Without that information, Corfe privately believed that there would have been little or no hope for his men, and in his mind he blest Aurungzeb’s nameless Ramusian Queen.
No cheers to see them off, but the walls were thickly crowded with Torunn’s population all the same. There was a headlong sense of urgency about the city. So much had happened in such a short space of time that the departure of the army for the decisive battle seemed but one more notable event amongst many. No time for farewells either. The regulars had an appointment to keep, and they marched out of the city gates knowing they were already late for it.
The army tramped eighteen miles that first day, and when the lead elements started to lay out their bivouacs the rearguard was still a league behind them. As was his wont, Corfe found himself a nearby knoll and sat his horse there, watching them trudge into camp. He was not seeing them, though. He was thinking of an ex-slave who had once sworn allegiance to him with the chains of the galleys still on his wrists. A savage from the Cimbrics who had become his friend.
Andruw and Formio joined him, the Fimbrian actually mounted on a quiet mare. The trio exchanged sombre salutes and then watched as the first campfires were lit below, until there was a constellation of them rivalling the brilliance of the first stars.
The darkness deepened. The trio sat their horses without sharing a word, but glad of one another’s company. Then Andruw twisted in his saddle and peered north. “Corfe, Formio. Look there.”
On the horizon, a ruddy glow like that of a burning town. Except that there were no towns for many leagues in that direction.
“It’s their campfires,” Corfe realised. “Like the lights of a city. That’s the enemy, gentlemen.”
They studied the phenomenon. It was, in its way, as awe-inspiring as the Northern Lights which could be seen in winter from the foothills of the Thurians.
“It doesn’t seem as though it could be the work of man, somehow,” Formio said.
“When there’s enough of them, men can do just about anything,” Andruw told him. “And they’re capable of anything.” His voice fell into something approaching a whisper. “But I’ve never known or heard of them fighting a war like this one. There has never been a pause in it, from the first assaults on Aekir until now. Ormann Dyke, the North More, the King’s Battle, Berrona, and then the battle for the city itself. There’s no end to it-in the space of a year.”
“Is that all it’s been?” Corfe wondered. “One year? And yet the whole world has changed.”
They were all thinking of Marsch, though no-one mentioned his name.
“Sound officers’ call as soon as the rearguard is bedded down,” Corfe said at last. “We’ll meet here. I have something to show you.”
“Going to pull a rabbit out of a hat, Corfe?” Andruw asked lightly.
“Something like that.”
They saluted and left him. Corfe dismounted, hobbled and unsaddled his horse and let it graze. Then he sat on a mossy boulder and watched the northern horizon, where the Merduk host was lighting up a Torunnan sky. One single year, and the deaths of untold thousands. He had begun it as a junior officer, obscure but happy. And he had ended it commander of Torunna’s last army, his heart as black and empty as a withered apple. All in that one year.
Formio held a lantern over the map and the assembled officers kept down its corners with the toes of their boots. They crowded around the circle of light as though straining to warm themselves at a fire. Corfe pointed out features with a broken stick.
“We are here, and the enemy is… there, or thereabouts. You’ve seen the light of their camp for yourselves. I reckon they’re less than half a day’s march away. They number a hundred and twenty-five thousand, one fifth of them cavalry. The Merduk khedive, Shahr Johor, is going to send this cavalry out on a flank march to the north, to come in on our left flank when we’ve engaged the main body, and roll us up. Hammer and anvil-simple, but effective. His cavalry consist of Ferinai, horse-archers, and mounted infantry who’ve been taken out of the Minhraib and armed with horse-pistols. The Ferinai are the core of the force. If we cripple them, the rest will crumble. They number only some eight thousand, for they lost a third of their men in the King’s Battle, attacking Aras and Formio.”
“And I suppose you can tell us what they’re going to have for breakfast in the morning,” Andruw said with a raised eye-brow. “General, we seem remarkably well-informed as to the enemy’s composition and intentions.”
“That is because I have managed to get hold of a copy of their battle-plan, Colonel,” Corfe said with a smile.
That raised a ripple of astonishment amongst the assembled officers. “Sir,” Aras began, “how-?”
Corfe held up a hand. “It’s enough that we possess it. Don’t trouble yourselves about how we came by it. I intend to detach the commands of Colonel Cear-Adurhal and Adjutant Formio to deal with this flank march. Attached to them will be Ranafast’s arquebusiers. This combined force will be under the overall command of Colonel Cear-Adurhal. It should be able to see the enemy cavalry off.”
“Of course. It’ll only be outnumbered three to one,” someone muttered.
“The Ferinai will be in the van. Andruw, if you can cripple them, the rest will fold too. I have it on good authority that the Minhraib-over a third of the Merduk army-have no stomach for this fight. The Sultan will be keeping them in reserve to the rear. There’s a good chance they’ll remain skulking there if they see things going badly.
“This is the line of the main body’s advance.” He traced it out on the map with his stick. “As you can see, they’re using the Western Road. What I intend to do is to take our own regulars up and, if we can, pitch into them whilst they’re still in march column; that way we’ll deal with them piecemeal.”
“Where do you think we’ll contact them?” Rusio asked.
“About here, at this crossroads.” Corfe peered more closely at the map. “Roughly where this little hamlet lies. Armagedir.”
“That’s an old name. It means Journey’s End in Old Normannnic,” said Andrew.
Corfe straightened. “Andruw, Formio and Ranafast-your task will be to rout the Merduk cavalry and then come in on the enemy flank, much as they were intending to do with us. On the success or failure of that manoevre the fate of the battle will hinge. Gentlemen, I can’t emphasise enough that we must rely on speed. There can be no foul-ups, no delays. What we lack in numbers, we must make up for in… in-”
“Alacrity?” Aras suggested.
“Aye. That’s the word. When we attack, we must follow up every enemy retreat, and give them no chance to re-form. If they manage to bring their numbers to bear, then they’ll swamp us. Those of you who were at Berrona will remember how we pitched into them while they were still struggling to get their boots on. We must do the same here. We cannot allow them a moment to take stock. This fact must be instilled all the way down the chain of command. Do I make myself clear?”