Three miles northwest of Repor ande Busch the Captal du Days and four thousand men hunkered in the relative shelter of a narrow, deep valley known locally as the Raffle. The biting cold wind did not get down to its bottom. The men huddled there had no inclination to leave but there was no food, little fodder, and not much water. Firewood consisted of scrub brush.
The third concentration, commanded by Anne of Menand’s cousin Haband, including the strongest religious campaigners, coalesced round Peque ande Sales, six miles north of the Raffle. Their right flank and back lay against the mountainous wilderness whither Connectens fled in the worst of times. Partisans of one sort or another were always close by. Haband’s force numbered fifteen hundred at the onset of the late foul weather.
Several thousand more men were scattered in smaller clusters, within a day’s brisk march. All prayed for better weather.
The situation seemed ideal to the Navayan captains. The enemy was scattered, hungry, and dispirited. Many of them were unblooded. Count Alplicova hoped to silence Arnhander ambitions in the Connec for at least a generation. If the Direcians attacked with the vigor they had shown at Los Naves de los Fantas, Arnhand might never come back.
One sharp, quick, thoroughly bloody engagement. With King Regard taken prisoner. His ransom would be his sworn word to leave the Connec and never again torment that land. Nor ever again presume upon the rights of Peter of Navaya and his allies.
Overly optimistic planners thought native Connectens could silence the Society once that wicked brotherhood had no national power behind it.
Brother Candle was on the wall with hundreds of spectators, mostly old folks, women, and children. He held the youngest of Kedle’s babies. Raulet Archimbault had the older, wrapped in a heavy, ragged cloak. Some of the crowd eyed Raulet harshly. He was not too old to be out there defending his city.
Kedle stayed close to the Perfect. Her husband was nearby but made no effort to keep her warm.
Soames drew more potent stares than did Raulet. He ignored them, disdainfully, yet did seem tense, nervous, worried, even frightened. This could be a bad day in the life of Soames Richeut.
The Navayans looked ragged, advancing toward Repor ande Busch. King Peter’s standard was not out there with them. Rumor said the King had spent the night drinking and sporting with a woman who was not Isabeth of Khaurene. Count Diagres Alplicova, whispered to bear an unrequited passion for Queen Isabeth, had taken command.
Brother Candle thought the Navayans seemed unsure they wanted to follow today’s commander.
Soldiers moving left of the Navayans were the Castaurigans and their King. Jaime’s mission was to interpose himself between Repor ande Busch and the Raffle so the Captal du Days could not reinforce King Regard.
Khaurene’s militia formed behind the Navayans. Brother Candle was surprised to see so many. And was further surprised to see Duke Tormond’s own standard out there with them. He told Archimbault, “I’m amazed that he could get that armor on. He hasn’t had it out in twenty years.”
Other Connecten forces, though, were not yet present. Scattered, hiding from the weather, they were reluctant to assemble. There was too much confusion for anything to happen.
Though determined to force a decisive encounter neither Peter nor Regard was prepared for the opportunity. Both were still abed when the first arrows flew. Peter was the worse for a terrible hangover. His people did their best to get him up, get him dressed, get him armed, armored, and mounted. He departed Metrelieux under the stern eyes of his Queen, her gaze so flush with anger that, hangover and all, he preferred a battle to explaining himself.
Peter joined his knights after the fighting became chaotic, neither side pursuing any strategy deeper than hacking at the man who was nearest. Contingents of Navayans sat their mounts outside the fray and did nothing because they had received no instructions and had no initiative. Many Arnhanders did the same. And the Khaurenese stayed well back from danger.
On the wall, beside Brother Candle, Raulet Archimbault grumbled, “I feel like I’m hearing this story for the second time.”
Kedle responded, “You are, Dad. But last time it was the Captain-General. And he was ready.”
Archimbault grunted. “Handed us our heads and hearts and sent us scurrying into the Altai like terrified rats.” He eyed Soames but said nothing.
Kedle, the Perfect noted, did not so much as glance at her husband.
Archimbault said, “Things were different, then.”
Indeed. The Patriarchal forces had been disciplined and well led. For them it had been another day’s work at organized murder.
The Navayans approached to within bowshot before the Arnhanders wakened their sovereign. Regard had spent the night with an equerry named Thierry, sure there would be no fighting for days. The weather made campaigning impractical.
The enemy did not agree. He began making probing attacks. Frightened courtiers brought word that several of Anne’s favorites had fallen already.
The situation looked desperate.
Regard would not be hurried. He refused to hear talk of flight. He performed his morning religious obligation, demanding added blessings for a warrior headed into harm’s way on God’s behalf.
Panic found a home in the hearts of some awaiting the King’s appearance, particularly those in the Connec out of greed rather than conviction. Several dozen knights chose to leave Regard in God’s keeping before he completed his obligation. Among them were three of his cousins, his mother’s brother, and Anne’s latest pet priest, Bishop Mortimar du Blanc. Du Blanc was a senior member of the Arnhander branch of the Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy.
The omens were bad from the beginning. Regard’s squires broke the laces on his mail shirt as they tightened them. While they hunted replacements news came that the last hint of organization had fled the battlefield.
More faint hearts discovered a conviction that they would be of more value at home than at Khaurene. Anne might spit and swear but she would not leave them facedown, dead, in freezing Connecten mud.
Several contingents from counties that had shifted allegiance from Tormond IV to Charlve the Dim moved off, refusing to participate, having no desire to make a permanent enemy of Peter of Navaya.
The Navayans had similar problems. Many Direcian allies would not engage unless Peter himself took command.
Elsewhere, King Jaime of Castauriga exceeded his instructions. Rather than block the road to Khaurene he stormed into the Raffle, a valley poorly suited to fighting on horseback.
At Repor ande Busch King Regard’s back cinch broke when he put weight on his stirrup. He fell. His left shoulder and the back of his head hit hard. He did not break his skull, only knocked himself dizzy. But he hurt his shoulder so he could not raise his shield more than a few inches.
His right leg also turned back under him when he fell. Some who were present later claimed they heard bone break. Regard himself only ever admitted to injuring his ankle and knee.
Several dozen more reluctant warriors saw the last evil portent they could stand. They joined the dribble headed north.
Once Regard did settle astride his great gray warhorse the animal at first refused to accept commands. Another ill omen.
Barely two hundred lances followed the Arnhander King when, finally, he rode out to face the victors of Los Naves de los Fantas.
Severely hungover, yet still drunk, Peter of Navaya arrived on the battlefield at the same time. He cursed Count Alplicova for not having been more forceful and aggressive while, at the same time, damning as an idiot any petty-minded count or prince who had failed to carry out Alplicova’s directives. He ordered them to assemble.