Daiya conferred briefly with his clan-chiefs, and then he led Bergsten, Heldin and several other knights up to the top of the hill to watch.
Bergsten immediately saw the advantages of light cavalry as opposed to armored knights mounted on heavy war-horses. The huge soldiers in their tight-fitting armor seemed baffled by the attacks of the Peloi armed with javelins. They floundered, desperately trying to close with their tormentors, but the horses of the Peloi were simply too quick. The o take their toll, and more and more of the hulk fell in that deadly rain.
‘We need to force them to run, your Reverence,’ Daiya ‘They’re very dangerous in close quarters, but they don’t have much endurance, so they aren’t nearly as good in a running fight.’
‘Vanion told me about that,’ Bergsten said. ‘Did Domi Tikume givee you any idea of how long it takes them to run out of breath?’
‘Nothing very specific, your Reverence.’
Bergsten shrugged. ‘That’s all right, friend Daiya. We’ve got plenty of open ground, and it’s still morning. We can run them all day if we have to.’
Stung by the repeated attacks, the huge soldiers began to lumber forward in a kind of shuffling trot, brandishing their horrid weapons and bellowing hoarse war-cries. The Peloi, however, refused those challenges and continued their slash-and-run tactics. Then, driven and stung beyond endurance, the creatures broke into a shambling run.
‘It’s feasible,’ Sir Heldin mused in his deep, rumbling basso. ‘We’d need different equipment, though.’
‘What are you talking about, Heldin?’ Bergsten demanded.
‘Looking to the future, your Grace,’ Heldin replied. ‘If those wars become a standard fixture, we’ll have to modify a few things. It might not be a bad idea to train and equip a few squadrons of Church Knights to serve as light cavalry.’
‘Heldin,’ Bergsten said acidly, ‘If those things become a standard fixture, do you think there’ll be any Church Knights at that point?’
‘1rd fixture, it’ll be because we’ve lost this war. What makes—’
‘They’re breaking off, your Reverence!’ Daiya cried excitedly. They’re running away!’
‘But where are they running to, Daiya?’ Bergsten demanded. It’s the air that’s killing them, and the air’s everywhere. Where can they go, Daiya? Where can they go?’
‘Where can they go?’ Kring asked in bafflement as Klael’s soldiers broke off from their clumsy pursuit of the Peloi horsemen and into the desert.
‘Who cares?’ Tikume laughed. ‘Let them run. We’ve still got those Cyrgai penned up in that gully. We’d better get them to moving before some clever subaltern in the rear ranks has time to take his bearings.’
The Cyrgai were following a strategy from the dawn of time. They advanced steadily, marching in step, with their large round shields protecting their bodies and with their long spears leveled to the front. As the Peloi slashed in on them, they would stop and close ranks. The front rank would kneel with overlapping shields and leveled spears. The ranks behind would close up, their shields also overlapping and spears also to the front. It was absolutely beautiful—but it didn’t accomplish anything at all against cavalry.
‘We have to get them to run, Domi Tikume!’ Kring shouted to his friend as they galloped clear of the massed Cyrgai regiments again. ‘Pull your children back a little further after the next attack! This won’t work if those antiques just keep plodding! Make them run!’
Tikume shouted some orders, and his horsemen altered their tactics, pulling back several hundred yards and forcing the Cyrgai to come to them. A brazen trumpet sounded from the center of one of the advancing regimental squares, and the Cyrgai broke into a jingling trot, their ranks still perfectly straight.
‘They look good, don’t they?’ Tikume laughed.
‘They would if this was a parade-ground,’ Kring replied. ‘Let’s sting them again and then pull back even further.’
‘How far is it to the border?’ Tikume asked.
‘Who knows? Nobody I’ve talked with is really sure. We’re close, though. Make them run, Tikume, make them run!’
Tikume rose in his stirrups. ‘Pass the word!’ he bellowed. ‘Full retreat!’
The Peloi turned tail and galloped to the east across the rattling brown gravel. A thin cheer went up from the massed regiments of the Cyrgai, and the trumpet sounded again. The ancient soldiers, still in perfect step and with their ranks still perfectly straight, broke into a running charge. Sergeants barked the staccato cadence, and the sound of the half-boots of the Cyrgai beating on the barren ground was like the pounding of some huge drum.
And then the full light of a winter midday dimmed as if some frit, silent wings had somehow blotted out the sun. A chill wind swept across the desert, and there was a wailing sound like the sum of human woe. The suddenly stricken Cyrgai, rank upon rank, died soundlesly in mid-stride, falling limply to earth to be trampled by their blindly advancing comrades, who also fell, astonished, on top of them.
Kring and Tikume, both pale and trembling, watched in awestruck wonder as the ancient Styric curse did its dreadful work. Then, sickened, they wheeled and rode back eastward, turning their backs on the perfect soldiers rushing blindly into chill, wailing obliteration.
‘These clothes are good enough for Arjuna and Tamul Proper, neighbor,’ Sparhawk told the shopkeeper later that same day, ‘but they don’t exactly turn the trick in a duststorm. I think that last one put about four pounds of dirt down my back.’
The shopkeeper nodded sagely. ‘Other races laugh at our customary garb, good Master,’ he observed. ‘They usually keep laughing right up until the time when they ride through their first duststorm.’
‘Does the wind blow all the time out there?’ Talen asked him.
‘Not quite all the time, young Master. The afternoons are usually the worst.’ He looked at Sparhawk. ‘How many robes will you be needing, good Master?’
‘There are six of us, neighbor, and none of us are so fond of each other that we’d care to share a robe.’
‘Have you any preferences in colors?’
‘Does one color keep the dust out better than the others?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed.’
‘Then any color will do, I guess.’
The shopkeeper hustled into his storeroom and returned with a pile of neatly-folded garments. Then he smiled, rubbed his hands together and broached the subject of the price.
‘He overcharged you, you know,’ Talen said as they emerged from the cluttered shop into the dusty street.
Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.
‘Someday I’m going to have to teach you about the finer points of bargaining.’
‘Does it really matter?’ Sparhawk asked, tying the bundle of Cynesgan robes to the back of his saddle. He looked around. ‘Anarae?’
‘I am here, Anakha,’ her whispered voice responded.
‘Were you able to find anything?’
‘Nay, Anakha. Clearly the messenger hath not yet arrived.’
‘Berit and Khalad are still several days away, Sparhawk,’ Talen said quietly. ‘And this isn’t such an attractive place that the messenger would want to get here early to enjoy the scenery.’ He looked around at the winter-dispirited palm trees and the muddy pond that lay at the center of the cluster of white houses.
‘Attractive or not, we’re going to have to come up with some reason for staying,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We can’t leave until the messenger gets here and Anarae Xanetia can listen to what he’s thinking.’
‘I can remain here alone, Anakha,’ Xanetia told him. ‘None here can detect my presence, so I do not need protection.’
‘We’ll stay all the same, Anarae,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Courtesy and all that, you understand. An Elene gentleman will not permit a lady to go about unescorted.’
An argument had broken out on the shaded porch of what appeared to be a tavern or a wine-shop of some kind. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Echon!’ a wheezy-voiced old man in a patched and filthy robe declared loudly. ‘It’s a good hundred miles from here to the River Sama, and there’s no water at all between here and there.’