then released her and though her hand felt relief, her heart felt only loss. “Get to the rear and grab a fresh horse, rest while you can…I’ll have need of you later.” He smiled at her once more and Patia grinned back like a fool…but at the moment she was a happy fool. She urged her tired mount back along the long line of the Massi formation, happy and exhausted…and suddenly very hungry.
Gaston watched her go for a moment then turned back to Captain Kerr and Captain Marcum. With the Deutzani threat gone, and Lynndon now under the watch of a mass of civilian soldiers, Marcum insisted on joining up even though his skills on a horse were suspect.
“Sergeant Birdsong can handle Lynndon…I think the town’s days of war are numbered in any case,” Marcum explained, but Gaston did not argue…he was glad to have his oldest friend along for the ride.
“Four thousand!” Gaston exclaimed excitedly…this must be the main contingent of Palmerrio cavalry…if they could surprise them…
“Sergeant! Pull in the patrols…and send another scout up ahead, have him take Sarbeth, and tell Speaker Wynth to join us. We don’t want to get caught unaware,” Gaston ordered. “Let’s move forward carefully…I want to hit them right at dusk.”
The ride across the Plateau was easy and uneventful. The afternoon sky was crowded with puffy white clouds but showed no hint of rain, and a cool breeze was blowing from the north. Scouts from all directions reported the way clear. When they were perhaps a mile out from the wash the column of men and horses came to a stop and Speaker Wynth slowly went through the process of contacting Speaker Sarbeth.
“The Palmerrio are camping down in the wash, spread out to maybe a quarter of a mile; they’re horses are corralled in the center.” Sarbeth reported through the bubble once contact was made. “The wash is perhaps two hundred feet across and relatively shallow, but that the Palmerrio have no scouts on the eastern side…but there are a number of scouts roaming to the west.”
Gaston smiled broadly at Kerr and Marcum. “They are hunting for Gwaynn and the army.”
Kerr smiled back but Marcum just scowled. “Fools for not watching all flanks,” he spat. Marcum had little tolerance for carelessness and stupidity.
“Yes…what threat could possibly come from the east?” Gaston answered sarcastically, his mood growing increasingly bright.
“We attack in three sections,” Gaston said, eager for the fight and suddenly all business. “I’ll take the center; Captain Kerr, you take the right and Marcum will take the left.”
Gaston noticed Captain Kerr’s look of hesitation, and nearly smiled. “Captain Marcum may sit a horse like a whore after a record night, but he’s the best soldier in the cavalry…and that would include me!”
“Yes Sir,” Kerr answered, a touch embarrassed, but he smiled nonetheless.
“I’m no whore,” Marcum grumbled.
“See to Sergeant Pearson,” Gaston replied, reaching out and gripping the older man’s hands firmly. “He’ll show you to your men. We move forward at a walk and wait for my signal to charge…be careful, be quiet.”
The two men looked at one another for a long moment, Marcum wondering at the miracle that created Gaston the man from Gaston the boy. It happened so fast…but then war had a way of speeding up the process.
The Massi lines stretched for nearly a half a mile with only slight gaps between formations, and unbelievably they were still undetected when they increased their speed to a trot. The sun was just kissing the mountains to the west, lighting up the clouds in a spectacular display of reds, purples and oranges. No one noticed. At a half a mile out the trot became a cantor…still no alarm sounded from the enemy camp. Finally, a lone soldier on the eastern bank, looking for a private place to relieve his bladder, spotted the Massi horseman. He shouted a warning but by then the Massi were thundering down toward him at a gallop. And though a moment before the Palmerrio soldier was nearly dancing with need, the urge suddenly left him. He spun and headed rapidly back down the bank, his only thought now was getting to his weapons and climbing on his mount.
The center with Gaston broke instantly into a full out charge, shouting out in triumph and the left and right wings quickly matched the pace. They hit the eastern side of the wash without a single arrow being fired by the enemy and when Gaston himself reached the shallow bank he saw why. Every Palmerrio in sight was running, panic stricken, toward the large herd of horses corralled in the center of the gulley near a small, slowly moving stream. Without hesitation Captain Gaston and the bulk of those in his vicinity instinctively charged the enemy horses. They were the key, deny the Palmerrio their mounts and they were doomed. The Massi knew it and the Palmerrio knew it.