He glanced up and down the lines at his own men. Many of the farmers and herdsmen were leaning on their bows, or checking the flights on their arrows, and not a few were gazing idly in his direction to see what he would do.
Erin followed him. In a low voice, she asked, “I have some illusions at my command, but I’m not sure what I could do to affect so many.”
“Let’s save your spells for now. I think I know what we can do here.” Abruptly, Gaelin turned back to his officers.
“Gather all our spearmen in the center, and send them to the attack. The archers on either flank will concentrate their fire on the positions the spearmen are going to attack. That’ll keep the Ghoerans down under cover, while our spearmen advance. Then, when our fellows hit the ramparts, we hold our fire. Once the spearmen are in the Ghoeran lines, they’ll keep them busy enough for our archers to advance in turn.”
Lord Anduine weighed Gaelin’s plan. “If I were the Ghoeran commander, I’d hold back a heavy force of some kind as a reserve, a little ways off the dike.”
“We’ll use the Knights Guardian to hit any reserve they have nearby, while the spearmen secure the dike,” Gaelin said. “I’ll lead that contingent myself.”
“My lord Mhor, that will be very dangerous,” Erin said.
“You have no way of knowing what the Ghoerans may have hiding behind those ramparts.”
“Your concerns are noted, Erin,” Gaelin said. “But I’ll not linger in the rear while men are fighting in my name. Herald, pass the orders, if you please.”
The Mhoriens shifted so the Knights Guardian held the center, just behind a broad wedge of militiamen with spears and shields. When everyone was in place, Gaelin gave the orders:
“Spearmen, take the wall. Archers, advance and cover them.”
With a ragged yell, the Mhorien levy surged forward in a disorganized, screaming mass, bunching and thinning as each man made his way forward as best he could. To any military commander’s eye, it must have looked like a disaster – but Gaelin knew that even a line of disciplined troops would break on the earthworks, so the lack of order wasn’t the disadvantage that it seemed. On either side, the archers trotted forward to get into bowshot of the walls.
A hail of arrows and bolts greeted the oncoming tide of spearmen, but as the Mhorien archers came into range, they replied with a barrage of arrows that darkened the sky above the Ghoeran position. Spearmen stumbled and fell, as Ghoeran bolts found them in the surging ranks of the charge, but before the Ghoeran crossbowmen could prepare for a second volley, they were driven from the top of the wall by the storm of Mhorien arrows. Gaelin let the spearmen get within a hundred yards of the wall and then nodded to Anduine. “Lord Knight, let’s get to the walls on the heels of the spearmen.”
“If they’re thrown back, it will go badly for them,” Anduine cautioned. “We’ll trample them under our own hooves.”
“I know. I’m gambling that they won’t be repelled,” Gaelin said. “Let’s go.”
Anduine sounded the charge, and Gaelin joined Blackbrand with the line of Knights Guardian thundering forward toward the lines. He had nothing left in reserve; every man was committed to the attack. Ahead of him, the spearmen waded through the ditch in front of the low earth mound, kicking and knocking down the sharpened stakes on the dike’s face so that the cavalry could follow. As the spearmen struggled up the hillside, the Mhorien archers ceased firing and rushed forward themselves, sprinting toward the battlements with hand axes, knives, and short swords to join the fray.
The first ranks of spearmen made it to the top of the wall before they met any serious resistance. To avoid the deadly sweep of the Mhorien arrows, the Ghoeran troops had retreated to the reverse slope of the dike, and as the fire lifted, the Ghoerans surged back to reclaim the wall. But Gaelin’s stratagem worked. Instead of catching the Mhoriens as they floundered in the staked ditch and soft earth of the dike’s face, the Ghoerans missed their best chance to halt the Mhorien charge and had to meet them on equal footing. As ordered, Gaelin’s spearmen made no attempt to push in from the wall, but instead turned left and right to push sideways and get out of the way of the Knights Guardian.
His trusted sword raised above his head, Gaelin raced Blackbrand down, through, and up the other side of the ditch, swimming through the loose dirt until he struggled up on to the wall top and dropped down the other side. Roaring a challenge, Gaelin led the charge as they crashed into the heavy Ghoeran infantry who were streaming forward to hold the line. In a matter of seconds, Gaelin’s vision of who was where on the field of battle vanished, and he hewed wildly on either side of his saddle.
Blackbrand plowed through dozens of men, trampling them to the ground as Gaelin parried and slashed his way through the press. All around him, the Knights Guardian made short work of the Ghoeran infantry – in a close-quarters fight, there were very few infantry who could stand up to the weight and power of a line of horsemen.
Finding himself in the clear, Gaelin stood and twisted in his saddle to see what was happening. He turned back again just in time to catch the fall of a halberd with his shield and knock it aside, leaning forward to spit the Ghoeran before the fellow could recover from his mighty blow. Gaelin glanced around again, and found several knights were clustered around him, screening him from the fight. The reverse side of the dike was a gigantic, muddy brawl as the Ghoeran defenders found themselves in hand-to-hand combat with the Mhorien archers, who now streamed up and over the wall to join the fray. While the Ghoerans were better troops, the unexpected attack on their reserve had prevented an effective counterattack, and now weight of numbers and sheer hard fighting would decide the issue.
“Anduine!” Gaelin shouted. “Take half the knights and ride left. I’ll go right, and we’ll help out with the melee!”
Anduine’s helmet bobbed up and down, and the old commander drove his men along the base of the dike, riding down the knots of Ghoerans who waited to join the fray.
Gaelin took his own knights and did the same, riding in the other direction. Embattled on three sides, the Ghoerans were pushed off the ramparts and into the no-man’s-land between their two lines of defense. Here, on the flat and open ground between the earthworks, they closed ranks and began to hold their ground with more discipline, while Gaelin’s disorganized levy suddenly found themselves facing troops experienced in close-order fighting. The attack began to stall, and Gaelin growled in frustration. They were so close!
“My lord Mhor! Look!” Boeric was leaning over to point at Caer Winoene. Even as Gaelin watched, the green and white emblem of Mhoried was run proudly up the highest flagpole, announcing his return. With a great peal of trumpets and a thunderous shout, a thousand pikemen surged up and out of the Mhorien defenses to attack the Ghoerans from the re a r. The inward-facing trenches had been nearly abandoned in order to meet the attack of Gaelin’s militiamen, and Baesil’s infantry swept over the Ghoeran lines without breaking stride.
While Baesil’s men engaged the Ghoerans, Ulmaeric sounded the withdrawal to break his archers free of the hand-to-hand combat and managed to form up several companies of bowmen to menace the Ghoeran position. Now embattled on all sides, with archers in easy range to rake the center of their formation, the Ghoerans broke and retreated to the east, circling Caer Winoene as they were channeled away by their own ramparts. Gaelin’s exuberant forces pursued them closely, and as they swept around the castle, they rolled up the Ghoeran siege lines.
“Your timing is perfect, my lord Mhor!” Count Baesil rode up, surrounded by a small guard of cavalrymen. “I’m glad to see you again, that’s for certain.”