A slight breeze whipped pennants on lances and tugged at furs. Icy snow swirled up from the ground and rasped over helmets. Horses stamped and blew out great jets of steam, while across the battlefield frostclaws ducked their heads to groom white feathers on their breasts. The hoargoun slowly swayed from side to side with the breeze, like the mighty oaks from which they had formed their clubs.
Both sides stood ready, and Adrogans was content to wait. Since the Aurolani would be attacking uphill, he was happy to let them come. Maintaining the momentum of a charge was difficult that way, and once they stalled, his cavalry would charge. The Aurolani had chosen both the battlefield and their position on it poorly. He had no idea what they were waiting for, but unless they had the good sense to withdraw, few of them would be leaving the battlefield alive.
Then Adrogans saw it, above the city. It descended through the clouds as a fireball trailing a thick plume of white smoke. It slammed into the highest remaining tower and exploded there in a shower of flaming debris. A jet of fire shot straight up into the air, touching the low, grey clouds, and just for the barest hint of a second, he could feel heat radiating out.
The Aurolani host raised their voices as one, and their lines lurched forward.
That wasn’t just a signal to begin… That was the arrival of Nefrai-kesh. Adrogans narrowed his eyes. The Aurolani general had stationed himself in a city tower twelve miles distant, but with a clear view of the battlefield. He had decided to watch his troops, not lead them—for reasons that were beyond Adrogans. But the Jeranese general did not mind. I will give him something to watch.
Astride his horse, Adrogans turned to his signalman. “Blow an alert for the Savarese Knights and Matrave’s Horse.”
The man raised his brass horn to his lips and blew. First he played a call-song for the Savarese horsemen, then another for the mercenaries. After that he blew the alert signal and followed it, again, with their individual callsongs. Flags went up in each formation to acknowledge the order.
The sunken road caused more of a problem for the Aurolani than Adrogans had anticipated. The whole right wing was lagging and its westernmost elements had a weak connection to the center. While that wing was made up of heavy infantry, their formation was losing its front and spacing as it moved through the sunken road, leaving it vulnerable.
“Signalman, blow left wing advance.”
The man complied, and the left wing of Adrogans’ formation began to move forward. It consisted primarily of the Jeranese Mountain Guards, which was a heavy infantry regiment. As their reserves, Adrogans had the Svoin Irregulars, but he was very reluctant to use them in combat. They needed seasoning, but this sort of battle was not the sort of place to get it.
The Aurolani host picked up the pace as it came uphill. They marched to the increasing beat of huge drums, and chanted loudly in tongues and cadences that sounded blasphemous. Adrogans could feel Pain sinking her claws into his breast as she clung to him from behind, but he ignored her. There would be enough pain for her to feast on soon enough, and he had no need of the special vision she would grant.
With the increase in speed came the increased dislocation and disruption of the Aurolani east wing. Adrogans signaled, and the readied cavalry units charged. Snow flew as hooves pounded down the road, and horses slammed full on into the infantry.
What had been pristine snow was now churned crimson, alive with twitching bodies writhing around broken lances. Horses, with their backs broken from a blow with a hoargoun’s club, thrashed their hooves in the snow. The rime giants, skewered by dozens of lances, faltered and fell, some pitching over into the road, others stumbling back and crushing gibberers underfoot.
Kryalniri and vylaens cast spells, but Phfas and his Zhusk compatriots used the power of the yrvtn to blunt most of these. The small contingent of Vilwanese warmages he’d been given shot their own spells. They specifically targeted the Aurolani magickers, forcing them to choose between self-defense and death. A surprising number chose the second option. Even as they died, they cast hideous fireballs that incinerated cavalrymen, or punched holes in the infantry line.
Gyrkyme laced the Aurolani formation with fire. Their swooping attacks released dozens of firecocks, which exploded against Aurolani troops or the ground. Three of them hit one hoargoun at the heart of the Aurolani center, turning him into a living torch. In his pain he crushed comrades, and his screams were enough to chill the blood of all who heard. Other firecocks wrought havoc amid the frostclaws. They killed some, and unnerved others enough that a panic swept through the Aurolani cavalry.
Cheers ran through Adrogans’ troops as the Aurolani formation began to crumble. Their left had hit and held, such that the Aurolani center came forward. Its support, the east wing, had been shorn free, leaving the flank open for a crushing charge from the Alcidese or Jeranese Horse Guards. A textbook example of how a battle should be fought, things were going too well for Adrogans for him to be comfortable.
Then he saw it.
The burning hoargoun had been cavorting and spinning, but never trying to slap out the flames that engulfed it. Instead its thick fingers tore at the harness it wore. It was attached to a satchel of heavy canvas, not unlike those troops wore to carry supplies. Save no one wears one of those into combat. On a creature the size of the hoargoun, the satchel could have contained three bullocks, and it certainly bulged with whatever its cargo was.
Adrogans watched it for a moment more, and felt Pain sink her fangs into the back of his neck. He pointed at the hoargoun and shouted at Phfas, but it was too late.
The hoargoun’s pack exploded.
The creature wearing the device literally became a crimson mist from the thighs upward. Fire blossomed for a second where its chest had been, then a thunderous blast rippled over the landscape, knocking warriors down, making snow dance, and even shattering ice over the river. A lethal spray of missiles shot out in every direction.
Gyrkyme were shredded, spiraling down with bloody feathers floating in their wake. Some of the Savarese Knights had swept around to the rear of the Aurolani center, catching the blast full force. Round lead balls and jagged pieces of bent iron punched through their armor. Sharp fragments of crockery sliced exposed flesh and the force of the blast itself was enough to send horses and riders tumbling.
But as much damage as the explosion did to the Savarese Knights, it did more to the Aurolani troops. It ate the middle out of their formation. Those it had not killed it wounded, and all the infantry had been knocked down. They struggled to their feet, dazed and disoriented, with many of them turning back to see what had happened.
Which is when Adrogans’ troops hit them. There had been no charge blown nor any signal given. One of the balls had crushed the signal horn and the hand holding it, but these men needed no signal to know when to fight. They had been shocked and some hurt by the blast, but all of them had their blood up, and the enemy became the focus for their fury.
Fighting to steady his horse, Adrogans swiped at blood dripping into his right eye. Something had hit him, opening a cut, but the pain of it was nothing compared to the pure waves of agony his yrun played into him. It swirled through him like a twisting column of fire, so he took hold of it, channeled it, then cast his gaze out over the battlefield.