The Scorpion vanguard tried another assault under the raining arrows of the Khanaphir archers. Hrathen could feel the restlessness of the main army reaching a fever pitch. Even as he had the thought, he heard Jakal say, 'We can't keep them back much longer. Nature shall take its course.'
The second advance was a shambles. The Scorpions faltered before the strike, losing even more men to the archers and denying themselves the impetus of their charge. When they struck the Khanaphir line, they broke and ran almost at once, an utter rout. The Khanaphir followed them up, further this time, no doubt heartened by the predictability of their foes.
There was a shrill whistle from Hrathen's right, blown by one of Angved's engineers. It told him that the Khanaphir host was now within crossbow range.
'Over to you,' he said to Jakal. He then looked out for the Khanaphir cavalry, seeing the nearest detachment still far to his flank, waiting on a rise for their chance.
And if it never comes? He ducked his head as Jakal sounded her horn again, the note cutting stridently through the shouts and yells and screams. The main host should now be separating into three blocks, opening up two avenues that led down towards the advancing Khanaphir. Most of that did not happen: it had proved too much to try and teach the Scorpions in the short time they had. Thankfully, Angved would be aiming high.
A count of twenty, Hrathen thought. It was all the pause Angved would leave. Obligingly the Khanaphir forces had halted again, waiting for the next charge of the Many. This was how they had won their previous battles: short, unstoppable advances whilst the enemy wore themselves down against their interlocked shields.
He put himself into the minds of the beasts, warning them, steadying them. There will be a great noise, he told them. It is not for you to worry about.
The whole chariot quivered with their fear, even so, when a dozen leadshotters spoke in rapid succession. He looked back to see the great plumes of smoke from behind the Scorpion army, marking where the firepowder-charged engines had discharged their shot. For a moment both armies seemed in disarray, and then the missiles began to land. Angved had not used the solid balls that would soon crack the walls of Khanaphes: instead he had something purpose-made for this moment. Each shot would smash and shatter as it impacted, scything metal fragments into the tight-packed ranks of the surrounding enemy.
Well over half the shots missed the Khanaphir army altogether, impacting behind or beside them in colossal clouds of dust, but two or three landed directly on their mark, crashing down amidst those shoulder-to-shoulder squares of armed men.
This was part of any modern war, Hrathen knew: acceptable, unavoidable losses. Soldiers too spread out were inefficient, hard to command, ineffective against any solid enemy force. Only Ant-kinden possessed the almost supernatural discipline to change from close to open formation at will. It was part of any modern war, but the Khanaphir had never fought a modern war until now. Angved had made history: he was the first man to bombard the people of Khanaphes.
Hrathen had half thought they would break then and there, but they were made of sterner stuff. They held together, reeling and milling, and all the time the leadshotters were reloading. Command was slow in coming: no mindlinks here for instant readiness. They stayed still, and Hrathen admired the restraint of his own crossbowmen in not playing their hand too early. The army of Khanaphes reordered its ranks, and then the leadshotters spoke again.
His artillerists had been given a chance to correct their aim, and some had over-corrected. One shot struck within the Scorpions' own front line, and another, worse still, ploughed through thirty loose ranks of Nem warriors, exhausting itself before it ever reached the enemy. Hrathen felt the shock whip through his forces, knew that he must find a use for them soon or they would attack their own artillery.
Two shells had missed the entire army again, proof of the practice the Scorpions still needed, but the rest were on their targets, eight separate explosions rocking the Khanaphir lines.
And there's more where that came from, Hrathen thought. Work it out.
He cast another look to his left and saw the Khanaphir cavalry mustering, falling into a phalanx.
'Messenger!' he bellowed, and one of his Wasps dropped down beside him.
'Send to Angved, have him ready his crossbowmen. The cavalry are readying for a charge.'
It was the right thing to do, of course, assuming there were no more surprises. Just as the main army was about to do the 'right thing', on the same assumption.
Whoever was commanding the Khanaphir centre had now realized that staying still was a death sentence. The bombardment, a mere friendly greeting by Imperial standards, had killed more of them than both of the Scorpion charges, and it did not take any great mind to see that such tricks would be of limited use once the armies converged.
The Khanaphir army sounded the charge, and their ranks of locked shields thundered towards the disordered Scorpions with a great battle-cry. Their chariots began to rattle forward on either flank.
Hrathen took a deep breath, waiting for the whistle. Angved took his own time over it, but then it sounded high and clear over the sounds of battle. Second whistle: crossbows loose.
He was expecting a rabble of individual shots, but the crossbowmen had inherited a kind of pride from their teachers, and that paved the way for something more military. When they loosed, each unit was mostly together. The staggered crossbow discharge caught the Khanaphir in mid-charge. Their right flank managed to take the brunt on their shields, stumbling to a crawl but keeping their lines intact. The Khanaphir left, on the far side from Hrathen, fell apart instantly, men lanced through or speared in the leg, men falling over fallen comrades. That entire flank of the Khanaphir army was crashing into itself, utterly still, the uniform advance ruined.
The crossbowmen would be drawing back their strings with all of their strength. The Khanaphir centre had slowed to keep pace with its comrades, the charge faltering. The crossbowmen had made, by their discipline, their own chance for a second shot.
It struck, without the previous savage cohesion, now that they were getting excited, but it was enough. The Khanaphir right began pulling inwards, retreating. On the broken left it was the unshielded archers that took the worst of it, dropping in their scores. The left-flank chariots had mostly stopped, some wheeling in disarray, others stilled, their beasts brought down.
Hrathen looked back at Jakal and was about to signal to her, but she had the horn to her lips already, sounding it loud and long.
Third horn blast: charge. It was the end of tactics, for the most part, but tactics had played their part. Now the great host of the Many of Nem descended upon the halted Khanaphir line with all of its ferocious might, and the real killing began. From his station amongst the cavalry, Amnon felt abruptly hollow inside, on hearing that earth-shaking roar from behind the Scorpion lines. Something in him had cracked. His former certainty was leaking out.
It was not immediately obvious to him what had happened, but something had struck within the infantry lines. He saw the dust, heard the distant cries. It was some device of the Empire, but he could not link cause and effect. It seemed like magic to him, that the enemy could simply punch ragged holes into his army.
He hesitated, four score of riders about him trying to calm their high-strung mounts, which were baring their mandibles in terrified threat at the very sky, as though to challenge the echo.