“Against the infantry flank, aye,” the Isfayen agreed. “Then there’s the artillery.”
“We can’t become so paralysed with concern for the artillery that we don’t dare venture near it. Our infantry are right under it, we have to take some pressure off them.”
She didn’t dare use the word “fear,” or else the Isfayen might have charged straight into the teeth of the worst artillery fire, just to prove they weren’t frightened.
On the way in, she found Damon and the royal vanguard, partially hidden behind a cluster of barn and trees. Sasha indicated to her riders, who now numbered perhaps a hundred and fifty, to wait aside while she rode to converse with her brother. Royal Guards pulled aside, and she found Damon and Jaryd pointing at the unfolding confusion ahead of them, seeking an opportunity. Both looked relieved to see her as she halted alongside.
“Hell of a fight, yes?” Jaryd remarked to her. Though it was now midmorning, and they had been fighting since dawn, he seemed yet to overcome his awe.
Damon seemed as grim as ever, yet less anxious than she’d seen him, as though warfare was preferable to waiting. His left shoulder guard was torn, yet from the angle of the cut, it seemed that the mail beneath had deflected it, and his face betrayed no pain.
Sasha explained her trials in the rear with the talmaad.
“I’m tempted to try the artillery just to get away from those damn serrin,” Damon agreed, eyes searching the way ahead. “I think we erred to suppose that the artillery would be Enora’s greatest advantage.”
“Sasha, what do you think?” Jaryd pressed. “Perhaps like Ymoth? A two-force feint?”
“Perhaps,” said Sasha. “How many are you?”
“Immediately, perhaps two hundred,” Damon replied. “If we rally properly, we could collect thousands…”
“But we’ll afford the Enorans the same opportunity,” Sasha finished for him. “I think that’s our next option, if this doesn’t look like it’s working. We’ve maybe three hundred and fifty between us, any more may be more hindrance than help. You go first, spring the trap, I’ll get in behind and get straight into their infantry. See if we can turn one of their formations, get our infantry an edge.”
It worked superbly, but not how she’d thought. Riding out in front, Damon and Jaryd’s two hundred cavalry were countered by a similar-sized formation of defensive Enoran heavy cavalry. Thus committed, those cavalry were in no position to stop Sasha’s hundred and fifty Isfayen, who tore down on the exposed flank of Enoran infantry. Ballista fire adjusted too late, raining mostly behind the Isfayen charge, and a single catapult shot erupted close enough to singe the leftmost Isfayen rider, but no more.
The redeploying formation of Enoran infantry was caught squarely in the face of the charge, soldiers running madly to lengthen their square into a wide wall as the horses bore down on them. Then, just before impact, the Enorans did the utterly unexpected, and ducked. Soldiers curled up on the ground, shields overhead, and charging Isfayen horses simply jumped, unwilling to risk that metal underfoot. Isfayen riders swung at the Enorans, yet those that could reach hit only steel. Once the charge had passed over and around, the Enorans jumped back to their feet, and completed their previous manoeuvre of widening the flank. Sasha could only be impressed with the discipline.
But now, she could see the Enoran artillery for the first time: rows of wide-armed ballistas on cartback, guarded behind a wall of yet more infantry-the reserve, Sasha realised, doubling as artillery guards in case of a cavalry breakthrough like this one. Men on those ballistas were winding them frantically downward to meet the onrushing threat, and as Sasha looked left and right, she saw no immediate cavalry support rushing to assist. She lowered her sword, and yelled.
The Isfayen roared, and were onto the ballistas before they could winch low enough to fire. Sasha slashed at the Steel defensive wall, again and again, more in hope of a lucky strike than assurance. A few spears soared past, but the Isfayen were too numerous, flanking the defences, spreading them, then driving horses into their midst and hacking about them with huge, curved swords. Steel infantry fell as powerful strokes found gaps in their armour, trying to re-form, clustering back-to-back for protection, shields above their heads to ward the blows that fell on them from all sides.
Other Isfayen jumped from their horses and onto the carts, as mostly unarmoured ballista men abandoned posts to grab defensive weapons, only to be hacked down in fives and tens by furious, howling bloodwarriors. Long-haired warriors then clambered over the ballistas, hacking the taut ropes, stabbing the mechanisms, disabling the weapons, killing the cart oxen along with any remaining men who resisted. No Enorans ran. A group of perhaps twenty Steel, managing to regroup at one side of the carnage, formed a wedge and counterattacked, taking down several unprepared Isfayen in the process. But more surrounded them, attacking from above on horse while those on the ground dropped to a knee to cut under their shields, amputating legs in great scything sweeps. The rest folded quickly, but fought until all were dead.
Sasha did not join in, but circled with the four warriors who had assigned themselves her protectors, watching for a counterattack. Barely two hundred paces to the side, more Steel clustered about the great, swinging arms of the dreaded catapults, oxen teams to the fore, ammunition teams to aft. Not one of those infantry abandoned position to come running to their comrades’ assistance. On the forward infantry line, Sasha could see the rear ranks glancing back to monitor the slaughter of the ballista team, but again, none broke their formation. The Enoran cavalry was the artillery’s protector in such events, she knew, but the cavalry was vastly stretched, with little or no reserve.
Very concerningly, a pair of catapults were now being turned about to face upon them directly, infantry shifting ahead of the driving oxen teams. Sasha yelled orders to disperse, uncertain if the catapults could in fact fire accurately at such short ranges, but unwilling to find out. Isfayen men finished the last of their carnage, and ran for their horses. For a brief moment, Sasha pondered attacking the catapults too, but she saw horses tearing along the rear of the Enoran line toward them, and figured she’d pushed her luck as far as was sane. Perhaps she and a hundred and fifty Isfayen would be a fair sacrifice for a couple of catapults, but those reinforcements were heavy cavalry against Isfayen dussieh, and besides, she’d glimpsed the Enoran rear, found a tactic that worked, and discovered a key Enoran weakness. She had to get out and tell someone.
Again she rode for the rear of the Enoran infantry line, who were now engaged with Lenay infantry at their front. The rear soldiers turned, and those on the outside made a shield wall, while the ranks behind formed the roof. Isfayen riders crashed their horses into it, making some stumble, and opening holes that others attacked…but it was taking too long, and Sasha, again on the fringes, saw that there were indeed hundreds of Enoran heavy horses galloping past the catapults with murder on their minds.
She yelled for a retreat, and enough heard her to follow, which the others copied in turn. They streamed back onto the Lenay side of the lines, Lenay infantry cheering them madly, and pursued in turn by Enoran heavy horse. Ahead, Damon and Jaryd’s cavalry were still entangled in a frantic melee with the initial, defensive formation of Enorans. Sasha led her Isfayen squarely into the fight from behind, and for a brief moment, their numbers overwhelmed the Enorans, their cavalry blindsided, cut down unawares by racing Isfayen, or abruptly outnumbered in their various duels. They scattered, wheeling outward, and Sasha was circling while standing in her stirrups, screaming to re-form rather than pursue.