"Scouts," Vambran said as his sergeant began to scramble down the rocks toward the sand below. "Get the men to form up, Horial. Quickly! Double wing formation, backs to these rocks!"
The sergeant scampered down off the outcropping, moving away from Vambran. As he reached the flats of the beach, Horial began shouting orders to the milling soldiers.
Vambran stayed behind, using the superior vantage point to keep watching the scouts maneuver.
Already, Vambran could see more figures in the distance, an orderly column of soldiers marching in his direction from farther along the beach. There were a lot of them, and Vambran found himself wishing he still held his spyglass, so he could get a better look, but like so much else, the lieutenant had lost it among the waves of the Reach during the ship battle.
On impulse, Vambran turned and clambered over a few jagged projections until he was in position to peer in the opposite direction. As he feared, the mercenary officer spotted another group of troops moving toward him from that direction. Again, mounted soldiers led the way, moving in a line right along the edge of the forest. They were light cavalry, the lieutenant realized, strung out to dissuade the Crescents from making a break for the trees, holding Vambran and his troops in place so they could be caught between the two groups of infantry marching from either side.
Damn! They knew we were here, he reasoned, furious at himself for not sending scouts of his own out sooner. Then Vambran's eyes narrowed in suspicion. They knew we were here because they're serving the same curs who sent the pirates against us. The lieutenant's sudden insight made his stomach churn.
No time for worrying about that now, he thought, turning and rapidly working his way back across the rocky point so he could join his men. We're going to get slaughtered if we don't get out of this trap.
Once down on the sand, Vambran sprinted toward the formation he had ordered, which he saw was already formed up. Men armed only with blades were positioned in the middle in a single tight rank, while those with crossbows took up spots on either flank, spaced out a bit more. With only twenty-three men, the formation was pitifully small.
When he joined his soldiers, Vambran knew what they had to do, and he didn't hesitate for a moment. "Crescents!" he said, running into a position in front of his troops, turning his back to the enemy for a moment and facing the remains of his company. "We're pinned between two larger forces, coming from either direction." Vambran gestured both ways along the beach. "This is a lawless land where anyone you meet is an enemy until proven otherwise. Their intentions are clear, and there are too few of us to stand and fight. Once again, I must ask you to retreat from the battle, though I know it leaves a foul taste in your mouths to do so." There was some muted rumbling among the men and women formed up in front of Vambran, but he held up his hand for silence.
"We'll make a break for the trees," he said, pointing behind himself. "Keep together as much as you can because we're going to have to plow through their skirmish line to get to the woods. They are mounted, but they are strung out enough that we ought to be able to punch a hole through them and melt into the forest. Once there, we can use the cover to our advantage and convince these bastards to go find easier pickings elsewhere." A handful of encouraging shouts issued forth, but most of the twenty-three were subdued, silent.
Knowing that delaying any longer would cost them opportunity, Vambran wasted no more time. He nodded to Horial, who issued the order for the troops to begin moving forward. Initially the Crescents moved in a smooth, cohesive block, with the center portion remaining in a straight line and the flanks, the crossbowmen, trailing out to either side, so that the whole formation appeared to be something of a blunt-nosed wedge, moving right toward the thin line of skirmishers.
As they drew closer to the tree line, Vambran saw that the lead soldiers among the cavalry had met up, closing the line, and several had dismounted and turned toward the advancing Crescents. He saw the archers among the enemy begin to bunch together in front of them, preparing for the confrontation. To either side, the marching columns were also deploying, spreading out into lines and beginning to advance more quickly, hurrying to cut the Crescents off before they could defeat the more lightly armed skirmishers and slip away.
It would be close.
Vambran began to realize his miscalculation as soon as the first magical effects materialized among his troops. It naturally occurred to him that some among the enemy would be able to draw upon magic to aid them, as he often did himself, but he had not expected them to be concentrated so heavily among the mounted skirmishers. But it made sense, he realized, for they could wield their magic from afar and on the move, much in the same way they often engaged the troops from a distance with their ranged weaponry. Plus, the lieutenant realized, they might have expected the Crescents to make a run for the forest and needed to be prepared for it.
All of that understanding of military theory did nothing to change the fact that Vambran's plan to break for the trees was being thwarted. In the very center of the line, the coarse sea grass that grew heavily in the sand came alive, growing and squirming about, wrapping tendrils of plant fiber around the soldiers' feet. Several men went down, thoroughly entangled in the animated, writhing growth that had a hold of them. As they tumbled into the sand, more of the greenery latched on, pinning them helplessly.
At another point, on the left flank where the crossbowmen moved obliquely, the ground seemed to become as slippery as a lard-coated floor, causing several more Crescents to stumble and fall to the ground. They scrabbled about, trying to find some purchase on the greasy, slimy terrain, but it was pointless. They could not maneuver effectively at all and fell behind.
"Keep moving!" Vambran ordered. "Run!" He hated the words as soon as they issued from his mouth, but the lieutenant understood the tactic all too well and realized he couldn't save everyone. To stop and aid the other men would only allow the larger forces to close in and cut them all off.
Just like in the water, Vambran lamented. Damn you, Lavant!
The remaining Crescents began to charge the skirmishers' position, and Vambran sprinted along with them, peering ahead. Beside the mercenary officer, three soldiers stumbled and dropped to the ground, apparently unconscious-or asleep, Vambran decided. He considered stooping down and trying to wake them, but he had already given the order not to pause, and he knew hesitating would only mean his capture or death. His heart heavy for the fate of the three, Vambran pressed on. He tried not to think of their names, their families, as he moved away. He shoved the knowledge to the back of his mind as he fled. He could grieve later.
When a wave of fear washed over Vambran, he was able to maintain his composure and ignore it, but two more soldiers on either side of him froze in mid-step, turned, and fled back the way they had come. Even as he lamented the loss of two more devoted members of the company, Vambran spotted the spellcaster responsible for the magic. The man was still mounted and was issuing orders as he prepared another incantation. The lieutenant stopped momentarily, bringing his crossbow up. He had only a handful of bolts, having received a share from the remaining ammunition, but he did not hesitate to use it. The cord on his weapon was fresh and dry, and the missile flew true, striking the spellcaster squarely in the chest. The man let out a panicked scream and clutched at the bolt. He lurched in the saddle, drawing back on his reins such that his mount spun away awkwardly, dropping him to the ground.
Vambran ran on.
Other members of the company had slowed in order to fire a bolt or two in the direction of the enemy line blocking their path to the trees, and the missile fire was doing its work well. Already Vambran could see that three or four skirmishers were down, and numerous riderless horses milled about in their midst. The rest of the lightly armed soldiers were moving aside, unwilling to stand before the charging remnants of the Crescents' double-wing formation.