Sovereign

Lynan had to squint, something he was not used to doing. Having Silona's blood coursing through his veins had had some advantages. He could just make out two spear-carrying infantry squatting on top of the rise. They were very still, not talking to each other. They seemed very alert, but their position was too low to see over the woods.

'How many?' he asked.

The scout pointed to a second rise about fifty paces south of the first and no higher. 'Two more on that one,' the scout said. 'Between them is their camp. Maybe two or three hundred light infantry besides the fifty or so we ran across pretending to be scouts.'

Lynan nodded. 'I've seen enough.'

The two slowly retreated back through the woods. Fifty paces west they came across a clearing. Waiting for them were Korigan and Gudon with the horses. Beside them was Akota, one of the oldest chiefs and now in command of a banner made up of Chetts from different clans. Lynan had seen her in combat using a bow he would have trouble even pulling.

'Well?' she asked impatiently.

Lynan took the reins of his horse from Gudon. 'It's time,' he said.

Akota grinned at him, wheeled her horse around and trotted off.

'We had better get to the Red Hands,' Lynan told the others. 'Akota is so excited she is likely to start without us.'

They carefully followed Akota along a trail that wound its way through the woods for another two leagues, eventually emerging onto farmland, now churned up under the hooves of hundreds of horses. Akota's banner was already on the move, and the Red Hands were looking on anxiously. Then they saw Lynan and knew they were not going to be left out of the coming battle.

Captain Urling scowled at the messenger. 'Dejanus said what?'

'That you should stop worrying about nothing. When the enemy moves, you'll see more than dust and birds in the air.'

Urling shook his head. He could not believe his ears. He had fought for Grenda Lear in the Slaver War as a lowly Amanite recruit and worked his way up to commanding his own battalion of light infantry. He knew the signs of an approaching army. He knew the enemy was on the march.

'So the Great Army is still in camp?'

'It was when I left, Captain.'

'The idiot,' he said under his breath, not wanting anyone to hear his opinion. Morale was low enough without subverting the authority of the commanding general. He thanked the messenger and turned to his second-in-command, another veteran of the Slaver War named Ordt. 'Dejanus is going to need hard proof. We need a prisoner.'

'Our patrols just ain't seeing anyone, Captain. They're seeing plenty of signs, but no enemy as such.'

'A night patrol might have better luck. Send one out this evening, heading northwest where we saw all the dust this morning. They should be able to cover five or six leagues and still get back before daylight.'

Ordt nodded. 'That's fine, sir, but what if they don't find anything either?'

'Then we pull back to the main camp,' Urling said. 'The Chetts are out there. I can feel it in my bones. I'm not going to let them cut us off.'

'The General won't like that.'

'He'll like it a lot more if we bring a prisoner back with us.'

'I'll see to it, sir.'

Ordt turned to go, but Urling grabbed his arm. 'Listen.'

Ordt did, but heard nothing above the normal sound of the camp. There were birds nearby, a flock of them scattering into the sky…

'Something's coming,' he said.

Urling dropped to the ground and put his ear against it. He shot straight back to his feet. 'Form up!' he shouted. 'To your flags! First and second company north of the camp, third and fourth companies south! Quickly!' He pushed Ordt to the south. 'It's cavalry! Put a company on either side of the road. I'll take the north!'

'What happened to our lookouts? And where are our scouts?'

Urling glanced at both the rises. There were no lookouts there now. 'Gone. All gone. Hurry! Take the south!'

There was sudden confusion in the camp, but the Amanites were professionals and soon gathered around their company flags. Urling and Ordt started setting up an ambush when the first riders burst into the valley from the north. Chett horse archers, riding full pelt, their bows already drawn. Ordt quickly ordered his companies to join Urling, but it was too late. The first volley of arrows fell among the Amanites like a hail storm, followed quickly by a second and then a third. The Chetts galloped through the camp and scattered Ordt's force, firing arrows into the fleeing soldiers. When they reached the end of the camp the Chetts dismounted and set up a line running oblique to the road. Ordt managed to gather some of his soldiers together to meet up with the survivors from Urling's group; the captain was not among the living, however.

'The enemy's dismounted,' Ordt told the survivors. 'This is our only chance. We have to charge them. We have spears and shields to their bows; at close quarters we'll slaughter 'em. Keep two paces apart, two lines, one directly behind the other, shields up, and run. Got it?'

Those who heard nodded, terrified. 'Once we're past them, get to the forest and make as best you can for the Great Army. Alright, up now! Companies one and two form the first line, three and four the second.'

Despite the swarm of arrows now falling on them, they managed to form some semblance of two lines, their raised shields protecting them most of the time. A handful fell with arrows in their legs and feet. Ordt raised his spear for the order to charge when he heard more horses behind him. He swore, looked over his shoulder, and saw Chetts not armed with bows but with the short sword, and each hand with a sword was dyed red past the wrist. He knew what that meant, and despite all his years in the army and all the combat he had seen, he still pissed himself.

Lynan was coming.

It was almost sunset. Terin's long shadow, and those of the lancers who lined up either side of him, darkened the ground before them as if they were stretching for the enemy camp. A single rider galloped along the line until she reached Terin, then reined in hard.

'Ager Parmer is ready,' the rider said. 'The Ocean Clan has barred the road north.'

Terin nodded and the messenger manoeuvred her horse behind the line. Terin looked left and right. The lancers were calm, sitting well back in their saddles, their weapons held vertically. Then he looked down on the enemy, who was so confident and so completely unaware.

A shout came from below them. Someone in the camp had finally noticed the cavalry on the rise to their west. Terin saw people stop and look up at him. They would see the lances, assume they were more cavalry come to join them in the reserve. Then they would wonder why they were line abreast, and why they were sitting on the hill and not moving. Then doubt would set in.

Right about now, Terin told himself. He nudged his mount forward a few paces and drew his sabre out of his saddle sheath. He heard the riders behind him sit straighter in the saddle, gather their reins, change their grip on their lances. He smiled, raised his sabre high enough for the sun's last rays to catch its blade, then dropped his arm and spurred his horse into a walk. The line started moving behind him. He watched the enemy below and could imagine their doubt turning to panic as they recognised the beginning of a charge.

Terin wished he could move to the gallop straightaway, but it was too far for the horses to run and still have the strength and wind they would need for the battle; more, they were going downslope, and experienced riders never forced their horses to gallop downslope.

The enemy were starting to run to and fro, some scrambling to fit saddles on their horses, others disappearing into their tents to get weapons, still others jumping bareback on horses and running away as fast as they could. Most of those fleeing headed south, and they were of no concern to Terin or the Chetts, but many ran north in the direction of the Great Army camp and, Terin knew, Ager's waiting Ocean Clan; none of them would be allowed to get through.