Groups of mounted archers attacked from first one direction then another, then from various directions simultaneously.
Carefully they avoided betraying the superior range of the Orthlundyn bows, but it was dangerous work and while it took a constant toll of the Morlider in dead and wounded, it also took some toll of the Orthlundyn, several being wounded.
‘They’re very different from what they were twenty years ago,’ Isloman remarked at one point. ‘Their discipline under fire is far superior.’
Hawklan nodded. ‘They’re certainly keeping their stations well and using their shields to some effect,’ he said. ‘I think Loman should send in some foot slingers now, that should… ’
Isloman caught his arm and pointed. A group of figures had dismounted and were approaching one of the columns on foot. Hawklan left his sentence unfin-ished and leaned forward intently.
At Dacu’s suggestion, the slingers were armed with lead shot rather than the shaped stones that their natural inclination drew them to. With these, the range of the slings was markedly superior to the Morlider bows and, coupling their expertise with jeering abuse, the slingers exploited it fully.
Almost immediately the Morlider column wavered as shields were used indiscriminately for protection against the rain of fast and almost invisible missiles. The slingers moved forward and pressed home their attack, at first randomly, then concentrating their fire at the centre of the column. The assailed Morlider faltered initially then crouched behind their shields and stood their ground. To relieve their comrades, the archers began to fire at the slingers, only to find their arrows falling short.
Standing next to Hawklan, Andawyr watched as the archers began to edge forward cautiously to bring the slingers within range, and slowly the whole column began to curve markedly.
At this distance it was like watching an unusual board game, and, almost deliberately, he kept his mind from thinking of the grim reality that the participants were facing.
Abruptly the slingers changed their point of attack, leaving the centre and turning on a large group of archers at the front of the column who had ventured forward too far. Several of them went down under this unexpected and sudden assault, but the main damage resulted from the disordered retreat of the remainder. Seeing this, the slingers redoubled their efforts, at the same time moving forward towards the confusion. Andawyr noted a change in the tone of the angry cries that were reaching across the white expanse that separated him from the scene.
‘Retreat,’ he heard Hawklan whisper.
A tremor seemed to run through the whole column, and then the far end began to fragment and swing around as the goaded Morlider began to break ranks and charge the slingers in both an excess of fury and an attempt to relieve their comrades.
Andawyr found he was gripping the edge of his saddle fiercely, and preparing to shout out, ‘Run!’
But his advice was unnecessary. The slingers were already retreating rapidly and riders were coming forward with horses to collect them.
Just as the Cadwanwr began to let out the breath he had been holding, one of the slingers, trailing the others, staggered and fell. Andawyr could not see what had happened but presumed the man had been struck by an arrow. A rider, a woman, galloped forward urgently to help him, leaping down from her horse as it came to a halt amid a great flurry of snow.
For an interminable moment, she struggled desper-ately to help the injured man into the saddle. Finally succeeding, she prepared to mount behind him.
However, startled by something, the horse darted forward unexpectedly and she fell heavily into the snow.
Standing up quickly but unsteadily, she looked around.
Behind her, her horse was bolting away carrying the injured slinger slumped across its neck. In front, Morlider were converging on her.
It needed no military skills to see that her compan-ions could not reach her before the enemy.
Instinctively, Andawyr reached out to strike the approaching Morlider and protect the woman as she stood watching them, uncertain which way to run.
Before he could act, however, a hand took his ex-tended arm and tightened round it powerfully. Looking up he met Hawklan’s haunted face.
‘No,’ the healer said. His voice was quiet and full of torment, but quite implacable.
Andawyr tugged at the grip ferociously, but it held him inexorably and pitilessly. After a brief, futile struggle, he found his gaze drawn inexorably to the distant tragedy about to be enacted.
The lone woman had seen the hopelessness of her position and turned to face the Morlider resolutely. Slowly she drew her sword with her right hand and a long knife with her left, then raising the sword above her head she began running to meet her foes. The advancing Morlider paused. Andawyr’s hand closed into helpless fists as he heard her high-pitched cry of defiance.
She had not taken four paces when arrows began to hit her.
The Morlider archers were taking their first true revenge.
The stricken woman staggered forward a little fur-ther until another volley of arrows brought her to her knees. With her last strength she lifted her sword high and then fell forward into the snow. The impact of her fall broke some of the arrows and drove others right through her, but for a moment her body lay slumped across them until she slumped over incongruously sideways.
The hesitant Morlider rushed forward and in a con-vulsive spasm of vengeance-taking, began hacking the body frenziedly.
Andawyr turned away from the scene and Hawklan released his arm.
‘Why?’ Andawyr said accusingly after brief silence.
‘You know why,’ Hawklan replied, his voice icy with a terrible restraint. ‘Do you think my grip could curb your power?’
Andawyr bared his teeth as anger surged up inside him.
‘Damn you,’ he said viciously.
‘Don’t damn me, damn Him,’ Hawklan said, his voice still cold. ‘There’ll be worse than that done before we’re free again. We all learn today… ’ His rebuke ended abruptly with an in-drawn breath and Andawyr saw that he was looking again at the distant field.
The column had largely disintegrated as an ordered force after the fruitless pursuit of the riders, and the slaughter of the woman, and while a few individuals were dashing to and fro obviously trying to reform it, most of the Morlider were wandering about aimlessly or standing around in small agitated groups. This had been precisely the object of the slinger’s attack but now a group of them had discovered the fate of their compan-ion and were circling round to return to the field.
Hawklan’s brow furrowed. Victory over the Morlider depended largely on breaking their discipline, but implicit in this intention was the assumption that the Orthlundyn would maintain theirs. Now, as the riders began to charge forward, Hawklan felt his great resolution falter.
Even as his doubts began to form, however, the cold voice within him spoke. You’re standing too close, it said. Doing as Andawyr did. There are many currents in the sea, large and small, but the tides are inexorable, break the waves how they will. So also is your purpose.
We all learn today. His own words returned to him.
With an effort he set his fears to one side and turned as cruelly observant an eye as he could on the unfolding events.
Some twelve riders were heading straight for the broken body as fast as the snow would allow, gradually coming into close wedge formation. Their line of approach was for the most part bringing them through the disordered Morlider from the side and they were largely unnoticed for much of the way, except for those who were trampled underfoot and cut down by slashing blades.
Despite his enforced coldness, Hawklan felt part of him surging forward in this attempt to recover the body of a fallen comrade.