The chanting, with its periodic responses of, ‘Am-rahl, Amrahl’, grew louder and louder, and a rhythmic accompaniment of stamping feet and swords banged against shields began to complement it. It was a prodigious, intimidating noise.
Loman grimaced then leaned over to one of his messengers and asked him a question. When the man answered, Loman motioned him towards the swaying mass of pikes following behind. The messenger galloped over to the nearest company leader.
Very soon the sound of the Fyordyn’s Emin Rithid rose up to oppose the Mandroc’s rumbling paean. It spread rapidly through the ranks and the pace drum-mers began to beat a determined tattoo about its imposing rhythm. As it reached the flanking and rearguard cavalry, the sound of the Muster’s horns joined it in a sonorous counterpoint.
The length of the line meant that those near the flanks were singing well behind those at the centre, but the sound was massive and stirring and as it washed to and fro along the line like a great wave, Loman smiled.
‘Gavor, my old tormentor, wherever you are,’ he said to himself. ‘You would appreciate this piece of theatre.’ Then, more darkly, ‘And the one that’s about to follow, if we can do it right.’
For, just as Oklar had sought to destroy the Fyordyn High Guards by fire, so now he intended to destroy the allies.
He had failed in Fyorlund because of the discipline of his enemy. Now, one brave man out of the thousands on that plain had perhaps seen his scheme.
Steadily, the army drew nearer to Sumeral’s waiting horde, and Oklar’s fearful trap. Loman watched the skirmishers slowly falling back as he had ordered.
Then, the time was right.
Loman sent a signal down the line, and with a great shout, a section of the Lords’ cavalry began to gallop forward raggedly.
The chanting from the Mandrocs rose in anticipa-tion as the noisy charge gathered momentum, but as the two leading riders reached the area where Yengar had performed his spectacular reconnaissance, they turned away suddenly and each threw something in the general direction of the enemy.
As the two objects landed, they burst into flames. But the two riders saw nothing; they, along with their companions, were galloping back to the lines desper-ately.
Loman saw Oklar raise his hand, but he was too late. Almost immediately the whole area was engulfed by a roaring white sheet of flame.
Involuntarily the entire allied army halted and took several paces backwards with a precision that no Drill Sirshiant could ever have inculcated.
Somehow, Loman managed to control his startled horse, though he found himself gaping as he stared up at the huge fiery wall that was tearing through the ground between the two armies. He looked from side to side and saw the flames were spreading along the entire length of the two armies.
Had they continued to advance, the whole army would have been utterly and horribly destroyed in the conflagration.
A vision of his forge back in Pedhavin came to him vividly; of times when in thoughtless absorption he had set his hand to metal just cooled below red heat. Even at this distance from the flames, the heat beat on his face appallingly. He had heard of the blazing destruction of the warehouse at Vakloss, but had taken tales of the escapade with some scepticism. Now however…
Something dark stirred deep within him.
Turning quietly to the wide-eyed signaller at his side, he sent a single message to every company. ‘See the true nature of our enemy. His device has failed through our knowledge of the ways of His servants. Now He has only wild numbers, bathed in ignorance, to fight for His corruption, while we have discipline, skill and knowl-edge, to fight for our simple right to be. Look to one another today and light be with you all.’
Then, the army, hidden from the enemy by Oklar’s own massive wall of fire, turned and began marching quickly to the left, while the High Guards’ cavalry and some of the Muster trotted to the right.
Loman smiled broadly as the two riders who had ignited the trap fell in beside him. ‘You’re becoming rarely gifted incendiaries,’ he said, shouting a little to make himself heard over the din of the roaring flames.
‘I doubt there’ll be much call for such skills when this is over,’ Fel-Astian replied.
‘Nor for many of the skills we’ve re-learned of late,’ Loman agreed. ‘But it doesn’t alter their value. Still, this is no place for debate. How long is this going to last?’
Idrace glanced up at the flames, his eyes screwed tight against their brightness. ‘They’re dropping already,’ he said. ‘I’d say start preparing to move when they’re about pike height.’ He raised a cautionary finger. ‘This is no ordinary fire, Loman,’ he went on. ‘At the end the flames will flicker out very quickly. You must be ready. Don’t be too concerned about the temperature underfoot, this stuff burns to nothing. It leaves little ash or residue, and the ground won’t be as hot as you’d imagine.’
As the flames gradually fell, Loman eyed them care-fully and then turned the army forward to advance straight across them, though not without some trepida-tion. Idrace’s comments about the flames however, proved accurate and, almost incongruously, the terrible blazing barrier suddenly disappeared. The flames did not gutter into leisurely extinction like a spent bonfire, but parted from the ground and rose into the air as they finally died, so that for a moment a low, blazing cloud hovered between the two armies.
The hissing of the rain falling on to the warm rock rose up to fill the strange silence that followed the roaring of the flames, and a low dense mist formed over the blighted area.
Slowly the sounds of the moving army began to dominate once more; the resolute tapping of the pace drummers, the clatter of thousands of silently marching people. Then, from the left came the horn calls that Loman had been anticipating, and several squadrons of the Muster slowly began to advance towards the enemy’s right flank cavalry.
The phalanx infantry lowered their pikes into attack position and increased their speed to a fast walk.
Very rapidly, the Muster gathered speed and their battle cries began.
Loman glanced to the right to confirm that the Mus-ter and the Lords’ cavalry were also advancing. As he watched they began to move into close column forma-tion.
Loman rode along the ranks to join his own squad-ron of Helyadin and Goraidin.
His decree had been that the enemy was to be crushed as quickly and totally as possible, and the Mathidrin cavalry guarding the right flank found themselves facing superior numbers, superior skills and pitiless intent as the unbroken wall of Urthryn’s squadrons came towards them at full gallop with lances levelled and in almost parade ground order. Ahead of them, the air filled with the roaring of the men and the terrifying ululating cries of the women.
Such a sight was it, that the rout of the Mathidrin began even before contact was made; the few that had the courage to remain being eventually carried away by their wiser horses.
Those who survived the first, terrible, impact were cut down in the ensuing melee or fled blindly through and over the ranks of infantry they were supposed to be protecting. The Muster began its retribution for the drowning of its kin with awesome, vengeful, and bloody relish.
At the same time, the serried rows of glittering and unyielding pikes struck into the mass of Mandrocs and men that formed the enemy’s right wing, sweeping aside the disordered pike lines that faced them and driving the surviving front ranks backwards in panic.
‘Oklar put too much faith in his fire wall,’ Yengar said, leaning across to Loman. ‘Their fervour fades a little against such opposition.’
Loman nodded, but even as he watched this initial success, he felt the ground shake ominously. Then a feverish warmth passed through him and he began to gasp desperately as the air in his lungs seemed to be torn out of him.
From the attack in Riddin, he recognized the hand of the Uhriel in the attack and knew that he could do nothing about it. For a moment he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, and he began to scream in terror and impotent rage, though no sound reached his lips. Around him he could see the others suffering similarly.